Mr. ANTHONY. A COMEDY, As it is ACTED by Their Majesty's Servants. Never before Printed.  
Written By the Right Honourable the Earl of ORRERY.  

Licenced,  
August 27. 1689. I. Fraser.   

LONDON: Printed for james Knapton, at the Crown in St. Paul's Churchyard. 1690.    

dramatis Personae.  

Sir Timothy,  
Mr. Anthony,  
Mr. Plot,  
Mr. Art,  
Pedagog,  
Mr. Cudden,  
Trick,  
Mr. noke's.  
Mr. Hains.  
Mr. Batterton.  
Mr. Vnderhil.  
Mr. Angel.  
Mr. Samford.   

Sir Timothy's Lady,  
Mrs. Philadelphia,  
Mrs. Isabel,  
Mrs. Nell,  
Mrs. Nan,  
Goody Winifred,  
Mrs. jenning's.  
Mrs. Batterton.  
Mrs. Long.  
Mr. Norris.    

Prologue.  
HE who comes hither with design to hiss,  
And with a Bum reversed to whisper Miss;  
To comb a Perriwigg, or to show gay clothes;  
Or to vent Antic nonsense with new Oaths,  
Our Poet welcomes as the Muse's Friend,  
For he'll by Irony each Play commend:  
Next these, we welcome such as briskly Dine,  
At Lambs, at Lockits, or with Shateline:  
Swelled with Pottage, or the Burgundian Grape,  
They hither come, to take a kindly Nap.  
In these our Author don't conceive much harm,  
For they pay well and keep our Benches warm.  
And tho' scarce half awake some Plays they Damn,  
They'll do't by wholesale, not by Ounce and Dram.  
But when fierce Critics get 'em in their view,  
theyare Crustier than Spaniards in Peru:  
They wrack each line, and every word unknit,  
As if they'd find a way to Cramp all Wit.  
They are the Terror of all adventurers here,  
The very objects of their hate and fear;  
And like rude Commonwealths they still are knit,  
'Gainst English Plays, the Monarchies of Wit.  
They invade Poetic licence, and still rail,  
At Plays to which in Duty they should veil.  
Yet still they infest this Coast to fish for jests,  
To supplement their Wits at City feasts:  
Thus much for Critics, to the more generous Wit  
Our Author frankly does each Scene submit:  
And begs your kind alliance to engage,  
Those Lawless Interlopers of the Stage.   

ACT. I. SCENE a Chamber, in which Mr. Anthony is dressing himself.  Enter Mr. Pedagogg. Pedag. 
GOOD morrow Mr. Anthony.  Ant. 
Who is that, Mr. Pedagog, my Reverend Schoolmaster?  Pedag. 
The very same: Bless me! Not ready yet? You must not be so slothful; Aurora is a Friend to the Muses.  Ant. 
A Deuce take her, she's an Enemy to sleep; I'll be sworn Tutor, I think Shafalus is but a Platonic, else his Mistress would lie longer in Bed with him, and would not come every Morning peeping into my Curtains. Ah my Domine, should your Mistress serve you so.—  Pedag. 
My Mistress— Alas, Mr. Anthony, my Books are my only Mistresses.  Ant. 
By this light then, I think you are a Platonic too; for you seldom have to do with them yourself, and so constantly set me to turn them over, that I want time to sleep. Pray Praeceptor meus, make your Addresses to them for 3 or 4 sixty minutes, while I take a Nap of a Parallel Extent.  Pedag. 
Yes, yes, and let Mr. Cudden for so long undisturbedly Court Mrs. Philadelphia, and Mr. Isabel, in the Garden, for there I left them, just now, together.  Ant. 
Light, did you so— Nay then— He buttons his Vest apace.  Pedag. 
What then— you are not jealous.  Ant. 
Yes, as a Turkeycock, not that I care much for either of them; but a man looks so like a Solyman the Magnificent, when he is Cock of all the Hens on his own Dunghill. Why I tell you Tutor, 'tis the Noblest Prerogative that a Gentleman can have in his own House.  Pedag. 
Out on it, 'tis to be a Tyrant.  Ant. 
And pray, Reverendissime Domine, who would not be a Tyrant if he could: We only inveigh against the Name, because we cannot be the thing, as Old Women declaim against Love, because none will make it to them.  Pedag. 
Sure you think by these Excursions to draw me from my point; come, come Mr. Anthony, have you no Twittering for Mrs. Isabel, and Mrs. Philadelphia? No Dissembling? I have seen you often cast Sheep's Eyes at them.  Ant. 
Sheep's Eyes said you? That may be the College way, indeed, of discovering an Amour, but when I make Love, I cast Lion's Eyes on my Mistress, mine are all fire; for he that Courts but with Sheep's Eyes, 'tis ten to one, after he Weds, he will Wear the Sheep's Horns too. Enter Mr. Plot.  Plot. 
What, Mr. Anthony, are you so early at your Study?  Ant. 
No, Mr. Plot, I am at my Catechism, my Instructor is questioning me if I am not in Love with Mrs. Philadelphia, and Mrs. Isabel.  Plot. 
I would not have you half so much as he is with your Mother-in-Law, and with her two Nieces, Mrs. Betty and Mrs. Nan, for I have seen him fold his Arms, and sigh at them, as movingly as a lean Beneficed Parson looks at a Living of 400 l. a year.  Ant. 
But is this so in saith, jack?  Plot. 
'Slid, can you doubt it? See what a hanging look he has.  Ant. 
By this light he has: Ah ha; Director of my Father's Son: Go his Face Pleads guilty.  Pedag. 
You amaze me, I profess. Lifting up his hands.  Ant. 
Chaste Mr. Professor: Nay, now I have got you over this hip, I am resolved to be a Dionysius to thee, for if I may not sleep as long as my Laziship pleases; if thou dost Cast I will not say a Sheep's Eye, but so much as a Lamb's Eye, on any of the Female Name within those Walls, from the Age of 8 to 80, (for all the rest under and over, I will vouchsafe to leave them to thy Discipline) If thou dost not daily certify my Dad that I am a greater Proficient in Learning than I am; nay, than ever I will be.  Plot. 
How like you this, Mr. Pedagog, have I not taught your Pupil rarely this Morning?  Ant. 
Prithee let me have my full swinge at him (for he has had his many a dismal time at me:) I say, if thou dost not conform to all the Maxims of jack Plot, Tom Art, and my own dear self, I will peach thee at such a rate to my Sire, as shall provoke him to uncase thee out of thy Pedagogical Cassock, Condemn to the Flame, Martyr-like all thy Ferula's Grammars, Dictionaries, Classic Authors, and Common-Place Books; nay, take thy Green Glasses out of thy Spectacles, and leave thee only thy Horn-cases to look through; by which, thou wilt be as able to read Prayers with thy Nose as with thy Eyes.  Plot. 
Nay, if thou dost not frisk as lustily to a single Kit, whenever thy late Pupil and my present Convert bids thee, as to 24 Violins, I will Convert thy Lictorian Bundles of Birch, which Consul-like thou hast carried before thee, into Rods for thy own Posteriors, and have no more mercy on thy Haunches, than thou usest to have on my Friend Anthony's, when he cannot say his Lesson, though he be the greatest Dunce of the two; only his Imbecility, varnished over with a Pythagorean Gravity, passes for profound Knowledge in thy Father's Shallow Pate; where, if there is a Vacuum in Nature, there it needs must be.  Ant. 
By this hand, I long to open it, to try the Experiment.  Pedag. 
Verily, I do no longer wonder you would Murder my fair Fame, when you long to Murder the Person of your Reverend Father, only to try an Experiment of Philosopher Plot's. In sooth, though I say it, Mr. Anthony was a very hopeful Scholar, I mean of a Gentleman, before he kept such Lewd Debauched Society; he had a pretty smattering of the Greek, and for Latin he would declaim in it Extempore, and very rarely break Prissian's Head, but now forsooth, fresh and fasting, he longs to break his Fathers.  Plot. 
O Times! O Manners!  Pedag. 
Well, Mr. Plot, what you and my unnatural Pupil have said, I will depose before Sir Timothy, and then woe will ensue, for though 'tis common for Sons to wish their Fathers in Heaven, yet it is extraordinary for them to say it, and that before two Witnesses; remember this Mr. Anthony. Clapping his hands at him.  Ant. 
By this hand, jack, I fear thou hast embarked me in a damnable Intrigue, I would I were well out of it. He scratches his Head, then quits Plot, and goes to Pedagog. There's no way but a hasty commission: Pray, dear Tutor, be not offended at what I have said, second thoughts, you have told me, are the best.  Pedag. 
Oh are they so, are they so, Mr. Anthony?  Ant. 
And now give me leave, I beseech you, to practise what your Learnedship did vouchsafe to teach me. Come, my dear Aristotle the second, I vow you waked me so early, that I know not what I said; but on better advice, I'll be sworn I had rather break Prissian's Head a thousand times, then say once (especially before two Witnesses) that I would break my Father's.  Pedag. 
I protest, Mr. Anthony, this excuse is as bad as the fault; you are not troubled because you spoke parricide, but because two Witnesses heard it.  Ant. 
Oh my Instructor if thou wilt be Friends, I will henceforth submit my Juicy Palm to the Correction of thy dry Ferula. I will every Night cap. Verses with thee for Sack Possets, and lose as formerly I used to do. I will Study like a Bellarmine, Declaim like a Cicero, Dispute like a Thomas Aquinus, Sillogize like a Ramus, Poetize like a Horace; in one word, I will make thee famous by my Literature. 
For if the Pupil so much Honour have,  
What shall he that taught the Knave.  Prithee, dear jack, interceded for a poor miserable Mortal which thou thyself has made so.  Plot. 
Troth, Mr. Pedagog, at my request, condescend to wear your Penitent Pupil on the left side of your Girdle, as you do your Ferula on your right side, for 'tis sit the Corrector should take the upperhand of the Corrected; then your Weeping Disciple thus worn, will be called, instead of Mr. Anthony, Mr. Tony, and his younger Brother may beg him, so that you may afterwards put him in the long Coat-Livery, fit for the great Family of the Ante-Solomons, that you may boast what a Scholar you have made of him e'er he was last put in Breeches: Do so Mr. Tony, that habit will well become your Father's Son, for 'twill be a comely Dress. Ant. runs to Plot 's side.  Ant. 
Have you heard all this Domine Doctor? Rather than I will be so jeered, clad, and endanger my Estate to be begged, I will turn downright Mutineer, and defy Nature and Art, that is my Father and Tutor.— hay— day— you think to use me without discretion, when this day I am come to the years of it.  Plot. 
Well said, Mr. Anthony, this is spoken and resolved like one of my Scholars; hang the Name and Office of Pedagog.  Pedag. 
I hope suddenly to see you both wear the Order of the Hempen Ribbon at Tyburn, one for advising the Murder of the Father, and the Son for consenting to it. Go Mr. Tony, (for such he has made you) quit your Father, and couple with your Godfather, learn from your Tutor Plot, to Drink, Swear, Whore, Lie and Quarrel; he will be an admirable Teacher of such Modern Natural Philosophy, while I Dedicate my Oil and Labour to Cultivate the Intellectuals of Mr. Nicholas, your Junior by Birth, but your Father's Heir by Merit.  Ant. 
Dost thou hear all this jack?  Pedag. 
Do, Mr. Tony, do, 'twill be a very friendly part in you to subvert the Order of Law and Nature, and make your Fathers younger Son your eldest Brother; 'twill be a prettier Metamorphosis than any I ever expounded to you out of Ovid. Alas Pupil mine, I see you need the Ferula of Affliction, to drain the boasted of moisture in your Lascivious Palm; the Salubrious Air of Newgate, with the two Antehumecting Courses of brown Bread, and Charity-fragments, may operate more efficaciously on your Manners, than all my Morals hitherto have done. Ant. runs again to Pedag.  Ant. 
Law you there again, Mr. Plot, rather than I will venture to be a Knight of the Order of the Tripple-Tree, be confined to a Citadel Garrisoned with Malefactors, and daily eat those Mosaick-Work Dinners he mentioned, I will abjure all the Plots and Arts in the World.  Pedag. 
How, Mr. Anthony, Abjure all the Arts in the World, what then shall I teach you?  Ant. 
By this light that's a good one; I meant all the Surnames of the Arts, not the Sciences themselves.  Pedag. 
Oh! I cry you mercy.  Plot. 
Nay, in troth, Mr. Tony might still have lived with your Dullmanists, and yet have kept his Abjuration, though he had meant it literally. Why, thou impudent Mis-teacher of Youth, do I not know thou art good at nothing but Wenching, and so good at that, as even the Old Housekeeper Goody Winifred had been forced by thee, had not her own willingness accepted the Courtesy. You Courted Mrs. Nell, and Mrs. Nan, and entered into a Confederacy with them, to seduce Mr. Tony's Mother-in-Law; and that Indentures Tripartite are signed and sealed, and delivered before Witnesses, that as soon as thou hast gotten the ascendent over the Lady, you three will Rule the Family Despotically; deny this if thou canst. Look now, Mr. Tony, how like a Sheep-biter he looks. Ant. runs to Plot 's side.  Ant. 
Ah ha, Doctor Tarquin, are these your Morals? Would you Cornute my Father? Whore my Mother-in-Law? And to act this set up a Triumvirate?— 'Slid, I have broke Prissian's Head, and called an Association of three, whereof two are Maids, or at least should be a Triumvirate, forsooth. How that Phallaris would have tormented me with this Bull, had he not been deposed ere I had Calved it. But jack, what Proofs, Evidences and Testimonies, of this Conspiracy? I wish I have not committed Credulity.  Plot. 
Is not his silence Confession? Do you not see this University Professor, which pretends to know every Tongue, has lost the use of his own.  Pedag. 
You shall find I have not, for I will instantly run and Peach you to Sir Timothy.  Offers to go hastily out, but is stopped by Plot, who offers to search his Pockets. Plot. 
Will you so, Doctor Wencher? I will therefore first rifle your Pockets, where I will get better Evidences against you than all your Oaths will be against us.  Pedag. 
What, rob a man in his own Chamber? I knew you were good at it on the Highway. Help, help, Mr. Anthony, remember Accessaries are Principals: I charge you in the Protectors Name, to Rescue Innocence from Oppression, or else I'll peach you with him.  Ant. 
By my life, I will not run the hazard and scandal of being Peached by him, I may lose a better Estate by it than thou canst entail on me, for being thy Second.  Pedag. 
Well said, my Wise Pupil, stick to me now, and I'll give thee a Verbal Oblivion for all that's past.  Ant. 
Why then, I'll stick as close to thee as the Horns do to the Cuckold. Helps Pedag.  Plot. 
Art thou mad, why I tell you, he has at this instant in his Pocket, all the Articles and Deeds I mentioned, and if we do not now recover them he'll ruin us both; but if we do, thou shalt henceforth ride the Beast, thy Tutor, with a Portbit, Caveson, a Muzzle-robe, three Girts and a Sussingle. 'Slid, I say, I now fight for thy Privileges and Freedom; on my life I tell the true.  Ant. 
And on my life then, I will in a trice change my side; and thus I begin the Civil War. Ant. kicks Pedag. then holds him while Plot rifles his left Pocket of a Parchment, which he flings to Ant.  Plot. 
There's thy Magna Charta, Anthony.  Pedag. 
Help, help, Murder, Murder.  Sir Timothy 
within. Who's that cries Murder in my Son's Chamber?  Pedag. 
'Tis poor Pedagog! Help, help.  Ant. 
'Slid, 'tis my Father's Voice, I hear him coming; jack, I am undone.  Plot 
to Ant. I warrant you, To Pedag. Lie down instantly and sprawl; oppose not what ever I say, and I'il not show Sir Timothy the Articles: else by all my hopes I will. Pedag. falls, and lies sprawling on the ground.  Enter Sir Timothy and his Lady. Sir Tim. 
What's the matter? Who cried Murder here, and called for help?  Plot. 
Alas, Sir, as I was hearing Mr. Anthony make an excellent Declamation in Greek! Poor Mr. Pedagog, I think charmed with the Raptures of it, suddenly started up, cried Murder and Help, and immediately fell into a Fit of the Falling Sickness; in which, see how he lies sprawling.  Ant. 
I protest, Sir, he half frighted me, his Eyes so rolled in his Head, he looked so ghastly, and so struggled with us that came to help him, as he could not have used us worse, had we come even to have rifled his Pockets; but I hope the Fit does mitigate.  Plot. 
Let's rub his Temples, for he begins to breath. Plot whispers to him. That's a good Boy, thou'lt make a rare Scholar, for thou hast learned a most hard Lesson in the twinkling of an Eye.  Ant. 
whispers to him. Ah, Tutor, had I been but half so apt to learn under you, as you are to be taught under me, I had been e'er now a Scaliger Junior.  Sir Tim. 
Alas, poor Mr. Pedagog, I never knew that he was subject to this Disease.  Lady. 
Indeed Husband, now I remember it, Goody Winifred told me, that one day, when Mr. Pedagog had over-laboured himself, she found him inclined to the Infirmity called the Falling Sickness; which is very troublesome to the Party himself, and to those he has to do with.  Plot. 
Pray, Madam, leave him to our Care, I dare half promise you we'll soon set him right again, by the help of Goody Winifred.  Lady. 
Come Husband, let's leave him to their management, for you know we have scarce time enough to prepare for the Entertainment, which is to Celebrate your Son Anthony's being to day of full Age.  Sir Tim. 
I would he were come to Discretion, as well as to the years of it. Ex:  Ant. 
Hold, thou Quondam Tyrant, darest thou peep up thy Sir Tim. and Lady. Muzzel before I have spoken my Spell in Verse and Rhyme?  

Thou who dost pretend such strictness,  
Yet counterfeist the Fallen Sickness.  
Thou, who e'er thou wert discovered,  
O'er my Breech with Birch still hovered;  
By this Indenture Tripartite,  
I charge thee leap up like a spirit. Pedag. leaps up.   Pedag. 
You see, Gentlemen, I obey, and if you will be secret, I solemnly promise, that the Credit I have with Sir Timothy and his Lady, I will always employ to act yours, and Mr. Anthony's ends.  Ant. 
But what security of performance, Disciple mine? for so I will christian you, having had the honour to teach you this good temper you are now in.  Pedag. 
Any security you will desire; name it and I will give it.  Ant. 
First swear by the Tripartite Indenture you made.  Pedag. 
'Tis done.  Ant. 
Then as some slight Penance for your Crime, I confine you for ten Nights in sequence to Goody Winifred's Embraces.  Plot. 
You see your late Pupil is not a severe Judge, for Goody Winifred is a pretty buxom Girl for one of her Age.  Ant. 
Then cry up my proficiency in Learning to my Father; and when he puts his Ear to the Keyhole of your Closet, to listen what we are doing, cry aloud, Admirably well declaimed Mr. Anthony; I swear if you proceed at this rate you'll be a Miracle.  Pedag. 
I never taught you lying.  Ant. 
Not with Goody Winifred, I thank you; that Learning you reserved to yourself.  Plot. 
'Slight, does he scruple at any conditions you think sit to honour him with.  Ant. 
Yes marry does he, he has taught me a thousand times to lie with him while I was his Scholar, and he will not learn to lie once for me now he's mine; he's an Impudent Rogue.  Plot. 
Ah ha! Is he at that Lock already? Why then, lend me your Cane.  Ant. 
Here take it, and if it be to bestow it on his Shoulders, I wish it were of Lignum Vitae for their sakes.  Pedag. 
I beseech you, Sir, forgive me, I will do whatever you will.  Plot. 
I'll try his Conversion: Come, little Ped, come aloft over this Cane, for Mr. Anthmus sake; quickly, I say, or the Cudgel shall come aloft over you. Ped. leaps over the Staff. Face about as you were. Leaps back again.  Ant. 
'Snigs Tutor, why among all my exercises did you not teach me this, for I perceive you understand it much better than any you endeavoured to instruct me in.  Pedag. 
I hope you are satisfied I'll obey you in every thing.  Ant. 
Soft, a Wise Scholar can never have too many proofs of his Tutor's Obedience; therefore, jack, give me the Cudgel. And now, Domine Ped, you must rehearse Mutatis Mutandis, your Lesson to me, which jack Plot taught you; I am his Usher, and you must come aloft again, and for whose sake do you think?  Pedag. 
Alas! Mr. Anthony, how can I guests?  Ant. 
I will inform you then: 'Tis e'en for your pretty Mistress Goody Winifred; she has made you come aloft for her, and now I but entreat you to do it for her sake.  Pedag. 
Shall this be the Epilogue to my Torment then?  Ant. 
No Capitulation Pupil, but perform your Exercise.  Plot. 
Leap cheerfully, my Boy, and then I'll get thee a play day.  Pedag. 
Well, since it must be, hold forth the Rack— hay for Goody Winifred.  He leaps backwards and forwards. Plot. 
What noise is that within? A trampling within.  Ant. 
Run Preceptor and see. Ped runs out.  Plot. 
Now we are alone, are you not in Love with either Mrs. Philadelphia, or Mrs. Isabel? Come, confess the Truth.  Ant. 
Why then, on my Virginity I am in Love with both.  Plot. 
Both! Why, never any man was in Love with two Women at once.  Ant. 
I protest to you, Mr. Plot, I have so large a heart, that I verily think I could be in Love with twenty two Women at once. But prithee tell me how I may give Cudden the go by; he is an Insolent Rogue, to dare even this Morning to Court both my Mistresses at once.  Plot. 
I'll tell thee then, your two Mistresses hate a Coward, and Cudden, to my knowledge, is the greatest in Nature.  Ant. 
aside. I would the contrary were not true to my knowledge: But art thou certainly sure he is so jack?  Plot. 
I am, I tell thee again; now do you put some affront on him before me, and I will relate it to them so hugely to thy advantage, as they shall abhor him and dote on thee.  Ant. 
But a Peascods on it, what if he should strike me for affronting him; for I must tell you, I would be loath to kill my Kinsman.  Plot. 
He strike you! No, he'll thank you in his heart, if after you have affronted him you do not strike him for enduring it so patiently.  Ant. 
Nay, then by the Mass, have at him, the very next time I set Eye of him, tho' it were in the Church, for I am resolved to kick him down Stairs where ere I meet him.  Enter Pedagog hastily. Pedag. 
The noise you heard was made by Mr. Cudden, who I found leading Mrs. Isabel by one hand, and Mrs. Philadelphia by tother, to their Chamber, after their morning's walk, and having finished his Compliment to them, he is now coming to visit Mr. Anthony.  Plot. 
Rather to Insult over him; but now my Bully, that the injury is fresh, strike whilst the Irons hot.  Ant. 
Dear Tutor, prithee tell me, and tell me truly, has he neither Sword, Dagger, Knife, nor Stick. Ant. takes Ped. a little aside.  Pedag. 
Not one of them, I assure you.  Ant. 
Why then, jack, as soon as ever he comes into the Room I'll affront him, in such a way as never yet any Gentleman was; but jack, if there be need will you stick to me?  Plot. 
I engage my Word I will.  Ant. 
Nay, swear you will, for words are but Wind.  Plot. 
Why then, I swear I will. Enter Mr. Cudden. who pulls off his Hat and Salutes Mr. Anthony.  Cudd. 
Good morrow Cousin Anthony.  Ant. 
Good morrow not. Keeping on his Hat, and strutting by him.  Cudd. 
Good morrow not! What do you mean by that?  Ant. 
Know, he that of those Words does make a doubt,  
Let him sit down and pick the meaning out.  
I think, jack, I have laid it on home, for I have affronted him in Prose and in Verse; nay, and in Rhyme too.  Cudd. 
Why, if you be at that Lock, ungood morrow to you, Mr. Anthony.  Cudden claps on his Hat, puts his arms on Kimbow, and struts. Ant. 
Advise me now, dear jack, what to do, for I am surprised to find he fights with me at my own Weapons; do you mark too what a surly look the Rascal has put on?  Plot. 
Pish, man! You ride the Fore-horse still; for you gave him the good morrow not, and he afterwards only gave you the ungood morrow. 'Twas you struck the first blow, mark that, whereby you have got the Punctilio of Honour, and be sure you keep it as bravely as you gained it.  Ant. 
And why ungood morrow Cousin mine?  Cudd. 
And why good morrow not, with a Vengeance to you? Puts himself in a huffing posture.  Ant. 
And what with the same Vengeance to you, made you walk alone this morning with Mrs. Philadelphia and Mrs. Isabel?  Cudd. 
Why, I tell thee, one of them is my Mistress.  Ant. 
And I tell thee, both of them are my Mistresses; and good morrow not, is my way of Saluting a Rival. jack, how lik'st thou that Repartee, I think 'twas Poignant enough?  Plot. 
'Twas quick and sharp; proceed: But as thou hast begun and the Victory is thine— Clapping him on the back.  Enter Mr. Art. Ant. 
Which of them is thy Mistress?  Cudd. 
I scorn to tell thee.  Ant. 
And I scorn to tell thee which of them both are my two Mistresses; and there's a Rowland for your Oliver, with a Murrain to you.  Cudd. 
And there's a Box for your Ear, with a Hare's Head against your Goose Giblets, and a Horse Pox to boot too. Cudd. offers to strike Ant. who leaps back, crying (remember your Oath Jack) Ped. Interposes, and holds him.  Ant. 
For shame! What, Quarrel among yourselves, and being Kinsmen too?  Pedag. 
I must call in the two she Constables, else we may have a fray. Ex. Ped  Cudd. 
What a Deuce had he to do with my Mistress?  Ant. 
And what, a double Deuce, had he to do with my two Mistresses?  Art. 
Nay, Mr. Anthony, there you are unreasonable, one Mistress at once is enough in all Conscience; and since there are a couple of handsome Ladies, methinks 'twere fair that each of you should have one.  Ant. 
Give you good morrow, Mr. Art; and pray, how reasonable is it that Cudden should confine me in my Amours? I am sure, if it be fit that a Gentleman who is no Scholar, should have one Sweetheart, a Gentleman that is a Scholar should have two, one for his Gentilities sake, and one for his Learning sake; and this, in one Word, Mr. Art, is the state of our Cases.  Art. 
What say you to this, Mr. Cudden? I confess, Mr. Anthony has now put a pretty University-varnish on his pretence.  Cudd. 
Alas, poor Freshman! He a Scholar? You shall see I'll Pose him instantly. Come, Doctor Tony, what's Latin for a Calves-head? Quickly, quickly.  Ant. 
For a Calves-head?  Cudd. 
Yes, for a Calves-head, I tell you again.  Ant. 
Why 'tis Caput-Cudden— There's a bob for him jack. You see, Learned Mr. Cudden, I can speak Latin when I am put to't.  Cudd. 
Prithee tell me Tom, is Caput-Cudden, indeed, Latin for a Calves-head? To Art.  Art. 
Why, do you not find he has put the Calves-head on your Shoulders, and in Latin too?  Cudd. 
Ah, ha! Has he so? I'll make him for it, in plain English, eat a piece of his Neats-tongue. Cudd. flies at Ant. and is stopped by Art and Plot.  Plot. 
Hold, hold.  Art. 
Nay, this is not fair, Mr. Cudden, if you would strike him, you should do it at the same Weapons that he struck you with.  Ant. 
By this Light, he's an Illbred Clown, and an Ignorant one too, that's more: Ask me Questions of my Literature, and then quarrel with me for answering them; he shows the only School he was bred in was a Fencing one.  Enter Mrs. Philadelphia and Mrs. Isabel. Philad. 
Fie, Mr. Anthony, quarrel on your Birthday!  Cudd. 
Had you not come in, fair Ladies, it should have been his Deaths-day too.  Isab. 
Nay, Gentlemen, we must then Interpose our Entreaties to prevent Manslaughter.  Ant. 
I protest, Mrs. Isabel, we were only Pickeering a little in Wit; and mine being too sharp for Cudden, he would have fallen to joco di Mano, as the Italians Phrase it, which being rendered into English, is to Buffets; but I beg your pardon for a moment. Cudd. Courts Philad. Ant. seeing it, runs between them, and makes a great many Legs to her; which obliges Cudden, at last, to retreat to Mrs. Isabel.  Ant. 
Truly, Mrs. Philadelphia, I am sorry his Storms hath discomposed your Calm, but were it not out of respect to you, I would now beat him with my filled as much, as e'er you came in, I did with my Wit..  Philad. 
That, Mr. Anthony, is the Nobler Weapon by much. Ant. seeing Cudd. Court Isabel, says  Ant. 
I beg your Pardon for a moment. Then runs and does the like to Cudden in his talking with Isabel, as he did to him when he was Courting Philadelphia. And as I was telling you, Mrs. Philadelphia, when two Dispute to show their Parts, he that does Metamorphose the Argument into a fray, Evidences he does more depend on the strength of his Body, than on the strength of his Brain. I beg your pardon for a moment again. Anthony seeing Cudden Court Mrs. Philadelphia, runs thither, and does the like again to Cudden:  Cudd. 
This is the third time you have played me this Horse-trick, if you do it a fourth time, I will play you a Horse-trick too, and kick you. Cudd. goes off again to Philad.  Ant. 
Pish! This Idle Kinsman of mine is always whispering to me some Impertinency; and really, Mrs. Philadelphia, as I was saying to you, though Wit is better than Strength, yet when Reason is uncapable to operate, force must. I beg your pardon once more. Ant. runs to Cudden, and serves him the like trick again, kicking Cudden 's Shins, by the Legs he makes to Philadelphia; at which Mr. Cudden, seeming enraged, kicks Anthony on Mrs. Philadelphia, saying  Ant. 
hay day, this is pretty in faith; for fear I should beat him, he pushes me on my Mistress. Well, that favour shall atone my Wrath for this time.  Philad. 
For shame, Mr. Cudden, kick Mr. Anthony.  Cudd. 
Why, Madam, did he kick me?  Ant. 
I kick him! I vow, Ladies, I scorn to defile my feet so much, as to make them kiss Cudden's backside.  Isab. 
I'll be judged by all the Company, if Mr. Anthony were doing any thing but only making Legs to Mrs. Philadelphia.  Cudd. 
They were, at once, Legs to her and kicks to me.  Ant. 
I am resolved to pay my Civilities to her, whatever effects they produce upon any body. Cousin mine, 'tis dangerous to stand behind a Cannon when 'tis fired; for though it be meant to do most Execution forwards, yet the reverse of it is fatal to those who stand in the way of it.  Cudd. 
Thou a Cannon! Thou art not so much as as a Pocket-Pistol.  Philad. 
Nay, if you are falling to your Fireworks, 'tis time to part you. Come, Mr. Anthony, I'll take you out of Shot.  Isab. 
And you, Mr. Cudden, I will remove from this Battery, lest the Reverse of Mr. Anthony's Carriage should gall your Shins again. Ex. Cudd. and Ant. looking big at one another.  Plot. 
The Certainest way to keep those two Dunghil-Cocks from offering to fight, is to let them have no body in sight to part them.  Art. 
Right, jack: 
And now, methinks, our Toils are so well set,  
That what those Curs but Hunt we two shall get. Exeunt.    

ACT. II.  Enter Art, Plot, Mrs. Betty, and Mrs. Nan. Plot. 
AH, my dear Betty and Nan, you both deserve to Rule a State you contrive so admirably.  Art. 
But prithee, how could you two fool Pedogog into that triple Indenture?  Betty. 
I dare undertake to Fool him into a hundred things, sooner than Wise him into one thing.  Nan. 
'tis the most Amorous Domine that ever weighed at a Smock; as well can testify Dame Winifred. He that could make Addresses to such a Damosel, I thought could be Lured by a Petticoat worn by whatever flesh and blood of less than fifty years' growth. Therefore, we made our Aunt believe, that if on all occasions she looked lovingly upon him, and smiled at every Jest he thinks he makes, 'twould render him so absolutely a Creature of hers, as she might, by his assistance, bring Sir Timothy from his Resolution of Marrying his Son Tony, and his Nephew Cudden, to Philadelphia and Isabel, and then we knew 'twould be no hard business to get those two solomon's for our Husbands, nor those two pretty Gentlewomen for your Worship's Wives.  Betty. 
Which was a Work to be despaired of, while the Grammarian was not brought off: First, because he is Sir Timothy's Helm, and Steers him as he lists: Secondly, he would obstruct our Marriages with any others, because he is himself in Love with both of us.  Plot. 
In Love with both of you together?  Nan. 
No, no, with both of us asunder.  Nell. 
She says right, for when we are together he has no Eyes for either; but when either of us are alone with him, the Picture of a Tarquin Ravishing a Lucretia, seems but a Carthusian compared to the Rampant Domine.  Nan. 
But that which I take worse than his being in Love with us, is, That he makes me the very same Vows, Sighs and Compliments, which he makes to my Cousin Mall.  Nell. 
So that his Courtship to Nan is but a Duplicate of his to me; a very Counterpart I assure you.  Nan. 
And if you saw how Categorically he Woos, how Regularly he is in his Major, his Minor, and his Conclusion, 'twould make one abjure making use of Logic; at least, in Pleadings of Love.  Nell. 
Now my Aunt having swallowed our advices, has so well acted her part, as she drew this Syntaxis to sign the Triple-league, of which I gave you notice, Mr. Plot, and in what Pocket he carried it; where I am glad you found it.  Nan. 
But his fit of the Falling Sickness, and the Tyranny of Squire Tony over him, were pieces of Mirth, which we grieve we were not Eye-witnesses of.  Plot. 
There will be enough to follow, to console you for that loss.  Art. 
I am sure I grieve more, that two such Ingenuous and Handsome Gentlewomen should take all this pains to Marry a Couple of Fools.  Nan. 
There will be enough to follow, to console us too. Why I tell you, Mr. Art, I had rather Marry a Rich Fool than a Rich Wise man.  Nell. 
So had I, I protest, since 'tis better to be the Monarch than the Subject.  Plot. 
You have half convinced me I confess.  Art. 
Nay, you have wholly convinced me; but are you agreed who shall have who?  Nell. 
Since Marriage is a chance, let them e'en take theirs; their Estates are alike, and that's the only thing in which we are for Equality.  Art 
But Cudden is a surly Fool.  Nan. 
I wish therefore he may be my Province, for I should think it a very unconscionable thing to have the absolute management of a good Estate, without being put to some Labour in the doing it.  Nell. 
And for Squire Tony, if I fall to be his Spouse, and I do not make him come aloft whenever I hold forth, and as nimbly as he made Domine Ped do it this morning, happy man be his Dole.  Plot. 
Happy Woman be your Dole, if you can do what you say.  Art. 
But now, that all our Scruples are satisfied which sprung from our respects to you, let us fall roundly to our Quadruple Designs. Enter Trick.  Plot. 
What News, Trick?  Trick. 
Mr: Art, I have been seeking you this half hour.  Art. 
Why, what's the matter?  Trick. 
A word in your Ear, Sir.— There's my Master, Mr. Cudden, hunting full cry after you; he is as sullen as a Colt that's newly Haltered, and nothing but his eating Mr. Anthony's Heart, with a grain of Salt, can lay his fury. In one word, you must be his Second, and carry the fatal Letter of Defiance; you know the affront.  Art. 
With what Weapons will he fight?  Trick. 
E'en at Basket-hilt Cudgels, the Weapons he was bred up to; and he has chosen such a tough one out of his Grandfather's Arsenal, and so much knottier than any Case amongst the Civilians, or Schoolmen, that if he lights on Mr. Anthony's Pate, the Surgeons will think him wounded with a Geneva-Press, the Letters at one Printing will be so small and many.  Art. 
At Cudgels say you?  Trick. 
Yes, at Cudgels, for he has forsworn to fight at Sharps. But Sir, I beseech you make haste, for I left him Practising to Fence against Hercules in the Hangings, whom he has so unmercifully thrashed with his Straw-hilted Flail, that as you love that good Suit of Tapestry, fly to its Rescue.  Art. 
Away! Tell him I will be with him immediately. Ex. Trick.  Plot. 
What's the matter?  Art. 
I am sent for to be Cudden's Second against Squire Tony.  Ant. 
And if ever there were a merrier Duel seen, I'll be content.— But here comes Tony— away Women, we must not be seen together, but for six pence a piece you shall be Spectators of the Combat.  Nell. 
'Twill be too dear a Bargain. Ex: Art, Nell, and Nan  Enter Anthony laughing. Plot. 
What's the matter, Mr. Anthony, that you are so Jocose?  Ant. 
Ha, ha, ha— was there ever, jack, so Ingenious an affront put upon a Rival, as I put upon Cudden? I could not imagine (for I am no Witch I protest) which of my two Mistresses he was in Love with, and therefore, which soever of them he talked with, I still, Engineer like, interposed, and made use of my Legs to Salute, at once the Lady, and kick the Rival. 'Tis a new Invention of my own, and resembles killing two Birds with one Stone.  Plot. 
If the Feet be so Ingenious, what must the Head be, that did actuate them so dexterously? Well, go your ways for Cap a Pee, you have no fellow.  Ant. 
Nay, but jack, the Jest was He could not take it ill neither, for I affronted him to his face, and yet behind my own back. Men may talk of their De-Villes and their Freetakes, and I know not who; but if this be not a new way to make approaches, assault the Fortress, and cut off the Enemy's relief at once, say I understand not Castramentation. And did you mark, I did it so cleverly, that Mrs. Isabel Appealed to all the Company, whether I had done any thing but Salute Mrs. Philadelphia.  Plot. 
Yet me thought Cudden grew angry at last.  Ant. 
Why, I tell thee, 'twould have made a Statue angry to have been so used, and not to know at what end to begin his Revenge.  Plot. 
Perhaps that made him fall so uncivilly on your middle, and kick your Haunches.  Ant. 
That very kick, if it were one, for I hardly felt it, was the thing I rejoiced at, for it showed him rude and unjust. I tell thee he's a lost man thereby.  Enter Art. Art. 
Mr. Anthony! I am come with much reluctancy to deliver a Message to you, but my Honour being concerned to serve my Friend, I must tell it you; yet had I not been pre-ingaged by him, I would as willingly have served you.  Ant. 
What Friend, and what Message, Mr. Art? Pray speak Unenigmatically.  Art. 
Why then, Sir, in plain English, my Friend is Mr. Cudden, and my Message is to invite you to the Field, that there he may wash off the affront you did him in your Chamber.  Plot. 
Mr. Art, I am glad you bring this Challenge to Mr. Anthony, when I am present, 'twill save him the pains to seek a Second: I offer him my Service: We'll meet you. Name the Arms, the time, and the place.  Ant. 
Soft, Mr. Plot, no haste, but to catch Fleas, two words to a bargain; what affront, Mr. Art, does cause this Invitation to fight?  Plot. 
'Slid, why do you ask? 'Tis cause enough that he does Challenge you.  Ant. 
It may be so, and it may be not so, for Doctors sometimes differ; so many men so many minds. What affront did I to him, I say?  Art. 
Why Sir, you kicked him.  Ant. 
Pray Mr. Art, we shall dispute the better, when we have agreed upon the Terms. Therefore define what a Kick is?  Art. 
The clearest way of defining a thing is to demonstrate it. You did thus to him— Kicks him.  Ant. 
I hold you 20 l. of it and be judged by Mr. Plot, for I never Yerked my Foot forward all the while I was in the Room, as Mrs. Isabel very honestly observed; but I Yerked it backward to Salute Mrs. Philadelphia.  Art. 
Why that made the affront the more insupportable: Had you Kicked him forward, that had been done like a Man: But to Kick him backward was like a Horse.  Ant. 
What did he in harms way then; besides he shows his Ill-breeding, I made Civilly a French-Leg, and he ignorantly took it for an English Kick: he is in the wrong, Mr. Art his quarrel's a bad one.  Art. 
You are the likelier to worst him if his Cause be ill.  Ant. 
But I am too good a Christian to design to kill a man in a bad quarrel; my Anger Extends not to damnation.— But Mr. Art, mark what I say, if he can find a Quarrel wherein both of us may be in the right, I'll then meet him where ere he dares: Nay, though it were to fight on the top of Paul's-steeple, and that's a place conspicuous enough of all Conscience to show our Valours in: Is it not Mr. Plot? Pray speak your mind freely, for here are none but Friends.  Plot. 
Will nothing move you! I tell you if you do not accept the Challenge, you will lose Mrs. Philadelphia and Mrs. Isabel, for they both abominate a Coward.  Anton. 
And I abominate killing my Cousin; now the question therefore is, which of the two Abominations shall have the precedency; 'tis worthy two or there days consideration at least, I assure you Mr. Plot.  Plot. 
Come Mr. Antony, I see your stomach is somewhat squeamish premeditately to kill your Kinsman; and therefore I'll answer Mr. Art for you.  Anton. 
Pray Sir, since you are so forward at answering for me, answer Mr. Cudden for me too. All or nothing Mr. Plot, I beseech you.  Plot. 
Well Sir, the time?  Art. 
Immediately.  Anton. 
That's very short warning for so serious a business as fighting for 2 Mistresses.  Plot. 
The place?  Art. 
Where you will.  Anton. 
In my Father's Chamber then; he loves his Son and his Nephew; and therefore the likelier to prevent mischief.  Plot. 
The Weapons.  Art. 
Basket-Hilts, with Plymouth blades in them.  Anton. 
What are those Plymouth blades, Mr. Plot, Cutters, or Thrusters'? aside.  Plot. 
Neither, 'tis only a Modern phrase, for a Crabtree Cudgel: Cheer up Mr. Anthony, you can have by this Duel at these Weapons, but your Pate broken, and one Wound is the least you can endure for your Love.  Ant. 
Lord! How hastily you run away with things, I tell you Mr. Plot, I have endured two Wounds already for my Love, one from Mrs. Philadelphia and tother from Mrs. Isabel; why a duce then would you have me venture for a third; 'Slid I think you take me for a Papist, that would have me do Works of Supererrogation: I tell you Sir, I am a Protestant and detest all such Romish tricks.  Plot. 
You have indeed endured two Wounds from them; but now you must venture one for them; 'tis I tell you what you owe your Love.  Ant. 
But will Love pay for my dressing, when I am hurt; for you know my Father allows me nothing for Idle Expenses.  Plot. 
O Sir! Love's an Excellent Sirgeon.  Ant. 
I can hardly believe it; For he's a Boy and Blind, and a Surgeon ought to have Experience, and good Eyes.  Art. 
Then endure it for your Honour.  Ant. 
Honour said you! Why in one word, I think honour is the greatest makebate in the World: Let one quarrel for Love, Drink, Revenge, or Ambition, and Honour whispers in his Ear! Pray Gentlemen Fight, and say 'tis for my sake.  Plot. 
to Ant. Mr. Antony? Hark! There is just now a Notion come into my Head that I'm sure will please you, 'twill make you come off with Honour.  Ant. 
ay, Mr. Plot, come off with Honour, has a most Melodious sound; but to go on for Honour I detest it; it grates my Ears worse than a mistress's denial.  Plot. 
Mr. Art, I assure you all that Mr. Antony has said was first to show his Wit, than his good Nature to his Kinsman. And now if you will walk a turn or two by yourself, I dare promise you, he shall give as signal Evidences of his Valour.  Art. 
I obey you Sir: But I beseech you be short, for my Friend is very Impatient.  Anton. 
Law you there now Mr. Plot, who a Devil would have to do with an Impatient Man, if he could avoid it; and 'tis that only that I endeavour, and yet you would hinder me.  Plot. 
Hear me ere you condemn me, and observe well what I say; by the Laws of Duels.—  Ant. 
Why are there any Laws for Duels? I thought all the Laws had been against them.  Plot. 
'Tis true, the Statute Laws are against them; but the Common Law that is Custom, has made it the mode, that the Challenged is to appoint the Weapons not the Challenger.  Ant. 
I heartily thank you for this Information, for since he has broken the Laws, that's a fair Excuse to have no farther Correspondency with him, I hate to have to do with a Lawless Man; pray tell Mr. Art so from me, and then I am come off with Honour as you promised me; your Servant good Mr. Plot.  Plot. 
Nay Mr. Antony do but stay and hear me out on this Subject.  Ant. 
I protest Sir I have heard too much already on this Subject: If therefore you will discourse on some new matter I am for you, or else your Servant, as I said before.  Plot. 
But you shall stay and hear me out, for it concerns your safety and your Reputation; I say since he has named Cudgels, tie him to those Weapons for his offensive Arms, and then you shall name Guns for yours.  Ant. 
I understand you, and the Notion is ingenious I confess: But Mr. Plot.—  Plot. 
But what?  Ant. 
But— Troth, I am ashamed to tell you.  Plot. 
Come, come, be not ashamed, tell your Friend any thing.  Ant. 
Why 'Faith Sir, I more fear to discharge a Gun in my own Hand, than a Cudgel in my Cousin Cuddens: But there is on a sudden a most admirable Notion come into my own Head, and I am in Labour till I am Delivered of it to you: 'Tis to choose Long-Bows and Arrows; by this light I could pelt him at that sport; for I am an Excellent Marksman; and I no more fear to shoot an Arrow out of a Bow (though I say it that should not) than I now do Mr. Pedagogg.  Plot. 
Excellently well contrived. I am sure you have overreached him now.  Ant. 
What? Did you think I have been a Scholar for nothing.  Plot. 
I'll call Mr. Art then, and tell him you'll meet his Friend.  Ant. 
Stay a little! You are so forward: As he has named his offensive Arms, and I have chosen mine; so I hope! may wear defensive Arms too, though he has not the discretion to think of them.  Plot. 
What do you mean by defensive Arms?  Ant. 
Why I mean Back, Breast and Pot, for in affairs of Love, Life and Death, a man cannot be too Circumspect; may I not wear Armour think you Mr. Plot?  Plot. 
You may, you may, since he has not had the forecast to bar it.  Ant. 
I would have been loath else to have ventured this good Natural Head piece of mine, to his Battoon, without an Artificial Case to preserve it: And now a fig for his Plymouth Blades; call him I am resolved, nor shall thy flail, O couz, resist— and so forth.  Plot. 
Come nearer Mr. Art, my Friend Mr. Anthony, will now make good what I engaged he should.  Art. 
I expected no less.  Ant. 
Yes marry will I Sir: Tell your Challenger from me, though 'tis my Birthday, which might dispense with my now acceptance of his Cartel yet I'll meet him at the Laurel-tree within this hour: That's the place I appoint for our Duel, that as soon as I am Victorious, I may Roman-Conqueror-like, have at hand wherewith to Crown my Brows.  Art. 
You will meet him too with a Basket-Hilt-Cudgel only.  Ant. 
Soft Sir, that bargains yet to make: He has Chosen his Weapons and I'll Choose mine; and 'tis but Lex Talionis that I should.  Art. 
'Slid for aught I know you may come with Musquetoons.  Ant. 
No, I hate such odds.  Art. 
Or, with a Spanish-Pike, or a long English Quarterstaff.  Ant. 
No, on the Reputation of a duelist.  Art. 
What Weapons then will you bring with you?  Ant. 
That time shall Evidence, but yet to finish this needless parley, I engage to bring no Arms, I mean offensive (mark that jack) but what shall be of Wood, and rather shorter than longer than his.  Art. 
I am satisfied, Mr. Plot, you'll be Mr. Antony's Second.  Plot. 
Most Willingly.  Ant. 
No Sir, he shall be none of my Second; I'd have you know, I am old enough to Fight my own Quarrel.  Art. 
But I shall stand Idle then.  Ant. 
Idle do you call it, I think looking on while others are Fighting is an Employment, and no ill one neither.  Plot. 
But Sir, 'tis the Mode.  Ant. 
Would those were at Ierico that brought it first up, because Mr. Cudden and I have perhaps no mind to kill ourselves, Mr. Plot and Mr. Art, that are good friends, and therefore have no mind to kill one another, must do it, for 'tis the mode forsooth: Of all French Fashions, and there are many bad enough in all Conscience, this is the very worst: Pray, would you not think the University mad, if because two Doctor's dispute, all their Friends should do so too at the same time: Away, I say I'll have no fighting with Seconds.  Art. 
You have Reason I confess, and so I leave you Gentlemen— Ex. Art.  Ant. 
Let him riddle me riddle me what I meant, jack: I think I worded my answer Artificially.  Plot. 
A Delphian Priest could not unfold your meaning, and yet your words were very Simple.  Ant. 
Why, in that consisted the Exquisiteness of my Expressions: but little will Cudden dream, a Wooden Arrow, which is shorter than his Cudgels, will reach him a hundred yards off. But dear jack, by some device or other get Mrs. Isabel and Mrs. Philadelphia to walk by chance that way to be Spectators of our Combat. Ah how 'twill animate me!  Plot. 
I'll do my best to bring them: farewell my Bowman bold.  Ant. 
Farewell my Second that would have been. Ex. several ways.  Enter Sir Timothy, his Lady, and Mr. Pedagog. Sir Tim. 
I protest, you amaze and ravish me at once, Mr. Pedgagog, for you were still complaining how unapt my Son Antony was to learn, when he was in his Study.  Lady. 
Nay, and how difficult it was to get him him thither.  Ped. 
All this is right forsooth; but I did it in mere policy: For pia fraus is Lawful, as the Learned have determined; I know when once a young Gentleman comes to the Age of discretion, farewell Books and Learning for ever after! and therefore I did make the more Complaints that when he came to be of ripe years, he might be of a ripe understanding too: which now I do assure you he is— Arithmetic, Philosophy, Algebra, Metaphysics, Mathematics, etc. all which he hath run through, I can tell your Worship with Joy: he understands Hebrew, Syriack, Arabic, nay and the Tutonick, as well as I do.  Sir Tim. 
Well Mr Pedagog, since I am not able to Examine him myself, in any of those Arts or Languages I will take your word for 'em all.  Lady. 
But since Mr. Pedagog has done so well for your Son, you should do as well for Mr. Pedagog, and now a happy occasion is offered you; for Mr: Philpot the old Incumbent of the Parish of Tytheing, is going the way of all flesh, and therefore let me entreat that you would present this good man to that Benefice, which is your gift.  Sir Tim. 
I thank you heartily for minding me of it. Yes, Mr. Pedagog as soon as Mr. Philpot is carried down into his grave, you shall ascend his Pulpit; so you can but pass the Tryers, which you may the better do, having never taken Orders.  Ped. 
I humbly thank your Honour and my Lady.  Sir Tim. 
But hark you, Mr. Pedagog; I will make the same bargain with you, as I made with your Predecessor, which is, that you shall not preach above half an hour, no, not on a fast day, which Mr. Philpot was so careful not to break, as he would never preach at all: and that showed him to be a very Conscientious man of his word; We shall therefore have a great Loss of him.  Enter Goody Winifred. Go. Win. 
Sir, the Fiddlers are come: but though we all entreated them to play before the feast be brought up, yet they are so Surly that they will not play till you yourself bid them, which has put all the Servants out of humour.  Sir Tim. 
Come Sweetheart, some of these Maids, for aught I know, may long for a fiddle, Mr. Pedagog draw up your presentation that no time may be lost: for the Pulpit like the Throne should never be unfilled.  Ex. Sir Timothy and Lady, at one door: Goody Winifred stops Pedagog. Go. Win. 
Stay worthy Sir, you were not wont to go out at one door, when I come in at the other.  Ped. 
What's the matter Goody Winifred?  Go. Win. 
And why I pray Goody Winifred? I have been called in the days of yor'e by you Mrs. Winifred; and since you put me to't, I have been called by you Mrs without Winifred at the end on't. But now you are—  Ped. 
What am I?  Good. Win. 
A man that I have but loved too much, and a man that loves me too little: Oh Mr. Pedagog, did I give up that Fort to you, which had held out for 60 years against all Assaults and Batteries, and am I thus requited?  Pedag. 
Pray Expound what you mean?  G. Win. 
Alas, you think I am too old to see the amorous glances you cast upon Mrs: Betty and Mrs. Nan, but I would have you know, Jealousy needs no Spectacles.  Pedag. 
By my life, I doubt you are Jealous!  G. Win. 
I tell you your Inconstancy has given my heart the Palsy, and yet a Cordial of Smiles from you may do much—  Pedag. 
Truly, I must now put on serious looks, for my Worthy Patron and his Lady, have promised me the reversion of the deceasing Mr. Philpots Benefice, and I am going to prepare him for his happy Journey.  G. Win. 
Then the change is too visible; you that e'er while would have left your Study, and what was still more dear to you, your Victuals, for my company, now to avoid it, run to see a dying man breath out his ghastly Ghost: But if there be Restoratives, Cordials, or Elixirs in my Lady's Closet; nay, in all the Chemist's Laboratories in Europe, I will pawn my Smock, but I will procure them, to spin out Mr Philpot's thread of Life: and if the fatal Sisters cut it, I will then discover my nakedness to the Eyes of the Law, and accuse thee of Incontinence with me, to prevent thy Induction to the Parsonage of Tything. I will, ungrateful Lecturer, for since thou art weary of my Sheets, I'll make thee Preach in Penitential ones; that will I, by my injured Love.  Pedag. 
Fie, Goody Winifred.—  G. Win. 
Goody again?— I was Goody till thou madest me Naughty; and since I cannot act thy ruin but by my own, we will fall together, for I'll go instantly and tell Sir Timothy and my Lady, how thou hast Triumphed over the imbecility of a weak Female, and thereby defiled their habitation, and then he will present you to the House of Correction, rather than to so good a Benefice.  Pedag. 
Think better of it; for know, as a Learned Author has most Pathetically expressed it, Anger is a short Madness.  G. Win. 
No, I will not tell it, that my blushes will deny me the Power to do, but I will Write it, and Seal, and Sign it, before sufficient Witnesses, that it may be irrevocable; for as you have passed over Rubicon, so my Stone is cast. Farewell for ever. She offers to go out in great fury.  Pedag. striking his breast. 
What shall I do? if she discover our Copulation, I'm lost for ever! Win. hearing him sigh, turns about at the door and sighs too; each of them fold their Arms, draw out their Handkerchiefs, Sob and Wipe their Eyes.  Pedag. 
That shower dissolves me.  G. Win. 
That sigh does pierce my Heart.  Pedag. 
My Mistress, my Winifred.—  G. Win. 
My Mistress did you say? Speak it again.  Pedag. 
I'll speak it though it were my last.  G. Win. 
Oh! I doubt this is dissembling.  Pedag. 
No, by yourself, by the joys I found in your Matronlike Embraces.  G. Win. 
I dare not stay, for I shall be again beguiled, you have Charms for me; Mr. Pedagog, farewell.  Pedag. 
Stay, thou first School Mistress of my Heart, here. Opening his Arms. Use it as you list, 'tis yours now and anon too; you understand that Watchword.  G. Win. 
Yes, and thus I answer it. She & he run & embraces one another sobbing & crying.  Pedag. 
Thus while our Arms each other bind,  
We'll laugh and leave the World behind.  G. Win. 
Had we not better thus join our Forces, then be Peaching one another? By my Modesty, my Pedagog, hadst thou not lured me back with a sigh, I had turned Haggard, and Preyed for myself, for slighted Love is strongly provoking.  Pedag. 
We'll drown this Night, all past Civil Wars in a Sack Posset, etc.  

This Quarrel my old Friend shall fully prove,  
The little jars of Lovers, strengthen Love. Exeunt embracing.    

ACT. III.  Enter Mrs. Philad. Mrs. Isabel, Mrs. Betty, and Mrs. Nan, Mr. Plot, and Mr. Art. Plot. 
'SLid, they are not yet come, I admire at it.  Phil. 
What if they should not come at all?  Isab. 
Why the best is if they knew we were here, to see the prize, and they should not Play it, they could not Laugh more at us, for being disappointed, than we should have Laughed at them, had they attempted to fight it.  Plot. 
If they should fail, Mr. Art and I are bound in Honour to beat them, for not Fighting, worse than they would have beaten themselves, if they had Fought.  Art. 
That's the lowest Revenge we can take of 'em.  Nan. 
My hope is, that each of them will so firmly believe that the other will not come, that they both will meet here, to the terror of each other.  Nell. 
Away, away, to your several stations for I see Cudden at hand, marching this way as slowly as if he were going to Church. They all gaze that way as Nell does.  Plot. 
'Tis he, and if he strikes as heavily as he looks, woe be to Squire Tony's Bones, though they are cased in Iron.  Art. 
Ladies to your post else we shall be discovered. They all six conceal themselves within the Scene.  Enter Cudden having in his Belt, two Crabtree Cudgels with Basket-hilts: He looks several ways. Cudd. 
My Rascal is not come: And I hope never intended to come, for now my anger is over; I wish the Fighting were so too; yet what Revenge can be sufficient for the Qualms he has put me into, and for the Expenses of drawing up my last Will and Testament: However I have most stupendiously disgraced him. This one affront will lose him his two Mistresses: The Rogue I must confess has a little the better Wit, but I a great deal the better Courage: which he palpably acknowledges by his Non-Appearance, I want only to complete my happiness equal to my Victory: But that Mrs. Philadel. and Mrs. Isabel were now in view. What Noise is that? pray Fate no Treachery be played me by my Rival. Mr. Antony puts his Head into the Theatre, Peeps about and at last seeing Cudden starts back— Crying— Ah—  Ant. 
How the sight of him has mortifyd me. A Curse of all defensive Arms: They load me, as I cannot run away neither.  Cudd. 
Oh! are you come at last; but why a Devil in a Leaguer-Cloak?  Ant. 
That question has put an Excellent Stratagem into my Head. Alas Cousin I am on a sudden fallen desperately ill of an Ague; I protest to you I am now exceedingly indisposed.  Cudd. 
Yes to fight, and so you will be at any time: But since as you say you have an Ague, a fright is the best Cure for it: Come on Sir, I'll be your Doctor.  Ant. 
But dear Cousin, all the Physicians agree 'tis very dangerous to administer the Physic in the fit.  Cudd. 
But you that are a Scholar know there is no General Rule without an Exception, and I am resolved to make it your Case.  Ant. 
Consider I beseech you Cousin, you will get no honour in beating a Weak Sickly-Man.  Cudd. 
But I shall get revenge in doing it, which as an Ingenious Poet has said is, Sweeter far than Muskadine and Eggs. Come I say draw. Cudd. draws out his 2 Cudgels.  Ant. 
'Slid, you are doubly Armed, and why I pray with two Cudgels?  Cudd. 
Lest one should break by Accident, and I resolve to make you full payment at this time.  Ant. 
Is there no Quatter then?  Cudd. 
No more than you gave my Shins, when you made your French Legs to Mrs Philadelphia.  Ant. 
'Tis hard to be beaten by a Cavalier, for Saluting a Lady a la mode; to be cudgelled for one's good Education would warm a Man.  Cudd. 
I'll do you that Courtesy then, without the help of your Cloak; off with it quickly and with your Hat too, and let us fall to work, uncase, uncase, I say.  Ant. 
Then thus I begin to uncase. Flings off his Hat.  Cudd. 
Death! a Helmet!  Ant. 
No, 'tis a Head-piece: I have often showed you in the Town, that mine is better than yours, and now you will force me to convince you of it, in the Field too: Nay, there are more Mortifying sights behind. Flings off his Cloak.  Cudd. 
Back and Breast too! Then I am betrayed.  Ant. 
No, no, you are only overreached, as well shall Evidence this Bow and Arrows, which I have chose to fight with; because Capid is Painted with such Weapons: And ours is a Quarrel of Love; how do you like this Emblem, is it not a Witty one?  Cudd. 
Nay Cousin Antony, this is foul play.  Ant. 
Indeed Cudden yours was not over fair, to force a Man to fight with you that was Sick of an Ague: But my Cold fit is gone, and now my Hot one is come, have at you.  Cudd. 
Yes, yes, you may shoot at a Naked man. Cudden Cries.  Ant. 
Lashy, lashy poor Child, Cry when thou seest the Rod.  Cudd. 
Is there no Quarter then?  Ant. 
Not so much as half a quarter. You shall find my old English Arms, are more unsufferable to you, than my new French Legs.  Cudd. 
Do but forbear till I fetch my Bow and Arrows, and my Breast, Back and Pot, and then—  Ant. 
And then you would laugh at me, as I do at you, for so Ridiculous a Motion But this I'll do, for the sweet sake of which of my two Mistresses you groan for, make a deed of Resignation of her to me, in which I will have you confess, I have outwitted you too, and then I may be mollified.  Cudd. 
Resign my Mistress! How that word turns my Stomach.  Ant. 
Nay if the word Resign offend your long Ears, I give you leave to put in Renounce, Quit, Relinquish, Desert, Abandon or Forsake: You shall not find me over Scrupulous at Phrazing the Articles, so the thing itself be done, and done it must be Kinsman mine, for I never March thus Armed to the Field in vain.  Cudd. 
Will this fair offer end our Civil War, name which of them you like the best and I'll besiege the other; remember 'tis unconscionable to have two Mistresses at once.  Anton. 
And do you think 'tis very Conscionable in you, to come with two Weapons at once, my Youth in a Basket; for thus henceforward I will call you: From the fashion Hilts you have to your Crab-tree-blades.  Cudd. 
But why in Armour?  Ant. 
Because you had not the Wit to forbid it; but why (for 'tis my turn to ask questions now) did you choose Cudgels?  Cudd. 
Because I think no Woman worth the having a man killed for.  Ant. 
I'm half of thy mind, and therefore I think fit to kill thee for a couple of Women; thou seest my Quarrel is two to one better than thine.  Cudd. 
I'll be sworn I only see your Arms are so; but I must say what you will, because you are the better provided.  Ant. 
O, am I the better provided? Truth will out at last. Acknowledge but that to my brace of Mistresses, and that shall serve me as much against all thy pretensions, as thy Resignation could: I like a voluntary Confession better than a forced one, and since thou hast so ingenuously declared the Truth, I will, in requital, turn my intended Tragedy into a Farce. Come, Sir, Uncase, Uncase, that was your Word when you thought me Sick, and that shall be my Word now I have made you so.  Cudd. 
What do you mean?  Ant. 
Why, I mean you shall off with your clothes, and Dance a Jig to the Instrument called a Bow and Arrows; that's Cupid's Fiddle, and therefore the most fit Music for a Lover.  Cudd. 
You will not be so Barbarous?  Ant. 
Lord! Kinsman! Where can you have been bred, that count Dancing a Jig a Barbarity?  Cudd. 
Why, here's no Music.  Ant. 
Yes but there is; you know not what Melody a pair of long Plymouth Castinets will make; sour Wood may produce sweet Music, for Harmony, as my late Tutor has told me, springs from Discord.  Cudd. 
Bless me! Cudden starts back and shrieks terribly.  Ant. 
And me too. Oh! What's the matter? Ant. shrieks too.  Cudd. 
Ah, was it not enough to come with Bow and Arrows? Nay, Back, Breast, and Head-Piece too, against one of your own Flesh and Blood, but you must also hire six Murderers to cut his Throat too.  Ant. 
What six Murderers, in the Name of Wonder, did you talk of?  Cudd. 
As if you knew not! Look where they all stand drawn up in Battalia behind you.  Ant. 
Behind me! Preserve me Heavens! Murder, Murder, Help, Help.  Ant. turns about, Cudd. in the mean time seizes him behind, takes away his Bow and Arrows, than his Helmet, which he claps on his own Head.. Cudd. 
What's Latin for a Calves-head?  Ant. 
Why 'tis Caput-Anthony now.  Cudd. 
You told me another word for it this morning, did you not?  Ant. 
Yes, yes, than was then, but now is now.  Cudd. 
I have the better Head-Piece now, as I take it.  Ant. 
Yes, yes, as you take it, you have it.  Cudd. 
Come, Uncase, Uncase: Alas, Cousin, I doubt you have a very careless Physician, that knowing you have an Ague, would suffer you to wear so much cold Iron about your Heart; I protest, 'twere enough to put you into a shaking Fit. Besides, I have a kind of a grudging to see you Dance a Sarabrand to a Pair of long Plymouth Castinets, for sour Wood may produce sweet Melody, since Harmony springs from Discord; as a Modern Squire did very lately most smartly observe: What pity 'tis you should have so much Wit, that it should even spoil your memory.  Ant. 
Yet, in my Misfortunes, I have this Consolation, You Disarmed me twice Cowardlike, behind my back.  Cudd. 
Well! Thou shalt no more upbraid me for doing things behind thy back, for thou shalt see I'll Cudgel thee to thy Face, and in spite of thy Teeth too.  Cudden Lams him upon his Armour. Ant. 
Oh, hold! And I'll yield to any Conditions, so parting with my two Mistresses be none of them.  Cudd. 
If thou dost but Name two Mistresses again; nay, if thou dost but so much as think of them till thou art dead, I will so Carbinado thy flesh, that I'll make thee look like a St. Laurence on a Grid-Iron.  Ant. 
For all your Fury, Wrath and Indignation, 'tis somewhat severe that a loser may not talk. But now, I that am but a simple Man, must do as great Nations oft have done, Take Laws from their Conquerors; and therefore to the Sentence you shall pronounce, I must, though in Tears, submit.  Cudd. 
That shower has softened my Hand and Heart, and since so bravely thou dost yield, I will as pitifully use thee. Know therefore, that as Misfortunes ought not to elevate a Generous Soul, so Prosperity ought not to deject it: Therefore, as when I was under Fortune's Wheel, I offered to leave thee one of the Ladies, so now I am on the Top of it I will do the like.  Ant. 
There is Comfort in that, for half a Loaf is better than no Bread; but which of them, dear Cousin, will you leave me?  Cudd. 
She that I do not like myself, you may be sure; but if she I like be so much as gloated after by thee, take what follows.  Ant. 
Pray make haste to Name she you choose; for 'tis strange how my Heart goes. Pit-a-pat after the other.  Cudd. 
Why then, she ay love is Mrs. Isabel.  Ant. 
But are you sure of it?  Cudd. 
Sure of it said you! Why, what does the Ninni-hammer mean?  Ant. 
Sweet Cousin, Name the Lady again, for a Man can never have his Mistress too often at his Tongue's end.  Cudd. 
Why, I tell thee again, 'tis Mrs. Isabel.  Ant. 
Mrs. Isabel, Mrs: Isabel! Welladay, what Luck is this? Leaping & frisking. Why, a Deuce, did you not tell me so before? It would have saved all our Duels, for 'tis Mrs. Philadelphia is my Mistress.  Cudd. 
What a Pox made you say, all this while, you were in Love with both?  Ant. 
That was my Art, dear Cousin; I did as Crafty Merchants use, ask double Rates to get half for their Commidity. Besides, you Hectored me into saying I loved both, because you scorned to Name the one you Loved. Alas! Cousin, do not you think I know one Woman is more than enough for any one Man?  Cudd. 
Why, do you think I did not know that as well as you? And therefore Quarrelled with you for being such a Glutton, as to Engross more by half than you could Digest, and yet would keep me fasting.  Ant. 
And is it so i'faith, dear Kinsman? Let's Lock, Lock, and in this Embrace let all Discord be strangled. They hug.  Cudd. 
Content— Now Shoulder your Back and Breast and march off, for I am sure 'tis time to console our Friends; they will be in pestilent frights if they have heard we have been in the Field. Ex. Cudden.  Ant. 
Considering too the Mortal Weapons we went out with: Well, go thy ways Anthony, thou art come off with Honour; maugre all the frowns of Fortune, and the Fallacies of thy Kindred. I will like this fertile Brain of mine the better whilst I live: Thus I March off loaden with my own Spoils. Would my two Mistresses, that were, saw this my Oratio-Triumph. Ex. Ant. with the Armour on his Shoulder.  Enter Sir Timothy, his Lady, Pedagog and Winifred. Sir Tim. 
Gone out did you say! and to fight?  Pedag. 
Alas Sir, 'tis too certain.  Sir Tim. 
Know you the Quarrel?  Pedag. 
I fear 'tis a quarrel of Love.  Lady. 
I hate Love, for it begets more Quarrels than it begets Children.  Pedag. 
I suspected a Fray would ensue.  Sir Tim. 
Why?  Pedag. 
Because Mr. Cudden said he scorned to tell Mr. Antony whether he were in Love with Mrs. Isabel or Mrs. Philadelphia, which so warmed my sprightly Pupils Courage (for in punctilio of Honour he is quick as Tinder.)  G. Winif. 
By my Maidenhead Sir, I fear the two Ladies they fought for do but laugh at them, for they were one day forking at them with their fingers as soon as their backs were but turned; and those that will make signs of Horns at their Servants before they are married, too often will bestow real Horns on them after they are married.  Sir Tim. 
Those are not dangerous Horns, Goody Winifred, that are made behind our backs.  G. Win. 
What, would you have them make Horns to your Faces? That were too Impudent; but that which I liked worse, was when those two sweet Lambs, Mrs. Betty, and Mrs. Nan, chid Mrs. Philadelphia and Mrs. Isabel, for making those signs of the Cuckold, at Mr. Anthony and Mr. Cudden, those two Viragoes in Petticoats, bruzzled up to them like two Wooing Turkeycocks, and so rated them for their chaste reprehension, as they made them blush for being in the right.  Lady. 
I protest, my Tim. your two Charges are so haughty, as I fear they will Infect my Nieces with the Spirit of Mutiny; I would you had bestowed them well in Marriage: I do not mean to your Son and Nephew, for, on my Word, there they will be overmatched.  Pedag. 
My Excellent Lady says true; 'twill be as unequal, as if a Flanders Mare, and a Golloway Nag, were put to draw together.  G. Win. 
They may promise to serve, honour, and obey; but if they do not make their Husbands do it, I'll be content to eat my Liturgy.  Sir Tim. 
You must not Judge of Anthony's and my Nephew's Spirits by what they seem, while they are Wooing.  Pedag. 
But I may Judge of their Mistresses while they are Wooed. Say, Sir, I understand neither Physiognomy nor Palmistry, if they do not prove mad Wives.  Sir Tim. 
Marriage will tame Women.  Ped. 
I have heard it will rather tame men.  Sir Tim. 
However, because they are rich Heiresses, let our two young people Court 'em: I am resolved whate'er it cost me, they shall have them; for they had better be Rich Cuckolds than Poor Unforked men. But while we are thus talking of them, they may be killing one another, for they are both brisk Lads: Let's therefore separate the sooner to find them out, and part them. Ex. Sir Timothy.  Lady. 
I am beholding to you, Mr. Pedagog, for the good words you put in.  Ped. 
Ah Madam! I will put in a good deed to serve you at any time.  G. Win. 
shaking her head. By the Mass, I like not that Expression. Ex. several ways.  Enter Mr. Anthony, Mr. Plot, Mr. Cudden and Mr. Art. Ant. 
I have told you in Octavo what we did in Folio, and on my Credit, jack, never any Duel was replenished with more admirable Vicissitudes whilst 'twas fighting, nor had a more Amicitious Epilogue in the Close. You would have thought we had fought for the Empire of the Universe, such were our Animosities; and when we came to examine our Quarrel, by this Light, we had none, for he had chose Mrs. Isabel, and I had chose Mrs. Philadelphia.  Plot. 
You see, in this, how blind a thing Fury is; two sober words amongst you, had prevented all this Noise and Bloodshed.  Cudd. 
The noise might have been prevented, I confess, but Fate itself could ne'er have hindered the bloodshed, for there was done.  Plot. 
How! None?  Ant. 
None, I tell you, for what need had we to shed one another's Vermilion, after we had found out we were not Rivals.  Cudd. 
'Twas well for you we we were not, for had we been, I would have made you—  Ant. 
What would you have made me?  Cudd. 
I would have made you quit your Love or Life.  Ant. 
I would have you to know, I scorn your Expressions; I hate to quit my Love, and since you urge me to it, I'll die e'er I'll quit my Life.  Cudd. 
Tony, if you so saucily and diametrically contradict me again, I will a second time Discipline your Shoulders; you know I have taken measure of them with my Plimouth-yard.  Ant. 
Nay, give the Devil his due, you look like a Tailor; but to contradict you the second time, I tell you, I defy you to quit Mrs. Isabel, and Court Mrs. Philadelphia, which if thou dost, I'll serve thee such a Trick—  Cudd. 
What Trick, thou baffled Armour-Bearer? What Trick, I say? Speak or I'll—  Ant. 
Why, Cousin, I'll quit Mrs. Philadelphia, and Court Mrs. Isabel; and is not that just such a Trick?  Art. 
For all your Fury, Mr. Anthony has made good his words, and in a way you cannot be offended at.  Plot. 
Come, come— leave off these Civil Wars, and Unite your Forces to Beleaguer your two Mistresses, you'll find a tough Siege of it; 'twere therefore fit you began your Approaches.  Ant. 
Right, Mr. Plot, I protest I am on Thorns till I draw up before them, and when I have began my Attacks, if I do not pierce her Bulwark, I'll give her leave to hang me in a Horn-work.  Cudd. 
This Errand Poltrone makes use of so many War-phrases, that I admire they do not fright him.  Ant. 
Come, Mr. Plot, and Mr. Art, you must help us to meet our fair Enemies; I long to be at the Encounter.  Plot. 
Bravely spoken, my Amorous Myrmidon.  Art. 
we'll go and get you the Field of Battle assigned, then be your Guides to it.  Ant. 
March boldly on, for the Old Proverb's true,  
Faint Heart ne'er with Fair Lady had to do. Ex. omnes▪   

ACT. IU.  Enter Anthony, Cudden, Plot and Art. Plot. 
WEll Gentlemen, we have got the Ladies to give you audience, and now be sure to ply them close.  Anton. 
Teach your Father to get Children! Instruct me in the affairs of Love! 'Slid, do you think I have learned Ovid de arte Amandi for nothing?  Cudd. 
That's pretty in faith; make Love by Book! Buzz Mr. Tony, if ever you get a Mistress, I'll be content to lose mine.  Ant. 
How the Ignorant will always reproach the Learned; Why I tell you Kinsman Cudden, But for my Civility to you I would now have had a Couple.  Cud. 
Civility to me? do not christian the Child by a wrong name. If you do.  Ant. 
Marry come up Don Cudden: for by your Rodomantadoes, you should be a Castilian; Left me, did you say? Know, I scorn your leavings! You only named your own Mistress, and I discovered to you, who was mine.  Cud. 
Tony, take heed, wake not a sleepy lion.  Ant. 
Lion? an Essex one then, and without a White-face too, nay, since you whet me so, I must tell you all the little advantages thou thoughtst to have got over me, were by Treacheries: Yes, I'll draw your verbal portraiture; you are one that will speak a man fair to his Throat, and cut his Face behind his back.  Cud. 
Thou Slanderer of thy own flesh and blood; take that for thy Lye. offers to strike, and Plot and Art hold him.  Art. 
Hold, hold, why this heat?  Plot. 
I heard nothing from Mr. Antony that might offend you Mr. Cudden.  Cud. 
Why? did you not hear him say, I would speak a man fair to his Face, and cut his Throat behind his back.  Ant. 
No, Marry did I not, I appeal to these Gentlemen, what, say you Sirs?  Art. 
He only said you would speak a man fair to his Throat, and cut his Face behind his back.  Plot. 
Which was, indeed, the Anagram of what you imagined he said.  Cud. 
Heyday! What new word is that?  Ant. 
Well Cousin, I forgive you, you see now in your own case, how Impartial a man you are.  Cud. 
'Slid affront me again? take that. offers to strike, but is stopped.  Art. 
What's the matter now?  Cud. 
Death! Did you not hear him call mean Impartial man to my face? you had best turn that into an Angaram too.  Plot. 
'Tis past my skill I assure you.  Ant. 
And pray angry Kinsman what would you have said, if I had called you a partial man?  Cud. 
putting his finger in his mouth. There I was a little out of the way— pox on your hard words, they turn my brain.  Ant. 
'Tis well! I am not as Choleric as you, here would have been a foul house then,  Cud. 
Yes, of your making.  Art. 
For shame do not thus discompose yourselves; when you are going to Court your Mistresses.  Plot. 
They may think you ill humoured.  Ant. 
Come then, show us the way to them: as much as I love fighting; for this once, I had rather assault my Mrs. than my Kinsman: farewell the warlike brow; Cudden I'll now put on my Haltion face.  Cud. 
What's that Haltion face Mr. Art? is it any thing that savours of affronting me?  Art. 
No, no, nothing of that Nature, I assure you.  Plot. 
This is the door— I'll knock— Exeunt. he knocks.  The Scene opens, Philadelphia and Isabel appear with their Hoods over their Faces. Nan and Nell. Cudden runs to Philadelphia and Antony to Isabel, whom they lead by the Hand on the Stage. Cudd. 
Madam, I come to lay my Heart to your Feet.  Phila. 
At mime?  Cudd. 
Yes, yours Madam: I do not use to Eat my words.  Phil. 
Are you not mistook Mr. Cudden?  Cudd. 
'Slid I doubt I am; but how shall I retreat?  Ant. 
As I am an Heir Madam, I am come to you on the like honourable Employment.  Isab. 
Sure Mr. Antony you take me for my Sister.  Ant. 
By the Mass that were pretty; what? mistake my Mistress? do you think we are playing at Blindmansbuff.  Isab. 
Why, who do you think I am?  Ant. 
As if the palpitation of my Amorous Heart did not whisper in my Ear, you are the Conqueror of it Mrs. Philadelphia.  Isab. 
If you will not trust me, vouchsafe to trust your own Eyes. She pulls up her hood.  Ant. 
Ha! a pox of this Heart of mine, that must be panting after the wrong Petticoat; I'll make it keep Lent for this Impertinent Rampantness, Cudden too will beat me: Kinsman we must countermarch, take the better for the worse, and resign me up my Richer for Poorer, I had like, by a mere mistake, to have beaten up thy Quarters, while thou were't beating up mine.  Cudd. 
Soft Sir, 'tis not my custom to be so inconstant, since Fortune has flung me on this beautiful Lady, here I'll fix: Face about Tony, and as you were.  Ant. 
Very fine, and pray what did we fight our four Duels for this Morning: Have you forgot our Capitulations; as I take it they were not as you expound them now.  Cudd. 
If thou lik'st not my Exposition, a word to the Wise, you know how to write, where I dwell, and so forth.  Ant. 
Well! go thy ways; thou art the first man that I ever saw choose to play at Hab-nab for a Wife; at least let's Shuffle the Cards again.  Cudd. 
No Sir, 'tis a sign that you have the worst game, when you offer to deal again.  Ant. 
Is this then your Median and Persian-like resolution?  Cudd. 
More, this is the resolution of a Lover, and before all these witnesses.  Ant. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha.  Cudd. 
What's the matter now?  Ant. 
Cudden I have overreached you, worse than when I came with Bow and Arrows against your Case of Cudgels: For I was necessited when you said you were in Love with Mrs. Isabel, to seem joyful at it, and to declare my Mistress was Mrs. Philadelphia; when all the while I protest my Heart was ready to fly in the Face of my Tongue, for telling such an Egregious, Monstrous and Detestable Lie; therefore with blithe Countenance and merry Glee, thus I turn to my happiness, and leave you to your misery: By this light Mrs. Isabel I was always in Love with you, and you only.  Isab. 
What? Do you think after so much Inconstancy, and before of many witnesses of it, I'll accept you for my Gallant; you may go whistle after a Mistress for me.  Cudd. 
Ha! ha! I could almost fall in Love with Mrs. Isabel for this witty Justice of hers; Tony, thus I turn to my happiness, and leave you to your misery.  Philad. 
You are exceedingly mistook Mr. Cudden, even as much as Esquire Tony, do not I know you fought for my Sister, and your mistake flung you upon me: I must be gained by merit not by chance.  Ant. 
Ha, ha, ha, Cudden, methinks your Mistress is somewhat witty in her Justice too: Commend me to Constancy in a Lover: You are likely to have a Campania to Exercise that Virtue in.  Cudd. 
Do not jeer me, for if thou dost, I'll wreak my Anger on thee.  Ant. 
Methinks we need not fall upon one another, while each of us has an Enemy to deal with: Come let's rather make one brave Charge, and try to recover the day.  Cudd. 
Agreed, Mrs Philadelphia, I will not be denied, you must except me for your Sweetheart She turns from him.  Ant. 
Cudden, pursue your point, and the Victory will be yours infallibly; for you have already made her turn her back— pretty Mrs. Isabel, behold a Wandring-Pilgrimical Heart begging an Alms at the gate of your Love; if you drive it from thence without relief 'twill die by the way: And I'll lay the death of the poor thing at your door; Consider whether you had rather be haunted with my person, or by my Ghost; for one of them cannot be avoided— Isab. smiles  Cudd. 
Tony continue this way of pleading; you see it takes exceedingly; by her Smiling at all you said; pray which is better, to have a Mistress turn a backside to her Lover, or Laugh at him to his Face; these are our two lamentable Cases.  Art. 
Nay Ladies, now you deal too Tyrannically with your Lovers.  Plot. 
Their fault indeed is great, but not unpardonable; for they have been more unfortunate than guilty, since you had not only your Hoods over your Faces; but you had exchanged Petticoats.  Ant. 
Yes, yes, 'twas those damned Hoods and Petticoats, as Mr. Plot very truly observes, made us run into our mistakes; therefore 'twould be hard, if we should lose your favour because we cannot see through Taffeta.  Cudd. 
No Judge in England would condemn us, for not doing Impossibilities:  Art. 
Nay, if you do not Pardon Penitent Lovers, 'tis pity but you should Marry hard Hearted ones.  Isab. 
You two I find are Bribed for your Friends; but yet to show you we will not be Judges and parties, we'll appeal to the Sentence of Mrs. Mall, and Mrs. Nan.  Phil. 
Nay, and stand to it too.  Cudd. 
So will I— (aside) If I like it.  Ant. 
I will be bound by it Hand and Foot, only my pretty Judges remember, if you lay wrong Foundations the thing cannot stand long.  Nell. 
I accept the power.  Nan. 
So do I  Ant. 
Silence! Hear the Court.  Mall. 
I decree all past mistakes shall be forgiven and forgotten, and the Squires shall now choose which each of them will give Chase too.  Nan. 
But if they change again, my Sentence is, they shall be Hanged for Curs.  Cudd. 
I protest I never saw at an Assize, more quick and Equal Justice Administered.  Ant. 
You may talk of your Cooks, your Crocks and Ploudens, but Mrs. Nan's, and Mrs. Nells' Reports for my Money.  Nell. 
Silence! hear the Court out: I also order that each of them shall make an Extempore Stanza, to her he declares for.  Ant. 
Take notice of that jack, 'twas purely as I am a Lover in my favour, for Cudden will as soon make a pair of japan Boots as a Stanza.  Cudd. 
to Art whispering Tom, as thou lov'st me prepare a Stanza, and whisper it my Ear, that it may pass for one of my making.  Nan. 
I also Sentence these two Lovers this Night on pain of losing their Mistresses to give them a Serenade under their Windows, and a Crotesk or Burlesque.  Cudd. 
Now cannot I tell what the meaning of Crotesk or Burlesque is; sure they are Law Terms.  Ant. 
Cousin, do not discover your Ignorance: I'll interpret to you anon what's the meaning of those two hard words, do you send Trick to get the Music and their Boys that Dance the Jigs, and leave the rest to my managing.  Cudd. 
I'll undertake that, or lay the blame on me.  Nell. 
You like our Sentence I hope and will conform to it.  Philad. 
'Tis a hard one, but we will obey.  Isab. 
Since our promises are passed we are bound.  Cudd. 
Tony, I'll name first.  Ant. 
Thank you for that.  Cudd. 
Why, the She Judges have ordered that each shall choose whom he Loves best, and I must have the preference, for I got the Day in Duel.  Ant. 
Lord! What an Un-mathemattical Head you have: How a duce can I choose if you choose first: For than I must take what you leave, and that would be a fine Choice: I'll have Mrs. Betty, and Mrs. Nan expound their own Act.  Cudd. 
whispers. Hark ye Tony! A word in your Ear; let me choose or I'll beat thee as black as my Mistress Eyes.  Ant. 
What say you Ladies, methinks my Kinsman has whispered in my Ear a very good proposal: 'Tis that we shall draw Lots who shall first choose.  All. 
Content, content!  Cudd. 
Another word in your Ear: forswear what thou hast said or I'll Bastinadoe thee to Mummy.  Ant. 
Why do you whisper so, you need not be ashamed of your proposal, 'tis as equal a one as the former and shows a pretty variety in you Invention; for he offers that Mrs. Philadelphia and Mrs. Isabel should determine our difference, to which I consent:  Cudd. 
Tony, another word in your ear.  Ant. 
What, more Proposals? This comes of commending the fertility of your contriving Noddle. Why, I tell you, we all are satisfied in it, and 'tis superfluous to give more testimonies of it; adone, adone, I say.  Cudd. 
I must, and will speak to you again. Takes Ant. apart.  Ant. 
Well, I am loath to deny you any thing.  Cudd. 
Yield me the preference, or with hand and foot I'll affront thee instantly before all the Company.  Ant. 
whispers. Who would you choose?  Cudd. 
Mrs. Isabel.  Ant. 
Now Ladies, we have saved you the pains of ending our Dispute, we have done it ourselves; I chose, and for ever dedicate my heart to Mrs. Philadelph.  Cudd. 
Why, what an Impudent Fellow art thou to say thou choosest?  Ant. 
Why, is not Mrs. Isabel your Mistress? Deny it if thou dar'st. You all see I scorn whispering, I am for open dealing in Affairs of Love. Come, come, your Stanza, Cudden.  Art. 
Yes, yes, your Stanza!  Cudd. 
to Isab. Madam, I choose you, and left your Sister to Anthony.  Ant. 
Your Stanza, I say; in that I'll allow you the preference, beacuse I have it in this. Come, come; alack, how long you are Studying: Verses must come easily.  Cudd. 
Tom, art thou ready?  Art. 
Not yet, but I will instantly.  Cudd. 
Give me a tug as the signal, when you are prepared.— No— Cousin, you shall begin.  Ant. 
Sweet Cousin! That honour shall be yours. I will never be outdone by you in Civility.  Cudd. 
Nay, nay, you are the Scholar, and therefore should lead the way.— Are you ready yet, Tom?  Art. 
Almost.—  Cudd. 
'Slid, make haste or I shall be disgraced. Come, Anthony, methinks your Muse is somewhat Hidebound; art thou ready yet?  Art. 
Within a moment I shall.  Ant. 
No, no, my Muse is only civil, and desires to let that Stranger, Madam, your Muse, go before her Ladyship.  Cudd. 
Not yet, Tom! 'Tis a damnable long moment.  Ant. 
I protest, Cousin, I will not versify before you; remember I have sworn first.  Cudd. 
hems three times, spits as often, then says. Now Tom, or never! Mrs. Isabel, will you be pleased to stand out, that I may make my approaches to you without Interruption?  Isab. 
Well, Sir! I obey you! Now your Verses.  Cudd. 
to Art. Not yet?  Art. 
Immediately.  Cudd. 
I have got such an Impertinent Rheum. Hems and spits.  Ant. 
Sure, Mrs. Philadelph, my Cousin has some great Imagination, for I see 'tis like to choke him in bringing it up.  Cudd. 
Heyday, I think you have a design to affront me.  Ant. 
No, no, I leave that Office to your Verses to do for me.  Cudd. 
Blessed Relief! Both for me and Tony, Art plucks Cudd. by the sleeve. for I had no way left to wheedle away the time one moment longer, but to fall foul on him. Now, Mrs. Isabel, listen to the Virginity of my Muse. Art is to whisper. the Stanza line by line to Cudd. who is to repeat it after him.  Isab. 
I listen, Mr. Cudden, but methinks you are long a falling on.  Ant. 
to Plot. I would not have had such a dry bob from my Mistress; no, not to have been the Author of Orlando Furioso.  Cudd. 
Fair Mistress Isabel,  
I like you so very well,  
That my Love no longer can tarry;  
The fault than is plain  
In you will remain,  
If we do not instantly Marry.  
How do you like this Stanza, Tony?  Ant. 
'Tis a pretty double Stanza, for two of you spoke it.  Nell. 
Mr. Cudden, let me advise you to get a great Cold, and give it your Prompter, that he may be sure to whisper softlier.  Isab. 
I hope, Mr. Cudden, your Music anon, and your Dancing, will be as good as your Verses.  Cudd. 
Madam, no Music in the World like the Trill of a smooth Madrigal.  Ant. 
Now, Mrs. Philadelphia, give ear; and you, my two fair Judges, harken whether I perform your Sentence Catagorically. Stand off, I say, I need no Prompter, though you did. Cudden goes near Anthony▪  

[Hems thrice.] Bright Mrs. Philadelph,  
I love none but yourself:  
And if you love me at that rate,  
Without ever tarrying  
For that dull thing called Marrying,  
We'll fall to the Effects of it straight.   
Cudden was afraid, forsooth, to lie with his Mistress, till the Parson had conjured them into one Bed; but I offer mine the civility of a Fornication, as a Prologue to the Play.  Cudd. 
No marry, Sir, was I not afraid, and if yet Mrs. Isabel will walk a turn alone with me in the Garden, I will present her with a Green-Gown, without staying for the help of a man in a Black Gown to do it.  Ant. 
Pish! This is after I put you in mind of it; and besides, you offered it to her in dull Prose. Now let Judge Mall, Nell, and Justice Nan, determine whose Stanza was the best.  Nell. 
Mr. Cudden's was the most civil, and Mr. Anthony's the most Amorous.  Nan. 
Mr. Cudden showed most Discretion, and Mr. Anthony most Mettle.  Ant. 
Hang Discretion in Love, Mettle is the Virtue there; a Discreet Passion is a Bull.  Cudd. 
What Calf is that? Call a discreet passion a Bull?  Isab. 
No Quarrelling, Mr. Cudden, your Kinsman is a merry man.  Ant. 
And so would he be too, if he were not a sad fellow.  Phil. 
Mr. Anthony, we leave you and Mr. Cudden to prepare Music and Dancers; for if, you fail of giving us those Entertainments precisely at ten this Night, Bonos Nochios to your Loves.  Ant. 
And Bonos Nochios to the World, whenever you bid such a good Night to my Passion. Ex. Women, Art and Plot.  Cudd. 
What! Do you think I'll fail my mistress's Assignment? That were pretty i'faith. Come, Tony, we'll go send Trick to engage our Fiddles.  Ant. 
Else our Sweethearts will be devilishly out of Tune. Ex. Ambo.  Enter Sir Timothy, his Lady, Pedagog and Winifred. Sir Tim. 
Move me! No, I am resolved nothing shall alter me; two such Rich Heiresses may not, nor shall not be lost by my Son and Nephew, I can hamper their Estates if they are stubborn.  Lady. 
Would my two Nieces had Isabel and Philadelphia's Estates, or they two had my Niece's humours.  Pedag. 
Alas, they now jeer them so sensibly, and the Gallants bear it so patiently, that I lose my temper.  Win. 
If Love were ever blind he is so in Mr. Antony and Mr. Cudden: Why Madam I tell you they have no feeling; and therefore why should they pretend to be Lovers; besides I saw Trick and the two gibing Damsels close in Consultation, and when I surprised them at it, they started as if they had seen a Ghost, and immediately vanished.  Sir Tim. 
When was this?  Win. 
This Afternoon.  Pedag. 
That Trick Sir has his Name from his Nature: And I more than suspect he is a Pensioner to Mr. Plot and Mr. Art.  Sir Tim. 
I have long doubted it.  Win. 
Nay, you may be sure of it, if you watch him this Night as a Cat does a Mouse; for by my Modesty, some design is ripe to be Executed, in which he has at least a finger, and therefore, Sir, let us separate ourselves the better to discover.  Sir Tim. 
I like Goody Winifred's Advice; Wife let us take our Quarters in the Garden.  Lady. 
Agreed! For methinks I smell some Roguery. Ex. Sir Tim. at one door. and his Lady at another: Ped. offers to go out, but is stopped by Winifred.  G. Win. 
Soft, Doctor Amorous! I have only dismissed the Knight and his Madam, that I might read your Worship a Curtain-Lecture without Interruption.  Pedag. 
My Reverend Chuck! What's the matter now?  Win. 
Lord! How ignorant you seem! Have you forgot you said you would put in a good deed to serve my Lady? Was that a Sacerdotal Expression?  Pedag. 
What a Critic Jealousy makes a Passionate Lover? By my Dotage on those pretty Pig-nies of thine, I meant no hurt; let that solemn vow suppress thy doubts.  G. Win. 
How Equivocally your Speech is Phrased; perhaps you think, having two strings to your Bow in affairs of Concupiscence, is no harm.  Ped. 
Concupiscence!  G. Win. 
Yes, Concupiscence! Does that term of Art fright you?  Ped. 
All my Concupiscence is confined within thy Parish.  G. Win. 
But how few Parsons are there that do not covet double Benefices?  Pedag. 
None do, when they have in one more than they can turn to; and that I'll be Deposed I have in thine, But to convince thee by other Evidences, that thou art the Mistress of my Heart, I'll trust thee with a secret which I would not confess to my Ghostly Father.  G. Win. 
What is it, my Dapper- Domine?  Pedag. 
Why, Sir Timothy is smitten, and has made me his Love-Ambassador.  G. Win. 
That is his Pimp! A Reverend Employment for one of your Cassock.  Pedag. 
Nay, I am satisfied his is a Platonic Flame; there's no more heat in it, than old rotten Wood that shines.  G. Win. 
But that Wood laid on the fire will burn; and who knows but his may do the like, when his mistress's eyes kindle it. But what's her Name?  Pedag. 
'Tis even Mrs. Betty.  G. Win. 
'Slid, that mad Wench will put him into more shake and burnings than an Ague: For old men to desire to see their Uncle's is Natural, but to desire to see their Nieces is Prodigious.  Pedag. 
However, be silent in the business; leave me to improve it, and if we two do not get more by it than the Lover and his Damosel, say I am no Witch.  G. Win. 
Presto be gone! Here's Tony and Cudden; we must not be seen together, they will discover our Amours. Ex.  Enter Anthony and Cudden. Ant. 
I am glad at heart that Trick has engaged the Music and their Jigg-Boys, for in this merry time, 'tis two to one they had been bespoken by others.  Cudd. 
Kinsman; though they had been bespoken by Men, Women and Children, yet I would have unbespoken them again, though it had cost me twenty Duels. What did not I undertake to bring them at the hour, and to the place? And when I am once engaged in a business, fall back, fall edge, I will go through stitch with it.  Enter Trick hastily. Trick, 
Oh Sir! The Music and their Dancing-Boys, as I was conducting them hither, were seized on by a Cast of young Gallants, who swore top Top-gallant-high, That if they did not come along with them, they would spit them on the place; and as an earnest of it, drew their Tucks, and fell a slashing among us, worse than two Back-Sword-Fencers, and drove the Fiddlers before them like a Flock of Geese.  Cudd. 
Anthony, for this affront they shall lose their Lives.  Ant. 
But alas Cousin! we shall lose what's worse to us, (viz.) Mrs. Philadelphia and Mrs. Isabel.  Cudd. 
Thou saucy Clown! how durst thou put thy mistress's name before mine? I could find in my heart to begin my dire Revenge on thee, and so proceed to the end of the Chapter.  Ant. 
Lord how quarrelsome you are: is it not natural for a Lover to name his Mistress first.  Cud. 
to Trick. Why didst thou not tell them they were bespoke for me?  Trick. 
Yes, yes, I did! but alack-a-day, would I had not, for they beat me the more ruefully.  Cudd. 
Beat thee!  Trick. 
But after they said they were sorry.  Cudd. 
O, did they so! that qualifies.  Trick. 
But 'twas because it was not your Worship, whom they said they had much rather have lurryed then me.  Cudd. 
I scorn so much as to inquire after the Names or Lodgings of such insolent Puppies.  Trick. 
Nay, they added, they knew your Worship had as ill an Ear in Music, as a mangy Brewer's Horse, that then by accident was passing by.  Cudd. 
Ha, ha, ha. Antony on my life the Rogues were drunk: That ridiculous Comparison has converted my rage into laughter. 'Tis a strange thing Cousin, what divers effects Wine produces in men; some it turns to Apes, some to Lions, some to Elephants, and some to Bully-Rocks, of which latter sort our Fiddler-stealers are; and so for the present I let them pass. But mark what follows, for I am a kind of Prophet.  Ant. 
So am I too Cousin; and I prophesy we shall lose our Mistresses; you know the Sentence of the Court, and you undertook to get the Music and Jigg-boys, or else you bid me lay the blame on you; which by my defeated hopes I will; it will be a comfort however when I can safely swear that I lost my Mistress by your fault, and not my own; for gone she is I know: since 'tis impossible to recover a set of Scrapers before ten, for 'tis now half an hour past nine.  Trick. 
Nay, Mr. Anthony, things are not yet so desperate, for just now I saw three men pass by with long Cloaks, and my Eyes deceived me if I did not see a glimpse of some Instruments under them.  Ant. 
This Intelligence has some life in it: But how a dickings shall we do for a Jig?  Cudd. 
A Jig! that's pretty! why I tell thee Kinsman, I never saw Wake or Fair, that I did not out-Jigg all the men at it; the Women too being the Judges: But that which troubles me most is, who shall dance the Dances with the two hard names— pox on't, I forget what you call them.  Ant. 
The Crotesk and Burlesk-Dances.  Cud. 
Yes, yes those damned Crabbed names will never sink into my pericranium.  Ant. 
Why those are only French names for Jigs.  Cud. 
Why here it is! is it not enough that we have our Laws, the names of our Meats, and Drinks, and our Diseases French, but we must have our Dances too, I tell you 'tis abominable.  Trick. 
But Sir, the Crowders I told you of will be gone out of sight.  Cudd. 
Away Trick, and keep them at Bay till we come up.  Ant. 
Tell them we'll give them double pay; that is, if you cannot win them with single.  Cudd. 
Hollow to us when you have boarded them, and we'll bear up to you. Ex.  Enter Isabel, Philadelphia, Nell and Nan, in the Balcony, Plot and Art. Isab. 
Has Trick played his part as we directed it?  Plot. 
I think he has done it more dexterously, and all things take above expectation.  Phil. 
How long will it be e'er the two Squires come?  Art. 
Just as long as our Serenade and Dances will take up, for we have Calculated all things to a moment.  Nan. 
If your Music be ready call them in, for Suitors are Impatient, and may be here before their hour.  Nell. 
And I think, that not only the Fiddles speak better than the Squires, but also, that the Heads of the Base-Viols are handsomer than the Faces of those two Lovers: Call them in then, I pray.  Art. 
I'll do you the service. Art, at the door, bids them come in.  Enter Music and Dancers. Plot. 
Will you have a merry Song, or a sad one?  Phil. 
We'll have the last Song which Mr. Plot made on his own heart.  Isab. 
I assure you, Van Dick never drew more to the Life than Mr. Plot has done in that Piece.  Plot. 
'Tis a new way of Painting, for I drew two Pictures at once. I hope, Madam, hearts that are so like, cannot choose but love one another.  Isab. 
Hope is free, Mr. Plot.  Nell. 
And so should Hearts be, if all were as Wise as mine:  Phil. 
Come, come, the Song, the Song.  

SONG:  

I.  
SInce you will needs my heart possess,  
'Tis just to you I first confess  
The Faults to which 'tis given;  
It is to change much more inclined  
Than Women, or the Sea or Wind,  
Or aught that's under Heaven.   

II.  
Nor will I hide from you this Truth,  
It has been from its very youth  
A most egregious Ranger;  
And since from me it often fled,  
With whom it was both born and bred,  
'Twill scarce stay with a Stranger.   

III.  
The black, the fair, the gay, the sad,  
Which made me often fear 'twas mad,  
With one kind look could win it;  
So naturally it loves to range,  
That it has left success for change,  
And what's worse, Glories in it.   

IV.  
Often when I am laid to rest,  
'Twould make me act like one possessed,  
For still 'twill keep a pother;  
And though you only I esteem,  
Yet it will make me in a Dream  
Court and Enjoy another.   

V.  
And now if you are not afraid,  
After these truths that I have said,  
To take this Arrant Rover;  
Be not displeased, if I protest,  
I think the Heart within your Breast  
Will prove just such another.    Isab. 
I find 'twill be a hard matter to hold such a slippery piece of flesh:  Plot. 
But the greater honour, Madam, is yours that have done it.  
Art to Phil. My Heart, Madam, is the very Antipodes to Mr. Plot's; for I first gave it to you, and 'twould never since so much as pant after another, though you have used it most unmercifully.  Phil▪ 
Some Hearts are of the Nature of Spaniels, the more you beat them, the more they'll follow you.  Art. 
But than you must show them Game often, else they will go after others that will.  Nell. 
Dancing is better than talking, at least, as you two do.— The Dance, the Dance. They Dance Antic Dances. When that is done, a noise is made within; he looks within the Scene.  Art. 
What noise is that? Lady's away; and you must resign your places to better Company. To the Fiddlers.  Plot. 
Away, away. Women step a little back in the Balcony. Ladies, since we have made the Play, you will allow us a Room in your Box to see it. Music and Dancers go off instantly.  Art. 
Silence is consent. Ex. Art and Plot, who go up to the Balcony:  Enter three Men with long Cloaks. 1st. 
They still follow us.  2 d. 
Yes, yes, and now 'tis time to let them overtake us.  3 d. 
'Tis so, for we are under the Balcony.  Enter Trick. Trick. 
Stand, Friends! I charge you in Mr. Cudden's Name to make a halt, and draw up till he comes. He hollows.  Enter Cudden and Anthony. Ant. 
But what if they should not be Fiddlers, and thinking to Hunt a Hare, we should find it a Bear.  Cudd. 
'Slight, thou art the Cowardly'st Fellow in Hell: What! Do you think I do not know a Fiddler from a Hector? I take the business on myself, and that's Insurance enough for you, Squire Tony.  Trick. 
Oh, are you come Sir? I have kept them at Bay till you came in view, and now my part is done. Ex. Trick.  Cudd. 
Come, Friends, you much march along with me; we'll pay you for your pains.  Ant. 
Yes, marry must you; ours is a business of Love, to which all other affairs must strike Sail.  1st. 
Pray, Gentlemen, what do you take us for?  Cudd. 
Come, leave off your fooling; do not we know what you are? Why, I tell you, you have Fiddlers Faces on your Shoulders, and Violins under your Cloaks.  Ant. 
This is only to heighten the price of your hire; but no catching old Birds with Chaff.  2 d. 
We are no Fiddlers, I assure you.  Ant. 
Nay, nay, I know you would be called Musicians; I commend your Modesty's, but I see you have tuneable Faces, I read Mi, Fa, Sol, in the very looks of you.  Cudd. 
Come, come, be not ashamed of your Profession; it is an honest and a merry one.  3 d. 
Are not you merry, Gentlemen, to persuade us to own a Trade we never were bound unto?  Ant. 
Come, I say, lay aside your Grimaces, and your Fiddle-faddles, for on the Reputation of Soldiers, we'll pay you Heliogabilus-like.  Cudd. 
'Slight, you would be Courted would you? Come, say you will play, or Ill so Bumfiddle your ribs—  1st. 
Nay, we'll say any thing rather than be beaten.  Cudd. 
Oh, have we brought you a Note lower; go Anthony, and call under the Window.  Ant. 
under the Balcony. Mrs. Philadelphia, Mrs. Isabel, here are your Serenaders; come with half a File of Crowders: Open your Casements, receive Harmony from us, and give light to us. Philad. and Isab. appear.  Philad. 
O, Mr. Anthony! Long looked for comes at last; but where are your Musicians and your Dancers? What made you stay so late?  Ant. 
Troth, Madam, I gave our Musicianers so much Money to drink your Health, that having thereby elevated their Spirits, they fell out, challenged one another, fought on the spot with their Instruments, broke them, and their Heads with them, and had thereby broken my heart by their disappointment, had not my Cousin Cudden and I, by dint of Arms, forced these three Gamesters from six Gentlemen, who were glad, at last, to fly away Swearing and ill Edified.  Isab. 
Those do not look like Musicians.  Cudd. 
They are then better than they look.  Ant. 
Observe, I pray, have they not Strike up Faces?  Phil. 
But where are the Dancers?  Cudd. 
We two are the Dancers.  2 d. 
Ladies, we are no Fiddlers, but these Gentlemen having Tippled a Note above Ela, would therefore beat us into a Confession that we are.  Cudd. 
Nay then, by my life, set me a Dancing with your Instruments, or I'll set you a Dancing with mine. Listing up his Cane.  Ant. 
Come, my Friends! Uncloak, Uncloak.  3 d. 
We shall catch cold then.  Ant: 
A Pottle of Mulled Sack will cure you, and you shall have enough to buy a Gallon.  Cudd. 
Come, I'll take away your Enchanted Garments which make you thus resty, for I long to be Dancing. Cudd. and Ant. fling open the three men's Cloaks, who instantly present their Pistols cocked at their Breast.  Ant. 
Quarter, Quarter.  Cudd. 
Save my life, and do with me what you will.  1st. 
The only Tune we can play, is, Deliver your Purse, Sir.  Ant. 
Here, worthy Gentlemen, I am glad I have it to pleasure you with.  Isab. 
What's the matter, Mr. Anthony? 'Tis not the fashion to pay the Music before they have played.  Ant. 
'Slid, Madam, do you not see what a Trick they have played already? Besides, these are Pistoleer-Musicians, and will be paid when ever they ask it.  2 d. 
to Cudd. Sir, you that so long to Dance should empty your Pockets first! Oh, it will make you trip so lightly.  Cudd. 
Ladies, will you not raise the House for our Rescue?  3 d. 
Stir not, else we'll shoot you.  Philad. 
Alas, we dare not discover the favour we did you to receive your visits so late▪  Cudd. 
A Curse on the favour— there— Flings a Purse.  
May it bring you to Tyburn▪  3 d. 
Come, Gentlemen, we must then have your Vests, Tunicks, Sashes, Silk▪ stockings, and Bevers.  1st. 
Nay, and your Periwigs too, which are of more worth than your Heads: The Thatch is better than the House it covers.  2 d. 
Flea, flea, quickly, for though your Mistresses think you are but Geese, yet we'll show them you are Foxes, for we value your Cases more than your Carcases.  Ant. 
Worthy Musicians of the Fire-Arms, do not expose our Nakedness to the Ladies.  1st. 
You are a sweet Lover, that would hide your secrets from your Mistress.  Ant. 
Ah! If it were to her alone I would discover all; but you have not used us so Courteously, I take it, as that I should have the like Inclination to disclose my secrets to you.  Second 
to Cudd. Sit down my Eleven-pence-half-penny Squire, that I may strip you for the Jig you so long to dance.  Cudd. 
Alas! Gentlemen! I am out of my Dancing-humour, nor did I ever yet practice to Dance Naked.  Third. 
we'll teach you: You took us for Fiddlers, but you shall find we are Dancing-Masters.  Second 
to Ant. Come, Esquire of the doleful Face, we must put you into your Calfs-skin-habit, 'tis a pretty and a new dress for an Antimasque. They strip Ant. who often casts up many a sad look to the Balcony, and Cudd. does the like.  Ant. 
You are the first Dancing Masters that ever came to teach their Scholars, and brought Iron Fiddles with them.  3 d. 
Oh, we are Highway Musicians.  Ant. 
But I am for the Town Musicians, they are civiller bred, and though they pick our Pockets, yet 'tis in a genteeler way.  3 d. 
to Cudd. Nay, Shirt and all; what you swear to your Mistresses will then be believed, for Truth is like a Virgin, most moving when Naked.  Philad. 
Gentlemen, let us interceded.  Ant. 
Methinks you have been long about it, had you stayed a minute longer, you could have interceded for nothing but our Hides; all the rest is gone.  Isab. 
Pray, Gentlemen, for our sakes spare their Shirts.  3 d. 
Well, Ladies, for your sakes we will, allow us to press you to Dance.  Ant. 
In my sight, and I forgive you your having stripped me in theirs.  1st. 
We cannot come at them, else we would do you that Courtesy— away, away.  Ex. the three and the Music. Plil. 
You are very kind, Mr. Anthony.  Ant. 
I would you were so too, Mrs. Philadelphia; I was only Ambitious to have the same Ante-Taylors put you into my Livery. Love is a Race, and since I am stripped for it, I would have had you the like, for I hate Advantages.  Isab. 
But who put you on these Robbers for Musicians?  Ant. 
'Twas Physiognomist Cudden, he knew them, he said, to be Fiddlers, by their Viol the Gamba Faces, and so confidently inveigled me into the like Error, that I should have taken them for High Priests sooner than Highway Men; remember too 'twas he undertook to bring the Music.  Cudd. 
Leave off upbraiding me, or by this fist I'll thump you with it.  Isab. 
Nay, Mr. Cudden, by my Troth you did embark poor Mr. Anthony in this Intrigue.  Ant. 
Law you there Cudden, your own Mistress being Judge condemns you: I have often told you, that you had not Guts enough in your brain to make a Fiddlestring, and now Exce signum, you have put us in a very pleasant Figure to Court Ladies in.  Philad. 
I dare say never Wooers yet appeared in such a Garb before their Sweethearts.  Ant. 
And all this is the Product of your unfertile Noddle. Nay, I must be thought a Eool for keeping your wise Campany.  Cudd. 
Why, you Puppy, did you not say you saw Mi, Fa, Sol, in their looks, and that they had Strike up Faces; confess all this, or I'll Cuff thee.  Ant. 
Cuff me! Thou Ignoramus in Folio.  Cudd. 
Ignoramus in thy face, and this to boot. Kicks him.  Ant. 
Nay, since we have only our Puris Naturalibus-Weapons to sight with.— have at you— Ladies, he promised you a Serenade and failed, but I promised you no Prize, and yet will play one. They fall a Cuffing.  Philad. 
Well fought Mr. Anthony.  Isab. 
Rarely Cuffed Mr. Cudden.  Enter Constable and Watch. Constab. 
What noise is that? Knock them down both, 'tis the shortest way to keep the Protectors Peace. The Watch seize on them. Away with those Quarrelling Drunkards, and put them in the Cage.  Ant. 
By this light, had we not been parted, I would have beaten better manners into that dull Pericranny of thine.— Kick me before my Mistress!  Cudd. 
As soon as I am out of Captivity, I'll kick thee Front, Rear, and Flanks, before all the Mistresses in Europe.  Constab. 
Away, away with them, and put into the Cage those prating Tipplers in Frocks.  Ant. 
as the haul him out. Nay, though I be torn in pieces, I will take a civil leave of my Mistress; that will I, though Cudden has not the manners or the courage to do it.  

Since for your sake, me in the Cage they fling,  
Even in that Cage your Praises I will sing.   Phil. 
'Twill make a pretty Canary Bird there.  Isab. 
Let's away, for now all the Farce is done. Ex. Omnes.   

ACT. V.  Enter Anthony, Cudden, Plot and Art; the two first buttoning their Vests. Cudd. 
YOU see, for your sakes we have shook hands.  Ant. 
What damnable Hypocrites and Cheats your Birds in Cages are, for they keep a leaping and singing as if they were ravished for joy at their condition; when for my part, by the experiment I have lately had of a Cage, I think it one of the Melancholy'st Habitations I know, but Hell.— But how did you recover our spoils from those Dragoons which Plundered us of them?  Plot. 
We heard by chance, in an Alehouse, as we were passing by, three men talking to Mr. Cudden, and Mr. Anthony, and how handsomely they had robbed and stripped them, which made us break into the low room, where they were drinking their own Healths at your Costs, and seizing on their Pistols, crying out Thiefs, Thiefs, they fled.  Art. 
But left behind their Booty, which as we were carrying home to you, we found you in the Cage, and so released and clothed you.  Cudd. 
'Twas kindly and luckily done.  Ant. 
Well, if ever I press men with long Cloaks for Fiddlers, till I see they have no Pistols under them, may they fire them all at this Heir-apparent Head of mine.  Plot. 
But how were the Ladies entertained?  Cudd. 
Better than we I am sure on't.  Ant. 
Nay, better than they have deserved, for they had no more fellow-feeling of our Misfortunes, than the Watch had, till your half piece mollified those Bears with two feet.  Cudd. 
Well, I'll leave you, since for my part I am ready to freeze, and must thaw my Heart with some Spanish Juice. Tom, wilt go with me to the Mermaid?  Art. 
Can you doubt, that I, who forsook you not in the Cage, will leave you going to the Tavern?  Cudd. 
Tony! Be sure my Uncle and his Family know nothing of this Intrigue.  Ex. Cudd. and Art. Ant. 
I am Gagged, I warrant you. Enter Betty and Nan  Betty. 
Mr. Anthony, we have all this morning been seeking you and Mr. Cud; there is such a Vacarme in your Father's House, that the noise of a Navy Royal, though in a Hurricane, and on a Lee-shore, is still Music to it, for Sir Timothy and my Aunt, have heard all your Pranks.  Nan. 
Which has so exasperated your Father and my Lady, that you are forbidden the House, and a Lawyer and Scrivener are sent for Post haste, to draw up a new Settlement, to Disinherit you, and to Entail his Estate on Mr. Nicholas, your younger Brother.  Ant. 
Well-a day, and Woe is me: A pox on Love. Dear Mrs. Betty, advise and pity a poor and miserable Disinherited Heir and Lover.  Nan. 
Nay, the Judgement for 3000 l. which Sir Timothy had on his Nephew Cuddens Estate, he has now Sworn, and kneeling taken the Oath, that he will never release, but extend it forthwith.  Ant. 
Hang Cudden, 'twas he drew me into this Periclitamine I am now ingulfed into; he must forsooth be a Physiognomist, with a curse to him, and I must be such a Nicodemus as to rely on his Skill, when the Puppy has no more knowledge in him than there is in a Roasted Apple. I am, you say, prescribed and banished, and must live at Rovers; nor have a penny in my Pocket to buy a Tavern Cordial with.  Betty. 
Mr. Anthony, I have always been your Friend, and therefore lament your condition; take this Purse for your present supply. She gives him a Purse.  Ant. 
This kindness, pretty Mrs. Betty, from one of your Sex, I protest, does half reconcile me to all of it; for till now, I never got any thing from a Female but a Clap.  Nan. 
Mr. Plot, will you help me to seek out Mr. Cudden, he needs Intelligence and Relief too.  Plot. 
Will not it be scandalous to leave your Sister alone with Mr. Anthony?  Betty. 
No, I warrant you, the hours of affliction drive out loose thoughts.  Plot. 
Then, Mrs. Nan, I am ready to wait on you.  Nan. 
And I'll follow you at your own pace. Exeunt.  Ant. 
But Mrs. Betty, have you so mean a belief of me, as to think 'tis in the power of all the unlucky Stars of Heaven, to cast me down so low, that being alone with you, would not elevate me; I tell you, 'tis an irreparable affront done to the mettle of my Constitution.  Betty. 
Nay then, by this light, Mr. Anthony, I'll leave you. Offers to go.  Ant. 
By those two pretty lights that twinkle in the Sphere of your Skull, but you shall not; you will not make me think you a Fool.  Betty. 
Why a fool, pray?  Ant. 
Lord! What a ridiculous question you ask, for did ever a handsome Gentlewoman give a distressed Squire her Purse, but as an earnest that she would give him a better? You know well enough what I mean, a—  Betty. 
Since you make such false Inferences, pray give me back my Purse.  Ant. 
What, part with my Earnest-money, sure you jest.— But Mrs. Betty, to show you how much your kindness operates on me, I will make you my Confident, and both beg and resolve to rely on your advice, in a most Important Affair. You know I made Election of Mrs. Philadelphia, and Cudden of Mrs. Isabel, and as the Devil would have it, I am told Mrs. Isabel is in Love with me, and Mrs. Philadelphia with Cudden.  Betty. 
Oh, if this be it, your Intelligencers are Mr. Plot and Mr. Art.  Ant. 
You say right, for they told us of it as we were returning from the damned Adventure of the Cage, and I am sure neither of them would Trepan us.  Bet. 
But the truth is Nan and I trepanned them; for when we saw them come softly behind us to listen to our discourse, and as they thought undiscovered, we talked on purpose that stuff, as some Revenge for their impertinent Curiosity, knowing their great concerns for you.  Anton. 
Why then 'tis not true.  Bet. 
No, I assure you; but since you make me the great depository of your Secrets, I will protest to you Philadelphia and Isabel are so far from being in Love with either of you, that they do nothing but Laugh at you both: Nay worse a thousand times; 'tis they which set all the Traps for you both last Night, as I heard them confess this Morning.  Anton. 
Is this possible?  Bet. 
'Tis more, 'tis certain; so that if you have any mettle show it by your resentment of these affronts.  Anton. 
Have I then run through so many Herculean labours to be thus Colted; well I see I have brought my Hogs to a fair market.  Bet. 
Let me alone and I'll order the business so, that if you two will hide yourselves an hour hence, behind the Arbour in the Garden; you both shall hear them two not only confess the fact but glory in it.  Anton. 
If this be so, take my heart for your reward.  Bet. 
Your Heart! why you have already given it to Mrs. Philadelphia.  Anton. 
Pish I did but only hold forth my Heart to her: But I will give it you without a power of Revocation; in a word you shall have the very entail of my Love: Will that satisfy you?  Betty. 
But will not you prove inconstant? For me thought you were at high, pass, and repass, three times with it last Night.  Ant. 
I was then a Juggling, I tell you, and so played at Hocus Pocus, and the Babylonian Tooth; but now I am serious.  Betty. 
Why then, I will undertake also to make your peace with your Father, and to make him settle 500 l. a year on you for a present Maintenance.  Ant. 
If you do, I'll swear you Conjure! But how! How! My Pretty white Witch?  Betty. 
But you must be secret.  Ant. 
As secret as I would keep my Mistresses last favour.  Betty. 
Know then, your Father is in Love with me.  Ant. 
With you!  Betty. 
I with me!— And who do you think is his Agent— Even Reverend Mr. Pedagog.  Ant. 
Pedagog? That Debauched Pupil of mine. I'll whip him with his own Ferula for it; yet he had still a Pimping Physiognomy.  Betty. 
I am this morning to give him my last answer, and he shall have it to some purpose; leave this affair to my management, for your advantage. And so farewell; remember an hour hence. Exeunt Betty.  Ant. 
I warrant you.— Well, these Women are ticklish things.— How shall I be sure, that she who plays so many tricks to Marry me, will not play me as many tricks after I am Married to her?  Enter Cudden. Cudd. 
Tony, have you heard of Sir Timothy's Indignation, and who those were that wheedled us last Night into all our Miseries?  Ant. 
Yes, yes, I have heard, and am now more troubled to find out a sousing revenge, than at the wrong I have suffered.— In the first place, I forswear by Bell, Book, and Candle-light, ever to Couple with Philadelphia.  Cudd. 
And I must tell thee, that Mrs. Nan, who by the way has filched from me my heart, by my own consent, has promised me too, to bring me to the Hiding-place near the Arbour, where I shall be a Two-Ear-Witness of Mrs. Isabella's Confession, which as soon as I have heard, I will take the like Oath as thou hast done; with this Vinegar and Gall addition, that I will less cheerfully Consummate Matrimony with Mrs. Isabel than with a Milch-Cow.  Ant. 
But are not we bound in honour, when we hear them abuse us to our faces (though they cannot see us) to make a Sally out of our Ambuscado, and by way of affront and eternal farewell, make an Hebrew Leg to them.  Cudd. 
What a Devil is an Hebrew-Leg? I believe thou hadst a jew to thy Dancing-Master.  Ant. 
By the Mass, and he might be one, for he confessed to me that he suffered a Female Circumcision at Paris: But an Hebrew-Congee is when one Marches boldly up to a Woman, and instead of Saluting her, you fetch approwet on your left Toe, and bow your Breech to her, and duck your Head from her Thus, which signifies, Adieu for ever with a Pox to you.  Cudd. 
'Tis a brave Revenge; but I would do something.  Ant. 
'Slid, then let's make them the Rabinical-Congee; for after that there can be no accommodation, 'tis a kind of passing over Rubicon, and cuts off all Treatise of Concord.  Cudd. 
Prothee, dear Anthony, instruct me in this hard Word Congee, for the worst affronts to them are the best for us.  Ant. 
Why, thus then: When you have turned your backside to her, you open your Thighs wide, and then clapping your Head between them (an Emblem that the World is turned Topsy-turvy with you towards her) you say in a hoarse Tone, fare ill instead of fare well.  Cudd. 
Excellent! For who can be such a Hen-hearted Hypocrite, as to say farewell to one who he detests, and would have fare ill?  Ant. 
Right and Plain-dealing is a Jewel fit for a forsaken Mistresses Ear; besides, your Head being in that Position, it seems as if you spoke through your Breech, which is one of the unfavourest way of uttering one's self to ones Mistress, that can be fancied by the Wit or Malice of a Willow-Lover.  Cudd. 
And therefore the fitter usage for such Whirligigs. Come, let's about it, for the hour is at hand, and I more long to act these Revenges, than ever I did to be Mrs. Isabella's Bed-fellow, though without the help of a Parson.  Enter Sir Timothy and Pedagogg. Sir Tim. 
Well, Mr. Pedagogg, shall I, or shall I not? Has my burning sighs, dissolved the Ice in Mrs. Betty's bosom?  Pedag. 
Consider, Sir, what 'tis for one of your years and relation to be in Love! Pray, Sir, yet listen to my Reasons.  Sir Tim. 
Reasons to a Lover! You may as well hope to alter a High-way-man by Pleading Magna Charta, when he demands your Purse.  Pedag. 
You are fixed then?  Sir Tim. 
Fixed as Fate.  Pedag. 
Why then, Sir, since I cannot alter you, I must tell you I have more than endeavoured to serve you, for I have three times assaulted Mrs. Betty in your behalf: at the first overture of the business, as the fashion is, she blessed herself, shrieked and fled, and gave me a Volley of Injuries at parting.  Sir Tim. 
Has she then Antipathies for me?  Pedag. 
In a Word, for I know your Worship stands on Thorns, you are immediately to make over that Judgement Irrevocably to Mrs. Betty, who is this Afternoon, at six a Clock, to counterfeit herself sick, and so to retire to her Chamber, ten Minutes before jenny is to let you in; and as soon as her Lady has flung herself upon the Bed, she will go out, pretending to fetch something for her, and then—  Sir Tim. 
No more, my Ped; thou hast obliged me for ever, as an Evidence whereof, here is thy Bond Signed and Sealed. Farewell, excuse a Lover's Impatience.  Pedag. 
But Sir, if my Lady know any thing of this?  Sir Tim. 
Hang her, Mouldy Biscuit. Ex. several ways  The SCENE, a Garden with an Arbour. Enter Anthony and Cudden hastily. Ant. 
'Slid, they are on our backs already, we must Tappis instantly, or they'll have a view of us.  Cudd. 
Let's leap into our Forms; but little do they think how this Ambush will break out upon them.  Ant. 
Hush! They are come. Enter Isab. Philad. Betty and Nan  Betty. 
Nay, 'twas too unmercifully done. Why, you could not have used them worse had they been your Haters; when, alas, the poor Squires were your passionate Lovers.  Phil. 
The truth is, how could men with those Miens expect to be civiller handled?  Isab. 
They to set up for Heiresses of a 1000 l. a year a piece, with those Coddled Faces.  Cudd. 
whispers to Ant. Tony, that's you she meant.  Ant. 
Nay, she abused us in Couples, for she said Faces; take your share of the Parboiled Visages, I'll rob you of nothing.  Bet. 
Troth methinks Mr. Antony has a pretty fresh Complexion of his own?  Phil. 
Yes, as fresh as Roses after they are stilled.  Isab. 
And for Squire Cudden he has such a Brown-bread look, 'twere enough to make a Ploughman hungry to see him.  Ant. 
to Cudden. Pray Cudden let me have a Slice of your Face to stay my Stomach.  Cudd. 
Hold, hold Tony; she'll give you with her Tongue your Bellyful presently.  Nan. 
Come, come, there must be something more than this in the matter; the Men have good Husband-faces; for men are not Married for their Beauties.  Phil. 
For my part I would not have so much certainty of being nought, as to Marry such a Cuckold-look as Squire Tonies.  Cudden 
to Anthony. Mark that Tony!  Ant. 
And mark my Prophecy; if she does not give, who e'er she Marrys, a pair of Horns as big as the Stags of Amboise, may Actaeon's Fate be mine.  Isab. 
You saw we took them for Wild Beasts, and so had them Caged; and for Squire Cudden, methinks I see an Olio Podrido in his looks; a mixture of Fool, Cuckold, and Surly, three pretty Ingredients to compose the Complexion of a Coventry Lion.  Ant. 
Be— Ah, Squire Cudden.  Cudd. 
'Slight, I can hold no longer, I must Sally; Second me bravely, Tony, and and we'll toss them worse than in Blankets.  Ant. 
If I do not stick to thee in all thou dost attempt, may Philadelphia be my Wife; which is the greatest Imprecation my Chaf'd-brain can invent. They both discover themselves, and come upon the Stage.  Cudd. 
Here Mrs. Cow, behold your Calf!  Ant. 
And you, Mrs. Phyly, that fear being a Gamester, should you Wed me, know I am come to bid Defiance to thee to thy face, which is so Warped, that 1000 l. a year cannot make it right in my Eyes.  Cudd. 
And for you, Mrs. Olio Podrido, whenever you have me for your Gallant again, may the Cage you cast me into for one Night, be my Bedchamber for ever.  Isab. 
You were such hot Lovers, we had no other Invention to cool you.  Philad. 
Fruition itself, is not a more Compendious way to quench your flames, than that which our Charity found for you.  Ant. 
Is it so, Mrs. Maukin, with your Antimonial Face? A Face, which now I look on without a Lovers Spectacles, is ready to operate both ways on me: 'Tis a composure of jalop and Crocus Metallorum-Ana, so that I protest I can hold out no longer; and therefore stand fair, that I may make an Hebrew-Leg.  Philad. 
Do Mr. jew.  Cudd. 
An Hebrew-Leg for you too, Mrs. Isabel, with a Rabinical Congee in the Close.  Isab. 
I see they have been better taught, since they were in the Cage, than ever they were by their Dancing-Master: Affliction is an Excellent School. Come on, Practitioners, we'll stand for you.  Ant. 
That's more than we'll do for you.  Cudd. 
Then thus I advance. Making the first Leg agreed upon.  Ant. 
The like Civility I pay you, Mrs. Phily, and wish it were worse for your own four sake.  Isab. 
I protest you never laid out ten Shillings better than on the Constable and his Watch, to teach you these A-la mode Congees.  Philad. 
Pray Squires give us another Serenade, and let these Legs be made us when you begin the Ball.  Cudd. 
Nay, nay, do not commend us till our Antimasque is done; this is but the first Entry of it. Now for Rabinicus, and let's make them both together.  Ant. 
Content: We will use them Soldierlike, and give them a Volley at parting.  They make their Rabinical Congees at once, and both cry, in a boarse voice, Fare-ill for ever, with a Pox to you both. Isab. 
Bless me! Let's run, they'll fling their Loggerheads at us else.  Phil. 
Fly, fly, they are Conjuring. Ex. Isab. and Philad shrieking.  Cudd. 
Are they gone?  Nan. 
Yes, yes, with Fleas in their Ears.  Ant. 
A Green-sickness go with them; and may they neither have Chalk nor Lime to feed on.  Betty. 
You have acted the Revenge like men of Italy.  Cudd. 
Think to gilt us unpunished; but you, Mrs. Nan, have tied me for ever to you.  Ant. 
I am under the same Foot-locks to pretty Mrs. Berty.  Enter Trick with two Letters. Trick. 
Sir Timothy commanded me, on the peril of my Ears, to deliver this Letter into your own hand, and this into yours, Mr. Anthony. Gives the two Letters.  Ant. 
I tremble to open it, for I know the damned Contents of it.  Betty. 
Read it boldly, Mr. Anthony.  Ant. 
As boldly as I would fight for my Mistress. Reads. Hum, hum Debauched like a Ruffian— Fight in the Streets in your Shirts— Caged— disinherited— Your younger Brother all my Estate— And banish you my House for ever.— O! dismal Tidings!  Enter Plot and Art. Art. 
What in the name of Wonder, have you done to Mrs. Isabel, and Mrs Philadelphia? we met them running and half frighted out of their Wits.  Plot. 
Vowing, with lifted up hands, they will rather marry an Hospital beggar, than either of you.  Cud. 
And we, two Tinkers Trulls rather than either of them.  Art. 
Your severe Usage, has made them so kind to us, as to offer us, themselves, for our Wives; if we would Bastinado you, Crop your Ears, and slit your Noses,— for nothing less will pacify them.  Ant. 
If I were sure you would be Spirit of Urine-Husbands to them, by this light you should therefore have my consent.  Cud. 
Or were I sure, you would give them incurable Monsieurs, the very first night.  Art. 
'tis ten to one we shall. Why? 'tis the Mode now.  Plot. 
Have you not stinging Letters from Sr. Timothy.  Cud. 
Mine was writ with the Juice of Nettles.  Art. 
And mine, with Aqua Infernalis; so that Mr. Plot and Mr. Art, I'm a lost man; my father will disinherit me, for my last nights Gambol, and would disinherit me again, if he could, for Marrying Mrs. Betty, to whom I have dedicated the Triangle of my Breast.  Cudd. 
The Old Usurer has sent to lay on his 3000 l. Judgement on my Estate, with Interest upon Interest, and Cost upon Cost, and Damage upon Damage, so that I doubt, the Daughter, the first hour she's born, will be bigger than the Mother; however, I will have Mrs. Nan blow high, blow low.  Art. 
Come, cheer up; for what say you, if Mr. Plot and I get you his consent to Marry your two Mistresses, and give you 3000 l. a piece with them, and 500 l. a year instantly for Mr. Anthony?  Ant. 
hay Boys! This sounds loftiler than the Tutonick.  Cudd. 
If thou dost, take our two late Mistresses.  Plot. 
If we do not hang us; but than you must do all we command you, and not lose one moment. Follow us, and depend on it, all shall be done.— Away, away. Exeunt.  The SCENE a Chamber, a Bed and Curtains set out within the Scene. Enter Jenny. jenny. 
I doubt he repents, and will not come; yet sure he cannot be such a Rampant Wether, as to give 3000 l. to do nothing. Enter Sir Timothy. Oh, here he is! I see, Sir, Old men are not so punctual at their Amorous Assignments as the Young; 'tis e'en on the stroke of six.  Sir Tim. 
I tell thee, jenny, 'tis but a little past Five by my Watch.  jenny. 
A Lovers Watch, especially on such an occasion, should go an hour faster than the Sun. 'Slid, my Lady's at hand; I see her— hide yourself behind the Bed.  He hides himself behind the Bed. Sir Tim. 
Had she not come so soon, I would have trifled a little with thee.  jenny. 
You should not, for I hate Trifling.  Enter Betty, who casts herself on her Bed. Betty. 
I am very sick, jenny; pray draw the Curtains, then run and fetch me a Cordial.  jenny. 
I will, Madam. Ex. jenny:  Sir Tim. comes from behind the Bed, and opening the Curtains, says Sir Tim. 
She is forward, I might have saved 1500 l. of my 3000 l. Niece, I know you are a fair Merchant; I have paid you my money, and now I come for my Commodity.  Betty 
startling up. Bless me, Uncle! What do you mean?  Sir Tim. 
What, have you forgot the bargain? I come to be your Bed-fellow, that was our agreement.  Betty. 
But then, I meant you were to be my Bed-fellow as my Sister Nan is.  Sir Tim. 
But I meant to be your Bedfellow, as a man of Mettle ought to be with a Maid, to whom he has paid 3000 l. for a Night's Lodging.— 'Slid, do you think to Wheedle me? Then 'tis time to Storm you.  Betty. 
Then 'tis time to cry for Rescue.— Help, help.  Lady 
within. I come, I come, my Child. Betty tears of his Ruff, and with a kick, flings him down. Betty shrieks, cries for help.  Sir Tim. 
Death, that's my Hag of a Wife's Voice: I am a lost man, ruined for ever, I must hide myself. Runs behind the Bed.  Enter hastily, Lady, Philad. Isab. Nan and Winifred. Lady. 
What shrieks were those, my dear Niece?  Betty. 
Ah! Madam! They were mine.  Lady. 
At what, my Child?  Betty. 
Alas, I saw a Ghost open my Curtains, and it would have Ravished me.  Lady. 
A Ghost, and would have Ravished thee? Thou Dreamest, thou Dreamest.  Nan. 
Pray, in what Shape did it appear?  Betty. 
I am loath to tell.  Lady. 
Tell it, I say.  Betty. 
It was so like Timothy, I durst have sworn it had been he, had not the Lascivious Violence it offered me, made me conclude it was the Devil in his Reverend Worship's Shape.  Lady, 
Fie, fie, Betty; he, Good Man, a Ravisher? I know him too well to suspect him for that.  Betty. 
Nay, Madam, 'twas either he, or Belzebub in his likeness, I'll hold you 3000 l. on't.  Sir Tim. 
Oh, the Jade! Betray and jeer me too!  Betty. 
Pray judge whose Ruff this is, that I plucked off the Fury's Neck, in my own defence. Plucking it out of the Bed.  Lady. 
Winifred! Is not this thy Masters Mark?  Winif. 
By my Maidenhead, Madam, 'tis; oh, the Old Lecher!  Lady. 
Where has he hid himself?  Betty. 
I think behind the Bed, for thither he scuttled when my shrieks called in the Company.  Lady. 
Villain, Goat, Cock-Sparrow; come out with a Vengeance.  Winif. 
Lord! How like a Tarquin he looks. They all go behind the Bed and pluck out Sir Timothy.  Nan. 
Bless me! What an old Ravisher is this?  Sir Tim. 
Forgive me, my dear Wife, it is my first fault of this kind; and, by the Love I bear thee, shall be the last.  Lady. 
Forgive thee, thou Town-Bull? No, if the Law can hang thee, swing thou shalt in the Air. Run, Winifred, and call three Chastizers of the Parish, and let them Worry him.  Winif. 
I'll fetch those Teasers for him, shall cool his Courage. So Rampant at Sixty! Nay then, 'tis time to Eunuch him. Ex. Winif.  Betty. 
Alas, Madam, to show how hot he was, he made me over Mr. Cudden's Judgement of 3000 l. as an offer to corrupt me; here's the very Deed. Gives her a Parchment.  Lady. 
By this light an 'tis. Ah, thou old Traitor, give 3000 l. to Cuckold me, and Debauch my Niece, by the Injured Spirits of thy offended Wife, I'll Mouse thee for it.  Sir Tim. 
I acknowledge my Crime, and submit, dear Wife of my Bosom: Therefore send not for the Chastizers of the Parish, they'll blaze my dishonour, and so squeeze my Purse, that I shall die blushing and a Beggar.  Nan. 
Pray, Madam, let me interceded for my Uncle.  Phil. & Isab. 
We join our Prayers with hers.  Lady. 
Hang him Ram!— Nay, since he will be for Feritting in others Burrows, e'en let the Warrener Uncase him, and hang up his Skin, to frighten away all such Vermin.  Enter Winifred running. Winif. 
Oh, Madam, by the happiest chance in the World, I met in the Street, just at the door, the three Chastizers of the Parish, newly risen from sitting in Judgement on a young Fornicator, who they have handled without Mittings, and therefore will feague an old Adulterer; I have told them all. They are without at the Door, and if you please I'll bring them in.  Sir Tim. 
O deliver me not over to these three Tormentors, but Execute me with your own hands rather.  Lady. 
Peace, thou old Sinner, my Ears are barred to Mercy; call them in Winifred. Nan, draw three Chairs, that they may sit in Judgement on this Gray-haired Ruffian.  Win. 
Come in Reverend Sirs. Win. goes to the door.  Enter Pedagog, Anthony, and Cudden: the first with a great black beard, the other in black like two Elders; all three humming. Ped. 
Sister, What voice of Justice calleth us hither?  Lady. 
Welcome Sirs— take your Seats; here's the Delinquent; there's the injured Innocence; and here's the Witnesses; but the latter we need not, for he confesses the foul fact.  Ant. 
If he confesses, let him be hanged. The proverb has condemned him.  Cud. 
Brother! we must proceed Juridically; set the Delinquent forth! What Crime art thou accused of old Man?  Sir. Tim. 
Wenching, and please your worships?  Ant. 
Out upon him, Spawn of the old Serpent, as if wenching pleased us.  Ped. 
Brethren! he's full fraught with Iniquity, his answer is a New guilt.  Cud. 
At whom, was thy Uncleaness leveled, old Sinner?  Sir Tim. 
Even at that Gypsy, who has picked my pocket of 3000 l.  Ant. 
Mark that Brethren: 3000 l for wenching; he may well pay double as much for pious uses; he's a full sponge, Brethren, we must and squeeze him well.  Cud. 
I am somewhat Tender, Beloved, in erecting Churches out of fornication; the Foundation is bad; but for squeezing him I concur.  Pedag. 
Brother, your scruple is not groundless; but since bad manners beget good Laws, 'tis as reasonable that Fornication should build Parochials.  Ant. 
My Hesitations are vanished.  Enter Art and Plot. Plot. 
Sir Timothy, alas! What's the matter? The crowd of people at your door has brought us in.  Art. 
And to offer you both our services, if you have need.  Sir Tim. 
whispers to them. Alas, Gentlemen, you find me in Huckster's Clutches.  Plot. 
For what?  Sir Tim. 
Ah, for the frailty of my Old Age.  Art. 
Frailty, in what?  Sir Tim. 
An Amorous Itch, or so.  Pedag. 
Who are those that interrupt our Sessions?  Cudd. 
And that dare appear before this Court in Roystring Periwigs, whose Locks are like the Whore of Babylon's.  Ant. 
Sister Winifred, make these Emblems of Vice withdraw, or at least keep silence. Hems twice. Brethren proceed, let not the Garb of Wickedness put Justice out of its sober pace.  Winif. 
Mr. Plot, and Mr. Art, silence, and hear the Court.  Pedag. 
Who is that Female, whom thou, with thy defiled mouth, didst call Gipsy?  Lady. 
Reverend Sir, 'tis my Niece Mrs. Betty.  Ant. 
Mark that, Brethren, his Niece 3000 l. to commit Incest.  Cudd. 
His Niece! O thou obdurate Old Wretch!  Pedag. 
My Brothers, here's a Covey of Vices complicated; Fornication, as she is a single Woman; Adultery, as he is a Married Man, and Incest as he is an Uncle.  Cudd. 
Mr. Thump has Orthodoxly unravelled and dissected Gradatim, the several Fibers, which grow from this one Wicked Root, viz. Uncleanness.  Sir Tim. 
But nothing of all this was acted; mark that Reverend Sirs.  Ant. 
But 'twas none of your fault 'twas not acted, mark that Irreverend Sir.  Cudd. 
The Fault is foul and clear; therefore let us proceed to Judgement.  Pedag. 
My decree is, that since he is so hot, he shall stand publicly in a Whitesheet by way of Penance Seven days in Sequence, to Mortify the flames of Lust in the Spectators.  Cudd. 
My Sentence is, that since he could give 3000 l. to one Niece to Corrupt her Chastity, he shall give 3000 l. to the tother to get her a good Husband; for an old man should bestow at least as much upon Charity as he does upon his Concupiscence.  Anton. 
ere I proceed, I desire to be informed if any young Women are committed to his ordering?  Phil. 
O Yes, my Sister and I are.  Isab. 
To our griefs be it spoken.  Ant. 
Then my first Sentence is, for I mean to have more than one, That from henceforth you shall be wholly at your own disposal, for he that cannot rule himself, is unfit to guide others.  Phil. and Isab. 
I humbly thank you, Sir.  Ped. 
Has he any Children or Relations committed to his charge.  Betty. 
Yes Sir, he has a very hopeful young stripling to his Son, called Squire Antony, on whom he will scarce bestow 3 pound: when to quench his Libidiny, he can part with 3000.  Nan. 
He has also a very promising plant to his Nephew, called ' squire Cudden, on whose Estate he has a judgement of 3000 l.  Ped. 
My Brother has minded me of the decorum of Justice, therefore my second doom is, that he settle forthwith 500 l. a year on Squire Antony, that toward sappling.  Ant. 
And my second decree is, that the said Squire, if he likes the injured damsel, shall for his father's transgression, take her for his loving spouse.  Cud. 
hems.— And my second decree is, that the Nephew if he likes the other Sister, shall copulate with her, as lawful Man and Wife.— hems lustily. and that the good Lady who the old stallion has so offended, shall henceforth rule the Family; for he has forfeited the Breeches, by being so Rampant after the Petticoats.  Pedag. 
Having thus with sober steps, and well weighed Justice, moved through the Criminal part of the Charge; now let us proceed to the Capital.— Adultery, by our Law, requires the Gibbet. Incest, by our Law, the Faggot: So that, believe me Brethren, I doubt we can do no less than Condemn him to be Hanged and Burned.  Cudd. 
For since he fell from Adultery into Incest, it is fit also, that he should fall out of the Frying-Pan into the Fire.  Ant. 
All this must be certified to the Governor of the Precinct, to whose Dead-doing Hand we must leave the Transgressor.  Lady. 
Nay then, Pious Sirs, I must interceded; I cannot forget he is my Husband, though he forget both himself, and that I was his Wife.  Sir Tim. 
Take pity on me, I beseech you— and to show you I need no severer Judge on myself, than I will be to myself, I freely consent that my Niece Betty keep the 3000 l. Judgement I gave her; and I will give my Niece Nan the like sum for her Portion. I will also do my utmost endeavour to engage my Son Anthony, and Nephew Cudden, to Marry them. I will settle on the former 500 l. a year, present maintenance, and the rest after my Death; which, alas, I find these abominable Miseries will hasten. My two Charges, Isabel and Philadelphia, I leave freely to their own dispose. And lastly, I will for ever resign up the Sovereignty of the House to my offended Lady; who, I acknowledge, deserves as much to Rule it, as I have made myself hereby unworthy of it. All this I voluntarily do.  Lady. 
Let this, I beseech you on my Knees, satisfy your offended Justice.  Plot. 
I unite in their Requests.  Art. 
I join in it most heartily.  Nan. 
Betty. Isab. Phil. And I.  Winif. 
And I forsooth.  Pedag. 
Brethren, what say ye?  Ant. 
I begin to thaw.  Cudd. 
Whipping himself three lashes, is more than if a Beadle Whipped him nine.  Ant. 
But now I think on't, Brethren, our Office is to punish, not to pardon.  Sir Tim. 
whispers. That's a severe Assistant, Mr. Plot.  Plot. 
Reverend Sir, consider the greatest part of your Sentence the Delinquent submits to impose upon himself.  Lady. 
Can you be so cruel to deny us all at once?  Pedag. 
How are we sure he will perform, unless our Decrees are first returned unto, and then ratified by the forementioned Governor of the Precinct.  Sir Tim. 
If that be all, give me a blank sheet of Parchment, I'll Sign and Seal it▪ then you yourselves fit it up according to the Tenor which I have Sworn; which may I perish if I make not good.  Pedag. 
Brethren, let us consider. They seem to consult together, and hem often.  Plot 
to Isab. Now, Madam, you're at your own dispose, a happiness which when you had attained, you promised you would perfect mine.  Isab. 
I do remember my Engagement, and here's my hand, I'll keep it. Plot kneels and kisses her.  Art 
to Philad. Now you are free, Madam, remember your poor Captive; I do not beg you to break those Chains your Beauties have confined me in, but to reward the Joy with which I bore them.  Philad. 
You have been so respectful and so constant, that I should be more unjust to myself than you, did I not grant your Suit?— Yes, I am yours.  Art. 
The whole Actions of my life shall be to pay my Gratitude.  Pedag. 
Call for a Skin of Parchment, ho! Winif. runs out.  Sir Tim. 
That voice has comfort in't: Ah, my dear Lady, canst thou forgive thy Tim?  Lady. 
Heavens forgive you, I do.  Sir Tim. 
What a Barbarian was I to offend such Innocence; but if my Virtue does not henceforth Geld me, thy Twises shall do that Justice.  Cudd. 
But what if there should be no Parchment ready? 'Twas ill forgotten.  Pedag. 
By the Mass, all than will be Defeated.  Ant. 
No, no, I have a help at Maw.  Enter Winifred. Winif. 
I have searched over all the House, and cannot find one Skin of Parchment. Is it your pleasure I send to the next Scriveners for one?  Pedag. 
Brother, draw forth your help at Maw; there's need on't now you see▪  Ant. 
pulls out the Triple Indenture. Then thus, Brother Thump, I bring it forth.  Pedag. 
to Ant. 'Slid, that's the Triple Indenture.  Ant. 
The very same I profess, and he shall sign the outside of it; for now, as I take it, the Triumvirate is Nulled, and we'll, at leisure, wash out the inside with Aqua Fortis.  Pedag. 
Be sure you hold it cleverly then, else all the Fat may be in the Fire.  Ant. 
I warrant thee!— Come, thou Old Miscreant-Penitent, sign your Voluntary-Doom.— Brother yea! Produce your Penner.  Cudd. 
Here, take it, Old Transgressor.— Lord! How his Hand shakes.— Were it to sign 3000 l. for an Incest, he would do it most steadily, I warrant you.  Sir Tim▪ 
This is my Hand, and this is my Seal, and all that shall be Written above it, according to the Sentence, and my most humble Acquiescence in it, I here, by a fresh Vow, Confirm and Ratify.  Omn. 
We all are Witnesses to it.  Sir Tim. 
Now, most Reverend Judges, be not displeased if I make one poor and earnest Suit to you.  Ant. 
What is't Peccator?  Sir Tim. 
'Tis that my Son Anthony, and my Nephew Cudden, may never know of my Transgression, or of the Commutation I make for it, for if they should, their Tyranny would be Intolerable.  Ant. 
Know then, to Console thee— none shall ever be told it, but we that are present; does that satisfy thee?  Sir Tim. 
Most abundantly; and here again then I renew the Oath of my performance.  Ant. 
discovers himself. And thus, with your Blessing, I make bold to possess myself of my part of your Vow! Mrs. Betty, I am yours for ever.  Sir Tim. 
How! My Son Anthony!—  Ant. 
The very same, as I am an Assistant; and have you not a kind Son of me? Who though you banished me your House, for showing my Valour in the Streets, does yet, to expiate your fault, cheerfully undergo what you your own self thought (500 l. a year, and 3000 l. in Money) was little enough to buy me to.  
Cudden discovering himself. And have you not as kind a Nephew of me? Who though I was as Tyrannically used by you, yet being one of your Judges, condemned you to no more than you Sentenced yourself unto.— Nay, to atone the wrong you did to one Sister, consent to Marry the other with the pitiful Portion of 3000 l. but she is worth a Million. My dear Nan, here take thy own Cudden for ever.  Pedag. 
discovering himself. And have you not a tender Ghostly Father of me, that since I could not reclaim your Worship from Lust as your Schoolmaster, have done it as your Judge?  Sir Tim. 
Ha! Bless me!  Isab. 
I have also made bold to use the Liberty your Repentance gave me, and have bestowed myself on Mr. Plot.  Philad. 
And I on Mr. Art.  Lady. 
And since you cannot rule yourself, remember you have made yourself my Ward.  Winif. 
And by my Pudicity 'tis fit; for as the Proverb says, Old Men are twice Children, and therefore my good Lady will be your best Guardian.  Sir Tim. 
Well, I am Noosed I confess; however, I am glad my shame is confined within my own Family.  Winif. 
How your own Family? Remember, Sir, 'tis my Lady's Family by Decree of the Court.  Ant. 
What, does he break our Sentence, Brethren? Let us fill our Seats of Justice again, and so proceed.  Cudd. 
No, no, we'll fill the blank with a Resignation of all he has, reserving an Annuity of 50 l. a year for himself, and swear to it, and then he'll find we were more merciful as Judges, than as Kindred.  Sir Tim. 
Hold, hold, I yield.— This comes of Wenching at Sixty. Pray, Gentlemen, you that will be Wenchers, do not begin so late, else you may pay dear for nothing.  Cudd. 
We are all agreed then.  Pedag. 
Yes, and all Coupled too; for Winifred and I resolve to be Bedfellows— during pleasure.—  Winif. 
That is during your good Behaviour.  Ant. 
Methinks just like a Comedy this ends,  
Lovers embrace their Loves, and Friends their Friends. Exeunt Omnes.   

Epilogue.  
OUR next new Play, if this mode hold in vogue,  
Shall be half Prologue, and half Epilogue.  
The way to please you is easy if we knew't,  
A jig, a Song, a Rhyme or two will do't,  
When you're i'th' vein; and sometimes a good Play,  
Strangely miscarries, and is thrown away.  
That this is such, our Author dares not think,  
For what displeases you's a waste of Ink;  
And now the Danger of our Thunder's nigh,  
We have no refuge but to Mercy fly.  
We yield ourselves, and you so generous are,  
Submitting Foes, though ne'er so great, you'll spare.  
Gallants! If you're offended at our Play,  
And think we've coarsely treated you to day,  
Think what a famine there is now of Wit,  
And that we bring the best that we can get;  
Wit's e'en exhausted, and is almost spent,  
And you, with little Wit, must be content.  
Damned Plays shall be adorned with mighty Scenes,  
And Fustian shall be spoke in huge Machine's;  
And we will purling Streams and Fireworks show,  
And you may live to see it Rain and Snow;  
So Poets save their Wit, they care not how.  
This all our Scribblers can perform with ease,  
Tickle the Fools, tho' not the witty please.  
If you expect true Comedy again,  
That represents not Monsters, but shows Men,  
Your Expectations will be crossed, we fear,  
For we have little hope to see such here.  
FINIS.