Love without Interest: OR, The Man too hard for the Master. A COMEDY. As it was Acted at the Theatre Royal, BY His Majesty's SERVANTS.  
Fallite fallentes ex magna parte profanum,  
Sunt genus in laqueos quos posuere cadant.  Ovid de Art. Amand. lib. 1. 
LONDON, Printed for Arthur Bettesworth, at the Red Lion on London-Bridge; and Richard Ellison, at the Eagle and Child in the Pell-Mell, 1699.   

TO 

The Right Honble the Lord Fairfax.  
The Right Honble the Lord Jefferies.  
The Right Honble the Lord Widdrington.  
The Right Honble the Lord Buckingham.  
The Right Honble the Lord James Howard.  
The Right Honble the Lord John Howard.   TO 

Sir Tho. Barnardiston, Bar.  
Sir Hugh Smithson.  
Sir John walter's, Bar.  
Sir George Umble, Bar.  
Sir Charles Sidley, Bar.  
Sir Charles Inglefield, Bar.   To 

Nahaniel Barnardiston,  
Tho. Bull,  
— Buller,  
Capt. Buller,  
— Coventry,  
Capt. Campthorne,  
Ellis Crisp,  
John Hilyard,  
James Jerras,  
Richard Lawley,  
Ralph Lee,  
Richard Litton,  
Richard Minshell,  
Luke Norton,  
Peter Pheasant,  
John Pitt,  
Colonel Rumhall,  
John Roper,  
John Saywell,  
Simon Scroop,  
Washington Shirley,  
Paris Slater,  
Charles Tryon,  
Edward Watson,   Esquires.  
Gentlemen,  
AS long and laudable Custom bears the Force of a Law, by virtue of which, every Minor Scribbler, even the poorest Dabbler in Dramaticks, lays his Brat at some Great Man's Door: In Challenge therefore of my Native English Liberty, I take the Privilege of this present Dedication. 'Tis true, the general Class of Paper-dawbers have hitherto arrived at no higher Confidence, than affixing some single Great Name to a Play; whilst I, by a bolder Assurance (possibly a little more pardonable in a Comedian) have here marshaled a whole Roll of Quality in my Frontispiece.  
Truly, Gentlemen, in this Presumption I know not what Trespass I may have made in Good Manners; however the World must justify my Politics in this Management. For by this Conduct, instead of one worthy for my Patron and Protector, I have hooked in a whole Battalion of 'em to Champion for me. And therefore undoubtedly this Piece must come safe into the World under so many Shields of Honour. Besides, from the warm Influence of so many Noble Patrons, if (to speak like an ginger) 'tis a Blessing to have the Aspect of a kind Star at our Nativity; certainly this must be much more happy to peep into Light under the Smiles of a whole Constellation.  
Nay, Gentlemen, not to be too bold neither, but a little to extenuate my Presumption, I have found out an old State-Distinction for a very substantial Apology, by which I make you All this Present, viz. Not in your more exalted Capacities of so many Persons of the highest Character and Quality, (that Consideration would have kept me at a more awful Distance.) No, Gentlemen, I attack you only as an Honourable Society over a cheerful Glass; where, all Greatness laid aside, and Mirth, Wit, and Gaiety, the only Reigning Ascendants amongst You, I thrust in my Comic Phyz under that easier Access: The Hospitable Door stands open, and from that Passport I make my Intrusion.  
Now, Gentlemen, according to the true Poetical Mode of Dedications, I shall be very Oratorical in the Praises of all my Noble Patrons: But, truly, as my Panegyrical Talon is none of the best; and to do Justice to so fair a List of Honour, in an Encomium upon all and singular Your select Characters and Virtues, is a Work beyond my reaeh: Nay, and what's another great Argument for my Silence upon that Subject, viz. That so large a Theme before me would outswell the Bulk of an Epistle Dedicatory, and consequently (as my Bookseller tells me) make my Portico bigger than my House. I shall therefore shorten that part of my Dedication, and come to a nearer matter in hand, (which is) the Merits of the Play. The Merits of the Play!— Hold a little— Whereabouts do they lie?— Merits! Yes positively Merits, and very considerable ones. For look ye, Sirs— St. George was the Patron of England. (Right.) And he made it a peculiar Point of Honour and Gallantry to take the Weaker Side. (Right again!) Now as 'tis the Top-Glory of every Heroic English Great Soul, to follow their own leading British Worthy, and copy from so famous an Original. Ergo, The Weakness of my Muse gives her a justifiable Title to Your Noble and Generous Patronage; and from that Desert she claims Your Protection. Besides, when your Great and Celebrated Authors Dedicate an OEdipus, an Alexander, or a Mourning Bride, or any of those Gigantic Offsping of the Muses; methinks, in those Atlas Piles of Wit and Heroics, they overload their Patrons with the Present they make them. It looks as if a Gardener should send you the whole Cargo of a May-morning Market in Covent-Garden (enough to stifle you with Sweets) when, in my simple Judgement, 'tis much better (a lighter and easier Nosegay) to present you with a Pink or a Rose-bud, as I do.  
As to the but indifferent Success and Reception of this short-lived Play, (not to want a Crutch for a Cripple) I must take the modish way of imputing it to Misfortune. It's being hurried up a little too hastily, made it appear to some Disadvantage in the Performance. It is enough to disparage the Good Air and Charms even of the Beaus themselves, to appear in too rude a Dishabilee.  
With all this Plea for my Introduction to Your Good Graces; now, Gentlemen, if, at your next Full House at the Rose, you shall generously please to pass an Affirmative Vote in my Favour; or, what's more generous, to carry it with a Nemine Contradicente; then (to boast no more of my own) the Merit shall be all of Your side; and I shall, in all Duty bound, ever subscribe myself,  
Gentlemen, Your most Obliged, and most Devoted Servant, Will. Penkethman.   

PROLOGUE.  Spoke by Jo. Hains. 
IF any here dares cry My Prologue down,  
Henceforth I'll not allow one Wit i'th' Town:  

As Houses, haunted with Ill Spirits, are  
All Noise and Lies, such is our Theatre:  
Ye talk of Wits, the Devil of Wit is here.   
Wherefore, to let you know,  
What Wit is not, I think can't be amiss;  
For no Man here, I'm sure, knows what it is.  
First then,  
Wit is no Scarf upon Fantastic Hips,  
Nor an affected Cringe t'approach the Lips:  
'Tis not I-Gad! O Lord! or, Let me Die!  
Nor is it, Damn me, ye Son of a Whore, ye Lie.  
'Tis not to tell how lewd ye were last Night,  
What Watches, Wenches, Windows felt your Spite:  
Nor is it an Abusive Epilogue,  
Nor being Drunk, and cry, More Wine, ye Dog.  
'tis not your Tradesman's Wit that makes him Great:  
'Tis a compendious way to Live, and Cheat:  

‛ Nor is it Wit that makes your Lawyer prized,  
His dagled Gown, his Knavery in Disguise,  
To pluck down Honest Men, that he may rise.   
Nor is't pert Phillis' Wit that does prevail;  
'Tis not her Tongue she lives by, 'tis her Tail.  

'Tis not your Scholar, Traveller, nor Mathematician,  
Poet, nor Player, and Faith 'tis no Physician;  
Were I now Clapped, I were in a sweet Condition.   
'Tis none of these, that singly Wit can be,  
But all in one Man meeting 's Wit— that Me.   

PROLOGUE.  Designed to have been Spoken by Mr. Powel. 
OF all the Fates attend a Mortal State,  
A Poet's sure the most unfortunate.  
Vintners and Cooks th' Advantage have o'th' Bays;  
Wines and Ragousts as various for to please,  
As are the Guests they treat: He but a Plate  
Before a squeamish Theatre to set.  
What, tho' in that two grand Ingredients meet,  
The Piquant duly mingled with the Sweet:  
A Jest to Gravity is but a Clinch,  
And the galled Asses touched ne'er fail to winch:  
Should he pursue the ends of those that writ,  
Instruct the Mind, the Senses to delight:  
Yet to your Grand Engrossers of all Reason,  
Mirth is but vile, and Morals out of Season.  
If like a Unloaden Bee, amongst Mountain-tops he flies,  
Like hers his Wings are snapped, like her oppressed he dies.  
A creeping Style provokes Sarcastic Scorns,  
Then poor Poetic Snail plucks in his Horns:  
A moderate rate's insipid too, for then  
The Poet moves but just like other Men.  

Thus high or low, quick, slow, ne'er out of sight,  
Poor Poetaster seldom's in the right,  
The Stragler's damned for wand'ring in the Night.   
Led by you, Stars, the Poet bids me say,  To the Boxes. 
He thinks he has stumbled on the milk y way;  
Disinteressed Love, Sincere, Refined, and Pure,  
From Sordid Selfishness, from Dross of Ore,  
There for a space he hopes to find a Friend;  
Few Night's conducts him to his Journey's end:  
Then dart your Rays, the Poet's sure of this,  
That Serpents Planetstruck want Power to hiss.   

EPILOGUE.  Spoken by Mr. Penkethman, Entering weeping, with a Halter about his Neck, all in White, and a Nosegay in his Hand. 
collared in Hemp, hanging ripe through Despair,  
I come to say my Execution Prayer.  
The Crime that puts me in this Fit of Quaking,  
Was turning Fool, and gravely undertaking  
To put that Coin upon you, which the snarling  
Scribbler that gave it me, said, Was not Sterling.  
And since sad Plays with best Success are blest,  
To make this Play as bad as most o'th' rest,  
I'll make this Dismal End, that all may see  
Will Pinkethman can Act a Tragedy.  
May Ladies, Gentlemen, and all that come  
Upon my Day (d' ye see) want Elbow-room;  
May Beaus have many Ladies to admire 'em,  
And may the Masks prove kind as they desire 'em:  
May every Female cast soft Looks upon 'em,  
Tailors and Perriwigmakers never dun 'em.  
But hold, to make an end of my Haranguing,  
Since Company's ne'er wanting at a Hanging.  
A Lucky Thought has changed my Resolution,  
Till my own Day I'll put off Execution.   

Dramatis Personae.  
MEN. 


Wildman, A Spark of the Town, whose Estate Sir Fickle has in Mortgage, Suitor to Letitia. By Mr. powel.  
Trulove, A Noble-minded Generous Gentleman, but of a slender Fortune; in Love with Honoria. By Mr. Mills.  
Sir Fickle Cheat. A Cheating, Amorous, Inconstant, Ridiculous Old Citizen. By Mr. Bullock.  
Jonathan, A sly Rogue his Man, but very bold with his Master; in League with Jenny. By Mr. Penkethman  
Wrangle, A passionate News-talker, a great Pretender to Learning; one that carries all by hard Words misapplyed. By Mr. Johnson.  
Sobersides, His Counterpeice, a Formal, Magisterial sort of a Man, and a pretended Sceptic. By Mr. Newth.  
Lurcher, Servant to Wildman. By Mr. Kent.     
WOMEN. 


Eugenia, A cunning Jilt kept by Wildman, whom he tops upon Sir Fickle. Mrs. Kent.  
Letitia, A Buxom, Witty, Airy Lady, Niece to Fickle, secretly in Love with Wildman. Mrs. Verbruggen.  
Honoria, A Lady of a Mild and Honourable Disposition, her Sister, in Love with Trulove. Mrs. Rogers.  
Jenny. Maid to both. Mrs. Wilkins.     
Music, Dancers, Bailiffs, etc.   

Love without Interest: OR, The Man too hard for the Master.  

ACT I. SCENE Wildman's Lodgings.  Enter Wildman, Eugenia following him fawningly. Wild. 
NAY, prithee, Girl, retire and leave me; thou even cloyest me with thy Kindness, by my Life.  Eug. 
Hold, Sir; your Oaths are as unseasonable as your Words unnecessary; I can as well believe you without the one, as by the Coldness of your Mien guests at the other. But you Sparks of the Town use us as you do your Hacks, ride us till you tyre or gall, then turn us lose on the Common.  Wild. 
And reason good, Girl; your true Punk, like your Bird of Prey, pines if consigned; but at Liberty shifts for its self, and thrives on't.  Eug. 
By my Injuries, rather than thus be the slighted Subject of your nauseous Raillery, I'll trust to Chance, and venture on my own bottom.  Wild. 
Th' Adventure's small, if any; for you Limberhammed Ladies have this of certainty with the Dice, Cast ye as we please, Cube-like, you'll be sure to fall plum on your bottoms, as you call 'em. Well, Wench, Raillery apart then; it shall go very hard, if I find not some Cully or other to top thee on: In the Interim, I must go visit old Fickle, lest he should me; which if he does first, he's eldest hand, and then ten to one but he beats me out of my little tho' last remaining Stake.  Enter Lurcher. Lurch. 
Sir, Here's Sir Fickle Cheat desires to speak with you.  Wild. 
Sir Fickle?  Lurch. 
Yes, Sir.  Wild. 
The Parthean Golden Cordial throttle him! Didst tell him I was within?  Lurch. 
Yes, Sir; you left no Orders to the contrary.  Wild. 
Pox o' my Improvidence! But show him up. Exit Lurch. Well, what's said in jest of the Devil, I see, is literally true of these griping Citizens, no sooner spoken of but they appear.  Eug. 
Nay, I'll be sworn, they never want your good Word: I wonder at you thus to abuse Men.  Wild. 
Men! Monsters rather. Why, I tell thee, Girl, they're such Auimals, that were Aristotle alive again, the Impossibility of comprehending their Natures, would make him duck himself a second time in Fleet-ditch, as he did before in Eurippus, for a far less Difficulty in my Mind, Faith.  Eug. 
So that I must not ask you to—  Wild. 
Define 'em! No. To describe 'em you may, and that too's intricate enough: For you must know there's as great a difference 'twixt herd and heard in the City, as there is in the Forest. But your common Breed are a sort of Stag-headed, Hen-hearted, Harpy-clawed Animals.  Eug. 
A pretty kind of Description truly. But Sir Fickle, is he of this kind?  Wild. 
No, nor of any else, Faith; he's an unnatural kind of a Mongrel: For though he be a Calf of Sixty odd, he's not so much as Velvet-headed yet: If he had, 'tis such a Rascal, he should have been frayed, burnished, and full-summed I'faith, before this: I would have taken that Care of his Advancement. So—  Enter Fickle, Jonathan behind him; Wild. runs and embraces Sir Fickle. 
Sir Fickle Cheat! The welcomest Man alive! 've spared me some Pains; for, as you see, I'd just made ready to wait on you, that we might adjust Affairs between us.  Tick. 
Why truly, not to lie, as a Man may say, Sir, that was my Business, and the main End of my Visit; for I should be very glad to make an end—  Wild. aside. 
Of my Estate, I thank him.  Sick. 
For Money's so rare, and Occasions so pressing— In a word, we have have paid so much for our Religion and Liberty—  Wild. 
That, Thanks to our Fight Peacemakers, or we'd been forced shortly to sell both to preserve our Property.  Sick. 
Right, Sir; and therefore I must desire you, with all speed, to pay back my Money, your Indentures, scotched, notched, and in Statu quo, as a Man may say, shall be forthcoming.  Wild. 
Sir, you're the Winner, and so may please to jest; but my Necessities are so earnest, that I must entreat a present Supply of a Thousand Pound more, and then you may be in a fair way to see an end, as you desire.  Sick. 
A Thousand Pound! A Thousand Pound! And ready Money too! O Lord, O Lord! Why, 'tis more than Cathagena and the Spanish Flota can produce. Besides, Sir, upon mature Consideration, I find that I have lent you more in Mortgage than the Purchase of the Inheritance is worth; 've bit me, you Wag; you have, I'faith.  Wild. aside. 
Would I had, I'd have lost my Teeth 'fore I'd have left my hold, damned Jew. To Fickle. Why, you won't thus laugh at my Necessity. 'Slife, Sir, I'm on the point of marrying a Fortune, capable both to redeem and to add to my Estate; 'tis but a little Money to squander amongst her Servants (as the Custom is, you know) and swup, I lick her up as you do a Race of Ginger fasting.  Jonath. makes Signs to Wild. Fickle aside. 
Will you so, you liquorish Whoreson, you? Would the Tongue of you were out— Why, this is one of the Devil's ordinary Caprichoes, rides us on the Spur to Mischief, and flounce leaves us stuck in the Mire. What a Plot's here lost! Broke like a Roost-Egg, just when 'twas going to be hatched. Hang't, I'll try however: If it don't serve me this way, it may another: He'll think I love him, and then I'm sure to trick him.  Wild. 
How now? What, musing Man? Ha!—  Sick. 
A little, Sir; I was casting about to serve you.  Wild. 
Were your Will but equal to your Abilities, there would need no great musing in the matter.  Sick. 
O Lord, Sir, were but my Abilities equal to my Will, the matter should not so long lag A-stern— But to show you, Sir, how much I tender you Welfare, I've a Crotchet just now come into my Head, might possibly be as advantageous to you, as what you just now was mentioning. But seeing—  Wild. 
Come, prithee, no Seeing in the Case, but Hearing: Come, quickly, dear Dog, open.  Jon. aside to Wild. 
O never fear, Sir; he's a staunch Hound, I'll warrant him, and on a hot Scent that you know.  Sick. 
A little Patience, good Sir; let me but consider a while.  Wild. 
Pox of Consideration, that Cousin-German to Cowardice. Consideration, quotha! Why, what Countryman are you?  Sick. 
Countryman! Why, a Cockney.  Wild. 
A Cockney, and consider! Ha', ha', ha'; come, quick, quick, mouth it Cit-like.  Sick. 
Why then, in three words: You know my Niece Lettuce, take her and your Estate back; and besides— [spying Eugenia] But I cry mercy; for I see, as you was saying, you're already better provided.  To Eug. 
O Lord, Madam, I beg you a thousand Pardons for hindering you of your Chapman; but in the City, Forestallers, as a Man may say, find but little Encouragement. Once more a thousand Pardons, fair Lady, indeed lafoy—  Eug. 
An unwilling and harmless Mistake needs none.  Sick. 
O Lord, Madam; O Lord, Mr. Wildman; what harm, pray now? What Mistake?  Wild. 
None of moment, Sir; for the Lady's too nearly related to me to be what you imagine. Her Father lately dead, left her to my Charge, with Virtue the chief part of her Fortune, which to preserve, as well as charm her Cares, not knowing of a Family more honourable than yours, thither I was leading her, in order to crave Admittance.  Aside to Eug. 
Now Girl.  Eug. 
Is this the worthy Knight, in whose Praise you were speaking of, Cousin?  Jon. 
Yes, Madam; he is a Knight, worthy [aside] to be Shoulder-slipt, with a Horsepox.  Sick. 
Yes, and please your Dainty Face, as a Man may say, I am a Knight, and Common-Council-man of the City of London. I live in the City, where my House would be very much honoured and sweetened, as a Man may say, with your double-refined Presence.  Sick. to Wild. 
Ah, were I but of your Years, I should tell her more of my Mind: But I'm old, old—  Wild. claps him on the Back. 
Heart of Oak, I'll warrant thee.  Sick. strutting. 
Hum, hum.  Jon. aside. 
In the Name of Emptiness, how like a rotten hollow Hogshead he sounds; would I had the hooping of him.  Wild. 
Well, Sir, your Proffer is so obliging, 'twere Incivility to refuse, and inconvenient to defer it. Please to repose yourself a moment, we'll wait on you immediately.  Exeunt Fickle and Jon. 
Now, Wench, what thinkest of this same Beast? Would he not serve well enough to wear the Horns? A pair of well-spread Antlers, methinks, would suit incomparably well with his Jobbernol.  Eug. 
Or if they won't, 'tis no great matter. Would I had him, he should have Choice enough, if that would but content him.  Wild. 
A very virtuous Resolution, truly.  Eug. 
Tell me not of Virtue; what's Virtue?  Wild. 
Hum; why, Faith, it has been laid aside so long by the Commonalty, that now they scarce know what to make on't: But your Politicians use it now and then, as a Stalking horse, to pop down your overgrown Court Bustards— But your well-managed Dissimulation—  Eug. 
Is a most fashionable Beast; that I grant.  Wild. 
And a most serviceable one too, as the World goes. Now, whoever thinks to rub through without it, will be most plaguily harassed before he comes to his Journey's end.  Eug. 
Or will speed like a City-banker, with cracked Credit, and empty Coffers; ha', ha'. Now I hope I please you.  Wild. 
Ay, any thing that displeases them does so: I've such a Natural Antipathy against 'em, that it extends even to their Wives, which makes me so seldom lay in their Nests. But to the Point; (for I'm yet as far from it, as a Parson, whose Text is Obedience, and Sermon an Invective against Nonresistance) I'd have you reduce these same Speculative Notions you have of that same necessary Implement Dissimulation into Practice; for I'm mistaken if you han't shortly occasion to show your Arts of Dissimulation, the Rascal did so eye thee.  Eug. 
O never fear: You will sooner find a Woman without Pride than Hypocrisy and Dissimulation. Why, 'tis our Sex's Talon, our Inseparable Accident, our Feminine Philosopher's Stone, wherewith we convert you Men into Buzzards, from Buzzards to Owls, from Owls to Cookoos, and from Cookoos to—  Wild. clapping his Hand before her Mouth. 
Hold, in the Name of Cerberus; by the Egyptian Catadupes, set but these Female Clacks going, and, troll, they run like the Wise Man of Gotham's Cheeses down hill.  Eug. 
Now by my Hopes, you're as impertinent as a French Valet de Chambre.  Wild. 
And by my Wishes, the Vanity of Ten truly Virtuous Women, make not the tenth part of one sole Punk's, in the way of Preferment.  Eug. 
Nor do they, on the other side, possess the tenth part of those Perfections.  Wild. 
Prithee make that appear, and I'll retract.  Eug. 
You shall: Be you the Doughty Knight, I the Lady fair; muster up the whole Cargo of your Common-placed Courtship, if I don't outdo 'em at their own Weapon, may I lie Crosslegged, Toe-tyed, and Bedrid all the Days of my Life.  Wild. 
Seeing's believing. A Match, I faith. I begin.  Bows. 
Think not that Impudence, Divine Beauty, or rather most beauteous Divinity, which is the Effect of All-conquering Love; that Love-which scorns to be tied up to Time, but is no sooner born than adult.  Eug. 
Ha', ha', ha'.  Wild. 
How now? What out already.  Eug. 
Ay, out already! What, this the Preamble for a Citizen! Why, this is Common-Garden Cant, tout peur.  Wild. 
Why then in City Cant have at you.  Lays by his Sword and Wig, and scrapes. 
Dainty-faced Lady, the Flames of your Beauty have so over-healed the yearning Entrails of my Affection, that they already begin to simmer within my Belly, as they were in a Stew-pan, whence through the Funnel of my Throat ascend more Fumes, than from a Mashfat through the Stoke-hole of a Brewhouse. Spare then the Bellows of your Disdain, and use rather the Sprinkler of your Condescension; for if you continue to puff thus scornfully upon me, I swear by all the Stock in my Shop, Cellar, and Warehouse, my Heart, like a Shin of Beef in a Porridge-pot, will, in the Poaching of an Egg; be hoiled to Titters, la.  Eug. 
Alas, Sir, what ails you? Methinks I pity your Condition, tho' I understand not your meaning.  Wild. 
Ah, my sweet Sugar-loaf, Words cannot express it: A Sign indeed I have would soon make you conceive.  Squeezing her Hand. 
Now do you?  Eug. 
Heaven knows, I wish I did.  Wild. Kissing her. 
Nor yet?  Eug. 
Nor yet.  Wild. 
Ah the Devil! She'd have him show it her downright.  Ruffles and kisses her. 
Then thus and thus. There's but one more that I know of, and its a pair of Questions whether he can make it.  Eug. 
Protect my Honour! A Man kiss me.  Shrieks out. Wild. 
How now! What the Devil's the matter? You'll raise the House presently. Pox of your cracked Treble. So, here's Sir Fickle come to lend you a Hand, I'll retire.  Retires, and listens. Enter Sir Fickle and Jonath. who puts him by. Ambo. 
O Lord! What's the matter? What's the matter?  Eug. 
Bless me, Sir, I'm so frightened. Oh—  Wild. Aside. 
For a handsome come off, and I'll cross the Cudgels: I'll interpose, and give her a Breathing-while.  Enters. 
How now, Cousin; what, at the old Trade? What Whim now? 'Tis the frightfullest Creature—  Eug. 
Then why would you leave me alone so long?  Wild. Aside. 
Good.  Sick. 
But with what, i'th' the Name of Wonder?  Eug. 
Lord, Sir, methought— Him, hem.  Wild. 
Igad, I'll never believe that Miracles are ceased, when I see a Woman in danger of being choked with a Lye.  To Eug. 
The ruffling of the Wind in your Window-Curtain; that's all, on my Life.  Aside. 
Sure I'm the first Man that ever helped Woman out with a Come-off.  Sick. 
Come, come, a Woman, and afraid of the ruffling of a Curtain.  Jon. Aside. 
Or of any thing else, and you were the Tom Bold that blew in at her Window. She must cry out before she's hurt.  Sick. 
Well, Madam, how is it now?  Eug. 
Somewhat better, Sir.  Sick. to Wild. 
Then, if you please, we two'll lead on the way;  
If Fortune hits, this is our Lucky Day.  Exeunt. Wild. following. 
True, you old Coxcomb; for if Fortune hit,  
I'll settle Fickle, and cross-bite the Cheat.  
Let's in, and there consult the surest way  
To trap this Fox; and, if I miss my Aim,  
Let Fortune, not my Care, receive the Blame.  Exit. 

SCENE II.  Enter Truelove leading Honoria. Tru. 
By all those Charms that captivate my Soul,  
By the sweet Torture of my longing Mind,  
Explain this Riddle that confounds my Senses:  
Your Eyes, your Actions, nay, your Words speak Love;  
Yet when I press to ratify our Vows,  
You blush, and sigh, and weep me a Denial.  
Can I give further Proofs of my Affection?  Hon. 
No, you're too generous to an injured Maid,  
Whose only Portion's Misery and Ruin;  
Misery so great, it has left me void of means  
To make you a return more suitable or just,  
Than by refusal: Heaven knows how dear it costs me  
To involve you in my Ruin.  Tru. 
Cruelly kind, I see, instead of valluing  
The Generosity you seem so much to prise;  
You tax me with base Avarice,  
Avarice worse than Misers,  
Who, if presented with a precious Jemm,  
Would not stand gazing, if 'twere set in Gold,  
But instantly with grateful thanks accepts it.  Hon. 
True, Sir; but mine is of so mean a Lustre,  
That by Possession, when 've viewed it well,  
Without a Foil, you'll scarce think it worth the wearing.  Tru. 
There you mistake me, Dear; for by my Love,  
A Heart, like yours, shows fairest when unset;  
There's no Defect in that, no Fault, no Flaw,  
No Blemish, that requires the Artists Hand to help it.  Hon. 
Thou more than Man,  
Take all my Vows, with Heaven my Wishes share;  
But till that Heaven I daily do implore  
Betters my Fate, I beg you'd press no more.  Tru. 
A lasting Shame on that Barbarians Hand,  
Who from the Teeming Womb of's Mother Earth  
First forced to light that glittering damning Pelf;  
Money, the scorn of noble generous Minds,  
The venomed Hook that strikes inglorious Souls,  
The petty Grain, which put i'th' guilty Scales,  
Turns 'em 'gainst Virtue, Loyalty, and Honour;  
And an Eternal Curse on him that rates  
His Love so low, to barter it for Gold:  
No, generous Love is like a matchless Pearl,  
Not to be purchased by the massy Toy:  
The like alone can make the just Exchange,  
And the true Price of Love is only Love:  
Mine you possess, with yours I think I'm blest;  
Let not that Bliss destroy my Happiness.  Hon. 
Forbear to urge, but too too well beloved,  
This needless, fruitless, dismal Argument,  
Your Words, your Deeds, have such a glorious Lustre,  
've quite amazed and dazzled my weak Senses;  
Yet while my Honour and Gratitude remain,  
I'll still be just, still love, and still deny.  Enter Jinny. Jinny. 
Oh Madam Honoria, I've been seeking you all the House over: Here's my Master has been babbling for you this half hour: For my part, I believe he is running Mad, he keeps such a Quarter.  Hon. 
Why, what's the matter? Has he lost any Money lately?  Jinny. 
Not that I know of, Madam; but I'm mightily mistaken, or he has got a Mistress, and that may be as bad on all sides.  Hon. 
A Mistress!  Tru. Aside. 
What disconsolate Scavingers Relict can this be?  Jinny. 
I think so, Madam; she came with Mr. Wildman; he calls her Cousin Eugenia.  Tru. Aside. 
Eugenia and Wildman Cousins! I thought they had been nearer related.  Jenny. 
Lately come out of the Country, I vow, Madam: I dare lay my Maidenhead, if my Master holds on his rate, if she don't return very speedily, she's like to leave hers behind her, and follow the Example of her Predecessors.  Tru. Aside. 
Gamester-like, would slur that off in a Bet, she's afraid won't pass currant in a Bargain.  Hon. 
Surely you surprise me?  Jinny. 
Nay, Madam, that's not all; there's Mr. Wildman even as sweet upon your Sister. I must confess she keeps him somewhat more at a distance, than t'other does my Master. Alas, these Country Ladies are the kindest Creatures—  Tru. Aloud. 
Ha', ha', ha'.  Hon. 
Bless me, Sir, whence this Alteration!  Tru. 
From that which will cause, if I mistake not, the like in you. But to your Post, and take this Word of Advice: Our Fortunes may in all probability depend on Eugenia; therefore use her with respect, promote your Uncle's Affection, and leave me alone for the rest.  

For when a Miser once gives up his Heart,  
With all the rest he easily does part.   Hon: 
My Obedience shall show my Love: So Prosperity and my best Wishes attend you.  

And to encourage you, and end our Strife,  
Find me a Fortune, I'll find you a Wife.   Exit Truelove. As Honoria is going out, Enter Letitia, who stops her. Let. 
O Sister, I arrest you in the Name of Cupid: One moment's Audience for Love's sake. I come from this same Master mine to be; you know who I mean, I see; prithee, what kind of Creature, what dost think of him?  Hon. 
Mr. Wildman, I suppose, you mean.  Let. 
Ay, ay; who else couldst imagine? But once more, What kind of Creature dost take him to be?  Hon. 
Why, a Man; and if by the little Acquaintance I have with him I may guests, bating some Flights which Youth may excuse, and Slander increase, except my Trulove, inferior to few or none.  Let. 
Nay, as for that matter, I strongly suspect he's no Novice in the World. But, 'twixt you and I, I like a Journeyman ne'er the worse, for having served a Prenticeship to his Trade, so he but mind my Business when I take him to me, I shall ne'er fall a reaping up of old Trespasses done in Strangers Enclosures. As for your Comparison, Faith, you might have spared it; I think Mr. Wildman as good a Man as your Trulove, as you call him.  Hon. 
Prithee, why?  Let. somewhat hastily. 
Prithee, why not?  Hon. 
Nay, no Passion, Sister; Sir Novelty says 'tis a Mortal Enemy to the Complexion. Let Reason take place; I'll give you these: First, Whether he loves you as my Trulove me, is a question—  Let. 
Which is more than I can resolve. However, if a Man be to be believed by his Words, he's not far short; and the hindmost Dog, you know, may chance to be first in with the Hare. As for my part, I love Mr. Wildman as well as you your Trulove; so you may tell him; if it be but neatly done, you'll pleasure me. However, I'm resolved to have a Course or two with him before he snaps me up, an't be but to show him the difference 'twixt myself and I know who; tho' perhaps he may have no great need of a Whet. But all's one, I'm resolved to venture my Maidenhead with my Affection, and go Supercargo of my own Goods.  Hon. 
Your Resolution shows your Discretion, and seems to me a happy Augury of our better Fortunes.  

Fortune's a Goddess, scorns the limmed Slave,  
But Loves, Caresses, Crowns the Soul that's brave.   Exeunt omnes. 
The End of the First ACT.    

ACT II. SCENE I.  Enter Letitia, followed by Wildman. Let. 
AND so as you was saying, you love me as— How was't? Lord, what a treacherous Memory have I?  Wild. 
Then I'll repeat it Myriad of times; I love Letitia more than herself she loves, than Zealots Passion, or Court Upstarts Pride, than English—  Let. 
Beef.  Wild. 
Dutch—  Let. 
Brandy, or Wildman Flattery. Ha', ha', ha'.  Wild. 
Now by your Beauteous Self, the greatest Oath,  
By that which knows the Candour of my Vows,  
My Heart's too nobly placed, to entertain  
So mean a Vice:  
Crushed as it is, and broken by your Scorn,  
A truer yet ne'er Homage paid to Beauty,  
Which if you thus go on, tho' then too late,  
Perhaps you'll find to be but too too true:  
Thou Pardon dearest Angel if I wish,  
Rather beloved, than for your Love to die:  
Then when the Sand allotted for our Lives  
Had been employed in Miracles of Love,  
Wonders to most, Examples to the best,  
With equal Pace we'll soar to th' Seat o'th' blessed.  Embracing. 
Our Souls thus linked, we'd both together fly,  Lifting her up. 
Cut through the Clouds, and—  Let. singing. 
hay boys up go we.  Pushing him rudely. 
Ha', ha', ha'. Why, what Gallymaufry Stuff's this! I'd undertake a Journeyman Cobbler courts not his Doxy half so ridiculously— Why, what Puddle-dock Pettifogger gave you Advice thus to open your Case! Or how much Money and Time have you spent in mustering up from the Refuse and Scraps of Auxiliary Penny Pamphlets, this nauseous Hodg-podg of Banter and Bombast!— Ecud, it turns my Teeth an edge, worse than the Filing of a Saw.  Wild. 
Madam, tho' my Deserts merit not your Favour, yet my Civility may justly claim a Requital: Neither is my Person, if my Friends belly me not, so monstrous ugly, as to turn the Stomach of a more queasy Person than I take your Ladyship to be. Why, 'sfoot, Madam, I'm a Man.  Let. 
So Madam Eugenia has partly informed me, or in Truth your Chattering would have made me somewhat dubious.  Wild. aside. 
A Whore! Foolish Whore! Fire and Brimstone, she lies!  Let. 
Frost and Snow but she does not; for 'tis to yourself I'm beholden for this double Discovery; the most she gave me was indeed but a strong Suspicion, which you have more strongly confirmed: But tho' a Town Spark's Cast-off be good enough for a Citizen's Lady; yet her Keeper, I suppose, is too modest, after a Discovery, to intrude himself upon his Niece; which, as occasion presents, I shall acquaint him with. So, leaving you to your more serious Consideration, I remain in Expectation of a Second Meeting, yours, Letitia. Ha', ha', ha', ha'.  Exit laughing. Wild. 
Meet thee again! I'd rather meet my Great Grandmother's Ghost at Midnight in the bottom of a Coalpit. What Wild-cats are these City Virginities! I'd undertake to lick a Bears Cubb into Shape, sooner than to reclaim one of these Haggerds from their Quirks and Freeks, into a competency of Sobriety and good Manners. 'Sbud, is this the Quarry the Old Gentleman sent me to truss up! 'Tis well, for all her Levity, an she been't too heavy for my Pounces. Or is not this some Trick of his to stave me off my pretended Fortune, and in the Interim to ruin what little Real yet remains. There's it; confound his Macchiavillian Curship: There's it. Hum; here he comes; the Simile holds true.  Enter Sir Fickle. Sick. 
Soh, my Merchant-Venturer to the Land of Love: What Cheer, Man, hah! What, art in the Road? Art making the Haven? hay, boy!  Wild. 
Softly, softly, Sir; tho' you may be ready to put into Port, I'm not put out yet; for tho' the Moon be at Full, I can't guests when the Tide will serve.  Sick. 
Nay, Pox, an you'll not weigh Anchor, whose Fault is't?  Wild. 
'Twas done, Sir; and Sails hoist, and just as I was launching into the Main, I met with such a Vengeance Mackaril-gale, 'twas a Mercy I was not over-sett: Of splitting I think there was no great Danger; I was kept too far off Shore for that, Faith.  Sick. 
You talk Riddles, Man; prithee explain.  Wild. 
Why then to be short; I made my Addresses with all possible Civility, she with more Coolness, nay, Raillery, received 'em: I complained, and she, I thank her, gave me some small Reason.  Sick. 
As how, Man; as how?  Wild. pushing him. 
As thus Man, as thus; and a Wonder too I scaped so: For my part, I expected no less than a Black and Blue Suit of Second Mourning.  Sick. 
A Suit of Second Mourning, quotha; ha', ha', ha'. Pho, Pox; you know Women at first are always shy of their Favours.  Wild. 
Hum; 'tis not her Shyness I complain of.  Sick. 
Oh, oh, I thought—  Wild. 
The matter's not great; a Claw or two on the Nose, as I take it, and a broken Pair of Shins.  Sick. 
Ha', ha', ha'; a broken pair of Shins, ha', ha'. Why, what a Devil— ha', ha'? Have you been at Football, ha', ha', ha'?  Wild. Aside. 
These are the Fruits of Hyperbolical Exaggeration; it creates Laughter where we intent it to promote Pity.  To Sick. 
Gramercy Dad to be, I'm glad to see you in so good a Humour: I perceived you were in a merry Vein, and was willing to promote it; for, in reality, things were not quite so bad; but, Faith, 'twixt you and I, I despair of carrying the Town; my Ogling Shots almost spent, and not one of 'em has so much as reached the Outwarks; and the Train of Bombastick Similes and Protestations I brought with me to the Siege is too weak to make any reasonable Breach; so that if you don't reinforce, I must even pack up Bag and Baggage, and march off whilst I may, lest she should fall upon my Rear and rout it, as she has already disordered the Van.  Sick. 
Heighty tity! What a Rise is here from breaking of Shins to taking of Towns! Ha', ha'. Come, Courage, Boy; t'other Attack: If thou carry'st her not, I will for thee, grate me like a Nutmeg, ha', ha'. If thou succeedest not by Storm, I'll cut off Provision, and shalt do't by Famine, Wildman, or No Man 's the Word.  Wild. 
Well, Sir, for once I'll venture to follow your Advice: Good Assurance boggles not at the first Refusal; and, Thanks to my Stars, of that I'm pretty well provided.  

Once more at all; and if she fails me twice,  
Modesty's Virtue, Impudence a Vice.   Exit. Fickle Solus. Sick. 
Send thee good Luck, Boy, or somebody'll smart for't, I feel that already. Why what a Gipsy Minks is this! She has wearied me out ever since she came into her Teens; nay, even with Threats compelled me to procure a Husband for her; and now I have done't, she flies off. What a Pox can be the Reason of it! 'Sbud, he's handsome enough, and will be rich enough too for a Gentleman. What else would she have? Unless the Devil has played Booty, and given her t'other Item of her concealed Fortune; which, if she e'er gets into her Clutches, she'll mount and shine like a Kite, with a Paper Lantern at the Tail on't: But I've a Trick, I think, to cheat the Devil himself; for the Devil's in the Devil, if he once imagines a Citizen's Foreman should be true to his Master.  Enter Jonathan. Jon. 
Lord, Sir, what do you mean to tarry thus mumping and maundering to yourself! Why, here's my Lord Mayor's Music come this half hour; unless you'll give 'em Employment, they'll get so drunk, they'll be for playing on more Instruments than you imagine. Then there's the Cook smoking like a Pastry, and swearing by his Chopping-block, unless you make haste, the Dinner won't be worth a Fig, Sir?  Sick. 
Let 'em drink and swear on; I've more Care and Business than they.  Wheedlingly. 
Jonathan.  Jon. mocking. 
Right Renowned and thrice Honourable Sir Fickle,  
The Prospect of Dinner does my Fancy so tickle;  
That no more than a Calves-head shall I here what you say, Sir;  
Therefore stay till I've Dined, and therefore pray come away, Sir.  Pulling him. Sick. 
I see Hunger sharpens Wits as well as Appetites; the Fear of it has had the same Effect on me.  Jon. 
Fear of what! Your Mistress?  Sick. 
No, no.  Jon. 
Why, I know that well enough; never fear her, Sir; she loves you, in my Conscience, I believe.  Sick. 
Nay, prithee hear me; thou knowest how that Devil Lettuce has been continually at me for a Husband—  Jon. 
Pho! Why I know that too: And had I not been faithful Jonathan, she had been fitted e'er now. She knows how to choose, tho' I say it as should not. But—  Fick. 
Nay, prithee, Patience.  Jon. 
Quick, quick then, Sir; this same business is the damnd'st Enemy to a Hungry Stomach—  Fick. 
Why then thou knowest with what Care I've sought her out one; nay, with what Cost—  Jon. 
Ay, ay, Cost enough; 'fore I'd have ventured so much on e'er a skittish Jades Head in the Town, I'd see her both hanged and drowned.  Sick. 
Hanged and drowned too! How's that?  Jon. 
Why her Heels on a Hedge, and her Head in a Ditch. Come budge, budge, Sir; my Gurs grumble most horribly for Ammunition: An I don't pacify 'em speedily, they'll be in an Uproar. Come pray, Sir, be jogging.  Sick. 
Then, shortly, thus: Whence her Disdain to Wildman springs I can't imagine, unless she be in Scent of her Fortune.  Jon. 
Ay, Pox, these Gilflirts have Noses like Northern Hounds: But if I was you, I'd Law her— She might hit on the Scent, but I'd spoil her for e'er coming up with the Game.  Sick. 
That, were it feasible, would help little; for when Women are once in Scent of their Fortunes or Gallants, cut off their Legs, they'll hobble afrer 'em on their Stump. No, I've a better Method for that; I'll make her beat Counter, and then I shall be pretty safe: I'll commit the Writings to thy Charge, and then I'll swear in all the Courts of Christendom, I know nothing of the matter; if that will but content her.  Jon. 
Ay, ay, Sir; that you may do both with Safety and Honour; for tho' downright Perjury may cause loss of Leather and Reputation, yet a handsome Evasion was always allowed of as a Mark of Ingenuity.  Sick. 
Here, take my Keys. [Gives them.] And dost hear? Be vigilant.  Jon. 
Oh, Sir, as the Dragon in the Story o'er the Golden Pippins. Vigilant! Why, I shan't sleep a Wink while I have 'em [Aside.] for Joy.  Sick. 
We'll remove all secretly and securely, whilst I in and make 'em pay the Pipers.  

And to my lasting Praise it shall be said  
A Man was once too many for two Maids.  Exit. Jonathan Solus. 
Why now Sir Fickle, you'd think it a plaguy Disaster,  
If the Man should chance to be too hard for the Master.   
There's Rhyme for Rhyme; and if I don't show you Trick for Trick, may I be thought as great an Ass as your Worship— Why, what an Antichristian Dog is this Master mine, to abuse poor Girls thus: 'Fore George I could almost pity 'em myself. Nay, were I sure of a Recompense for my Honesty, I should most certainly make a Scruple of Conscience to be accessary to this same piece of Knavery. Well, I'll to Jinny, and feel her Pulse; let her sound her Mistress' Inclinations; for I've so much Sense of Honour, as not to turn Knave but upon a Vantage.— So, here they come, Fox and Pack, I'faith. O Fox, O Joler, O Damsel, O Lightfoot; A Boy, a Boy, a Boy.  Exit. Enter Sick. and Eug. Wildman and Let. Honoria. Sick. 
Come Madam, come Nieces, Gentlemen Fiddlers, I beg your Pardon. Come, let's see what Entertainment you have for this Lady. Madam Eugenia, you're Mistress of all here. Pray do the Honours of the House, it may be your own another Day, or to Night either; the sooner the better, say I.  Eug. Aside. 
And I.  Sick. 
Come, hang Civility: Sat down, sit down.  Pushing 'em on their Seats. Enter Jonath. who nods at Fickle. Jon. sitting on the Ground. 
Take your Places, take your Places, Gentiles; show, show there. Pray Gentlemen, dispatch.  Aside. 
Pox of this scraping afore Dinner, it serves only to set People's Teeth an edge, and spoil their Stomaches: Gout and Palsy light on their mangy Fingers! Would they had done.  An Entertainment of Music. A Sonato. Sick. 
Sweetly tweedled, I'faith. Now for a Song.  Jon. Aside. 
A Song! Oh my Guts.  Sick. 
Madam Eugenia, you, I know, are good at it.  Eug. 
Excuse me, Sir; our Country Breeding affords but homely Music; besides, my Heart's too heavy to—  Sick. 
Ay, ay, these Maidenheads are great Burdens, Lettuce. I know that by Experience. I bore mine about me for Thirty Years and upwards, and when I got quit on't, methought I was so light, so easy— Well, Madam, since you refuse us the Happiness of your Voice, I hope I may entreat that of your Company at Dinner.  Jon. rising. 
There you hit the Point, Sir. The best way to lighten a poor Maiden's Heart, is to fill her Belly. Go, pray Gentlemen, walk in, walk in.  Music. 
Sir, we can furnish you with a very new one, so please you to hear it.  Sick. 
By all means. Come, tune your Trebles.  In a Base Voice. 
Toll, loll, loll.  Jon. to Music. 
Frogs and Ravens cram the croaking Windpipe of thee.  To Fickle. 
Who he! Why, the newest Song he has is the Children in the Wood, or the London Apprentice, or some such like Ditty, set to the new Modish Tune of Old Sir Simon the King. But if you'll compound for a Catch, I'll sing you one of my Lord Mayor's going to Pin-maker's- Hall, to hear a Snivelling Non-Con Separatist Divide and Subdivide into the Two and Thirty Points of the Compass.  Wild. 
For the Honour of the City let's hear it—  

SONG.  
SHE that marries an Old Man, let this be her Care,  
At Home as she can, but Abroad well to far:  
For at Home though she chance to be but meanly blest,  
Yet Abroad she may find how to make up the rest.   

2.  
If the Cuckold grow Jealous, let her ne'er be dismayed,  
But feign an Affection, that Passion is laid;  
With him let her toy, kiss, chuck, play the Fool;  
The Receipt is approved by the best Modern School.   

3.  
If he still be perverse, and begin to contest,  
Let her know that a surer yet lies in her Breast:  
So sure, it ne'er failed yet to give present Ease;  
But kill him with Kindness then do as you please.   Sick. 
Damned shrewd Council this! 'Tis well it is but Modern. Now will I be pounded to Pepper, if this bened the Exhortation of some Badger-backed Holder forth, that used to help these ravenous Wild-cats to a Bit abroad, as the Song says, they liked better than their ordinary Fare at home— But enough and too much of that. Now had we a Dance, 'twould perfect the Business.  Jon. Aside. 
Hell take the Huntsman that—  Music. 
Oh, Sir, we'll hëlp you out—  Joh. dolefully. 
Ah.  Music. 
On these occasions we bring Instruments of all sorts and sexes, fit for this or any other Employment you can desire.  Jon. to Music. 
Hark you, Friend, have you ever a Black-pudding, Bacon-Hock, or any such Instrument to employ my Grinders, my Belly most urgently desires it; 'tis as empty as your Fiddle-case, by Famine.  Omnes. 
Ha', ha', ha'.  Music. 
Black-pudding! Why, do you take me for a Tripe-man?  Jon. 
Tripe-man! Why, what a pox, if you were a Gold-finder, you're good enough to make his Lordship a Crowdero. Why, what a Pox Goodman Catguts and Horsehair is the matter with you, ha'?  Wild. 
Ha', ha', ha'. Prithee, Jonathan, three moments Patience, and then—  Jon. falling. 
Here lies the Famished Object of your Inhuman Barbarity.  Aside. 
Three Moment's.  Wild. 
Ha', ha', ha'. Poor Jonathan! He was a very honest Fellow—  Fick. 
But of an insatiate Appetite. He should have been one of Marriot's Bastards by his eating.  Ambo. 
Ha', ha', ha'.  Jon. 
Insulting Dogs, thus to triumph over a Man in Misery! But if I bened revenged on you both, may I go to Bed fasting, and not so much as dream of Victuals till to morrow after Dinner.  A Dance. By Mr. Essex and Mrs. Temple. Sick. 
So, so, curiously capered brave Boys, brave Boys all; adjourn to the Cellar or Kitchen till further occasion.  Jon. looking up. 
Ha! What's that? Cellar and Kitchin.  Enter Servant. Seru. 
Sir, 've served Dinner upon Table.  Jon. starting up. 
Where, where, where?  Running out, Wildman stops him. 
No pray, Sir; 'tis dangerous jesting with edged Tools.  Pointing to his Teeth. Sick. 
Come then, Madam; come Mr. Wildman. Lettuce, I think I need not desire you; your late Exercise, I believe, has got you your Stomach.  

Advance, I'll lead you on to try your Teeth  
Upon a portly piece of Powdered Beef.   Jon. 
Then there's some Hopes at last, as I'm a Sinner:  
I thought he'd made all Dancing, and no Dinner.  Exeunt. 
The End of the Second ACT.   

ACT III. SCENE Continues.  Enter Jonathan with a great piece of Bread in one Hand, and pulling in Jinny with the other. Jon. 
NAY, nay, never hang back for the matter, but come along. What, dost think it reasonable we two should fast, when all the rest are a feasting? If this be the Conscience of a Chambermaid—  Jinny. 
And that the Fasting of a Foreman! Deliver us from a Conjunction! Bless me! Why, what have you got there? A Shoulder of Mutton?  Jon. biting and mumbling. 
Pho, pox, no; this is but a Sippit i'th' Pan to stay my Stomach, till that Covey of Cormorants within will give me leave to feed to the purpose. But now I have so relishing a Bit before me, I may venture to leave this—  Puts it in his Pocket, and kisses her. Jinny. 
Stand off, Greasie-chops, and find somewhat else to stay your Stomach with then—  Jon. 
What? Then a Chop of Mutton? Why, 'tis the Staple Dish, the Cobbler feeds as well on that as the Czar. Ah, a Hind-Quarter of Young Mutton for my Money.  Jinny. 
Ay, ay, for your Money, and enough too. I believe your whole Estate will scarce purchase the Carcase; but if ever you have me for better for worse, such course Far as that will never serve turn.  Jon. 
'Sfoot, what wouldst have? A Phoenix stewed in Nectar, Phenicoptero's Tongues, Ortolan's Brains, or any such Kickshaw. Speak but the word there, thine.  Jinny. 
No, no; I have enough for one while, with your Chop of Mutton, as you call it.  Jon. 
A Chambermaid and satisfied! Nay, than Larks will be good cheap; but though thou'rt so reasonable, yet I'm bound in honour to—  Offers to kiss her. Jinny. 
Stand off, I say, Pepper and Ginger, or I'll call my Master, and have you infused in a Hog-trough, where you may cool your Courage as you feed to the purpose.  Jon. 
Why, you proud Minx; do you make a Boar of me?  Jinny. 
Why truly, your Snout and Grunting would somewhat incline me, did not your long Ears and shallow Brains convince me that you're of another Species.  Jon. 
Y'abusive Jade, these Brains that you call shallow; shall, if you please, produce a Masterpiece, and make thee shine in Silk and Satin, Jinny.  

I've had a Crop this day, let that suffice:  
thou'rt the poor Fool, I only rich and wise.   Jinny. 
O rare Jonathan!  Jon. 
O true Woman! Who for two or three Nonsensical Bombastick gingling Rhimes, will bestow on a grunting Swine-snouted, long-eard, shallow-brained Beast of a Beau, the Epithet to Ben Johnson.  Jinny. 
Igad, an you go on at this rate, I shall rather esteem you a Downright Wit, than a Citizen's Foreman.  Jon. 
Tother such word, and Empires, they are thine. Hang petty Lordships, I'm for Kingdoms vast. I say, within this Pouch lie Keys that lock more Riches up, than Croesus e'er possessed.  Jinny Aside. 
Gad, the Rogue's elevated; there must be somewhat in this— Pho, now you think to make a mighty Secret of what I know as well as yourself: But 'tis the Trick of your Sex to whisper Proclamations.  Jon. 
And of yours to proclaim Secrets. Now will I be docked, if there ever was, is, or will be that Arcana in Nature, that you don't pretend to as full a Knowledge of, as any—  Jinny. 
Of you, and with as much Reason in my Mind.  Jon. 
Why there's the Business. Now will I work a Miracle, and convince you: Prithee tell me but one thing; it belongs to your Trade; so far I'll assure you paravance.  Jinny. 
Nay, if it belong to my Occupation, I can tell you twenty: What is't?  Jon. 
Why, the Shape and Size of Mother Eve's green Apron.  Jinny. 
There, I must confess, 've puzzled me.  Jon. 
Thy Ingenuity would almost make a Man suspect thy Sex. Now will I show you a Quaking Tailor here hard by, who, without Chalk or Yard, and only by his Inward Light, shall give you the Dimensions of it with as great Expedition and Exactness, as if 'twere lying on his Shopboard before him: Or as you would do your own with your nimble Fingers and Picked Elbow there.  Measuring from his Finger's end to his Elbow. Jinny. 
Would I had a Glimpse on't, that I might pry into this Mystery you keep such a Fuss withal.  Jon. 
Confess and recant, and somewhat may be done.  Jinny. 
Well, I do my Presumption; as for thy Secrecy, 'tis Woman-Proof, I acknowledge it.  Jon. 
Why then here stands honest Jonathan a Grocer's Foreman, that can boast of more than the French King and his whole Cabinet Council, who are all led by the Nose by a She Bearward.  Jinny. 
Ay, ay; but prithee unravel what it is?  Jon. 
That that shall make thy Mistresses to obtain,  
Strive to outvie thy Master in their Gifts:  
Thus fixed I'll stand, while they offer Gold by Pecks,  
And unregarded slight 'em like—  Jinny. 
A Fool in Folio; would you not?  Jon. Aside. 
Gad, so I should; the Jade's in the right on't. But this same Highflown Language is so pretty, it makes a Man so Heroic, so like a Player. As for Example now:  

Hussey, I say, your Mistresses would not dare  
T'affront me thus as you do, for their Ears.   Jinny Aside. 
My Mistresses again! Igad I have it. Come, Faith, now I guess it; my Master has entrusted thee with somewhat.  Jon. 
With somewhat! Why, there are you as far out of the way again, as when you're mumbling your Prayers, and meditating of Mischief— With somewhat, quotha! With all, I say; mark that: Once more I say, with all; and 'mongst the rest, with your Mistress' Fortunes, their Father's Will and Testament, cum multis aliis, enough to bulge a Wheelbarrow. What sayest now, my Prester Joan, shall I make my Words good, ha'— Come, shall us to Pontack's?  Jenny. 
And fling the Sop to the Fiddler  Jon. 
Agreed; there, Blind Harpers, take't among you. But t'other By't.  Jenny. 
Ay, twenty. Now if this be true, I'm thine as fast as Love can make me.  Aside. 
'Tis good striking now the Iron's hot.  Jon. 
A Match, I faith; there's one.  Jenny. 
But, my dear Jonathan, thou must be honest tho'.  Jon. 
O ne'er fear that's my way: If the Ladies do but outbid my Master a Taster, they shall even have 'em; I'll show 'em I can be just— But here a comes with a full Paunch, and empty Pate, the only two Distinctions 'twixt an Amsterdam Burgher and a Citizen of London.  Jenny. 
Then let's away, and remember not a Word by our Loves.  Jon. 
Oh, never fear; I shall find other Employment for my Tongue than tattling.  Enter Fickle, and Eugenia; Wildman, and Letitia; Honoria, as from Dinner. Eugen. 
Sir, the Nobleness of your Entertainment has so far exceeded Thanks, 'twere vain to think of any other Return than that of admiring your Bounty.  Fickle, aside. 
Poor Rogue! I warrant her Holiday Feast in the Country was but Bacon and Bagpudding at the best.  To Eug. 
Madam, the least of your Favours is a sufficient Reward; but Thanks is more than I deserve for this and better Entertainments I have in store for you.  Eugen. 
Sir, They are far too mean to offer to your Merits; I should think myself much indebted to Fortune, had she lent me any thing more worthy your Acceptance.  Wild, aside. 
Good— Let Women alone for taking old Occasions by the topping.  Fickle. 
Bear Witness, Gentlemen— Madam, you have that i'th' bottom of your Bag would make an Emperor proud of accepting.  Eugen. 
Then name it, Sir, once more 'tis yours.  Fickle. 
Why 'tis yourself; your Love I ask, for all—  Eugen. 
'Lass, Sir, my Heart's too full of Grief to harbour the least Thought of Love; a grateful Acknowledgement is the little All I'm Mistress of; 'tis yours, if you think it worth the receiving.  Weeping. Wild. aside. 
Excellent Jade! How she drills him!  Fickle, whispering. 
Nay, don't cry, Sugar-Candy, don't cry; trust me, you'll make me do so too. Cheer up, Honey, I'll be thy Father, and Mother, and Sister, and Brother, and all thy good Friends.  Wild, aside. 
Now for me (to Eugen.) Come, Cousin, you are mine by your dead Father's Will committed to my Care; speak, Is your Heart engaged?  Eug. pointing to Fickle. 
Alas! 'twas free, till first I saw those Eyes.  Fickle, staring. 
Hum, hum.  Wild. 
Then thus I give you to your Wishes, so you consent.  Eug. 
Witness these Blushes, let them supply my Speech.  Fickle. 
Make room, make place, by your Leave there, gentlemans, that I may receive my Princess as I ought, (kneeling.) Thus, as your Apprentice, I pay my Respects unto your Beauty.  Eug. raising him. 
Then rise, my Lord, my Master, and my Husband.  Fickle. 
Madam, you'll kill me with Kindness, as the Song says in the new Opera: Ay, do if you can; why, I'm happier than the Pope in the midst of his Seraglio.  Let. 
The Turk, Sir, the Turk.  Fickle. 
The Pope, Mrs. Pert; the Pope, I say: Turk or Pope, pray where's the difference, ha'?  Let. 
Nay, Sir, I confess you are the better Historian, Holinshead, Stow, and Baker, were Fools to you, I believe.  Fickle. 
Yes that they were, Mrs. Hammershine, Mrs. Puspaws; find me out e'er a Stower that ever stowed, e'er a Baker that ever eat, or e'er a Brewer that ever had the first sup of so dainty a Firkin as this is.  To Mr. Wildman. 
I beg your Pardon; but this same Madam Kicke-te-scratch there, with her Bakers, and Stowers, and Hollingsheads, and the Devil and all, has put me so besides myself, that I for got the best of my Friends. Pray, Sir, study how I may requite you.  Wild. pointing to Let. 
There's one, Sir, would over-rate the Service, if—  Fickle. 
If what, Sir? If what? Sure I'm Master of my own. Come, Mrs. Nimble-toes, no shall I? shall I? This, or none. I've heard of your Pranks, you see. If I were not in good Company, I should— ay, that I should. Come, come.  Let. aside to Wild. 
Forbear, or, as I live, I'll discover all.  Wild. 
Sir, your Good Will I esteem as a perfect Proof of your Affection; hers by after-Services I shall endeavour to deserve, if possible.  Fickle. 
Nay, Sir, if you're for Consideration, pray take your own time.  To Eugen. 
Come, Pruine Eyes, let's not interrupt their Loves, nor our own.  To Let. 
And do you hear, Mrs. Fly-at-all, ' ware worrying, or I'll mussel, chain, and to Kennel with you, I will. Come, my Sugar-Plumb, my Mackaroon, come along.  Exit. Fickle, Eugen. Wild. 
Now, fair Letitia, what is't yet remains?  Let. 
Only to take your Labour for your Pains.— Ha', ha', ha'; what, a rhyming again? I gad, I hate that worse than your Contrivance, for that was pretty tolerably carried on for a Beginner.  Hon. 
What Contrivance, Sister? what was't?  Let. 
Why—  Wild. aside. 
All will out. Now shall I, 'spight of my Modesty, have my good Qualities laid open before my Face.  Hon. 
But what was't, good Sister?  Let. 
Why, only to make a small Swop of—  Wild. aside. 
Ah! it's a coming.  To them. 
Ladies, I beg Pardon for the Abruptness of my Departure; but, Business, Madam, Business.  Let. 
Nay, pray, Sir.  Wild. 
Nay, Good Madam.  Let. catching him. 
Nay, pray, good, dear, plotting, contriving, bantring, wenching Sir, hear but your Indictment, Sentence shall immediately pass, and then you may go—  Wild. aside. 
And be hanged, so I may, faith and troth; the Halter's all I have then left to trust to: And by good Luck I've just Money enough left to buy one.  Let. overhearing. 
Bless me! how a Woman may be mistaken.  Wild. 
Mistaken Madam, what do you mean?  Let. 
Why, I thought you had been a Beau?  Wild. 
Not I, Madam, by my Faith.  Let. 
So I find by your Pocket, Three Half Pence! Why, I have heard of a Beau at a Nonplus for a Half Penny worth of Ferreting to tie up his Breeches, till the poor Punk, at the Expense of her Garter, had recruited the Damage he had sustained in her Service, which he himself was not able to repair.  Hon. 
Come, Sister, to the Contrivance.  Let. 
Why, that was so small I'd almost forgot it, 'twas only to make an Exchange of his Cousin,  looking at him 
for himself— As for the rest, the bloody Battery he complains of was caused by his own Assault; he was for forcing me with him to the World in the Moon, I think, to some Seat he has lately purchased there, as I take it. Was it not, Sir?  Wild. 
Rapture, Madam, Rapture.  Aside. 
I was most plaguily afraid of a full and true Discovery.  Hon. 
Nay, if you blame him for that, Sister, I must tell you now you're too cruel, I protest, had I a Heart to dispose of—  Let. 
As I have yet, thank my Stars; it would scarce be in his Favour: So, Sir, I beg your Pardon for the abruptness of my Departure; but Business, Sir, Business.  Exit, laughing. Wild. 
The first Woman that ever I knew leave her Pleasure for Business.  Exit. Hon. 
What, Pleasure! Sir, believe me, you're ill acquainted with our Sex's Passions, they'll laugh for Sorrow as well as cry for Joy.  Wild. 
But in her Smiles I read a grating Scorn;  
Heavens! In what cursed Minute was I born,  
To be thus tortured with Disdain?  
Malignant Planets!  Hon. 
Curse not your Stars, they're more auspicious to you  
Than you imagine, or thine to me,  
O, Trulove!  Wild. 
For Pity sake untie this Gordian Knot  
That keeps my fettered Soul in dark Suspense:  
The Virgin Bride, with eager trembling Joy  
Ne'er long t'embrace the loved, and lovely he,  
As I for some Relief to ease my Soul.  Hon. 
What Ease you can imagine I can give.  Wild. 
Oh no! your Trulove's kind, Letitia's coy,  
Nay worse.  Hon. 
Nay better, Sir, if that her Love you prize.  Wild. 
Letitia!  Hon. 
Loves you, Sir, I'd almost said,  
As I love Trulove, or as Trulove me;  
In Tears I've heard her sigh it to herself,  
And make the Simile.  Wild. 
Amazement seizes me! Can this be true!  
Yes, it is true, for Honoria speaks:  
But pardon, Madam, if I ask for once  
What means her Shiness, mingled with Disdain.  Hon. 
She doubts 'tis Int'rest-forces your Addresses;  
She thinks your Heart has been enslaved before,  
And then she well may fear you do not love.  Wild. 
Both true to Heaven and you, I both confess  
To you, who, next that Heaven, I dare most trust;  
Yet may I feel there all revenging Ire,  
If, this Moment that I speak, my Heart's not free  
From any Chains but hers,  
As Infant Babes before they heard Love named.  
From Fate and Want, 'tis true, first sprung my Love;  
But by that awful Deity I swear,  
Her Coldness, by a Power well known to him,  
Has so fomented, nay, increased my Flame,  
I'd rather live upon some Desert Rock,  
The Weeds for Food, Repentant-Tears my Drink,  
Her only for my All,  
Than 'midst the greatest Luxury and Pomp  
This World, this nauseous World! can give without-her  Hon. 
Trust me, your Words and Actions are so full  
Of true Repentance, and of generous Passion,  
That had I Tears for any but my Trulove,  
I could spare some for you.  
But go, be prosperous in your matchless Flame,  
Matchless indeed to any but my Trulove's;  
Persuade her you're but what y'appear to me,  
You'll find her kind, or force her to be Just.  Wild. 
You, as my better Genius, I obey,  
I ne'er can miss, while that points out the way.  Hon. 
And may you find it, tho' I miss my own,  
Thou Mirror of a reclaimed repentant Lover;  
Oh, Trulove! Can I wish the least of iii.  
To one whose Love so far surpasses mine?  
Thus could I wish you, that I might, at least,  
Merit you better, or you less deserve me.  Enter Trulove observing. 
Oh, Trulove! Trulove! Charmer of my Soul!  
Thou dear Disturber of my Virgin Peace!  
Thou Ever-present Object to my Mind!  
Trulove! as constant.  Trulove runs and catches her in his Arms, she faints. 
As Honoria's kind.  
Look up, thou drooping Cherubin! look up,  
Thou noblest Compound of True Love and Honour!  
Oh! why so pale? Why close you up those Eyes,  
That cause my Adoration, soothe my Love?  Hon. 
And may the Powers be deaf unto my Prayers,  
Now deaf, when most I need their piteous Help,  
If I don't love you with an equal Flame,  
Nay, greater, by my Soul, for it forebodes,  
Should I our Ruins grant, join Want to Want,  
And then you see the Products of our Loves,  
The tender Sprouts of our engrafted Souls,  
Nipped by the frozen Blasts of chilly need,  
Those Flames you now think durable as mine  
Would turn to Tears, your Love would pine to pity.  
Bat yet if I, which Omen Heaven avert,  
Should be reduced by Love to that sad State,  
To see those grovelling Infants on my Lap,  
Making with Tears their fruitless Signs for Bread,  
For want of that expiring on my Breasts,  Embracing. 
I'd hug the darling Cause of our Destruction,  On his Mouth. 
And thus sigh out my unreproaching Soul.  Enter Jenny. Jen. 
So close! Nay, then I'm come before my cue.  Exit. Tru. 
More than enough, thou tightly good!  
I must desist, for fear so great a Saint  
Should bear within her a Prophetic Mind;  
Yet, of you Heavens, that ne'er deny what's Just,  Kneeling. 
My Heart, as humbled as my bended Knee,  
I crave this mighty Boon:  
Grant me but Means to show this generous Maid  
How much I loved, how much my Soul adored,  
But to requite this Seraphin of Love;  
And then, as one, whose earthly Frame's too base  Raving. 
To rival those that twirl the spinning Spheres,  Rising abruptly. 
I'll grudging yield to your abstruse Decrees.  Hon. 
Your Sense seems unconnected, Actions wild;  
O stem this raging Torrent of your Passion;  
Call up your Reason, Srength, and Resolution,  
With all those heavenly Gifts adorn your Mind:  
Methinks I see through those condensed Mists,  
Through this long, dismal, and afflicting Night,  
A glorious Dawn that scatters all the Clouds,  
And brings a welcome  to our Loves.  
What if kind Heaven should at the last relent?  Tru. musing. 
For you it may, for me it never can.  Hon. 
O shield him, all ye glorious Sprights above,  
Whose Divine Talents are to Know and Love;  
Kindly distil into my labouring Soul  
Such Charms, as may his wand'ring Sense control;  
Or by th' Omniscient Deity I must  
Be base, yet still methinks I would be just.  
How far you, Sir?  Enter Jenny. Jenny. 
Very well, Madam, or he shall be so shortly; I bring that along with me will cure all Distempers.  Hon. 
It must be little less, I assure you, that can excuse this unseasonable Intrusion.  Jenny. 
O! Madam, I bring that which will atone for this or any other Crime, yet with Respect; I think I came most opportunely, for if ever Maid helped her Mistress out at a dead Lift, 'twas myself; I gad, if I had not watched my Cue, you must have fell to hugging again, for the speaking part was out I'm sure.  Hon. 
Bless me! the Wench is mad.  Jenny. 
I must have been, or worse, to have let you run on at this rate, when I had that in my Eye to reconcile the Difference.  Hon. 
Worse and worse still. What Difference? or with whom?  Jenny. 
Why, with Mr. Trulove, as I take it: He dotes on you, you  on him, and yet you won't marry him, because— because— I've a Notion on't in my Head, but that's such a new kind of a mad Whim, that there's neither Name nor Reason for't. Pray, Sir, what do you call this same What-you-call-it?  Tru. madly. 

Dim-sighted Maid! I'll couch thy Cataract,  
Rear thy Crystalline Eyeballs to the Skies;  
Ay, there the— Ha— yet higher, higher yet,  
Through that transparent watered tabby Veil,  
Just by the Star-embroidered Throne of Jove,  
The Strife of Honour, Gratitude, and Love;  Soberly.  
There's the Name. Ask the Women the Reason they have monopolised that to Quilt Petticoats with, and 'tis Treason by the Laws of the Ladies for Men but to tread on Pea-hens Trains.  Madly. Hon. weeping. 
He raves! he raves! unpitying Powers! he raves!  Jenny, aside. 
I gad, I think ye both rave: This is the maddest Courtship I ever saw; I could almost cry myself, to see what Fools they make of one another.  Hon. giving her Hand. 
Here, take this fatal, forced Restorative.  Jenny, aside. 
Ay, right; if the Operation of that don't fetch you both to your Senses 'fore to Morrow Morning we must proceed to Hellebore.  Hon. 
What, yet unmoved!  Trulove kisses Honoria 's Hand. 
No, Thanks to Heaven, he mends.  Tru. weeps. 
See the Distemper purging at his Eyes,  
And the Sympathick Virtue moistening mine;  
This sure, of all Extremes, must be most sad,  
Both by Love perish, or for Love be mad.  Jenny. 
There's no Occasion for either, Madam, that I know; but one retire into the next Room, if I don't give you an Antidote 'gainst both, may I not have the licking of the Gallipot.  Hon. 
Surely the Disease is catching, the Girl talks like—  Jen. 
Like an Apothecary, who has a Most Excellent Elixir Salutis within, I assure you, Madam.  Hon. 
Be plain, or I shall have fresh Straw and a dark Chamber provided— What is't you talk of—  Jenny. 
Why, Lands, Lordships, Pounds by Thousands: Nay, Madam, I don't dream, nor is there any Enchantment in the Case.  Hon. 
Defend me! My Uncle turned honest!  Jenny. 
No fear of that neither; but he's turned Fool, and that's as good for your Purpose. In a word, 've heard, I suppose, of an Estate left you by your Father, Sir Roger, your Uncle has: I'm sure Madam Letitia told him often enough on't.  Hon. 
And loud enough, that I know: But that was but Presumption, tho' violent enough, I must confess.  Jenny. 
Then hear the Proof: Your Uncle, for what Reasons Jonathan will tell you, has committed those very Writings to his Keeping, and he has them— as fast as I have him.  Hon. 
Propitious Heavens! How can this be true?  Jenny. 
Bless me! Madam, go in and see; there's Mr. Wildman capitulating with him, he stands upon some small Consideration, 'twill make the Gift more valid, as he says.  
Lord! how my Heart leaps to see this happy Hour!  Hon. 
Your Heels you mean.  Jenny. 
Strike up, I have no Power—  Dance. Hon. 
Now, my Dear Trulove! Heavens, at last, you see  
Have heard my Sighs, and melted at my Tears—  
Honoria would be proud you'd call her yours.  Tru. 
The Heavens are just, and I am proud to serve you.  Exit Trulove. Hon. 
Ha! didst mind, Jenny, or am I deceived,  
His Strangeness and his quick Departure hence?  Jenny. 
For Love's sake, Madam, invent not ways to vex yourself; nothing but Honour harbours in his Breast.  Hon. 
Nothing but Honour, sayest! Yes, Love does sure,  
Or else—  
But these, at best, are but superfluous Thoughts,  
Or Grudge of my late distempered Mind,  
Which the vast Blessing of Trulove's being mine  
Will soon disperse:  
As when some anxious Pilot, all the Day,  
Tossed by unconstant Winds, and angry Sea,  
Would fain take shelter in some neighbouring Port,  
And tacks, and veers, but still is made their Sport;  
At last some pitying God rewards his Pains  
With welcome Safety, and more welcome Gains.  Exeunt. 
The End of the Third ACT.   

ACT iv SCENE IV. Moorfields.  Wildman and Trulove meeting. Wild. 
OH, Mr. Trulove! you're as welcome as unexpected; I've had you once or twice in view, but I never, 'fore this, could give you the Turn.  Tru. 
Like enough; for I've so cunning a Sportsman to deal with, that I am fain to cross double, and use all the Subtleties I can imagine, lest he should unearth me, and cast me out to the Hounds. Nay lately, when (as I after heard) it was you that was coming to assist me in capitulating with that same Rascal Jonathan, your very Tread struck me into such a Panic Fear, that in a manner, nolens volens, I was fain to scamper and take to Covert—  Wild. 
In your Mistress' Apartment, I suppose.  Tru. 
You may; I need make no Secret on't to you. You unharboured a do, I hear, that's like to give you sufficient Sport without poaching in my Purlieus.  Wild. 
Do, dost call her? S'bud, hadst but seen her, when instead of flying end-ways, with what Resolution she stood at bay, I gad, you'd have rather taken her for a Sangler— But I expect that shortly will make her gentle, if any thing can do it.  True. 
Fie! 'tis unmanly, I'd almost said, dishonest, to win a Lady by Compulsion.  Wild. 
Nay, prithee, none of thy nice Moralities, and Punctilios of Honour. Pox on 'em, they have undone more Gentlemen than Drinking, Dicing, Drabbing, and all the other expencely Pastime of the Town together— Take your own Conrse, leave me to mine, it shall be as Honourable as Safety will permit. 'Slife! see here they come; Fortune for me this once I beseech thee.  Enter Jonathan with a Trunk upon his Shoulders, followed by Letitia, Honoria, and Jenny. Jon. 
Servant, gentlemans. Come in, come in, Damsels, here are your Knight-Errants,  pitches down the Trunk: 
So lie thee there, my Charge. Pray, Masters, remember the Porter.  Wild. Tru. give Money. 
Ay, ay; here, here.  Jon. aside. 
Gold! by the Cap of Maintenance— Now to you Gentlemen, for I suppose you'd be the Joint-Purchasers; tho', now I think on't, I'd best expose 'em by way of Auction.  To Wild. 
Pray, Sir, do so much as give my Master a Call, perhaps he may have a mind to some of 'em.  Jenny. 
Come, my Jonathan, prithee no Delays, slip not the Opportunity; for the Goods, now they're once exposed to Sale, may perhaps not serve my Master's Turn so well.  Jon. to Jenny. 
I know that, you Jade; but I've two Ends to tantalise him, Lucre and Revenge, the two Idols of your Heathenish Sex.  
Well, Gentlemen, what say you to the Matter?—  Let. 
What, unsight, unseen?  Jon. 
O, Madam, there's a whole Farrow of Pigs in the Poke, fat ones, I' faith, I'll secure you that. Well, Sirs, some few Hundreds, or so, you may spare, for I would be easy; I'm not for extorting, not I, upon Honour.  Wild. 
Hundreds! Nay, then thou'rt too reasonable, and I scorn to be outdone in that— 'Sfoot! now I think on't, here's the Barbadoes Fleet safely arrived, I'll buy the whole Cargo at a Lump, and present thee with it; Wouldst have any thing else?  Jon. 
No, no, that's enough in all Conscience; for you Sparks are large Promisers, that I know, but bad Performers, or the Women foully belly you: But consider on't, Gentlemen, a Thousand Pound a Man will be fair on all sides.  Tru. 
That I'll give thee freely, for my part, if the Sale of my wretched Annuity can raise it; here's my Hand, shalt have all farther Security I can give thee.  Jon. 
O Lack-a-day! Sir, you're a Man of Honour— Come, Mr. Wild-man, what say you? Will you follow your Leader, and leave the Merchants their Goods to solder up their Cracks.  Wild. 
Well, if it must be so, tho' I confess—  Let. 
Nay, Sir, I'd have you make as cheap a Bargain as may be, especially for Goods that may stand you, possibly, but in little stead. Women, you know, are changeable.  Wild. 
I hope so, Madam.  Aside. 
What Bear-like Entertainment is this! a snap of Comfort, and a polt on the Pate.  Jon. to Wild. 
Come, Sir, come, I'm in pain till I have discharged my Trust.  Let. 
Nay, prithee, Patience; What, give the Gentleman leave to consider a little.  Wild. 
That's needless, Madam; for tho' I have felt the Severity of your Disdain, yet your Honour I never called in question.  To Jon. 
Come, Trulove's my Security, if you question my own.  Tru. 
I am, I am; come, prithee, dispatch.  Wild. going to the Trunk. 
No, no, I'll—  Jon. interposing. 
No, no, but you shan't; fair and softly, by your Leave, Sir. Think not that a trifling Sum, which here is one will share, has induced me to this: Know, Sir, 'tis the Honour of the Deed, and that I'll reserve entire to myself; the Honour and Danger shall be mine, and mine alone.  Opens the Box. 
By your Leave, Madam, let me peep into your Stomacher.  Takes out a Paper. 
So, here a comes.  Wild. Let. 
Let's see't, let's see't.  Jon. 
Three moment's Patience, Mr. Wildman, and then— hay toss! what have we got here? Mynheer van dunc van dunc Vanduncart's Bond, I think— Pho pox! 'tis a Dutch Man's Bond, not worth a Butterom.  Takes up another. Omnes. 
Now! now!  Jon. 
Three Moment's Patience, gentlemans, and then— Hum—  Reads. 
A Settlement upon my Man Jonathan of Twenty Pounds per Annum, after my Decease. Griping Dog! What intended he to do with the rest? Sure he has some Correspondence in Hell, that he designs to draw Bills upon.  To Trulove. 
Faith, Sir, I see 'em on the right side of the Style, as it happens.  Hon. 
Nay, prithee, no more preaching; you'll tyre my Patience presently.  Tru. 
Come Jonathan.  Jon. 
Coming, coming, Sir. (Tumbles the Papers.) Oh! have I caught you? (Stands up, shuts the Box, and puts his Foot out.) Hum, hum, hum. (Reads.) My Brother Sir Roger's Settlement upon Niece Lettuce. Ha! Sir, is this it?  Wild. 
Ay, honest Jonathan, this, or nothing.  Jon. 
Here, Sir.  To Letitia. 
And give you Joy, Madam.  Aside. 
And there's two; for when the Man has the Fortune, the Woman's his of Course.  To Tru. 
Here, Sir, here's your Honoria's as close as—  Wild. 
Come, no more Similes, but to work; let's see what else.  Jon. 
Else! What i'th' the Name of Balzebub would you have else? You'd make the Devil of a Farmer— Crop and Glean too! Why, i'th' Name of Avarice, won't a Thousand Pound (points to Let.) a Year, besides so neat, tied, convenient a Pleasure-House upon it, serve turn? Enough, Enough—  Wild. 
In all Conscience, but only Curiosity—  Jon. 
Nay, I must confess that's a plaguy itching Distemper. But if you want a Rasp, a Rubber, or a Scratcher, (points to Let.) she'll—  Omnes, preter. Wild. 
Ha', ha', ha'.  Wild. 
To th' Trunk, you Dog, and cease barking, or—  Jon. 
Sir, I'd have you to know I am none of your barking Curs: Indeed, I do by't sometimes; I have Teeth, Sir, as shall appear when you'll give me leave to employ 'em.  Wild. 
Sirrah!  Going towards him, Trulove interposes. Tru. 
Nay, prithee, make an end; for I see you will be the Disturber.  Jon. 
Ay, ay, Sir, you see I love to distribute my Favours.  Goes to the Trunk, and stumbles over it, rubbing his Shins and Nose. 
Madam Letitia! cry your Mercy— Pox on't, I thought it had been her by my Nose and Shins.  Wild. 
Hellhound! let me come at him.  Trulove interposes again. Omnes, preter. Wild. 
Ha', ha', ha'.  Tru. 
Sirrah, dispatch, or I'll be gone, and leave you to his Mercy.  Jon. squatting down before the Trunk. 
Nay, then it's time to be serious.  Aside. 
I must dispatch before Afternoon's Luncheon-time, or he'll have the whip hand of me, and make me languish till Supper.  Jon. pulls out several Papers, slings 'em by slightly, while he sings. 

And when I was a little Boy I washed my Mother's Dishes,  
I put my Fingers in the Pail, and pulled out little Fishes.   
(Pulling and heaving.) Ho, up, Mass. This should be a swinger by the weight and gills. (Pulls out a Parchment, with Labels.) If this been't a Deed of weight, the Devil's in't. Oh— (Reads.) Securities for the Thousand Pound left by my Brother Sir Roger to— (Overturns the Trunk.) Here, take 'em among you, for I've neither Encouragement nor Patience to stay any longer. Oons, here's Money enough to redeem the City Charter— Save ye, Gentlemen; and pray remember the Civility-Money.  As he is going out, enters Lurcher, who overruns him almost. 
S bud, you blind Mill Horse, can't you see where you stumble?  Eurcher. 
Make off, gentlemans, and Ladies, all of you; here's Sir Fickle coming this way, and in a damned bad Humour, I can tell you so much.  Jon. 
Nay, then, all Friends, come all Hands aloft.  They put in all the Papers, except one left on the Stage, Jon. takes the Trunk. 
Away, away there, here a comes, and in a plaguy Chafe I'll warrant him, or else he wears no Socks to Day, I smell that alleady.  Exeunt Omnes. Enter Sir Fickle Solus. Fickle. 
Well, now Sir Fickle you're like to be fitted with a young, brisk, gallant Lady— Marry send you good Luck, for 'tis a shrewd Undertaking for one of your Years and Constitution; and let me tell you so much, Sir, there are many in better Circumstances than yourself that would be plaguily afraid of sore Eyes for all their Golden Thumb Rings. Well, Look afore you leap, And what's done can't be recovered, are Proverbial Saws as old as Aldersgate, therefore, methinks, 'twere worth Time to consider— Hum! She's young, I (Coughing.) o-o-old as her Grannum: She's brisk; ay, pox! brisk enough, enough, and too much for me. Then for her Gallantry, the Girl, I perceive, is pretty well inclined; and, for all her Country Breeding, would make shift, in a very reasonable time, to reduce the East-India Stock into a Pedlar's Pack. Hum, methinks our two Qualities agree like Dogs-Turd and Honey; and I should be most plaguily deceived, if, instead of a Lenitive for the Spleen, I should meet with a Caustick for a sore Throat. Well, I'll to Council; two Heads are better than one, as Neighbour Wrangle says, and all the City acknowledge him for the Pro-po-potatripes, I think they call him, of Learning and Sense. Well, I'll to Graves', this is the Hour of Audience; if I can but meet with him in the Humour of talking Sense in English, he'll dispatch me in as few Words as a Lawyer his Client that comes to him in Forma Pauperis.  Exit. 

SCENE Changes.  Enter Wrangle, Sobersides, Fickle aloof off. Wrangle. 
Fool! Blockhead! Incomprehensible Dolt! Thou Ox in an Ass' Skin!  Fickle. 
Oh here he is, and Neighbour Sobersides too! piping hot from the Coffeehouse, I'll warrant 'em, by the profoundness of their Talk.  Wrangle. 
Get you gone to School again, and learn the Meaning of the Word Ratification  you pretend to dispute the Legality or Essential Formality, requisite to the Constitution thereof; for I tell you once more, thou impertinent Head-piece, Ignoratis terminis, Ignoratur & ars!  Fickle, aside. 
Oh, I understand this a little.  To Wrangle. 
Ay, ay, Sir, so he is an ignorant termegant Ass, to pretend to argue with you that can read, writ, and Latin— But I come, Sir, to advise with, not to dispute, your Wisdom.  Wrangle. 
Dilate energically, concisely, and uninaegmatically.  To Sobersides. 
Oph.  Fickle. 
Sir—  Aside. 
Pox! now his Learning has got the upperhand of his Sense, there will be no understanding of his cramp Language for Men of my Capacity— Sir, I did not understand—  Wrangle. 
Oh ye pellucid Stars! whose Influences are subservient to Sapience, deconglommerate me from these unzodiacal, uncerebrated, circumambient Gemini.  Fickle. 
Nay, an he be got up to the Stars already, O Gemini too say I— Save you, Sir, and pray give me notice of the next Thunder; I have a Stock of Beer in my Cellar.  As he is going out, Wrangle seizes him. Wrangle. 
Arrest! (Fickle starts.) I will descend, the Gods themselves have deigned to cope with Mortals.  Fickle. 
With Grocers, Sir!  Wrangle. 
With their Inferiors far, with Milkmaids! Europa was one, Jove courted her in the Shape of a Bull, and had Issue by her, a Proginy of Cuckolds, autockthonical, aboriginal, demi-deifyed Cuckolds.  
O Felice's nimium si sua bona norint!  Fickle. aside. 
A pretty Account, Faith, of the Rise of Cuckoldom, a Bull, and a Milkmaid! Doubtless hence come the Proverb of sucking a Bull— But, Sir, be pleased to hear my Sense of—  Wrangle. 
Sir, I tell you both Sense or no Sense, Ratification is an Overt Subsequent Act to a Precedent Covert Transaction.  Fickle. 
Overt! Covert! Precedent! and Subsequent! What Trade do these Terms of Art belong to? What a Devil, do you banter? Or are you a conjuring?  Wrangle. 
I'll be plain: For Example, I own you a Grudge; that's a Covert, or Secret Transaction in my Mind.  Fickle. 
Good.  Wrangle. 
Then (Kicks and cuffs him.) This is an Open, Public, or Overt Act or Declaration thereof— Now I hope you understand this is demonstrative.  Fickle. 
O most sensibly, Sir.  Aside. 
Pox on him! I could give him a Suit of Second Mourning too, as Wildman says, for Example's sake, but that he's such a Roister.  Wrong. to Sobers. 
And you, I hope, have your Intellectuals meliorated when this— (Points to Fickle.)  Sick. making to him. 
This, what, Sir? This, what? I'd have you to know I'm in as fair a way both to a Chain and a Clog as—  Wrong. 
But I lose time 'mongst a Brace of Owls.  Fickle. 
Owls! Pox, Owls! Owls in your Throat, Sir; Owls in your Belly, Sir; Owls in your— Pantiples, Sir. Pox! if hard Words, dry Blows, and Affronts, be all the Counsel I must expect, Exit my Riddle-me-ree, Exit. (Turning him out.)  Wrangle. 
(Fickle at the same time.) Then will I leave you, as I found you, obfuscated by Poetic Dulness and Palpable Calliginosity.  Fickle. 
Bur-r-r, Buz-z-z, Gingiber & Lacer Cicer Pepper atque Papaver. (Turns him out.) Owls! Pox, Owls! I don't know but I may be as good a Scholar as himself. Pox! I begin to—  Re-enter Wrangle. Wrangle. 
And Cimmerian Tenebrosity.  Fickle. 
hay! here again with his Tenebrosity? hay, Noun, (Runs to him.) Pronoun, Preposition, Conjunction, Participle, Interjection; Haec aquila, an Owl, both he and she. (Like an Owl runs at him.) Or-ro-o-o-o-o-o— (Looking after him.) Huzza! Victoria! So, 'tis but a little Resolution, and these Roarers are soon tamed. (Spying Sobersides.) O, Sir, cry your Mercv. This same passionate Puppy has so what-you-call-it my Intellectuals, I protest, I overlooked you.  Sobers. gravely. 
That might be, Sir.  Fickle. mocking. 
So it might, I vow, Sir. Now shall I be as much plagued with this Fellow's formal Preciseness, as I was with the tother's blustering Bombast— Deliver me but from this Piece of stiffened Tiffany, and if ever I go to Counsel to a citizen again, may he take my Nose and Ears for his Fee.  To Sobers. 
But Sir.  Sob. formally. 
Sir.  Fickle. 
Why, Sir, what I intended to have discoursed this same tasty, old, positive Puppy about, was Matrimony; I'm a going to be married to a brisk, young Country Virgin, her Fortune, it's true, is but small, but my Inclinations are great; you know me, let me know your Opinion.  Sob. 
That I believe I shall give you; but first, by way of Advice, reprehend not that Positiveness in another, whereof you seem to be so well provided; for you seem positively to affirm that you are going to be married, which, if you consider the Mutability of sublunary things, I esteem that you might with more Modesty say, that you conceive, or think, judge, or suppose yourself upon the Matrimonial Point.  Fickle. 
The Man's in the right on't there; for we're farthest off sometimes, when we think ourselves nearest to the Blank: And I remember, Neighbour Horner going once to view a She-Tenement he was about purchasing, found a Copyholder making forcible Entry into the capital Message of the Manor, and so flew off; and Reason good, was it not, Sir?  Sob. 
Not unlikely— Then, Sir, as for her Briskness, it may possibly be Levity; her Youth artificial, and her Virtue and Virginity as slender as her Fortune.  Fickle, angrily. 
How, Sir! No Virtue! No Virginity!  Sob. 
Possibly none; for I am of the Sect of the Sceptics, I think, I affirm nothing.  Fickle. 
But I am not, and do positively say that Man's a Villain that dare call her Honour in question; therefore, Sir Dubious, pick up your Awls, or, now my Hand's in, I can promise you no better Entertainment than your Deconglomerating Predecessor; th' Example's fresh, my Passion rises; therefore once more walk off, or I shall Overtly ratify upon your Morrion.  Sob. 
Fortune I contemn, Examples I defy, and will maintain my Opinion, spite of Passion or Ratification.  Fickle. 
Nay, Pox, if you begin to be positive, walk, walk, my Philosopher.  As he turns him out. Sob. 
I'll have Satisfaction for this Affront done to my Person and Opinion; I'll be revenged, look to it.  Fickle thrusts him out. Fickle. 
No, no, you only conceive, think, suppose, or believe so: Ha', ha', what a pair of Issaker's Asses have I turned out to Grass! That Men should be such Fools, as to believe that a hard Word, or mysterial Nod, should be the only Ingredients to the making up of a wise Man! Tho', I must confess, this same Scipstick Philosopher has put twenty Cunnundrums into my Head. Well, Time will clear all; therefore Patience, say I.  Enter Wildman, pulling in Eugenia. Eug. 
Nay, prithee, Wildman, whither would you draw me? Come, you'll ne'er forget your old Tricks.  Fickle. 
Ha', old Tricks! and so familiar— I'll retire, this Spark may inform me better than Old Sir Grandsire Greybeard, with his Scythe and Hourglass.  Wild. 
No, never sear, I've had enough of that same hoity toity Business; I come to read you a far different Lesson, for you have been plaguily out of late; and for all your Philosopher's Stone you brag of, Lettuce has discovered you to be but of base Alloy: I gad, should the Old Man discover the Counterfeit, you may e'en shift for yourself; I have done my part every way, if you spoil all, your Ruin be upon you; I wash my Hands of it and you: My Mind's changed with my Fortune, and I'm resolved hereafter to feed upon one Dish; 'tis wholsomest, you know.  Fickle, aside. 
A good Beginning, truly! Where will this end, trow?  Eug. 
For that matter as you please; I believe you may find Employment enough at Home. If my Cornuted Cully to be has too much, if his kind Neighbour will but lend him a hand, they'll find me both Reasonable and Civil.  Fickle. 
A very civil Resolution indeed! Oh, my Head! My Horns are cutting already.  Wild. 
That as you can agree, mean while be more circumspect; when you have springed the Woodcock, why then cook him to your Palate; he's ready plumed to your Hand, so much I can assure you.  Eug. 
Plumed! What mean you?  Fickle. 
Ay, that, that, my Heart misgives me most confoundedly.  Wild. 
No Questions, for Safety sake. Women ought to be trusted with Secrets, as Mad Folks with Daggers; you may give 'em the Scabbard to please 'em, but be sure to keep the Weapon close and fast. (Treads upon a Paper.) So, what have we here? Some Grocer's Bill, I'll warrant it. (Takes it up, and looks on it.) No, Faith, 'tis Vanduncart's Bond.  Fickle. 
Oh, Oh.  Wild. 
Left out for haste, in the last Surprise; I wish there he no more: For tho' I'm pretty sure of my Point, yet things are not yet ripe enough for a Discovery. Let's see. (Looking about, spies Sir Fickle, who makes up to him.)  Fickle. 
Him, him; yours, Sir, yours.  Wild. 
Oh, Sir, you're a diligent Courtier. Indeed, were you not a truebred Englishman; one would take this for Italian Jealousy, but 'tis too soon for that Man, ha'?  Fickle. 
Why, truly, Sir, I am somewhat of a different Opinion, as a Man may say; I think it is rather of the latest; for—  Wild. 
Right too; for when things are so far advanced, jealousy's as unseasonable as a Song or Dance brought in Head and Shoulders, to lengthen out or set off a scanty-witted Bear-Play.  Fickle. 
Gently, gently, Sir; not so neither. My Farce is but a Rehearsing, and I find it so far below my Expectation, I'm afraid to venture it on the Theatre, for fear of being hissed off the Stage.  Wild. aside. 
The Devil's in him, sure— Sir, you're mysterions; pray, be plain.  Fickle. 
Why then most plainly thus: My Love, Thanks to my Years, has been so moderate as to leave me some few of my Senses, with which I have considered, that at the best 'tis but Folly, but in old Men mere Dotage. I find all other Passions increasing, this only dwindled to nothing, which makes me judge myself unfit for a Lady of her Qualities. These, and some other private ones, have abated the Violence of my Frenzy, and inspired into me the Resolution of gaining in Statu quo, as a Man may say, till I see better Reasons for a Change— Now I hope you're both satisfied.  Eug. weeping. 
Oh my Heart!  Fickle. aside. 
Oh my Head a!  Wild. 
Satisfied! No, but I will expect it  
For all th'Affronts 've put upon my Cousin,  
Poor tho' in Fortune, yet in Virtue rich;  
For all those Tears, thou stonyhearted Beast!  
Your Barbarity now causes her to shed.  
Her Presence now protects you from my Rage.  
But set a better Price on Innocence,  
Or Fell Revenge shall follow you with speed.  
Come, Cousin.  Exeunt. Fickle manet. Fickle. 
Ay, ay, I'll prevent that; I'll swear the Peace against him: First, for endeavouring to top his Whore upon me; and then for threatening to Fell me. If I don't, believe her honest. Many a Man has cut a Caper, and never come down alive again, for less than this, that's certain. I'll trounce the sly Dog; I'll bind him to his good Behaviour, I will a— O plague of the Devil! now I talk of binding, the Bond! the Bond! how come that there? I'm sure it was in the Trunk I entrusted Jonathan with. I gad, if he gets the rest, I'm like to be hampered myself. By Cheapside Conduit, I'm running mad; Horn-mad, by Bedlam Weathercock. But Necessity has not Law. I must secure my Youngster and myself, and take the best Order for the rest the little Brains I have will permit;  

And if I frustrate all their poisonous Arts,  
Why then Sir Fickle is a Man of Parts.   
The End of the Fourth ACT.    

ACT V Trulove and Wildman meeting.  Tru. 
ONce more well met, I've been getting the Writings. Oh! I see you're likewise in Possession, you have lost no more time than myself.  Wild. 
Not a minute. Delays in these Cases are as dangerous as Diligence necessary. Had I not been assiduous, the Rogue might have relapsed into Villainy, and been true to his Trust— But now for my Spouse to be, methinks I would soon put an end to this same Affair; for I shall ne'er think her secure till I have her in the Lash of Matrimony; besides, Faith, I long to give the poor Rogue some hearty Proof of my Affection.  Tru. 
Somewhat too I have resolved, which makes me uneasy till it be put in Execution.  Wild. 
How, you!— Why, you have been so long used to dance Attendance, I dare have sworn you'd have served your full time, without repining, to have been made Free of the Corporation.  Tru. 
You're wide, Sir, you're wide.  Wild. 
Or rather short, I believe; for you Archers of the Honourable Confraternity of blind Cupid, have such damned long marks, that we poor Bowmen can't reach within a Score of your Butts—  Wild. 
Troth, like enough.  
But here comes my Snowball rolling to way. Would to Chance she'd pick me up in her Passage, I'd thaw her with a Vengeance, or she should freeze me to her.  Enter Letitia. Let. 
Your Servant, gentlemans, how is't with ye since the last Surprise?  Wild. aside. 
Gentlemen, sure I'm deaf, or she's dim-sighted.  To Let. 
As with a hungry Guest, when Dinner's on the Table, that curses the grateless Chaplain for being out of the way, Madam.  Let. 
O! Sir, 'tis but a short Collation of cold Meat; and there needs not so much Ceremony for that.  Wild. aside. 
I know that, if I had but the Courage to fall on; but there's such a damned many little Bones in the Pie, I'm afraid of being choked.  Let. overhearing. 
Therefore chew well before you swallow for good and all, Sir; Ha', ha', ha'.  Wild. 
Chew, what, Madam? Oons! I'm none of your Chameleons, to feed upon the Cud of a Wind-colic Air.  Let. 
But, by way of Pastime, you might stand a little, and by't on the Bit—  Wild. 
Like a Horse, and break my Teeth like an Ass— Consolation and Preferment in abundance! Trepan my Pericranium— Madam, since you have no other Employment for me, than as a Post to fix your Jests on, I think I may, without Incivility, make bold to retire.  Let. 
Bless me, Sir, why so hasty? Why, this is Volunteer-like; serve till you're on the Point of Promotion, and then quit your Post.  Wild. 
That, Madam, you can't blame me for, since the Fatigues I've under gone have disabled me for further Service.  Let. 
Nay, then indeed I must look out for a fresh Man; yet, through Compassion, I'll not quite cast you off, but keep you by me. Let's see, (opens his Mouth;) ay, in quality of a Nut cracker: Your Teeth are sound enough yet, I see, if your Breath be but sweet.  Wild. 
Oons, a Nutcracker! what do you take me for a Monkey, Madam?  Let. 
What, still complain! Why, I've known many a Woman has put her Husband to a far worse Employment.  Wild. 
Well, Madam, since you're in the vein, pray please your Fancy entirely; I have done.  Let. 
And I, for this Bout.  Wild. aside. 
I shall prevent the next.  Let. to Tru. 
How, Sir, Pensive! when your Happiness is so nigh. Sure, your overfasting has spoiled your Stomach; if so, I'll give you a Cordial shall retrieve it— Here, (Enter Singer) sing the Song my Sister made t'other Day.  
SONG.  

(1.)  
HOpe, thou Friend to the Distressed,  
Kind Reviver of the Mind;  
None that Hopes, can be oppressed:  
Tho' Fortune frowns, thou'rt ever kind.   

(2.)  
Hope, thou sovereign Ease to Grief,  
Blessed increaser of our Joy,  
Thou shouldst have Proof, thou best Relief,  
'Gainst what would my Love destroy.   

(3.)  
Welcome Hope, Adieu Despair,  
The tottering Wheel at last will turn;  
Tho' I languish for my Dear,  
I'll not consume, but ever burn.  Twice. 
Tho' I languish, etc.   Let. 
Well, Sir; this, I hope, has some Effect on you.  Tru. 
Medicines, Madam, are but at best cast away, where the Malady of the Patient is misapprehended.  Let. 
Nay, Sir, I must confess your late Symptoms have been so strange, that I cannot but guests your Distemper to be of the most unusual.  Tru. 
True, Madam, in the Age we live, but I have reaped this Benefit by my Misfortune, to find the strongest Passion too weak to withstand a generous Resolution.  Let. 
Your Words, Sir, are as mysterious as ever; but here comes your Cathollicon: If that does not work effectually, your Condition's deplorable indeed.  Enter Honoria, who runs and embraces Trulove. Hon. 
O, my dear Trulove! thus let me embrace thee,  
Thus let me clasp thee in my longing Arms,  
(Kissing.) And thus cement our Hands, Lips, Hearts, together.  
Pardon, if Love o'ercome my Modesty;  
For now I count you as my better Part.  Tru. 
Look down, ye Powers, and view this matchless Love.  
Steal my faint Heart, direct my trembling Hand;  
Assure my faltering Tongue, grant Strength of Mind  
To act that which you only could inspire.  Gives the Papers to Hon. 
With these take back your Vows; and with them mine,  
May you be happier in a nobler He,  
As far 'bove me, as is your Love and Honour:  
Nay, by the Pains I feel, if it might be,  
I'd wish him so divine as to deserve you.  
Then when I see you circled in his Arms,  
Ravished with Joys, dissolved in Ecstasy,  
I'll send up Vows unenvious Vows to Heaven,  
To make them infinite, your Love's eternal.  Hon. 
What can this mean! O my Prophetic Fears?  Tru. 
I mean 've trusted such a Stock of Love  
With one so far unable to requite it,  
That it were Baseness, beyond all Excuse,  
Still to run on when so much is unpaid:  
I mean to teach th' admiring Powers above,  
My Gratitude's as great, more generous than your Love.  Exit Trulove. Wild. 
Hum— Why, I must confess this is somewhat surprising. However, I shall rather imitate than discommend it— Here, Madam, (Gives the Papers to Let.) receive your own, and with them all I can call mine. My Heart's disengaged, my Affection entirely yours to brag of; more, would be but to relapse into what you have so severely, but justly, reproved.  Let. 
Nay, now you're serious somewhat may be done: But I feared Capitulations before Surrender; which, if they had happened— But no more, hope well; you know I hear you're not indifferent to me, 'tis with Joy I own it.  Wild. 
This is too much— But see the fair Honoria  
Bedewed, and silent, as a Summer's Night.  Let. 
Come, cheer up, Sister: What, a-la-mort Woman, whining for a lost Lover, when you have wherewithal to buy a Score of Husbands! But three Days Patience, and on my Life you'll have more Suitors than you'll dispatch in three Months.  Hon. 
No; may I live by all Mankind disdained,  
And die a wretched Object of Despair,  
If e'er within this Heart I entertain  
A second Thought for any but my Truelove.  
What tho' to you perchance he seem unkind,  
Yet I, that view the Treasures of his Mind  
Adore him still, as from the Powers above,  
Take this Correction as a Sign of Love.  
Nay, by my fleeting Lovesick Soul I swear,  
Should he be cold, nay farther yet severe,  
The little space then doomed me for to live,  
To th' pleasing Thoughts of our past Loves I'd give:  
Then, when you'd think that I forsaken lie,  
You'd see my Trulove beg me not to die.  Let. 
Cold Comfort, by my departing Maidenhead, Sister, if this be all; but I hope there's warmer in store.  To Wild. 
You know, Sir, your Obligations to my Sister; I need not tell you the Occasions present, to require them, and oblige me.  Wild. 
Madam, I do as well as I am acquainted with his Temper. 'Tis honourable to Obstinacy, but not perverse to Reason. So good a Cause can never want a happy Issue— I go with Confidence of good Success to serve you.  Exit Wild. Hon. 
Unhappy Maid! what Crimes have I committed,  
Doubly to suffer by Excess of Love?  
Whom shall I accuse? The Gods? Oh no,  
They're Just, and Trulove is in Honour next 'em;  
No, 'tis myself, my Frowardness, my Pride,  
Nay worse,  
My black Ingratitude to so much Love,  
Has forced this unexampled Judgement on me.  
Yet still, methinks, I did but that which he  
So lately and so strictly did pursue,  
As if he had taken Copy from my Actions;  
And he's too wise, nay, too divinely good,  
To act or follow aught that is amiss.  
Heavens! in what a labyrinth am I got,  
Lend me the Clew, or kindly end my Pain.  Enter Wild. with Tru. Let. 
I hope they have heard you, look back.  Tru. kneeling. 
Thus stubborn Criminals that Grace refuse,  
Trembling when late the proffered Mercy crave:  
Sure 'twas some Evil Genius led me out  
From Paradise, thus to run to my Destruction.  
Yet you can pardon.  Hon. raising him. 
Unkind! thus to upbraid me with that Act,  
That first was mine, by you but faintly traced;  
Pardons for Crimes! You may command my Love;  
If in Exchange you grant me yours, I'm blessed.  Tru. 
Then, ye propitious Powers, smile kindly on us,  
And yet prepare your direst, worst, Revenge,  
If aught, save you, I like Honoria prize,  
If next to you I do not her adore;  
If her, whilst Life, nay, after Death, I love not  
With the same Passion that now fills my Breast.  
And dart it down; nay worse, be she unkind.  Wild. 
So much for that. Now, Madam, 'tis my turn;  
If I perform it not with so much Zeal,  
'Tis want of Words, not Passion, pleads Excuse.  
Besides: Faith, to tell you neatly my Mind, these far-fatched Expressions, and new-fangled ways of Courtship, become a Stage far better than a Lady's Bedchamber.  Let. 
Well, that I expect not, but this you must,  
If I catch you in the old Haunt, or any where else.  
But—  Wild. 
Ay, ay, if I elope, bar me of my Thirds. I'm content, as to that Point, to reinverse the Law, and become Baron-Covert.  Let. 
Of your Thirds! Don't so much as expect a bare alimony.  Wild. 
And, Faith, I'll say so much for myself; if we're once joined, I shall ne'er hope for a separate Maintenance— Come, agreed, agreed.  Let. 
As for the rest, I bring you a plentiful Fortune; and, as Jonathan says, a tight, neat, and convenient Tenement. Use me like a Gectleman, I entirely trust in you.  Wild. 
Come, give me your Hand—  Let. giving it. 
And Heart are yours, from this Breath to my last.  Tru. 
So, now the Storm's blown over, Sky's serene.  Fickle. within. 
Come, no more Words, but produce.  Wild. 
Not yet, Faith, I hear a grumbling thereaway; and I have a plaguy Opinion the Clap will fall somewhere hereabouts— Oh, here it comes with a Vengeance. Retire Trulove.  He goes aside, and Enter Fickle and Jonathan. Fickle. 
Tell me not of safe Custody, or honest Hands; mine are the safest and honestest too for my purpose. Therefore once more produce, or— (spies them.)— Oh Niece, have you considered? And you, Mr. Wildman? I hope your Passion's over; How is't, ha'?  Wild. 
Well, as my Wishes, but you seem somewhat troubled.  Fickle. 
Ay, ay, a little, not much neither. But this same Rogue, Dog, of a Jonathan would move a Saint— Your Mortgage, Sir, I'll resign you up, as soon as that— will give me leave. Swine's Snout, be gone, and fetch it; no more grunting.  As Jonathan is going out, Trulove whispers him; and Exit Jon. Wild. 
Sir, I shall receive it with Thanks. One more Request I must repeat; I'm sure you have too much Good Nature to deny me. (Enter Eug.) Oh! here it is, you know my Meaning, Sir.  Fickle. 
Oh, the Devil! she here!— Why, Sir, and you know mine; you'll find me no Changeling, tho' you designed me for an aboriginal Cuckold, as Neighbour Wrangle calls it.  Wild. 
Nor me so tame a Coward to put up such Affronts both to my Cousin and myself! I'll wash 'em off in thy degenerate Blood. (Wild. draws, the Women all run out, shrieking Murder! except Eugenia, who interposes.  Eug. 
Oh! spare my Love, or let us die together!  Fickle. 
Die together! No, nor lie together: If ye do, it may be in Bridewell, or Little-ease—  Wild. 
Come, Sir, resolve to—  Sick. 
Why so quick, Sir? If I must be executed, methinks you might grant me a Reprieve. Pray, Sir, consider; were't your own Case, you'd not be so hasty.  Wild. puts up. 
Nay, if Time be all you ask, take it, provided it be Reasonable.  Sick. 
O, as for that matter, Sir, I only desire just as much as to— (Running off, Wild. catches him) Murder! Murder! Jacobites! Papists! (shrilly) a Rape! a Rape! a Rape!  Wild. draws, and presents. 
I'll cut your bellowing Bull's Throat.  eug. 
laying hold on Wild. O! hold your Hand; for if he bleeds, I die.  Sick. aside. 
You Lie, you jilting Whore! you Lye.  Tru. enters, and interposes. 
Hold, Sir! What e'er it be, it can't be brave, thus to assault a naked Man: If his Cause be Just, he shan't want one to defend it.  Fickle. 
Ay, ay, (to him) Mr. Trulove, he's a Rogue, if not a Coward; here I've given him my Niece, and his mortgaged Estate back, and he in Recompense would stick me like a Pig.  Wild. 
Then hear me too, since you will needs be Judge:  
This Flattering villain! For he is no better,  
With Gifts, Oaths, Courtships, has allured my Cousin;  
And now he finds she loves, he slights her.  Tru. 
Nay, there I leave your Cause, 'tis so unjust,  
My Life I ne'er will venture to assert it;  
Yet, that you may not die defenceless,  
I'll lend you this.  Tru. proffers his Sword. Sick. 
Lend me your Sword! I'd as lief you'd lend me a Halter. Sir, I'd have you to know I'm a good Christian, and will keep the King's Peace. I fight! I'll be hanged, nay, marry as soon.  Wild. 
Nay, then, thou Cheat! thou ignominious Knave!  
Know I have found you out, and am possessed  
Of all Sir Roger's Papers, and my Mortgage.  Sick. 
Ruined! undone! like a Bundle of Liquorish.  Tru. 
Not all, Sir, by your Leave: I have my share, and perusing 'em over, I find an Account to be made, some Arrears of Inrerest, and so forth, you know; and look to't, for I shall be severe.  Fickle. 
Accounts to you! Why, what are you?  Tru. 
Honoria's Husband; and consequently, as I take it, your Nephew.  Sick. 
Overreached again! (Aside.) I knew, tho' I winked at it, he was playing thereabouts; but now the sharking Dog has bit to the purpose, Hook and Bait, I' Faith, he has cleared me of my Tackling.  Tru. 
Not yet; but I think I shall, before I've done, come in there.  Enter Lurcher and Jonathan, disguised, like Bailiffs. 
Now do your Offices.  Jon. 
Sir, I arrest you in an Action of Account, at the Suit of Mr. Trulove.  Sick. 
Oh!  Lurch. 
And I, Sir, in the same, at the Suit of Mr. Wildman.  Wild. aside. 
Mine! What means this?  Sick. 
Rum dun done! Broke like a Barrel of Figs! For Pity sake, hear me but a Word.  Jon. 
Be short, Sir, I lose time, and I've half a score of your Neighbours to arrest upon Change. Come, quick, Sir.  Sick. 
Why then, gentlemans, I acknowledge myself a Villain to my Nieces, and not much better to Madam Eugenia: You have made yourself, in part, Satisfaction; but a little Patience, I'll endeavour to complete it. Here, Honey, Honey; Why, Lettuce? Lettuce?  To Lurch. 
Pray, give 'em a Call. (Exit Lurcher.) Mean while I take this Lady to my Wife, if she can forget my Ingratitude, it will be some Comfort in my ●isfortunes to say, I was once Just in my Life.  Eug. 
And to me to share in 'em as I have done in your Prosperity. This, Sir, I hope, will convince you that I love.  Aside. 
Better half a Loaf, than no Bread.  Fickle. 
I believe it, my Cinnamon-stick, tho' my Seeing and Hearing would be so impertinent as to convince me to the contrary.  Wild. 
Oh, Sir, in matters of Faith and Love, we ought never to trust too much to the Senses. Curiosity and Jealousy are good for nothing but to promote Heresy and Cuckoldom.  Fickle. 
Then, Sir, let the Simplicity of my Belief show the vehemency of my Affection. Come, my All-spice, come.  Takes Eugen. aside. 
If she bened as chaste as her Neighbours, she must feed upon Cantharideses, and spend her Pin-money in Chocolate.  Aside. Enter Lurcher with Hon. and Letitia. Wild. 
And my Liberality be the mark of my Affection: In Consideration of your Complaisance, and of Eugenia's Fortune, I freely forgive what Accounts may be between us; you shall have a Release upon Demand, so my Letitia consent.  Let. 
With Pleasure, Sir; and not only that, but I'll join with my Sister to mollify Trulove.  Tru. 
Your Entreaties, Ladies, would be needless; his Consent is all I shall desire in Requital.  Fickle. 
Sir, you have it as freely as I can give it.  Jon. aside. 
And there's Four: What bloody Do will there be to Night!  Fickle. 
So this is pretty well, if it were not for those Rogues the Bailiffs, that will blaze all about.  Lurch. 
Who I, Sir?  Fickle. 
Yes, you, Sir.  Lurch. 
Not I, Sir.  Jon. 
Nor I, Sir.  Lurch. unmasking. 
You lie, Sir.  Jon. the same. 
Nor I, Sir; by the Sky, Sir; let me die, Sir, if I lie, Sir: Why, Sir, I am no Magpie, Sir.  Omnes praeter Tru. 
Jonathan and Lurcher!  Tru. 
The same; I fearing Mr. Wildman would have been in earnest, took this Course, both to surprise you agreeably, and prevent further mischief.  Wild. 
Nay, I must confess your Fate would have been somewhat severe, had you not been reasonable— But I'm glad all's ended so fairly. As for them, a small Spell will stop their Mouths, I don't doubt: Or at worst, 'tis no stranger a thing for a Citizen to be a Cheat than a Cuckold.  Sick. aside. 
Gibing!  Jon. 
Ay, ay, Sir, Forgiveness and the Twenty Pound a Year, is all I ask; you shall find me hereafter so faithful to deserve it— But as for this slip, I protest, Sir, what with Over care and Over-fasting, Ideas of Stocks, Pillories, Whipping-posts, and Qualms of Conscience, I was so tormented in the Spirit, that it run me almost mad. Blanche me like an Almond, Sir, if I remember any thing of the matter, but the Twenty Pound a Year aforesaid.  Wild. 
And the Civility-Money, Jonathan.  Jon. 
Sir, I have been told since, that I raved mightily of the Barbadoss Fleet, and Bird in Hand.  Omnes praeter Fick. 
Ha', ha', ha'.  Fickle. 
Well, Friends of all sides, I have yet Ten Thousand Pound left me, out of which I'll allow you as I had determined, and put thee in present Possession. Hang Dirt, I was almost choked with it, and now I'm eased, methinks I'm as brisk as—  Jon. aside. 
Bottle-All, all Froth and Settling.  Wild. 
We shall see that presently; I'll put your Agility to the Test for once. Strike up there.  Jon. 
Nay, pray Gentlemen, not so hasty, I want a Companion: I'll out and lure her, she'll come to Fist in a trice, and there will be no sport till I come, as the Man said when he was going to be hanged.  Tru. 
That's but reasonable, th' hast been so instrumental in the last Comedy, 'twere Ingratitude to leave thee out, now it's come to a Conclusion.  Jon. to Lurch. 
And prithee do you in and hasten Supper: I ne'er could work well on an empty Stomach.  Exeunt Jon. Lurcher, severally. Tru. 
Mean time, if you please, I'll entertain you with a Song I lately composed, which is both instructive, and suitable to this present occasion. Here  Enter two Musicians 
here, sing this.  Fickle. 
By all means come; one Hawk, two Hums, and start fair.  Whilst the Song is a Singing, Enter Jon and Jenny. 

A SONG. To be Sung betwixt a Man and a Woman.  Man. 
WHY so cruel to your Lover?  
Oh, the hidden Cause declare!  Wom. 
'Twou'd be more cruel to discover  
What must bring you to Dispair  
Men, like Savage Beast's, Love ranging,  
Here to day, and there at night;  
All our Fears are in your changing  
That your darling chief Delight  Ambo. 
All our Fears, etc.  Man. 
But so fresh a blooming Pasture.  
Me for ever will enclose;  
You need fear no such Disaster  
When I change, I'm sure to lose.  
He for ever will be kind,  
Who in Love his profit finds.  Ambo. 
He for ever, etc.  Wom. 
But when Envious Age at lost  
Has made all my Beauties bare;  
Then, like Land, that lies at waist,  
You'll not judge me worth your Care,  
No man thinks that worth his Pains,  
Where's all Labour and no Gains.  Ambo. 
No man thinks, etc.  Man. 
To convince you I'll be kind,  
I love where Time has no Control,  
'Tis the Beauty of your Mind  
That has Charmed my doting Soul:  
As frail Beauty does decline,  
Worth and Virtue briter shine.  Ambo. 
As frail Beauty, etc.    
Fickle. 
Come, once more all Friends; and to show you how light what is past lies on my Heart, we'll have a Dance, and then—  Jon. aside. 
Et caetera.  To Sick. 
Sbud, Sir, what do you mean! Let's Sup orofs the Water, and Consummate, or we shall set your Prentices so agog, they'll go out in a Party, and plunder all they meet, or run away from their. Aprons, and forfeit their Indentures.  A Dance. Tru. 
Briskly performed! Honest Sir Fickle, Igad, thou'rt twenty Years younger than thou was't an Hour ago. Ah! this same Honesty is Sovereign Geer! 'Tis the Best Hearts-Ease in Nature.  Fickle. 
True.  Tru. 
Then let those that gluttle with their Store,  
Strained from the Tears of Orphan's Blood o'th' Poor,  
Suck on, and Leeches like, when over crammed—  Fickle. 
Crack in this World, and in the next be damned.  Tru. 
And those that would be just, may Learn by thee,  
That Honesty's the surest Policy  
FINIS.