THE World in the Moon; AN OPERA.  
As it is Performed at the Theatre in Dorset-Garden. By His Majesty's Servants.  
By E. S.  
Tentanda via est.  
LONDON: Printed for Abel Roper, at the Black Boy over against St. Dunstan's Church, in Fleetstreet. MDCXCVII.   

TO Christopher Rich. Esq.  
SIR,  
THE Feast being made under your own Roof, I cannot choose so proper a Patron for this Entertainment, as yourself. This Performance, I confess, wants an Universal Protection: For if Industry, Labour, and Expense, can deserve a Smile, it stands high for a Favourite. So Great an Undertaking, I am sure has never been on an English Stage; and I am not Traveller sufficient to make Foreign Comparisons.  
And here I think myself obliged to do the Pencil this Public Right, to tell the World, That never was such a Pile of Painting raised upon so Generous a Foundation; especially under all the Hardships of so backward a Season of the Year (our Misfortune, not Fault.) However, the Undertaker very well knows, he is in the Hands of Honour; and no ways doubts of a suitable Encouragement, from so much Worth and Justice.  
As for my own part, I stand so highly Indebted for Favours received of You, that I only wish the Present I make You, were much more deserving your Acceptance, to be the worthier Oblation of my Gratitude.  
As to the Entertainment itself, I hope I shall not be vain to say, That the Model of the Scenes of this Play, are something of an Original: I am sure I have removed a long Heap of Rubbish, and thrown away all our old French Lumber, our Clouds of Clouts, and set the Theatrical Paintings at a much fairer Light. And therefore am an humble Suppliant to the Generous Audience, for some Grains of Mercy.  
For as I dare confidently aver, the Prospect of this Stage will put all the old Rags out of Countenance: So I hope the Town will graciously please to pardon the undeserving Scribbler, for some small Merit in the Projector. Otherwise it would be a little too hard to give me that Fate with my Play, as Middleton had with his Pipes, viz. By introducing that Project, as may Enrich my Successors; and at the same time Starve myself.  
However, my Doom be what it will, yet still I shall carry this Pride along with me, That I have endeavoured to Please, in spreading so Gay a Table.  
And if this Essay, on the other side, does find Success, it will bring me a double Pleasure; not only in the Gratification of my own Interest, but likewise in the Satisfaction I shall receive, that this public Acknowledgement of your Goodness, will be so much a more lasting Record of those grateful Tenders, are here made you by,  
SIR, Your most obliged and most humble Servant, E. SETTLE.   

PROLOGUE,  Spoken by a new Girl. 
THEY say Young Actors on the Stage appear  
At their first Entry, with a trembling Fear.  
And yet, methinks, by all that I can find,  
The Ladies look so gay, and Men so kind;  
That all my trembling Pains are vanished quite;  
Are such fine Folks so terrible a Sight?  
All that I see do rather please than fright.  
Then I'll be bold, and tell you I am sent  
To make— Make what?— The Poet's Compliment.  
Not I indeed.— Let him e'en sink or swim;  
Is't fit I should Excuses find for him?  
And be so vain to expect any Grace,  
The very first Time that I show my Face?  
I must confess I fain his Friend would be,  
But I had rather have You Friends to Me.  
He has, alas! been used to Fortune's Frown;  
But if you treat Me Ill, I am undone.  
Alas! I set up with a Stock so small,  
The first Miscarriage would quite ruin all.  
For if I now should break, where must I run?  
Priviledg'd-Places are all quite put down.  
But there's a way for You to help me yet,  
For if I cannot All Your Favours get;  
I hope you'll grant one Thing in my Behalf,  
Let me but have Two-Thirds, and I am safe.   

Actors in the Comedy  

Men.  
Frank Wildblood, a Gentleman of the Town,  
Ned Stanmore, a Templar,  
Palmerin Worthy, in Love with Jacintha,  
Sir Dotterel Fondlove, an old doting Alderman,  
Old Stanmore, a Deputy of a Ward and Father to Jacintha,  
Tom. Dawkins, a Country-Clown,  
Mr. Powel.  
Mr. Mills.  
Mr. Williams.  
Mr. Johnson.  
Mr. Disney.  
Mr. Pinkethman.   

Women.  
Jacintha, in Love with Palmerin,  
Widow Dawkins,  
Mrs. Susan, a Sempstress,  
Mrs. Verbruggen.  
Mrs. Powel.  
Mrs. Andrews.   
The Curtain rises, and discovers the Flat Palace, with a new Arch, richly decorated with Gold; with these Three Mottoes: Vires dabit aemula Virtus— Spectemur agendo— Per Apellem splendet Apollo. The Ceiling being new painted with the Figure of Majesty seated upon a Globe, encircled with Glory, and attended by Cupid's, etc.   

PROLOGUE.  Set to Music by Mr. Jeremy Clark. 

WElcome Beauty, all the Charms▪  
Sparkling in that Orb of Glory;  
All to those Protecting Arms,  
Thus we Bend and Kneel before Ye.   

If the Fates that rule below,  
All are smiling heavens' Creation;  
We have no kind Stars but You,  
All in that fair Constellation.   

Smile then with a Beam divine,  
We'll be blessed if You but shine;  
Happy than our Pains and Toils;  
Wit only lives, when Beauty smiles.   

Your Graces let the Muse's share,  
And in return they make this Prayer.  
In all your Quiver,  
May there never,  
Want a Shaft all Hearts to gain;  
Whilst all their Duty,  
Paid to Beauty,  
The Great shall Kneel, and Fair shall Reign.    

THE New World in the Moon.  

ACT I.  Enter Widow, Mrs. Susan, and Tom. Sus. 
NAY, fie, dear Aunt, dry up your Eyes, and cheer up your Heart, and once more let me bid you welcome to London.  Tom. 
London, quotha! Well; I never saw such a strange Place in all my born Days. Here's a whole thousand of Houses, and not one Barn among them all.  Wid. 
Oh Cousin; 'tis a melancholy Journey that brings me hither; never had poor Woman such a Loss as I have had. My Eldest, my First-born, my Virginity, Cousin; cropped in the Flower, in the Bud of Five and twenty: Oh, Cousin, I have lost such a Boy—  Tom. 
As was not worth keeping.  Wid. 
How, Sirrah!  Tom. 
Why he's dead Mother, he's dead; and what should we do with dead Folks, but make Crows-meat of them?  Wid. 
Oh thou ungracious Boy! Are these your Tears for your poor Brother's Death, that dear sweet precious Lamb?  Tom. 
A Word in your Ear.  Sus. 
With me, Cousin!  Tom. 
Between Friends, Cousin Suchee, our Family are none of the wisest.  Sus. 
Nay, why so, Cousin!  Tom. 
All Fools, but myself. Why here's that young Cudden, my Brother, a silly Blockheaded Son of a—, had no more Wit than to play the Fool and die: And here's that whining, whimpering old Dunce, my Mother, has no more Wit than to cry for him.  Sus. 
Ay, Cousin, there you are in the Right: She's a little too sorrowful indeed.  Tom. 
In the Right, Cousin; why, I am never in the Wrong.  Wid. 
What's that he prates?  Sus. 
Only telling me, he's the Top-wit of the Family.  Wid. 
Nay, the Child has very good natural Parts: Heaven send him to make good use of them. Ay, ay, he has Wit enough.  Tom. 
Wit! Ay enough to stock a whole Parish: Enough to give all the young Fellows their Heads full, and the young Wenches their Bellies full.  Wid. 
Well Son, more of your Manners, and less of your Wit. Pray let's see how you'll behave yourself before the Squire, my Landlord.  Tom. 
Ay, ay, let me alone for Haviours.  Enter a Footman. Wid. 
That must be his Livery. Pray Sir, if I may be so bold; don't you belong to Squire Wildblood?  Foot. 
Well, Woman, and what then?  Wid. 
Only I have a little Business with his Worship.  Foot. 
Yonder's his Worship, if you have any thing to say to him.  Tom. 
What a surly Dog's this? Oons' Mother, shall I beat him?  Wid. 
Beat him, Rascal? Enter Frank Wildblood, and Ned Stanmore. Noble Squire.  Fr. W. 
My Buckingham-Widow! My Country Copyholder!  Widgine 
Your poor Tenant, Sir.  N. St. 
Sweet Mrs. Susan.  Sus. 
My dear Temple-master.  Fr. W. 
And prithee, Widow, what Wind blows you to Town?  Wid. 
Truly Squire, I am come Forty long Miles to wait upon your Worship.  Tom. 
And I am come Forty long Miles along with her; that's just Fourscore.  Wid. 
You must pardon him, Sir; 'tis a bold Boy, my Son, an't like ye.  Tom. 
And she's my Mother, for want of a better; an't like ye.  Fr. W. 
Your Son! How old is he?  Wid. 
A poor Suckling, Sir; just turned of Twenty.  Fr. W. 
A very hopeful Boy!  Tom. 
So the Girls tell me, Sir.  Wid. 
Ah Squire, I have lost my Eldest Boy: There's one Life in my Copyhold gone. But I hope your Worship will be pleased to renew my Lease, and put in this young Lamb in his Room. I have made a hard Shift to pick up a few Milled Crowns for You, a very scarce Commodity among us poor Country-Folks. But I hope your good Worship will use me as kindly as you can.  N. St. 
Ay prithee Frank use her kindly, for her sweet Niece's sake here.  Fr. W. 
A very pretty Creature! Of your Acquaintance, Ned?  N. St. 
At your Service.  Fr. W. 
Your Servant, sweet Lady. [Kisses her.] Here Sirrah, take that old Gentlewoman and her Son to my House, and make them welcome for this fair Lady's sake. Prithee what is she, Ned? Ex. Widow and Son.  N. St. 
My Temple-Sempstress. Oh Frank, this sweet young Lady has the prettiest softest Hand at tying a cravat: As I hope to be a Judge, I had rather dress myself in those two black Eyes, than in the best Beau Looking-glass in all Covent-garden.  Sus. 
You must pardon his way of Raillery, Sir. He always makes bold with his poor Servant.  Fr. W. 
If he's no more bold than welcome, he's a happy Man, Madam.  Sus. 
Alas, Sir! I make him happy!  N. St. 
Prithee Frank let me recommend you to this Lady's Acquaintance. She shines in the Front of a gay Shop in Fleetstreet, and is a fair Dealer in Linnen-Drapery.  Sus. 
Where this Gentleman shall be welcome.  Fr. W. 
You could not give me a more acceptable Invitation. I assure you, Madam, as far as ready Money, or Love will go, I shall be your humble Servant; for I declare from my Heart, I can't have a higher Ambition than to be taking up Linen with so pretty a Lady.  Sus. 
The best in my Shop is at your Service.  Fr. W. 
That in your Bedchamber will please me much better.  Sus. 
My Bedchamber, sweet Sir; nay, now you'll make me blush.  Fr. W. 
Not in the Dark, Madam! I always put out the Candle.  Sus. 
I vow you talk so strangely— But I beg your Pardon, Sir, I must wait upon my Aunt: She expects my Attendance, and I dare not forfeit her good Graces.  Fr. W. 
Then must we lose ye? Here Sirrah, Page, pay your Obedience, and usher that Lady. Exit Mrs. Susan.  N. St. 
O fie Frank, almost Seven a Clock: The Play's half done by this time.  Fr. W. 
Time enough for the last Act. Thou know'st I never take a turn to a Play, but either just pop in my Head before the Curtain rises, or before it drops again.  N. St. 
Then you peep into a Play house, like a Prentice into a Church: Just hear the Text, then take a Ramble, and come back to receive the Blessing: He to hand out his Cheapside Mistress, and you your Covent-garden Miss.  Fr. W. 
Nay, there thou hast hit me.  N. St. 
But why are you so unkind to the Playhouses, especially at this Low-water time with them, to take a turn (as you call it) before the Curtain rises?  Fr. W. 
Out of pure Charity, Ned. I gallop round the Pit, hear the last Music, pick up a Mask, and carry her off before the Play; and so save the poor Whore her Half Crown.  N. St. 
But why can't you sit out the Play?  Fr. W. 
Oh Intolerable! I could no more endure to sit out a whole Play, than to Ride out a whole Fox-Chace; especially since I came to my Estate.  N. St. 
And why since you came to your Estate?  Fr. W. 
Why? Because I so wore out all my Patience in waiting for my Father's Death, that I have not one single Grain left.  N. St. 
Nay thou hadst an unreasonable Father, that I'll say for him. He had no more Conscience than to Live to see his hopeful First-begotten a reverend Super-annuated old Gentleman of Five and twenty, when thou want'st to have had him in Heaven above Seven Years before, to keep a Coach and a Whore at Eighteen.  Fr. W. 
A Coach and a Whore, Ned! why 'tis Life and Soul. Punk and Pride, the Flesh and the Spirit; and a Man's not a Man without 'em.  N. St. 
But why do you tell me you never stay out a Play, when you know I have seen you perking behind the Scenes, from the first Music to the last Candle, to a clear Stage; nay, and to a clear Dressing-room, the very last Man bourn.  Fr. W. 
Behind the Scenes! Ay, there the Case is altered. There, Ned, I have nothing to say to the Play, but the Players— Oh! I could dance Attendance, and dangle at the Train of a High Feather, and a Stage Princess (especially that Phoenix amongst 'em under the reputation of a Virginity) as contentedly and with as much mortal Resignation for Three whole Hours together, as I could lie a whole Night by her.  N. St. 
Then all your Patience is not worn out?  Fr. W. 
Not in a good Cause, Ned.  Ned. 
Nay, if your Delight lies behind the Scenes, you'll have enough on't to Night; for, after the Play's done, I hear the Actors have a general Practice of the Music and Machine's of some part of their New Opera.  Fr. W. 
Their New World in the Moon.  N. St. 
Ay, so, I hear, they call it.  Fr. W. 
But now thou talkest of Plays; prithee, Ned, when didst thou see that serious Tragi-comical Face, that unfashionable Spark, young Palmerin, with the Beard of Twenty six, and the Sanctity of Nine and sixty.  N. St. 
Nay Truly, he's not altogether in the modern Mode: For he sets up for Virtue.  Fr. W. 
Ay by St. Lucrece, and for Chastity too. I durst to swear it has its Madenhead still, a pure male Virgin. For tho' the poor Dog has but bare 200 a Year Annuity, and not Heir to one Groat, (for his prodigal Elder Brother took care of all Reversions) yet I warrant he'd no more Feed one of the hungry Birds at the Court-end of Town, though in the Feathers of a Duchess, were it to plume his own Nest to the Tune of a Coach and Six. I wonder we ha'ned him Star gazing this way, up to thy Sister's Window yonder; for I understand he's her sworn Adorer.  N. St. 
Nay, as you say, He is her true Stargazer indeed. For my cruel Father has so abdicated the poor Lover, so Banished and Barred all his Approaches, that he Kneels to my Sister like an Indian to the Sun, almost at the same Distance, and yet with the same Warmth.  Fr. W. 
Nay then I find as cloudy as your Father lours upon him, he has some Dawn of Hopes from her kind Brother's Favour.  N. St. 
Ay faith, Frank, I love the honest Lad so well, that I'd give my Cook upon Littleton, and all my whole Temple-Library, that my Father loved him but half so well.  Fr. W. 
Then if the Old cruel Gentleman once drops off, the kind Young one—  N. St. 
Will give him my Sister, though I give him half my Estate with her.  Enter Palmerin. Fr. W. 
A very generous Gentleman. But see yonder he comes. My Man of Morals.  Pal. 
My Man of Mode, Your Servant.  Fr. W. 
Troth Palmerin, we were just Talking of thee. For my part I was down right pitying of thee.  Pal. 
And why pitying me?  Fr. W. 
Why, only to consider, how thou hadst an elder Brother made a shift to live to melt the last Acre of a 1000 a Year, and yet thou art a greater Prodigal than He  Pal. 
Nay, Why so, Frank?  Fr. W. 
I'll tell you why▪ Your Brother, he lived a Gentleman, and only died a Beggar. But thou, with that ragged and starving Companion called Conscience at thy Heels, art resolved both to Live and die one! Nay, and of all Mankind too, why a younger Brother and set up for Virtue?  Pal. 
And why not a younger Brother?  Fr. W. 
Oh fie! Why should he profess Virtue, that has nothing but Vice to Live upon? 'Tis enough for Your fat rich Drones, that have neither Mercury in their Heads, nor Warmth in their Veins, for the Diviner Taste of Pleasures, to Dream and Sleep away a Life in lazy drowsy Morals.  Pal. 
Quite contrary! 'Tis enough for you rich Elder Brothers, that have this World in a String, never to think of the next; whilst we poor Younger Brothers, that have so little share of one, should take care for the other.  N. St. 
Do you hear that, Frank? You had best have a care of him, for he'll be too hard for you else.  Fr. W. 
Nay he shall never want your good Word at all turns. Oh Palmerin, thou hast a staunch Champion of Ned here. If all Parties were as well agreed as himself, thou shouldst Marry his Sister to Morrow.  Pal. 
To her kind Brother's Goodness, I am an eternal Debtor; and only wish I were more in Debt to Heaven: Blessed with those smiles of Fortune, to deserve her.  Fr. W. 
Smiles of Fortune! Why, thou dost not want 'em. Prithee make me thy Confessor, and tell me ingeniously, couldst not thou be contented to Beg with Jacintha!  Pal. 
And what then, Sir!  Fr. W. 
And Starve too!  Pal. 
Well, and Starve too.  Fr. W 
Then for Jacintha's Love, you durst do—  Pal. 
Any Thing.  
Sink, Ruin, Perish: Fate has not that Frown,  
Nor Heaven and all its Thunder has that Bolt,  
But I could stand 'em all for dear Jacintha.  Fr. W. 
Here's Raptures for you— Then Poor and Fortuneless as you are, you love her so entirely well, that without Consultation of Parents, Obedience, Portion, or Convenience, you could take her Naked and Friendless to your Arms, and Marry her to Morrow?  Pal. 
No, not so neither.  Fr. W. 
How: Beg, Starve and Perish for her Sake; and yet not dare to Marry her.  Pal. 
All this and Ten times more, and yet not dare to Marry her. No, tho' I have Love enough to make myself miserable for her sake; I have too much Love to make her miserable for mine.  Fr. W. 
Here's your School Distinction in Cupid's new Philosophy: But Palmerin, considering here's a Father in the Case, that by the Constitution of his Body, may live these 20 Years; for he has a Son here, of thy own Church; neither in Fee with his Doctor nor Pothecary: That Tyrant-Father, that whilst his Head's above Ground, will no more give thee Jacintha, than he will build Hospitals. Prithee how long then couldst thou be contented to wait for her!  Pal. 
An Age: A Life Sir.  Fr. W. 
Why truly that's pretty reasonable Attendance. But how wouldst thou live this long long Age of Patience!  Pal. 
With Thinking.  
I'd remember there's that dear Face in the World: And for want of the Original, wear her Picture at my Heart: Make that one single Thought my whole Cordial of Life: Carry her Memory to my Crutch and my Grave, and tell the Fools of the World, there's one Woman worth dying for.  Fr. W. 
Here's your Amadis de Gaul; your Lover in Heroics! Oh Palmerin, Palmerin, how cheaply dost thou furnish out thy Table of Love? Canst Feed upon a Thought; Live upon Hopes; Feast upon a Look; Fatten upon a Smile; and Surfeit and die upon a Kiss! What a Chameleon Lover is a Platonic?  Pal. 
Well Sir, as you have spread my Platonic Table: Shall I spread your Libertine one?  Fr. W. 
With all my Heart.  Pal. 
In the first Place, then: A Canine Appetite to prepare your Digestion:  
Bawds, Panders and Pimps, your Cooks and your Caterers.  
Paint, Patch and Infamy, your whole Bill of Fare:  
The Goat and the satire, to set out the Feast:  
The Surgeon and 'Pothecary, to bring in the D'usert:  
And Death and the Devil, to sweep off the Fragments.  N. St. 
Did not I tell you he'd be too hard for you?  Fr. W. 
Ay, Pox on him. But come— to the Play Ned, to the Play. Ex.  N. St. 
Ay, Sir, we'll follow you.— Palmerin, I have a little Melancholy News for you; there's a new Rival setting up: You shall have the whole Story as we walk to the Play.  Pal. 
More persecuting Stars! more Enemies to Combat!  N. St. 
No Palmerin, more Enemies to Conquer.  
Let thy great Cause thy drooping Courage Cheer.  
Whilst Love and Truth, thy Champions do appear,  
Thy feeble Foes, are all not worth a Fear. Exeunt.  The Flat-Scene draws, and discovers Three grand Arches of Clouds extending to the Roof of the House, terminated with a Prospect of Cloud-work, all filled with the Figures of Fames and Cupids; a Circular part of the back Clouds rolls softly away, and gradually discovers a Silver Moon, near Fourteen Foot Diameter: After which, the Silver Moon wanes off by degrees, and discovers the World within, consisting of Four grand Circles of Clouds, illustrated with Cupids, etc. Twelve golden Chariots are seen riding in the Clouds, filled with Twelve Children, representing the Twelve Celestial Signs. The Third Arch entirely rolling away, leaves the full Prospect terminating with a large Lanschape of Woods, Waters, Towns, etc. Enter Cynthia's Train, being Twenty Singers, and other Retinue The following Piece of Music is Sung. 
Composed by Mr. Jeremy Clark. 

WIthin this happy World above,  
The Realms of Innocence and Love,  
(Love with his Rosy Chaplets crowned)  
Eternal Joy goes round.  
Divine Astrea hither flew,  
To Cynthia's brighter Throne▪  
She left the Iron World below,  
To bless the Silver Moon.  

Chor.  
Divine Astrea—    

Sound sound the Trumpets, sound  
Fair Cynthia's Name,  
Through all the heavenly Round,  
So vast her Empire and so loud her Fame,  
Sound that proud triumphant Name,  
Sound, sound, for ever sound.   

Soft Peace on Earth so rarely shows her Head,  
Scarce found within the Bridal Bed.  
We know no Discords, know no Jars,  
Unless the gentle amorous Wars:  
We fear no Shafts but those that fly  
From Phyllis, or from Celia's Eye;  
Nor Death, but when in melting Charms we die.   

Whilst thus our calmer Pleasures flow,  
What Storms disturb the Globe below?  
Tempests rattle,  
Blood and Battle,  
Fire and Ruin, War and Thunder,  
Tear the lower World asunder.  

Chor.  
Tempest's rattle—     A Dance of Four Swans. To them enter Five green Men, upon which the Swans take Wing and fly up into the Heavens. The green Men dance; which concludes the Act.  

ACT II.  Enter Palmerin and Jacintha. Pal. 
AND has thy cruel Father than designed thee  
For the Embraces of Sir Dotttrel Fondlove?  Jac 
Even so; my Father's Stars have so decreed me  
Sir Dottrel's honourable Bride and Lady.  Pal. 
His Bride! His Sacrifice. Thy Virgin Sweets  
A Garland for a Tomb!  
Nay, could thy barbarous Father find no Rival  
To the lost Palmerin, but that vile Earthmole?  
The Tyrant Lord of all my ruined Fortunes,  
By the cursed Riots of my Elder Brother,  
Swallowed and gorged by that devouring Cormorant!  Jac. 
What frightened at a Shadow, such a Rival,  
A despicable Muckworm Wretch, fit only  
T' affront and loath, and tread beneath my Scorn?  Pal. 
Oh, thou'rt all Angel-Goodness!  Jac. 
No, Palmerin,  
Look in my Face, and mark if thou canst find  
One Spark in these young Eyes, fit for a Taper  
To light a grunting doting Fool to Bed!  
Plant my young Nectarns at that cold North-wall, Sir Dotterel. No,  
I am for the warmer Sunny-side of Love:  
One young Palmerin's worth twenty old Sir Dottrel's.  Pal. 
What can I do to merit all this Love?  Jac. 
What have we done to merit this hard Fate?  
When all these louring Clouds hang o'er our Joys?  
I dare not take thee to my Arms. To marry  
Without my Father's leave, that were to lay  
My ruined Fortunes lower than my Palmerin's;  
And turn us naked forth to all the Sufferings  
Of bleeding Want and Misery.  Pal. 
Oh Love! to what  
Hard Bondage art thou tied? That divine Passion,  
The noblest Spark of Heaven, and yet a Slave to Dirt;  
When Earth and Muck-hill reign Tyrants o'er thy Fate.  
But if no Weight but that vile worldly Dross  
Can only turn thy Balance; why, oh why,  
Are all those pouring Showers of smiling Fortune,  
The blind Inheritance of Slaves and Villains;  
Whilst poor I groan beneath my niggard Stars?  Jac. 
Come Palmerin, ne'er despair; but trust to Wit  
And Industry to mend our losing Hand!  
Fortune drops down to Fools, but wise Men climb up to Fortune.  
But this kind Visit must be short: For if  
My Father should return and find you here,  
Then I am lost: For Locks and Keys, and Jailours,  
Would then be all my Portion!  Pal. 
But, dear Madam,  
I have had a lucky Thought. I'll instantly  
Transform myself into a Valet de Chambre,  
Screw me into Sir Dottrel's Favour; and, if possible,  
Get me entertained his Servant.  Jac. 
Excellent!  Pal. 
By this means, thus disguised, and in his Service,  
I shall have all th' Access to my Jacintha—  Jac. 
And all the Opportunities to join  
Our Heads and Plots to blow the doting Fool up.  Enter Servant. Seru. 
Madam, your Father, and Sir Dotterel Fondlove—  Jac. 
What says the Girl?  Seru. 
Are both just at the Door.  Jac. 
Make haste and slip out at the back Gate.  Pal. 
The guardian Powers of Truth and Love protect thee. Exit.  Jac. 
The Powers of Wit and Woman: I have occasion  
For their Protection now.  Enter Mr. Deputy, and Sir Dotterel. Mr. Dep. 
Well Son (for so I'll call you)  
You have my free Consent to wed my Daughter.  Sir Dot. 
I am the happiest Man.  Mr. Dep. 
If she can make ye so—  
Daughter, you see your Husband.  Jac. 
Bless my Eyesight. Aside.  Mr. Dep 
Once more I bid you think of being a Lady—  Jac. 
To that fusty piece of Knighthood. Honour  
And old Bones, a Sackful. Aside  Mr. Dep. 
I need say no more.  
You know my Pleasure, and your own best Choice:  
As you embrace his Love, you shall have mine.  Jac. 
Sir, I was born all yours: My Hand and Heart then  
Must be no less than part of my Obedience.  Mr. Dep. 
Well; thou sayst well— Sir Dotterel, may I venture  
To trust my Daughter with you all alone?  Jac. 
By my Virginity, a desperate Venture!  
He looks so like a Tarquin. Aside  Sir Dot. 
Venture me!— Ay Sir, ne'er fear me; I shall be so tender of her;  
Use her so very gently.  Jac. 
That I'll swear for thee. [Aside.] Exit Mr. Deputy.  Sir Dot. 
Madam!  Jac. 
Sir!  Sir Dot. 
Your Father gives me leave to tell you—  Jac. 
News Sir?  Sir Dot. 
News, Chicken! Ay, and I hope no unwelcome News,  
That the rich Alderman, Sir Dotterel Fondlove,  
Is fair Jacintha's passionate humble Servant.  
I must confess I am sorry—  Jac. 
That I am his Daughter?  Sir Dot. 
Sorry, you are his Daughter!  Jac. 
Ay, all the Reason in the World. It had been  
Much happier for me to have been his great Grandmother:  
To have been so much worthier of such  
A reverend humble Servant as Sir Dotterel.  Sir Dot. 
You are pleased to be merry, sweet Lady.  Jac. 
Not over-merry, Sir, in such dull Company.  Sir Dot. 
Nay, Chicken, be not angry at the Matter:  
I mean all honourable, to make a Wife of thee.  Jac. 
A Wife! A Crutch, a quilted Cap, and Caudle!  Sir Dot. 
How's this?  Jac. 
Thy mouldy Chops water at Wedlock!  
Turn o'er thy Bills, thy Bonds, and Judgements:  
Thy Statutes, and thy Mortgages, old Mammon:  
They are better Reading for thy old Spectacles  
Than Matrimony. And if 'tis possible for an old Usurer  
To hope for Salvation, and shame the Devil,  
Build Almshouses, old Thirty per Cent. and then die,  
And sleep with thy Forefathers, if ever thou hadst any:  
For by thy Looks, thou might'st be Adam's Elder Brother.  Sir Dot. 
Oh the Vengeance! What's all this! Why 'tis I, Child:  
Sir Dotterel; the Man that must love thee,  
And marry thee, and make a Lady of thee.  Jac. 
Yes, thou shalt marry me: But if thou dost;  
By this good Light, I'll make a Monster of thee  
Thy very Wedding-day; and graft thy Forehead,  
With such a pair of terrible Brow-antlers,  
That both thy Wedding-sheets shall not be large enough  
To make a Nightcap for thee.  Sir Dot. 
Oh my Ears! my Eyes! my Senses!  Jac. 
And then when I have married thee, and reign  
The Sovereign Mistress of thy Chests and Coffers,  
And keep the Keys of all thy hoarded Muck,  
I'll set thy Gold a flying. By this Hand,  
I'll put up thy whole Bags to an Inch of Candle;  
Theirs and thy Snuff both to drop out together.  Sir Dot. 
Why, thou Termagant,  
All this to a Man of Five thousand a Year!  Jac. 
All in dirty Acres! Ay, that I want, Sir.  
Do you find Acres, and I'll find you Heirs for 'em:  
For if there be  
One hungry younger Brother in Three Kingdoms,  
One keen stomached Captain in the whole Army,  
Or one kind Cuckold maker in both the Playhouses;  
Thou shalt have Sons and Daughters, Heirs and grand Heirs,  
But no more Kin to Thee, then thou'rt to Honesty.  Sir Dot. 
Oh intolerable! This is beyond all mortal Patience.  
But dost thou think if I were married to thee,  
That I'd live to bear all this?  Jac. 
Live! No; thou wouldst not have the Impudence to think of Living.  
Live! why I'd break thy Heart in the first Fortnight.  
Thou shouldst not live out half the Honey moon.  
Nay, I'd bespeak the very Penny-pot Poets that writ  
Thy Epithalamium, for the Rhime-Doggrel for thy Elegy;  
And set by the whole Remnants of thy Wedding-dinner,  
For Hot suppings at thy Funeral.  Sir Dot. 
Oh the Devil!  Jac. 
Thy old Bones in my young Bonds of Matrimony, and live!  
Thou shouldst no more hope to live than a Fish in a Birdcage.  
Nay, if neither hard Meat, cold Comfort, warm Cuckoldom,  
Nor nothing else would dispatch thee;  
I'd keep open House to all the Beaus in the Town,  
And choke thee with Powder and Essences.  Sir Dot. 
Why thou impudent Harlotry young Gipsy, dost thou know  
Who I am, and what I am, that thou usest me thus unmercifully?  Jac. 
Know who and what thou art! Why, I'll tell thee what thou art.  
Thou art a Load of Diseases; as Crazy as thy Understanding;  
As Deaf as thy Charity; As blind as thy Ignorance;  
As Mouldy as thy Prayer-books, as cold as thy Religion:  
As Rusty as thy Coffers, and as Rotten as thy Conscience!  
Thou'rt a Scarecrow to Flesh and Blood; an Antidote to Love:  
Hast been dead to Womankind these Fifty Years,  
Buried in Cerecloth and Flannel Threescore,  
And cheated the Worms and the Devil a whole Hundred.  
Does thy Cozening Lawyer want a Memento Mori?  
The Scrivener dried Parchment for thy Mortgages?  
Thy Surgeon want a Skeleton? thy 'Pothecary a Mummy?  
And thy Brother Belzebub a Broker's Shop?  
Thy Lumber-house of Antiquity would furnish 'em all.  Sir Dot. 
I can hold no longer— Why Sir— Mr. Deputy— Where are you— Come to my Deliverance— I shall be Murdered— I shall be Ravished. I shall be—  Enter Mr. Deputy. Mr. Dep. 
Why, what's the Matter here?  Sir Dot. 
The Matter! Never was poor Man so abused as I have been.  Mr. Dep. 
Who has abused you?  Sir. Dot. 
Who! that young Proserpina, that Satan in High-toppings, that She-Devil in Petticoats.  Mr. Dep. 
Who; my Daughter?  Sir Dot. 
Ay, your Daughter; if she be your Daughter.  Mr. Dep. 
If she be my Daughter!  Sir Dot. 
Ay, if she be! For if the great Whoremaster General, the old Serpent, did not wriggle himself to Bed to her Mother; and did not get that She-Cockatrice for you; but she is your own true natural Flesh and Blood: Then I do tell you that wicked, that ungodly, that audacious Daughter of yours has used me so barbarously—  Mr. Dep. 
How barbarously?  Sir Dot. 
Why she has fallen upon me as unmercifully, as a whole Army of bloody Pilgrims and black Bills; has called me as many several old Rogues, as there are hard Names in a Welsh Pedigree: And that if I marry her, she swears, That she'll lie with all the young Fellows within the Four Seas, by Land and by Water, till she has grafted me a pair of Horns, udsbud, like the Pope's Crown, Three Stories high.  Mr. Dep. 
And has my Daughter say you—  Jac. 
Not one Word of all this— I was a telling him, how some young Husseys would use a reverend old Gentleman to their Husband: A parcel of mad wild Gilflirts, that like nothing but Boys and Beaus, and Powder and Paint, and Fool and Feather. But for me, I that had been bred up in a sober Family, the Daughter of a worthy grave Citizen; I was for no Husband but Sir Dotterel; a Person of his honourable Years and Character: That his Age might be a Guide to my Youth: His Wisdom to my Folly; his Gravity to my Vanity▪ I told him, how I should love him and cherish him; make his Spoon-meats, sugar his Caudles, be his Lady, his Maid, and his Nurse: Warm his Bed, creep to his Arms, sleep in his Bosom; and make him the lovingest, the kindest, and the fondest Wife in the whole World.  Sir Dot. 
Oh Impudence! Impudence! Impudence! Why didst thou say one word of all this Gibberish?  Jac. 
No: But I was going to say it all; only you had not the Patience to stay to hear me.  Sir Dot. 
Patience, in the Devil's Name!  Jac. 
You naughty Man, you! I was just opening my kind Lips with all the sweetest Breath of Love, to say a thousand tenderest kindest Things— But yond— To stop my Mouth, to shut your Ears, and run away from me! To tell my Father all this barbarous Tale, of the poor innocent Jacintha!  Sir. Dot. 
Avaunt Satan! Take away thy Cloven Foot, and give me Air: Thy Breathes all Charcoal and Brimstone; and Mercy, Mercy; save me, save me, save me! Exit.  Mr. Dep. 
Come, my young Gipsy, all this Mask of Innocence shan't serve your turn. I am afraid—  Jac. 
Of nothing but a Shadow.  Mr. Dep. 
How! All this hideous Outcry but a Shadow?  Jac. 
'Tis all a mere Mistake.  Mr. Dep. 
Mistake!  Jac. 
Nothing, but a Mistake. Can I find young Ears to his old Head, or mend his crazy Intellects?  Mr. Dep. 
Come, my young Minx, as you expect my Blessing, or hope t'enjoy one Rag of my Estate, mend this bad Mornings-work; or— Exit.  Jac. 
May I never hope to be a Lady.—  
Well, I will blow this Fool up, if my Mines  
Do but stand fast. 'Tis true, 'tis not so honourable  
To jilt him as I do— Can I jilt him?  
No, 'tis impossible: When old dry Bones  
Would match with young warm Veins, I only stand  
Upon my lawful Guard; my brisk Nineteen  
To jilt his Ninety nine, no Fault can be:  
No; 'tis his Ninety nine that would jilt me. Exit.  The Scene the World in the Moon. Enter Wildblood, Ned Stanmore and Tom. Joe Hayns meets 'em. Fr. W. 
My old Friend Joe!  N. St. 
Noble Count Hayns!  Hayns, 
My worthy Patroons.  Fr. W. 
Well, how goes the World, honest Fortune-teller?  Hayns, 
Dully, heavily, Gentlemen! 'Tis a base World, a poor undone World. In short, betwixt Plots, Wars and Beggary, it has been cramped, plagued and poxed; and is now going into a high Course of Physic, a General Peace, to Flux, grow sober, and live honest.  N. St. 
Nay, now thou talk'st like a Cosmographer.  Hayns, 
Look ye, Sir, I treat the World as the World treats me; no Love lost between us.  Fr. W. 
Well, Joe, we'll let the great Stage, the World, alone, to rub on; and talk of the little Stage, the Playhouse here: Prithee, when does the, Rehearsal begin?  Hayns, 
Oh presently, Gentlemen; presently.  N. St. 
But what's the Reason we do not see thee in thy Pontifical Robes? Hast thou no Part in this Opera?  Hayns, 
I a Part in an Opera! What an Endymion, a Cupid, a King Oberon!  Tom. stares him in the Face. 
Who have we here? Does he belong to you?  Fr. W. 
A small Tenant of mine— Prithee Joe give him a Cast of thy Rhetoric; a little piece of Banter.  Hayns, 
Say you so?— Illustro, grando Seignioro; most noble Squire, I am your most humble Servant.  Tom. 
Squire! what does the Man mean? Zooks, do I look like a Squire? why, I am Tom. Dawkins, the Farmer's Son of Buckingham. The noble Squire, ye Fool, is his Worship my Landlord.  Hayns, 
Cry you Mercy, sweet Sir.  Fr. W. 
Hark ye, Joe: Prithee manage this Country-blockhead a little. Canst not thou mount him into a Machine, or drop him into a Trap?  N. St. 
Ay, Joe; thou hast had a rare Hand at that sort of Management: Some of thy Legerdemain would do rarely. A little Farce to your Opera, will make the Rehearsal better than the Play.  Hains, 
Enough, Gentlemen; I have my Instructions— But h'st, the music's just beginning. Exit.  Wildblood and Stanmore sit on the Stage, whilst the Entertainment is performed; Tom. standing behind 'em. During a Symphony of Music, a Palace of Cynthia, near Twenty Foot ●●●h, appears within the Clouds; supported upon Twelve Pillars of Lapis Lazari; fluted with golden Darts, shafted and plumed with Silver; the Capitals, Bases, and all the Enrichment of the Roof and the Etableture of Silver. Enter the Court of Cynthia. 
The Entertainment Composed by Mr. Daniel Purcel. 
CCome all you Nymphs of Cynthia's Train,  
That tread the Azure Plain,  
That melt your Hours,  
And tune your Loves,  
In rosy Bowers,  
Immortal Groves:  
Come all, come all, come all, and join,  
In some new Airs divine.  Nymphs. 
We come, we come; we need no more.  
Then see that ever-soveraign Power,  
Our bended Knees adore.  Chor. 
We come, etc.  
To Cynthia then our Homage pay,  
And dedicate th' eternal Day:  
Her Praises move the heavenly Round,  
Her Songs with Jo Paeans crowned,  
Up to her Brother's Throne shall sound.  Chor. 
Her Praises, etc.  A Dance of Eight Figures.  

A Dialogue between Mr. Leveredge and Mrs. Cross.  Mr. Leveredge. 
IN all our Cynthia's shining Sphere,  
Methinks the fairest Face is here.  
Say, lovely Thing, say what art thou?  Mrs. Cross. 
I came, Sir, from the World below.  
I once was mortal Flesh and Blood,  
And scarce my Beauties Bloom displayed,  
I dropped a tender Virgin-bud,  
I played the Fool and died a Maid:  
For which the Gods have sent me here,  
To shine a Star in Cynthia's Sphere.  Leveredge. 
So fair a Face,  
In a World so base,  
Yet die a Maid!  Cross. 
A very, very Maid!  Leveredge. 
Have a care what you say.  Cross. 
A pure, pure Maid;  
A pure, pure Maid.  Leveredge. 
Are you sure you don't lie?  Cross. 
A pure, pure Maid, and I'll tell you why.  
The Truth that I tell will plainly be seen,  
For I died so very young, not full Thirteen.  
Do you think I would deceive ye?  Leveredge. 
No, no, I believe ye.  
That Wonder in an Age may once be seen;  
There may be a Maid not full Thirteen.  
But were you to live your Life o'er again;  
Oh what would you do, what would you do then?  
I am very much afraid,  
You would still die a Maid;  
Keep your sweet Virgin-Innocence all unshaken;  
I fear you'd die a Maid.  Cross. 
I fear you're mistaken.  Leveredge. 
How, not die a Maid?  Cross. 
No, no, not I;  
Not die a Maid, and I'll tell you why.  
These Eyes I am sure were for Love designed,  
And these Charms they were lent we to bless Mankind.  
Then shall I die a Maid?  Leveredge. 
Oh no, no, no.  
I hope you have more more Wit than so.  Cross. 
I am sure I have more more Wit than so.  Exeunt Cynthia's Court, etc.  Fr. W. 
Well, Tenant, how dost thou like all this?  Tom. 
Rarely Sir, rarely! Well, I have heard of your Crownations, but never saw one before.  N. St. 
And now you have seen a Crownation, what do you think on't?  Tom. 
Think! Oh Lord, Sir, I never Thought in my Life; but I paid off with Considering. And, let me tell you, as one wise Man may say to another, Gadsooks, Squire, that Harlotry Countess, that little singing Queen there, were she but two Heads higher, three Quarters more in the Waist, and but half so plump as my Mother, to fill an Elbow-Chair, and crack a Down bed; udsbud she'd make a Wife for a High Constable.  Enter Hayns, and a Man carrying a Wig, Hat, Suit of fine clothes, etc. Hayns, 
Oh Gentlemen! what have you done?  Fr. W. 
Why, what's the Matter?  Hayns, 
Destroyed and ruined us!  N. St. 
Heaven forbid, Sir!  Hayns, 
Brought this young Stranger here, this lovely Stranger; that Face, those Eyes, to steal our Princess Heart.  Tom. 
Who me!  Hayns, 
Oh Gentlemen! our Queen, our poor dear Queen, she sighs, she dies, and all for this sweet Face.  Tom. 
For Tom. Dawkins?  Hayns, 
Ay Sir, who are you? say; what Lord? what Hero? what Prince disguised?  Tom. 
I a Prince! my Mother keeps a Garden, Sir, and sells Carrots.  Hayns, 
How Sir! no Prince?  Tom. 
Prince, Sir! why I am a Cowkeeper.  Hains. 
Well, if you are no Prince, I must make you one.  Tom. 
O lo! Whips a Hat and Feather upon his Head.  Hayns, 
But quick; uncase, dismantle; and come Dress, Rig, Robe, Sparkle, Shine, Sir.  Tom. 
All this for me?  Hayns, 
Ask no Questions before Supper. Dresses him in a laced Coat, etc.  
Now, noble Sir, lead on; appear in Glory:  
Look like yourself; and drive the World before ye▪  
Bear up your Head; strut, swagger, cock; look high:  
For such a Queen—  Tom. 
Oh Landlord! who am I? Exeunt.   

ACT III.  SCENE Mr. Deputy's House. Enter Sir Dotterel and Palmerin, now called Shackarel, Sir Dotterel 's Man: Palmerin advances half way 'cross the Stage, with a Candle before his Master. Sir Dot. 
CErtainly this young Witch must have some Charm upon me; for now can I no more forbear running to this fair Destruction, than a Squirrel into the Mouth of a Rattle-snake; for I must see her again. 'Tis true, 'tis a little of the latest to make Visits at this time of Night; and yet who knows but 'tis the best Hour of teaching coy Girls to speak Sense, as young Starlings to talk English, at sleeping time.  Pal. 
Oh Sir, the rarest Discovery.  Sir Dot. 
Ha! what's the Matter?  Pal. 
Only yonder's your Mistress, all in Darkness, alone in her Closet, upon her Knees, at Prayers, Sir.  Sir Dot. 
At Pray's! why has she the Confidence to look Heaven in the Face, after this Morning's wickedness— But take away the Candle, Sirrah; and slip into the next Room—  Pal. 
Why what are you going to do? I hope your Worship will not be so rude, as to disturb her Devotion.  Sir Dot. 
No; but my Worship will be so rude, as to listen to her Devotion. And so get you gone, you Rascal. [Exit Palmerin with the Candle.] Now will I steal to her Closet-door, and hear what kind of Prayers she makes; for by the number of her sins, here will be a swinging Confession— Now, if my old Ears don't fail me— Palmerin, as soon as he has carried out the Candle, returns, and steals by his Master cross the Stage; and enters with Jacintha, at the furthest Door. She Laughs entering.  Sir Dot. 
So merry at her Devotion! [She Laughs again.] Prayers!  Jac. 
I have laughed till my Sides ache! Such an old Fool. Smiling.  Sir Dot. 
Ha!  Pal. 
Such a Cudden of Fourscore? Smiling.  Sir Dot. 
Death and Goblins! what's here?  Jac. 
Such a Tool of a Husband! Smiling.  Pal. 
Such an Animal for a City Monster!  Sir Dot. 
Prayr's! in the Devil's Name.  Pal. 
And wilt thou make a reverend Dormouse of him, to sleep, and snort and snore; whilst we embrace, and sport and toy—  Jac. 
Sleep, while we embrace; sleep! no, he shall wake and see it all. By this good Night, I'll make him that tame horned Beast, that he shall lock the Door, hold the Candle, and light us to Bed.  Sir Dot. 
Shall he so, Gipsy?  Jac. 
Such a contented Monster, he shall buy him a new pair of Spectacles to see how close we Kiss together; nay, hang my whole Bedchamber like a Beau's Dressing-room, all round with Looking-glasses, to see how his Horns become him. Laughing.  Sir Dot. 
Jilts, Traitors— But I'll contain myself. One Minute's Patience more; and then, my Brace of Firebrands—  Jac. 
Oh we have melted in ten thousand Raptures, dissolved in Bliss, and surfeited in Pleasure. But come, my Love, come to my Arms once more. Oh, I'll be kinder than the Flower o'th' Sun; throw open all my Bosom and my Charms, to thy warm Joys.  Pal. 
My Life, my Soul, my Heaven. Kissing each their own Hand.  Sir Dot. 
Before my Face! nay then— Whores, Rogues, Witches! have I caught ye? Running to seize him, but catches her.  Jac. 
I am betrayed and ruined— Fly, my Dear; leap out o'th' Window, climb up the Chimney; save, save my Honour: I would not have my Father see you for ten thousand Worlds. Holding him fast, with one Hand 'cross his Mouth.  Sir Dot. 
Help, Murder Treason; stop, stop Thief.  Jac. 
Stop your bawling Throat.  Re-enter Palmerin with a Candle, at which she lets him go. Pal. 
Did you call, Sir?  Sir Dot. 
Call, Rascal! Ay, where were you, you Dog, that you came no sooner?  Enter Mr. Deputy. Mr. Dep. 
What's the Noise here?  Sir Dot. 
Oh, Sir, here has been galloping Doings.  Mr. Dep. 
What Doings?  Sir Dot. 
What? why, here has been the great Devil, and all the little Devils at Hot-cockles; and Belzebub and his Dam at Barleybreak.  Mr. Dep. 
hay day, what's all this?  Sir Dot. 
Here has been the whole Tribe and Generation of Whoredom and Roguedom, and Horndom and Cuckoldom; and so much Impudence, as has almost struck me deaf, blind and dumb.  Mr. Dep. 
What do you mean, Sir?  Sir Dot. 
Mean? why here has been a young Belswagger, a great He-Rogue, with your Daughter, Sir.  Mr. Dep. 
My Daughter!  Jac. 
With me!  Sir Dot. 
With thee— thou Imp of Satan!  Jac. 
All this to me; to me, thou barbarous Man. Oh Sir, believe him not; all mere wild Distraction. Alas, Sir, I was on my bended Knees to Heaven!  Sir Dot. 
Heaven! O lo, Heaven!  Jac. 
With all my kindest Prayers, to make me blessed in dear Sir Dottrel's Arms; beseeching all the Powers of Love to crown our nuptial Joys, with a fair sweet Fireside, all pretty Lambs, his own dear Pictures; honourable as their Father, and virtuous as their Mother.  Sir Dot. 
Oh— Groaning.  Jac. 
All the true Patterns of my own sweet Innocence— And base, false Man, is this th' unkind Return—  Sir Dot. 
Oh Sir, Sir; never was such a hideous Pack of all Romance, Cheats, Villainy; as I am an Alderman, an honourable Merchant of the City, that never told Lie in my whole Life (except at the Change or Custom-house;) I tell you, Sir, once more, here was a Rascal here, a young Rascal, and a Rampant Rascal; I heard him, caught him, nay and had seized him too, but that young Traitress flew in my Face, took me by the Throat, stopped my Mouth— Bid her young Ruffain leap out o'th' Window, climb the Chimney—  Jac. 
Oh, my chaste Ears!  Mr. Dep. 
Sir Dotterel, I am ashamed of you. Leap out o'th' Window, climb the Chimney; when my Windows are locked and bolted, and I have the Keys in my Pocket. My Chimney's all Iron-grated, scarce room for a Swallow's Nest: My Doors all barred and chained; and a Man in my House, at this time of Night, without my Knowledge, when I have ten thousand Pound in Gold and Jewels by me? Oy fie, Sir Dotterel, fie; you make me blush for you.  Sir Dot. 
Do you all conspire against me? I have Witnesses; I'll prove what I have said. Here's my Man Shackarel shall swear it all— Come, Sirrah, upon the Oath you have taken, do you know the Prisoner at the Bar?  Pal. 
Yes, very well.  Sir Dot. 
Were not you all the while in the next Room by her?  Pal. 
I was, Sir.  Sir Dot. 
And you heard all?  Pal. 
Heard! what Sir?  Sir Dot. 
Heard what Sir? Why her Prayers, (as she calls 'em) her Witch's Litany, that she and her young Mephistophilus were conjuring together.  Pal. 
Conjuring and Mephistophilus! Mercy upon us; what do you mean?  Sir Dot. 
Mean! why did you hear nothing?  Pal. 
Not a Syllable.  Sir Dot. 
How, Sirrah?  Pal. 
I hear! Alas, Sir, what had I to do hear? I was bred more a Gentleman, and have better Manners than to be an Eavesdropper.  Sir Dot. 
A plague o' your Gentility. But Sirrah, Rascal, Hang-dog, where were your Ears, you Scoundrel? 'Twas impossible but you must hear her—  Pal. 
Not one word, Sir.— Alas, Sir, I was at my own Prayers; and had more serious Meditations of my own, than to listen to hers.  Jac. 
Ay, now you see my Innocence appears, when his own Witnesses confront his Falsehood. Nay, Sir, just such another false Alarm, was his last hideous Outcry.  Mr. Dep. 
All Distraction: Ay, my dear Child, 'tis now too plain.  Sir Dot. 
Sir, on my Knees I swear, in the great Presence—  Jac. 
Oh, have a care—  Sir Dot. 
All I have said is the Truth, and the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth; so help me—  Jac. 
Yet hold, Sir: Do you know the frightful Sin of Perjury— I would not have you Forsworn—  Sir Dot. 
Forsworn!  Jac. 
Not for a thousand Kingdoms.— Oh, Sir Dotterel, though you have used me barbarously, yet still I love you but too well; have a more tender Kindness for you, then to let you hazard your sweet precious Soul.  Sir Dot. 
Siren and Crocodile! Madam, a word with you. Are not you a Monster? Aside to her.  Jac. 
No; but I've taken care to make You a Monster. Aside to him.  Sir Dot. 
Do you hear that, Sir; now she confesses all.  Jac. 
Confesses! 'Las, poor Gentleman, I pity him. I fear he has sat up too late, and want of Sleep makes him talk idly. Go, Sir Dotterel, go home to Bed and Rest. To Morrow Morning you'll come and ask me Pardon for your Folly; and I am that good-natured Thing, I vow, I shall forgive you all.  Mr. Dep. 
Forgive him! no; 'tis too much Mercy; more than he has deserved.  Jac. 
Nay, Sir, don't you be angry with him too. It is enough I chide him for his Faults.  Sir Dotario 
Daughter and Father; Jezabel and Lucifer! Rogues, Whores, and Jilts; and all your sham's, Plots, Treasons; your Race, your Family, your whole Generation, all to the Devil; and so good Night to you.  Exit with Palmerin. Jac. 
Ay, do you hear him now? Is this a Husband for your Ja●tntha? True, I could have loved him, had he deserved it: But such hideous Jealousies, such Dreams, such wild chimaeras; who can bear them?  Mr. Dep. 
No more, my Child, I own I've been too blame; I'll be no more a Tyrant, but a Father.  Jac. 
Nay, than you are all Goodness.  Enter Palmerin. Pal. 
Your Doors are locked, Sir, and we want your Hand.  Mr. Dep. 
Yes, honest Shackarel, I'll release your mad Man. Exit with Palm.  Jac. 
So; I have conjured down th' old Haunting-Devil,  
And now to raise the younger Sprights of Love!  
Some magic Spell to circle in my Palmerin  
Safe in my Father's Heart, and in my Arms:  
'Tis that last Conjuration crowns my Charms. Exit.  The Scene draws, and discovers a magnificent Palace, consisting of Seven Arches, extending near Thirty Foot high, the Pillars of which are white twisted Marble; the Capitals, Bases and Girdles circuled with Foliage, Fruitage, Cupid's and Coronets of Gold; the whole entire Roof of all these Arches enriched with Panels, Mouldings, and carved Flowers of Gold; the Visto continued with a new Order of Doric Pillars of Egyptian Marble, terminating with a Triumphal Arch. Enter Tom. like a Beau, Wildblood, Stanmore, and Hayns. Fr. W. 
I wish you Joy: You are the happy Man.  N. St. 
Ay, Sir, 'tis you that conquer all the Beauties.  Tom. 
And does this little Foppety Queen so love me, say ye?  Hayns, 
Love you! Why, she'll make a little Emperor of you.  Tom. 
An Emperor! O lo!  Hayns, 
Pshaw nothing Sir, nothing; an Emperor! she'll make you— let me see what will she make ye?— A Great Mogul, a Crim Tartar, a Lord Mufti: Oh the Devil and all, Sir.  Tom. 
All these great Folks together, and the Devil and all too?  Hayns, 
Ay, ay, Sir; all.  Tom. 
Limini! what a swinging great Fellow shall be!  N. St. 
Ay, Sir, you see how Fortune smiles upon ye.  Fr. W. 
You have the Lady's Hearts.  Tom. 
Squire— don't be daunted, bear a good Heart. I shall be a Great Gull, a Grum Cartar, a Lord Monkey, and the Devil and all: But— you shall find me civil.  Fr. W. 
Oh Sir, we thank you for this gracious Favour.  N. St. 
We shall be proud to be your humble Servants.  Tom. 
Servants! Now you talk on't, I shall want some such sort of paltry Fellows about me; and— let me see— I'll have— Squires to my Footmen, and Knights for my Pages— And—  Fr. W. 
What shall we be?  Tom. 
Lords, Gentlemen; Lords. I'll make you two Lords.  N. St. 
This is a Grace too great.  Tom. 
Lords, both Lords. What a swinging great Fellow shall I be?  Hayns, 
But see, she comes.  Enter Cynthia 's Train. Tom. 
Comes! I gad and so she does.  
The Music set by Mr. Daniel Purcel. 

LOok round, look round, and here behold,  
Fair Cynthia's shining Roof of Gold;  
Bright as the blushing Morning's Beams,  
And spangled like her Heaven with Gems:  
So high, its touring Head it shrowds,  
Above the Clouds;  
And all her glittering Turrets rise,  
To kiss the Skies.   

And now within her smiling Sphere,  
To feast her Eye, and charm her Ear;  
We'll call some airy Forms to play,  
And dance the jovial Hours away.   

If airy Forms can dance the measure,  
We have those Delights can please her;  
For oh! we'll raise up from below,  
That Thing of Air, they call a BEAV.   

Then Cynthia's Revels to attend,  
Ascend, ye empty Forms, ascend:  
Ascend, and dance your airy Round,  
Ye Forms made up of Breath and Sound.   Chor. 
Ascend, etc.  Two BEAU's arise from under the Stage; to whom enter Two Young Ladies, and dance.  

A Dialogue between Mrs. Cross and Mrs. Lucas.  Mrs. Cross. 
OH dear, sweet Sir, you look so gay,  
So fair; you steal my Heart away:  
That Mien, that Shape, that Face, that Air—  Mrs. Lucas. 
What does the Creature say?  Cross. 
In those sweet Eyes such Charms I see,  
They wound, they kill; they wound, they slay:  Lucas. 
Alas, such little Things as Thee,  
I kill a score a Day.  Cross. 
Oh turn but one kind Look on me,  
My racking Pains to view;  Lucas. 
No foolish, prattling Thing, you see,  
I have something else to do.  Cross. 
Then cannot you love?  Lucas. 
No, no; not I  Cross. 
This too unkind Requital:  
Ah Cruel! can you see me die?  Lucas. 
I care not, stop my Vital.  Cross. 
Nay, if I can't your Love subdue,  
But find your Heart so coy;  
By Jove, I'll be a Beau, like you,  
And make my Glass my Joy.  Lucas. 
But Time perhaps—  Cross. 
Nay, now I've done.  Lucas. 
These Women act by Spite all;  
You should not fly, when I come on:  Cross. 
I care not, stop my Vital. Exeunt Cynthia's Train.   Tom. 
Gone! Gone! and not said one word!  Hayns, 
Oh Lord, Sir, she's only gone to drop off her Company, and will be here again in the turning of a Pancake, all alone, in your Arms. Sir, your Arms.  Tom. 
Sayst thou so, old Boy?  Enter a Player, and whispers Mr. Hayns. Hayns, 
Sir, here's his Mother at the Door, [To Wildblood] with a whole Kennel at her Heels, all upon the Hunt for their Booby.  Fr. W. 
Oh prithee Joe let her in— Here will be such a comical Greeting betwixt the Cub and the Dam, to see her Baboon so sparkified.  N. St. 
Oh an excellent Scene, no doubt on't. But our Company will spoil all; and therefore we'll march off, give him a clear Stage, and so take the pleasure of peeping behind the Curtain— Well, noble Prince, our Company will but hinder your Joys in your dear Princess Arms; and therefore we'll humbly take our leaves.  Tom. 
Ay, ay, troop Vermine, troop; our Queen and I must be private. A Queen! a Lady! a Princess! Now shall I be the Devil knows what.  Exeunt Wildblood, Stanmore, and Hayns. Enter Mrs. Susan. Sus. 
Ha! my Cousin Tommy. What do I see? Ay, ay, 'tis he.  Tom. 
What a swinging great Fellow shall I be?  Enter Widow, and a Countryman. Sus. 
Oh Aunt, Aunt! the rarest sight: Yonder's my Cousin Tommy as fine as a little Prince; so gay, so rich, so pretty; I vow and swear it does me almost as much good as a young Husband, to see him look so sweetly.  Wid. 
Bless me, my Son!  Countrym. 
Son! Neighbour! I gad chi may be the Sun in the Firmament, by the shining on't.  Wid. 
My Boy! 'tis impossible.  Sus. 
Nothing impossible in this Town of London Why, I was a Princess myself, no longer ago than last Valentine's Day, in my Lord Prettyman's Chamber.  Wid. 
Son; Son Tommy!  Tom. 
A Great Gull, a Grum Cartar, a Lord Monkey.  Wid. 
What says the Boy?  Tom. 
My Queen, my Princess; come to my Arms, my Arms, my little Gipsy.  Sus. 
Oh Aunt, Aunt, I have found it out. May I never be Kissed between sleeping and waking, if I don't believe some great Lady is fallen in Love with him.  Wid. 
Lady!  Sus. 
And, Blessing of her Heart, has dressed him thus Fine, to make a Man of him.  Wid. 
Make a Man of my Infant! Mercy upon us; what says the Wench? Ay, ay, 'tis so: Undone, undone! my Boy, my poor Boy—  Sus. 
Why, what's the matter, Aunt?  Wid. 
Oh Cousin, Cousin; some wicked lewd Jezabel has debauched my Lamb, my Infant, my Dilling; debauched him, whored him, ravished him: Ay, ay, they have found him out; but Whores, Jades, Witches, I shall spoil your sport— Why Sirrah, Dog, Puppey.  Tom. 
I will so tumble her and rumble her; and rouse her and touse her—  Wid. 
Will you so, Rascal. [Snatches off his Wig.]  Tom. 
O lo!  Wid. 
Why Varlet, Villain, Scoundrel; who the Devil's your Tailor? who made you this Bully? But I'll thunder you out of your Whore's Livery.  Sus. 
Oh fie, Aunt, do not disparage the Lady's Favours.  Wid. 
Favours! Ay, I'll favour him with a Vengeanee. But come, Neighbour, lend me your Hand. Come, strip Vermin, strip; uncase Rascal, uncase.  The Widow and Countryman pull off his clothes. Tom. 
Help, murder; Thiefs, Thiefs; Help, help.  Wid. 
Ay, roar Bull, roar. Did I pay my Landlord Forty good Pounds for you this Morning, ye ungrateful Varlet, to set up for a Bully, a Roister, a Rogue, a Tory! But here's some of my Money again; I'll carry these to the Brokers, and let your Whores buy you more.  Tom. 
robbed, killed, murdered! Thiefs, Thiefs; stop Thiefs.  Enter Wildblood and Stanmore. Fr. W. 
What's the Matter, here?  Wid. 
My Landlord!  Tom. 
Oh, Sir, she has robbed me! Call a Judge, and carry her before a Constable; I'll have her hanged.  Fr. W. 
How, hang your Mother?  Tom. 
Ay, hang her, Sir; she's a Thief and a Witch, and a Crocodile; she has robbed me, and stripped me, and bound me and gauged me, and thrown me into a Ditch: I'll swear it all point blank against her; and if there be ever a Gallows in Forty Miles round, I'll hang her myself.  Wid. 
Ay, Sir, do you hear the Rebel? Oh Landlord, never had poor Woman such a graceless Brat. Look ye, Sir, is this Pound of Whore's Hair, and this Load of Foppery, a Garb for honest Barnaby Dawkins' Son? Nay, have I bred him up to his Catechise and Psalter; carried him to Church with me twice a Day, and now to have him debauched, defiled? Nay, and a young Rogue too, not full One and twenty. Ah, Sir, had he had the Grace to follow my steps, he would never have strayed thus wickedly. I am sure his poor Mother was never debauched till many a fair Day after his Age. To my sorrow, I saw almost full Thirty before I could say Black's Black. But a young Rogue, to run after Jades, Sluts, Trulls—  Tom. 
Sluts and Trulls! what my Princess! Do you hear that, Sir: Bear witness, Gentlemen; I'll swear High Treason against her.  N St. 
Come, no more Noise; all shall be mended.  Fr. W. 
And. Widow, I'll answer for your Boy, and his Honesty: And so pray give him his clothes again: They are only a small Token of my Favour.  Wid. 
Ay, with all my Heart, and heavens' bless your Worship. Here Tommy. Gives him his clothes.  Tom. 
Uh! Thief. Puts them on.  Wid. 
And is my Boy honest? And did your Worship give him all these fine clothes? Bless your sweet Eyes for't. Nay, my Boy well dressed and trimmed, and spruced, has the Countenance of a Gentleman. I assure you, Sir, though I say it, he has very good Blood in his Veins: For I'll tell you, Sir, your Worship's good Father (Heaven rest his Soul) lay at my House, that very Day four Months before I quickened of my Tommy. I remember't to an hour. Ah Squire, he was a good Man, and such a very kind Landlord—  N. St. 
Death, Frank! she'll claim Kindred with thee, and make her Booby thy Brother anon.  Fr. W. 
Gad, I think so too. Well, Widow, if you dare trust me with your Boy; I'll answer for his good Behaviour.  Wid. 
Trust the noble Squire! Ay, with my Virginity. How sweetly my Blossom, my Bud, looks: It beeomes him so prettily, that I vow I must kiss my Kid; I can't forbear. Kisses Tom.  Tom. 
Kiss! Judas!  Fr. W. 
Nay, Squire, if you should carry him to a young Girl, of your Worship's Acquaintance, in a civil way; no Disparagement, my Bird, my Cockarel, he's a true Game-breed, Sir; will shame neither Father nor Mother; and I'll turn him lose in any Ground in Christendom. And so Squire, your Servant. Tommy, Day, day; day, day. Exit Widow and Susan.  Tom. 
Ay march, troop; show your Shapes.  Enter Hayns. 
Oh are you come! well; where's my Princess?  Hayns, 
Your Princess—  Tom. 
My dear honey Queen.  Hayns, 
Why, she's gone, Sir.  Tom. 
Gone! gone!  Hayns, 
Marched, gone, galloped away, as fast as a Coach and six Horses could drive her.  Tom. 
Nay, I hope you do but tell me so.  Hayns, 
Why what should she do here? Here was a roaring Billingsgate, bawling Sow—  Tom. 
My Mother!  Hayns, 
So frightened her out of her Princely Wits, that she's gone, clear gone.  Tom. 
Here's fine Work! Do you see now, do you see what you have done? You would not have her hanged; no, not you. Oh unfortunate, unfortunate! Here should I have been a Great Gull, and a Lord Monkey; and now shall I be nothing but little sneaking Tom. Dawkins.  Fr. W. 
Nay, this is a little too hard.  Tom. 
Hard! why 'tis Fire and Gun powder! the Devil and Dr. Foster! Mothers! a plague of all sucking Bottles, if these be your Mothers. But you would not have her hanged. Udsooks, had she been hanged seven Years before I was born, it had been the happiest Day I had ever seen in my Life.  Hayns, 
Come, Spark, not quite to break your Heart; your Princess will be here again to morrow.  Tom. 
Ha: dear honey Boy, to morrow!  Hayns, 
You'll be here next Rehearsal, and bring your Fool again?  Fr. W. 
Ay, ay.  Hayns, 
Let me alone to manage him.  Tom. 
But will my little Princess—  Hayns, 
Be here again to morrow.  Tom. 
And shall her Great Gull—  Hayns, 
Have her in your Arms; sleep with her, wake with her, dream with her, go to Bed to her; kiss her, love her, lie by her—  Tom. 
How! go to Bed with her?  Hayns, 
All in your Arms. The tenderest, softest, kindest, melting—  Tom. 
Ha!  Hayns, 
A clear fair Stage, Sir, and from you no Quarter;  
And fall aboard her like a—  Tom. 
Great Grum Carter. Exeunt.   

ACT IU.  The Scene a Wood, near Thirty Foot high, the Paintings meeting in Circle; all the Sidepieces and Back-Scene cut through, to see a farther Prospect of a Wood, continued to the Extent of the House. An Imperial Bed appears on the Stage of Crimson Silk, enriched and furled with Gold, and other Ornaments; with a Bed and rich Counterpane, Tom. lying in it. Enter Wildblood, Stanmore and Hayns. Hayns, 
AND how do you like your Lodging, noble Prince?  Tom. 
Oh daintily, daintily: But when will she come? when will she come? dear Boy.  Hayns, 
Oh in three Minutes: Till than she has commanded me to entertain you with a Dance.  Tom. 
A pox o' Dancing: I want my Queen.  Hayns, 
Oh fie, Sir; her Majesty never goes to Bed without a Dance.  Tom. 
Say you so? what a capering young Gipsy shall I have? and how shall we Two Frisk it together!  Two Dancers enter, who are immediately interrupted by Thunder. Tom. 
O Lord! The Bed and all the Furniture drops down under the Stage.  Tom. 
Oh the Devil, the Devil, the Devil: Help, Murder, Murder. Sinks.  Fr. W. 
Stay Prince, and take your Mistress with you.  N. St. 
Your Queen; your Princess!  Fr. W. 
Ay, Joe, now thou hast entertained us— This was a Masterpiece.  Hayns, 
Nay, as simple as I stand here, this very Machine came over from France.  N. St. 
From France!  Hayns, 
Alamode de Paree, I can assure ye. For I'll tell ye; I the Engineer-Royal of the King's House, and my Brother-Engineers of the Duke's House, went over into France together; and this Machine, and a few Clouds of Clouts, was all we brought over for Two Thousand Guineas.  Fr. W. 
Nay, such an Engineer-General deserves Encouragement. Pray Mr. Hayns, let me present you with Five Guineas.  N. St. 
And the same Number from me—  Hayns, 
Which makes the Sum just Ten,  
I have not shared so much the Lord knows when.  
A Song sung by Miss—; set by Mr. Purcel. 

YOung Strephon met me tother Day,  
And courted me to Toy and Play:  
He talked of twenty pretty Things,  
Of Darts, and Flames, and Cupid's Wings.  
What need he tell me o'er and o'er,  
I had a thousand Charms and more?  
My Glass had told me that before.   

And then he fell to Sobbing, Sighing,  
Cooing, Wooing, Whining, Crying;  
All but Dying.   

I knew what he meant; I saw't in his Eyes,  
'Twas all but a pack of flattering Lies:  
'Twas all but a Shame,  
All, all that he said;  
For Young though I am,  
Young, Young as I am;  
I am too Old to be betrayed.    Fr. W. 
Well, Miss, this is a particular Favour; and I am a new Gown in your Debt for't. Exeunt.  SCENE Mr. Deputy's House. Enter Sir Dotterel and Palmerin. Pal. 
How! marry her!  Sir Dot. 
Ay, marry her; so I say.  Pal. 
I thought Sir, you had utterly renounced her; thrown out the treacherous Serpent from your Bosom, and weaned your Heart from all your childish Follies.  Sir Dot. 
I thought so too.  Pal. 
And are you then relapsed, fallen sick again of your old doting Frenzy? Pray remember you have forsaken her, left her, scorned her, cursed her: Cursed her and her whole Race; nay, and her Father—  Sir Dot. 
Is a very honest Gentleman: He and I are such good Friends again.  Pal. 
Friends! 'tis impossible.  Sir Dot. 
Nothing more certain. By the same good Token he has promised me his Daughter; and I'll marry her.  Pal. 
Do you you know what you do, Sir? Marry a Creature of her Lewdness and Infamy? A Man of your Years to marry a Girl of Nineteen? Why, 'tis cutting a New-River-Head; you lay in Pipes for half the Watercocks in the Town, Sir.  Sir Dot. 
Why, truly, that may be. And yet I have considered the whole Business; and for Thirty three substantial Reasons I am resolved to marry her.  Pal. 
Reasons!  Sir Dot. 
Ay, Reasons: In the first Place, as thou sayst, a thousand to one but she makes me a Cuckold; the more Danger the more Honour, Shackarel.— In the next Place, I am a very old Fellow, and a very little Love will serve my Turn. And if she should take a small Snap abroad, to mend her short Com●●ns at Home; thou know'st Shackarel, that every Thing would live; and I am a Man of more Conscience than to keep a poor Thing to starve it.  Pal 
Conscience, with a Vengeance!  Sir Dot. 
And then if I am a Cuckold, I have a number of Brothers at this City end of the Town: I am but one of the Crowd, and shall have a great deal of good Company.  Pal. 
And would you go to the Devil for Company?  Sir Dot. 
Go to the Devil! Oh fie no. Cuckolds go to Heaven, Shackarel;— and heavens' a sweet Place. And as our Parson told me t'other Day, 'tis a very difficult Matter to get to Heaven, especially with Use upon Use, and Bags upon Bags, with racked Rents and screwed Tenants, and Widows Sighs and Orphans Tears: And above all, the lamentable Outcry of Stock-jobbing and Bank-Bills; Receipts of good Gold, and Payments of Paper, Shackarel. Then what can I do better, than marry a young Wife to send me to Heaven, when I shall find it so hard to get thither myself. And therefore Nolens volens, Nemine contradicente, I'll marry Jacintha.  Pal. 
Well, Sir, if you dare marry her—  Sir Dot. 
Dare! It is decreed, nor shall thy Fate, oh Cuckoldom,  
Resist my Vow: Though Horns were set on Horns,  
And Brows met Brows to guard me, I would through;  
Hard as the Rocks, steep as the Alps in Front,  
I'll wave my tall Brow-Antlers in the Clouds,  
And yet bear up my Head, my Head, proud Citizen.  Pal. 
Well; if you have the Courage of a second Catiline, and dare play his desperate Game, and meet his desperate Fate, you shall marry Jacintha; and so take what follows.  Sir Dot. 
Take what follows! so I will. I'm sure of the first good Night, and to the Gods belongs to Morrow. And so Shackarel, do thou go to her, tell her a piece of my Mind; and if thou canst get her to take a Walk into my Lord Squanderland's Garden, where I'll meet her, and prepare her for the Day of Jubilee: And so speed the Plough. Exit.  Pal. 
Speed the Gallows! Thou art full ripe for a Hempen Noose, but too rotten for a Wedlock one—  

Our Plots are all unravelled. This last Dotage  
Has baffled all my Hopes, broke all my measures:  
What can I do, or think! I'll to Jacintha,  
See what new Politics her Brain can form.  
I want that lovely Pilot in this storm.  
When Man's lost senses, all are run a Drift,  
'Tis Woman's Wit must save at a Dead lift. Exit.   SCENE II. Enter Mr. Deputy. Mr. Dep. 
Now does it puzzle my whole City-Politicks to know what to make of this Sir Dotterel. To be a little doting mad, at reverend Fourscore, is but a natural Frenzy: But to be high raving mad, to start into Lunatic Fits, and see Sprights and Goblins, Visions of Whores, and Horns, against all sense and reason; this warm Dog-star at his Cold Christmas tide is something unaccountable. But no matter, though he's a little crazed in the Brain, he's very sound in the Pocket.— Five thousand a year is worth twice five senses; He has Money to compound for his Wit, and Acres for his Intellects; and so nihil obstante he shall marry my Daughter.  Enter Servant. Seru. 
Sir, my Young Master is come to wait upon you. Exit Servant.  Enter Ned Stanmore. Mr. Dep. 
Well Son; what news from your Temple-walks? How do your Rooks and your Lawyers plume their Nests together? what Music betwixt those Birds of a Feather, this high Issuable Term with them!  Ned St. 
Why faith, Sir, I can't tell what Music our Temple-Rooks make, but your City Ravens croak but scurvily.  Mr. Dep. 
Ravens!  Ned St. 
Ay, your old Antiquitated Ravens. Fur and Nightcap, Age and Impotence. An old Fusty City-Alderman that has outlived the Crow; An Egg in Great Hall's Reign, Hatched in little Ned's, Feathered in Queen Bess', and Moulted in Old Noll's.  Mr. Dep. 
How, Son!  Ned St. 
Even so, Sir. And yet this Buzzard, this Craven, this old Bird of Night wants a young Nest again; To Coo and Bill, and Couple and mate in the Devil's name. Well, Sir, if his Old Chops must be mumbling again▪ get him a Beldame; feed him with his own natural Crow's meat, Carrion▪ not Chicken and Partridge, my Sister, Sir.  Mr. Dep. 
How now; Roister! you are very brisk, Young Sir.  Ned St. 
Something younger than Sir Dotterel, my Twenty-two a little short of his Ninety-two.  Mr. Dep. 
Do you know where you are, Sir?  Ned St. 
In the presence of a Father.  Mr. Dep. 
Then where's your Respect and Duty?—  Ned St. 
Paid to your Character and Virtues; not to your Weakness and Injustice. In short, Sir, this Sir Dotterel—  Mr. Dep. 
Is the Man of the World—  Ned St. 
Shall never be my Brother-in-law.  Mr. Dep. 
He shan't!  Ned. St. 
No, shall not!  Mr. Dep. 
How, Bully, do you come to bid Defiance to me,  
To give me Battle? Ha!  Ned St. 
If Prayers and Tears  
Are Battling Weapons, Sir, I come all armed against you:  
I do beseech you, Sir, let Nature, Pity,  
Justice, Humanity, all plead against this unequal Match.  
Look on my Sister's Youth, her Virgin Bloom,  
Worthy a warmer Bed than such a Sepulchre:  
Nay, Sir, if I may boast her Charms, her stock  
Of Beauty—  Mr. Dep. 
Is a Match for Sir Dotterel, Boy;  
Beauty to Beauty, Son; his Gold and her Eyes,  
They'll sparkle together, Boy: He a fair Estate,  
And she the fair Mistress of it: Nothing better matched, Ned.  Ned St. 
Matched with a Vengeance! Yes, her Youth, and Sweets, and Charms,  
To his Gout, and Cramps, and Palsies! Marry her! Bury her.  
Her Bed! Her Grave, Sir.  Mr. Dep. 
Hold, Sir, a word with you;  
Confess, and tell me true: Is this whole Outcry  
Only against Sir Dotterel? Not one Puff  
Of all this Storm for your dear Darling Palmarin?  Stan. 
Yes, Sir, if Truth must speak, I am a Champion  
For that deserving Youth, that suffering Virtue,  
Worthier my Sister's Heart in all his Ruins,  
Then his vile Rival in his Chain of Gold.  Mr. Dep. 
Ay, now 'tis plain. O thou ungracious Boy!  
An Advocate for Rags, and Shame, and Poverty.  N. Stan. 
For Worth, and Truth, and Honour.  Mr. Dep. 
Honour and Beggary! A black Swan and a white Crow.  
Such another Word,  
And, by all the Vengeance of an Angry Father,  
I'll disinherit thee.  N. Stan. 
As you please, Sir;  
Your Son and your Estate are both your own.  
But let me tell you, Sir, 'tis not th' Inheritance  
Of Twenty Patrimonies shall frighten me from Justice▪  
Or shrink one Nerve in the great Cause of Truth.  
Look ye, Sir; I can be a Martyr to Honour, but not a  
Cully to Fear.  Mr. Dep. 
Well, thou'rt brave my Boy. But come, Ned;  
Let you and I make a Drawn Battle between us.  
Your Sister and I will e'en take it by Turns:  
I'll dispose of her whilst she's mine, and she shall dispose of herself when she's her own. I'll marry Jacintha to Old Sir Dotterel, and she shall marry Sir Dottrel's Widow to young Palmerin. For, look ye, Son; one Month of Matrimony will wheedle her into his whole Estate; three Months of Family-Duty break the Old Fellow's Heart; Six Months of Mourning serve for the Widowhood; and so Nine Months of Patience gets your Young Palmarin a Wife with 5000 l. a Year, to troll, shine, and roar with, dear Boy; worth twenty blind beggarly Bargains, to get Brats and starve with.  Ned St. 
Nay, fie, this shameful Argument—  Mr. Dep. 
I'll hear no more. Get you home to your Temple, read your Littleton, eat your Mutton, draggle year Goon, and come again (let me see) to morrow Night. By that time I shall have considered matters, and will give you full Satisfaction in the Point.  Ned St. 
On that Condition, Sir, I'm all Obedience:  
I'll take my Leave, and wait your Hour of Grace▪ Exit.  Mr. Dep. 
Yes, Son, I'll marry her in the morning, and give thee Satisfaction at Night.  

Young counsellors Old Heads must never sway;  
Gold in a Father's Scales must only weigh;  
Let Sons Preach Honour, Interest is our Play▪ Exit.   The SCENE, An Arborage of Palms and Laurels, consisting of Nine Arches, environed with Flotoons of Flowers, bound with Ribbons of Gold, and held up with Flying Cupid's. Enter Sir Dotterel, met by Jacintha led by Shackarel. Jac. 
WEll, Sir Dotterel, here's honest Shackarell has told me your whole Mind; that you are resolved to marry Jacintha, right or wrong; to take her as blind Men do Money, false or true, Brass or Silver.  Sir Dott. 
And if thou hast the Conscience to cheat that Blind Man with Adulterate for Sterling, be the Sin at thy own Door.  Jac. 
And then you dare venture upon me?  Sir Dott. 
Dare! I must dare; for I can't live without thee.  Jac. 
Say you so, my Heart of Steel. Then let not your Noble Courage be cast down: For to cheer up your Heart, know, to the utter Confusion of Fears and Jealousies, I am Virtuous.  Sir Dott. 
Virtuous!  Jac. 
And will live and die so;  
Nay, all the Affronts and Cheats I've put upon you  
Have been only so many Trials of your Patience and your Constancy;  
And here, before honest Shakarell, I promise you,  
Sir Dotterel is the Man of the whole World  
Shall make me th' happiest and best Wife in Christendom.  Sir Dott. 
I am transported!  Jac. 
Nay, my whole last Night's Roguery—  Sir Dott. 
Oh! No more of that.  Jac. 
Was all but a Sham-Plot.  Sir Dott. 
How! A Sham-Plot?  Jac. 
Betwixt your Man and me.  Sir Dott. 
My Man Shakarell.  Jac. 
Oh! I'll be kinder than the Flower o'th' Sun,  
Throw open all my Bosom and my Charms  
To thy warm Joys.  Palm. 
My Life, my Soul, my Heaven! Imitating their last Scene.  
What think you now, Sir Dotterel?  Sir Dott. 
and was it you, ye young Rogue!  Palm. 
Even I, Sir.  Sir Dott. 
But hadst thou the Heart to put thy poor Master into that wicked Fright!  Palm. 
All my young Mistress's Design; she drew me into the Plot, and I had not the Power to refuse a fair Lady.  Sir Dott. 
No, you young Smirker! Well, I am the happiest old Toast in three Kingdoms: Such a Wife, and such a Servant; there are not the Fellows of 'em in the whole Town, from one End to th' other; ud's bud, not from Knaves-Acre to Cuckolds-Point.  Jac. 
And now, to show you, Sir, how much I relish▪  
The welcome Joys of being a happy Bride,  
I have prepared a Bridal Entertainment;  
A Marriage-Masque, Sir Dotterel.  Sir Dott. 
How! A Masque!  

The Ceremony of a Nuptial Entertainment performed. Mrs. 'cross the Bride, and Mr. Leveridge the Bridegroom.  The Music set by Mr. D. Purcel. 

The Nymphs of the Plain,  
And Swains of the Grove  
All the whole Noble Train  
Of Smiling Love:  
A Jolly Jolly Troop in all our Pride,  
Our happy Joys we'll summon;  
To day we have made a Maid a Bride,  
And to Night we shall make a Woman▪   

Let the Blushing Miss,  
That steals to the Bliss,  
Take a whole Load of Shame upon her:  
All the true Joys of Life  
Are i'th' Arms of a Wife,  
In Love's fair Bed of Honour.   Chor. 
All the true Joys, etc.  An Antic Dance. The Shepherds sing. 
So now we have done the Work of the Day,  
For the Work of the Night come all Hands away,  
To lay the sweet Bride,  
By her Bridegroom's Side:  
To Bed, to Bed with the Bride.  This again in Chorus. Bridegroom, 
Come, come, my dear Love, my Soul's all o' fire;  
All burning Desire,  
In thy Arms to expire;  
To drink the sweet Nectar of Gods in Kisses,  
And taste their whole Heaven in Blisses.  
Then come, come, come away.  Bride, 
Oh, What shall I do!  Bridegroom, 
Come, come, come away.  Bride, 
Oh, How shall I go to a Man, to Bed!  
I vow, I shall blush all Scarlet Red.  Bridegroom, 
Prithee, prithee, bush  
All Thoughts of a Blush.  Bride, 
Nay, fie, naughty Man; what is't that you want?  Bridegroom, 
All the warm sweet Blessings that Love can grant.  
Then come, come, come.  Bride, 
I can't, I can't.  Bridegroom, 
Indeed, but you shall.  Bride, 
I vow, but I sha'n't.  Bridegroom, 
You must, you shall.  Bride, 
I wont, I can't.  Bridegroom, 
But come, come to Bed.  Bride, 
I shall die with Shame.  Bridegroom. 
Come, come, come away, and cast away Sorrow;  
If thou blushest to night, thou wilt smile tomorrow.  Bride, 
Oh, let me but lie one Night more alone.  Bridegroom, 
No, no, no.  Bride, 
Not one Night more a Maid!  Bridegroom, 
Not one.  Bride, 
Well, well; if I must, I'll try what I can.  
But what shall I do to lie by a Man▪  
You'll put out the Candle?  Bridegroom, 
Ay, ay, ay, ay.  Bride, 
And shut the Door?  Bridegroom, 
Ay, ay, ay, ay.  Bride, 
And shall no body see?  Bridegroom, 
No, no body see.  Bride, 
And no body hear?  Bridegroom, 
No, none but we.  Bride, 
Well, well; if I must, I'll try what I can.  
But, what shall I do to lie by a Man!  Chorus, 
All the true Joys of Life, etc.  Exeunt Masquers.  Sir D. 
I profess a most delicate Entertainment. But methinks that young Harlotry that pevish Tit of a Bride was a little too Coy when she should go to Bed. I hope, my Dear, thou wilt not serve me so.  Jac. 
No, no, no.  Sir D. 
Then come along my little Honey-suckle.  Jac. 
Hold, Stay, Sir Dotterel.— Sir, before I marry, I have a request which you must not deny me.  Sir D. 
Deny thee, Child! I can deny thee nothing.  Jac. 
Then you must know I have made a solemn Vow never to marry that Man but he that shall steal me.  Sir D. 
Steal thee!  Jac. 
Ay, and this, Sir, you must promise me, I must confess 'twas a rash hasty Vow; but Vows when they are once made, are Sacred Things; and should I break them, Heaven would never bless me.  Sir D. 
But why must I steal thee?  Pal. 
Oh fie, Sir Dotterel, what shrink at so small a piece of Knight Errantry, to win a Fair Lady.  Jac. 
Besides, Sir Dotterel, I'll make it very easy; you Sir Dotterel, and your Man Shackarell shall come with a Ladder, to our Back-window, exactly at Twelve a Clock at Night. I'll steal the Keys of the Window, be ready to receive you, run into your Arms, trundle down the Ladder with you, knock up the Parson, slip into the Church, tumble o'er the Matrimony, troll home to my Father, tell him the whole story of the Frolic, whilst you sing He smiles, I laugh, and all the Bells of the Town ring Oh be Joyful.  Sir D. 
Huzzah! why I'll do't; say no more, I'll do't. Steal thee! why I'll steal thee all; steal thy heart, steal to Bed to thee; steal into thy Bosom, steal into thy— Oh such Raptures! such Delight! How shall I contain me to the Wedding-night.   

ACT V.  Enter Sir Dotterel with a Dark Lantern, and Palmarin with a Ladder, which he sets up to the Balcony. Pal. 
See, Sir Dotterel, see, the Windows unlocked, the Cloud's opening▪ and your Dear Angel ready for descending. O you're a happy Man, Sir. But come aloft, Sir, mount the Walls, and Scale the Battlements.  S. D. 
But I don't like this Nightwork.— But be sure you hold the Ladder fast, for if it should slip, I should fall very heavy, for five thousand a year's a great weight, Shackarell!  Pal. 
Pox on you! you are one thousand a year heavier of my Money.  S. D. 
[Upon the Balcone.] Now, Sirrah, stay you there, and watch till I come down again.  Pal. 
Ay faith; I shall watch you!— Hst, where are you?  Boy. 
Here, Sir. Enter a Boy with a Bellman's Habit, Lantern, etc. Palmerin dresses himself as a Bellman. Exit Boy.  Pal. 
All you that on your Beds lie waking,  
To keep your Gity-brows from aching.  
First watch your Wives, and then your Money;  
And drive the Hornets from your Honey.  
For fear your Spouse your Crabs inoculate,  
Keep her from Beaus and House of Chocolate.  
Preserve your Lambs from sly Court Foxes.  
From Pagan Vizors, and Side-boxes.  
From Hackney Coach with Wooden-windows.  
From Love abroad, and none within doors.  
Good Morrow my Masters all, Good Morrow: Past Twelve a Clock, and a warm Frosty Morning.— Ha! a Ladder at Mr. Deputies Back-window— Why, Sir, Mr. Deputy.— Your House is broken open. Thiefs, Thiefs, Thiefs.  Enter Sir Dotterel, and Jacintha in her Nightgown. Jac. 
Thiefs, Thiefs, Thiefs!  S. D. 
Why 'tis I Child, Sir Dotterel.  Jac. 
Sir Devil!  S. D. 
Why, Chicken, I am come to Steal thee.  Jac. 
Steal me, Impudence! Thiefs, Thiefs, Thiefs!  Enter Mr. Deputy in his Nightgown above. Mr. Dep. 
Ha! my Window broke open!—  Jac. 
Ay, and your House broke open! your Great Trunk broke open.  Mr. Dep. 
My Great Trunk!  Jac. 
And your Cabinet of Diamonds.  Mr. Dep. 
My Diamonds! Exit from above.  S. D. 
Why, Madam, what do you mean! What are you going to do! I hope you have more Conscience than to serve me thus?  Jac. 
Just as you deserve, Mr. Thief— Here slip this Casket of Diamonds into your Pocket. Giving a Casket to Palmerin.  Enter Mr. Deputy Below. Mr. Dep. 
robbed, ruined, undone! A Casket of Jewels bought of my Lord Squanderland for 6000 Pound, and worth 10000 Lost, undone! ruined.  Jac. 
Ay, Sir, see there the Barbarous Thief.  Mr. Dep. 
Sir Dotterel. See there.  S. D. 
Ay, Sir, 'tis I.  Mr. Dep. 
You, Sir, Dotterel.  S. D. 
Yes, I Sir? what a Pox is't such a wonderment to see an Old Rat in a young Mousetrap.  Mr. Dep. 
I can't believe my Eyes.  S. D. 
No, nor your Ears neither, if that young Witch has the handling of'em.  Pal. 
Oh, Sir, Sir, yonder's my Lord Chief Justice come from Council at Whitehall, just turned the Corner o'th' Street in his Coach; what if I call him to hear the whole Business?  S. D. 
My Lord Chief Justice!  Jac. 
Ay, Sir, let him be called, let me have Justice against that Barbarous Riffler of your House. Now you may see how you've betrayed and ruined me. Made me dispose my heart to that base Man. That came not hither for the Love of me. 'Twas not the Charms of all my Youth and Beauty; My blooming Virtue, and my Virgin Innocence.  S. D. 
Oh Woman, woman, woman!  Jac. 
No: 'twas the sparkling Luster of your Jewels that dazzled in his Eyes.  S. D. 
Was ever such a Traitress! Oh, Sir, believe her not one word; 'tis all Design, Plot, Treason, upon my Honour and my Life, Sir; and she has no mercy than a Weaver at an East-India-House. That wheedling dissembling young Imp there told me she had made a Vow to Marry no Man but he that should steal her; and I like an old blind dunce—  Jac. 
Steal me! Bless my Ears! what says the Man! Steal me! Oh, Sir, Dotterel, Sir Dotterel, this is like the rest of all your Barbarous Usage.  Mr. Dep. 
Ay, Child, steal thee!  S. D. 
Ay Sir, steal her! I tell you, Sir, once more, that Monster—  Mr. Dep. 
Ay, you may tell me what you please: You that can do such wicked things, can have the confidence to say any thing. Enter Palmerin as Lord Chief Justice, his Train born up by his Clark. My Noble Lord! I beg your Lordship's pardon for giving you this trouble at this unseasonable time of Night.  Pal. 
Justice is never troublesome nor unseasonable, we are bound to right the injured.  Mr. Dep. 
Injured! Ay my Lord, I have had [A Chair set forth and Palm. sits.] my House broke open. I have been robbed, my Lord, robbed of a Casket of Jewels price 6000 l.  Pal. 
Six thousand Pound!  Mr. Dep. 
See there the Ladder, and see here the Thief.  Pal. 
Sir Dotterel!  S. Dot. 
I shall run mad; that's certain.  Pal. 
The Worshipful Sir Dotterel, I am all amazement.  S. Dot. 
Amazed my Lord, Ay and amazed, and amazed again, when you have heard the whole Roguery. Your Lordship is a Good Man, and an Honourable man, and will do me Justice; I desire you to hear me, my Lord; I'll tell you the whole truth from the Top to the Bottom. I'll confess all my Lord.  Pal. 
Confess! you can't do better Sir Dotterel.  Sir Dot. 
Then in the first place I am a wheizing, grunting, empty-headed old Sot of Fourscore.  Pal. 
Very good.  Sir Dot. 
In the next place, having no more Grace than Brains, and no more Fear before my Eyes than to—  Pal. 
Break open a House.  Sir Dot. 
Break open a House! No my Lord, break a fools head of my own, to run my reverend Butt-end a tilt at a Gay Petticoat, and play the old Game of hard heads called Matrimony.  Pal. 
Very well. Go on, Sir.  Sir Dot. 
An old doting fool to have no more sense at these years than to pretend to make Woman's Meat, when I am more fit for Wormsmeat, my Lord. To be hankering after Young Flesh, when I am going the way of all flesh; and thus by the wicked instigation of the World, the Devil, and dry Bones, my Lord, with one Leg in my Grave I had no more Conscience than think of slipping the other to Bed to a Girl of Nineteen; and to lay my old Frost and Nightcap by her young Fruze and Top-knot.  Palm. 
And so falling in Love with a young Lady, and having a particular occasion for a Necklace of Pearl, Locket of Diamonds, and some other Toys, to the Value of Six Thousand Pounds, for a Present to your Young Mistress, you made bold with Mr. Deputy.  Sir Dott. 
I know nothing of Mr. Deputy's Lockets and Diamonds. I had no Design but upon that precious Jewel his Daughter there; that young Fury with her Snakes in Powder and Curl; that Cloven-foot in Laced Shoes, my Lord.  Palm. 
Ha! What's all this?  Sir Dott. 
A wicked and notorious Jezabel, that has conspired the Ruin, Fall and Destruction of the Right Worshipful Sir Dotterel.  Palm. 
Yet hold, Sir.  Sir Dott. 
I cannot hold. I must confess my Sins, and repent, my Lord; and tell your Lordship, I have been galloping Headlong in the fair Road to the Devil, my Lord. For an Old Coxcomb of Eighty Eight, that has no more Wit than to Marry a Young Girl of Eighteen, heaps more Coals upon his Head than another City Conflagration; and aught to be Married on no Day but the Second of September, my Lord. For when the Firebrands of Whoredom and Cuckoldom are once lighted, they are unquencheable; and a Young Gipsy that takes Fire in her Pudding-Lane, is never to be stopped till she burns down to Bridewell, my Lord.  Palm. 
How now! Ill-mannered, Sir! Do you know where you are? This Insolence before the Bar of Justice! Ha!  Sir Dott. 
I beg your Lordship's Pardon.  Palm. 
Better Language, and more Civility.  Sir Dott. 
I have done, Sir. I know no Harm of the poor Girl. She is a Good Girl, and an Honest Girl, and a Religious Girl— Why, I have heard her at her Prayers, my Lord.  Palm. 
No more trifling, Sir. If you have any thing to say, speak home to the purpose. Has this young Lady done you any Wrong any Injustice, Sir?  Sir Dott. 
Wrong! O Lord, no! She has done me a great deal of Right, my Lord. Alas, Sir, I have been an impertinent Old Fool, and have so tired and teized her, and haunted her, till the poor Thing, in her own Defence, when I would take no Warning, and receive no denial, has only drawn me into a Plot, Sir; to see my Backside, Sir; to get a fair Riddance of me, by sending me up High Holborn, and please your Lordship: I vow and swear that's all.  Palm. 
And did she draw you into this Plot?  Sir Dott. 
She, Sir; Ay, ay. Why, I broke open her Father's House by her own Special Command.  Palm. 
Very pretty! And so in Obedience to a fair Lady—  Sir Dott. 
Ay, Sir.  Palm. 
To rid her of a troublesome old Blockhead.  Sir Dott. 
Right, Sir.  Palm. 
You committed Burglary.  Sir Dott. 
Very true, Sir.  Pal. 
In pure Complaisance to be hanged out of the way.  Sir Dott. 
Why truly, Sir, if that False Peacher can Swear me or Lie me into a Halter, I shall be hanged and hanged, and double hanged, my Lord.  Palm. 
Oh, I have heard too much a plain Confession: Dead, gone, lost!  Sir Dott. 
Dead, Sir!  Palm. 
The World can't save ye.  Sir Dott. 
How! Not save me!  Palm. 
Impossible! Oh Sir Dotterel, Sir Dotterel! A Man of your Estate, a Person of your Worth, for you to run yourself into this hideous Sin— Oh, 'tis unpardonable! A Common Thief! Poor Rogues, that break a House for want, for Bread for Hunger, those pitied Wretches might find some Beams of Grace: But you, Sir Dotterel; Oh, there's no Hopes, no Mercy!  Sir Dott. 
What do you mean, Sir? I hope you don't intend to hang me.  Palm. 
Had you a Thousand Lives, all, all lost.  Sir Dott. 
Oh, my Dear Lord, don't fright me! Hang an Alderman! Hang a Gold Chain! I shall never be able to bear it. Oh, my dear Lord, upon my Knees I do beseech you.  Palm. 
Kneel, Sir, to Heaven, not me; make your Peace there, Sir Dotterel.  Sir Dott. 
Oh, don't talk of Heaven! I tremble at the Name on't. And, Madam, dear Madam, save me, save me. Dear Honey, sweet Devil, speak Truth but this once in thy whole Life, and tell my Lord the whole Story. Dear Rogue, don't let me be hanged: Besides, I shall make but a sneaking Dog in a String; and thou'lt get no Credit by Hanging me.  Jac. 
Nay; why do you trouble me?  Sir Dott. 
I'll never trouble thee again: I'll quit thee, resign thee, renounce thee for ever. And therefore, sweet little Tygress, speak a good Word to my Lord: Save but my Life, and I'll give thee half my Estate.  Jac. 
How, Sir!  Sir Dote. 
Half my Estate.  Jac. 
My Lord, do you hear how the poor Man begs for Life? If your Lordship can do any thing for him—  Jac. 
Do you desire it, Madam?  Sir Dott. 
Ay, she does desire it; she must desire it.  Palm. 
Nay, Madam, your Commands—  Sir Dott. 
O sweet Rogue!  Palm. 
Well, Sir Dotterel, for this fair Lady's sake I'll try what I can do for you. But fie, Sir Dotterel, half your Estate! That's too much: You shall have Mercy at a cheaper Price.  Sir Dott. 
Oh, you're a good Man.  Palm. 
But first, Sir Dotterel, have not you an Estate of young Palmerin Worthies, bought of his Prodigal Brother.  Sir Dott. 
I have, Sir.  Palm. 
And I warrant you, did not give half the Worth sored.  Sir Dott. 
Not a Quarter.  Palm. 
Then upon Condition that, before all these Witnesses, you'll give it under your Hand and Seal, to return that Estate to young Palmerin, I'll promise you your Life.  Sir Dott. 
With all my Heart, Sir.  Palm. 
Here's my Clerk then shall draw up the Agreement.  Sir Dott. 
Ay, my Lord, you shall have it under Hand, Seal, Bill, Bond, Judgement, Statute; any thing for a sweet Life, my Lord.  Jac. 
Well now, Sir Dotterel, I hope I am not that hard hearted Thing; you see I am all Tenderness, all melting Pity; so very kind—  Sir Dott. 
Kind! Ay, Pox on thee, thou'rt damnable kind!  Jac. 
How, Sir!  Sir Dott. 
heavens' bless thee, I would say. Kind Chicken! Ay, very kind; a dear sweet Rogue.  Palm. 
Come, Sir Dotterel, your Hand.  Sir Dott. 
Ay, both my Hands. Signs and Seals.  Palm. 
You deliver this as your Act and Deed to the Use of Palmerin Worthy.  Sir Dott. 
To the Use of Palmerin Worthy.  Palm. 
So; now to perform my Part. In the first place, Mr. Deputy, to make Peaee with you, Sir Dotterel heartily begs your Pardon, and by my Hand restores your Jewels, [gives Mr. Deputy the Casket.] In the next place, to remove all Fears and Jealousies of a Bench and Judges; instead of that terrible thing called a Lord Chief Justiee, I am that harmless poor Creature, your Honest Man Shackarell.  All. 
Shackarell!  Palm. 
No; no Shackarell neither: For instead of your Man Shakarell, I am your Rival Palmarin; no more yours, but this Lady's Humble Servant.  All. 
Palmerin!  Palm. 
And now, Mr. Deputy—  Mr. Dep. 
Palmarin▪ Worthy!  Pal. 
As kind Fortune has at last removed all Obstacles to my Honourable Pretensions to the Fair Jacintha; as this kind Knight has given me one Estate, I hope you'll give me another, your Beautiful Daughter, Sir.  Mr. Dep. 
Ay, with all my Heart and Soul. Take her, dear Boy, take her, and Heaven bless thee with her. Young Palmerin, and a Thousand a Year! Thou art such an ingenious young Rogue, thou deservd'st a Girl with her Weight in Diamonds.  Sir Dott. 
Here's fine Work.  Mr. Dep. 
Go, take her to Church, take her to thy Arms, take her to Bed; and get me Grandsons and Great Grandsons. How shall I mend my dull City-Breed with such a Wit for my Son-in-law!  Sir Dott. 
And art not thou a Perjured Devil?  Jac. 
Perjured! No, not at all.  Sir Dott. 
No, young Deceiver? Where's the Promise you made me?  Jac. 
I have performed 'em.  
Yes, Sir; I promised ye before this Honest Gentleman.  Sir Dott. 
Honest with a Vengeance!  Jac. 
Sir Dotterel was the Man of the whole World  
Should make me the happiest and best Wife in Christendom,  
And I have kept that Promise: For Sir Dotterel  
Has given my Palmerin an Estate, and that  
Estate has given me Palmerin. And thus  
(Upon my Knees I thank you.) You have made me  
That best, that happiest Wife—  Sir Dott. 
I can bear no longer. Going away.  Jac. 
Yet, stay, Sir.  Sir Dott. 
Stay, Tormenter!  Jac. 
Ay, Sir; stay— I have a Boon to ask you.  
That you'd forgive me.  
Ay, Sir; forgive me: Do. I beg it of you.  
I own my Faults; own I have used you hardly.  
And yet I never wronged you.  Sir Dott. 
How! Not wronged me!  Jac. 
No, Sir; not wronged you: I have loved ye more  
In cheating you, than marrying you. Consider  
What 'twas you asked; and what I have denied.  
Marriage, alas! Sir Dotterel, had undone ye:  
To take a Wife, were that Rack Rent upon ye▪  
Your Age could never pay. Let such Grey Hairs  
Go not to Church to Wedlock, but to Prayers,  
And kneel to Heaven, not Woman, at those years.  Sir Dott. 
In troth, thou art in the right on't. I confess.  
In thy soft Arms I should have slept so sweetly—  
And Sleeping had been all; nay, and, perhaps, not that too.  
I should have spit, and coughed, and wheized, and grunted;  
Made but a slovenly Husband for a young Wife.  
And therefore, Palmerin, give me thy Hand—  
And thine, Jacintha— Now, if I could but out with it—  Palm. 
Speak boldly.  Jac. 
Resign me nobly.  Palm. 
Do a generous Deed.  Jac. 
And think what Glorious Triumph you will make:  
'Tis brave to give, when it is poor to take.  Sir Dott. 
Then take her, and be happy— But, I vow,  
It almost breaks my Heart, that I must lose thee.  Jac. 
Nay, dry your Eyes. I will do more than love ye.  
What though I cannot give a Hand, (for that's  
My Palmerin's;) I'll give you both my Knees.  
I'll pray for you to my last Hour of Life.  Sir Dott. 
And wilt thou pray for me?  Jac. 
More than a Father.  
He gave me Birth: But you have given me Palmerin.  Sir Dott. 
Yes, thou shalt pray for me: For I'll do something  
As shall deserve thy Prayers. Here, Palmerin;  
To thy own Estate, I have given thee, take mine too.  
For, since I must not make my dear Jacintha  
My Wife, my Heir I'll make thee. No Old Age,  
Nor no Young Rival shall debar me that.  
My Fortunes, Treasures, Jewels: Five fair Lordships;  
Twice five fair Thousand Acres;  
And thrice as many Pounds in fairer Gold,  
Is all thy own. Give but a poor Old Man  
My Length and Breadth in Clay, when I am Dust;  
And all the rest, my dear Jacintha, 's thine.  Jac. 
Oh, this amazing Kindness! Let me kneel once more:  
Too poor in Thanks to pay this wondrous Goodness.  Palm. 
Too poor, indeed.  Sir Dott. 
Nay, fie; dear Shackarel, rise.  
Thou art the happy Lord of fair Jacintha,  
And I am thy Servant now— And rise Jacintha, rise.  
Come, Mr. Deputy; we'll both be Fathers now.  Mr. Dep. 
Yes, I the happiest, you the kindest Father.  Sir Dott. 
Come, thou sweet Bride that must be, we'll prepare  
The Wedding-Dinner: Shall we not?  
We'll have the Poets, and the Fiddles too,  
And all the Wedding Joys. I shall be pleased  
To see young Palmerin the happy Man:  
Nay, I'll dance too, as heartily as I can. Exeunt.  SCENE the Last. Cynthia's Bower. Being a Prospect of Terras Walks on Eight several Stages mounted one above another, each Stage contains a Range of Stonework extending from side to side, decorated with Paintings in Fresco of Heroic History; over each Piece of Painting are carved Rails and Banisters with Pedestals: On Thirty Two Pedestals are planted Sixteen Golden Flower-Pots, and Sixteen Statues of Gods and Goddesses, viz. Jupiter and Juno; Apollo and Diana; Mars and Venus; Neptune and Thetis; Pallas and Mercury; Bacchus and Ceres; Hercules and Flora; Cupid and Psyche. Through the Centre, and advancing Twenty Four Foot high, is an Ascent of Marble Steps. This Sett of Scenes is encompassed round with Arborage-work, circled round with double Festoons of Flowers tied up in Ribbons of Gold, terminating at Fifty Foot deep, being the Extent of the House, with a Prospect of a Garden above the highest Terras. Above Fifty Figures are seen upon the several Terras', some of which Descend upon the Stage for the Entertainment. 
Set by Mr. D. Purcel. Mrs. Cross, 
COme Strephon, Phyllis come let's troll  
A Jovial Hour away.  
And whilst the Golden Minute's roll,  
We'll Sing and Dance, and Play.  Miss. 
See in the smiling Month of May,  
The Songsters of the Grove they play,  
Must such a poor young thing as they  
A little Bird so very small  
That just can tattle, chirp and prattle:  
I can but sing, and Oh that's all.  
But if I live till past fifteen,  
See such fine Sparks as here are seen.  
I fear, I fear, you'll teach me then  
To perch and plume, and dress and pride,  
And more than tattle,  
Chirp and prattle,  
I then shall sing and love beside.  
Let Monarchs boast their High Renown;  
A Garland's fairer than a Crown.  
Whilst Courts have all the Pomp and noise,  
The Groves have all the Sweets and Joys.  
Then come kind Damon, come away,  
To Cynthia's Bower advance;  
The Sylvanes they shall Pipe and Play,  
And we'll lead up the Dance.  A Grand Dance of Shepherds. 

Hark, hark! To Pleasure and Delight  
The Earth, the Seas, and Air invite:  
The Winds, they whistle; Woods, they ring;  
The Brooks, they murmur; Birds, they sing:  
The Turtles coo; and Lambs, they play:  
And why not we at blithe as they?   

Then, whilst we trip it o'er o'er the Plain,  
Let Pan and Flora live and reign:  
We'll envy not great Jove; and be  
As blessed, though not as great as Herald   

But, see! Our Goddess does appear!  
She comes to grace our Rural Choir:  
Then let the Muses all inspire  
Our Joys to a Sublimer Air.   

Let her Great Name go round;  
Yet louder let it sound.  
Cynthia! a Name so proud,  
To chant her endless Song,  
Jove's Thunder's not too loud;  
Eternity too long.   Grand Chorus, 
Let her Great Name, etc.   Hains. 
Well, Sir; and what think you of our New World in the Moon?  Wild. 
Why, Faith, Jo, I think, as your Painter has dressed it, 'tis a new World indeed.  Hains. 
And how do you like it?  Wild. 
As I do a Mistress the better for being a new one.  
New Objects still new Appetites must raise,  
And an Original Beauty sure may please.    

EPILOGUE,  Spoke by Miss Dennis Chock, Dressed with a great Wig like a Beau. She Enters Singing Part of an Old Tune. 
Gallants,  
THE Author sends me here, to win your Hearts  
With this full Wig, and not his own Deserts;  
For he believes, and I suppose you know,  
There's nothing pleases more than a young Beau.  
But yet the Stage this day has done its best;  
For it has furnished out a Miser's Feast:  
And if this Charge and Pains should now be lost,  
'Twere hard to Shipwreck on a Golden Coast.  
But, Gentlemen and Ladies, I must say,  
Since I am chose Champion to defend this Play,  
I'll do't: Draws her Sword.  
And here, with Sword in Hand, declare  
To justify it, against all that dare  
Strive to undo the Painter, and the Player.  
The Poet, he, alas! only depends  
On your Good Nature, to become his Friends.  
But now, perhaps, you may believe I fear  
To see this naked Weapon. But I swear  
I'd fight our Foes, did I not too well know  
'Twould spoil my Character of being a Beau.  
Therefore, since I'm good natured, be you kind;  
For, rat me, Gentlemen, 'twas well designed.  
But, Pax upon 'em, 'tis all homespun Cloth;  
All from an English Web, and English Growth.  
But if we'd let it make a costly Dance  
To Paris, and bring home some Scenes from France,  
I'm sure 'twould take: For you, Gadzooks, are civil;  
And wish them well, that wish you at the Devil.  
FINIS.