LOVE will find out the Way. An Excellent COMEDY.  
By T. B.  
As it was Acted with great Applause, by Her Majesty's Servants, at the Phoenix in Drury Lane.  
LONDON: Printed by Ja: Cottrel, for Samuel Speed, at the Sign of the Printing-Press in St. Paul's Churchyard. 1661.   

Actor's Names.  

Hartwel, a decayed Gentleman, lover of Mrs. Frances.  
Playfayre, Hartwel's kinsman and friend, lover of Hornet's Niece.  
Lambert, another of Hartwel's friends, counterfeit King.  
Three or four counterfeit Lords of Poland.  
Poldavis, Master of the Horse.  
Horner, a great Usurer, suitor to Mrs. Belamie.  
Doctor of Physic to Hornet's Niece.  
Startup, a clownish Gentleman, Hartwell's rival to Mrs. Frances.  
Another Country-Gentleman, his Neighbour.  
Close, an old trusty Servant to Hartwel.  
Three more Servants cashiered.  
Justice of Peace.  
Pursuivant. Officers.  
Constable and Watch.   

WOMEN.  
Mrs. Belamie, a rich Widow.  
Mrs. Frances, her daughter, Hartwell's Mistress.  
Hornet's Niece, Playferes Mistress.  
Nurse.    

LOVE will find out the Way.  

Actus Primus.  Enter Hartwel and Servants. Hart. 
NAy let's not part so heavily.  Close. 
For my own part, it does not trouble me so much,  
That you have broke up house.  1 Ser. 
And yet that sticks in my stomach:  
For hospitality went out of fashion, with crop-doublets and codpieces.  Close. 
But I have worn out so many liveries, under your worshpful father.  Hart. 
My father had an office which brought in  
A fair Revenue; I inherit but  
His little land, whose annual profits will not  
Encourage me to live at the same height:  
You may meet better fortunes; there's enough  
Preferment in the world: my love and best  
Assistance promise to yourselves.  Close. 
I do not stand upon wages, sir, I want leave you.  Hart. 
Not leave me? how wilt thou live?  Close. 
Live? as other mortals do: yet I want play the thief, that's a course may be taken, by which a man may ascend the ladder of preferment; but I never loved to climb trees: I must confess I cannot cheat; I have heard there's a devilish deal of knowledge in the dice, and if men want lend money, they'll fetch it out o'th' bones: but it's best casting in a Tavern, when the reckoning and the wine come up together. Some men have a trick to spin out a living by't: there be many secret ways for Servingmen to live: alas 'tis not wages that does maintain all our tribe; especially those that have Mistresses.  Hart. 
But I am a bachelor.  Close. 
I pray let me be one of your buttons still then; I am not half worn out; ye know what mould I am made of: I ever did you honest service: and though the rest of my fellowvermine can leave your falling house, I do not fear the rafters: By this hand I will wait upon you, though as some great men's servants, I live upon nothing but the air of commendation.  Hart. 
Well, since y'are so resolute, still attend me; the rest  
I here discharge: there's somewhat more, not worth the  
Name of bounty; I will all  
A happier entertainment.  2 Ser. 
Heaven bless you, sir, and there be no remedy.  1 Ser. 
Farewell Close.  Close. 
Pray give me leave to wet my lips with my old fellows; sorrow makes a dry proverb; I must to a Tavern, and condole a quart with 'em.  Hart. 
Meet me at Mistress Bellamy's.—  Exit Hart. Close. 
I shall, sir.  Enter Playfaire. Play. 
How now, my Masters?  Close. 
You do not speak to me, sir? I am a servant still: indeed, the case is altered with them; they are Masters for want of a service.  1 Ser. 
Oh Master Playfaire!  2 Ser. 
It is not now as when Andrea lived.  3 Ser. 
This place was made for pleasure, not for dearth.  1 Ser. 
There was a time, when Mortals whetted knives.  Play. 
What's the matter?  2 Ser. 
In time of yore, when men killed brutish beasts.  3 Ser. 
Oh cruel butcher, whosoe'er thou wert!  Close. 
Do you not know what all this signifies?  Play 
Not I  Close. 
My Master has given over house-keeping.  2 Ser. 
Burglary, sir, burglary; our young Master has broke up the Cellar, and thrown the Kitchen out of the Hall-window.  Close. 
Nay, he has thrown the house out at window; it has a superscription already; and is directed to his next loving friend, that will pay the rent. You'll hardly know me, I have no fellow.  Play. 
Y'are very merry.  Close. 
He has cashiered a company.  3 Ser. 
And taken our good names from us.  Play. 
I know his nature is more noble; thou wert his groom.  3 Ser. 
Right, and now I am turned off, that good name is taken away; nay I am not company for his horse.  Close. 
Grass and Hay, we are all mortal.  2 Ser. 
We may see what it is to be pricked with provender; now we must by't o'th' bridle for't; all discharged.  Play. 
Certain?  Close. 
Yes, certain of us are; for my Master only belongs to me: if you would speak with him, you may overtake him, he's gone to Mistress B llamies: in the mean time I give you to understand, that I Close do still follow my Master; have great hope to continue eating, though the rest of my fellows here be blanks, and want filling.  Play. 
My Masters, I have known you long; and though you be at loss, in the confidence of your future honesties, I will employ you in a device, which if it prove happy, mayreward you handsomely.  Close. 
And me too?  Play. 
No, sir, you are another man's servant; follow you your Master: if there be occasion, I'll inquire for you: will you be faithful to a project of mine?  Omnes. 
Doubt it not, sweet Master Playfair, any thing.  Play. 
Fellow me for your instructions: Farewell Close, commend me to your Master.  2 Ser. 
‛ Buy Close, honest Close, we are blanks.—  Ex. Playfaire and Servant. Close. 
Roul yourselves up, and be drawn at the next lottery: I want leave my certainty, for all your projects, take my word for't; if your project fail, I shall find some of you in Paul's, watching behind a pillar, with a prayer that some gentleman will read the bedrol, and take pity of a very serviceable fellow, to wait on him; but wants a cloak. Much good do ye with your Project.—  Exit. Enter Hornet and Mistress Bellamy. Hor. 
Come widow, be ruled by me; I know the world,  
And I have studied it these fifty years:  
There's no man to be trusted.  Bel. 
Without good  
Security, you mean.  Hor. 
No young man, widow,  
That talks and says he loves you, writes you verses,  
And swears he shall go hang himself unless  
You pity him: take me an old man.  Bel. 
Take you an old man: so.  Hor. 
Seasoned with care and thrift, not led away  
By vicious conversations, nor corrupted  
With pride and surfeit: one that knows the use  
Of money? d'ye mark? the use.  Bel. 
Yes, sir; use upon use, you mean.  Hor. 
And dares not spend it prodigally; knowing  
The principal end it was ordained to was,  
To relieve necessity, and lay up  
What is above.  Bel. 
To help the poor.  Hor. 
You may,  
If you be so disposed; but 'tis as commendable  
To give it in our will, to build an hospital,  
And so our charity comes all together.  
Besides, who knows what tempests while we live  
May rise? 'tis wisdom not to be without  
A sunshine in our bags to quiet all:  
I know you want no suitors in the City,  
There be courtiers, great ones, with large titles,  
Cold in their own estates, would warm themselves  
At your rich City-bonefire: there's no Alderman  
Or wealthy Merchant, leaves his widow wealthy,  
But straight some noble blood, or lusty kindred,  
Claps in with his guilt coach and Flandrian Trotters,  
And hurries her away to the next Countess:  
No matter for corruption of their blood;  
Some undone courtier made her husband rich,  
And this new Lord receives it back again.  
I would not have your state thus eaten up  
By caterpillars, but preserved and made  
Greater by marrying a discreet old man.  Bel. 
And such a one you show yourself.  Hor. 
You happily interpret me.  Bel. 
I will not tell you till we meet again,  
What operation your good counsel has upon me.  Hor. 
She inclines; 'tis your good nature.  
I'm plain Hornet, and have no tricks; I'll tell you all  
My fault, I'm given much to gather wealth;  
No kindred, only a niece, left to my trust  
With a great portion; one that is never like to marry.  Bel. 
Why?  Hor. 
She never thrived since she came to me.  Bel. 
I easily believe it.  Hor. 
Melancholy  
Will kill her, and yet I pursue all ways  
That promise her delight; I spare no cost  
Of physic; what her Doctor says, is done.  Enter Hartwel and Frances. Bel. 
'Tis lovingly performed.  Hor. 
what's he?  Bel. 
A Gentleman that bears my daughter much affection.  Hor. 
Sure I have seen him.  Bel. 
Master Hartwel.  Hor. 
Oh he's a beggar, or must be very shortly.  Bel. 
Have you his lands in mortgage?  Hor. 
Not yet, not yet, but he'll want money too:  
His kinsman Playfair keeps him company;  
Take heed on him.  Bel. 
He has good breeding.  Hor. 
Hang breeding, 'tis unlucky:  
They never keep their state that have too much on't:  
Counsel your daughter, Mistress Bellamy,  
To throw him off.  Bel. 
You direct well.  Hor. 
When we are married, I'll provide a match  
For her.  Bel. 
You have care on us.  Hor. 
It will become me.  Hart. 
Is a suitor to thy mother.  Fran. 
He would be such a thing, were I not happy  
In such a jolly father in law.  Hart. 
A looks like some cast moneybag, that had given up  
The stuffing, and for want of use grown mouldy:  
He dares not keep a fire in's Kitchen, lest  
Warming his hands, which rather look like gloves so tanned,  
And thin, he lets 'em scorch, and gather into a heap.  
I do not think he ever put off his clothes:  
He would run mad at sight of's own anatomy.  
That such a wretch should have so vast a wealth!  Fran. 
I'll not be his Niece,  
For all his fortune.  Hart. 
I presume  
Your mother is more noble, then to encourage  
Him in his courtship: her estate would mix  
Not well with his illgotten wealth, extorted  
From widows and from orphans: nor will all  
His plenty keep his soul one day from famine:  
'Tis time ill spent, to mention him; let's talk  
Of something else.  Fran. 
Of what?  Hart. 
Of love again,  
Whose flames we equally divide.  Hor. 
Your table  
Is a devourer, and they shut up doors  
First, that keep open house and entertainments:  
This Lord is feasted, and that young Ladies sweet tooth  
Must have a banquet: t'other old  
Madam with ne'er a tooth, must have some marchpane  
Coral to rub her gums withal: these are  
Vain and ridiculous expenses.  Bel. 
'Tis not too late to thrive.  Hor. 
This room has too rich furniture, and worse  
Hang would serve the turn; if I may be  
Worthy to counsel, pictures are too  
Superfluous, of this and t'other masters  
Doing: hang Michael Angelo and his oils;  
If they be given, y'are the more excused  
To let 'em hang; but have a care you let not  
Appear either in Arras or in Picture,  
The story of the prodigal, 'twill fright  
Young gentlemen from spending of their portions  
That come to visit you; whose unbounden Riots  
May enrich you, with their forfeited estates:  
I have a thousand precepts more.  Bel. 
But d'ye not  
Think all this while of Heaven?  Hor. 
'Tis in my wealth.  Bel. 
Or hell?  Hor. 
A fable to fright fools and children; but  
I cannot stay, my Scrivener does expect me;  
I'll visit you another time, sweet widow,  
And give you more instructions.  Bel. 
Spare your labour,  
I sha'not practise these in haste, and must  
Declare, these precepts make not for your welcome.  
My patience was no virtue all this while.  
If you but think you have a soul, repent:  
Your rules I am not covetous to follow;  
I dare not love 'em.  Hor. 
Live, and be undone then;  
You'll tell me another tale hereafter, widow.—  Exeunt Hornet. Enter Nurse and Close. Nurse. 
If it please you, here's a letter from Master Startup  
The Country-Gentleman.  Hart. 
What's he?  Fran. 
A fresh fuitor of my Nurse's commendations.  Close. 
Heaven deliver me! What have I seen? sure this  
Thing was once at Bartholomew-Fire, or such another  
Furred Baboon for all the world: dost know him?  
And yet why do I ask? the devil would hardly  
Take acquaintance with him.  Nurse. 
'Tis master Hornet the great Usurer.  Close. 
Hornet?  
Nay then my wonder's over; and the devil himself  
Be such another, they may be sworn brothers, and divide  
Hell betwixt 'em.  Hart. 
Who's that you talk on, sirrah?  Close. 
Of the disease that heaven be thanked has left you,  Hornet. 
But sir, I have news for you.  Bel. 
Frank?  Hart. 
I'll hear it in the Garden.—  Exit Hartwel and Close. Bel. 
Do you love this Gentleman?  Fran. 
I hope you move not this as if you doubted;  
I took him first upon your character,  
Into my good opinion.  Bel. 
But things alter;  
What then I thought him, I delivered you,  
Nor since hath he deserved a less esteem  
In his own person: but the circumstance  
Is not the same; his fortune I have examined,  
Which rises not to such a value I  
Did apprehend it; it becomes my care,  
Being at one gift to departed with thee  
And my estate, to look for one whose purse  
May carry a proportion.  Fran. 
Make me not  
Imagine you would wed me to a heap  
Of shining dust, a golden bondage.  Bel. 
Nor to penury:  
His birth and education are not unworthy, he's handsome too:  
But be not governed by your eye too much;  
Children and age pursue us, and some storms  
Hover about our frail conditions:  
All these must be provided for: they are not  
Kisses will make our winter's warm; and therefore  
Confident of your obedience, I propound  
Another to your best thoughts.  Fran. 
Oh my unhappyness!  Bel. 
A Country gentleman of spreading fortunes,  
Young too, and not uncomely; for his breeding,  
It was not spun the finest: but his riches  
Able to gild deformity, and make  
Even want of wit a virtue, when your life  
Renders itself more sweet by your command:  
His name is Master Startup, expected  
Our guest to morrow; that's his letter, read it.  
This may seem strange, while it is coming toward you:  
But when discretion comes to examine what  
A fruitful consequence attends it, you  
Will thank me for't.  Fran. 
But with your pardon, mother:  
Although I could dispense with my own thoughts,  
And frame them to obedience, will this change  
Be for your honour, or mine own? when such,  
When such a noble gentleman shall boast he had  
With your consent my liking? or admit  
That which we gain by riches of the second,  
Seem to authorise, and may justify  
The act with some: How can it cure the wound,  
Which the poor heart that loves shall find too soon,  
When 'tis neglected, and so cruelly,  
Where it hopes for cherishing? Oh think  
How you did love my father, first; and be  
Now gentle to your daughter: your estate  
Is above needy providence, or grafting  
Into a new stock; it does grow already  
Fair from his own root, and does want no piecing;  
Nor are the means of Hartwel so contemptible.  Bel. 
No more: when  considered well, you'll shape  
Another answer; i'th' mean time dispose  
Your countenance to entertain this new  
And able lover: leave the satisfaction  
Of Hartwel to my care; he's here, to your chamber.—  Exit Francis. Enter Hartwel and Close. Close. 
I know not what's the trick on't, nor themselves yet,  
But he has a project to employ 'em in.  Hart. 
I wish it well— But do you work yourself  
Into the opinion of the Nurse, she is  
The Major Domo, and has all the intelligence.  Close. 
Let me alone, I'll work her, sir, like wax,  
To print what form you please upon her; 'tis  
A loving crone to me already:  
I'll speak her fair, and in my drink may marry her.  Bel. 
Master Hartwel?  Hart. 
About your business.  Bel. 
There is a business, sir, which I must open,  
And you perhaps will wonder at.  Hart. 
You prepare my attention.  Bel. 
You do love my daughter,  
At least I think so.  Hart. 
If you knew my heart,  
You might be confident; in her I sum  
All my desires on earth.  Bel. 
Be not so fixed.  Hart. 
How, Lady?  Bel. 
When you have heard me out, perhaps you'll find  
Your consent easy to call back a promise  
Made to your disadvantage.  Hart. 
I acknowledge  
This makes me wonder; pray interpret Lady,  
And speak a language I may understand;  
I love your daughter.  Bel. 
But must never glory  
In the reward which you expect should be  
Her marriage.  Hart. 
In the number of my actions  
There is not one that's guilty of so much  
Offence to you, that I should be so soon  
Lost to your favour.  Bel. 
Have no thought so poor,  
You can deserve less; my opinion  
Is sicher laden with your merit then before.  Hart. 
Now  
I fear again, this violent turn of praise,  
Makes me suspect my state: if I be fallen,  
Teach me to know my trespass.  Bel. 
I ne'er looked  
With so clear eyes into your worth; and 'twere  
A sin to general goodness to delay  
The free resign of that, your truth may challenge.  Hart. 
If this be meant, pray pardon my mistake  
Of something went before: love made me fear  
You said I never should enjoy your daughter  
In marriage, which yourself so late incline to.  Bel. 
And must again repeat, you sha' not call  
Her bride.  Hart. 
Can you forbidden this happiness, and love me?  Bel. 
Yes, so dearly, Hartwel, I present  
Myself to thy affections.  Hart. 
You amaze me, and fright my understanding.  Bel. 
Does the name  
Of widow sound displeasing? I have learned  
Already to obey; my years are not  
So many with a thought to freeze your blood;  
I wear no print of time, deep on my brow,  
Nor have my hairs the innocence of age:  
Gentlemen active, and of noble birth,  
Think no dishonour to beseech my love,  
And if they flatter not, commend my person:  
Add unto this my wealth, no narrow fortune,  
And without competition, my daughter  
Depending on my love, whose portion must  
Flow from my bounty, or be nothing: make  
A sober apprehension of this Tender,  
And think I was not able to suppress  
These flames of love increase still by your virtues:  
This minute quit all hopes of Frances,  
Whose mother will admit no Rival; 'tis  
Within your own election to be happy:  
My love accepted comes with fair attendance;  
Denied, you hasten your own exile; think on't,  
To morrow sometime, I'll expect your answer.—  Exit. Hart. 
What have I heard? Was it her Mother spoke thus?  
As Pilgrims by mistake of some small path,  
Having told many weary steps, at night  
When their hopes flatters 'em they are not far  
From some kind entertainment, find themselves  
Lost in a wilderness; so am I miserable:  
Thus Love delights to wound and see us bleed,  
He were a gentle god to kill indeed.—  Exit. 
Finis Actus Primi.   

Actus Secundus.  Enter Nurse and Close. Close. 
Would thou wouldst speak a good word for me: I am  
Weary of my indentures: I like a fool was in good hope  
He should have married Mistress Frances.  Nurse. 
He's a beggar; she his wife? no, Master Startup  
Is the man, the man of lands and money.  Close. 
Into whose service if I could wriggle myself, a  
Word of thy mouth does it.  Nurse. 
I must tell you by the way, he is little better than a  
fool.  Close. 
The fit for her husband, and my master.  Nurse. 
Y'are i'th' right, he's innocent to your hands, and  
You may soon come to nonage his estate  Close. 
Which if I do, thou shalt want no petticoats,  
All's thine own.  Nurse. 
What?  Close. 
Why all that I can beg, borrow or steal from him:  
What should he do with so much riches? I'd persuade my young Mistress, after the first year, to put him to his pension: he should pay for's diet; and after a month or two, for every time he comes aloft. Hang him, Cuckow-pintle.  Nurse. 
Nay, let her begin betimes, if she mean to rule the roast: I'll give her Documents; and be you sure you stick close to your Mistress; there's something to be got that way.  Enter Hartwel and Playfair. Close. 
Excellent Verges!  
How I do love thy documents! I but he's here,  
I'll not be seen with thee; farewell:  
At night we'll talk the rest over a sack-posset.—  Exit Close. Nurse. 
I will use this advantage to overhear a little.  Play. 
You tell me strange things; is it possible  
The widow herself loves you?  Hart. 
Would I had reason but to suspect.  Play. 
Turn Colt again; this love will kill's all:  
And can she make no choice, but where her daughter  
Has the same longing? not her dancing days done yet?  
Why there's no remedy, you must love her.  Hart. 
How? and violate my faith to Frances?  Play. 
Thou wilt not be so much an infidel,  
To think I mean thou shouldst forsake the wench.  
Tell me the mother a fine tale of love,  
Print kisses on her paper-lip, and hug  
Her reverend body; any thing but lie with her:  
Writ sonnets on the ivory tooth afore;  
Swear she does cough distinctly; get a rhyme  
To bless her when she sneezes, and cry up  
The method of her nose, which sweats and falls  
So perpendicular; admire the motion  
Of her blue eyes that look three ways at once:  
Praise her above thy reason, or her daughter,  
And then she will believe, thou mayst be mad for her.  Hart. 
Is this the way to do me good? she comes  
Too fast upon me already.  Play. 
Let her fly to thee,  
Thou mayst clip her wings the sooner, this secures thee:  
Should you hold off, and play the modest creature,  
Nay but deny as maids do, when they love it,  
And bending of your hams cry, No forsooth,  
Profess yourself, with coxcomb-like civility,  
You are not worthy of her carnal favours,  
She may believe it; and in very spite  
Marry her daughter to a Citizen;  
Or should you be so mad to think to win her  
To your first choice, withholding your passions  
For Mistress Frances, complaining how Don Cupid  
Hath sacrificed your heart; you may go hang yourself:  
Go to the Barbers, let him firk your hair up,  
And spend his powder; wash your sullen face,  
And starch your infant, upper-lip to look  
Like one that would run desperate on a widow.  Nurse. 
Here's precious conspiracy!  Play. 
This is the way:  
At leisure, you may tell your natural Mistress,  
Like Jove you have but put another shape on  
To cheat the Beldame Juno.  Nurse. 
Foul-mouth rascal, I'm glad I know your plot.  Hart. 
I apprehend, thoust given me good counsel:  
I'll watch the first occasion to assure,  
I have preferred her in my heart already.  Nurse. 
I'll conjure up a cross plot, and that quickly,  
Shall mar your mirth, and pay your fine dissembling;  
Are you so cunning, my love gamester?—  Exit Nurse. Play. 
So I'll take my leave then,  no other service  
To use my stay: I have a project, Hartwel,  
That must not be neglected.  Hart. 
May not communicate?  Play. 
Thou art engaged to wait  
Upon thine own affair, or I should trouble thee  
To be an actor in't; thou knowst Hornet.  Hart. 
He is a suitor to the widow, and  
After the rate we cast the plot, my rival.  Play. 
I'll rival him; he smothers a poor gentlewoman  
At home with Sea-coal, and allows her no  
More light than serves to read in painted cloth,  
The exposition of the harlot's story.  
Hartwel, I love her; and before her Father  
Died, we exchanged our honest hearts; 'tis here  
To free her from that slavery she lives in  
Under the iron-hearted Jailor, else  
I shall repent my aim; he brood's upon  
Her portion, but I have a trick may spoil  
His hatching of young bags; thou shalt know all  
Hereafter; to the widow, Hartwel: I am  
For state-affairs; be faithful, and pray for me.  
We must be bold: farewell, if something hit,  
We'll laugh in spite of Dives and the Devil.—  Exit. Enter Belamy, Frances, Close, Startup. Close. 
This is the thing, sir, that must carry away  
The garland; they have given him a cup or two  
Of sack, and he has the prettiest humour,  
He does so whistle out his compliment:  
He wears his feather like the captain of  
A country team, and would become a horse-coller  
Rarely; I do not think, but were he put to't  
With little switching, he would draw the Cart well.  Star. 
Sweet Lady, I am your humble servant; 'tis well known what I am, where I live; my father died since I was of age, and left me a younger brothers portion.  Bel. 
A younger brother?  Star. 
Sweet Lady, I know what you would say, my father had no more children; but I speak modestly of my estate; I have land enough for two or three wives; I have a horse in Town; your daughter shall ride behind me; Sweet Lady, did you ever see the country?  Fran. 
What country, sir?  Star. 
Why, any country living: sweet Lady, I am your humble servant; if you love hawking, hunting, or drinking, there be good fellows will bear you company. Is there any good Tobacco in London?  Close. 
Virginia-Tobacco grows here.  Star. 
Sweet sir, I am your humble servant, you seem to be a gentleman will fetch me a pipe: there's half a piece, if I be not troublesome: perhaps, sweet Lady, you do not love it: if it offend you, let it alone.  Close. 
A very precious widgen.  Star. 
La, lafoy, lafoy, lere.  Sings and Dances. Fran. 
You dance well, sir.  Nurse. 
He has a strong back, I warrant him.  Star. 
Sweet Lady, is this your daughter?  Close. 
Ask that question now?  Bel. 
I was her mother, sir.  Star. 
That may be too; what gentleman is that? sweet sir, I am your humble servant likewise.  Hart. 
You are too humble, sir, to stoop so low; It would become my duty.  Star. 
Sweet sir, 'tis all one; a leg or an arm is not cast away among friends: I am a Country-Gentleman, all the world knows; sweet sir, I have no business in Town.  Bel. 
I thought you came to see my daughter.  Star. 
That may be too; sweet Lady, pray excuse me, I honour your fair daughter; for I know as well as another, what belongs to a gentlewoman: she's not the first sweet Lady I have loved i'th' way of Matrimony.  Hart. 
Were you ever married?  Star. 
Sweet sir, no; all men are not alike.  Hart. 
For some are fools.  Star. 
Sweet sir, I do confess it;  
But wit is never good till it be bought,  
They say; there are very good wits in Town,  
I have brought money a purpose with me to buy;  
If any will sell me a good pennyworth,  
I'll give him a hundred pieces, because  
I would carry a little down into the Country.  Hart. 
Is there a dearth in your Country?  Play. 
Sweet sir, there's plenty.  Close. 
Of wild-oats; I heard you had much to sow still.  Star. 
My Tenants have, sweet sir, but 'tis all one;  
This Lady shall be Lord o'the Soil: I won't  
Give any man six pence for a bushel of money.  Close. 
Oh brave sack!  Star. 
I am a gentleman, my Father was a Yeoman;  
But that's all one, sweet Lady: howsoever I am yours,  
And every limb is at your service;  
My hands shall walk, my feet shall run.  Fran. 
Away, away.  Star. 
By this bright gold they shall.  Close. 
He keeps his oath.—  Star. 
Not run?  
My Grandfather was a Nobleman's Footman, and  
Indeed he run his Country; my Father did  
Outrun the Constable.  Close. 
And he, sweet Lady,  
Being his father's issue, must run naturally.  Star. 
If I live.—  Close. 
He'll run himself out of all.  Star. 
Not run,  
Sweet Lady? if you have occasion to use me,  
I won't stand upon my feet.  Fran. 
No, sir?  Star. 
Nay I'll stand upon my head, sweet Lady,  
To do you courtesy.  Close. 
Then his heels were upwards.  Bel. 
Please you, a sorry dinner stays for you.  Star. 
Sweet Lady, I am your servant; will this Gentleman  
dine with us?  Bel. 
I'll prevail with Master Hartwel.  Close. 
D'ye know what you have done? he's rival  
Mistress; why, d'ye mean to invite him?  Star. 
Sweet sir, I invite nobody; if you love  
Any body here.—  Hart. 
What then?  Star. 
Sweet sir,  
I sha'not take it kindly, I do not use  
To quarrel.  Close. 
When y'are beaten, sir, he sha'not wrong you:  
Then lay lay him o'er the face.  Star. 
Sweet sir,  
'Tis dinnertime, fair Lady.  Bel. 
Mastert Hartwel?—  Exeunt. Close. 
I had a great mind to have him beaten;  
But he's not valiant at meals: would I  
Were hired to beat him handsomely after dinner,  
And make him thank me for't; I'll have some plot  
Upon your precious body, my sweet sir.—  Exit. Enter Hornet and Doctor, Playfaires Brother. Hor. 
You ell me wonders, Doctor.  Doct. 
I have cured  
Her melancholy; but she's o't'other side  
Now extreme merry, dance and sing, all air.  Hor. 
'Tis strange methinks, nothing but extremities:  
Good Master Doctor, could you not have pared  
Her t'other leaden humour?  Doct. 
Sir, I could not  
Kill the malignity of her melancholy  
Another way: extremities must be cured  
With extreme applications: my next work  
Shall be to abate this levity of her brain,  
To qualify her spleen, sir, by degrees;  
So state her body in that modest temper  
She was possessed of.  Hor. 
I complained before  
Of quietness; now she's all noise and madness,  
By your description.  Doct. 
You must have patience  
A month or so, she is not mad but merry;  
Some strange fegaries: you must understand,  
I have opened, sir, her fancy, wherein lay  
All her imaginations confused,  
And of a heap, smothered for want of vent;  
And now the spirits that were imprisoned  
Rush out, which causeth all her faculties  
Before oppressed, to exercise themselves  
So unexpectedly, as the agitation of her tongue  
Soon will manifest: she's here.  Enter Niece. Niece. 
Uncle, how does your body? you appear  
As lean as Lent: I've a great mind to dance  
About a Maypole; shall we?  Hor. 
She is mad.  Niece. 
This Doctor has so tickled me,  
I cannot choose but laugh; ha', ha', ha':  
Uncle, if you'll procure a dispensation  
To marry me yourself, de dust the charges  
Out of my portion: I'll have no other  
Husband; I could affect an old man now  
With all my heart.  
An old man with a bed full of bones,  
Turn to me honey and give me a kiss, etc.  
Uncle, when did you put on a clean shirt?  
Not since your wife died; that was a pretty shift.  
Indeed I dreamed o'th' devil the last night;  
They say 'tis good luck: d'ye not know him, Uncle?  Hor. 
I know the devil!  Niece. 
He's a fine old gentleman,  
And something like you; no such bugbear as  
The world imagines; you and he'll keep house  
Together one day: but you'll burn sea-coal too,  
To save charges, and stink the poor souls so.  
Shall we go hunt to day? I long to strike  
A Deer; pray lend me a Cross-Bow, will you, sir?  
I'll pay you use for't.  
And still she cried, Shepherd shoot home.  
Uncle, you are not merry, I pray laugh  
A little; imagine you'd undone a widow,  
Or turned an orphan begging now: ha', ha'!  
How many Churches, i'faith, will you build when  
You die? I'll have six Bells in every Steeple,  
And they shall go to th'tune of Turn again  
Whittington, who let out his land  
For nine lives, 'cause it came in by a Cat.  
Die Uncle, die, at all adventures.  Hor. 
Why does she talk of dying? she's stark mad;  
Can you not put into the next receipt,  
Something to make her sleep well?  Doct. 
Opium.  Hor. 
In a good quantity.  Doct. 
I could so proportion it,  
She should not wake at all to trouble you:  
I did it for a Merchant's wife last week,  
Which loved a Knight. A great man not long since,  
Was weary of his Countess; and I cured him  
So artificially of the disease.—  Hor. 
She hears.  Doct. 
But collects nothing, yet her senses  
Are scattered.  Niece. 
You shall give toward the building  
Of Paul's— Nothing: see the money first  
Laid out that's given already; it were much  
Sin to belly the dead; but 'tis no matter,  
You may be as famous, sir, for pulling down  
The Parish; for the Church will fall of't self,  
With a ding dung Bell.  
Why did they put the poor fellow in prison?  Hor. 
Whom? what fellow?  Niece. 
Why the Corn-cutter,  
Poor gentleman he meant the City  
No harm; his feet were weary, and that made him  
In every street cry out, Have ye any Corns  
I' your head or toes?  Enter Pursuivant. Pur. 
Which is Master Hornet?  Hor. 
Ha! with me?  Pur. 
A word, sir.  Niece. 
Prithee what's he? he comes to borrow money  
On his wife's wedding-ring, or his child's whistle now:  
You may see by his nose, he has no land, he looks  
As hungry as a Hawk: what do you dream on?  
Or what Ladies tympany is your next cure?  
Or whose state body must be rectified  
With your acquaint glister?  Pur. 
There is no disputing, I must attend you.  Hor. 
I am sent for by a Pursuivant: the King?  
Alas, I am undone, I never saw him;  
How should he know me? a poor wretch.  Doct. 
Is't not  
Some complaint? think.  Hor. 
That's my fear, there be  
Too many Knaves i'th' world; and a man cannot  
Grow rich, but one state-surgeon or other  
Must practise on his purse: before this Lord  
One veyn is opened, in t'other Court  
So many ounces he must bleed again.  
Let me see: all the treason I committed,  
Is, that I shifted houses; for I took  
Delight to cousin him of his subsidies.  
I live obscurely, to avoid  
Taxations: I never paid the Church  
Her superstitious tithes, nor come to trouble  
Sermons, for fear of homilies before,  
That beg for burning.  Niece. 
Why how now, Uncle? Is your Scrivener broke,  
You talk such lamentation?  Hor. 
I am sent for  
To the King, Niece, and shall be made a beggar,  
As I was born: I see my Chattels seized;  
This Chest is ransacked, and that bag deflowered;  
My door sealed up; and with this hungry messenger  
I am already marching to the Fleet.  Niece. 
Nay, and you be at that ward, I leave you.  
Masty, farewell: pray do not by't my Uncle  
Too hard; and so I leave you all to th' mercy  
Of the Bear-Garden.  Hor. 
Best make fast her chamber.  Niece. 
I, I, cursed Dog: and  
Set a thousand guards about her,  
Love will find out a way.  Exit. Doct. 
Won't some money qualify your haste,  
And give him time to appear?  Pur. 
Good Mr. Doctor,  
Teach your Apothecary: Galen nor  
Hypocrates can persuade me from my duty.  
Will you go, sir? or shall I certify?  Hor. 
Go! I must go.  Doct. 
Have comfort, sir: this cloud  
May soon blow over.  Hor. 
Yes, when IceIce blown up:  
I read imprisonment in his very looks,  
And all my gold confiscate.  Exeunt. Enter Nurse and Startup. Nurse. 
I heard her say, she would walk up to her chamber:  
The trick was but to teach him whither he  
Should follow, who as nimbly apprehended,  
To acquaint her with his new affections.  
I did this for your good, that Mrs. Francis,  
Whom I'll send presently to you, may be  
Convinced in Hartwel's falsehood, and transplant  
Her love on you.  Star. 
This will be excellent!  
So shall we strangle him in his own noose,  
And he ne'er know who hurt him.  Nurse. 
I'll lose no time, you know my instructions.  Star. 
I almost had forgot; there is a cast  
Of angels more.  Nurse. 
They are not cast away.  Star. 
If thou dost fear they'll drown, Nurse, I can give  
Thee lighter, I have some want weight.  Nurse. 
If you have an evil angel about you, your business  
will thrive the better, when 'tis departed.  Star. 
There, Mother of the Maids.  Nurse. 
Now all the good ones wait upon your worship.  Star. 
These things that go to and again, must have  
Their fees, they'll never speak in our cause else.  Enter Frances. 
Aha, sweet sir! we'll be too cunning for you.  
She's come already: sweet Lady, how do ye do?  
Y'are melancholy, you shall have some cause  
If I can help you to't; if you be sad  
Because I love you as I do, be merry  
Again: there's no man cares a button for you  
Besides myself.  Fran. 
I am very ill befriended.  Star. 
You are deceived in some body, and me too;  
I love you I confess, but how? not for  
Want of a Mistress; I came not a wooing  
For such necessity, although you have  
So little wit, to believe something that  
I know concerning t'other party.  Fran. 
How's this?  Star. 
Tell me, have you opinion, sweet Lady,  
That any man besides myself does love  
This face of yours? but understand, I'll make't  
Appear, and presently.  Fran. 
Why I dare show my face:  
My glass cannot so much deceive me, sir:  
I should be ashamed it should appear.  Star. 
Nay I am  
For that, a your side; d'ye conceive me right?  
A worse face will become the Country, and  
Show well enough at the mustering; but that  
You should be such an ass.  Fran. 
This is plain Courtship.  Start. 
Be sure you understand me, and you do not  
Repent it, I dare give one of these ears.  Fran. 
You do not threaten me?  Star. 
Understand me right,  
But if I do, and will threaten you again,  
Because you shall live long to see your folly,  
And what a Coxcomb you have made yourself,  
To love a man that is a suitor to  
Your mother: ha', ha'!  Fran. 
Whom do you mean?  Star. 
Even Mr. Hartwel:  
Are you such a buzzard  
You cannot see't? then you shall hear it: step  
Behind these hang, and he'll justify it.  Enter Hartwel and Mrs. Bellamy. Hart. 
I have considered perfectly; and if  
You will vouchsafe me hearing, dare pour forth  
My heart, which full of love renders itself  
To your acceptance: I acknowledge, Lady,  
My passions are but young, for told I hope  
You should with so much favour look upon me?  Bel. 
But may I credit this?  Hart. 
But to suspect,  
Were an injustice to my faith, which looks  
Upon your virtue with as much religion  
As love is able to receive: your age  
Hath struck a reverence into my eye;  
And what you want of youth and spring upon you,  
Your wisdom richly satisfies. Those characters  
Which time hath written on your careful forehead,  
Are but his envy, and your ornament,  
When it shall come to pass by your example,  
That youth shall be esteemed an infancy,  
And women never ripe for love or marriage  
Without your age upon them; 'tis a fault  
That men not guided by the tract of reason,  
But heat and wantonness of blood, run giddy  
To seal such weighty covenants; better 'twere  
The world should end in our Virginity,  
Then spin itself more length, by inconsiderate  
And hasty marriages.  Bel. 
Have you already  
Retrieved the affection which pursued my daughter?  
Shall I believe no seeds of love remain,  
Which may grow up and ripen with repentance?  
For this exchange I do allow you, sir,  
The consideration of my fortune, which  
Might in itself incline you to accept me.  Hart. 
That is but an attendant, as you use it,  
I must confess a welcome one, although  
The mind is the first beauty which true love  
Aspires to, when 'tis waited on with person  
And an estate; it comes with greater privilege  
To win upon's: I do not wish you, Lady,  
Rashly believe what I profess, but measure  
My service by the trial; I'll expect,  
And write your smiles a competent reward,  
Till time and your demand demonstrate me,  
Although not equal to your full deservings,  
Yet one that has ambition to be thought  
Not too unworthy.  Bel. 
And I guess ere long,  
Such an occasion will present itself.  Hart. 
Till then have Hartwel in your loving memory,  
Who wishes no more happiness of life  
Then to be called yours.—  Exeunt. Fran. 
What have I understood?  Star. 
Will you believe me another time, sweet Lady?  Fran. 
It is not he, some devil does out cousin us,  
And mock our sense, with these fantastic bodies.  
Hartwel!  Star. 
Nay 'tis the man, I hope you'll be converted,  
And think a Country Gentleman worth favour  
That brought you to this knowledge; I deserve.—  Fran. 
My curses for this black discovery:  
Whereas before 'twas not impossible  
In time I might be brought to pity thee;  
Henceforth I'll look upon thee as my sins,  
And beg as much forgiveness, that I knew thee.  Star. 
Nay, but d'ye hear?  Fran. 
Die quickly, and be forgotten.  Star. 
This is very fine, sweet Lady!  Fran. 
My mother! Oh my fate! see me no more,  
And I'll forgive thee.—  Exit. Star. 
Is't come to this? I see  
I am a fool, and there's no remedy—  Exit. 
Finis Actus Secundi.   

Actus Tertius.  Enter Startup and Nurse. Nurse. 
Fie, fie, I am ashamed on you, a Gentleman  
Of your high promising, and be put off  
So slightly?  Star. 
Why Nurse? what would you have me do?  Nurse. 
Do? I would have you do— something; a man of your ability, and cannot turn and wind a woman?  Star. 
You would not have wished me  
To have put her to't behind the hang?  Nurse. 
You should have been round with her.  Star. 
I was round  
With her; I called her ass, I think, and coxcomb:  
Unless I should have given her the lie,  
And called her whore, I could not be more round with her.  Nurse. 
I do not mean that way.  Star. 
And she called me,  
I think, her—  Nurse. 
What?  Star. 
Why no worse than all her sins; heaven forgive her,  
She has the more to answer; nay she did  
Not stick to bid me die too, in that desperate  
Estate.  Nurse. 
Come, you shall take another course.  Enter Close. Close. 
What ails my Master's sweetheart? is she frighted?  
I met and asked her for my Master, and  
She turned tail like a hound had lost the sent:  
There's something in the wind: my three piled worshipful,  
Are you there, with my Lady o'the larder?  
Now in that posture, do not they two look like  
A fine Brick-House and a Thatch'd-Barn i'th' Country,  
Laying their heads together? without doubt  
Some precious consultation: what poesy  
Will fit his joint ring, or how many yards  
Of Holland without seaming-lace will make  
His Mistress smock: they have spied me.  Nurse. 
Close,  
Come hither; nay he's faithful, and one that  
Has a desire to serve you: you may trust him.  Close. 
Your worship may trust me a-bed w'ye; I  
Have had an itch this great while, sir, a kind  
Of longing, to be one of your appurtenances;  
I have some faults, and I'll confess 'em: I have  
A humour now and then when I am asked  
A question, to tell truth, though I be chid for't;  
And I do not love blows: you may sooner beat  
My brains out, than a word of flattery:  
I cannot batten upon commendation,  
Without my wages, nor be valiant  
Upon small beer; I am not overmuch  
Given to be drunk, but I've a trick o'th' Dutchman,  
To do your business as well drunk as sober:  
I have not impudence enough to pimp  
For you; but I have a gift, I can say nothing  
As well as your chaplain; I sucked secrecy  
From mine own mother, once a bawdy Midwife:  
I was born upon Shrove-Tuesday, and shall be  
Now and then given to rebellion:  
My flesh will once a year rise at a chambermaid,  
If none such take me down; I shall in malice  
And deep revenge, fling out upon May Day  
Among the Apprentices without fear or wit:  
If you chance to be arrested, I dare kill  
Any thing, but a Sergeant; he's leapt  
In law, a wearing stronger far than buff:  
If any gentleman ne'er so much provoked,  
Prick him between the seams, or knock his brains out,  
Which is the surer way (for most a these  
Vermin, would fain be killed) he is sure to take  
His leave at the Towns end; his breakfast is  
Tied up, and stays for him, near my Lord Mayor's  
Banqueting house, made for the City-progress.  Star. 
I like his humour.  Nurse. 
Nay he has a sconce,  
And shall be of our counsel; afterward,  
Your worship may entertain him: Look you Close,  
There is a plot to help this Gentleman  
At night, when they are a-bed: and if you went  
To bed betimes, to avoid suspicion,  
'Twere never the worse; I'll say you are not well:  
D'ye mark? this honest Gentleman shall be  
Let into Mrs. Frances bedchamber.  Close. 
Without her knowledge?  Nurse. 
You shall only attend  
To give him notice from me when to come,  
And watch about the house, he may get off  
Without discovery; this is all.  Close. 
So, so, I sha' not keep the door.  Nurse. 
I can do that.  Close. 
Let me alone to give you notice who  
Stirs about house.  Enter Hartwel. Nurse. 
Away, 'tis Master Hartwel,  
We'll not be seen together,  
Go your ways.—  Exit Nurse and Startup. Close. 
A foolish knave and bawd, that do want nothing  
But carting; I would sooner see that Triumph  
Then all the Pageants a day after Simon  
And Judas, when the fine City goes a feasting.  
Oh sir, I have news; yes, they are gone, brave news,  
Your gentlewoman can hold out no longer:  
This night there will be a stratagem; the governess  
Old madam Humpeapampe, the Nurse, has promised  
To admit the Country Gentleman, when all  
Are a-bed, into her chamber; yes, your Mistresses:  
I'm o'the plot to lie perdue, and give  
The word if any firelock approach;  
The rest imagine: if he have not art to  
Persuade her to the feat with him, yet there  
Be tricks, and he may be surprised i'th' chamber,  
And she may be compelled to marry him, in  
Her own defence: there have been such devices.  Hart. 
Does she consent?  Close. 
She is betrayed to't, Sir.  Hart. 
Thou wilt not be so base.  Close. 
And I had meant it,  
I ne'er had told you this: can you make use  
Of this intelligence?  Hart. 
thou'rt my honest servant.  Close. 
I promised to be his.  Hart. 
I have it, canst  
By any means procure me but his ?  Close. 
With ease: he'll go to bed betimes, to void  
Suspicion, that's a part of our design.  Hart. 
I could not wish a happier opportunity,  
To try how she affects this gaudy fool,  
And clear my faith to her; which her mother's watch  
Will not permit: she has I fear observed  
My new familiarity with the mother,  
Which I'm compelled to, and must cure this way:  
Fail me not, Close, and propound thy own  
Reward.  Close. 
Tell me your purpose, and let my wit  
Dispose of him.  Hart. 
Prosper me Love in this.  Close. 
And you fall to your prayers  
With good Love look about us, I shall suspect  
You will not thrive: you should go to a wench  
As gentlemen fall to Oysters, without ceremony,  
Or saying grace; devotion will spoil all.—  Exeunt. Enter Playfaire and Doctor his brother. Doct. 
Right as an arrow.  Play. 
Witty engineer:  
But was she taken with the plot?  Doct. 
I was  
Compelled to frame an outside of a reason,  
Lest her own mirth should play the traitor with us,  
Her spleen was so dilated; he believes  
She's mad: which change makes for us.  Play. 
Excellent.  Doct. 
And he that you employed, the Pursuivant,  
Showed such a surly rascal, the poor Usurer  
Trembled as Bawds beneath the lash.  Play. 
He comes then.  Doct. 
With as much joy, as to receive a hanging.  Play. 
He would be whipped, and say his prayers at Paul's in a white sheet.  Doct. 
That were penance to him:  
Nay he would pay as much as he should fine  
For Alderman, though half his soul went with it,  
For his Quictus; he does apprehend  
Nothing but earthquakes.  Enter three Lords. Play. 
How I am rampant  
With the imagination? bid the music  
Be ready, they know all their flourishes:  
But shift you quickly— My honourable Lords.—  Exit Doctor. 
How they do look like Statesmen! where's your toothpick?  
Excellent! beat your staff handsomely; contract  
Your brow, and look more superciliously.  1 Lord. 
I warrant you for my part.  2 Lord. 
We came now from practice.  Play. 
Can ye do't with confidence?  2 Lord. 
These very  have made me proud already:  
It was some Lords cast suit, I'll lay my life.  3 Lord. 
And mine; it smells of honour.  Enter one with perfume. Play. 
More perfume, so, so; how now man?  2 Lord. 
He looks pale; my Lord, how d'ye?  3 Lord. 
Well, well, I hope 'tis but conceit.  Play. 
Of what?  3 Lord. 
Will the pox lie in ? I cannot tell,  
I find some alteration in my body  
Since I shifted.  Play. 
'Tis a mere conceit;  
They were an honest man's, upon my knowledge,  
A Captain of the Train'd-Band in the Country:  
They were bought against the general muster last;  
He wore 'em that day, and most carefully sent 'em up  
To taste our London lavender.  3 Lord. 
Sir, you have  
Satisfied me.  Play. 
Be sprighful: where's this Prince,  
Whose nod must make us double before age?  
I long to kiss his hand.  2 Lord. 
He's here.  Flourish. Enter Lambert, Playfaires brother, for the fourth Lord, Sir Poldavis and attendants. Play. 
Now by that sprig, a pretty lump of Majesty,  
No actor could become it half so royally:  
But wilt thou not be out of thy King's part,  
And when wine is wanting at the banquet,  
Call upon drawers, quarrel with your Nobles?  
Or when we shall present our man of mortgages,  
Take him aside, and borrow half a crown  
To give your whore benevolence, which trusted  
For you last tilting; or be drunk too soon,  
And leave our project in the dirt?  Lam. 
My Lords,  
This fellow's insolence must be corrected:  
Dispose him in what prison you think fit.  4 Lord. 
He's mad, I think.  Lam. 
To Bedlam with him then:  
Is this a place for fools and madmen? who  
Admitted him? take him away; see you  
He be well whipped, and let him thank our mercy,  
Bandog.  Play. 
I quake already; excellent Lambert!  
Cool, cool thy lungs, and whisper with some Lord,  
Thou wilt be a key too high else: good sir Poldavis,  
Master of the house, at whose cost we are  
Entertained!  Pol. 
My part is rotten  
In my head, doubt not.  Enter Pursuivant. Play. 
Is he come?  Pur. 
He waits at the first chamber.  Play. 
Then let the Lutes  
Begin, and then admit him.  Enter Hornet. Hor. 
Here's revelling, my purse must be squeezed for't:  
That's the King, the rest are bare; how supple they are  
I'th' hams? that Courtier has oiled his joints:  
He looks this way, they point at me; a rot  
of'at knaves finger.  2 Lord. 
What fellow's this? who waits?  Pur. 
It was his Grace's pleasure he was sent for.  2 Lord. 
My good Lord.  4 Lord. 
My Lord of Noland, as you were saying.  Lam. 
Is this the man whom you so much commended for his abilities?  Hor. 
I smell no good from that word ability.  Lam. 
Discreet, and read i'th' Commonwealth, a man  
Fit for employment in some Embassy?  Pol. 
The very same.  Lam. 
His countenance is promising.  Pol. 
If the King  
Of Spain had but his head, that politic head,  
I know who might go fish for the Low-Countries.  Lam. 
His garments are but course.  Pol. 
His mind is rich.  Hor. 
They praise me: I am a thousand pounds the worse.  Lam. 
Kneel down, thy name?  Hor. 
Gyles Hornet, your poor creature.  Lam. 
We'll knight him.  Hor. 
I do beseech you, sir, to spare this honour,  
I am not able to maintain myself;  
There be more Knights than can live well already.  Pol. 
Neglect his favour?  Lam. 
Be it your care  
To give his body more becoming ornaments,  
He shall be like himself then; we will confer  
More honours on him.  4 Lord 
Do you make haste, his Grace  
Will have you new thatched; you must have rich   
Fitting your state and honourable title.  Hor. 
These will be good enough for me, alas I am not able.  4 Lord. 
Nay you must have them from his Wardrobe, sir,  
They'll cost you nothing; you'll not look in these  
Like a poor Knight of Windsor.  Lam. 
Where be the Ladies, and the Bride?  Pol. 
She's your Grace's handmaid; they  
Are dancing, sir, within.  Lam. 
Direct us to 'em prithee;  
When he is ready give us knowledge—  Flourish. Exeunt. 4 Lord. 
Yes, sir.  Hor. 
What will become of me?  4 Lord. 
You were best prepare,  
Your  will be here presently; the King  
Will send to you before y'are ready; cast  
Your old skin off: do you not to save sheets  
And trouble, wrap yourself a-nights i'th' blankets?  
Chare they ashamed to show the linings?  Hor. 
Hum; if this be but a preparative for a whipping,  
What case am I in?  Enter Servant with . 4 Lord. 
Well said, now they are come,  
Be nimble now, and help to strip him.  Hor. 
Alas, must I wear this doublet? it would yield  
Heaven knows how much to burn.  4 Lord. 
You may be desperate  
When 'tis on, and burn your body with it, sir.  Hor. 
I sha'not know myself.  Ser. 
Fit as 'twere made, sir.  Enter Playfaire. Play. 
Which is sir Gyles?  Hor. 
I am not Knighted yet.  Play. 
You have your grace, and may be called so.  Hor. 
Have I the grace to be a Knight?  
I am the man you please to call sir Gyles.  Play. 
Then I congratulate your happy fortune;  
Y'are like to be exalted; his Grace talks  
Much on you; I'll be proud to be your servant:  
Sir Robert, a word.  Hor. 
What gentleman is this?  Ser. 
The Bridegroom, sir; in great favour I can tell you,  
And new created by his Highness, Baron  
Of Landscape; his living is far off.  Hor. 
My very good Lord, my breeches are almost on.  Ser. 
Here be your keys.  Hor. 
His Majesty has pleased to shine upon  
A piece of barren earth.  Play. 
You are too modest:  
The King hath been informed, sir Gyles, you are  
One of the ablest men in his Dominions:  
Should virtue still be clothed in rags? advance it  
To honour and regard: you waste your brain  
At home in cheap and low engagements, sweat  
Your soul out, for a poor and paltry living:  
Old houses, let 'em fall to the dull Lord  
O'th' Manner; switch me up a town together,  
Or meddle not; this and that strading Acre  
Not worth your care: study some Monopoly,  
May sweep the Kingdom at a stroke: despise  
A project will not bring in half the City:  
Find out a way to forfeit all the Charters:  
Have an exchequer of your own, and keep  
The Princes round about in pension:  
These are becoming businesses, and speak a Statesman.  Hor. 
You do talk strange things, my Lord:  
So, now my keys, good gentlemen, my keys.  4 Lord. 
You have 'em, sir.  Hor. 
Cry mercy.  Play. 
They are things  
Material to our business.  4 Lord. 
And we'll have 'em again:  
Let me alone, the Barbour has not done yet;  
When he's i'th' suds, we may be more familiar  
With's worship's pocket, and return 'em quaintly.  Play. 
I will account it one of my felicities  
To be a witness of your honour, sir.  Hor. 
Oh my good Lord of Landscape.—  Ser. 
How shall we dispose of these?  4 Lord. 
The Hangman will not have 'em; and I fear  
They will corrupt the well; faith give 'em stable-room,  
The are dung already.—  Enter 1 Lord. 1 Lord. 
My Lord, the King asks for you; good sir Gyles, 'tis  
so decreed; writ me i'th' number of your faithful friends.  Play. 
We must attend.  4 Lord. 
Do not yet say he's ready,  
The Barber has a duty to dispatch,  
He will be an hour a rubbing, washing, powdering:  
Then I'll attend him to his presence.  Play. 
We shall excuse him so long, still your servant—  Exit Playfaire and 1 Lord. 4 Lord. 
The Barber, sir, attends in the next room.  Hor. 
I won't shave.  4 Lord. 
He fears his throat.  Hor. 
I never  
Give above three pence.  4 Lord. 
Talk not you of charge,  
You have but yet your welcome; do not you  
Think, good sir Gyles, but we can shave you too.—  Exeunt. Enter Close and Startup. Star. 
Where is he, Close?  Close. 
I told him, sir,  
You lay in a chamber o'the tother side  
The house, whither he's gone with his sword drawn,  
And curses of themselves able to kill you;  
You did affront him once, and now his Mistress  
Has quite neglected him, for your love, he thinks;  
He'll make you an example to all rivals;  
I'll bring your  t'ye after: yet your fear  
And running, sir, will keep you warm enough.  Star. 
Honest Close, thou hast saved my life.  Close. 
Death, is he not behind you? this way, good sir.—  Exeunt. Enter Nurse and Mistress Frances. Nurse. 
Have you not made a fine choice? I did ever  
Think he was false; your mother did but counterfeit  
The lovesick widow, all this while, to try him.  Fran. 
To try him, Nurse?  Nurse. 
She told me so herself,  
Assuring him the state was hers, and you  
At her devotion: put him to his choice  
To take her with the wealth, or you with nothing;  
What followed you have heard: come, be wise yet,  
And love the Country-Gentleman, that dotes on you;  
He's rich and half a fool: I'll fetch him to you.—  Exit Nurse. Fran. 
My mother counterfeit? why may not Hartwel  
Pretend as well as she, fearing her anger  
And policy, if he refused her love?  
I have observed some sorrow in his gesture,  
As he were willing to deliver something,  
If opportunity would give him leave:  
He cannot be so false; now I suspect  
He does obey some dire necessity;  
'twould puzzle a wise lover to be so  
Severely put to't.  Enter Nurse and Hartwel disguised. Nurse. 
On like a bold Captain,  
Give her a broad side, she's within your shot;  
I'll leave you.—  Exit. Fran. 
'Tis the fool; why Nurse?  Hart. 
Nay, flee not,  
Before you hear.  Fran. 
'Tis Hartwel.  Hart. 
If my voice  
Betray me not.  Fran. 
Why in this shape? some trick in't,  
He hides his face; I'll put him to't however,  
Although the hour be unseasonable; any time  
We may express our joy: my Nurse once told me  
You were not well, and gone to bed: your health  
Is welcome as mine own; I dare not, sir,  
In modesty presume to bid you stay,  
And to requite your pains, kind Master Startup.  Hart. 
She knows me not.  Fran. 
Forgive me if I blush:  
I have no other way, but to declare  
My eyes that late frowned on your love, shall smile.  Hart. 
On me?  Fran. 
On none but you: I have been too  
Unkindly dealt withal by Hartwel, whom  
How dearly I affected, good heavens knows:  
But I have read discretion to my fancy,  
And were he here, he should be witness of  
My vows to you, if you accept my heart,  
And can with equal truth embrace it: I  
Will choose my husband here; you, only you:  
This Faith is registered in heaven, shall challenge  
From me a wife's obedience.  Enter Nurse, Hartwel Planetstruck. Nurse. 
Away, her mother's up; I would not for  
A thousand pound she find you in this chamber.—  Exit Frances. Hart. 
I have undone myself.  Nurse. 
Sweet Master Startup  
To your own lodging, take this close lantern with ye.  
Passion of me, what makes her rise?  Hart. 
I will discover yet.  Nurse. 
Discover what?  
How! Master Hartwel!  Hart. 
You have midnight-plots.  Nurse. 
Oh we are wretched miserable! what have I done?—  Exit. Hart. 
Oh who shall lead me to a world where are  
No women! farewell all: I'll be above  
Your charms, and find out death a cure for love.—  Exit. 
Finis Actus Tertius.   

Actus Quartus.  Enter Startup and Close. Star. 
WHere are we now? 'tis very cold, why dost not  
Led to some house?  Close. 
What at this time of night?  
All people are a-bed; the very Owls  
Are in their dead sleep: or if we could  
Be admitted, would you venture a this fashion,  
And publish your disgrace? proclaim yourself  
Coward, and lay some imputation  
Upon the place you came from, where your hopes  
May yet be fair for marriage? this brunt over,  
To meet a drunkard now were comfortable,  
Whose eyes inflamed would serve instead of torches,  
Or he might spit Flap-dragonss from his fire  
Of Sack, and light us; but no sober man  
Considering what case you are in, sir,  
By my consent should see us.—  Star. 
Ha', what's that?  Close. 
Where? where? a fire-Drake?  Star. 
Now 'tis gone, 'tis bright  
Again, is't not a spirit? Oh deliver me!  Close. 
I have heard some such things use to walk the Fields.  Star. 
What shall I do?  Close. 
Pray, pray, with as much strength  
As if you had no land, or were confined  
To my Annuity; now I hear no spirits,  
This riches makes us cowards: hid yourself,  
I will go nearer.—  Exit Close. Star. 
Dost know the devil if thou seest him, Close?  
A pox a love, if this be the reward on't;  
Some call it fire, but I find no such matter;  
I am frozen to the blanket, and my teeth  
Strike one another, and keep time like hammers;  
I do believe if they were beaten out,  
They would make false Dice, there's Quicksilver in 'em  
Already by their dancing.  Enter Close. Close. 
Sir, where are you?  Star. 
Here I am, here still.  Close. 
Y'are a dead man.  Star. 
More terror? what's the matter?  Close. 
'Tis my Master  
With a dark lantern, and pursues us, by  
This darkness; 'tis his voice, wrap yourself up,  
And roll into some ditch; flight will betray us.  Star. 
I were as good be killed, and yet I'll venture.—  Exit. Close. 
'Tis he indeed, and more than I expected:  
The matters do not fadge well with his Mistress.  Enter Hartwel with a dark lantern. Hart. 
What a sweet thing is night! how calm and harmless!  
No whispering but of leaves, on which the breath  
Of heaven plays music, to the birds that slumber:  
Here are no objects to betray our sense  
To a repentance; nor can women thus  
Advantaged by the tapers of the night,  
Spread their temptations to undo poor man:  
What a fine book is heaven! which we may read  
Best now when every star is a fair letter:  
How much they wrong thee, night, that call thee guilty  
Of rapes and murders? 'tis the day that like  
A glorious whore engageth men to act 'em;  
And taking then the darkness to obscure 'em,  
We unjustly lay the shame upon thy brows  
That art so innocent, thou never sawst 'em:  
Befriended with the silence I begin  
To wander; there's no wilderness abroad  
To him, that's lost at home.  Close. 
Sir.  Hart. 
Who's that?  Close. 
One that has ta'en some pains for you to night:  
I am Close.  Hart. 
What makest thou here?  Close. 
I wait upon my charge,  
I lead your Rival a procession  
In's shirt, persuading him you had resolved  
To cut his throat else: he's hard by at's prayers,  
And thinks you have pursued him.  Hart. 
Ha! I'll do't:  
Show me the fool, by all my hopes I'll kill him,  
And send his base heart, as a present to her:  
Fate has presented me with this revenge,  
And I will not delay his death a minute.  Close. 
Indeed, indeed you sha'not.  Hart. 
How?  Close. 
You dare not.  Hart. 
My drudge offront me? are you grown his champion?  Close. 
Not I, sir, but you dare not do an act  
So much against the honour of a gentleman;  
You won't kill him basely.  Hart. 
No.  Close. 
Why then  
There is no fear, but he'll live long enough:  
I'll undertake, he ne'er shall grow provided  
To fight with ye; and other satisfaction,  
Name it and take it; so I'll fetch him to you.  Hart. 
Stay, I have been too passionate, let him live  
To be her punishment; that's revenge enough  
While I pursue my own ways.  Close. 
Wither now?  Hart. 
Wither you must not follow, by thy honesty:  
I charge thee come not after me.  Close. 
That binds my attendance, sir.  Hart. 
But not when I command the contrary:  
If thou dost move this way, thou drawest mine anger:  
Mind the preservation of the same thing you  
Undertaken: farewell; if thou dost love me,  
Fellow not, nor question; 'tis in my power  
To lose thee or myself.—  Exit. Close. 
I cannot see i'th' dark with spectacles,  
And mine eyes have lost him o'the sudden;  
Well, I must hope the best: what shall I do  
With my hen-hearted lover, who would give  
Half his estate, this cold fit were well over?  
I shall make work for the Physicians:  
Caudles and Culliss will not restore him;  
If he but scape with life, I am not sorry:  
He may be a soldier, and endure the trenches;  
I put him first to the becoming sufferance.  
But what are these? an army of horns and halberds?  
Upon my conscience the Watch: I thought  
The Fields had not been haunted with these goblins:  
I cannot run; if I should squat, and they  
Find me, there were no mercy but Bridewell,  
Or some such lousy place: I am resolved  
To cast away a few good words upon 'em;  
A leg, and worshipping the Constable  
That leads the rusty regiment, will quit me;  
I pass the gates with't often, and so may  
The devil, if he pay the Porter. Bless ye  
My Masters, what a clock is't?  Enter Constable and Watch. 1 Watch. 
Who goes there?  Const. 
I charge you stand.  Close. 
Your worship may do much.  Const. 
Where have you been?  Close. 
At Istington, an't please you, about business.  2 Watch. 
Some thief I warrant him, no honest man,  
I know by his basket-hilt; some rogue that watches:  
The Fields are pestered with such sturdy robbers.  Close. 
He is a rogue that watches, for my part.  Const. 
He calls my Watchmen rogues, perfidious traitor.  1 Watch. 
How! Master Constable,  
You are one yourself.  Const. 
Sitrah I will teach you to commit felony.  Close. 
How, sir? will you teach me to commit felony? take heed what you say, if I commit felony by your authority.  Const. 
My tority shall stretch for't: away with him; if you be not whipped for these intergatories, his Majesty shall keep his own peace himself; is this a time anight to call honest men rogues? away with him.  Close. 
Good fir.  2 Watch. 
We will provide you lodging.  Close. 
Where?  2 Watch. 
New prison.  Close. 
But are you in earnest, gentlemen? for what?  1 Watch. 
For answering the Constable.  Close. 
Cry him mercy,  
I showed him too much manners, if there be  
No remedy.  2 Watch. 
We'll humble you.  Close. 
I have a  
Companion hereabouts: where are you, sir?  Within. 
Star. Here in a ditch.  1 Watch. 
They seldom go alone,  
We'll find him out. Ha' sirrah?  Close. 
Do you hear,  
You watch about these places for no good,  
It seems.  Const. 
We watch indeed for knaves.  Close. 
You dare not  
Speak to their faces: some of you I am sure  
Do watch for your good Masters o'th' Parish.  Enter Startup. Star. 
I thank you honest men; where art thou, Close?  Close. 
Here: these good men will help us to a lodging.  Star. 
Blessing a'their heart; I am almost starved.  Const. 
Yes, yes, we'll d'ye that favour: come away, sir.  Star. 
Where shall we go now?  1 Watch. 
To prison.  Star. 
How, Close?  Const. 
You shall be close enough.  Close. 
I follow, sir,  
I cannot leave you in adversity:  
All this is for your health: clean straw is warm, sir.  
You have the benefit of being naked;  
I shall have work to morrow in my woollen.  Const. 
Away, away, bring 'em away.—  Exeunt. Enter Mistress Bellamy and Nurse. Bel. 
I heard some noise, look, call up the servants,  
See if the gentlemen beabed; IceIce troubled  Exit Nurse. 
I have not dealt so nobly as became me  
With Hartwel; and that love which I pretended,  
If I have drawn his fancy to affect me,  
Must make him satisfaction; his language  
And soft demeanour, when he gave me up  
His resolution, made me quite forget  
My purpose to have chid him for his levity,  
So soon to leave my daughter, who I know  
Hath placed him near her heart; and I have done  
Her injury, by this trial of her truth.  Enter Nurse. Nurse. 
Oh Mistress!  Bel. 
What's the matter?  Nurse. 
Master Startup  
Is not a-bed, nor Master Hartwel.  Bel. 
This is very strange.  Nurse. 
I dare not tell her of his shift, they're gone,  
The doors I found left open, and no sign  
Which way they are bestowed.  Bel. 
This puzzles me:  
Pray heaven there be no mischief in this absence:  
Is Frank a-bed?  Nurse. 
Yes.  Bel. 
What should  
Move 'em to leave my house so late? and Master Hartwel  
Without his ? some knock; they're there; go see.—  Knock. Exit Nurse. 
Beshrew me but I trembled.  Enter Nurse. Nurse. 
'Tis a stranger,  
And says he would speak with you.  Bel. 
At this late hour?  
What accidents are these? from whence?  Nurse. 
I know not.  Bel. 
Has he no name? what should this mean?  Nurse. 
He says,  
He is a Countryman of Master Startup.  Bel. 
Admit him, he perhaps may bring some news.  Enter Country-Gentleman. Coun. 
By your leave Mistress, pardon my importunity  
At so unfit an hour.  Bel. 
Y'are welcome, sir.  Coun. 
I met with fortunate directions,  
Though I came late: I understand you have  
A guest, one Startup, of Northamptonshire,  
That comes a wooing to your daughter.  Bel. 
Such  
A one there was that supped with us, and went  
To bed; but since, as I have faith, I know not  
Which way he has conveyed himself: another  
Gentleman too is missing, and his rival.  Coun. 
Pray do not mock me, Lady; I have rid  
A great way, and the business much concerns him.  Bel. 
You may believe me: he is no such treasure,  
I should conceal him  Enter Frances. Coun. 
Then I see you dally;  
Know, Mistress, you may slack your preparations,  
Your daughter must look out another husband;  
He is contracted.  Fran. 
How!  Coun. 
And something more,  
Gotten with child one that without blushing  
I cannot call my daughter; he shall make  
Her credit straight again: although my fortunes  
Have no equality with his, I shall  
Find law to force him.  Fran. 
You preferred this suitor:  
This news returns my blood.  Bel. 
Sir, you shall find  
All truth I have delivered; I am not sorry  
To hear this news; this is no time to seek him:  
Plcase you accept the lodging that was his:  
My servant shall attend you in the morning,  
To help you search.  Coun. 
You seem a noble gentlewoman,  
I take your courtesy.  Bel. 
Nurse, a light: pray walk, sir.—  Exit Coun. and Nurse. Fran. 
I was unkind to Hartwel, he not wise:  
But love still apprehends too much or nothing.  Bel. 
Frances, a word: do you not know what is  
Become o'these Gentlemen?  Fran. 
Not I, their absence is strange to me.  Bel. 
Oh Frank, I am undone.  Fran. 
Good heaven forbidden.  Bel. 
This Gentleman, Master Hartwel,  
Whom we shall never see again, I fear.  Fran. 
How, mother! are you acquainted with any cause to  
fear thus?  Bel. 
'Tis in vain to tell thee how I loved him.  Fran. 
Bless my senses! you love him?  Bel. 
'Bove all the world, affectionately placed him  
Too near my heart.  Fran. 
I heard you made pretence  
Of love, to try him for my sake; and pardon me  
If yet I dare not believe more.  Bel. 
Oh Frank!  Fran. 
My heart doth tremble, I feel coldness run  
Through all my veins.  Bel. 
I had no other thought  
At first, but wisely to distinguish whether  
His heart was fixed on thee, or my estate;  
With resolution, if I found him more  
A courtier of thy fortune, than thy person,  
To punish him with loss of both: but love  
Hath changed the scene and title of our Comedy;  
And what I meant should slip— All his hopes,  
Hath ruined us: his modest and calm answer,  
To accept my tender, with such force and reason  
Directed to my fancy, turned my purpose,  
And made me his indeed, his perfect lover:  
But now we have both lost him.  Fran. 
All the piety  
That ever taught children to love their mother,  
Will but suffice to keep my heart obedient:  
Was ever maid so miserable? was there  
No other in my fate to be my rival?  
I live too long. Oh break, my poor heart, break;  
Then she that gave me life, hath took it from me.  Bel. 
Why do you weep?  Fran. 
I do not weep; or if  
I do, I know not why.  Bel. 
Now I perceive,  
Thy duty was but counterfeit; you love him,  
Upon my life you love him still: have my  
Commands no more respect? my care and love  
So ill rewarded? that I desiring  
One comfort in the world, and shall my child  
Rise up to take that from me?  Fran. 
Alas, I knew not  
You loved him too; indeed I had rather die  
Than you should call me rebel: parents often  
Affect not where their children love; but you  
With too much loving what my thoughts delight in,  
Have quite undone your daughter.  Bel. 
Now I see  
The cause of his departure in this fashion:  
Pray heaven he have not made away himself:  
Did ever child deceive a mother so?  
I have a sad presage: you may to bed,  
And rise again without my blessing; yet  
You may stay— Wherefore should I despair  
Of his return? you say you could not tell  
That I affected him.  Fran. 
Indeed not I,  
And do believe it now against my will;  
But I am your daughter.  Bel. 
Showing it in conforming  
Yourself to my desires, and what is past  
I can forgive you: if he come again,  
Will you be ruled, and show no favour to him?  
For 'tis in you I see to make me happy:  
I will not tie you to affect th'other:  
Choose any for your husband, but this man,  
My love and prayers shall go along with you.  
Answer.  Fran. 
Indeed I dare not, yet could I  
Put off the knowledge that you are my mother.  Bel. 
What then?  Fran. 
Though my imagination allowed you  
The greatest Empress in the world, whose frown  
Can kill, and eyes at pleasure make alive  
Again, thus I could answer.  Bel. 
pray let's hear?  Fran. 
You do not well to heap oppression:  
Authority was given to preserve,  
Not kill the poor beneath you: I durst tell you  
In confidence of my cause, that you betray  
Two innocents' to sorrow; and though heaven  
Look on, and seem to smile upon your cruelty,  
Yet there is thunder, for divorcing those,  
Whose hearts That hath conjoined: I durst faith more,  
Though all your terrors were prepared to punish  
My bold defence, and call you tyrant.  Bel. 
How?  Fran 
A most unjust, a sacrilegious tyrant.  Bel. 
You would not be so violent.  Fran. 
That do  
Not only ruin and deface the altar,  
But steal away the very sacrifice:  
And I durst add, and smile upon your anger,  
Though as you frowned, death lurked in every wrinkle,  
My soul's above your tyranny; and would  
From torturing flames receive new fire of love,  
And make your eye faint to behold the brightness  
Of my poor body's Martyrdom; and if ever  
Love showed a miracle, my heart should bear  
The characters of him you have torn from it,  
With beams about it like a Saint that suffered.  
But as you are my mother, thus I kneel,  
And beg a pardon for my innocence;  
If that offend you, live you happy still,  
And be the Mistress of your vows: live to  
Enjoy whom you affect; may every hour  
Return new blessings on you both; renew  
Your spring, and let him think you young again;  
And let me beg but this for all my duty,  
Against the day you marry him, to provide  
My coffin; for I fear, I sha'not have  
Breath many minutes after, to pray for you:  
The herbs that shall adorn your bridal chamber,  
Will serve my funeral, and deck my hearse:  
Beneath which you shall say, There lies your daughter  
That died to show obedience.  Bel. 
Why shouldst thou  
Continue thus to him?  Fran. 
I know he loves me  
Still, though hereafter your affections  
May meet.  Bel. 
And they shall meet,  
But never to procure thee one bad thought:  
Now I have tried you both, assure my child  
I loved him but for thee; dispose thyself  
To be his bride; this news at his return  
Will make all well:— To rest.  Fran. 
Can this be true?  Bel. 
'Twere sin to mock thee any more— To bed.  Fran. 
No, I'll spend all this night in prayers for you,  
My dearest mother: Oh my Hartwel!—  Exeunt. Enter Playfaire, and the Doctor his Brother. Doct. 
How like you her now?  Play. 
The morning never bloomed  
So fresh, nor Venus with more charms upon her:  
Adonis would melt before her eye, and woe  
Her kisses at the expense of her last breath:  
Cupid himself, could he but see, would fall  
In love with her, and throwing away his shafts,  
Offer the empty quiver to her eyes,  
Ambitious to fill it with her beams,  
The least of which would wound more hearts, than all  
His stock of golden arrows.  Doct. 
No more raptures.  Play. 
Didst thou not know before, that love is able  
Without the help of sack to make a poet?  
My nimble Mercury; Jove's Herald in  
Reversion.  Doct. 
I confess,  
I had a trick of Mercury, when I picked  
His pocket for the keys.  Play. 
He never missed 'em.  Doct. 
His eyes were drenched in suds, and we returned 'em  
Ere they recovered light.  Play. 
'Twas excellent,  
He was in darkness still.  Doct. 
D'ye think he'll know her?  Play. 
His  already have.  
Made him forget himself; or if he have  
But the remembrance of such a woman,  
The more he sees her now, the more he'll think  
The change impossible.  Doct. 
Where have you left him?  Play 
I'th' Gallery, where with much patience,  
He does expect his Highness will send for him.  Doct. 
Then all runs smooth, his wonder does continue.  Play. 
I fed that humour artificially,  
He is half persuaded all is but a dream yet:  
To which imagination, his   
Are a great help, because he paid not for 'em:  
Sometimes he is very merry, then again  
He struts about with such a scurvy pride,  
As some new crept into nobility,  
When some of their first livery come to see 'em.  
His honour has so changed him, that he now  
Knows not of what religion he is;  
Or if by chance he thinks of his first faith,  
He spits o'th' hang, and excuses with  
I do not like the story, 'tis apocryphal:  
Sometimes he'll offer at a jest,  
Frown upon any man that will presume  
To have more knowledge in worse : I told him  
It was his Grace's pleasure he should be  
Controller at the Mask, and he did sweat  
As he were studying for some mighty oaths  
To cleat the presence.— He is here, away—  Exit Doctor and Playfaire. Enter Hornet and Poldavis. Hor. 
Are you the Master of the house, sir Poldavis?  
I heard you called.  Pol. 
It is my name,  
Sir Gyles, unworthy of this Grace his Highness  
Is deigned to show in honouring of my daughter.  Hor. 
And was she married this morning, say you?  Pol. 
This morn she lost her Virgin-Name.  Hor. 
I have  
Not seen her yet, nor any of the Ladies;  
You have but little noise methinks i'th' house.  Pol. 
It would offend his Grace.  Hor. 
Who as you say  
Came hither privately, with a small train  
Of Lords: would I might see his face again:  
I am not sent for yet; I have been ready,  
Sir Pol— these three hours; and I do wonder  
His Grace so much for gets himself.  Flourish. Pol. 
That music  
Speaks him on entrance.  Enter Lambert, Playfaire and attendance. Lam. 
I, this garb becomes him;  
How was his person lost within that shape  
He was first presented to me!  Hor. 
Indeed the case  
Is something altered, by your Highness' bounty,  
To your poor servant Hornet.  Play. 
How he looks  
As he did scorn the Quorum, and were hungry  
To eat a Statesman! alas an office in  
The household is too little for a breakfast,  
A Baron but a morning's draught, he'll gulp it  
Like a round egg in Muscadine; methinks  
At every wiping of his mouth, should drop  
Agolden saying of Pythagoras:  
A piece of Matchiavel see already  
Hang on his beard, which wants but stroking out;  
The statutes and the Magna Charta have  
Taken a Lease at his tongue's end.  Lam. 
We'll think on't; he shall be— But  
To the banquet: Then let the Mask be ready,  
There we shall employ your worthy diligence.—  Flourish. Exit Lambert and attendance. Hor. 
Heaven bless your mighty Grace.  Play. 
You'll follow.—  Exit Playfaire. Hor. 
I attend you presently:  
I know not what to think of these things yet;  
'Tis very strange I should be thus exalted,  
Without desert, best known unto myself:  
Princes I see are mortal, and may be  
Deceived in placing of their honours: I  
Am little better than a favourite,  
If these be true, if these be true; 'tis a question,  
Let me consider wisely; it may be  
I am not I, not Hornet, no, I'm a Knight:  
Are these my ? I do not use to wear such:  
A pocket in my sleeve, and velvet hose,  
Six times translated since they were a Midwife's  
Forepart, were things I wore on holydays:  
The price of these would break a Camels back;  
And yet some men walk under them like Elephants,  
And have variety as the devil were  
Their Tailor; who best knows where all their land lies:  
Then why this cost on me?— 'Tis a dream;  
I am now confirmed, a very idle dream,  
And I am very glad on't: 'tis impossible  
It should be true, it does not hang together:  
I will have paience, till I wake again,  
And care not what becomes on't.  Enter Playfair's brother for the 4 Lord. 4 Lord. 
'Tis his highness' pleasure,  
Now the banquet's done.—  Hor. 
How, the banquet done! I was coming to't '  
You could hardly say grace by this time.  4 Lord. 
That's a ceremony  
Grown out of use; it was a running banquet.  Hor. 
A running! so it seems, it was a galloping banquet,  
For you made haste: I do dream certainly,  
There's no sense nor reason in any thing they do.  4 Lord. 
You know your place,  
The Mask will straight begin; and his Grace will not  
Have any one admitted: he resolves,  
If the conceit affects him, it shall be  
Performed at Court hereafter: i'th' mean time  
He does command all privacy; they are  
Some set to guard the door, but your care must  
Provide his Highness be not interrupted:  
Hark, they are rude already—  Exit. Hor. 
Let me alone:  
What turbulent knave is that?  Within. 
I am a Country-Gentleman, sir Gyles;  
And if I may presume upon good ,  
You may before his Grace call me your Cousin,  
And not be ashamed: here is a Lady too.  Hor. 
A Lady too? is she with child? what makes she  
Here, and she be with child already? I  
Tell thee, none such shall be admitted while  
I am in place— Moore rapping?— Keep the doors,  
If I do fall a swearing once, look to't.  Within. 
I beseech you for my wife's sake.  Hor. 
Thy wives?  
What's he that pleads in forma pauperis?  Within. 
A Citizen, and like me.  Hor. 
Like me? thou liest, I am more like a Lord,  
Thou shalt far ne'er the better for that word:  
Knock down the women, if there be a hundred,  
And make their husbands drunk, the guard are lazy:  
These women's insolence will force a statute:  
I will petition to the Prince myself,  
They may have liberty but once a year  
To see the galliefoyst, then be confined  
To their chamber and one ' Prentice— Yet again?  Within. 
Sir Gyles, sir Gyles, you know me well enough.  Hor. 
But while I am in office, I know no body.  Within. 
I am your Scrivener.  Hor. 
Draw the purse wherein  
Thou keptst thy ears, and leave 'em at the door,  
The guard trusts none without a pawn; they'll serve  
If they be ne'er redeemed, to seethe in milk  
For a sore throat.  Within. 
Sir Gyles, here is your Niece.  Hor. 
My Niece! the devil she is.  Niece. 
Within. Pray Uncle let me in.  Enter Servant. Hor. 
Her very voice— Ha', open the doors there:  
Where is she?  Ser. 
Whom?  Hor. 
My Niece that called me?  Ser. 
None called, nor was there any women here.  Hor. 
No, nor my Scrivener, bawling out sir Gyles?  Ser. 
Not any named your worship.  Hor. 
Then I dream,  
And I am a fool to make a question on't.—  Exit Servant. Within. 
Ha', ha', ha'.  Hor. 
The Knaves laugh at me too; but let 'em: I  
Shall be as merry with this tale to morrow.  Flourish. 
What fancies men have in their sleep sometimes!  
His Highness! where be the Ladies?  Enter Lambert, Poldavis and atttendants. Pol. 
They are all i'th' Mask.  Hor. 
Nay, no matter where; why do I ask the question?  Pol. 
You'll see them, sir, anon.  Poldavis gives papers to Lambert and sir Gyles. 
Wilt please your Grace,  
And you, sir Gyles, the subject of the Mask?  Hor. 
What's here? The three Goddesses Contention for the Golden Ball.  Dance. Enter Playfaire in his own apparel: He dances with a golden Ball in his hand. Hor. 
This is Paris, ha'! I have seen that face before now.  Enter Juno, Pallas and Venus. Hor. 
These are the three Goddesses.  Lam. 
Juno, Pallas and Venus.  The Goddesses dance, and court Paris for his Ball: To Juno enters one like a King; She takes off his Crown, and offereth it to Paris: he accepts not. Hor. 
Juno doth woe him with her State and Kingdom.  Lam. 
But he refuses.  To Pallas enters one like a Soldier, plumed and rich: She presents him to Paris, with a book; he refuses. Lam. 
He is not for her service, though she offer  
To make him Scholar and a Soldier,  
A complete man.  Hor. 
That Fairy wins the Ball.  To Venus comes Cupid, leading in Hornets Niece, riehly dressed. Hor. 
Ha! that is my Niece.  Pol. 
Which, sir Gyles?  Hor. 
That Lady whom Dame Venus and her brat are busy  
withal.  Pol. 
Contain yourself, sir Gyles, that is the Bride.  Hor. 
The Bride quotha!  Pol. 
Married this morning.  Paris gives Venus the Ball: Juno, Pallas, King and Soldier.— Exeunt Maskquers. Hor. 
These are my keys; she's safe enough at home,  
And has but half her wits, as I remember:  
The devil cannot juggle her from my custody: Ha', ha',  
I do dream still.  Lam. 
'Tis time to break off sports: how like you this,  
Sir Gyles?  Hor. 
A very pretty dream.  Lam. 
I see you would be a-bed, you are not used to such late  
hours.  Pol. 
Lights for his Highness.  Hor. 
I humbly beg your licence,  
I may return to my old lodging.  Lam. 
Well sir, 'tis easily granted.—  Flourish. Exit Lambert and attendants. Pol. 
Lights for sir Gyles, one shall attend you home.  Hor. 
Ha', ha', ha'.  Pol. 
Why do you laugh?  Hor. 
At a conceit, at a conceit:  
What did I eat last night, to make me dream thus?—  Exeunt. 
Finis Actus Quartus.   

Actus Quintus.  Enter Hartwel, Country-Gentleman, Servant and Officers. Hart. 
YOu have done well.  Coun. 
Would you had done no worse:  
These are his , and you must give account  
How you came by 'em, and produce him safe,  
Ere you acquit yourself: we may suspect  
You have killed him.  Hart. 
Then I obey my destiny:  
Justice will still pursue the guilty person;  
Dispose me where you please.  Ser. 
He does confess.  Hart. 
What ere you be, you can but have my life  
For his; all your revenge can reach no higher,  
And to the law I yield myself.  Coun. 
My hopes are  
Cold as his blood whom thou hast slain: thou hast  
Been cruel in this act, to me and mine,  
Whose fames in him are miserably wounded;  
But look for the reward.  Hart. 
I must expect it:  
In the mean time, I won't beg your mercy;  
Life is a burden I would fain be rid of,  
Does weary me to carry it.  Ser. 
I'll acquaint  
My Mistress.  Coun. 
Do so: to the next justice with him,  
Come away.—  Exit. Enter Hornet. Hor. 
She's gone; she's gone, I shall run mad: my Niece,  
Robbed of three thousand pounds in her escape,  
And yet the doors were safe: some witch has taught her,  
Or some French boy, to climb a chimney; else  
I cannot think which way she is conveyed:  
I find too late, I am awake and guled,  
Nor know I whom to accuse for my tormentors,  
Devils or men; but sure they were not men,  
But very fiends I revealed with last night:  
Though mortals want no malice, they have not art  
To undo me of this fashion: Oh that I  
Knew where to meet the prince of devils knighted me;  
The Poets call him Pluto, god of riches;  
I and my learned counsel would undo him  
In law, in very law, which he should find  
Hotter ere I had done, than hell itself,  
And call his place of torments in three terms,  
But a refreshing to't: yet let me see,  
I have her portion still, though she be vanished;  
That's better then my Niece; but if she marry,  
I lose it all; there, there is the vexation.  Enter Lambert. Lam. 
Save Master Hornet.  Hor. 
'Tis too late, away,  
I do not love unnecessary compliment.  Lam. 
This he?  Hor. 
Yes I am he, am I not very fine?  
What do you think this trim will cost me? ha'!  
Three thousand pound, no more.  Lam. 
The broker won't  
Lend half the money.  Hor. 
Will you, sir, be gone?  
I have no money to lend now; it is not  
You know in fashion, with rich .  Lam. 
I am  
For other purpose, and with news perhaps  
You would be willing to receive; you have  
A Niece.—  Hor. 
No, such a creature was in my possession:  
Do you know where she is?  Lam. 
I imagine.  Hor. 
Ha! good Master Lambert, on, pray forward;  
You shall have money upon good security.  Lam. 
I thank you sir, for nothing; I own you  
Too much already, on these terms.  Hor. 
My Niece,  
As you were saying.  Lam. 
Were you knighted lately?  Hor. 
Ha! is that talk abroad?  Lam. 
No general rumour; by a chance I came  
Where such a thing was whispered, only whispered,  
Just as he was described: in my opinion  
Y'are very handsome, and do look as like.—  Hor. 
An ass.  Lam. 
Why you shall have it, sir.  Hor. 
But touching  
My Niece, good sir, that most ungracious giglot,  
That's run or stolen away, juggled last night  
Out of my doors.  Lam. 
Did she not leap the Casement?  Hor. 
Do not increase my agony, you came.—  Lam. 
With civil meaning to discover how  
You may be abused.  Hor. 
What money do you want, sir?  
Your own bond shall suffice.  Lam. 
I have forsworn  
Writing my name, or mark; but I can tell you.—  Hor. 
Where I may find this Girl?  Lam. 
More I can do,  
If need require; 'tis in my power to give  
Her back to your possession, and I am willing.  Hor. 
An honest man.  Lam. 
On reasonable conditions,  
And such as shall not trench on borrowing money.  Hor. 
Honester yet.  Lam. 
For you shall give it freely, and get by it:  
Sir, you must understand, if I do this,  
I shall betray a friend of mine, that has  
Put me in trust; one that intends to marry her,  
D'ye mark? and get three thousand pound upon her;  
One that has lent me sums too, without parchment,  
Or foolish circumstance to be returned;  
Which you were never yet so much a Christian,  
As to be guilty of, in your Usurer's Gallon  
Of Conscience-melting Sack: this deserves something,  
'Tis part of my revenue: younger brothers  
Are glad of pension; it helps to took  
At Ordinaries, and pay trifling reckon, that  
Arise to a bill or tedious circumstance  
Of clear Orphographie, for Cock and Mallard,  
Which puts the Bar-boy to Arithmerick,  
Because some expedition is required;  
You have a bond of mine.  Hor. 
For fifty pounds.  Lam. 
I had but forty, and the Scrivener paid;  
With whom your worship too perhaps divided:  
If you remember, there were precious dinners,  
Ere I could count the chickens all together;  
Which was your thrift and my expense: you shall  
First cancel that bond; nay this wi' not do't,  
And give, d'ye mark? give me a hundred pieces,  
Perhaps I'll drink your health; this shall betray  
Your Niece again, give her into your hands,  
Though for my treachery I be sung in ballads,  
And have the Town-curse, if I ever marry,  
To show my wife can graft well.  Hor. 
'Tis too much,  
For no more labour, sir.  Lam. 
If you consider,  
Two hundred will not bring me to't again:  
Thus fair I'll deal with ye, I'll not have a cross  
Till I have done't, but then I will be sure on't:  
Fetch, fetch the business.  Hor. 
The bond is ready.  Lam. 
I will have ready money too, you have  
Bags of all sizes, and denominations;  
Those things do promise well,  
Now I attend you.  Hor. 
Do this feat for me, and 'tis all thine own.—  Exeunt. Enter Justice, Playfaire, his Brother, Niece. Just. 
Now we may wish you joy, the Priest hath tied  
That knot, no subtlety nor malice can  
Dissolve; and I repent not I have been  
An actor in your Comedy; though I should not  
Be temped easily to such another  
Engagement: for your sake, I have dispensed with  
My person and my place.  Play. 
You were always  
My loving Uncle.  Niece. 
Sir, you have in this  
Deserved our lives and fortunes.  Bro. 
I have played  
My part too.  Play. 
Thou hast showed thyself a Doctor,  
Which shall be a happy Omen to thy studies.  Bro. 
I have showed myself a Brother, sir.  Niece. 
That name  
I must know often too.  Bro. 
Most happy in  
A virtuous Sister, I congratulate  
Again your wished enlargement, and the meeting  
Of both your loving hearts.  Play. 
It was good mirth,  
To hear him confident all our device  
Was but a dream.  Just. 
He is awake by this time,  
Should Lambert fail, we'll have another way  
To invite him; and if honesty prevail not,  
Force shame, till he consent.  Enter Servant. Ser. 
Some offenders, sir,  
Are brought to be examined.  Just. 
Nephew, withdraw, with your fair Bride; these troubles  
Are incident to my place, I'll soon dispatch 'em.—  Exit Playfaire, Brother, Niece and Servant. Enter Hartwel, Country-Gentleman and Officers. Just. 
How now, my Masters; Master Hartwel? ha'!  Har. 
Look on me, sir, as a delinquent: these  
Are able to accuse me.  Just. 
what's his offence?  Coun. 
Nothing but killing of a man.  Just. 
What proof?  Coun. 
He has confessed it, sir.  Enter Mistress Bellamy and Frances. Just. 
Mistress Bellamy,  
Y'are come in a sad time; here's Master Hartwel  
Accused for killing.—  Bel. 
'Tis not possible:  
Good sir, be lief it not.  Just. 
He does confess.  Hart. 
I am not worth your pity, gentle Lady:  
In vain I should extenuate my fact,  
To save the trouble of examinations;  
Here I confess again my hand is guilty  
Of killing him, whose feeble arm durst not  
Lift up a weapon to defend himself.  Just. 
That was not manly.  Hart. 
I but slew a coward so,  
Startup; and could I call his life again,  
I should as soon destroy it; you perhaps  
Know not my provocations; he was  
My Rival, sir: pardon me, Mistress Bellamy,  
To whom I only seemed a proselyte  
In love: I had no heart to give from her;  
And in my study to decline your anger,  
I fell upon her scorn; which in a few minutes  
Engaged me to this fate: nor am I troubled,  
That I must die; when she upon whose faith  
I durst have laid the hopes of my eternity,  
Hath violated all the trust of woman.  Coun. 
 please you, sir?  Just. 
Forbear a little.  Hart. 
Tell me, thou most unkind, if thou durst love  
At all; how couldst thou think I could be such  
A desperate Atheist, that thou so soon,  
With so strange Apostasy, shouldst revenge it?  
These swelling drops, which in thy innocence  
Might have prevailed to have restored the dead,  
Heaven now doth look on, and despise; and though  
Thou shed moist tribute on this tomb, it shall slide  
Neglected on the marble, and be lost;  
As if the stone had sense, to punish thy  
Disdain of me; I can behold thee weeping,  
And not be moved to wish I were not guilty  
Of killing him, whose love had been thy triumph;  
And I dare boldly still stand in the contempt  
Of what I am to suffer, and the justice  
Of my own truth: challenge thy soul to answer,  
In what I was beneath that gaudy fool,  
Excepting that he had more earth than I  
To help his scale, which yet he may be in debt for  
To his father's sins; alive he could not merit  
One cold disdain from thee; and dead, how comes it  
He should be worth thy tears? but let thy eyes  
Chide this unruly sorrow: dress thy cheeks  
With thy fresh blood again and let thy face  
Open a book of smiles, in the assurance  
I have not long to live: when I have numbered  
A few sad minutes, thou shalt be revenged,  
And I shall never trouble thee; if this  
Be not enough, extend thy malice further,  
And if thou findest one man that loved me living,  
Will honour this cold body with a grave,  
Be cruel, and corrupt his charity:  
So far you well.  Fran. 
Yet you must stay and hear me.  Bel. 
He sha'not suffer, if my friends or state  
Can purchase him a pardon: where's the body  
Of him that's slain?  Coun. 
We know not, here is all  
The free confession of the fact.  Bel. 
This may  
Proceed from discontents: life to some men  
Is but their torment, in whose pain they will  
As on the rack, often confess what never  
Was in their thought.  Hart. 
Speak it again, and I  
Dare promise thee to live.  Fran. 
My heart was ever  
Constant, my mother's love was but thy trial,  
As mine, a seeming change in thy disguise,  
Applied by thy too tender apprehension;  
The words were, I would choose my husband here:  
But what will this avail us?  Hart. 
Master Justice, I here discharge you.  Just. 
How!  Hart. 
My joy obeys  
No limits, I accused myself unjustly:  
Startup's alive.  Just. 
Where?  Hart. 
Nay I know not that:  
My servant's with him; but if he have played  
The hangman, starved or smothered him in a ditch,  
I have made fair work.  Bel. 
This were a welcome truth.  Enter Servant. Ser. 
Sir, the Constable.  Just. 
I had rather it had been Lambert and the Usurer.  
But wait, and give me knowledge when they come.—  Exit Servant. Enter Constable, Close, Startup, Officers. Const. 
Where's Master Justice?  Hart. 
Ha! 'tis he and Close,  
Then I am secure, your pardon and thy love.  Bel. 
You have it freely, and a mother's prayers  
For both your happiness.  Const. 
Please your worship, I have brought before you two  
vagrants that we took last night i'th' field, between one and  
two a clock in the morning; very suspicious vagrants; and by  
my own authority, I condemned 'em because it was late.  Star. 
Shall we be hanged, Close? we are condemned already.  Const. 
Coming this morning to the prison, I found them drinking away sorrow in double juggs, to the very staggering of my authority: I beseech your worship to draw a pair of Mittens for 'em both; for they deserve to be made samplers, and whipped for the edification of the Commonwealth.  Hart. 
This is the Gentleman was killed, sir.  Star. 
No, sir,  
Not killed outright, but I was almost starved  
With cold; these Gent lewomen know me,  
And I should know that hose and doublet;  
Those garments that you wear, I oft have seen.  Hart. 
Well said Jeronymo.  Star. 
I was fain to borrow  
These of a prisoner, that lies in upon  
A diamond.  Just. 
Officers you are discharged—  Exit Officers. Star. 
And we too?  Just. 
Yes, and joy in every bosom.  Hart. 
Close, you must know this Mistress.  Star. 
How!  Hart. 
My wife, sir.  Close. 
It is enough for you to know her, sir,  
And me to acknowledge.  Coun. 
D'ye know me, sir?  Star. 
Yes, and your daughter too:  
Who brought you to town?  Coun. 
And you shall right her.  Star. 
Is she grown crooked? pox on her, I know too well:  
Peace, not a word more, I know your meaning,  
Do not discredit me, and we'll steal down  
And marry her, ere any be ware on't:  
I won't stay to shift me, take no leave:  
The jest will be, when I am in the Country,  
How like an Ass he'll look on my apparel.—  Exit Start up and Count Enter Servant. Ser. 
Sir, Master Lambert, and if I be not  
Mistaken, the Usurer Hornet very gallant.  Just. 
I must entreat your patience a while;  
You'll meet with friends i'the next room.—  Exeunt: manet Justice. Enter Lambert and Hornet. Lam. 
Excuse  
Our boldness, sir, this gentleman.  Just. 
I should know him:  
Master Hornet, you are very welcome.  Hor. 
Good sir,  
No ceremony, we are come to you  
'Bout business: I have lost my Niece, and would  
Know where she is.  Just. 
D'ye take me for a Vizard?  Lam. 
With your favour, our desires are that you would  
Be witness to a bargain, and receive  
Some trifles, sir, in trust to be delivered  
To me, if I restore his kinswoman.  Hor. 
Not else, on that condition I deposit  
These hundred pieces and a bond; if he  
Deliver me my Niece, they are his fraught;  
If not, they call me owner.  Lam. 
Pardon, sir,  
That I presume to bring this trouble to ye.  Just. 
'Tis none at all.  Lam. 
You sha'not expect long;  
So rest you merry.—  Exit Lambert. Just. 
How far you, sir?  Hor. 
As you see, fallen away an inch since morning;  
But this will physic me: if I possess  
This harlotry again, I'll make her sure:  
Trust not a woman, they have found the herb  
To open locks, not brazen towers can hold 'em:  
Or if they get not lose, they have the virtue  
Of Load stones shut up in a box; they'll draw  
Customers to 'em; nay being dead and buried,  
There is suspicion they will break the grave;  
Which puts so many husbands to the charge  
Of heavy stones, to keep their bad wives under.  Just. 
You are moved.  Hor. 
Oh Master Justice, you are honest:  
I have been abused, so miserably cheated,  
I am ashamed to think on't: stay, what Music?—  Music, 
Ha! 'tis my Niece; the very, very same.  Enter Lambert and Niece. Lam. 
There, sir, you have her, and the rest is mine.  Hor. 
Take it— And you shall go along with me.  Niece. 
How, Uncle!  
A reveller? you'll lead me a Coranto.  Hor. 
You shall dance homewards.  Enter Playfair and his Brother. Play. 
What make you so familiar with my wife?  Hor. 
Ha! wife! is she married?  Bro. 
'Tis upon record,  
I'll bring a Parson that shall take his oath on't.  Hor. 
Give me my bond and money, Master Justice:  
Where? where?  Lam. 
Here, but they are not to be recovered  
By law: I have a judgement, sir, against you.  Hor. 
You have conspired, to rob, cheat and undo me:  
You shall be all 〈◊〉- Chambered.  Niece. 
Sir, be calm, and hear us.  Hor. 
I'll hear nothing.  Play. 
Yes, you shall,  
It will be necessary: I am bold,  
Persuming on her favourite to 〈◊〉  
A parcel of three thousand pound; the sum  
Belongs to me by virtue of a marriage,  
And I must have it.  Hor. 
Virtue of a marriage?  Just. 
I saw the Priest conjoin their hands; he will  
Deserve your love.  Lam. 
Perhaps you may continue  
A thousand, or two thousand on security.  Hor. 
What persecution this?  Bro. 
Faith sir consider,  
'Tis more safe to see her thus bestowed,  
Then trust a Jury; if the Doctor had  
Given her too much Opium, or purged  
Her soul away, things might go worse: but I'll  
Keep counsel.  Hor. 
So, so, have ye mortified me yet?  Lam. 
For your own sake, and as you are a true knight,  
I'll tell no tales.  Enter Mistress Bellamy, Frances, Hartwel and Close. Hor. 
Now have ye done?— The widow,  
Not a word more: take her, I'll pay you, sir,  
Three thousand pound to morrow: Noble widow,  
You were in the first list to be invited;  
My Niece I told you of, is married to  
This worthy Gentleman.  Bel. 
You look like a bridegroom.  Hor. 
'Tis in your power to make it good, what say you?  
Shall we join issue?  Bel. 
I will never marry.  Hor. 
You are resolved, why so? come hither Nephew,  
Shalt be my heir, I love thee for thy wit;  
But charm thy friends, they do not laugh at me:  
I'll be a knight too, if I live, and build  
An Hospital for twenty more o'th' Order;  
Which I'll reduce myself, out of the Suburbs,  
In woman's petticoats, and turn Squires again  
To Whores, or Parasites to Noblemen,  
For want of fit provision.  Play. 
An excellent  
Foundation: but where's Startup?  Lam. 
Sunk, I think.  Hart. 
Ne'er conjure for him: we are ingrateful to  
Our bliss, for wasting of these precious minutes,  
Which are so many ages, till the Church  
Hath made us perfect.  Hor. 
Is there any more work  
For the Priest? then give you joy beforehand,  
And let us celebrate the day together.  Close. 
I am glad of your conversion, y'are the first  
Jew, that in my remembrance has turned Christian.  Play. 
Walk on to joys;  
Twixt Love and Fortune, now th' accounts are even.  Hart. 
A chain of Hearts, and the first link in Heaven.  Exeunt omnes   

EPILOGUE.  

THrough many hazards, Love hath found a way  
For Friends to meet: good Omen to our Play.  
If love hath brought you hither, Gentlemen,  
Love will find out the way to come again.  
And we dare promise, if you relish these,  
Our Loves shall find out other ways to please.   
T. B.  
FINIS.   

There is lately Printed two excellent Comedies, entitled, The Old Couple: By Thomas May Esquire.  
The City-Night-Cap, or Crede quod habes & habes. By Robert Davenport.  
Both these, with variety of other Plays, are to be sold by Samuel Speed, at the Printing Press in St. Paul's Churchyard. 1661.