AESOP. A COMEDY. As it is Acted AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL in DRURY-LANE. The Second Edition, with the Addition of a Second Part.  
LONDON, Printed for Thomas Bennet at the Half-Moon in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1697.   

PREFACE.  
TO speak for a Play, if it can't speak for itself, is vain; and if it can, 'tis needless. For one of these Reasons (I can't yet tell which, for 'tis now but the second day of Acting) I resolve to say nothing for Aesop, though I know he'd be glad of help; for let the best happen that can, his Journey's up Hill, with a dead English weight at the Tail of him.  
At Paris indeed, he scrambled up something faster (for 'twas up Hill there too) than I'm afraid he will do here. The French having more Mercury in their Heads, and less Beef and Pudding in their Bellies. Our Solidity may set hard, what their Folly makes easy; for Fools I own they are, you know we have found 'em so, in the Conduct of the War: I wish we may do so, in the management of the Peace; but that's neither Aesop's Business, nor mine.  
This Play, Gentlemen (or one not much unlike it) was writ in French about Six Years since, by one Monsieur Boursaut, 'twas played at Paris by the French Comedians, and this was its Fate.  
The first day it appeared, 'twas routed (People seldom being fond of what they don't understand, their own sweet Persons excepted). The second (by the help of some bold Knight Errants) it rallied. The third it advanced, the fourth it gave a vigorons Attack, and the fifth put all the Feathers in Town to the scamper; pursuing 'em on the fourteenth, and then they cried out Quarter.  
'Tis not reasonable to expect, Aesop should gain so great a Victory here, since 'tis possible by fooling with his Sword, I may have turned the edge on't. For I confess in the Translation, I have not at all stuck to the Original; Nay I have gone farther, I have wholly added the Fifth Act, and crowded a Country Gentleman into the Fourth, for which I ask Monsieur Boursaut's Pardon, with all my heart, but doubt I never shall obtain it, for bringing him into such Company. Though after all, had I been so complaisant to have waited on his Play word for word, 'tis possible even that might not have insured the success of it. For though it swam in France, it might have sunk in England. Their Country abounds in Cork, ours in Lead.   

PROLOGUE.  
GAllants; We never yet produced a Play,  
With greater fears, than this we act to day.  
Barren of all the Graces of the Stage,  
Barren of all that entertains this Age.  
No Hero, no Romance, no Plot, no Show,  
No Rape, no Bawdy, no Intrigue, no Beau:  
There's nothing in't, with which we use to please ye:  
With down right dull Instruction, we're to tease ye,  
The stage turns Pulpit; and the World's so fickle,  
The Playhouse in a whim, turns Conventicle.  
But Preaching here, must prove a hungry Trade,  
The Pattentees will find so, I'm afraid.  
For though with Heavenly Zeal, you all abound,  
As by your Lives and Morals may be found,  
Though every Female here o'er flows with Grace,  
And chaste Diana's written in her Face;  
Though Maids renounce the sweets of Fornication,  
And one Lewd Wife's not left in all the Nation;  
Though Men grow true, and the foul Fiend defy.  
Though Tradesmen cheat no more, nor Lawyers lie.  
Though not one spot be found on Levi's Tribe,  
Nor one soft Courtier, that will touch a Bribe:  
Yet in the midst of such Religious Days,  
Sermons have never born the Price of Plays.   

Dramatis Personae.  

MEN.  
AESop. Mr. Cibber.  
Learchus, Governor of Syzicus. Mr. Dogget.  
Oronces, in Love with Euphronia. Mr. Harland.   

WOMEN.  
Euphronia, Daughter to Learchus, in Love with Oronces. Mrs. Temple.  
Doris, her Nurse. Mrs. Verbruggen.   

People who come to Aesop, upon several occasions, independent one of another.  
Two Country Tradesmen. Mr. Pinkerman, and Mr. Smeton.  
Roger, a Country Bumkin. Mr. Haynes.  
Acquaint, a Herald. Mr. Pinkerman.  
Breedwell, an Inn Keeper. Mr. Smeton.  
A Country Gentleman. Mr. Pinkerman.  
A Priest, Musicians, etc.  
Hortentia, an affected Learned Lady. Mrs. Kent.  
Aminta, a Lewd Mother. Mrs. Willis.  
Forge-Will, a Scrivener's Widow. Mrs. Finch.  
Breedwell, Wife to the Innkeeper. Mrs. powel.    

AESOP.  

ACT I.  
SCENE I.  Learchus' HOUSE. Enter Learchus, Euphronia and Doris. Lear. 
AT length I am blessed with the sight of the World's wonder, the delight of Mankind, the incomparable Aesop. You had time to observe him last Night, Daughter, as he sat at Supper with me. Tell me how you like him, Child; is he not a charming Person?  Euph. 
Charming?  Lear. 
What sayst thee to him, Doris? Thou art a good Judge, a Wench of a nice Palate.  Dor. 
You would not have me flatter, Sir?  Lear. 
No, speak thy thoughts boldly.  Dor. 
Boldly you say?  Lear. 
Boldly I say.  Dor. 
Why then, Sir, my opinion of the Gentleman is, That he's uglier than an old Beau.  Lear. 
How, Impudence?  Dor. 
Nay if you are angry, Sir, second thoughts are best; he's as proper as a Pikeman: Holds up his Head like a Dancing-Master: Has the shape of a Barb; the Face of an Angel, the Voice of a Cherubin, the smell of a Civetcat—  Lear. 
In short, thou art fool enough not to be pleased with him.  Dor. 
Excuse me for that, Sir, I have Wit enough to make myself merry with him—  Lear. 
If his Body's deformed, his Soul is beautiful: Would to kind Heaven as he is, my Daughter could but find the means to please him.  Euph. 
To what end, Dear Father?  Lear. 
That he might be your Husband, Dear Daughter.  Euph. 
My Husband: Shield me, kind Heaven—  Dor. 
Psha! He has a mind to make us laugh, that's all.  Lear. 
Aesop, then, is not worth her Care, in thy Opinion.  Dor. 
Why truly, Sir, I'm always for making suitable Matches, and done't much approve of breeding Monsters. I would have nothing marry a Baboon, but what has been got by a Monkey.  Lear. 
How darest thou liken so incomparable a Man, to so contemptible a Beast.  Dor. 
Ah, the inconstancy of this World: Out of sight out of mind. Your little Monkey is scarce cold in his Grave, and you have already forgot what you used so much to admire: Do but call him to Remembrance, Sir, in his Red Coat, new Gloves, little Hat, and clean Linen. Then discharge your Conscience, utter the truth from your Heart, and tell us whether he was not the prettier Gentleman of the two— By my Virginity, Sir, (though that's but a slippery Oath, you'll say) had they made Love to me together, Aesop should have worn the Willow.  Lear. 
Since nothing but an Animal will please thee, 'tis pity my Monkey had not that Virginity thou hast Sworn by. But I, whom Wisdom charms, even in the homeliest dress, can never think the much deserving Aesop, unworthy of my Daughter.  Dor. 
Now in the Name of Wonder, what is't you so admire in him?  Lear. 
Hark, and thou shalt know; but you Euphronia,  
Be you more especially attentive.  
'Tis true he's plain, but that, my Girl's, a Trifle.  
All manly beauty's seated in the Soul,  
And that of Aesop, Envy's self must own,  
Out shines whate'er the World has yet produced.  
Croesus, the prosperous Favourite of Heaven;  
Croesus, the happiest Potentate on Earth,  
Whose Treasure (though immense) is the least part,  
Of what he holds from Providence's Care,  
Leans on his Shoulder, as his grand support,  
Admires his Wisdom, dotes upon his truth,  
And makes him Pilot to Imperial sway.  
But in this elevated Post of Power,  
What's his Employ? Where does he point his thoughts,  
To live in Splendour, Luxury and Ease,  
Do endless Mischiefs, by neglecting good,  
And build his Family on others ruins?  
No:  
He serves the Prince, and serves the People too,  
Is useful to the Rich, and helps the Poor;  
There's nothing stands neglected, but himself.  
With constant Pain, and yet with constant Joy,  
From place to place, throughout the Realm he goes,  
With useful Lessons, formed to every Rank,  
The People learn Obedience from his Tongue,  
The Magistrate is guided in Command,  
The Prince is minded, of a Father's Care:  
The Subjects taught, the Duty of a Child:  
And as 'tis dangerous, to be bold with truth,  
He often calls for Fable to his Aid,  
Where under abject Names, of Beasts and Birds,  
Virtue shines out, and Vice is clothed in shame:  
And thus by inoffensive Wisdom's Force  
He conquers Folly, wheresoever he moves.  
This is his Portrait.  Dor. 
A very good Picture of a very ill Face.  Lear. 
Well. Daughter; what, not a word? Is it possible any thing that I am Father of, can be untouched with so much Merit?  Euph. 
My Duty may make all things possible: But Aesop is so ugly, Sir.  Lear. 
His Soul has so much beauty in't, your reason ought to blind your Eyes: Besides, my Interest is concerned: His power alarms me. I know throughout the Kingdom he's the scourge of evil Magistrates. Turns out Governors, when they turn Tyrants. Breaks Officers for false Musters, excludes Judges from giving Sentence, when they have been absent during the Trial: Hangs Lawyers when they take Fees on both sides: Forbids Physicians to take Money of those they don't Cure: 'Tis true, my Innocence ought to banish my fears. But my Government, Child, is too delicious a Morsel, not to set many a frail Mouth a watering: Who knows what accusations Envy may produce, but all would be secure, if thou couldst touch the Heart of  Aesop. 
Let me blow up thy Ambition, Girl; the fire of that, will make thy Eyes sparkle at him.  [She sighs. 
— What's that sigh for now; ha?  
A young Husband, by my Conscience: Ah, Daughter, hadst thou a young Husband, he'd make thee sigh indeed. I'll tell thee what he's composed of. He has a Wigg full of Pulvilio; a Pocket full of Dice: A Heart full of Treason; a Mouth full of Lies, a Belly full of Drink, a Carcase full of Plasters, a Tail full of Pox, and a Head full of— Nothing.  
There's his Picture; wear it at thy Heart if thou canst. But here comes one of greater worth.  Enter Aesop. Lear. 
Good morning to my Noble Lord; your Excellency—  Aesop. 
Softly, good Governor: I'm a poor wanderer from place to place; too weak to train the weight of grandeur with me! The Name of Excellency's not for me.  Lear. 
My Noble Lord, 'tis due to your Employ; Your Predecessors all—  Aesop. 
My Predecessors all deserved it, Sir; They were great Men, in Wisdom, Birth and Service: Whilst I, a poor unknown decrepit Wretch, mounted aloft for Fortune's Pastime, expect each moment to conclude the Farce, by sinking to the Mud, from when I sprung.  Lear. 
Great Croesus' Gratitude will still support you; His Coffers all are open to your Will, Your future Fortune's wholly in your power.  Aesop. 
But 'tis a power, that I shall ne'er employ.  Lear. 
Why so, My Lord?  Aesop. 
I'll tell you, Sir.  

A Hungry Goat, who had not eat,  
Some Nights and Days— (for want of meat)  
Was kindly brought at last  
By Providence's Care  
To better Cheer,  
After a more than Penitential Fast.   

He found a Barn, well stored with Grain,  
To enter in required some pain,  
But a Delicious Bait  
Makes the way easy, though the Pass is straight.   

Our Guest observing various Meats,  
He put on a good Modish Face,  
He takes his place,  
He ne'er says Grace,  
But where he likes, he there falls to, and eats.   

At length with jaded Teeth and jaws,  
He made a pause,  
And finding still some Room,  
Fell to as he had done before,  
For time to come, laid in his store;  
And when his Guts could hold no more,  
He thought of going home.   

But here he met the Gluttons Curse,  
He found his Belly grown so great,  
'Twas vain to think of a Retreat,  
Till he had rendered all h' add eat,  
And well he fared no worse.   
To the Application, Governor.  Lear. 
'Tis easy to be made, My Lord.  Aesop. 
I'm glad on't. Truth can never be too clear.  [see Euph. 
Is this Young Damsel your fair Daughter, Sir?  Lear. 
'Tis my Daughter, my good Lord: Fair too, if she appears such in the Eyes of the unerring Aesop.  Aesop. going up to salute her.] 
I never saw so beautiful a Creature.  Lear. Aside.] 
Now's the time; Kiss, soft Girl, and fire him.  Aesop gazing at her.] 
How partial's Nature, 'twixt her form and mine.  Lear. Aside.] 
Look, Look, Look, how he gazes at her— Cupid's heard at work, I see that already. Slap; there he hits him— If the Wench would but do her part: But see, see, how the perverse Young Baggage stands biteing her Thumbs, and won't give him one kind glance— Ah the sullen Jade: Had it been a handsome strong Dog of Five and Twenty, she'd have fallen a Coquetting on't, with every Inch about her. But may be it's I that spoil sport, I'll make a pretence to leave 'em together. Will your Lordship please to drink any Coffee, this Morning?  Aesop. 
With all my heart, Governor.  Lear. 
Your Lordship will give me leave to go and order it myself; for unless I am by, 'tis never perfect.  Aesop. 
Provided you leave me this fair Maid in Hostage for your return, I consent.  Lear. 
My good Lord does my Daughter too much Honour.  [Aside, going off. 
Ah that the Wench would but do her part—  
Hark you Hussy—  [Turning back to Euphronia, Aside. 
— You can give yourself Airs sometimes, You know you can: Do you remember what work you made with yourself at Church t' other day? Play your tricks over again once more for my pleasure, and let me have a good account of this Statesman, or, d'ye hear?— You shall die a Maid, go chew upon that; go.  [Exit Lear. Aesop. 
Here I am left, fair Damsel, too much exposed to your Charms, not to fall your Victim.  Euph. 
Your fall will then be due to your own weakness, Sir; for Heaven's my Witness, I neither endeavour, nor wish to wound you.  Aesop. 
I understand you, Lady; your Heart's already disposed of, 'tis seldom otherways at your Age.  Euph. 
My heart disposed of?  Dor. 
Nay, never mince the matter, Madam, The Gentleman looks like a Civil Gentleman, e'en confess the truth to him: he has a good Interest with your Father; and no doubt will employ it to break the Heathenish Match he proposes to you. To Aesop.] Yes, Sir, My young Lady has been in Love these two years; and that with as pretty a Fellow, as ever entered a Virgin's Heart. Tall, Straight, Young, Vigorous, Good clothes, Long Periwigg, Clean Linen: in brief, He has every thing that's necessary, to set a young Lady a Longing, and to stay it when he has done: But her Father, whose Ambition makes him turn Fool in his old Age, comes with a back stroke upon us, and spoils all our sport. Would you believe it, Sir? he has proposed to her to day, the most confounded ugly Fellow: Look, if the very thoughts of him don't set the poor thing a crying? And you, Sir, have so much power with the old Gentleman, that one word from you, would set us all right again. If he will have her a Wife; In the Name of Venus let him provide her a handsome Husband, and not throw her into the paws of a thing that Nature in a merry humour, has made half Man half Monkey.  Aesop. 
Pray what's this Monster's Name, Lady?  Euph. 
No matter for his Name, Sir, my Father will know who you mean, at first word.  Aesop. 
But you should not always choose by the outside alone; believe me, fair Damsel, a fine Periwigg keeps many a Fool's Head from the weather, have a care of your young Gallant.  Dor. 
There's no danger; I have examined him: His inside's as good as his out: I say he has Wit, and I think I know.  Euph. 
Nay, she says true; he's even a Miracle of Wit and Beauty: Did you but see him, you'd be yourself my Rival.  Aesop. 
Then you are resolved against the Monster.  Dor. 
Fie, Sir, fie, I wonder you'll put her in mind of that foul frightful thing: We shall have her Dream of nothing all night, but Bats and Owls, and Toads and Hedgehogs, and then shall we have such a squeaking and squaling with her, the whole House will be in an uproar. Therefore pray, Sir, name him no more, but use your Interest with her Father, that she may never hear of him again.  Aesop. 
But if I should be so generous to save you from the old gallant, what shall I say for your young one?  Euph. 
O, Sir, you may venture to enlarge upon his Perfections, you need not fear saying too much in his praise.  Dor. 
And pray, Sir, be as copious upon the Defects of the other; you need not fear outrunning the Text there neither, say the worst you can.  Euph. 
You may say the first is the most graceful Man, that Asia ever brought forth.  Dor. 
And you may say the latter is the most deformed Monster, that Copulation ever produced.  Euph. 
Tell him that Oronces (for that's his dear Name) has all the Virtues that compose a perfect Hero.  Dor. 
And tell him that Pigmy has all the Vices, that go to equip an Attorney.  Euph. 
That to one, I could be true, to the last moment of my Life.  Dor. 
That for the other; she'd Cuckold him the very day of her Marriage. This, Sir, in few words, is the Theme you are desired to preach upon.  Aesop. 
I never yet had one, that furnished me more matter.  Enter Servant. Ser. 
My Lord, there's a Lady below desires to speak with your Honour.  Aesop. 
What Lady?  Ser. 
It's my Lady— my Lady— [To Doris] The Lady there, the Wise Lady, the great Scholar, that no body can understand.  Dor. 
O ho, is it she? Pray let's withdraw, and oblige her, Madam; she's ready to swoon at the insipid sight of one of her own Sex.  Euph. 
You'll excuse us, Sir, we leave you to wiser Company.  [Exeunt Euph. and Dor. Enter Hortentia. Hort. 
The Deess, who from Atropos' Breast preserves the Names of Heros and their Actions, proclaims your Fame throughout this mighty Orb, and—  Aesop Aside.] 
Shield me, my Stars, what have you sent me here? For Pity's sake, Good Lady, be more human: my Capacity is too heavy to mount to your stile: if you would have me know what you mean, please to come down to my understanding.  Hort. 
I've something in my Nature soars too high  
For Vulgar flight, I own:  
But Aesop's sphere must needs be within Call;  
Aesop and I may sure converse together,  
I know he's modest, but I likewise know,  
His Intellects are Categorical.  Aesop. 
Now by my Faith, Lady, I don't know what Intellect is; and methinks Categorical sounds as if you called me Names. Pray speak that you may be understood; Language was designed for it; indeed it was.  Hort. 
Of vulgar things, in vulgar phrase we talk,  
But when of Aesop we must speak,  
The Theams too lofty for an humble stile,  
Aesop's is sure no common Character.  Aesop. 
No truly I am something particular. Yet if I am not mistaken, what I have extraordinary about me, may be described in very homely Language. Here was a young Gentlewoman but just now penciled me out to a hair, I thought; and yet I vow to Gad the learned'st word I heard her make use of was, Monster.  Hort. 
That was a Woman, Sir; a very Woman; Her  
Cogitations all were on the outward Man.  
But I strike deeper, 'tis the Mind I view.  
The Soul's the worthy object of my care;  
The Soul, That sample of Divinity, that glorious  
Ray of Heavenly Light. The Soul that awful  
Throne of Thought, That sacred Seat of Contemplation.  
The Soul, That Noble source of Wisdom,  
That Fountain of Comfort,  
That Spring of Joy, That happy Token of eternal  
Life; The Soul, that—  Aesop. 
Pray, Lady, are you married?  Hort. 
Why that Question, Sir?  Aesop. 
Only that I might wait upon your Husband to wish him Joy.  Hort. 
When People of my Composition would marry, they first find something of their own species to join with; I never could resolve to take a thing of common Fabric to my Bed, lest when his brutish Inclinations prompt him, he should make me Mother to a Form like his own.  Aesop. 
Methinks a Lady so extremely nice, should be much at a Loss who to converse with.  Hort. 
Sir, I keep my Chamber, and converse with myself; 'tis better being alone, than to mis-ally ones Conversation,  
Men are scandalous; and Women are insipid.  
Discourse without figure, makes me Sick at my Soul;  
O the Charms of a Metaphor.  
What Harmony there is in words of Erudition;  
The music of 'em is in-imaginable.  Aesop. 
Will you hear a Fable, Lady?  Hort. 
Willingly, Sir, the Apologue pleases me when the Application of it is just.  Aesop. 
It is, I'll answer for't.  
Once on a time, a Nightingale  
To Changes prone;  
Unconstant, Fickle, Whimsical,  
(A Female one:)  
Who sung like Others of her kind,  
Hearing a Well-taught Linnet's Airs,  
Had other matters in her mind,  
To imitate him she prepares.  
Her fancy straight was on the Wing:  
I fly, quoth she,  
As well as he;  
I don't know why,  
I should not try,  
As well as he, to sing.  
From that day forth, she changed her Note,  
She spoiled her Voice, she strained her Throat:  
She did, as Learned Women do,  
Till every thing,  
That heard her sing,  
Would run away from her— as I from you.  [Exit Aesop, running. Hortentia sola. 
How grossly does this poor World suffer itself to be imposed upon— Aesop a Man of sense— Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Alas poor Wretch: I should not have known him but by his Deformity, His Soul's as nauseous to my Understanding, as his odious Body to my sense of Feeling. Well;  
'mongst all the Wits, that are allowed to shine,  
Methinks there's nothing yet approaches mine:  
Sure I was sent, the Homely Age t' adorn;  
What Star, I know not, ruled when I was born;  
But every thing, besides myself, 's my scorn.  [Exit. 
The End of the First ACT.   

ACT. II.  Enter Euphronia and Doris. Dor. 
WHat in the Name of Jove's the matter with you? Speak for Heaven's sake.  Euph. 
Oh, What shall I do? Doris, I'm undone.  Dor. 
What, ravished?  Euph. 
No, ten times worse! Unlace me, or I shall swoon.  Dor. 
Unlace you? Why you are not thereabouts, I hope?  Euph. 
No, no; worse still; worse than all that.  Dor. 
Nay then it's bad indeed.  [Dor. unlaces her. 
There: How d' ye do now?  Euph. 
So; it's going over.  Dor. 
Courage, pluck up your Spirits: Well; now what's the matter?  Euph. 
The matter? Thou shalt hear. Know that— that Cheat— Aesop—  Dor. 
Like enough; speak, What has he done? That ugly illboding Cyclops.  Euph. 
Why instead of keeping his Promise, and speaking for Oronces; he has not said one word, but what has been for himself. And by my Father's Order, before to Morrow Noon he's to marry me.  Dor. 
He marry you?—  Euph. 
Am I in the wrong to be in this despair? Tell me, Doris, if I am to blame?  Dor. 
To blame? No by my troth. That ugly, old-treacherous piece of Vermin: That Melancholy mixture of Impotence and Desire; Does his mouth stand to a young Partridge? Ah the old Goat. And your Father? He down right dotes at last then?  Euph. 
Ah, Doris; What a Husband does he give me; and what a Lover does he rob me of. Thou know'st 'em both; Think of Oronces, and think of Aesop.  Dor Spitting.] 
A Foul Monster. And yet now I think on't, I'm almost as angry at the other too: Methinks he makes but a slow Voyage on't, for a Man in Love. 'Tis now above two Months, since he went to Lesbos, to pack up the old Bones of his dead Father; Sure he might have made a little more haste:  Enter Oronces. Euph. 
Oh, my heart; What do I see?  Dor. 
Talk of the Devil, and he's at your Elbow.  Or. 
My Dear Soul.  [Euph. runs and leaps about his Neck. Euph. 
Why would you stay so long From me?  Or. 
'Twas not my Fault indeed; The Winds—  Dor. 
The Winds?— Will the Winds blow you your Mistress again? We have had Winds too, and Waves into the bargain, Storms and Tempests, Sea-Monsters, and the Devil an' all. She struggled as long as she could; but a Woman can do no more than she can do; When her breath was gone, down she sunk.  Or. 
What's the meaning of all this?  Dor. 
Meaning? There's meaning and mumping too; Your Mistress is married; that's all.  Or. 
Death and Furies— Euph clinging about him.] Don't you frighten him too much neither.  Dor. 
No, my Dear, I'm not yet  
Executed, though I am Condemned.  Or. 
Condemned? to what? Speak! Quick.  Dor. 
To be married.  Or. 
Married? When, how, where, to what, to whom?  Dor. 
Aesop, Aesop, Aesop, Aesop, Aesop.  Or. 
Fiends and Spectres: What, that piece of Deformity, that Monster; that Crump?  Dor. 
The same, Sir, the same. I find he knows him,  
You might have come home sooner.  Or. 
Dear Euphronia, ease me from my pain. Swear that  
You neither have, nor will consent.  
I know this comes from your ambitious Father:  
But you're too generous, too true to leave me:  
Millions of Kingdoms ne'er would shake my Faith,  
And I believe your Constancy as firm.  Euph. 
You do me Justice, You shall find you do, For Wracks and Tortures, Crowns and Sceptres joined shall neither fright me from my truth, nor tempt me to be false. On this you may depend.  Dor. 
Would to the Lord you would find some other place to make your fine speeches in. Don't you know that our Dear Friend Aesop's coming to receive his Visits here.  
In this great Downy Chair, your pretty Little Husband Elect, is to sit and hear all the Complaints in the Town: One of Wisdoms Chief Recompenses, being to be constantly troubled with the business of Fools.  
Pray, Madam, will you take the Gentleman by the hand, and lead him into your Chamber; and when you are there, Don't lie Whining and Crying and Sighing and Wishing—  
Aside.] If he had not been more Modest than Wise, he might have set such a mark upon the Goods before now, that ne'er a Merchant of 'em all, would have bought 'em out of his hands. But young Fellows are always in the wrong: Either so impudent they are nauseous, or so modest they are useless. Go, pray get you gone together.  Euph. 
But if my Father catch us, we are ruined.  Dor. 
By my Conscience, this Love will make us all turn Fools. Before your Father can open the Door, can't he slip down the Back-stairs? I'm sure he may, if you don't hold him; but that's the old Trade. Ah— Well, get you gone however— Hark— I hear the old Baboon cough; Away!  [Ex. Or. and Euph. running. 
Here he comes, with his Ugly Beak before him. Ah— a Luscious Bed-fellow, by my troth.  Enter Learchus and Aesop. Lear. 
Well, Doris; What news from my Daughter? is she prudent?  Dor. 
Yes, very prudent,  Lear. 
What says she? What does she do.  Dor. 
Do? what should she do? Tears her Cornet; Bites her Thumbs; Throws her Fan in the fire; Thinks its dark Night at Noon day; Dreams of Monsters and Hobgoblins; Raves in her Sleep of forced Marriage and Cuckoldom; Cries: Avaunt Deformity; then wakens of a sudden, with fifty Arguments at her Finger's ends, to prove the Lawfulness of Rebellion in a Child, when a Parent turns Tyrant.  Lear. 
Very fine, But all this shan't serve her turn.  
I have said the Word, and will be obeyed—  
My Lord does her honour.  Dor. Aside.] 
Yes, and that's all he can do to her.  
To Lear.] But I can't blame the Gentleman after all; He loves my Mistress, because she's handsome; and she hates him, because he's ugly. I never saw two People more in the right in my Life.  
To Aesop.] You'll pardon me, Sir, I'm somewhat free.  Aesop. 
Why, a Ceremony would but take up time.  
But, Governor, methinks I have an admirable Advocate about your Daughter.  Lear. 
Out of the Room Impudence: begone, I say.  Dor. 
So I will: but you'll be as much in the wrong, when I'm gone, as when I'm here. And your Conscience, I hope, will talk as pertly to you, as I can do.  Aesop. 
If she treats me thus before my Face; I may conclude I'm finely handled behind my Back.  Dor. 
I say the truth here; and I can say no worse any where.  [Exit Doris. Lear. 
I hope your Lordship won't be concerned at what this prattling Wench bleats out; my Daughter will be governed, she's bred up to Obedience. There may be some small difficulty, in weaning her from her Young Lover: But 'twon't be the first time she has been weaned from a Breast, my Lord.  Aesop. 
Does she love him fondly, Sir?  Lear. 
Foolishly, my Lord.  Aesop. 
And he her.  Lear. 
The same.  Aesop. 
Is he Young.  Lear. 
Yes, and Vigorous.  Aesop. 
Rich?  Lear. 
So, so.  Aesop. 
Well born?  Lear. 
He has good blood in his Veins.  Aesop. 
Has he Wit?  Lear. 
He had, before he was in Love.  Aesop. 
And handsome with all this?  Lear. 
Or else we should not have half so much trouble with him.  Aesop. 
Why do you then make her quit him for me?  
All the World knows, I am neither Young, NOble, nor Rich: And as for my Beauty— Look you, Governor. I'm honest: but when Children cry, they tell 'em, Aesop's a coming: Pray, Sir, what is it makes you so earnest to force your Daughter?  Lear. 
Am I then to count for nothing, the favour you are in at Court? Father-in-Law to the Great Aesop, what may I not ●●pire to? My Foolish Daughter perhaps may'ned be so well pleased with 't, but we Wise Parents usually weigh our children's happiness in the Scale of our own Inclinations.  Aesop. 
Well, Governor; Let it be your care then to make her consent.  Lear. 
This moment, my Lord, I reduce her, either to Obedience, or to Dust and Ashes.  [Exit Lear. Aesop. 
Adieu. Now let in the People.  
Who come for Audience.  [Aesop sits in his Chair, reading of Papers. Enter two Ordinary Tradesmen. 1 Tra. 
There he is, Neighbour: Do but look at him.  2 Tra. 
Ay; One may know him; he's well marked.  
But dost hear me? What Title must we give him; for if we fail in that point, d' ye see me, we shall never get our business done. Courtiers love Titles, almost as well as they do Money, and that's a bold word now.  1 Tra. 
Why I think we had best call him, His Grandeur.  2 Tra. 
That will do; Thou hast hit on't. Hold still, let me speak. May it please your Grandeur—  Aesop. 
There I interrupt you, Friend; I have a weak Body that will ne'er be able to bear that Title.  2 Tra. 
D' ye hear that, Neighbour? What shall we call him now?  1 Tra. 
Why, call him, call him, his Excellency: try what that will do.  2 Tra. 
May it please your Excellency—  Aesop. 
Excellency's a long word, it takes up too much time in business: Tell me what you'd have, in few words.  2 Tra. 
Neighbour: this man will never give  
Ten Thousand pounds to be made a Lord.  
But what shall I say to him now?  
He puts me quite out of my play.  1 Tra. 
Why e'en talk to him as we do to one another.  2 Tra. 
Shall I? Why so I will then. Hem. Neighbour, We want a new Governor, Neighbour.  Aesop. 
A new Governor, Friend?  2 Tra. 
Ay, Friend.  Aesop. 
Why what's the matter with your old one?  2 Tra. 
What's the matter?  
Why he grows Rich; that's the matter:  
And he that's Rich can't be Innocent, that's all.  Aesop. 
Does he use any of you harshly,  
Or punish you without a fault?  2 Tra. 
No; but he grows as Rich as a Miser;  
His Purse is so crammed, it's ready to burst again.  Aesop. 
When 'tis full, 'twill hold no more;  
A new Governor will have an empty one.  2 Tra. 
'Fore Gad, Neighbour, the little Gentleman's in the right on't.  1 Tra. 
Why truly I don't know but he may:  
For now it comes in my head,  
It cost me more Money to fat my Hog,  
Than to keep him fat when he was so.  
Prithee tell him we'll e'en keep our old Governor.  2 Tra. 
I'll do't. Why, look you, Sir, d' ye see me:  
Having seriously considered of the matter,  
My Neighbour Hobson, and I here, We are content to jog on a little  
Longer with him we have: But if you'd  
Do us another Courtesy, you might.  Aesop. 
What's that, Friend?  2 Tra. 
Why that's this: Our King Crcesus is a very good Prince, as a Man may say: But— a— but— Taxes are high, an't please you; And— a— poor Men want Money, d' ye see me: It's very hard, as we think, that the Poor should work to maintain the Rich. If there were no Taxes, we should do pretty well.  1 Tra. 
Taxes indeed are very burdensome.  Aesop. 

I'll tell you a story, Countrymen.  
Once on a time, the Hands and Feet,  
As Mutineers, grew mighty great,  
They met, caballed, and talked of Treason,  
They swore by Jove, they knew no reason,  
The Belly should have all the meat,  
It was a damned Notorious Cheat,  
They did the Work, and— Death and Hell; They'd eat.   

The Belly, who adored good Cheer,  
Had like t' have died away for fear:  
Quoth he, good folks, you little know,  
What 'tis you are about to do;  
If I am starved, what will become of you?   

We neither know nor care, cried they,  
But this we will be bold to say,  
We'll see you damned  
Before we'll work,  
And you receive the Pay.   

With that the Hands, to pocket went,  
Full Wrist band deep,  
The Legs and Feet fell fast a sleep:  
Their Liberty they had redeemed,  
And all except the Belly seemed  
Extremely well content.  
But mark what followed; 'Twas not long  
Before the right became the wrong,  
The Mutineers were grown so Weak,  
They found 'twas more than time to squeak.  
They call for Work, but 'twas too late.  
The Stomach, (like an Aged Maid,  
Shrunk up, for want of human aid)  
The Common Debt of Nature paid,  
And with its Destiny, entrained their Fate.   Aesop. 
What think you of this story; Friends, ha?  
Come, you look like wise Men; I'm sure you understand what's for your good; in giving part of what you have, you secure all the rest; If the King had no money, there could be no Army; and if there were no Army, your Enemies would be amongst you: One Day's Pillage would be worse than Twenty Years Taxes: What say you! is't not so?  2 Tra. 
By my troth I think he's in the Right on't again.  
who'd think that little Hump-back of his,  
Should have so much brains in't, Neighbour?  Aesop. 
Well, Honest Men; Is there any thing else that I can serve you in?  1 Tra. 
D'ye hear that, Humphrey?— Why that was civil now.  
But Courtiers seldom want good breeding;  
Let's give the Devil his due.  
Why to tell you the truth, honest Gentlemen, we had a whole Budget  
full of grievances to complain of. But I think— a— Ha Neighbour?  
We had e'en as good let 'em alone?  1 Tra. 
Why good faith, I think so too, for by all I can see, we are like to make no great hon on't. Besides; between thee and me, I begin to daubt, whether aur Grievances do us such a plaguy deal of Mischief, as we fancy.  2 Tra. 
Or put Case they did, Humphrey; I'se afraid, he that goes to a Courtier, in hope to get fairly rid of 'em, may be said (in aur Country Dialect) to take the wrong Saw by the Ear. But here's Neighbour Roger, he's a Wit, let's leave him to him.  [Exeunt. Enter Roger, a Country Bumkin, looks seriously upon Aesop; then bursts out a Laughing. Ro. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha: Did ever Mon behold the like— Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.  Aesop. 
Hast thou any business with me, Friend?  Ro 
Yes▪ by my troth have I▪  
But if Roger were to be hanged up for't,  
Look you now, he could not hold laughing:  
What I have in my Mind, out it comes: but bar that:  
I'll an honest Lad as well as another.  Aesop. 
My time's dearer to me than yours, Friend;  
Have you any thing to say to me?  Ro. 
Gadswookars, do People use to ask for Folks,  
When they have nothing to say to 'em?  
I's tell you my business.  Aesop. 
Let's hear it.  Ro. 
I have, as you see, a little Wit..  Aesop. 
True.  Ro. 
I live in a Village hard by, and I'se the Best Man in it, tho' I say it, that should not say it. I have good Drink in my Cellar, and good Corn in my Barn; I have Cows and Oxen, Hogs and Sheep, Cocks and Hens, and Geese and Turkeys; but the truth will out, and so out let it. I'll e'en tired of being called plain Roger. I has a Leathern Purse; and in that Purse, there's many a fair half Crown, with the King's Sweet Face upon it, God bless him: And with this Money I have a mind to bind myself Prentice to a Courtier: It's a good Trade, as I have heard say, there's Money stirring: Let a Lad be but diligent, and do what he's bid, he shall be let into the Secret, and share part of the Profits. I have not lived to these Years for nothing: Those that will swim, must go into deep Water: I's get our Wife jone to be the Queen's Chambermaid; and then— Crack says me I; and forget all my Acquaintance.  
But to come to the business. You who are the King's great Favourite, I desire you'll be pleased to sell me some of your Friendship, that I may get a Court Place. Come, you shall choose me one yourself; You look like a shrewd Man; by the Mass you do.  Aesop. 
I choose Thee a Place?  Ro. 
Yes: I would willingly have it such a sort of a please, as would cost little, and bring in a great deal; in a word, much Profit, and nothing to do.  Aesop. 
But you must name what Post you think would suit your humour.  Ro. 
Why I'se pretty indifferent as to that: Secretary of State, or Butler; Twenty Shillings more, Twenty Shillings less, is not the thing I stand upon. I'll no Haggler, Gadswookars, and he that says I am— 'Zbud he lies: There's my humour now.  Aesop. 
But hark you, Friend, you say you are well as you are, Why then do you desire to change?  Ro. 
Why what a Question now is there, for a Man of your parts: I'm well, d'ye see me; and what of all that? I desire to be better: There's an Answer for you. (Aside.) Let Roger alone with him.  Aesop. 
Very well: this is reasoning; And I love a Man should reason with me: But let us inquire a little whether your Reasons are good or not. You say at home you want for nothing.  Ro. 
Nothing 'fore George.  Aesop. 
You have good drink?  Ro. 
'Zbud the best i' th' Parish. (Singing) And dawn it merrily goes, my Lad, and dawn it merrily goes.  Aesop. 
You eat heartily?  Ro. 
I have a noble Stomach.  Aesop. 
You sleep well?  Ro. 
Just as I drink: till I can sleep no longer.  Aesop. 
You have some honest Neighbours?  Ro. 
Honest? 'Zbud we are all so, the Tawne raund, we live like Breether; when one can serve another, he does it with all his Heart and Guts; when we have any thing that's good, we eat it together, Holydays and Sundays we play at Ninepins, tumble upon the Grass with wholesome young Maids, laugh till we split, Dance till we are weary, eat till we burst, drink till we are sleepy, then swap into Bed, and snore till we rise to Breastfast.  Aesop. 
And all this thou wouldst leave, to go to Court. I'll tell thee what once happened.  
A Mouse, who long had lived at Court,  
(Yet never the better Christian for't)  
Walking one Day to see some Country Sport,  
He met a homebred Village-Mouse,  
Who with an awkward Speech and Bow,  
That savoured much of Cart and Blow,  
Made a shift, I know not how,  
T' invite him to his House.  
Quoth he, my Lord, I doubt you'll find  
Our Country Fare of homely kind,  
But by my Troth, you're welcome to't,  
Y' have that, and Bread, and Cheese to boot:  
And so they sat and dined.  Ro. 
Very well.  Aesop. 
The Courtier could have eat, at least,  
As much as any Household Priest,  
But thought himself obliged in Feeding,  
To show the difference of Town-breeding,  
He picked and culled, and turned the Meat,  
He champt and chewed, and could not eat:  
No Toothless Woman at Fourscore,  
Was ever seen to mumble more.  
He made a thousand ugly Faces,  
Which (as sometimes in Lady's cases)  
Were all designed for Airs and Graces.  Ro. 
Ha, ha.  Aesop. 
At last, he from the Table rose,  
He picked his Teeth, and blowed his Nose,  
And with an easy Negligence,  
As tho' he lately came from France,  
He made a careless sliding Bow:  
'Fore Gad, quoth he, I don't know how  
I shall return your Friendly Treat;  
But if you'll take a bit of Meat  
In Town with me,  
You there shall see  
How we poor Courtiers eat.  Ro. 
'tis for that; that was Friendly.  Aesop. 
There needed no more Invitation  
To e'er a Country Squire i'th' Nation,  
Exactly to the time he came,  
Punctual, as Woman, when she meets  
A Man between a pair of Sheets,  
As good a Stomach, and as little shame.  Ro. 
Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho.  Aesop. 
To say the Truth, he found good Cheer,  
With Wine, instead of Ale and Beer:  
But just as they sat down to Eat,  
Comes bouncing in a hungry Cat.  Ro. 
O Lord, O Lord, O Lord!  Aesop. 
The nimble Courtier skipped from Table.  
The Squire leapt too, as he was able:  
It can't be said that they were beat,  
It was no more than a Retreat;  
Which when an Army, not to Fight,  
By Daylight, runs away by Night,  
Was ever judged a great and glorious Feat.  Ro. 
Ever, ever, ever.  Aesop. 
The Cat retired, our Guests return,  
The Danger past, becomes their scorn,  
They fall to Eating, as before,  
The Butler ●umbles at the Door.  Ro. 
Good Lord!  Aesop. 
To Boot and Saddle again they found.  Ro. 
Ta ra, tan tan ta ra, ra ra tan ta ra.  Aesop. 
They frown, as they would stand their Ground,  
But (like some of our Friends) they found,  
'Twas safer much to scour.  Ro. 
Tantive, Tantive, Tantive, etc.  Aesop. 
At length the Squire, who hated Arms,  
Was so perplexed with these Alarms,  
He rose up in a kind of heat:  
Udzwooks quoth he, with all your Meat,  
I will maintain a dish of Pease,  
A Radish, and a slice of Cheese,  
With a good desert of Ease,  
Is much a better Treat.  
However;  
Since every Man should have his due,  
I own, Sir, I'm obliged to you,  
For your Intentions at your Board.  
But Pox upon your Courtly Crew—  Ro. 
Amen, I pray the Lord. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Now the Deel Cuckold me, if this Story be not worth a Sermon. Give me your hon, Sir.  
— If it had na ' been for your Friendly Advice, I was going to be Fool enough, to be Secretary of State.  Aesop. 
Well, go thy ways home, and be wiser for the Future.  Ro. 
And so I will: For that same Mause, your Friend, was a witty Person, Gadsbudlikins; and so our Wife joan shall know: For between you and I, 'tis she has put me upon going to Court. Sir, she has been so praud, so saucy, so rampant, ever since I brought her home a Laced Pinner, and a Pink-colour pair of Shoestrings, from Tickledawne Fair, the Parson o'th' Parish can't rule her; and that you'll says much. But so much for that. Naw, I thank you for your good Caunsel, honest little Gentleman; and to show you, that I'll not ungrateful— Give me your hand once more If you'll take the Pains, but to walk dawn to our Town,— a Word in your Ear,— ist send you so drunk whom again, you shall remember friendly Roger, as long as you have breath in your Body.  [Exit Roger. Aesop. Solus. 
Farewell, what I both envy and despise:  
Thy Happiness and Ignorance provoke me;  
How Noble were the thing called Knowledge,  
Did it but lead us to a Bliss like thine!  
But there's a Secret Curse, in Wisdom's Train,  
Which on its Pleasures stamps perpetual Pain,  
And makes the wise Man lose, by what he gains.  [Exit.  

ACT. III.  Enter Aesop. Aesop. 
WHo waits there?  [Enter Servant. 
If there be any Body that has Business with me, let 'em in.  Seru. 
Yes, Sir.  [Exit Seru. Enter Acquaint, who stands at a distance, making a great many fawning Bows. Aesop. 
Well, Friend, who are you?  Acquaint. 
My Name's Acquaint, Sir, the profoundest of all your Honour's humble Servants.  Aesop. 
And what may your Business be with me, Sir.  Acquaint. 
My Business, Sir, with every Man, is first of all to do him Service.  Aesop. 
And your next is, I suppose, to be paid for't twice as much as 'tis worth.  Acquaint. 
Your Honour's most Obedient, Humble Servant.  Aesop. 
Well, Sir, but upon what Account am I going to be obliged to you?  Acquaint. 
Sir, I'm a Geneologist.  Aesop. 
A Geneologist!  Acquaint. 
At your Service, Sir.  Aesop. 
So, Sir.  Acquaint. 
Sir, I am informed from common Fame, as well as from some little private familiar Intelligence, That your Wisdom is entering into Treaty with the Primum Mobile of all Good and Evil, a fine Lady. I have traveled, Sir, I have Read, Sir, I have Considered, Sir, and I find, Sir, that the Nature of a fine Lady, is to be— a fine Lady, Sir; a fine Lady's a fine Lady, Sir, all the World over; she loves a fine House, fine Furniture, fine Coaches, fine Liveries, fine Petticoats, fine Smocks; and if she stops there— she's a fine Lady indeed, Sir. But to come to my Point.  
It being the Lydian Custom, That the fair Bride should be presented on her Wedding-Day, with something that may signify the Merit and the Worth of her dread Lord and Master, I thought the Noble Aesop's Pedigree, might be the welcom'st Gift that he could offer. If his Honour be of the same Opinion,— I'll speak a bold Word; There's ne'er a Herald in all Asia, shall put better Blood in his Veins, than,— Sir, your humble Servant, jacob Acquaint.  Aesop. 
Dost thou then know my Father, Friend? for I protest to thee, I am a Stranger to him.  Acquaint. 
Your Father, Sir, ha, ha; I know every Man's Father, Sir, and every Man's Grandfather, and every Man's Great Grandfather. Why, Sir, I'm a Herald by Nature, my Mother was a Welsh. Woman.  Aesop. 
A Welch-Woman? Prithee of what Country's that?  Acquaint. 
That, Sir, is a Country in the World's backside, where every Man is born a Gentleman, and a Geneologist. Sir, I could tell my Mother's Pedigree before I could speak plain: which, to show you the depth of my Art, and the strength of my Memory, I'll trundle you down in an instant.  
Noah had three Sons, Shem, Ham, and japhet; Shem—  Aesop. 
Hold, I conjure thee, in the Name of all thy Ancestors.  Acquaint. 
Sir, I could take it higher, but I begin at Noah for brevity's sake.  Aesop. 
No more on't, I entreat thee.  Acquaint. 
Your Honour's impatient perhaps, to hear your own Descent. A Word to the Wise is enough. Hem, hem: Solomon, the wise King of judea—  Aesop. 
Hold once more.  Acquaint. 
Ha, ha; your Honour's modest, but— Solomon the wise King of judea—  Aesop. 
Was my Ancestor, was he not?  Acquaint. 
He was, my Lord, which no one sure can doubt, who observes how much of Prince there hangs about you.  Aesop. 
What? Is't in my Mien?  Acquaint. 
You have something— wondrous Noble in your Air.  Aesop. 
Personable too: view me well.  Acquaint. 
N— not Tall; but Majestic.  Aes. 
My Shape?  Q. 
A World of Symmetry in it.  Aes. 
The Lump upon my Back?  Q. 
N— not regular; but agreeable.  Aes. 
Now by my Honesty, thou art a Villain, Herald. But Flattery's a Thrust I never fail to Parry. 'Tis a Pass thou shouldst reserve for young Fencers; with Feints like those, they're to be hit: I do not doubt but thou hast found it so: hast not?  Q. 
I must confess, Sir, I have sometimes made 'em bleed by't. But I hope your Honour will please to excuse me, since, to speak the Truth, I get my Bread by't, and maintain my Wife and Children: And industry, you know, Sir, is a commendable thing. Besides, Sir, I have debated the business a little with my Conscience; for I'm like the rest of my Neighbours, I'd willingly get Money, and be saved too, if the thing may be done upon any reasonable Terms: And so Sir, I say, to quiet my Conscience, I have found out at last, That Flattery is a Duty.  Aesop. 
A Duty?  Acquaint. 
Ay, Sir; a Duty: For the Duty of all Men is to make one another pass their time as pleasantly as they can. Now, Sir, here's a young Lord, who has a great deal of Land, a great deal of Title, a great deal of Meat, a great deal of Noise, a great many Servants, and a great many Diseases. I find him very dull, very restless, tired with Ease, cloyed with Plenty, a Burden to himself, and a Plague to his Family. I begin to flatter: He springs off of the Couch; turns himself round in the Glass; finds all I say true; Cuts a Caper a Yard high? his Blood trickles round in his Veins; his Heart's as light as his Heels; and before I leave him— his Purse is as empty as his head. So we both are content; for we part much happier than we met.  Aesop. 
Admirable Rogue; what dost thou think of Murder and of Rape, are not they Duties too? Were't not for such vile fawning Things as thou art, young Nobles would not long be what they are: They'd grow ashamed of Luxury and Ease, and roof up the old Spirit of their Fathers; leave the pursuit of a poor frightened Hare, and make their Foes to tremble in her stead; Furnish their Heads with Sciences and Arts, and fill their Hearts with Honour, Truth and Friendship; be Generous to some, and Just to all; drive home their Creditors with Bags of Gold, instead of Chasing 'em with Swords and Staves; Be faithful to their King and Country both, and Stab the Offerer of a Bribe from either; blush even at a wandering thought of Vice, and boldly own they durst be Friends to Virtue; tremble at nothing but the frowns of Heaven, and be no more ashamed of him that made 'em.  Q. (Aside). 
If I stand to hear this Crump Preach a little longer, I shall be Fool enough perhaps to be bubled out of my Livelihood, and so lose a Bird in the Hand for two in the Bush.  
Sir, Since, I have not been able to bring you to a good Opinion of yourself, 'tis very probable I shall scarce prevail with you to have one of me. But if you please to do me the favour to forget me, I shall ever acknowledge myself,— Sir, your most obedient, faithful, humble Servant.  [Going. Aesop. 
Hold; If I let thee go, and give thee nothing, thou'lt be apt to grumble at me; and therefore— who waits there?  Enter Servant. Q. (Aside.) 
I done't like his Looks, by Gad.  Aesop. 
I'll present thee with a Token of my Love.  Q. 
A— another time, Sir, will do as well.  Aesop. 
No; I love to be out of Debt, though 'tis being out of the fashion. So d'ye hear? Give this honest Gentleman half a Score good Strokes on the Back with a Cudgel.  Q. 
By no means in the World, Sir.  Aesop. 
Indeed, Sir, you shall take 'em.  Q. 
Sir, I don't merit half your Bounty.  Aesop. 
O 'tis but a Trifle.  Q. 
Your Generosity makes me blush.  [Looking about to make his escape Aesop. 
That's your Modesty, Sir.  Q. 
Sir, you are pleased to compliment. But a— twenty Pedigrees for a clear Coast.  [Running off, the Servant after him. Aesop. 
Wait upon him down Stairs Fellow,  
I'd do't myself, were I but nimble enough, but he makes haste to avoid Ceremony.  Enter Servant. Seru. 
Sir, Here's a Lady in great haste, desires to speak with you.  Aesop. 
Let her come in.  Enter Aminta, Weep. Am. 
O Sir, If you don't help me, I'm undone.  Aesop. 
What, what's the Matter, Lady.  Am. 
My Daughter, Sir, my Daughter's run away with a filthy Fellow.  Aesop. 
A slippery Trick indeed.  Am. 
For Heaven's sake, Sir, send immediately to pursue 'em, and seize 'em: but 'tis in vain, 'twill be too late, 'twill be too late; I'll warrant at this very Moment they are got together in a Room with a Couch in't; all's gone, all's gone; tho' 'twere made of Gold, 'tis lost: Oh! my Honour, my Honour. A forward Girl she was always; I saw it in her Eyes the very Day of her birth.  Aesop. 
That indeed was early; but how do you know she's gone with a Fellow?  Am. 
I have e'en her own insolent Handwriting for't, Sir, take but the pains to read what a Letter she has left me.  Aesop. Reads. 
I Love, and beloved; and that's the reason I run away.  
Short, but Significant.  
— I'm sure there's no Body knows better than your Ladyship, what Allowances are to be made to Flesh and Blood; I therefore hope this from your justice, that what you have done three times yourself, you'll pardon once in your Daughter.  
The Dickins.  Am. 
Now, Sir, what do you think of the business?  Aesop. 
Why truly, Lady, I think it one of the most Natural Businesses I have met with a great while. I'll tell you a Story.  
A Crabfish once her Daughter told,  
(In terms that savoured much of scold)  
She could not bear to see her go,  
Sidle, sidle, to and fro;  
The Devil's in the Wench, quoth she,  
When so much Money has been paid,  
To polish you like me;  
It makes me almost mad to see,  
Y' are still so awkward an ungainly jade.  
Her Daughter smiled, and looked askew,  
She answered, (for to give her her due)  
Pertly, as most Folks Daughters do:  
Madam, Your Ladyship, quoth she,  
Is pleased to blame in me,  
What, on Enquiry you may find  
Admits a passable Excuse,  
From a Proverb much in use,  
That Cat will after kind.  Am. 
Sir, I took you to be a Man better bred, than to liken a Lady to a Crabfish.  Aesop. 
What I want in good Breeding, Lady, I have in Truth and Honesty: As what you have wanted in Virtue, you have had in a good Face.  Am. 
Have had, Sir? What I have had, I have still, and shall have a great while, I hope. I'm no Grandmother, Sir.  Aesop. 
But in a fair way for't, Madam.  Am. 
Thanks to my Daughter's forwardness then; not my Years. I'd have you to know, Sir, I have never a wrinkle in my Face. A young pert Slut! who'd think she should know so much at her Age.  Aesop. 
Good Masters make quick Scholars, Lady; she hasl earned her Exercise from you.  Am. 
But where's the Remedy, Sir?  Aesop. 
In trying if a good Example will reclaim her, as an ill one has debauched her. Live Private, and avoid Scandal.  Am. 
Never speak it; I can no more Retire, than I can go to Church twice of a Sunday.  Aesop. 
What? your Youthful Blood boils in your Veins, I'll warrant.  Am. 
I have warmth enough to endure the Air, old Gentleman. I need not shut myself up in a House these twenty Years.  Aesop. Aside.] 
She takes a long Lease of Lewdness; she'll be an admirable Tenant to Lust.  Am. walking hastily to and fro.] 
People think when a Woman is turned Forty, she's old enough to turn out of the World: but I say, when a Woman is turned Forty, she's old enough to have more Wit. The most can be said is, her Face is the worse for wearing: I'll answer for all the rest of her Fabric. The Men would be to be pitied, by my Troth, would they; if we should quit the Stage, and leave 'em nothing but a parcel of young pert Sluts, that neither know how to speak Sense, nor keep themselves clean.  
But don't let 'em fear, we ain't going yet.  [Aesop stares upon her, and as she turns from him, runs off the Stage. 
— How now? what? left alone. An unmannerly Piece of Deformity. Methinks he might have had Sense enough to have made Love to me. But I have found Men strangely dull, for these last Ten or Twelve Years: Sure they'll mend in time, or the World won't be worth living in.  
For let Philosophers say all they can,  
The Source of Woman's joys is placed in Man.  [Exit. Enter Learcus and Euphronia, Doris following at a Distance. L. to Eu. 
I must tell you, Mistress, I'm too mild with you, Parents should never entreat their Children, nor will I hereafter. Therefore, in a word, let Oronces be loved, let Aesop be hated; let one be a Peacock, let t'other be a Bat. I'm Father, you are Daughter, I command, and you shall obey.  Eu. 
I never yet did otherwise; nor shall I now, Sir; but pray let Reason guide you.  L. 
So it does: But 'tis my own, not yours, Hussey.  Do. 
Ah— Well, I'll say no more; but were I in her place, by the Mass, I'd have a tug for't.  L. 
Daemon; born to distract me. Whence art thou in the Name of Fire and Brimstone? Have I not satisfied thee? Have I not paid thee what's thy due? And have not I turned thee out of Doors, with Orders never more to stride my Threshold, ha? Answer, abominable Spirit; what is't that makes thee haunt me?  Do. 
A foolish Passion, to do you good in spite of your Teeth: Pox on me for my Zeal, I say.  L. 
And Pox on thee, and thy Zeal too, I say.  Do. 
Now if it were not for her sake, more than for yours, I'd leave all to your own management, to be revenged of you. But rather than I'll see that sweet thing sacrificed,— I'll play the Devil in your House.  L. 
Patience; I summon thee to my Aid.  Do. 
Passion; I defy thee; to the last drop of my Blood I'll maintain my ground. What have you to charge me with? Speak: I love your Child better than you do, and you can't bare that; ha? Is't not so? Nay, it's well you're ashamed on't; there's some Sign of Grace still.  
Look you, Sir, in few Words, you'll make me mad; and 'twere enough to make any Body mad (who has Brains enough to be so) to see so much Virtue shipwrecked at the very Port. The World never saw a Virgin better qualified; so witty, so discreet, so modest, so chaste; in a word, I brought her up myself; and 'twould be the death of me, to see so virtuous a Maid become a lewd Wife; which is the usual Effect of Parent's Pride and Covetousness.  L. 
How Strumpet; would any thing be able to debauch my Daughter?  Do. 
Your Daughter? Yes, your Daughter, and myself into the Bargain: A Woman's but a Woman: And I'll lay a hundred pound on Nature's side. Come, Sir, few Words dispatch Business. Let who will be the Wise of Aesop; she's a Fool, or he's a Cuckold. But you'll never have a true Notion of this Matter, till you suppose yourself in your Daughter's place. As thus:  
You are pretty, soft, warm, wishing young Lady: I'm a straight, proper, handsome, vigorous, young Fellow.  
You have a peevish, positive, covetous, old Father, and he forces you to marry a little lean, crooked, dry, sapless Husband. This Husband's gone abroad, you are left at home. I make you a Visit; find you all alone; The Servant pulls to the Door; the Devil comes in at the Window. I begin to wheedle, you begin to melt; you like my Person; and therefore believe all I say; so first I make you an Atheist, and then I make you a Whore. Thus the World goes, Sir.  L. 
Pernicious Pestilence: has thy Eternal Tongue run down its Laram yet?  Do. 
Yes.  L. 
Then go out of my House, Abomination.  Do. 
I'll not stir a Foot.  L. 
Who waits there? Bring me my great Stick.  Do. 
Bring you a Stick; bring you a Head-piece, that you'd call for, if you knew your own wants.  L. 
Death and Furies, the Devil, and so forth: I shall run distracted.  Eu. 
Pray, Sir, don't be so angry at her, I'm sure she means well, tho' she may have an odd way of expressing herself.  L. 
What, you like her meaning? Who doubts it, Offspring of Venus. But I'll make you stay you Stomach with Meat of my choosing, you liquorish young Baggage you. In a word, Aesop the Man; and to Morrow he shall be your Lord and Master.  
But since he can't be satisfied unless he has you Heart, as well as all the rest of your Trumpery, let me see you receive him in such a manner, that he may think himself your Choice, as well as mine, 'twill make him esteem your Judgement: For we usually guess at other People's Understandings, by their approving our Actions, and liking our Faces: See here the Great Man comes; (to Do.) Follow me, Insolence; and leave 'em to express their Passion to each other. (to Eu.) Remember my last Word to you is, Obey.  
(Do. to Eu. aside.) And remember my last Advice to you is, Rebel.  [Exit. L. Do. following him. Eu. 
Alas, I'm good natured; the last thing that's said to me, usually leaves the deepest Impression.  Enter Aesop. They stand sometime without speaking. Aes. 
— They say, That Lovets, for want of Words, have Eyes to speak with. I'm afraid you do not understand the Language of mine, since yours, I find, will make no Answer to 'em. But I must tell you, Lady, There is a numerous Train of Youthful Virgins, that are endowed with Wealth and Beauty too, who yet have thought it worth their Pains and Care, to point their Darts at Aesop's homely Breast; whilst you so much contemn, what they pursue, that a young Senseless Fops preferred before me.  Eu. 
Did you but know that Fop you dare to term so, his very Looks would fright you into nothing.  Aes. 
A very Bauble.  Eu. 
How?  Aes. 
A Butterfly.  Eu. 
I can't bear it.  Aes. 
A Paraquet, can prattle and look gaudy.  Eu. 
It may be so; but let me paint him and you, in your proper Colours, I'll do it exactly, and you shall judge which I ought to choose.  Aes. 
No, hold; I'm naturally not overcurious; besides, 'tis Pride makes People have their Pictures drawn.  Eu. 
Upon my word, Sir, you may have yours taken a hundred times, before any Body will believe 'tis done upon that Account.  Aes. (Aside) 
How severe she is upon me.  
You are resolved then to persist, and be fond of your Feather; sigh for a Periwig, and die for a Cravat-string?  Eu. 
Methinks, Sir, you might treat with more respect, what I've thought fit to own I value; your Affronts to him, are doubly such to me; if you continue your provoking Language, you must expect my Tongue will sally too; and if you are as wise, as some would make you, you can't but know, I should have Theme enough.  Aes. 
But is it possible you can love so much as you pretend?  Eu. 
Why do you question it?  Aes. 
Because no Body loves so much as they pretend to: But hark you, young Lady, Marriage is to last a long, long time; and where one Couple bless the Sacred Knot, a Train of Wretches curse the Institution. You are in an Age, where Hearts are young and tender, a pleasing Object gets Admittance soon. But since to Marriage there's annexed this dreadful Word, For Ever; the following Example ought to move you.  
A Peacock once, of splendid show,  
Gay, gaudy, foppish, vain— a Beau,  
Attacked a fond young Pheasants Heart  
With such Success,  
He pleased her, though he made her smart;  
He pierced her with so much Address,  
She smiled the Moment that he fixed his Dart.  
A Cuckoo in a Neighbouring Tree,  
Rich, honest, ugly, old— like me,  
Loved her as he loved his Life;  
No pampered Priest, e'er studied more,  
To make a virtuous Nun a Whore,  
Than he to get her for his Wife.  
But all his Offers still were vain,  
His Limbs were weak, his Face was plain,  
Beauty, Youth, and Vigour weighed  
With the warm desiring Maid,  
No Bird she cried would serve her turn,  
But what could quench as well as burn,  
She'd have a young Gallant; so one she had.  
But e'er a Month was come and gone,  
The Bride began to change her tone,  
She found a young Gallant was an inconstant one.  
She wandered to a Neighbouring Grove,  
Where after musing long on Love,  
She told her Confident, she found  
When for ones Life one must be bound,  
(Tho Youth indeed was a delicious Bait;)  
An Aged Husband, Rich, tho' plain,  
Would give a slavish Wife less pain,  
And what was more, was sooner slain,  
Which was a thing of Weight.  
Behold young Lady here, The Cuckoo of the Fable: I am deformed, 'tis true▪ yet I have found the means to make a Figure amongst Men, that well has recompensed the wrongs of Nature; my Rival's Beauty promises you much; perhaps my homely Form might yield you more; at least consider on't, 'tis worth your Thought.  Eu. 
I must confess, my Fortune would be greater;  
But what's a Fortune to a Heart like mine?  
'Tis true, I'm but a young Philosopher,  
Yet in that little space my Glass has run,  
I've spent some time in search of Happiness;  
The fond pursuit I soon observed of Riches,  
Inclined me to inquire into their worth:  
I found their value was not in themselves,  
But in their power to grant what we could ask.  
I then proceeded to my own Desires,  
To know what state of Life would suit with them:  
I found 'em Moderate in their Demands;  
They neither asked for Title, State, or Power;  
They slighted the Aspiring Post of Envy:  
'Tis true, they trembled at the Name Contempt;  
A general Esteem was all they wished;  
And that I did not doubt might be obtained,  
If furnished but with Virtue and good Nature;  
My Fortune proved sufficient to afford me  
Conveniencies of Life, and Independence.  
This, Sir, was the result of my Enquiry;  
And by this Scheme of Happiness I build,  
When I prefer the Man I Love to you.  Aes. 
How Wise, how Witty, and how Cleanly young Women grow, as soon as ever they are in Love?  Eu. 
How Foppish, how Impertinent, and how Nauseous are Old Men, when they pretend to be so too?  Aes. 
How Pert is Youth?  Eu. 
How dull is Age?  Aes. 
Why so sharp, young Lady?  Eu. 
Why so blunt, old Gentleman?  Aes. 
'Tis enough; I'll to your Father, I know how to deal with him, tho' I don't know how to deal with you. Before to Morrow Noon, Damsel, Wife shall be written on your Brow.  [Exit Aes. Eu. 
Then before to Morrow Night, Statesman, Husband shall be stamped upon your Forehead.  [Exit Eu. 
End of the Third Act.   

ACT IU.  Enter Oronces and Doris. Do. 
PAtience, I beseech you.  Or. 
Patience? What, and see that lovely Creature thrown into the Arms of that Pedantic Monster; 'Sdeath, I'd rather see the World reduced to Atoms, Mankind turned into Craw-fish, and myself an Old Woman.  Do. 
So you think an Old Woman a very unfortunate thing, I find, but you are mistaken Sir; she may plague other Folks, but she's as Entertaining to herself, as any one part of the Creation.  Or. (walking to and fro.) 
She's the Devil— And I'm one of the Damned, I think. But I'll make some Body howl for't, I will so.  Do. 
You'll e'en do as all the young Fellows in the Town do, spoil your own Sport; ah— had young men's Shoulders, but old Courtiers heads upon 'em, what a delicious Time would they have on't. For shame be wise; for your Mistress's sake, at least, use some Caution.  Or. 
For her sake I'll respect, even like a Deity, her Father. He shall strike me; he shall tread upon me, and find me humbler, even than a crawling Worm; for I'll not turn again; but for Aesop, that unfinished Lump; that Chaos of Humanity, I'll use him,— nay expect it, for I'll do't— the first Moment that I see him, I'll—  Do. 
Not Challenge him, I hope;— 'Twould be a pretty fight truly, to see Aesop drawn up in Battalia: Fie for shame, be wise once in your Life, think of gaining time, by putting off the Marriage for a Day or two, and not of waging War with Pigmy. Yonder's the Old Gentleman walking by himself in the Gallery; go and wheedle him, you know his weak side; he's good natured in the bottom. Stir up his old Fatherly Bowels a little, I'll warrant you'll move him at last, ho get you gone, and play your Part discreetly.  Or. 
Well; I'll try; but if Words won't do with one, Blows shall with t'other, by Heavens they shall.  (Exit Or. Do. (Solus) 
Nay, I reckon we shall have rare work on't, by and by. Shield us kind Heaven; what things are Men in Love? Now they are Stocks and Stones; then they are Fire and Quicksilver; first whining and crying, then Swearing and Damning; this Moment they are in Love, and next Moment they are out of Love; ah— could we but live without 'em— but it's in vain to think on't.  [Ex. Do. Enter Aesop at one side of the Stage, Mrs. Forge-Will at tother. For. 
Sir, I am your most devoted Servant: what I say is no Compliment, I do assure you.  Aes. 
Madam, as far as you are really mine, I believe I may venture to assure you, I am yours.  For. 
I suppose, Sir, you know that I'm a Widow?  Aes. 
Madam, I don't so much as know you are a Woman.  For. 
O surprising! why, I thought the whole Town had known it. Sir, I have been a Widow this Twelvemonth.  Aes. 
If a Body may guests at your Heart by your Petticoat, Lady, you don't design to be so a Twelvemonth more.  For. 
O bless me, not a Twelvemonth? why, my Husband has left me four squaling Brats. Besides, Sir, I'm undone.  Aes. 
You seem as cheerful an undone Lady, as I have met with.  For. 
Alas, Sir, I have too great a Spirit ever to let Afflictions spoil my Face. Sir, I'll tell you my Condition; and that will lead me to my Business with you. Sir, my Husband was a Scrivener.  Aes. 
The Deux he was? I thought he had been a Count at least.  For. 
Sir, 'Tis not the first time I have been taken for a Countess, my Mother used to say, as I lay in my Cradle, I had the Air of a Woman of Quality; and truly, I have always lived like such. My Husband, indeed, had something Sneaking in him (as most Husbands have, you know Sir) but from the Moment I set foot in his House, bless me, what a Change was there! His Pewter was turned into Silver; his Goloshoes into a Glass Coach, and his little Travelling Mare into a pair of Flanders Horses. Instead of a greasy Cookmaid to wait at Table, I had four tall Footmen, in clean Linen; all things became new and fashionable, and nothing looked awkward in my Family. My Furniture was the wonder of my Neighbourhood, and my clothes the admiration of the whole Town; I had a Necklace that was envied by the Queen, and a pair of Pendants that set a Duchess a crying. In a word, I saw nothing I liked, but I bought it; and my Husband, good Man, durst ne'er refuse paying for't. Thus I lived, and I flourished, till he sickened, and died; but e'er he was cold in his Grave, his Creditors plundered my House. But what pity it was to see Fellows with dirty Shoes, come into my best Rooms, and touch my Hangings with their filthy Fingers. You won't blame me, Sir, if with all my Courage, I weep at this sensible part of my Misfortune.  Aes. 
A very sad Story, truly.  For. 
But now, Sir, to my Business. Having been informed this Morning, That the King has appointed a great Sum of Money, for the Marriage of young Women who have lived well, and are fallen to decay: I am come to acquaint you, I have two strapping Daughters just fit for the Matter; and to desire you'll help. 'em to Portions out of the King's Bounty, that they mayn't whine and pine, and be eaten up with the Green Sickness, as half the young Women in the Town are, or would be, if there were not more helps for a Disease than one. This, Sir, is my Business.  Aes. 
And this, Madam, is my Answer.  
A crawling Toad, all speckled o'er,  
Vain, gaudy, painted, patched,— a Whore,  
Seeing a well-fed Ox hard by,  
Regards him with an envious Eye,  
And (as the Poets tell;)  
Ye Gods I cannot bareed, quoth she,  
I'll burst, or be as big as he,  
And so began to swell.  
Her Friends and Kindred round her came,  
They showed her she was much to blame,  
The thing was out of reach.  
She told 'em they were busy Folks,  
And when her Husband would have spoke,  
She bid him kiss her Br  
With that they all e'en gave her o'er,  
And she persisted as before,  
Till with a deal of strife,  
She swelled at last, so much her Spleen,  
She burst, like one, that we have seen,  
Who was a Scrivener's Wife.  
This, Widow, I take to be your Case, and that of a great many others; for this is an Age, where most People get falls, by clambering too high, to reach at what they should not do. The Shoemaker's Wife reduces her Husband to a Cobbler, by endeavouring to be as Spruce as the Tailors: The tailor's brings hers to a Butcher, by going as fine as the Mercers; The Mercer's lours hers to a Foreman, by perking up to the Merchants; The Merchant's wears hers to a Broker, by strutting up to Quality; and Quality brings theirs to nothing, by striving to outdo one another. If Women were humbler, Men would be honester. Pride brings Want, Want makes Rogues, Rogues come to be hanged, and the Devil alone's the Gainer. Go your ways hone, Woman; and as your Husband maintained you by his Pen, maintain yourself by your Needle; put your great Girls to Service; Employment will keep 'em honest; much Work, and plain Diet, will cure the Green sickness as well as a Husband.  For. 
Why, you pitiful Pigmy, preaching, canting, Pickthank; you little, sorry, crooked, dry, withered Eunuch; do you know that—  Aes. 
I know that I am so deformed you han't Wit enough to describe me; but I have this good quality, That a foolish Woman can never make me Angry.  For. 
Can't she so; I'll try that I will.  [She falls upon him, holds his hands, and boxes his Ears. Aes. 
Help, help, help.  Enter Servants. She runs off, they after him. Aes. 
Nay, e'en let her go— let her go— don't bring her back again— I'm for making a Bridge of Gold for my Enemy to retreat upon— I'm quite out of Breath,— a terrible Woman, I protest.  Enter a Country Gentleman drunk, in a Hunting Dress, with a Huntsman, Groom, Faulkner, and other Servants: one leading a couple of Hounds, another Greyhounds, a Third a Spaniel; a Fourth a Gun upon his Shoulder, the Falconer a Hawk upon his Fist, etc. Gen. 
Haux, haux, haux, haux, haux: Joular, there Boy, Joular, Joular, Tinker, Pedlar, Miss, Miss, Miss, Miss, Miss,— Blood and Oons— O there he is; that must be he, I have seen his Picture. (Reeling up to Aesop)— Sir— if your Name's Aesop— I'm your humble Servant.  Aes. 
Sir, My Name is Aesop, at your Service.  Gent. 
Why then Sir— Compliments being passed on both sides with your leave— we'll proceed to Business.  
Sir, I am by Profession— a Gentleman of— Three Thousand Pounds a Year— Sir, I keep a good Pack of Hounds, and a good Stable of Horses.  
(To his Groom.) How many Horses have I, Sirrah?— Sir, this is my Groom.  (presenting him to Aesop.) Groom. 
Your Worship has six Coach-Horses, (Cut and Long-Tail) two Runners, half a dozen Hunters, four breeding Mares, and two blind Stallions, besides Pads, Routs, and Dog-Horses.  Gent. 
Look you there Sir, I scorn to tell a Lye. He that questions my Honour— He's a Son of a Whore. But to Business— Having heard, Sir, that you were come to this Town; I have taken the Pains to come hither too, tho' I had a great deal of Business upon my hands, for I had appointed three justices of the Peace to Hunt with 'em this Morning— and be Drunk with 'em in the Afternoon. But the main Chance, must be looked to and that's this— I desire, Sir, you'll tell the King from me— I done't like these Taxes— in one word, as well as in Twenty— I done't like these Taxes.  Aes. 
Pray, Sir, how high may you be Taxed.  Gent. 
How high may I be Taxed Sir,— Why, I may be Taxed Sir— four Shillings in the Pound, Sir, one half I pay in Money— and t'other half I pay in Perjury, Sir. hay, Joular, Joular, Joular Haux, haux, haux, haux, haux. Who, ho— Here's the best Hound Bitch in Europe, Zounds is she. And I had rather kiss her, than kiss my Wife— Rot me if I had not— But, Sir, I don't like these Taxes.  Aes. 
Why how would you have the War carried on?  Gent. 
War carried on Sir?— Why I had rather have no War carried on at all, Sir, than pay Taxes. I don't desire to be ruined Sir.  Aes. 
Why you say you have Three Thousand Pounds a Year.  Gent. 
And so I have, Sir— Lett-Acre. Sir, this is my Steward. How much Land have I, Lett-Acre?  Lett-Acre. 
Your Worship has Three Thausand Paunds a Year, as good Lond as any i'th' Caunty; and two Thausand Paunds worth of Wood, to cut dawn at your worship's pleasure, and put the Money in your Pocket.  Gent. 
Look you there, Sir, what have you to say to that?  Aes. 
I have to say, Sir, that you may pay your Taxes in Money; instead of Perjury, and still have a better Revenue than I'm afraid you deserve. What Service do you do your King, Sir?  Gent. 
None at all Sir— I'm above it.  Aes. 
What Service may you do your Country, pray?  Gent. 
I'm Justice of the Peace— and Captain of the Militia.  Aes. 
Of what use are you to your Kindred?  Gent. 
I'm the Head of the Family, and have all the Estate.  Aes. 
What Good do you do your Neighbours?  Gent. 
I give 'em their Bellies full of Beef, every time they come to see me; and make 'em so drunk they Spew it up again, before they go away.  Aes. 
How do you use your Tenants?  Gent. 
Why I screw up their Rents till they break and run away, and if I catch 'em again; I let 'em Rot in a Goal.  Aes. 
How do you Treat your Wise?  Gent. 
I treat her all Day with ill Nature and Tobacco; and all Night with Snoring, and a dirty Shirt.  Aes. 
How do you Breed your Children?  Gent. 
I breed my Eldest Son— a Fool; my Youngest breed themselves, and my Daughters— have no Breeding at all.  Aes. 
'Tis very well, Sir, I shall be sure to speak to the King of you; or if you think sit to Remonstrate to him, by way of Petition or Address, how reasonable it may be to let Men of your Importance go Scot-free, in the time of a necessary War, I'll deliver it in Council, and speak to it as I ought.  Gent. 
Why, Sir, I don't disapprove your Advice, but my Clerk is not here, and I can't Spell well.  Aes. 
You may get it writ at your Leisure, and send it me. But because you are not much used to draw up Addresses, perhaps; I'll tell you in general, what kind of one this aught to be.  
May it please Your Majesty—  
(To the Gent.) You'll excuse me if I don't know your Name and Title.  Gent. 
Sir Polidorus Hogstye, of Beast-Hall, in Swine County.  Aes. 
Very well.  
May it please your Majesty; Polidorus Hogstye, of Beast-Hall, in Swine County, most humbly represents, That he hates to Pay Taxes, the dreadful Consequences of 'em being inevitably these; That he must retrench two Dishes in Ten, where not above six of 'em are designed for Gluttony.  
Four Bottles out of Twenty; where not above fifteen of 'em are for Drunkenness.  
Six Horses out of Thirty; of which not above Twenty are kept for State.  
And four Servants out of a Score; where one half do nothing but make Work for tother.  
To this deplorable Condition must your Important Subject be reduced, or forced to cut down his Timber, which he would willingly preserve, against an ill run at Dice.  
And as to the necessity of the War, for the Security of the Kingdom; he neither knows, nor cares, whether it be necessary, or not.  
He concludes, with his Prayers for Your Majesty's Life, upon condition, you will Protect him and his Fox-hounds, at Beast-Hall, without e'er a Penny of Money.  
(To the Gent.) This, Sir, I suppose, is much what you would be at.  Gent. 
Exactly, Sir, I'll be sure to have one drawn up, to the self same purpose; and next Fox-Hunting I'll engage half the Company shall set their Hands to't.  
Sir, I am your— most devoted Servant; and if you please to let me see you at Beast-Hall, here's my Huntsman Houndsfoot will show you a Fox, shall lead you through so many Hedges and Briars, you shall have no more clothes on your Back in half an Hours time— than you had— in the Womb of your Mother. Haux, haux, haux, etc.  [Ex. Shout. Aes. 
O Tempora, O Mores!  Enter Mr. Fruitful, and his Wife. Mr. F. 
Heavens preserve the Noble Aesop; grant him long Life and happy Days.  Mrs. F. 
And send him a fruitful Wise, with a hopeful Issue.  Aes. 
And what is it I'm to do for you, good People, to make you amends for all these friendly wishes?  Mr. F. 
Sir, here's myself and my Wife—  Mrs. F. 
Sir, here's I and my Husband— (to her Husband.) Let me speak in my turn, Goodman Forward.  
(To Aes.) Sir, here's I and my Husband, I say, think we have as good Pretensions to the King's Favour, as ever a Lord in the Land.  Aes. 
If you have no better than some Lords in the Land, I hope you won't expect much for your Service.  Mr. F. 
An't please you, you shall be Judge yourself.  Mrs. F. 
That's as he gives Sentence, Mr. Little-wit; who gave you power to come to a Reference. If he does not do us Right, the King himself shall; what's to be done here?  
(To Aes.) Sir, I'm forced to Correct my Husband a little; poor Man, he is not used to Court Business; but to give him his due, he's ready enough at some things: Sir, I have had twenty fine Children by him; fifteen of-em are alive, and alive like to be; five tall Daughters are wedded and bedded, and ten proper Sons serve their King and their Country.  Aes. 
A goodly Company upon my word.  Mrs. F. 
Would all Men take as much pains for the Peopling the Kingdom, we might tuck up our Aprons, and cry a Fig for our Enemies; but we have such a parcel of Drones amongst us— Hold up your Head, Husband— He's a little out of Countenance, Sir, because I chid him; but the Man's a very good Man at the bottom. But to come to my Business, Sir; I hope His Majesty will think it reasonable to allow me something for the Service I have done him; 'tis pity but Labour should be encouraged, especially when what one has done, one has don't with a good will.  
(To Mr. F.) What Profession are you of, good People?  Mrs. F. 
My Husband's an Innkeeper, Sir; he bears the Name, but I govern the House.  Aes. 
And what Posts are your Sons in, in the Service?  Mrs. F. 
Sir, there are four Monks.  Mr. F. 
Three Attorneys.  Mrs. F. 
Two Scriveners.  Mr. F. 
And an Excise-man.  Aes. 
The deux o' the Service; why, I thought they had been all in the Army.  Mrs. F. 
Not one, Sir.  Aes. 
No, so it seems, by my Troth: Ten Sons that serve their Country, quoth a, Monks, Attorneys, Scriveners and Excise men, serve their Country with a Vengeance; you deserve to be rewarded, truly; you deserve to be hanged, you wicked People you. Get you gone out of my sight: I never was so angry in my Life.  [Exit Aes. Mr. F. to his Wife.] 
So; who's in the right now; you or I; I told you what would come on't; you must be always a Breeding, and Breeding, and the King would take care of 'em, and the Queen would take care of 'em. And always some pretence or other there was. But now we have got a great Kennel of Whelps, and the Devil will take care of 'em, for aught I see. For your Sons are all Rogues, and your Daughters are all Whores, you know they are.  Mrs. F. 
What, you are a grudging of your Pains now, you Lazy, Sluggish, Phlegmatic Drone. You have a mind to die of a Lethargy, have you? but I'll raise your Spirits for you, I will so. Get you gone home, go; go home you Idle Sot, you, I'll raise your Spirits for you.  [Exit pushing him before her. Re-enter Aesop. Aes. Solus.] 
Monks, Attorneys, Scriveners, and Excise-men.  Enter Oronces. Or. 
O here he is: Sir, I have been searching you, to say two Words to you.  Aes. 
And now you have found me, Sir, what are they?  Or. 
They are, Sir— that my Name's Oronces; you comprehend me.  Aes. 
I comprehend your Name.  Or. 
And not my Business?  Aes. 
Not I, by my Troth.  Or. 
Then I shall endeavour to teach it you, Monsieur Aesop.  Aes. 
And I to learn it, Monsieur Oronces.  Or. 
Know, Sir— that I admire Euphronia.  Aes. 
Know, Sir— that you are in the right on't.  Or. 
But I pretend, Sir, that no Body else shall admire her.  Aes. 
Then I pretend, Sir, she won't admire you.  Or. 
Why so, Sir?  Aes. 
Because, Sir,  Or. 
What, Sir?  Aes. 
She's a Woman, Sir.  Or. 
What then, Sir?  Aes. 
Why then, Sir, she desires to be admired by every Man she meets.  Or. 
Sir, You are too familiar.  Aes. 
Sir, you are too haughty; I must soften that harsh tone of yours: It don't become you, Sir; it makes a Gentleman appear a Porter, Sir: And that you may know the use of good Language, I'll tell you what once happenned.  
Once on a Time  Or. 
I'll have none of your old Wives Fables, Sir: I have no Time to lose; therefore, in a word—  Aes. 
In a word, be mild: For nothing else will do you Service. Good Manners and soft Words have brought many a difficult thing to pass. Therefore hear me patiently.  

A Cook one Day, who had been drinking,  
(Only as many times you know,  
You spruce, young witty Beaux will do,  
T'avoid the dreadful pain of Thinking)  
Had Orders sent him to behead  
A Goose, like any Chaplain fed.  
He took such Pains to set his Knife right,  
'Thad done one good t'have lost ones Life by't.  
But many Men, have many Minds,  
There's various Tastes in various Kind's;  
A Swan (who by mistake he seized)  
With wretched Life was better pleased.  
For as he went to give the Blow,  
In tuneful Notes, she let him know,  
She neither was a Goose, nor wished  
To make her Exit so.   

The Cook (who thought of nought but Blood,  
Except it were the Grease,  
For that you knows his Fees)  
To hear her sing, in great Amazement stood.  
Cod's Fish, quoth he, 'twas well you spoke,  
For I was just upon the stroke.  
Your Feathers have so much of Goose,  
A Drunken Cook could do no less,  
Then think you one; That you'll Confess.  
But you've a Voice, so soft, so sweet,  
That rather than you shall be eat,  
The House shall Starve for want of Meat  
And so he turned her loose.   
(To Or.) Now, Sir, what say you? Will you be the Swan, or the Goose?  Or. 
The Choice can't, sure, be difficult to make,  
I hope you will excuse my Youthful heat,  
Young Men and Lovers, have a Claim to Pardon  
But since the faults of Age have no such Plea,  
I hope you'll be more Cautious of offending.  
The Flame that warms Euphronia's Heart and mine  
Has long, alas! been kindled in our Breasts,  
Even Years are past, since our two Souls were wed,  
Twoved be Adultery, but to wish to part 'em.  
And would a Lump of Clay alone content you,  
A Mistress Cold and Senseless in your Arms,  
Without the least remains or signs of Life  
Except her Sighs, to Mourn her Absent Lover.  
Whilst you should press her in your eager Arms,  
With fond desire and ecstasy of Love,  
Would it not pierce you to the very Soul;  
To see her Tears run trickling down her Cheeks,  
And know their Fountain, meant 'em all to me?  
Could you bore this?  
Yet thus the Gods revenge themselves on those  
Who stop the happy Course of mutual Love.  
If you must be Unfortunate one way,  
Choose that, where Justice may support your Grief,  
And shun the weighty Curse of Injured Lovers.  Aes. 
Why, this is pleading like a Swan indeed—  
Were any thing at Stake but my Euphronia—  Or. 
Your Euphronia Sir—  Aes. 
The Goose— take heed—  
Were any thing, I say, at stake but her;  
Your Plea would be too strong to be refused.  
But our Debate's about a Lady, Sir,  
That's Young, that's Beautiful, that's made for Love  
— So am not I you'll say? But you're mistaken, Sir; I'm made to Love, tho' not to be beloved. I have a Heart like yours; I've folly too: I've every Instrument of Love like others.  Or. 
But, Sir, you have not been long a Lover,  
Your Passion's young and tender,  
'Tis easy for you to become its Master.  
Whilst I should strive in vain, mine's Old and Fixed,  Aes. 
The older 'tis, the easier to be governed,  
Were mine of as long a standing, 'twere possible I might get the better on't. Old Passions are like Old Men; Weak, and soon jostled into the Channel.  Or. 
Yet Age sometimes is strong, even to the Verge of Life.  Aes. 
Ay, but there our Comparison don't hold.  Or. 
You are too merry to be much in Love.  Aes. 
And you too sad to be so long.  Or. 
My Grief may end my days, so quench my Flame; but nothing else can e'er extinguish it.  Aes. 
Don't be discouraged Sir; I have seen many a Man outlive his Passion Twenty Years.  Or. 
But I have Sworn, to die Euphronia's Slave.  Aes. 
A decayed Face always absolves a Lover's Oath.  Or. 
Lovers whose Oaths are made to Faces then: But 'tis Euphronia's Soul that I adore, which never can decay.  Aes. 
I would fain see a young Fellow in Love with a Soul of Threescore.  Or. 
Quit but Euphronia to me, and you shall,  
At least if Heaven's Bounty will afford us  
But Years enough to prove my Constancy,  
And this is all I ask the Gods and you.  (Exit. Or. Aesop solus. 
A good pretence however, to beg a long Life.  
How grossly do the Inclinations of the Flesh,  
Impose upon the simplicity of the Spirit?  
Had this young Fellow but studied Anatomy, he'd have found the Source of his Passion lay far from his Mistress's Soul.  
Alas, Alas!  
Had Women no more Charms in their Bodies,  
Than what they have in their Minds,  
We should see more wise Men in the World,  
Much fewer Lovers and Poets.  (Exit. 
End of the Fourth Act.   

ACT V.  Enter Euphronia and Doris. Eu. 
heavens, what is't you make me do, Doris? Apply myself to the Man I loath; beg Favours from him I hate; seek a Reprieve from him I abhor? 'Tis low, 'tis mean, 'tis base in me.  Do. 
Why, you hate the Devil as much as you do Aesop, (or within a small matter) and should you think it a scandal to pray him to let you alone a day or two, if he were a going to run away with you; ha?  Eu. 
I don't know what I think, nor what I say, nor what I do: But sure, thouart not my Friend, thus to advise me.  Do. 
I advise? I advise nothing; e'en follow your own way, marry him and make much of him. I have a mind to see some of his Breed; if you like it, I like it: He shan't breed out of me only; that's all I have to take care of.  Eu. 
Prithee don't distract me.  Do. 
Why, to morrow's the day, fixed and firm, you know it; Much Meat, little Order, great many Relations, few Friends, Horseplay, Noise, and bawdy Stories; all's ready for a complete Wedding.  Eu. 
Oh, what shall I do?  Do. 
Nay, I know this makes you tremble; and yet your tender Conscience scruples to drop one Hypocritical Curtsy, and say, pray, Mr. Aesop, be so kind to defer it a few days longer.  Eu. 
Thou know'st I cannot dissemble.  Do. 
I know you can dissemble well enough, when you should not do't. Do you remember how you used to plague your poor Oronces; make him believe you loathed him, when you could have kissed the ground he went on; affront him in all public Places; ridicule him in all Company; abuse him wherever you went; and when you had reduced him within Am's Ace of hanging or drowning, then come home with Tears in your Eyes, and cry, now, Doris, let's go lock ourselves up, and talk of my dear Oronces. Is not this true?  Eu. 
Yes, yes, yes. But, prithee, have some Compassion on me. Come, I'll do any thing thou bid'st me— What shall I say to this Monster? Tell me, and I'll obey thee.  Do. 
Nay, then there's some hopes of you.  
Why, you must tell him— 'Tis natural to you to dislike Folks at first sight: That since you have considered him better, you find your Aversion abated: That though perhaps it may be a hard matter for you ever to think him a Beau, you don't despair in time of finding out his jene scai quoy. And that on t'other side; tho' you have hitherto thought (as most young Women do) that nothing could remove your first Affection, yet you have very great hopes in the natural Inconstancy of your Sex.  
Tell him, 'tis not impossible a change may happen, provided he gives you time: But that if he goes to force you, there's another piece of Nature peculiar to Woman, which may chance to spoil all, and that's Contradiction: Ring that Argument well in his Ears: He's a Philosopher, he knows it has weight in't.  
In short, Wheedle, whine, flatter, lie, weep, spare nothing, it's a moist Age, Women have Tears enough; and when you have melted him down, and gained more time, we'll employ it in Closet-Debates how to cheat him to the end of the Chapter.  Eu. 
But you don't consider, Doris, that by this means I engage myself to him; and can't afterwards with Honour retreat.  Do. 
Madam, I know the World— Honour ' a Jest, when Jilting's useful.  
Besides, he that would have you break your Oath with Oronces, can never have the Impudence to blame you for cracking your Word with himself. But who knows what may happen between the Cup and the Lip. Let either of the Old Gentlemen die, and we ride triumphant. Would I could but see the Statesman sick a little, I'd recommend a Doctor to him, a Cousin of mine, a Man of Conscience, a wise Physician; tip but the Wink, he understands you.  Eu. 
Thou wicked Wench, wouldst poison him?  Do. 
I don't know what I would do, I think, I study, I invent, and some how I will get rid of him. I do more for you, I'm sure, than you and your Knight Errand do together for yourselves.  Eu. 
Alas, both he and I do all we can; thou know'st we do.  Do. 
Nay, I know you're willing enough to get together; but you're a couple of helpless Things, Heaven knows.  Eu. 
Our Stars, thou seest, are bent to Opposition.  Do. 
Stars!— I'd fain see the Stars hinder me from running away with a Man I liked.  Eu. 
Ay, But thou know'st, should I disoblige my Father, he'd give my Portion to my younger Sister.  Do. 
Ay, there the Shoe pinches, there's the Love of the Age; Ah!— to what an Ebb of Passion are Lovers sunk in these days. Give me a Woman that runs away with a Man, when his whole Estate's packed up in his Snap-sack. That tucks up her Coats to her Knees; and through thick and through thin, from Quarters to Camp trudges heartily on, with a Child at her Back, another in her Arms, and a brace in her Belly: There's Flame with a Witness, where this is the Effects on't. But we must have Love in a Featherbed, Forsooth, a Coach and Six Horses, Clean Linen, and a Caudle; Fie, for shame.  
O ho, here comes our Man. Now show yourself a Woman, if you are one.  Enter Aesop. Aes. 
I'm told, fair Virgin, you desire to speak with me. Lovers are apt to flatter themselves: I take your Message for a Favour. I hope 'twas meant so.  Eu. 
Favours from Women are so cheap of late, Men may expect 'em truly without Vanity.  Aes. 
If the Women are so liberal, I think the Men are generous too on their side: 'Tis a well-bred Age, thank Heaven; and a deal of Civility there passes between the two Sexes. What Service is't that I can do you, Lady?  Eu. 
Sir, I have a small Favour to entreat you.  Aes. 
What is't? I don't believe I shall refuse you.  Eu. 
What, if you should promise me you won't.  Aes. 
Why, then I should make a Divorce between my good Breeding and my Sense, which ought to be as sacred a Knot as that of Wedlock.  Eu. 
Dare you not trust then, Sir, the thing you love?  Aes. 
Not when the thing I love don't love me; never.  Do. 
Trust is sometimes the way to be beloved.  Aes. 
Ay, but 'tis oftener the way to be cheated.  Eu. 
Pray promise me you'll grant my suit.  Do. 
'Tis a reasonable one, I give you my word for't.  Aes. 
If it be so, I do promise to grant it.  Do. 
That's still leaving yourself Judge.  Aes. 
Why, who's more concerned in the Trial?  Do. 
But no body ought to be Judge in their own Cause.  Aes. 
Yet he that is so, is sure to have no wrong done him.  Do. 
But if he does wrong to others, that's worse.  Aes. 
Worse for them, but not for him.  Do. 
True Politician, by my troth!  Aes. 
Men must be so, when they have to do with Sharpers.  Eu. 
If I should tell you then, there were a possibility, I might be brought to love you, you'd scarce believe me?  Aes. 
I should hope as a Lover, and suspect as a Statesman.  
Do. aside.] Love and Wisdom! There's the Passion of the Age again.  Eu. 
You have lived long, Sir, and observed much: Did you never see Time produce strange Changes?  Aes. 
Amongst Women I must confess I have.  Eu. 
Why, I'm a Woman, Sir.  Aes. 
Why, truly that gives me some hopes.  Eu. 
I'll increase 'em, Sir; I have already been in love two years.  Do. 
And Time, you know, wears all things to tatters.  Aes. 
Well observed.  Eu. 
What if you should allow me some, to try what I can do?  Aes. 
Why, truly, I would have patience a day or two, if there were as much probability of my being your new Gallant, as perhaps there may be of changing your old one.  Do. 
She shall give you fair play for't, Sir; Opportunity and leave to prattle, and that's what carries most Women in our days. Nay, she shall do more for you. You shall play with her Fan; squeeze her little Finger; buckle her Shoe; read a Romance to her in the Arbour; and saunter in the Woods, on a Moon-shiny Night. If this don't melt her, she's no Woman; or you no Man—  Aes. 
I'm not a Man to melt a Woman that way: I know myself, and know what they require. 'Tis through a Woman's Eye you pierce her Heart. And, I've no Darts can make their entrance there.  Do. 
You are a great Statesman, Sir; but I find you know little of our Matters. A woman's heart's to be entered forty ways. Every Sense she has about her, keeps a door to't. With a Smockface, and a Feather, you get in at her Eyes. With powerful Nonsense, in soft words, you creep in at her Ears. An Essenced Peruke, and a Sweet Handkerchief, lets you in at her Nose. With a Treat, and a Box full of Sweetmeats, you slip in at her Mouth: And if you would enter by her Sense of Feeling, 'tis as beaten a Road as the rest. What think you now, Sir? There are more ways to the Wood than one, you see.  Aes. 
Why, you're an admirable Pilot: I don't doubt but you have fleered many a Ship safe to Harbour: But I'm an old stubborn Seaman; I must sail by my own Compass still.  Eu. 
And, by your Obstinacy, lose your Vessel.  Aes. 
No: I'm just entering into Port; we'll be married tomorrow.  Eu. 
For Heaven's sake, defer it some days longer: I cannot love you yet, indeed I cannot.  Aes. 
Nor never will, I dare swear.  Eu. 
Why then will you marry me?  Aes. 
Because I love you.  Eu. 
If you loved me, you would never make me miserable.  Aes. 
Not if I loved you for your sake; but I love you for my own.  
Do. aside.] There's an old Rogue for you.  Eu. weeping.] 
Is there no way left? Must I be wretched?  Aes. 
'Tis but resolving to be pleased. You can't imagine the strength of Resolution. I have seen a Woman resolve to be in the wrong, all the days of her life; And by the help of her Resolution, she has kept her word to a tittle.  Eu. 
Methinks, the Subject we're upon, should be of weight enough to make you serious.  Es. 
Right: To morrow morning pray be ready: You'll find me so: I'm serious: Now I hope you are pleased.  [Turning away from her. Eu. Going off weeping, and leaning upon Doris.] 
Break Heart! For if thou hold'st, I'm miserable.  Do. to Aes.] 
Now my the Extravagance of a lewd Wife, with the Insolence of a Virtuous one, join hand in hand to bring thy Grey Hairs to the Grave.  [Exeunt Euphronia and Doris. Aes. 
My old Friend wishes me well to the last I see.  Enter Learcus hastily, followed by Oronces. Or. 
Pray hear me, Sir.  L. 
'Tis in vain: I'm resolved, I tell thee.  
Most Noble Aesop, since you are pleased to accept of my poor Offspring for your Consort, be so charitable to my Old Age, to deliver me from the Impertinence of Youth, by making her your Wife this Instant; for there's a Plot against my Life; they have resolved to tease me to Death to night, that they may break the Match to morrow morning. Marry her this Instant, I entreat you.  Aes. 
This Instant, say you?  L. 
This Instant; this very Instant.  Aes. 
'Tis enough; get all things ready; I'll be with you in a moment.  [Exit Aesop. L. 
Now, what say you, Mr. Flame-Fire? I shall have the whiphand of you presently.  Or. 
Defer it but till to morrow, Sir.  L. 
That you may run away with her to night, ha?—  
Sir, your most Obedient, Humble Servant.  
hay; who waits there? Call my Daughter to me: Quick.  
I'll give her her Dispatches presently.  Enter Euphronia. Eu. 
D'ye call, Sir?  L. 
Yes; I do, Minx. Go shift yourself, and put on your best clothes. You are to be married.  Eu. 
Married Sir?  L. 
Yes, married, Madam; and that this Instant too.  Eu. 
Dear Sir!  L. 
Not a word: Obedience and a clean-Smock. Dispatch.  [Exit Euphronia weeping. Learcus going off, turns to Oronces. 
Sir, your most Obedient Humble Servant.  Or. 
Yet hear what I've to say.  L. 
And what have you to say, Sir.  Or. 
Alas! I know not what I have to say!  L. 
Very like so. That's a sure sign he's in Love now.  Or. 
Have you no Bowels?  L. 
Ha, ha! Bowels in a Parent! Here's a young Fellow for you. Hark thee, Stripling. Being in a very merry humour, I don't care if I discover some Paternal Secrets to thee.  
Know then; that how humoursome, how whimsical soever we may appear, there's one fixed Principle that runs through almost the whole Race of us; and that's to please ourselves. Why dost think I got my Daughter? Why, there was something in't that pleased me. Why dost think I marry my Daughter? Why, to please myself still. And what is't that pleases me? Why, my Interest, what dost think it should be? If Aesop's my Son-in-Law, he'll make me a Lord: If thou art my Son-in-Law thou'lt make me a Grandfather. Now I having more Mind to be a Lord than a Grandfather, give my Daughter to him, and not to thee.  Or. 
Then shall her Happiness weigh nothing with you?  L. 
Not this: If it did, I'd give her to thee, and not to him.  Or. 
Do you think forced Marriage the way to keep Women Virtuous?  L. 
No; nor I don't care whether Women are Virtuous or not.  Or. 
You know your Daughter loves me.  L. 
I do so.  Or. 
What if the Children that Aesop may happen to Father, should chance to be begot by me?  L. 
Why, then Aesop would be the Cuckold, not I  Or. 
Is that all you care?  L. 
Yes: I speak as a Father.  Or. 
What think you of your Child's Concern in t'other world?  L. 
Why, I think it my Child's Concern, not mine. I speak as a Father.  Or. 
Do you remember you once gave me your Consent to wed your Daughter?  L. 
I did.  Or. 
Why did you so?  L 
Because you were the best Match that offered at that time. I did like a Father.  Or. 
Why then, Sir, I'll do like a Lover. I'll make you keep your Word, or cut your Throat.  L. 
Who waits there, hay?  Enter Servants. 
Seize me that Bully there. Carry him to Prison, and keep him safe.  [They seize him. Or. 
Why, you won't use me thus?  L. 
Yes, but I will tho': Away with him. Sir, your most Humble Servant: I wish you a good Night's Rest; and as far as a merry Dream goes, my Daughter's at your Service.  Or. 
Death and Furies!  [Exeunt Servants with Oronces. L. Singing] 
Dol, de tol dol, dol dol, de tol dol:  
Lily Burleighre's lodge in a Bough.  Enter a Troop of Musicians, Dancers, etc. L. 
How now? What have we got here?  Mus. 
Sir, we are a Troop of Trifling Fellows, Fiddlers, and Dancers, come to celebrate the Wedding of your Fair Daughter: If your Honour pleases to give us leave.  L. 
With all my Heart: But who do you take me for, Sir; Ha?  Mus. 
I take your Honour for our Noble Governor of Sysicus.  L. 
Governor of Sysicus; Governor of a Cheesecake! I'm Father-in-law to the Great Aesop, Sirrah.  All bow to him. 
Aside.]— I shall be a Great Man.  
Come, Tune your Fiddles; Shake your Legs; Get all things ready. My Son-in-Law will be here presently— I shall be a great Man.  [Exit. Mus. 
A great Marriage, Brother: What dost think will be the end on't?  2 Mus. 
Why, I believe we shall see three turns upon't. This Old Fellow here, will turn Fool; his Daughter will turn Strumpet; and his Son-in-Law will turn 'em both out of doors. But that's nothing to thee nor me, as long as we are paid for our Fiddling. So tune away, Gentlemen.  1. Mus. 
D'ye hear Trumpets? When the Bride appears, salute her with a melancholy Waft. 'Twill suit her humour; for I guess she mayn't be over-well pleased.  Enter Learcus with several Friends, and a Priest. L. 
Gentlemen and Friends, you're all welcome. I have sent to as many of you, as our short time would give me leave, to desire you would be Witnesses of the Honour the Great Aesop designs ourselves and Family. hay; who attends there?  
Go, let my Daughter know I wait for her.  [Exit Servants. 
— 'Tis a vast Honour that is done me, Gentlemen.  2 Gent. 
It is indeed, my Lord.  L. aside] 
Look you there; if they don't call me my Lord already— I shall be a great Man.  Enter Euphronia weeping, and leaning upon Doris, both in deep Mourning. L. 
How now? what's here? All in deep Mourning? Here's a provoking Baggage for you.  [The Trumpets sound a-melancholy Air till Aesop appears; and then the Violins and Hautbois strike up a Lancashire Hornpipe. Enter Aesop in a Gay, Foppish Dress, long Peruke, etc. a Gaudy Equipage of Pages and Footmen, all enter, in an airy, brisk manner. Aesop in an affected Tone, to Euphronia.] 
Gad take my Soul, Mame, I hope I shall please you now.— Gentlemen all, I'm your Humble Servant. I'm going to be a very happy Man you see.  
To Eu.] When the Heat of the Ceremonies over, if your Ladyship pleases, Mame; I'll wait upon you to take the Air in the Park. hay, Page; Let there be a Coach and six Horses ready instantly.  
Observing her Dress.]— I vow to Gad, Mame, I was so taken up with my good Fortune, I did not observe the extreme Fancy of your Ladyship's Wedding-clothes— Infinitely pretty, as I hope to be saved: a World of Variety, and not at all gaudy.  
To L. My Dear Father-in-Law. Embrace me.  L. 
Your Lordship does me too much Honour. Aside.]— I shall be a great Man.  Aes. 
Come, Gentlemen, Are all things ready? where's the Priest?  Pr. 
Here, my Noble Lord.  Aes. 
Most Reverend— Will you please to say Grace that I may fall to, for I'm very hungry, and here's very good Meat. But where's my Rival all this while? The lest we can do, is to invite him to the Wedding.  L. 
My Lord, he's in Prison.  Aes. 
In Prison! how so?  L. 
He would have murdered me.  Aes. 
A bloody Fellow! But let's see him however. Send for him quickly.  
Ha, Governor— that handsome Daughter of yours, I will so mumble her—  L. 
I shall be a great Man.  Enter Oronces pinioned and guarded. Aes. 
O ho: Here's my Rival: Then we have all we want. Advance, Sir, if you please. I desire you'll do me the Favour to be a Witness to my Marriage, lest one of these days you should take a Fancy to dispute my Wife with me.  Or. 
Do you then send for me to insult me: 'Tis base in you.  Aes. 
I have no time now to throw away upon Points of Generosity; I have hotter Work upon my hands. Come, Priest, advance.  L. 
Pray hold him fast there; he has the Devil and all of Mischief in's Eye.  Aes. to Eu.] 
Will your Ladyship please, Mame, to give me your fair hand— heyday.  [She refuses her Hand. L. 
I'll give it you, my Noble Lord, if she won't. Aside.] A stubborn, self-willed, stiffnecked Strumpet.  [Learcus holds out her Hand to Aesop, who takes it; Oronces stands on Aesop's left hand, and the Priest before 'em. Aes. 
Let my Rival stand next me: Of all Men I'd have him be satisfied.  Or. 
Barbarous Inhuman Monster.  Aes. 
Now, Priest do thy Office.  Flourish with the Trumpets. Pr. 
Since the Eternal Laws of Fate decree,  
That He, thy Husband; She, thy Wife should be.  
May Heaven take you, to its Care.  
May jupiter look kindly down,  
Place on your Heads Contentments Crown;  
And may his Godhead never frown  
Upon this Happy Pair.  [Flourish again of Trumpets. [As the Priest pronounces the last Line, Aesop joins Oronces and Euphronia's hands. Or. 
O happy Change: Blessings on Blessings wait on the Generous Aesop.  Aes. 
Happy, thrice happy may you ever be.  
And if you think, there's something due to me,  
Pay it in mutual Love and Constancy.  Eu. to Aes.] 
You'll pardon me, most Generous Man, if in the present Transports of my Soul, which you yourself have by your Bounty caused, my willing Tongue is tied from uttering the Thoughts that flow from a most grateful Heart.  Aes. 
For what I've done, I merit little Thanks,  
Since what I've done, my Duty bound me to.  
I would your Father had acquitted his:  
But he who's such a Tyrant o'er his Children,  
To sacrifice their Peace to his Ambition,  
Is fit to govern nothing but himself.  
To L] And therefore, Sir, at my return to Court,  
I shall take Care this City may be swayed  
By more Humanity than dwells in you.  L. aside] 
I shall be a great Man.  Eu. to Aes.] 
Had I not reason, from your Constant Goodness,  
To judge your Bounty, Sir, is infinite,  
I should not dare to sue for farther Favours,  
But pardon me; if imitating Heaven and you,  
I easily forgive my Aged Father,  
And beg that Aesop would forgive him too.  [Kneeling to him. Aes. 
The Injury he would have done to you, was great indeed: But 'twas a Blessing he designed for me; if therefore you can pardon him, I may.  
To L.] Your injured Daughter, Sir, has on her Knees entreated for her cruel, barbarous Father; and by her Goodness has obtained her Suit. If in the Remnant of your days, you can find out some way to recompense her, do it, That Men and Gods may pardon you, as she and I have done. But let me see, I have one Quarrel still to make up. Where's my old Friend, Doris.  Do. 
She's here, Sir, at your Service; and as much your Friend as ever: True to her Principles, and firm to her Mistress. But she has a much better Opinion of you now than she had half an hour ago.  Aes. 
She has reason: For my Soul appeared then as deformed as my Body. But I hope now, one may so far mediate for t'other, that, provided I done't make Love, the Women won't quarrel with me; for they are worse Enemies even than they are Friends.  
Come, Gentlemen, I'll humour my Dress a little longer, and share with you in the Diversions these Boon Companions have prepared us. Let's take our Places, and see how they can divert us.  Aesop leads the Bride to her Place. All being seated, there's a short Consort of Hautboys, Trumpets, etc. After which a Dance between an Old Man and a young Woman, who shuns him still as he comes near her. At last he stops, and begins this Dialogue; which they sing together. Old Man. 
Why so Cold, and why so Coy.  
What I wont in Youth and Fire,  
I have in Love and in Desire:  
To my Arms, my Love, my joy;  
Why so Cold, and why so Coy?  Woman. 
'Tis Sympathy perhaps with you;  
You are Cold, and I'm so too.  Old Man. 
My Years alone have froze my Blood;  
Youthful Heat in Female Charms,  
Glowing in my Aged Arms,  
Would melt it down once more into a Flood.  Woman. 
Women, alas, like Flints, ne'er burn alone,  
To make a Virgin know,  
There's Fire within the Stone,  
Some Manly Steel must boldly strike the Blow.  Old Man. 
Assist me only with your Charms,  
You'll find I'm Man, and still am bold;  
You'll find I still can strike, tho' old:  
I only want your Aid to raise my Arm.  Enter a Youth who seizes on the young Woman. Youth. 
Who talks of Charms, who talks of Aid.  
I bring an Arm  
That wants no Charm,  
To rouse the Fire that's in a Flinty Maid.  
Retire Old Age.  Woman. 
— Winter be gone:  
Behold the Youthful Spring comes gaily on.  
Here, here's a Torch, to light a Virgin's Fire:  
To my Arms, my Love, my joy;  
When Women have what they desire,  
They're neither Cold nor Coy.  [She takes him in her Arms. The Song and Dance ended, Aesop takes Euphronia and Oronces by the Hands, leading them forwards. Aes. 
By this time, my young eager Couple, 'tis probable you would be glad to be alone; perhaps you'll have a mind to go to Bed even without your Supper; for Brides and Bridegrooms eat little on their Wedding-night. But since, if Matrimony were worn as it ought to be, it would perhaps sit easier about us than usually it does. I'll give you one Word of Council, and so I shall release you.  
When one is out of Humour, let the other be dumb.  
Let your Diversions be such, as both may have a share in 'em.  
Never let Familiarity exclude Respect.  
Be clean in your clothes, but nicely so in your Persons: Eat at one Table: Lie in one Room, but sleep in two Beds.  
I'll tell the Ladies why.  Turning to the Boxes. 
In the sprightly Month of May,  
When Males and Females sport and play,  
And Kiss and Toy away the Day.  
An eager Sparrow and his Mate,  
Chirping on a Tree were sat,  
Full of Love— and full of Prate.  
They talked of nothing but their Fires,  
Of Raging Heats, and Strong Desires,  
Of Eternal Constancy;  
How true and faithful they would be,  
Of this and that, and endless Joys,  
And a thousand more such Toys.  
The only thing they apprehended,  
Was that their Lives would be so short,  
They could not finish half their Sport  
Before their Days were ended.  
But, as from Bow to Bow they rove,  
They chanced at last  
In furious haste,  
On a Twigg, with Bird-lime spread;  
(Want of a more downy Bed)  
To act a Scene of Love.  
Fatal it proved, to both their Fires.  
For tho' at length they broke away,  
And balked the Schoolboy of his Prey,  
Which made him weep the livelong Day.  
The Bridegroom, in the hasty strife,  
Was stuck so fast, to his dear Wife;  
That tho' he used his utmost Art,  
He quickly found, it was in vain,  
To put himself to farther Pain,  
They never more must part.  
A gloomy Shade overcast his Brow;  
He found himself— I know not how,  
He looked— as Husbands often do.  
Wheree'er he moved, he felt her still,  
She kissed him oft, against his Will:  
Abroad, at Home; at Bed and Board;  
With Favours she overwhelmed her Lord.  
Oft he turned his Head away,  
And seldom had a word to say,  
Which absolutely spoiled her Play,  
For she was better stored.  
However, at length her Stock was spent,  
(For Female Fires sometimes may be  
Subject to Mortality;)  
So Back to Back they sit, and sullenly Repent,  
But the Mute Scene was quickly ended,  
The Lady for her share pretended,  
The want of Love lay at his Door,  
For her part, she had still in store  
Enough for him, and twenty more,  
Which could not be contented.  
He answered her, in homely words,  
(For Sparrows are but ill bred Birds)  
That he already had enjoyed  
So much, that truly he was Cloyed.  
Which so provoked her Spleen,  
That after some good hearty Prayers,  
A Jostle, and some spiteful Tears  
They fell together by the Ears,  
And ne'er were fond again.  
FINIS.    

AESOP.  
PART II.  Enter Player's. Aes. 
WELL, good People, who are all you?  Omnes. 
Sir, we are Players—  Ae. 
Players? What Players?  Play. 
Why, Sir, we are Stage-Players,  
That's our Calling:  
Tho' we play upon other things too; some of us play  
Upon the Fiddle; some play upon the Flute;  
We play upon one another, we play upon the Town,  
And we play upon the Patentees.  Ae. 
Patentees! Prithee, what are they?  Play. 
Why, they are, Sir— Sir, they are—! Cod I don't know  
What they are— Fish or Flesh— Masters or Servants  
— Sometimes one— Sometimes t'other, I think—  
Just as we are in the Mood.  Ae. 
Why, I thought they had a lawful Authority over you.  Play. 
Lawful Authority, Sir— Sir, we are freeborn Englishmen,  
We care not for Law nor Authority neither,  
When we are out of Humour.  Ae. 
But I think they pretended at least to an Authority  
Over you; pray upon what Foundation was it built?  Play. 
Upon a rotten one— if you'll believe us?  
Sir, I'll tell you what the Projectors did:  
They embarked Twenty thousand pound upon a Leaky  
Vessel— She was built at Whitehall;  
I think they called her— the Patent— ay, the Patent;  
Her Keel was made of a Broad Seal— and the King  
Gave 'em a White Staff for their Main Mast.  
She was a pretty tight Frigate to look upon, indeed:  
They spared nothing to set her off; they Guilded her,  
And Painted her, and Rigged, and Gunned her;  
And so sent her a Privateering.  
But the first Storm that blew,  
Down went the Mast, ashore went the Ship—  
Crack says the Keel, merry cried the Pilot;  
But the Wind was so high, his Prayers could not  
Be heard— so they split upon a Rock—  
That lay hid under a Petticoat.  Ae. 
A very sad Story, this: but what became of the  
Ship's Company?  Play. 
Why, Sir, your humble Servants here, who were  
The Officers and the best of the Sailors—  
(Little Ben amongst the rest) seized on a small  
Bark that lay to our hand, and away we put to see again.  
To say the Truth, we were better Maned than  
Rigged, and Ammunition was plaguy scarce amongst  
Us— However, a-Cruising we went, and some petty  
Small Prizes we have made; but the Blessing  
Of Heaven not being among us—  
Or how the Devil 'tis, I can't tell; but we are not rich.  Ae. 
Well, but what became of the rest of the Crew?  Play. 
Why, Sir, as for the Scoundrels, they, poor Dogs,  
Stuck by the Rack. The Captain gave'em Bread,  
And Cheese, and good Words— He told them, if they  
Would patch her up, and venture t'other Cruise;  
He'd prefer 'em all; so to work they went,  
And to Sea they got her.  Ae. 
I hope he kept his Word with 'em.  Play. 
That he did; he made the Boat-Swain's Mate,  
Lieutenant; he made the Cook, Doctor: He was  
Forced to be Purser, and Pilot, and Gunner himself;  
And the Swabber took Orders to be Chaplain.  Ae. 
But with such unskilful Officers I'm afraid  
They'll hardly keep above Water long.  Play. 
Why truly, Sir, we care not how soon they are under:  
But Cursed Folks, thrive, I think. I know nothing else  
That makes 'em swim.  
I'm sure, by the Rules of Navigation, they ought to  
Have overset long since; for they carry a great deal  
Of Sail, and have very little Ballast.  Ae. 
I'm afraid you ruin one another. I fancy if you  
Were all in a Ship together again, you'd have less  
Work and more Profit.  Play. 
Ah, Sir— we are resolved we'll never sail under  
Captain Patentee again.  Ae. 
Prithee, why so?  Play. 
Sir, he has used us like Dogs.  Wom. 
— And Bitch's too, Sir.  Ae. 
I'm sorry to hear that; pray how was't he treated  
You?  Play. 
Sir, 'tis impossible to tell; he used us like the English  
At Amboyna—  Ae. 
But I would know some Particulars; tell me what  
'Twas he did to you.  Play. 
What he did, Sir— why, he did in the first place, Sir—  
— In the first place, Sir, he did— I Cod I don't know what  
He did— Can you tell, Wife?  Wom. 
Yes, marry can I; and a Burning Shame it was too.  Play. 
O, I remember now, Sir, he would not give us Plumbs  
Enough in our Pudding.  Ae. 
That indeed was very hard; but did he give you as  
Many as he promised you.  Play. 
Yes, and more; but what of all that, we had not as  
Many as we had a Mind to—  1. Wom. 
Sir, my Husband tells you Truth—  Ae. 
I believe he may; but what other wrongs did he do you?  1 Wom. 
Why, Sir, he did not treat me with respect; 'twas not  
One Day in three, he would so much as bid me good Morrow—  2 Wom. 
Sir, he invited me to Dinner, and never drank my health.  1 Wom. 
Then he cocked his Hat at Mrs. Pert.  2 Wom. 
Yes, and told Mrs. Slippery he had as good a Face  
As she had.  Ae. 
Why, these were insufferable Abuses—  2 Play. 
Then, Sir, I did but come to him one day—  
And tell him I wanted Fifty Pound, and what do you  
Think he did by me, Sir—  
Sir he turned round upon Heel like a Top—  1 Play. 
But that was nothing to the Affront he put upon me, Sir.  
I came to him, and in very civil Words, as I thought,  
Desired him to double my Pair: Sir, would you believe it,  
He had the Barbarity to ask me, if I intended  
To double my work; and because I told him, No,  
Sir— he did use me, good Lord, how he did use me.  Ae. 
Prithee how?  1 Play. 
Why, he walked off and answered me never a Word.  Ae. 
How had you Patience.  1 Play. 
Sir, I had not Patience. I sent him a Challenge;  
And what do you think his Answer was— he sent me Word  
I was a Scoundrel Son of a Whore,  
And he would only fight me by Proxy—  Ae. 
Very fine.  1 Play. 
At this rate, Sir; were we poor Dogs used— till one  
Frosty Morning down he comes amongst us— and  
Very roundly tells us— That for the Future,  
No Purchase, no Pay. They that would not work should  
Not eat—  
Sir, we at first asked him coolly and civilly— Why?  
His Answer was, because the Town wanted  
Diversion, and he wanted Money—  
Our Reply to this, Sir, was very short; but I think  
To the purpose.  Ae. 
What was it?  1 Play. 
It was, Sir, that so we wallowed in Plenty— and Ease  
The Town and he might be damned—  
This, Sir, is the true History of Separation— and we  
Hope you'll stand our Friend—  Ae. 
I'll tell you what, Sirs—  
I once a Pack of a Beagles knew—  
That much resembled, I know who:  
With a good Huntsman at their Tail,  
In full Command,  
With Whip in Hand.  
They'd run apace  
The Cheerful Chase,  
And of their Game were seldom known to fail.  
But being at length their chance to find  
A Huntsman of a gentler Kind,  
They soon perceived the Rein was slack,  
The Word went quickly through the Pack—  
They one and all cried Liberty:  
This happy Moment we are free.  
We'll range the Woods,  
Like Nymphs and Gods,  
And spend our Mouths in praise of Mutiny.  
With that old jowler trots away,  
And Bowman singles out his Prey.  
Thunder bellowed through the Wood,  
And swore he'd burst his Guts with Blood.  
Venus tripped it o'er the Plain,  
With boundless Hopes of boundless Gain.  
— juno, she slipped down the Hedge,  
But left her Sacred Word for Pledge;  
That all she picked up by the by—  
Should to the Public Treasury.  
And well they might rely upon her;  
For juno was a Bitch of Honour.  
In short, they all had hopes to see  
A Heavenly Crop of Mutiny,  
And so to Reaping fell:  
But in a little time they found,  
It was the Devil had Tilled the ground,  
And brought the Seed from Hell.  
The Pack divided, nothing throve;  
Discord seized the Throne of Love.  
Want and Misery all endure,  
All take pains, and all grow poor.  
When they had toiled the livelong day,  
And came at night, to view their Prey.  
Oft alas so ill they'd sped,  
That half went supperless to Bed.  
At length they all in Council sat,  
Where at a very fair Debate,  
It was agreed at last,  
That Slavery, with Ease and Plenty,  
When Hounds were something turned of twenty,  
Was much a better Fate,  
Than 'twas to work and Fast.  1 Play. 
Well, Sir— and what did they do then?  Ae. 
Why they all went home to their Kennel again.  
If you think they did wisely, you'll do well to follow their Example.  [Exit Aesop. 1 Play. 
Well Beagles; What think you of the little Gentleman's Advice.  2 Wom. 
In think he's a little ugly Philosopher, and talks like a Fool.  1 Play. 
Ay, why there's it now! If he had been a tall handsome Blockhead, he had talked like a Wise Man.  2 Wom. 
Why, do you think, Mr. jouler, that we'll ever join again?  1 Play. 
I do think, sweet Mrs. juno, that if we do not join again, you must be a little freer of your Carcase than you are, or you must bring down your Pride to a Serge Petticoat.  1 Wom. 
And do you think, Sir, after the Affronts I have received, the Patent and I can ever be Friends?  1 Play. 
I do think, Madam, that if my Interest had not been more affronted than your Face, the Patent and you had never been Foes.  1 Wom. 
And so, Sir, than you have serious thoughts of a Reconciliation!  1 Play. 
Madam, I do believe I may.  1 Wom. 
Why then, Sir, give me leave to tell you, that— make it my Interest, and I'll have serious thoughts on't too.  2 Wom. 
Nay, if you are thereabouts, I desire to come into the Treaty.  3 Play. 
And I.  4 Play. 
And I.  2 Play. 
And I, no separate Peace. None of your Turin Play, I beseech you.  1 Play. 
Why then, since you are all so Christianly disposed—  
I think we had best Adjourn immediately to our Council-Chamber;  
Choose some Potent Prince for Mediator,  
And Garantee— Fix upon the place of Treaty,  
Dispatch our Plenipos, and whip up the Peace  
Like an Oyster. For under the Rose, my Confederates,  
Here is such a damned Discount upon our Bills,  
I'm afraid, if we stand it out another Campaign,  
We must live upon slender Subsistance.  Enter a Country Gentleman, who walks too and fro, looking angrily upon Aesop. Ae. 
Have you any business with me, Sir?  G. 
— I can't tell whether I have or not.  Ae. 
You seem disturbed, Sir.  G. 
I'm always so, at the sight of a Courtier.  Ae. 
Pray what may it be, that gives you so great an Antipathy to 'em?  G. 
My Profession.  Ae. 
What's that?  G. 
Honesty.  Ae. 
— 'Tis an honest Profession.  
I hope, Sir, for the general good of Mankind, you are in some Public Employment.  G. 
So I am, Sir— no thanks to the Court.  Ae. 
You are then, I suppose, Employed by—  G. 
My Country.  Ae. 
Who have made you—  G. 
A Senator.  Ae. 
Sir, I Reverence you.  [Bowing. G. 
Sir, you may Reverence as low as you please. But I shall spare none of you. Sir, I am entrusted by my Country with above ten thousand of their Grievances, and in order to Redress 'em, my design is, to hang ten thousand Courtiers.  Ae. 
Why, 'tis making short work, I must confess.  
But are you sure, Sir, that would do't?  G. 
Sure.— Ay, sure.  Ae. 
How do you know?  G. 
Why the whole Country says so, and I at the Head of 'em.  
Now, let me see who dares say the Contrary.  Ae. 
Not I truly. But Sir, if you won't take it ill, I'll ask you a Question or two.  G. 
Sir, I shall take ill what please. And if you, or e'er a Courtier of you all, pretend the contrary, I say, it's a breach of Privilege—  
Now put your Qestion if you think fit.  Ae. 
Why, then Sir, with all due regard to your Character, and your Privilege too. I would be glad to know, what you chiefly complain of?  Gent. 
Why, Sir, I do chiefly complain. That we have  
A great many Ships, and very little Trade:  
A great many Tenants, and very little Money:  
A great many Soldiers, and very little Fighting.  
A great many Gazettes, and little good News.  
A great many Statesmen, and very little Wisdom.  
A great many Parsons, and not an ounce of Religion.  Ae. 
Why, truly Sir, I do confess these are Grievances very well worth your Redressing. I perceive you are truly sensible of our Diseases, but I'm afraid you are a little out in the Cure.  G. 
Sir, I perceive you take me for a Country-Physician: But you shall find, Sir, that a Country-Doctor, is able to deal with a Court-Quack; and to show you, that I do understand something of the State of the Body Politic, I will tell you, Sir, that I have heard a Wise Man say, The Court is the Stomach of the Nation, in which, if the business be not thoroughly digested, the whole Carcase will be in disorder. Now, Sir, I do find by the Latitude of the Members, and the Vapours that fly into the Head, that this same Stomach is full of Indigestions, which must be removed. And therefore, Sir, I am come Post to Town with my Head full of Crocus Mem. and design to give the Court a Vomit.  Ae. 
Sir, the Physic you mention, tho' necessary sometimes, is of too violent a Nature, to be used without a great deal of Caution. I'm afraid you are a little too rash in your Prescriptions. Is it not possible you may be mistaken in the Cause of the Distemper.  Gent. 
Sir, I do not think it possible, I should be mistaken in any thing.  Ae. 
Pray, Sir, have you been long a Senator?  Gent. 
No, Sir.  Ae. 
Have you been much about Town?  Gent. 
No, Sir.  Ae. 
Have you Conversed much with Men of Business?  Gent. 
No, Sir.  Ae. 
Have you made any serious enquiry into the present Disorders of the Nation.  Gen. 
No, Sir.  Ae. 
Have you ever heard what the Men now employed in business, have to say for themselves?  Gen. 
No, Sir.  Ae. 
How then do you know they deserve to be punished, for the present disorders in your Affairs?  Gent. 
I'll tell you how I know.  Ae. 
I would be glad to hear.  Gent. 
Why, I know by this— I know it I say, by this— That I'm sure on't—  
And to give you demonstration that I'm sure on't, there is not one Man in a good Post in the Nation— but I'd give my Vote to hang him: Now I hope you are convinced.  Ae. 
As for example. The first Minister of State:  
Why would you hang him?  Gent. 
Because he gives bad Council.  Ae. 
How do you know?  Gent. 
Why they say so.  Ae. 
And who would you put in his room?  Gent. 
One that would give better.  Ae. 
Who's that?  Gent. 
Myself.  Ae. 
The Secretary of State: Why would you hang him?  Gent. 
Because he has not good intelligence.  Ae. 
How do you know?  Gent. 
I have heard so.  Ae. 
And who would you put in his Place?  Gent. 
My Father.  Ae. 
The Treasurer, why would you hang him?  G. 
Because he does ned understand his Business.  Ae. 
How do you know?  G. 
I dreamed so.  Ae. 
And who would you have succeed him?  G. 
My Uncle.  Ae. 
The Admiral: why would you hang him?  G. 
Because he has not destroyed the Enemies.  Ae. 
How do you know he could do it?  G. 
Why, I believe so.  Ae. 
And who would you have Command in his stead?  G. 
My Brother.  Ae. 
And the General: why would you hang him?  G. 
Because he took ne'er a Town last Campaign.  Ae. 
And how do you know 'twas in his power?  G. 
Why I don't care a Sous whether it was in's power or not. But I have a Son at home, a brave chapping Lad; he has been Captain in the Militia this twelve months, and I'd be glad to see him in his Place. What do you stare for, Sir? ha? I gad I tell you he'd scour all the Devils. He's none of your Fencers; none of your Sa, Sa men. Numphs is downright; that's his Play. You may see his Courage in his Face. He has a pair of Cheeks like two Bladders; a Nose as flat as your Hand, and a Forehead like a Bull.  Ae. 
In short, Sir, I find if you and your Family were provided for, things would soon grow better than they do.  G. 
And so they would, Sir, Clap me at the Head of the State, and Numphs at the Head of the Army; He with his Club Musket, and I with a Club Head piece, we'd soon put an end to your business.  Ae. 
I believe you would indeed. And therefore since I happen to be acquainted with your extraordinary Abilities, I am resolved to give the King an account of you, and employ my Interest with him, that you and your Son may have the Posts you desire.  G. 
Will you by the Lord?— Give me your fist, Sir— the only honest Courtier that ever I met with in my Life.  Ae. 
But, Sir, when I have done you this mighty piece of Service, I shall have a small request to beg of you, which I hope you won't refuse me.  G. 
what's that?  Ae. 
Why 'tis in behalf of the two Officers who are to be displaced, to make room for you and your Son.  G. 
The Secretary and the General?  Ae. 
The same. 'Tis pity they should be quite out of business; I must therefore desire you'll let me recommend one of 'em to you for your Bailiff, and t'other for your Huntsman.  G. 
My Bailiff and my Huntsman?— Sir, that's not to be granted.  Ae. 
Pray why?  G. 
Why?— Because one would ruin my Land, and t'other would spoil my Fox-Hounds.  Ae. 
Why do you think so?  G. 
Why do I think so?— These Courtiers will ask the strangest Questions—  
Why Sir, do you think that Men bred up to the State, and the Army, can understand the business of Ploughing and Hunting.  Ae. 
I did not know but they might.  G. 
How could you think so?  Ae. 
Because I see men bred up to Ploughing and Hunting, understand the business of the State and the Army.  G. 
I'm shot— I han't one word to say for myself— I never was so caught in my Life.  Ae. 
I perceive, Sir, by your Looks, what I have said has made some impression upon you; and would perhaps do more if you would give it leave.  
Taking his Hand.] Come, Sir tho' I am a stranger to you, I can be your Friend; My Favour at Court does not hinder me from being a Lover of my Country. 'Tis my Nature, as well as Principles, to be pleased with the prosperity of mankind: I wish all things happy, and my study is to make 'em so.  
The Distempers of the Government (which I own are great) have employed the stretch of my Understanding, and the deepest of my thoughts, to penetrate the Cause, and to find out the Remedy. But alas! all the product of my study is this; That I find there is too near a Resemblance between the Diseases of the State and those of the Body; for the most expert Minister to become a greater Master in one than the College in tother. And how far their Skill extends, you may see by this Lump upon my Back. Allowances in all Professions there must be, since 'tis weak Man that is the weak Professor. Believe me, Senator, for I have seen the Proof on't. The longest Beard amongst us is a Fool. Could you but stand behind the Curtain, and there observe the secret Springs of State; you'd see in all the Good or Evil that attends it, Ten Ounces of Chance for One Grain either of Wisdom or Roguery.  
You'd see perhaps, a Venerable Statesman, sit fast asleep in a great Downy Chair; whilst in that soft Vacation of his thought, Blind, Chance (or what at least we blindly call so) shall so dispose a thousand secret Wheels, that when he wakes, he needs but write his Name, to publish to the World some blessed Event, for which his Statue shall be raised in Brass.  
Perhaps a moment thence, you shall behold him torturing his Brain: His thoughts all stretched upon the Wrack for Public Service. The livelong Night; when all the World's at rest, consumed in Care, and watching for their safety, when by a Whirlwind in his Fate, in spite of him, some mischief shall befall 'em, for which a furious Sentence straight shall pass, and they shall Vote him to the Scaffold. Even thus uncertain are the Rewards and Punishments; and even thus little do the People know when 'tis the Statesman merits one or tother.  G. 
Now do I believe I am beginning to be a wise man; for I never till now perceived I was a Fool. But do you then really believe, Sir, our Men in Business do the best they can?  Ae. 
Many of 'em do: some perhaps do not. But this you may depend upon; He that is out of business is the worst Judge in the World of him that is in: First, because he seldom knows any thing of the matter; and secondly, because he always desires to get his place.  G. 
And so, Sir, you turn the Tables upon the Plaintiff, and play, the Fool and Knave at his Door.  Ae. 
If I do him wrong I'm sorry for't. Let him Examine himself, he'll find whether I do or not.  [Exit Aesop. G. 
— Examine?— I think I have had enough of that already. There's nothing left, that I know of, but to give Sentence: And truly I think there's no great difficulty in that. A very pretty Fellow I am indeed. Here am I come bellowing and roaring, 200. Miles Post, to find myself an Ass; when with one quarter of an hours consideration, I might have made the self same Discovery, without going over my Threshold. Well! if ever they send me on their Errand, to reform the State again, I'll be damned. But this I'll do: I'll go home and reform my Family if I can: Them I'm sure I know: There's my Father's a peevish Old Coxcomb. There's my Uncle's a Drunken Old Sot: There's my Brother's a Cowardly Bully, Son Numphs is a Lubberly Whelp: I've a great Ramping Daughter, that stares like a Heifer, and a Wife that's a Slatternly Sow.  [Exit. Enter a Young Gay Airy Beau, who stands smiling contemptibly upon Aesop. Ae. 
Well, Sir, what are you?  B. 
Fool.  Ae. 
That's impossible;— for if thou were't, thou'dst think thyself a Wise Man.  B. 
So I do— This is my own Opinion— the tother's my Neighbours.  [Walking Airly about. Aesop 
gazing after him.] Have you any business with me, Sir?  B. 
Sir, I have Business with no body— Pleasure's my study.  Ae. Aside.] 
An Odd Fellow this— Pray Sir, who are you?  B. 
I can't tell—  Ae. 
— Do you know who I am?  B. 
No Sir: I'm a Favourite at Court, and I neither know myself, nor any body else.  Ae. 
Are you in any Employment?  B. 
Yes—  Ae. 
What is it?  B. 
I don't know the Name on't.  Ae. 
You know the Business on't I hope?  B. 
That I do— the Business of it is— to— put in a Deputy, and receive the Money.  Ae. 
— Pray what may be your Name?  B. 
Empty.  Ae. 
Where do you live?  B. 
In the Side-Box.  Ae. 
What do you do there?  B. 
I Ogle the Ladies.  Ae. 
To what purpose?  B. 
To no purpose.  Ae. 
Why then do you do it?  B. 
Because they like it, and I like it.  Ae. 
Wherein consists the Pleasure?  B. 
In Playing the Fool.  Ae. 
— Pray Sir, what Age are you?  B. 
Five and Twenty— my Body— my Head's about Fifteen.  Ae. 
Is your Father living?  B. 
Dead, thank God.  Ae. 
Has he been long so?  B. 
Positively yes.  Ae. 
Where were you brought up?  B. 
At School.  Ae. 
What School?  B. 
The School of Venus.  Ae. 
Were you ever at the University?  B. 
Yes.  Ae. 
What study did you follow there?  B. 
My Bed-Maker.  Ae. 
How long did you stay?  B. 
Till I had lost my Maidenhead.  Ae. 
Why did you come away?  B. 
Because I was expelled.  Ae. 
Where did you go then?  B. 
To Court.  Ae. 
Who took care of your Education there?  B. 
A Whore and a Dancing-Master.  Ae. 
What did you gain by them?  B. 
A Minuet, and the Pox.  Ae. 
Have you an Estate?  B. 
I had.  Ae. 
What's become on't?  B. 
Spent.  Ae. 
In what?  B. 
In a Twelvemonth.  Ae. 
But how?  B. 
Why, In Dressing, Drinking, Whoring, Claps, Dice and Scriveners. What do you think of me now, Old Gentleman?  Ae. 
Pray what do you think of yourself?  B. 
I don't think at all: I know how to bestow my time better.  Ae. 
Are you Married?  B. 
No— have you ever a Daughter to bestow upon me?  Ae. 
She would be well bestowed.  B. 
Why, I'm a strong young Dog, you Old Put you; she may be worse coupled—  Ae. 
Have you then a mind to a Wife, Sir?  B. 
Yaw mine Heer.  Ae. 
What would you do with her?  B. 
Why, I'd take care of her Affairs, rid her of all her troubles, her Maidenhead and her Portion.  Ae. 
And pray what sort of Wife would you be willing to throw yourself away upon?  B. 
Why, upon one that has Youth, Beauty, Quality, Virtue, Wit and Money.  Ae. 
And how may you be qualified yourself, to back you in your Pretensions to such a one?  B. 
Why, I am qualified, with— a Periwig— a Snuff-box,— a Feather,— a— Smooth Face,— a Fool's Head— and a Patch.  Ae. 
But One Question more: What Settlements can you make?  B. 
Settlements?— Why, if she be a very Great Heiress indeed, I believe I may settle— my self upon her for Life, and my Pox upon her Children for ever.  Ae. 
'Tis enough; you may expect I'll serve you, If it lies in my way. But I would not have you rely too much upon your Success, because People sometimes are mistaken— As for Example—  

An Ape there was of Nimble Parts,  
A great Intruder into Hearts,  
As Brisk, and Gay, and full of Air,  
As you, or I, or any here;  
Rich in his Dress, of splendid show,  
And with an Head like any Beau.  
Eternal Mirth was in his Face;  
Wherever he went,  
He was content,  
So Fortune had but Kindly sent  
Some Ladies— and a Looking-glass.  
Encouragement they always gave him,  
Encouragement to play the Fool;  
For soon they found it was a Tool;  
Would hardly be so much in Love,  
But that the Mumbling of a Glove,  
Or tearing of a Fan, would save him.   

These Bounties he accepts as Proof,  
Of feats done by his Wit and Youth,  
He gives their freedom gone for ever;  
Concludes each Female heart undone,  
Except that very happy one:  
To which he'd please to do the favour,  
In short, so smooth his matters went.  
He guest, wherever his thoughts were bent,  
The Lady he must carry.  
So put on a fine New Cravat,  
He combed his Wig, he cocked his Hat,  
And gave it out, He'd Marry;  
But here, alas! he found to's Cost,  
He had reckoned long without his Host;  
For where soever he made the Attack,  
Poor Pug with shame was beaten back.   

The first Fair she he had in Chase,  
Was a Young Cat, extremely Rich,  
Her Mother was a Noted Witch;  
So had the Daughter proved but Civil,  
He had been related to the Devil.  
But when he came  
To urge his Flame,  
She scratched him o'er the Face.   

With that he went among the Bitch's,  
Such as had Beauty, Wit and Riches,  
And swore Miss Malkin, to her Cost,  
Should quickly see what she had lost:  
But the poor Unlucky Swain  
Missed his Shepherdess again;  
His Fate was to miscarry,  
It was his Destiny to find,  
That Cats and Dogs are of a mind,  
When Monkeys come to Marry.   B. 
'Tis very well;— 'Tis very well, Old Spark, I say, 'tis very well— Because I han't a pair of Plod-Shooes, and a Dirty Shirt, you think a Woman won't venture upon me for a Husband— Why now to show you, Old Father, how little you Philosophers know of the Ladies,— I'll tell you an Advanture of a Friend of mine.  
A Band, a Bob Wig, and a Feather.  
Attacked a Lady's heart together:  
The Band in a most Learned Plea,  
Made up of Deep Philosophy,  
Told her, if she would please to wed,  
A Reverend Beard, and take instead  
Of Vigorous Youth,  
Old Solemn Truth,  
With Books and Morals into Bed,  
How happy she would be.  

The Bob, he talked of Management,  
What wondrous Blessings Heaven sent  
On Care, and Pains, and Industry,  
And truly he must be so free,  
To own, he thought your Airy Beaux,  
With Powdered Wigs and Dancing Shoes,  
Were good for nothing (mend his soul).  
But prate, and talk, and play the Fool.   

He said it was Wealth gave Joy and Mirth,  
And these be the dearest Wife  
Of one who laboured all his Life,  
To make a Mine of Gold his own,  
And not spend 6 pence when he'ad done,  
Was Heaven upon Earth.   

When these two Blades had done, d'ye see,  
The Feather, (as it might be me)  
Steps out, Sir, from behind the Screen,  
With such an Air, and such a Mien,—  
Look you, Old Gentleman, in short,  
He quickly spoiled the statesmen's sport.   

It proved such Sunshine weather,  
That you must know, at the first Beck,  
The Lady leapt about his Neck,  
And off they went together.   
To Aesop.] There's a Tale for your Tale, Old Dad; and so— Serviteur.  [Exit. 
The End of the Second Part.