THE Woman turned Bully. A COMEDY. Acted at the Duke's Theatre.  Hanc veniam petimus Damusque. 
Licenced, july the 5th 1675. Roger L'Estrange.  
LONDON: Printed by I. C. for T. Dring, at the Harrow at the corner of Chancery-lane in Fleetstreet. 1675.   


The Persons represented.  
TRUMAN, A young Gentleman of the Temple, possessed of an Estate, and lives handsomely.  
GOODFEILD, His Friend, newly come to Town.  
DOCKET, An ancient Attorney, a very Law-driver.  
TRUPENNY, Madam Goodfeilds' Country-Steward, an old formal Coxcomb.  
DASHWEL, Docket's Clerk, like his Master.  
SPRUCE, Another Clerk to Docket, a lively fellow.  
Madam GOODFEILD, A rich Country-Widow, who drinks and takes Tobacco, and can't speak a word out of the Country-Element: she hates the Town; but comes up about an immergent Law-affair.  
BFTTY GOODFEILD, An airy young Lady her Daughter, come up to London after her Mother, in man's Apparel. She personates a Town-Gallant, and discourses out of Plays.  
FRANK, Her Maid, in the like Disguise.  
LOVEAL, The Widow's woman, a stale Maid, who longs for a Husband: very fond.  
LUCIA, A young Lady, Niece and Ward to Docket,  
Her MAID.  
TWO BOYS.   
SCENE, London.   

PROLOGUE.  
So ill success have Poets now adays,  
That shortly none will dare to write you Plays.  
Dramatic Wit is ominous of late;  
The little Flash does still prognosticate  
A Paper-war, or a more scurvy Fate.  
And (like a graceless Child) Heroic Rattle  
Is reallized, and turned the Poet's Battle.  
T'avoid such fears, we shall present to day  
An innocent and unprovoking Play:  
And that's his comfort, th'Author bid me say.  
'Tis plain, well meant; hardly a Song or Dance,  
Scene, nor Machine, its Credit to advance.  
You've nothing here of such prodigious strains,  
To swell your Envy greater than his Pains.  
But being of English growth, we've cause to fear,  
'Gainst homebred Wit their censure too severe,  
Who still usurp a Power to disapprove  
What the sick Fancy can't digest, or Love.  
Persist— But Lechers thus, when they decline,  
Borrow both Heat and Love from sparkling Wine.  
And though poor Chloris thinks their Love's her Prize,  
'Tis Burgundy becomes her Sacrifice.  
While healthful Lovers vigorously improve  
With Native Food and heat th'intrigues of Love.   

The WOMAN turned BULLY.  

ACT I.  

SCENE I.  
The Temple.  Truman, Goodfeild, Boy. Tru. 
HOnest Ned Goodfeild, i'faith I'm as glad to see thee as any man living. Once more thou art welcome to London. But, what good Star directed thee to my Chamber?  Good. 
Marry, that did the good Porter: he showed me the Staircase; and when I mounted, the first I happened to meet was your Boy. Gad, jack, thou livest here a delicate life; these are better Lodgings than thou hadst at the College.  Tru. 
Ay, faith, and somewhat better Company. But what a Devil makes thee tarry thus long at Cambridge? Sure thou art graduated up to the Ears by this time. Dost thou intend for the Pulpit, or by the way of Physic, wilt thou cure thy friends of all Diseases?—  Good. 
No more of that, good jack; I have a Mother alive, who till I come to age (of which I lack not many weeks) is also my Guardian. She is a good Soul (as Sancho said of his Wife) but of a downright Country-principle. She hates your City here, and all that belongs to't. Look ye, jack; when you left the College, I would have followed you with all my heart, but my Mother very gravely, and like a Mother, writ me her Commands, and I think, sent one of her servants to acquaint me, that I must still continue my Studies where I was: for to come into the Country, and enter into Commission of the Peace, I was yet too young; and to go to the Inns a Court she would never think on't, for that was the ready way to be undone, London being the very sink of all Debauchery.  Tru. 
Hold there: Let me view thee well. Dost thou come from the University, and charge us with Debauchery? O tempora! O mores! Belike than you made this Voyage without your Mother's knowledge?  Good. 
Ay.  Tru. 
Why there's a dutiful Son. Art not thou ashamed, Ned?  Good. 
For what? for coming to Town without her leave?  Tru. 
No, Ned, for blaming the poor Town, for a lewd ill-mannered Town, or as your Mother thinks it, a sink of Perdition. I tell thee, Ned, thou art quite beside the Cushion. Mind what I say: Your University-men no sooner come hither, but they forget their dear Art of Drinking. And for a Clap, or so, many are so far from getting it here, that they bring it with 'em.— Boy, see who knocks.  (Knocking. Boy. 
Sir, here's Mr. Docket's Clerk has a Message from his Master, he says, and desires you would please to dispatch him.  Tru. 
Dispatch him? why how long has he waited?  Boy. 
Not at all, Sir; but you know he's so full of his Law-terms, he can't speak without 'em.  Tru. 
Bid him enter.  Boy. 
(at the door) Mr. Dashwel, you may enter.  Enter Dashwel. Dash. 
Sir, I humbly thank ye. May it please you, Mr. Truman, my Master desires to speak with you some time this afternoon.  Tru. 
How does he do?  Dash. 
Very well, and in good practice, I thank God, Sir.  Tru. 
I'm glad on't. Tell your Master, Sir, I will not fail to wait on him about three a clock.  Dash. 
By no means, Sir, for then he'll be very busy in examining a special Plea in Trover, which will hold him at least half an hour.  Tru. 
Why then I'll be with him at five.  Dash. 
That can't be, Sir, for then he'll be gone out to the Walks to meet his Brother Nuper, and sign Judgement betwixt Wiseman and Spendal: 'Tis a 2000 l. Action, and cannot be put off.  Tru. 
No? What a Devil— why then tell him I'll not fail to come as soon as I've dined, 'twixt one and two a clock.  Dash. 
Ay, Sir, I think that will do very well. Fare you well, Sir.  Tru. 
Godb'w'ye Mr. Dashwel.  (Dashwel turns again. Dash. 
Oh Lord! Sir, I had almost forgot; you must not come then, for then there will be with him a certain Country-Lady, one Madam Goodfeild, who comes about business; and you must not come then by any means.  Good. 
Madam Goodfeild, say you friend?  Dash. 
Yes, Sir, of Darbyshire.  Good. 
D'you know her business?  Dash. 
To that, Sir, I answer Ignoramus: I can say little—  Tru. 
To the purpose, I'm sure.—  Dash. 
Her Servant, one Mr. Trupenny, was with my Master this morning, to desire an Imparlance after Dinner, and then she'll open her Case.—  Tru. 
Mr. Dashwel, when shall I come to your Master? be brief.  Dash. 
E'en when you please, Sir.  Tru. 
Well then, I'll come a little before three, ere he goes upon his Plea; and that will be a good time.  Dash. 
Ay, Sir, a very good time: Your Servant Sir, your Servant Gentlemen.  Turning Dashwel to the door, and thrusting him forwards. Exit Dashwel. Good. 
My Mother in Town! this amazes me.  Tru. 
Suspend thy wonder a little, Ned; I'll know all if possible, when I go to Dockets.  Good. 
In the mean time, what a Devil is this Docket, and this formal Coxcomb his man, that comes with such a damned Message?  Tru. 
'Tis worth your enquiry indeed, for they are two as notable Creatures as e'er were showed at Bartholomew-Fair. The man you've seen already, and should you see him a year together, you would see neither more nor less in him; yet people of his Tribe say he's a good Clerk (as they phrase it.) He's one that manages his Master's Practice so assiduously, that he can do nothing else— But a pox on him, what do I spend so many words of such an Owl?  Good. 
Then for the Master.  Tru. 
Ay, the Master. There's a rare plece of flesh for ye— never was Master and Man so proportioned to one another. You have heard part of the man's Character already; and, If the man such dulness have— you know the old Rhyme in the Arcadia. To be brief, (for I hate to discourse of such unpleasant subjects) He is a pure downright Attorney, with as little mixture of Gentleman or Scholar as possible can be imagined to one who lives in London, the Staple of refined converse. To this I must add, he is Old and Rich.  Good. 
I'the name of Wonder, how came you acquainted with such things as these? Is this the refined Converse, you talk of?  Tru. 
Oh, Ned! thereby hangs a tale. You must know then, in an evil hour, I owe him 6000 l. which my Father heretofore borrowed, partly to marry a Daughter, and partly on other occasions: For this Debt he mortgaged five hundred a year, which Mortgage has been now forfeited about four year, and he in the Devil's name, has entered. Since my Father's death, Ned, I have been very sensible of this loss, it being (betwixt you and I) the best half of my Estate. In fine, I have been several times with him to take in this Mortgage, and get him to release the Estate. I have offered him, to that end, to pay down 3000 l. with the Interest due, and a Judgement from myself and two substantial Citizens, for the other three.  Good. 
And so he replies that you offer him to his loss, and that he has eleven Points of the Law against ye; does he not?  Tru. 
Much to that purpose; but in his Gibberish, he tells me, Nul tort nul disseisin, I must not complain of wrong, he has but what the Law gives him, and Executio Iuris non habet Injuriam: And this is all I could ever get from him, till yesterday, and then we were in somewhat more complaisant terms. He sends for me now, I am confident, about this business.  Good. 
Well, is this all you can tell me of him?  Tru. 
No.  Good. 
Proceed.  Tru. 
He has a pretty Niece, that I must bring you acquainted with.  Good. 
Me! Gad jack, you have made such a fine Character of him, I have no ambition to know any of the Breed.  Tru. 
You mistake me, Ned Goodfeild; she is no ways a kin to the dis-ingenuity of her Uncle. Believe me, Friend, she is both Young, Pretty, of a good Humour, and besides a Fortune.  Good. 
And with all these good Qualities, why do not you strike her up, and by that means pay off your Mortgage?  Tru. 
Not so fast: The Affair is less feasible to me than any man, for several reasons that I know. Her Father dying, left this his only Daughter, and 6000 l. to the management of his Wife's Brother, this Docket, who he appointed her Guardian, with this Proviso in his Will, that if she married without her said Guardian's consent, then to forfeit the said sum intended for her Portion, and that her Uncle might dispose of it as he thought fit. Her Uncle, a covetous Jew, has swallowed all this Estate already in imagination, intending never to marry her with his consent: To that end, confines her (while with him in London) constantly to her Chamber, never suffering her to see the open air, unless once or twice a fortnight in the Temple or Lincolns-Inn-Gardens; and that too, with himself or some such trusty Governor.  Good. 
These are Impediments, I confess jack, especially to a Debtor.  Tru. 
This is not all. The damned dull course of life her Uncle has imposed upon her, has rendered both her discourse and behaviour very reserved, or to say true, a little heavy; which suits not at all with my fancy; for I must have my Mistress, Ned, full of Air and Gaiety to the utmost extent.  Good. 
Faith, then I've a Sister will fit thee to a hair.  Tru. 
Where is she, Ned?  Good. 
Ah Pox, she's in Derbyshire.  Tru. 
That's a great way off. But how d'you know she's not come up with your Mother?  Good. 
Oh, it can never enter into my thoughts: She'll sooner send her to the Nunnery at Ghent, than bring her hither. She believes this Town spoils all young men that come to it; but for women, she's confident the very air of London meets 'em, and debauches 'em at Highate. Hang me if I can comprehend what a Devil brings my Mother herself up: it must be some extraordinary occasion. She has not made such a Voyage, to my knowledge, this twenty years.  Tru. 
Well, we shall know all when I have been at Dockets. In the mean time, Ned, thou shalt dine with me: I'll acquaint thee with the humour of the Eating-houses. Boy, give me my Sword, and follow me.  Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  
The Street.  Enter Betty Goodfeild, and Frank her Maid, both in man's Apparel. B. Good. 
NOw, Frank, that we are arrived at London, and have luckily taken Lodgings near my Mother, our first care must be, to conceal our Disguise; to that end, be sure you never speak to me otherwise than by the name of Sir: 'ware tripping.  Fran. 
Leave that to me, Sir; I was the first that thought of this Adventure, and if I can't manage it, may I never live to be married, and that's no small Curse. I'll be so far from betraying the secret in public, that even in private, when we are alone, you shall pass with me for what you seem.  B. Good. 
My next endeavours must be, how to suit my own behaviour to what I intent, a Town-Gallant. In this, Frank, you must instruct me, for you have known the Town before you came to my service.  Fran. 
True. First then, have you seen any of our new Plays?  B. Good. 
Yes, I have read 'em all as they came out in Print.  Fran. 
Good: that will be a great help. For look ye, Sir, just as some raw Poets borrow their Scenes from the Fop-company they frequent, in the same manner, many raw Gallants square their behaviour to their Fop-scenes. What else makes these sort of Phrases so common, Dear heart— You understand me— Let me die— And all that—  B. Good. 
For my own part, I don't know whether people in London talk thus or no; but if you'd have me discourse out of Plays, let me alone.  Fran. 
Besides this, you must be sure to be very confident, or if you please, impudent in all your actions: That's the prime Rule of Converse.  B. Good. 
Gad take me, I cannot promise very much in that particular, but I'll endeavour.  Fran. 
Gad take me! Oh, fie, fie, I'm ashamed to hear ye; why that's an Oath for a Country-Schoolmaster: You must learn to swear more like a Gentleman, or you'll spoil a Gallant.  B. Good. 
Why prithee, how swears a Gentleman? does not a Cobbler swear as well?  Fran. 
No, Sir, a Cobbler swears at the second hand. To swear like a Gentleman, is to swear in a new Phrase, and with a full mouth. I know a Lady near the place where I was born, that never encouraged her Children with Apples or Sugar-plums, but when they had invented some handsome new Oath, as, By my Mother's Maidenhead, or, By my Father's dapple Mare; or rather than none at all, a Rapper would content her, so that it came in, in a right place, and had a good Emphasis. I have seen her little Imps of four or five years old swear as heartily for a Breakfast, as e'er I heard our Chaplain pray.  B. Good. 
But may not a man hope for an indifferent good Behaviour without such blunt downright Profaneness?  Fran. 
If you converse only with Ladies, indeed, why you may do pretty well if you have often, Gad Madam, and, As I hope to live Madam, and the like. But e'faith Sir, if you have to do with a Coachman or a Mechanic, you must be at it with, Damn me ye Son of a Tinker, or you'll do no good.  B. Good. 
Why Son of a Tinker?  Fran. 
Oh Sir, that's a new Phrase, and much more significant, than Son of a Whore: Alas, that's grown so common, as 'tis become a term of indearment, only to be used to Friends and Familiars; as what's more usual, than Dear Son of a Whore, how I love thee! No body's ashamed of Son of a Whore, but a Son of a Tinker is not company for a Footboy.— Then young Gentleman, can you Curse well?  B. Good. 
Faith, Frank, I doubt, not.  Fran. 
Why there's it; yet you may perhaps when you're moved. But above all, have a care when any one offends you, not to cry A Pox take him, or The Devil take him, for these are (as I said before) Terms of Friendship. Is there any thing more ready, than A Pox take thee Jack, where hast thou been all this while? and for the other business, it is so innocent, we use it of ourselves; as, The Devil take me, Sir, that's a good jest.  B. Good. 
'Tis very true.  Fran. 
Therefore I think a more terrible way of Execration would be to say of your Enemy, May he never see his Mistriss' Eyes again; or May his Tailor never trust him: But this, Sir, I leave to your Discretion.  B. Good. 
These are general Rules fit for all Companies and places. Now for my particular daily Exercise.  Fran. 
That, Sir, must be divided betwixt Drinking—  B. Good. 
I'm nought at that Weapon—  Fran. 
Not so good as your Mother, I confess;— but I say you must spend the day in Drinking, Gaming, and Wenching: but in this last affair, you must not enter too far, for a reason that I know.  B. Good. 
If I do, the Devil's in me. But prithee Frank, how must I spend the morning, which some call the sober part of the day?  Fran. 
Why there's your mistake: The morning is part of the night. A true Gallant should never wake till eleven, nor be dressed till twelve at soon.  B. Good. 
Then what's to be done in the night?  Fran. 
For the night, Sir, you must be sure never to go home till towards one; then in your way as you go, you must take occasion to beat two or three Watchmen, and break all the Windows that dare oppose ye.  B. Good. 
This is something harsh, methinks, for a Learner: then to break windows shows too much like Confederacy with the Glasiers: and for a Gentleman to correspond with Mechanics, is, I fancy, very odious.  Fran. 
No matter what you fancy. There is, I confess, a milder way of Night-adventures; and that is, to pass the Watch, give 'em a shilling, abuse the Constable in clean Language, for which he'll thank ye: and instead of breaking windows, to serenade your Mistress.—  B. Good. 
No more. I'll serenade my Mother, this very night. Let it be your care to provide Music; and for a Song or so, you can perform it as well as any Shepherdess in London.  Fran. 
Leave that to me, Sir: In the mean time look ye who comes yonder, to exercise your Courtship. ' Foregad, Mrs. Loveal, my old Lady's Woman, the easiest Quarry in the world to enter a young beginner. Go pick her up, and when you've tired that humour pretty well, I'll cross the way and meet you full i'the mouth, and so give you occasion to drop her.  (Fran. retires to a distance. Enter Loveal. B. Good. 
Sweet Lady, your humble Servant.  Lov. 
O Lord, Sir, I'm in great haste.  B. Good. 
Nay, if you're in haste, I can be as hasty as you, and keep pace with ye, I warrant ye. I cannot in Conscience see such a Delicate, Little, Plump, Pretty, Young thing, and of such a Ravishing Air, walk the streets alone, as if disconsolate and forsaken of all mankind: I'faith, Madam, you must not therefore refuse me both the Honour and Satisfaction to wait on ye.  Lov. 
Oh, Sir, excuse me for that: I am but a Servant myself, and have been but now at the New Exchange to buy my Lady's things, who is new come to Town. I know, Sir, a Gentleman of your Quality cannot abase yourself so much, to love such a one as I am.  B. Good. 
Love, my Dear? never talk of that; for I must tell thee, my friend, and so forth, (as my Cousin Wildbloud has it) I am an exceeding Honourer of course Linen; 'tis as proper sometimes in an under Garment, as a course Towel to rub and scrub me.  Lov. 
Pardon me, Sir, I vow you are such an obliging Gentleman— but I know my Lady expects me.  B. Good. 
Never trouble yourself; she has other affairs to think on. Look you, sweet Lady, here's a Tavern hard by, where we may have a very convenient Room, and be private. And I protest now, I'm so taken with your Discourse and Person, we cannot part with dry Lips, as they say.  Lov. 
Ay, Sir, but if my Lady should think me long.—  B. Good. 
(aside) Defend me! she's more willing than I: do they call this Picking up?— This way, dear heart.  Lov. 
Sir, the next Tavern is downwards.  B. Good. 
(aside) Now do I tremble all over, when I think what I want to satisfy her expectations. 'Slid, if I stay with her but three minutes longer, she'll find where I'm defective, and then I'm ruined.— Ay, Madam, but there's a house this way that has better Accommodation: At some Taverns the Drawers are such Rascals, they'll peep, and be troublesome.  Lov. 
Well, Sir, I am a Stranger in Town, and therefore submit to your better experience.  B. Good. 
(aside) Now this damned Frank, where is she?  Enter Frank. Fran. 
Sir Thomas Whimsy, your most humble Servant.  B. Good. 
Honest Rogue, how dost thou? come along with me; I'll tell thee the best Jest.  Exeunt B. Goodfeild and Frank. Lov. 
(Looking after them) Now, may I never live to see Derbyshire, and the well-meaning Country-Gentlemen again, if this be not a pitiful trick: The first man that ever made Love to me in London, serve me thus; offer me the Wine-tavern, and then run away, without taking his leave too? Now out upon him: I have been often deceived in my life, but never in so few words before. Sir Thomas Whimsy quoth a? well, my comfort is, I know no such Whimsies in the Country. There, if a young man offers Kindness to a young maid, he will go thoroughstich with it; which does the poor Soul good at heart. And— Oh me! it strikes two a clock. Madam I come, I come Madam, I come, I come.  Exit running.  

SCENE III.  Enter Docket and Spruce. Dock. 
WHere's Dashwel?  Spr. 
At the Office, Sir.  Dock. 
'Tis well: Go bid my Niece come hither.  Spr. 
Yes, Sir.  Exit. Dock. 
This Niece of mine is much offended at her confinement; but it's no matter: she's young and handsome, and I am old and wary. If she be known broad, she'll quickly get a Husband, and that will be no small Nuisance to my Estate: For though her Father devised her and 6000 l. to my tuition, with proviso, that if she marries without my consent, then to forfeit the said sum; Yet if she happens to be well married, and without disparagement, what the Chancery may decree in this Case, I know not.  Enter Lucia, Spruce. Dock. 
Niece, I have considered of your grievances, which you moved at Dinner; but I perceive you are young, and do not weigh things with discretion. Should I suffer ye to go abroad, or let people come to ye, some vain idle fellow with a white Periwig and a long Sword, would marry ye, Niece, d'you mind me? would marry ye; and then you're undone.— Look ye, Niece, Abundans cautela non nocet, pray observe that.  Luc. 
In the mean time, Sir, the continual imprisonment of my Chamber is insufferable: I'm sure it is very prejudicial to my health; and I'm troubled with such a Headache, flesh and blood is not able to endure it.  Dock. 
Nay, good Lucy, never talk of that, but consider the Maxim; A private damage is to be suffered, rather than a public inconveniency. Your distemper concerns only yourself, Niece: But should I see you married to one of those Fops I told you of but now, it would break my heart.—  Spr. 
(aside) Yes, no doubt, to part with her Portion.—  Dock. 
Yet because you shall not say I'm made of Marble, and have no consideration of your Infirmities, look ye, Niece, you and your Maid shall have a turn in the Temple-Garden this Evening, and there taste the sweet air of the Thames. What wouldst thou have more, poor thing?  Luc. 
Besides, Sir, by reason of this strict life you impose upon me, I have forgot all the Education my Friends had heretofore given me.  Dock. 
You would say, you have lost your Dancing; I understand ye: 'Tis no matter, a modest woman should not Dance well. You have not lost your Singing, I'm sure; yo'are often practising: yet it were better if you could only sing Psalms.  Luc. 
What to do, Sir? you seldom let me go to Church.  Dock. 
It is not necessary: You have good Books at home, read them: There's The whole duty of man; think of that, Niece, think of that.  Luc. 
So I do, Sir, as much as possible I can; but—  Dock. 
'Tis enough. I understand what you would say; but you would have some of these naughty Plays. Niece, I must tell ye, they are not good for ye, and let that suffice: Yet ye shall have variety, Niece. Look ye, I'll buy ye the Seven Champions, and I think, Dashwel has Clark's lives of Famous men; I'll borrow that of him, and you shall read that too: And for Education, you shall have enough, Lucy. I scorn it should be said that any of my Blood should want Education. Dashwel shall teach ye French, he understands Littleton perfectly well: And if you please, I'll have a Master come and teach ye to cast Account, and write Shorthand.—  Spr. 
Sir, here's Madam Goodfeild newly light out of her Coach, and coming up stairs.  Dock. 
Away, Niece, here's a Client of Quality coming, and I would not have you seen in this dress for the world.  Exit Lucia. Enter Goodfeild and Loveal. Good. 
Is that your Master?  Spr. 
Yes, Madam.  Good. 
Mr. Docket, I am come now, only to tell you I cannot stay; I must only acquaint you with my business, and be gone again.  Dock. 
First, Madam, let me bid you welcome. (Salutes her.) Now, Madam, if you please to sit by me, here in this Chair, I am for you.— Spruce, reach me Pen, Ink, and Paper, to take instructions.  Good. 
You must know then, good Mr. Docket, that I come to you with Commendations from my Lady Simple of Darbyshire.  Dock. 
Yes, Madam, I know her very well: her Husband, old Sir Simon, late deceased, was the very first Client I ever had.  Good. 
God bless her good Ladyship, say I, for she's my good Neighbour; but let that pass: I love few words, Mr. Docket, and those to the purpose.—  Dock. 
My own humour directly.—  Good. 
You must know then, Mr. Docket, that I have a one and only Daughter in the Country, her name is Elizabeth Goodfeild, (you may set her down, if you please) a wild Wench she is, and therefore 'tis high time to marry her, (but you need not set that down.) Now, Sir, my good Lady Simple has but one Son, who since his Father's death, is Sir Alexander Simple, (pray set him down;) and my Lady Simple and I considering that 'tis better to wed over the Mixon, than over the Moor, as they say in our parts, (but you need not set that down.) Therefore, Mr. Docket, we two Mothers, like loving Neighbours, have concluded to marry together.  Dock. 
You mean your Children, but I understand ye: Very good.  Good. 
My Lady Simple, Sir, is very badly handled with the Gout, that's the plain truth on't; and therefore she can't travel: And for Sir Alexander, he being the only Sprig of the Family of the Simples remaining, we were not willing to venture him to such a naughty Town; he might not only have been spoiled himself, but done my Daughter no good too. For you know, Mr. Docket, Husband and Wife are but one flesh.  Dock. 
'Tis very true, Madam, there's a scurvy Disease here in Town, which many a man gets, besides the Simples.  Good. 
To conclude, Sir, I am entrusted of all hands, to come to you, as my Lady Simples Lawyer, to take care with you that my Daughter be well feofft in something: For the truth is, Mr. Docket, her Father, honest Justice Goodfeild, before he died, set her a very good Portion, namely 5000 l. which you know requires a good Jointure.  Dock. 
For that, Madam, let me alone; but will you have it by way of Uses, Feoffment, Bargain and Sale, Lease and Release, Fine and Recovery, or how? The usual way, is by way of settlement to certain Uses; but then I must know the names of your Feoffees in trust: And here Madam, there needs no Livery nor Attornment.  Good. 
For my part, I understand not a word you say: but here's your Fee, Mr. Docket; and I'll send Steven Trupenny—  Spr. 
Sir, here's Mr. Truman, without.  Dock. 
Let him attend, and do you bear him company.  Exit Spr. Good. 
And as I was saying, Sir, I ll send my Steward Stephen True-penny to ye; he can draw Bonds and Conditions, and he'll acquaint you with the very inside of this business. In the mean time you see I cannot stay now: I go hence to visit a Nephew, a Turkey Merchant in the City, with whom I sup; but I sha'not fail to be at my Lodgings within an hour after Sunset, at furthest.  Dock. 
Then, Madam, give me leave to wait upon you at your Return, and at the same time I'll consult with your Steward about this Affair.  Good. 
Sir, you shall be heartily welcome. I have two or three Bottles of Derby there, which I brought up in my Coach, (for I hate your London-Drink) you'll say when you taste it, 'tis the best you ever drank. Till then, God be with you, good Mr. Docket, I shall not fail to be at home.  Dock. 
I'll wait on ye to your Coach, Madam.  Exeunt. Enter Truman, and Spruce. Tru. 
To one Sir Alexander Simple, sayst thou?  Spr. 
Yes, Sir.  Tru. 
But is her Daughter in Town?  Spr. 
No; the two young people remain with the old Gouty Lady in the Country.  Tru. 
There's the Devil.—  Spr. 
But I have better news for you, Sir; Madam Lucia and her Maid have leave to be in the Temple-Garden this Evening.  Tru. 
That's well.  Spr. 
And her Maid bid me take care to let you know it.  Tru. 
That's better: I will not fail to meet her.  Spr. 
Whist; not a word more, as you hope to be Knighted.  Enter Docket. Dock. 
Mr. Truman, I sent for you, this morning, by my man.  Tru. 
You did Sir, and you see I'm come according to the Summons.  Dock. 
You're welcome. Look ye, Mr. Truman, you and I have often treated about this Mortgage. I have now considered of it; and you shall know my resolution in few words. Look ye, Mr. Truman, I will not have you say that Summum jus est Summa injuria. Therefore mind me, Sir: you know you owe me 6000 l. Principal.  Tru. 
Well, Sir.  Dock. 
Besides this, there is above 300 l. due for Interest, and about 200 l. farily reckoned for Costs which I have been at in outing your Tenants, and recovering quiet Possession of your Estate; that's 500 l. Now observe me, Mr. Truman, I ll pay you down 500 l. more upon the Nail; all which Sums amount to 7000 l. And for this, you shall confirm the Estate to me and my Heirs for ever, with a General Warranty contra omnes gentes, and pass a Fine of the said Estate, Come ceo que il ad de son done. And so you and I will continue good friends, Mr. Truman.  Tru. 
So in effect, you will have an Estate of 500 l. a year in the best Lands in Hartfordshire, all improvable, with 100 Acres of Timber, and all this for 7000 l. And so you and I shall continue good Friends.  Dock. 
As any live, I protest.  Tru. 
Never upon these Conditions, I assure ye. Look ye, Mr. Docket, you would have me confirm the Estate abovesaid, upon the Conditions aforesaid.  Dock. 
Ay.  Tru. 
Nay mind me, Sir; you would have me pass a Fine upon the said Estate, with Warranty to you and your Heirs for ever.  Dock. 
Ay.  Tru. 
First the Devil shall have you and your Heirs for ever; observe me, Mr. Docket. And besides this, I would have ye take notice, and if you think fit, ye may put down the Memorandum in your Almanac; I will take in my Mortgage within two days, and that malgré your damned Worship, and all your Confederates in Hell, d'you mind me? And so farewell, Mr. Attorney Docket.  Exit. Dock. 
Oh, farewell Huff, if you're so impatient.  
Go, spend your grease, vain Fop, fret, swell, and vex:  
I laugh at idle words, with Currat Lex.  Exit.   

ACT II.  

SCENE I.  
The Temple Garden.  Enter Truman, and Ned Goodfeild. N. Good. 
HEre's no appearance of the Game you expect.  Tru. 
No matter: It is yet too early. I confide in my intelligence; my Lawyer's Clerk never failed me.  N. Good. 
Is your Correspondent that dull Beast that brought you the Message from his Master this morning?—  Tru. 
Oh Plague on him, no: Mine is a brisk fellow that has Sense and Ingenuity in him. All of the Tribe are not like Dashwel and Docket; if they were, here would be no living among 'em: They would infect the Town worse than the Sickness, or Pox.— In the mean time, Ned, you little think what your good Mother comes up about.  N. Good. 
Hast thou learned that? prithee tell me—  Tru. 
Not so hasty; the News is not so welcome. You must know then, Mr. Edward, that your old woman has agreed with another old woman in the Country, to match your Sister to her Son; and she has now made this Journey to dispatch the settlements of Marriage, and so forth: So that my Interest in the party aforesaid, is dwindled to nothing.  N. Good. 
D'you know the Son's name?  Tru. 
Yes; Sir Alexander Simplo—  N. Good. 
'Tis enough. Remember that I tell ye, jack, it lies not in the power of Fate to make up the Match. The old people may please themselves in talking, but 'tis the young ones must do in these cases. I know Simple well enough; he has a large Estate indeed, but is the veriest Coxcomb in ten Counties. And for my Sister, I am sufficiently assured, she'd rather come to London and sell Oranges, than marry him, of all the Cullies in England.— But who are these?  Enter Lucia, and her Maid. Tru. 
This is the Lady, Ned, into whose good Graces I must introdue thee. What thinkst thou of her?  Good. 
She seems a delicate Creature, and full of Sweetness. Let us engage 'em.  Tru. 
I thought I should not stave ye off. Allons.— Madam Lucia! I know not to what kind Star I owe this happiness; but to see you here, completes my joys.  Luc. 
Mr. Truman, your Servant. You are always in this strain— What Gentleman is that?  Tru. 
My very particular Friend. Let me beg you, Madam, to gratify his ambition with the favour to kiss your fair hand.  Luc. 
Being your friend, Sir, he has sufficient merit to commend him to the most noted Beauty of the Town. You pass too great a Compliment on me, I assure ye, Mr. Truman.  Good. 
Your pardon, Madam. As to be noted, is not always to be a Beauty, so I find, to be the most noted Beauty, is not to be the Greatest or the best. Witness yourself: it is in your example, Madam, I perceive, that Fame neither speaks always truth, nor all truths.  Luc. 
Nay, Gentlemen, never railly me in this manner: I'd rather you would call me ugly in plain intelligible expressions, than laugh at my ill face in you fine Language. My Glass tells me what I am, better than all the Courting Monsieurs 'twixt Ludgate and the Abbey.  Tru. 
Oh, Madam, Ladies are no Competent Judges of their own Beauty.  Good. 
They always value it too much, or too little.  Luc. 
On the other side, Gallants that are always praising their mistress's Beauty, at the same time dispraise their own Wit.. 'Tis to be presumed, their Common-place runs all on that Subject and they have no other matter to discourse of.— Therefore, if you please, Gentlemen, we'll talk of something else.  Good. 
(aside to Truman) Oh how I love her for this! her Wit is equal to her Face.  Tru. 
Faith, Madam, let us improve the time as well for action as discourse; let us all to the Park this inviting Evening: My Coach will be ready in three minutes.  Luc. 
Mr. Truman, you speak like a stranger to my condition. I am but a Prisoner at large, and my Fetters reach not farther than this. Garden.  Tru. 
All Curses on the damned Geaolor, your Uncle.  Luc. 
Mr. Truman, I have always looked upon you as my friend.— Alas, I have but few.— (weeps) My Consinement is a Disease▪ and I fear will prove my death.  Good. 
Madam, this Gentleman and I, have but one heart: Either direct us how to serve you, or be pleased to submit▪ to our advice, and I'll secure your Liberty before to morrow-night, that Devil of an Uncle shall no longer abuse such Innocence.  Enter B. Goodfeild, and Frank. B. Good. 
Observe, Frank; is not that my Brother, so busy with yonder Lady?  Fran. 
Yes I vow, or my eyes are the veriest Liars in London.  B. Good. 
What a Devil makes he in Town? he's as great a stranger here as I am. When we left the Country, was not he at Cambridge?  Fran. 
We all thought so: As sure as can be, this is some Mistress. But what's he that stands with him?  B. Good. 
He seems much a Gentleman. I'm resolved to make one of the Company: My Brother can never know me in this Disguise. Have among'e, e'faith.— Gallant, are ye for Love alone, Conversation alone, or Love and Conversation together?  Tru. 
Why, young Bully?  B. Good. 
If ye are for Love alone, I'll leave the Lady to ye, and Bien proface Messieurs. If ye are for Conversation alone, why then Gentlemen, pray learn to be civil, and you two go together by yourselves; 'tis rude to stay here, and overhear our discourse, when the Lady and I would be private.—  Good. 
This is the maddest young Rascal I ever saw in my life.  B. Good. 
But if ye are for Love and Conversation together, why then, faith, let us share the blessed Community; here are four men to two women: A good proportion for Town-Ladies; two to two is only fit for Nuns that have vowed Chastity: But I hope, Madam, you are not so vain to think of that.—  (Offers at her hand. Luc. 
Away, rude fellow.—  Good. 
Belike you think yourself a man then. Alas, poor thing, thou art below a kicking;— but be gone, or—  B. Good. 
Not so fast, Sir; be I man or boy, or whate'er I am, I would have thee know, Bully-hec, I am able to give satisfaction to any man in the Bed of Honour.— No more huffing. If you are minded to speak to me By the way of Bilbo (as the Play has it) I'll answer ye by the way of Dangerfield. Hark ye—  (They whisper. Maid. 
Nay, never urge me, I swear I will not: it is not handsome to tell Names.  Fran. 
Alas poor Creature, thou dost not understand what belongs to a Waiting-Damsel; it is part of her office to discover her Lady's Secrets. I perceive by this, thou art but a Callow-maid— and o'my Conscience a Virigin.  Maid. 
A Virgin? Ay, a pure one.  Fran. 
Fie, fie, Sweetheart, learn more behaviour; though perhaps, you are such, you should not acknowledge it. Should you talk thus before Company, you'd be laughed at for being so out o'the Mode. A Maidenhead of this bigness? out upon't!  Maid. 
Now, fie upon you; you're the strangest man, I ever talked with.  B. Good. 
— And without Seconds; if you fail, I'll post ye for a Coward: I know your name; Goodfeild.  Good. 
Spare your provocations. I'll meet thee, though thou wert the Devil in the shape of a Boy: as thou mayst be for aught I know, by thy intelligence.  B. Good. 
Well, Sir, now you and I have agreed, I am your very humble Servant. In the next place, I must borrow a few words of your friend that stands yonder, so like a civil Gentleman, and has not a word to say for himself.  B. Good▪ and Truman come forward, the rest walk farther off. Tru. 
With me? What would the Child have with me? Come, speak thy mind quickly, little fellow, thou seest I am engaged.  B. Good. 
You would say, with Monsieur Palamede, that T'are a man of business: Yes, no doubt on't. I suppose; sweet Sir, you are one of those hard Students, whose delight is continually to affront Littleton and the Law, by writing Farce, to be laughed at by the Player-women en Chivalier; or else en Debauché to hussah for a Wench, be perpetually drunk, and break your friends windows that go to bed before ye.  Tru. 
So: And this you suppose my Character?  B. Good. 
Yes: with only this Addition: You're a man of a very excellent temper, you are not easily provoked neither to Anger nor Raillery. Come, shall I answer for you? As sure as can be, you either would or should say, Sweet young Gentleman, or Sweet Sir, or Plain Sir, or something to that purpose; You see I have been lately discoursing with a Lady, and as I hope to breathe now, she has drawn me so dry, and all that— I have not Language enough left me to say, Your Servant, Sir.— Come, Sir, confess ingenuously, would you not have said thus, if you could?  Tru. 
Said thus; quoth a? why thou sayst so fast, thou woued not let me say a word in thy presence.— What a Devil art thou? whence com'st thou? thou art the pertest little thing I ever met with.  B. Good. 
Perhaps, Sir, I have wronged ye, and ye are a Wit. For (as the Play says) All Wits have their failings, and have the fortune to be thought Fools one in their lives; and who knows but this is your critical minute?  Tru. 
So, so; thou art a very forward stripling, and dost begin betimes to be bolder than welcome. Thou mayst thank thy Childhood for this Liberty: If thou wert a man, I should talk to thee in another Dialect.  B. Good. 
Then it seems, Sir, you can talk to a man, though not to a boy: but can you talk to a woman? Suppose me a woman a little, though As arrant a Fruit-woman as any is in Rome; the grace Monsieur, how would you behave yourself?  Tru. 
Away, Boy; if thou hast any business with me, dispatch it: Time's precious, and I can waste no more.  B. Good. 
Nay, never mince the matter. If I were a woman, I know what you'd do. First of all, you'd pelt me with two or three little pretty deux yeux: Than off goes the Hat, thus, and out comes the Comb, thus; and after having friskt o'er the bottom of your Periwig a little, and exalted the foretop thus, you would make Love according to the latest 〈◊〉, thus— Sweet Lady, you have here a man to your mind: For to confess the truth to you, I can but counterfeit Love to try you. Gad, Madam, I never yet could love any woman: and since I have seen you, and I do not, I am certain now I shall scape for ever.  Tru. 
Why thou art a very impudent fellow to talk of things so much above thee. Alas, poor child! thou dost not understand what belongs to Love, nor won't these seven years.  B. Good. 
Forbear such frightful words; I am not so young, wise Sir, 〈◊〉 I understand what Love is. 'Tis the seducer of Virtue, the disturber of Quiet, the madness of Youth, the dotage of old Age, the enemy to good Humour, and, as the Play says very well, The reason of all unreasonable Actions.  Tru. 
And is this all you know of Love?  B. Good. 
No: Love was thus from the beginning; our Grandfathers know as much as this. In our Age the face of Love is very much altered. Our Gallants have wisely considered Love has been made so common, trite, and out of fashion, that, though there is something belonging to the thing that is very useful and much affected, yet the damned Name is hateful; and both Sexes have agreed, though their designs be never so sensual, to disown the scandal of Love, and call it Gallantry, Mirth; and Raillery. Love, out upon't! 'tis got into all places, though never so improper and abusrd. Have ye not Love in a Maze, Love in a Tub, Love in a Wood, nay, Love in a Nunnery and Love in a Pipkin?  Tru. 
Hold a little, I thou everlasting Talker; I think I must stop thy mouth: Let me view thee well; things of thy age, are not usually thus witty. I begin to love thy humour.—  B. Good. 
Then, Woe. woe to poor Benito, I sinde my abundance of Wit has ruined me. Dare you name Love, when you've heard me declare so much against it? Farewell, Sir— (Is going, but turns again. Yet if you have Courage enough to be Love's Champion, I defy you upon't; and will attend you to morrow-morning at five, near Lambs-Conduit, if you dare meet me.  Tru. 
I dare.  B. Good. 
Adieu then, jusque a revoir.  Tru. 
Nay, but one word more; stay a little—  B. Good. 
Not a moment: I never talk with Enemies. Your are engaged: Look, your company expects you.— Come Frank.  Exeunt B. Good. and Fran. Good. 
What hast thou been doing all this while, jack, with that Boy?  Tru. 
'Tis a witty Impertinent, and Raillies well.— But how go affairs with you? what have you resolved on?  Good. 
Faith, we are not come to Resolutions, but so far from that point, that this Lady is pleased to refuse whatever I propose. She is too much her own enemy, and too great a friend to something that looks like Honour, to admit us to serve her.  Luc. 
Excuse me, Sir, you have obliged me much in such generous offers, but I have many Reasons not to use 'em. Mr. Truman, you are best acquainted with my condition, and therefore can best judge of what I tell ye. Should I leave my Uncle, (though his usage is both unhandsome, and unnatural) I shall not only lose my Fortune, for my Father has committed both me and it to his Arbitration.—  Good. 
Madam, I value not your Fortune, I am already Master of so liberal an Estate, I care not to increase it. If you please to make me happy in your person, I'll venture losing, what your Uncle covets.  Luc. 
That, Sir, is the least of all my thoughts: And had I not, that to think on, yet I can ne'er consent to leave so near a Relation, to whose Government my dying Father gave me, without, not only his Consent, but Knowledge: And that too, with two young men. This, Gentlemen, (although I do not question in the least your Honour) is so very scandalous, I never can admit it.  Tru. 
Your Uncle has justly forfeited his Trust, abusing it: and, Madam, you may well be confident your Father never fancied him for such a Guardian, when he first named him yours.  Luc. 
Sir, I not doubt it. And though I sigh for death or a more pleasing life,— yet I had rather ever continue thus wretched as I am, than be made happy, by any means that gives the least offence or prejudice to the spotless Fame of an innocent Maid.  Good. 
In the mean time, Madam, will you make me so happy as to let me hope I may hereafter be admitted to your service when you shall be a more absolute Mistress of yourself, and free from the constraint of such a Guardian?  Luc. 
Provided, Sir, you use no violent means to accomplish such a freedom. I am not so ungrateful to forget a friendship, nor yet so dull as not to apprehend who has obliged me.— But Gentlemen, no more.— You must not know me: This is one of my Uncle's Spies.  Enter Dashwel. Dash. 
Mistress Lucia, my Master desires to be recommended to you, and has sent me to conduct you home; he and I are just going forth about business, and he desires to see your Ingress before our Egress.  Luc. 
So: Have ye any other Commendations from your Master?  Dash. 
Non sum Informatus: That is to say, in English, He gave me no farther Instructions.  Luc. 
Then come along.  Good. 
Mr. Dashwel, your humble Servant: Pray, Sir, quota cloka?  Dash. 
Sweet Sir, I think it is near octa hora: Your Servant Gentlemen.  Good. 
Farewell Codshead.  Exeunt Dash. Luc. and Maid. Tru. 
Now, Ned, what dost thou think of this Lady?  Good. 
I think so well of her, that I think the worse of thee for bringing me acquainted with her to no purpose.  Tru. 
Why to no purpose?  Good. 
You see she admits not my Addresses.  Tru. 
Thou art a Fool, Ned; and though thou hast studied so long at the University, thou art very illiterate in Women. Why all her discourse was nothing but I will and I won't: and when they are once arrived at that, they need but little Courting.  Good. 
I perceive thou art very learned in this sort of Philosophy, jack: I think I had best get thee to read to me.  Tru. 
Read, quoth a? no faith it needs not, I have it all by heart. In the first place, you must know, Friend mine, Women are not now so dull, and unapprehensive, as in former Ages: For just as times and seasons change, so Behaviour grows more polite; of which, the particular we discourse of, is one of the chief Examples. Anciently Girls had such a gross Education, that most of them knew neither to read, Bawdry; nor write, Assignations; their Parents not caring to improve their judgement to be more capable than to distinguish betwixt their Husband's Doublet and Breeches; which not only made them ashamed to demand what most they wanted, but also when they had occasion to do so, or so,— Gad, they durst not, though one and twenty years old, without their Mother's leave.  Good. 
But in this Age—  Tru. 
Ay, Ned, in this Age they begin to refine their Behaviour, and have found out the way of speaking, and yet not say a word.  Good. 
How jack? to speak, and not say a word? that's a xsstrong Line.  Tru. 
No matter, Ned, you have used to such at the place from whence you come. I say, they can speak their mind, and yet not say a word. And besides this, when they speak, they have invented such a delicate Language, that they will talk with you an hour together, and all the while discover a sense quite different from their words. The advantages they have acquired from Habits and Dress, to supply the defects of Nature in spite of mankind, I'll omit.  Good. 
Ay, prithee do: 'Tis a Subject only proper to Tailors and Tirewomen.  Tru. 
By the way, Ned, I must tell thee, I am of opinion, the Mystery of Dress is now arrived to its utmost perfection; and must of necessity, like the Roman Empire, decay in after-Ages.  Good. 
Thou talk'st high, jack.  Tru. 
Not so high as the Lady's Toors. I tell thee, Ned Goodfeild, 'tis a frightful thing to see some women, that pass for Beauties in due time and place, undressed: I do not mean naked; but only their face without the Toor, Shades, Locks, Hollows, Bullies, and some transitory Patches.  Good. 
But to let all this pass for this time. You observed the young fellow was here but now?  Tru. 
Ay, what's the matter?  Good. 
Is he not some little Bully here about Fleetstreet?  Tru. 
No: I know 'em all, but never saw his eyes before: But why all these inquiries?  Good. 
Nothing; but the little Wasp has challenged me, and I'm to meet him to morrow-morning at four, in Redlyon-fields.  Tru. 
Why this is the maddest Rogue I e'er heard of. He has challenged me too, to be at five, near Lambs-Canduit. Belike, Ned, he makes nothing of thee; he has done thy business in imagination, and has chosen me for a second course to Breakfast. Two Duels in a morning are pretty fair, for such a young beginner.  Good. 
I rather think he'll meet neither on's. I fancy he neither looked nor spoke like a Fighter. However, I'll not venture the disgrace of failing in such an occasion. I'm resolved to observe the place and time appointed.  Tru. 
And I. 'Tis possible the Encounter may be pleasanter than we imagine. I am much of thy opinion, Ned: He did not at all behave himself like a Killer of men.—  Good. 
But hark ye, jack, you must not be seen with me, for I'm to meet without Seconds.  Tru. 
No fear of that: I have another field appointed, at sufficient distance.  Good. 
Come, let's go find out some Company and be merry. This Garden is unpleasant, now the Lady's gone.  Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  Enter a Boy conducting Docket and Dashwel. Boy. 
BE pleased, Sir, to repose a while in the Dining-room: I expect my Lady's Return every minute.  Dock. 
Well said: But hark ye, Youth, is Mr. Trupenny about the house?  Boy. 
Yes, Sir, he's a writing above in his Chamber.  Dock. 
Prithee, Sweetheart, tell him here's one Docket desires to see him.  Boy. 
Yes, Sir.  Dash. 
D'you hear, Young man? Mr. Docket of Cliffords-Inn: You must ever give things their due Addition.  Boy. 
Well, Sir.  Exit Boy. Dock. 
Hast thou brought thy Inkhorn with thee, Tom?  Dash. 
Yes, yes, Sir, vouz avez the Inkhorn, look ye, Sir, but— alas, I've forgot my Almanac.  (Shows a great Inkhorn. Dock. 
No matter, man, if thou hast any Paper about thee?  Dash. 
O Lord, Sir, I put a whole Choir of Copying-paper in my Pocket, and here's two Quills—  Dock. 
Nay, perhaps we may have no occasion to use 'em.  Dash. 
But you know, Sir, it's good to be sure.— Look ye, Sir, here comes Mr. Trupenny. I vow he looks like a very understanding man, and one that can do business: I wonder whether he can write Court-hand.  Enter Trupenny. Dock. 
Mr. Trupenny, your Servant.  Trup. 
Your most humble Servant, good Mr. Docket; I am heartily glad to see ye at our Quarters: And I vow you're very welcome, as I may say.  Dock. 
Sir, I thank you. Here's I and my man Dashwel are come to wait upon your Lady, about a little Concern of hers; I suppose, Sir, you're no stranger to it.  Trup. 
No, Sir; my Lady ordered me to draw up the particulars of Sir Alexander Simple's Estate, which are to pass into my young Mistress Betty's Jointure. I have been at it e'er since she went out; and here 'tis in Writing: Look ye, Sir, mine's but an indifferent Hand.  Dock. 
Good enough, Mr. Trupenny, good enough. Let me see; here's the Manor of— uh; and the Manor of— uh; with the Advouson appurtenant— Appendent you mean; but I understand ye. Then here's 600 Acres of Pasture, and 400 Acres of Meadow— O fie, that must not be, you must always put Pratum before Pastura: Remember the old Verse as long as you live, and you'll never do amiss: Messuagium, Toftum, etc. Dashwel shall gi't you in writing.  Dash. 
Yes, Sir, with all my heart.  Trup. 
I thank ye most kindly, good Sir; I'll do as much for you at any time.  Dock. 
Then here's— All, and all manner of Commons thereunto belonging, In quodam look vocate be peak juxta Podex Diaboli, anglicè the Devil's Britch.— Well, Sir I understand ye: I'll e'en take these parcels home with me, and put 'em into due order, and so we'll proceed. I suppose, Mr. Trupenny, you'll submit to me, as for Form and false Latin?  Trup. 
I Sir, and reason good. Form and false Latin, Mr. Docket? why, if it had not been for that, we need not ha'come to London. Our Curate might a made the Jointure well enough, but only for Form and false Latin.  Dock. 
Mr. Trupenny, pray will you instruct me in one thing?  Trup. 
With all my heart, Sir, if I can: But it's a likely matter that I should instruct your Wordship in any thing, that have been bred all your life-time at the Inns of Chancery.  Dock. 
O Sir, you are pleased to say so. But pray, Mr. Trupenny, what was Justice Goodfeilds' Christen-name?  Trup. 
Anthony, Sir; and I vow to ye, Mr. Docket, it was great pity it was not Sir Anthony: For though he was but a Justice of Peace and Coram, so that he could a brought Rogues Coram nobis at any time, yet he might ha' been a Knight, and a good one, both for his Estate and Wit..  Dock. 
Indeed?  Trup. 
Sir, Let me tell ye; There is my young Master Edward, who is now at Cambridge, God bless him, and send him well at age, for he lacks not much now. Mr. Docket, he will have about a three months hence, 800 a year, good Rents; and after his Mother's death, 600 a year more, which is her Jointure.  Dock. 
(aside) Dashwel, what think ye, if I strike in with this Widow, ha, Tom?  Dash. 
Innuendo Widow Goodfeild, Sir? I protest that would be excellent.  Trup. 
I have the value of all their Estate to a penny, in my books at home. Besides this, their Tenants are able men, and special Paymasters; and indeed, my Lady does oblige 'em to it: For every Christmas she calls 'em all to dinner at the Hall: Then have we the Bagpipes, and are so passing merry.— But look ye, Sir, here comes my Lady herself: I knew she could not tarry long out, after Sunset.  Enter Goodfeild, Loveal. Good. 
O. Mr. Docket, you're welcome. I doubt I've made you expect me too long— But I protest now, I've had such a life since I saw you; I'll go no more into the City an God ' ill.  Dock. 
Why, I pray, Madam?  Good. 
Aw Lord, Sir, there is such doings— Here Loveal, take my Scarf— And then, Sir, there are such Cruel noises, all along the streets as you go, I dare say, it would make one's heart ache to hear'em. There was a woman, and she cried old Stockings, and ends a Gold and Silver; and a little further I met a fellow crying old Shoes and Brooms. For my part, I could not ha'thought that old thing had been worth whistling for in this Town, where there is so much Pride and Ranting.— Come, Mr. Docket, pray take a feat by me here.— But that which will never out of my head, no I shall carry it to my grave wi'me, was somebody that stood just behind my Coach, and cried— what was it Loveal?  Lov. 
Mackerel, Madam.  Good. 
Ay, Mackerel. Mr. Docket, if you will believe me, it made so hideous a Din, it frighted me out of my place full upon Loveal that fate o'er against me; and had it not been a great mercy, I had broke her face.  Dock. 
Pray, Madam, were you never in Town before?  Good. 
Yes, Sir, once; but I was very young then. It was when I was new married to Squire Goodfeild: he brought me up to see the Fashion, and have a new Gown made, and so we went down again. But to proceed, Sir, beside the noises, here are such ugly smells in every corner— O, Loveal, did you observe the fine Gentlewoman that light out of the Coach with the Gentleman at the end of the long street, as we turned down the narrow lane by the new Church?  Lov. 
D'you mean her, Madam, with the great black Toor, and face all spotted, with the Flowr'd-sattin Petticoat laced up almost as high as—  Good. 
Ay, ay, she: I warrant she's nought— But as I was saying, Mr. Docket, your smells, here in London, are most wickedly bad: I have been told, the occasion is your Sea-coal; but I rather think 'tis the sins of your naughty City, that makes it stink above ground. Had not you Londoners better come down to Darbyshire and fetch of our Coal from the Pits, which is (though I say it) a delicate Fuel, and almost as sweet as green Ash?  Dock. 
Indeed, Madam, the Town is offensive to most strangers, in these cases; but if you were to be demorant hear a while, that is, to live among us, you would quickly be familiar with these things, which otherwise are troublesome to one that Discontinues the Visinage.  Good. 
Oh, Mr. Docket, never talk of that; I would not live in London, to be Lady Mayoress,— But now I think on't, ha'you done any thing in my Daughter's business yet?  Dock. 
Yes, Madam, Mr. Trupenny has gi'n me sufficient Instructions for the Conveyance, before your Ladyship made your Entry.  Good. 
I'm glad on't with all my heart; there's so much time saved. Now have we nothing to do, but to be merry— Steven— She whispers. Exit Trupenny. Enter Trup. & Boy with Bottles and Glasses. Mr. Docket, gi'me your hand: I vow yo'are heartily welcome. Come, Sir, you shall taste a glass of our Country-ale, famous all o'er England— Come, Boy, fill out— observe how it flowers and sparkles: They talk of Canary, but there's no Canary in England like it. Well, I say nothing: the proof of the Pudding's i'the eating— Sir, my Service to ye, remembering my good Lady Simple, and all our Friends in Darbyshire.  (Drinks. Dock. 
With all my heart, Madam.  Lov. 
Come, Sir, You and I'll go into the next Room, where I can entertain ye with more liberty.  Dash. 
Ay, with all my heart; I vow I'm under Coverture, as 'twere, while in my Master's presence.  Exeunt Lov. and Dash. Good. 
Here, Boy, fill— I protest I had all sorts of your London-Wine at Supper to night, and it has lain something heavy at my stomach; but this glass of Ale has done me as much good as a cup of Aqua Mirabilis.— Give it Mr. Docket.  Dock. 
Mr. Trupenny, here's to ye— My Lady Simple's good Health.  (Drinks. Good. 
Come, Steven, sit down and drink with us.— Mr. Docket, I hate to keep overmuch state with my Steward: There is a time when Ladies may be familiar with their Servants, an they were never so high and haughty.  Dock. 
'Tis very true, Madam.  Good. 
Ay, Ay, haughty looks must be humbled sometimes, as well as others.— Mr. Docket, d'you take any Tobacco?  Dock. 
Yes, Madam; but I fear the smell may be a Nocument to you.  Good. 
What do you mean by that, Sir?  Dock. 
Madam, I mean, it may be a Nuisance to ye; that is, it may offend ye.  Good. 
Oh, not at all, Sir: nay, you shall see I can bear you company. Boy, fetch some Pipes and a Light; I have my Box about me. Exit Boy, and Enter again with Lights and Pipes. For my part, Mr. Docket, I'll tell ye truly, I was advised to it three or four years ago, for a certain infirmity; and indeed I have continued it ever since, and find a great deal of good by it. It comforts the Stomach, warms the Heart, and cheers the Brain: And then for Rheum, 'tis an excellent drier.  Dock. 
Nay, Madam, here are women in Town that take Tobacco.  Good. 
I but they run into a corner to do it, as if they were a going to be nought— Steven, fill me a Pipe— For my part, I am downright honest: I hate dissimulation. Come, come, there's no shame to take it: 'tis neither sinful, nor unlawful. I say, let your women in London be ashamed to take other things, and 'twould be better for 'em— But, Mr. Docket, you don't tell me how you like my Ale.  Dock. 
'Tis excellent Drink indeed, Madam.  Good. 
Has it not a rare Farewell with it? Nay, 'tis brewed in my own house, and I see to the working it myself: I put nine Strike to the Hogshead, I prorest—  Trup. 
And as good Malt as any in the Country; though I say it: and that's a bold word.  Good. 
Come, t'other Glass, and then we'll taste our Tobacco— pray, Sir, make use of my Box— Where stands the Ale? Fie, Steven, d'you let your Drink die in your hands? put it about, man, put it about.  Trup. 
Madam, my Service to ye.  (Drinks. Good. 
Well said. Mr. Docket, have at ye: Whose Health shall this be?  Dock. 
Madam, I seldom use to drink Healths.  Good. 
O, Sir, two or three will do ye no harm, in a civil way, I'll secure ye— Come, God bless his Majesty— (drinks) here, boy, fill.  Dock. 
Gently, good Youth.— Mr. Trupenny, his Majesty's Health to ye. (drinks) Madam, I've done ye right.  Good. 
You have, Sir: Now gi't Trupenny, and reach the Candle.— Come, Sir— light your Pipe— (she lights, and speaks as she takes.) Let me tell ye— Mr. Docket— this is a Pipe of— good— Tobacco— ' Tis. the very best sort of— Virginia— and that's better— than Spanish— (Trupenny, lend me your stopper)— what think ye, Mr. Docket?  Dock. 
Indeed, Madam— I think it— is very— excellent— To— bacco— and has no— fault— unless it be— a little too— hot in the— mouth.  Good. 
The better for that, Sir— but I pray, Mr.— Docket— are you— a married man?—  Dock. 
(bowing) No, Madam— I am a— Bachelor— at your Service.—  Good. 
Aw Lord, Sir,— here True-penny, pick this Pipe; it don't come worth a Rush.— I vow, Mr. Docket, you are a very stayed Bachelor, and have lived a single man a long time: but I doubt you ha'n't been honest all this while.— Boy, fill a glass of Ale. Come Sir, you shall give me leave to begin your Mistriss' Health.  Dock. 
Ah, Madam!  (Bowing and shaking his head. Good. 
Here, Trupenny.— (drinks) I am confident, Mr. Docket, she must be very deserving Lady for whom you have waited thus long: And no doubt but you'll meet with some virtuous body that will reward all your patience at the long run, ne'er fear it, Sir. For my part, I have been a Widow now these eight years and upwards, and yet 'tis possible I may marry again before I die: The truth is, I have made no vow against it.  Dock. 
Ah, Madam!—  (Bowing and shaking his head, again. Trup. 
Mr. Docket, your Lady's good health, Sir. (drinks) Look ye, Super Naculum.  Dock. 
Sir, I thank ye.— Now, young man, give it me, and fill it lustily. So; Mr. Trupenny, with my Lady's leave here, I'll begin to you—  Good. 
Nay, Mr. Docket, first pledge your Mistriss' Health, before ye begin a new one. I love fair drinking, and fair dealing with all my heart: For my part, I can't dissemble.  Dock. 
Why then, Madam, there 'tis.— (drinks) Now, Madam, after all this, suppose a man should—  Good. 
Take t'other Pipe?  Dock. 
No, Madam; make a motion to your Ladyship.  Good. 
To me, Sir? pray what is't?  Dock. 
Why, Madam, nothing but— Sweetheart, prithee gi'me t'other Glass; I'll have one Health more, and then I'll tell ye. Methinks I begin to be very cheerful. Ha, ha, ha, I can't choose but laugh at the Jest: this is called in our Law, Idemptitate nominis. Ha, ha, ha,— Madam, here's your Ladyship's good Health, and I with it were a Sea to the bottom; Mr. Trupenny, here's to ye.  (Drinks. Good. 
Sir, you oblige me.  Dock. 
Now, Madam, I'll tell ye. You see, Madam, I'm a Bachelor, and you see withal that yourself are a Widow. Faith, Madam, what think ye, if we two, to save charges, and the like, should make but one Match on't? You see, Madam, I am plain.  Good. 
I like ye the better for that, Sir; plain deal's a Jewel: But alas, alas, you can never pass this upon me.  Dock. 
Why, pray Madam? d'you think I don't know what belongs to a Widow?  Good. 
D'you think I can imagine, Sir, that a man of your practice would ever think of marrying such a one as I am?  Dock. 
Nay, never talk of that: but gi'me your hand on't, Widow. You see the worst o'me. Come, shall it be, I Daniel take thee Mary?  Good. 
Soft Sir, Two words to a Bargain.  Dock. 
Then consult thy Pillow upon't, Widow: You shall find me reasonable.  Good. 
Indeed, Sir, that's the fittest place where to think of Marriage: But here's my hand, you shall know more of my mind to morrow. In the mean time, good night, Sir. Trupenny, wait upon Mr. Docket. Loveal.  Enter Loveal and Dashwel. Dock. 
Nay, nay, here's my man: and besides that, look ye, I am not so drunk, but I can find the way home: therefore, Mr. Trupenny, you may stay, look ye.  Trup. 
O pardon me for that, Sir; indeed I'll wait on ye home: I know what belongs to breeding.  Dock. 
Well then, Widow farewell till to morrow. Be sure ye think of me to night, and think well. If I imagined, d'you see, you'd think amiss, I'd stay all night, look ye, and correct your thoughts.  Good. 
No, no, Sir, no fear of that. Good night, good night.  Exeunt Dock. Dash. Trup. Lov. 
The Lawyer's drunk.  Good. 
No, not so; only a little fuddled. But this is for the honour of our Country, wench. An my Lord Mayor were here, and all his Aldermen, I'd serve 'em all so: 'Tis for the honour of Darbyshire.  Lov. 
Ay, Madam, and for the honour of our Sex too.  Good. 
True, Wench; what's a clock?  Lov. 
Past eleven, Madam.  Good. 
O me! 'tis late: let's hie to bed; I am not used to these late hours.  Exeunt.  

SCENE III.  Enter B. Goodfeild, Frank, and Musicians. B. Good. 
HEre, Gentlemen, this is the Window. Range yourselves here, and strike a sprightly Air. (Music of Violins and Flageolets. So, enough— Now, Frank, the Song I gave ye.  A SONG, Which ended, Loveal appears in the Balconey. Lov. 
Gentlemen, my Lady is but just laid down in her naked Bed; but she remembers her Respects to ye, and has sent ye here half a Crown. She says, she knows Mr. Docket has sent ye on to welcome her to Town; and she acknowledges the Civility. Then, Gentlemen, here's a Shilling more of my good will: My Name's Loveal, and I am my Lady's Woman. I vow, it's the finest Music I e'er heard in my life, and much better than our Country Harp and Bagpipe: And then the Song was such a pretty thing, I'd give any thing for a Copy.— But 'tis late, and I can't stay. Farewell, Gentlemen, and hie ye to bed. Good night t'ye all; I wish ye well home.  Exit. B. Good. 
Nay, but hark ye, Damsel.  Fran. 
She's gone.— Ah, Plague! This Widow don't know what belongs to Serenading.  B. Good. 
She should ha'come to the Balconey in her Nightgown, and cried, Who's that comes at this unseasonable hour to disturb my Quiet? Then I should have answered in a dying Tone, 'Tis I, forsooth; and ha' laid all the blame upon Love. Then raising my voice, I should a huft, Allons, Widow; let me come in to ye, hand to fist. Then she thinking I had been drunk, should ha' replied, (as another Play has it very well) No, Sir, no,— I wonder you have the confidence to ask me, when you were so rude to me the last time.—  Fran. 
But instead of this, she shows her Breeding, to keep her Bed, and ne'er speak to a Gentleman at all. This is, alamode de pais, jerny.  B. Good. 
Did not the Chambriere name one Docket, to whom her Lady ascribes this Civility?  Fran. 
Yes. What a Devil should he be?  B. Good. 
I can't imagine. 'Tis no matter: Content the Music,  Exit. Frank, 
and follow me to my Lodging.  Fran. 
Here, my Masters, here's that will satisfy ye all. Go—  
March boldly home, Sirs, without longer staying.  
Fear not the Watch, they'll spare ye for your playing.  Exeunt severally. 

The Song.  

1.  
O the little delights that a Lover takes  
To tell his dear Phillis how much he despairs;  
How great are his Cares,  
And how his heart aches!  
Now praising, now blaming, now flattering Miss,  
While all the fine story not stgnifies this.   

2.  
Sure Love can't consist in ill Language and Railing?  
To term Miss a Monster for Beauty and Parts,  
The thief of men's hearts;  
Nay, call her for failing  
A Tyrant with all sorts of mischievous Arms,  
And make us believe she's a Witch for her Charms.   

3.  
Much better in my mind, though less like a Poet,  
Is plainly to show her, when in a Love-fit,  
The meaning of it;  
And let her to know it  
In such Terms as Nature shall dictate and tell us,  
And not like your scribbling Fop-amorous fellows.      

ACT III.  

SCENE I.  
A Field.  Enter Truman, and Goodfeild. Tru. 
LOok ye, Ned; this is the Champain where you are to do Feats: Mine lies a little lower. But still I see no appearance of our little duelist. I'll stay a while with thee, till he begins to appear; and then I'll retire, and leave thee to his mercy.  Good. 
Ay, ay, there's no great danger.  Tru. 
Hast thou got a Fighting sword on? 'Sbud, Ned, thou art not mad, to venture thy life with this?  Good. 
Come, waive this Raillery, and let's talk of something else.— Didst thou observe yesterday, what havoc the little Rogue made among the Plays?  Tru. 
Ay, like Don Quixot among the Romances, for all the world.  Good. 
Why, his discourse was almost all Dramatic.  Tru. 
True: but I perceived withal, he did it a purpose; and not through any want of Invention, or defect in his own Genius, as your Country-Squire uses Wit's Common Wealth, and the Academy of Compliments. For, sometimes you should have him speak his own Sense, and that in very witty Terms too.— But, e'faith yonder he comes. I vanish: Farewell, Ned, take heed he hits you not in Tierce, when it should be in Quart.  Exit. Good. 
So, now for my Gamester.  Enter B. Goodfeild. B. Good. 
Oh, Sir, are ye here already? Well, I perceive you ride the Fore-horse: Yet methinks, ye don't look like one prepared for Fighting— Come, 'faith, what satisfaction will you give me to take up the Duel?  Good. 
Satisfaction, quoth a? thou talk'st as if I were in a posture to beg my life. Soft, Sir, it is not come to that yet.  B. Good. 
No? why then belike you are resolved to fight? Come, Sir, unbutton.  Good. 
Stay a little.—  B. Good. 
Nay, than I perceive you are one of those that will not rend the Buttons from your Doublet for any man's pleasure; and with good Sir Nicholas, Your Conscience will not let you fight in a wrong Cause. I thought so at first.  Good. 
I tell thee, young Sir, thou art much mistaken: Thou shalt have fighting enough— but first you shall hear me—  B. Good. 
Ad autre, ad autre, this Whedle won't pass. I see, you are minded to reverse the laudable course of the world; and instead of falling from Disputing to Fighting, you would drill me from Fighting to Disputing; but this must not be among friends: Therefore, resolve, sweet Sir, either to give me Amende honourable, or fight. Choose which you please: you see I am reasonable.  Good. 
Oh, very reasonable!— I protest, it's a shame for a man to engage with such a little young Thing: and yet, I vow, I think I must be forced to chastise him when all's done.— Hark ye, Child, d'you know what Amende honourable signifies?  B. Good. 
Yes, very well. 'Tis only to confess your offence on your knees, and ask me pardon, in certain forms proper to that purpose. 'Tis a French Mode of satisfaction, and of great use among men of Honour.— Well then, you are willing to perform it?  Good. 
Not yet: Hold a little. First let me know how I've offended ye, and for what I must ask your pardon?  B. Good. 
ud's bud, Sir, d'you come here only to ask Questions?— This is not to be endured: You have wasted my whole stock of Patience; and now you shall find me as arrant a Lion, as if ye had called my Mistress Son of a Whore.— Come, Sir, draw.  (Draws. Good. 
Must not we uncase then?  B. Good. 
It's no matter; I'll fight you with your Coat on. O'my Conscience, there's no foul play under it.  Allons. Good. 
Nay then, if ye are desperate, have at ye.  (Draws. B. Good. 
So, Sir, to your Guard— Good.— I use always, before I begin a Duel, to throw off my Periwig. 'Tis troublesome in fighting. (Discovers herself. Come, Sir, advance. Why don't ye come on? ye see I lie open.  Good. 
— Sister—  (Runs to embrace her. B. Good. 
— Brother—  Good. 
I the name of wonder, what make you at London?  B. Good. 
Nay, rather, what make you at London?  Good. 
And why in this Disguise?  B. Good. 
You shall first answer me; By my Virginity you shall. You know what the Play says, For Decency, the man should offer first.  Good. 
My Tale is quickly told. I grew weary of Cambridge, and came hither to give myself the Divertisements of the Town. I have been here but three days, and yesterday my very good friend helped me to a Mistress, with whom I am desperately in Love. You saw both the parties last night in the Temple-garden.  B. Good. 
They seem both of much worth.— But well, Sir, you have, I suppose, discovered to her de ver great Affecshoons vid which your heart does boil over, and all that?  Good. 
Yes.  B. Good. 
And, She takes it to the death?  Good. 
Not so: Nor much to the life. I am in the middle Class of Lovers.  B. Good. 
So much the better; Extremes are dangerous.  Good. 
But, to observe the method of Romances, now you have had my Adventure, pray let's know yours.  B. Good. 
You shall. But first— hem.  Good. 
What's the matter?  B. Good. 
Nothing, nothing.  Good. 
More tricks still? who's this?  Enter Frank. B. Good. 
One, out of whose company I never venture myself, as much a man as I am.— You need not be so strange, Brother, 'tis my Maid.  Good. 
Old Acquaintance! how dost thou? Let's kiss a little. How do thy Breeches fit thee? Ha, Wench!  (Is familiar. Fran. 
Out upon ye, Mr. Goodfeild, you are the strangest man; will ye never leave your old tricks?  Good. 
Now, Sister, your story.  B. Good. 
'Tis briefly this: My Mother (like a very dutiful Mother i'the mean time) has lately concluded, without my consent or knowledge, to marry me to Sir Alexander Simple. (you know the fool.) And now she's come up to perfect the Match here, as to the Law-part—  Good. 
All this I know already.  B. Good. 
That breeds my wonder.— But to proceed: You may well suppose I abhorred to marry such a Coxcomb: 'twas therefore by my Maid's advice, here, I resolved to follow the old woman, Incognito; I performed it, and by good fortune have got Lodgings near hers: Here I have means to observe her progress in this Affair, and take all opportunities to interrupt it. And before I left the Country, I resolved, if I found the business desperate on my part, I would never see her again, nor leave London. Then in few days I had acquainted you at Cambridge, where I was, and the occasion, and submitted myself to your conduct.  Good. 
Well said, my Girl! thou shall lose nothing by my conduct, unless it be thy Maidenhead, to a good Husband.— Have not you appointed another Duel this morning?  B. Good. 
Something of that nature. Your friend that I saw with you last night, appeared so much a Gentleman, and I liked his presence so well, I could not forbear quarrelling with him; or if you had rather have it Stilo recitativo— ere since his bright Eyes, my heart did surprise, I could not extinguish the flame.  Good. 
Nay, nay, your Champion expects you yonder at the place appointed; and let me tell ye, you cannot be more taken with his person, than he is with your Wit and Raillery. But when he knows you are my Sister, he'll be o'er head and ears in Love, for he has often heard me speak of ye, and received your Character with much pleasure.— Well; you and I have met this morning to fight, and parted without breathing a vein, or so; but in all probability your second Duel will have a more bloody conclusion than the first.  Fran. 
Madam, Madam, fear nothing; your Brother talks thus only to fright ye.  B. Good. 
Fright me? that's a good one, e'faith! no, Frank, I am more a woman than to fear any thing of that nature.  Good. 
Well, a propos; to loose no more time, and keep neither of ye any longer in suspense, shall I conduct ye to him?  B. Good. 
Stay— were it not better, and more to the honour of our Sex, for you to fetch him hither?  Good. 
Away, away; are you a man, and stand upon such Effeminate puntilioes? You see he has met you half way; and you cannot in honour, but observe the appointed place of Combat.  B. Good. 
So, in effect, the Challenge will prove no better than an Assignation.  Good. 
No matter: 'tis the pleasanter Encounter; and that sort of single Combat has less of danger in it.  B. Good. 
As it may happen, Brother.— But let that pass. A Sudden thought is sprung within my breast (as the new Play has it)— you say he fancies me extremely, as I am a Boy?  Good. 
Yes.  B. Good. 
And withal, he has a very great love for my Name, as I am your Sister in Darbyshire: I mean, Love by hear-say.  Good. 
'Tis very true.—  B. Good. 
Enough. Come along; we'll to him immediately: But observe that you do and say exactly what I tell ye, as we go.  Good. 
Well! thou art so full o'thy Tricks!  Exeunt. Enter Truman. Tru. 
Methinks my little Monsieur makes me wait too long: I am almost a weary with walking for him. Hum. Susppose he has fought Ned Goodfeild in earnest, and so the Constables have apprehended them in the Fact, and thereupon conveyed'em both to a certain place.— Yet it cannot be so, I'm confident; that little fellow cannot be a Fighter— and yet what a Devil makes him so tedious? they might have dispatched it one way or other before this time. I long to see my young opposite; 'tis a very witty Rogue; and I know the Duel will prove but a Wit combat at most— But these delays are naught for Wit, as well as Love and Fighting— Pox on't, the humour's gone over before we draw our Weapons.— Well, l'll take t'other Turn, and then—  (Walks. Enter Goodfeild, B. Goodfeild, and Frank. B. Good. 
Look where he walks yonder, as dull as a Platonic Lover: Is it the thought of Fighting makes him thus pensive?  Good. 
No, I assure you: he's none of those.— jack Truman.  Tru. 
(turning) Oh, Ned! art thou alive still?— What! my little Bully too? Now I perceive thou art a Boy of thy word. I thought thou wouldst ha'proved Recreant.  B. Good. 
Who, I fall back from my own Challenge? Gad, Sir, you have nothing about ye, that I'm afraid of.  Good. 
Hark ye, jack; a word in private.— D'you observe this little Rascal?  Tru. 
Ay, what's the matter?  Good. 
Little do you think what was his Affair with me this morning— he had no design of fighting.  Tru. 
Why, I always thought so.— He a fighter? who a Devil can fancy, that Smockface to look like a Hector?  Good. 
In brief, jack, he is a young fellow of a good Estate in our Country; I have often heard of him, but never saw him till now: When he challenged me yesterday, 'twas only to procure a more private opportunity of discourse; and now he tells me, he is much a Servant to my Sister, and loves her to the last point: my Mother knows nothing, but he has made several addresses to her, and finds she is wholly at my disposal, and will never fancy any one, but who I commend: And now he comes to open himself to me, and get my good will, as they say.—  Fran. 
He seems moved at this. I warrant him a thorough-paced-Lover.  B. Good. 
This is the way to try him, Wench.—  (Aside.) Tru. 
And so; you have consented?  Good. 
What a question is there! Have not I engaged myself to thee?— Thou hast obliged me with a Mistress, jack Truman; and e'faith I'll fit thy humour with an other.— As for the Squire there—  Tru. 
Damn him; does he come hither to disturb my Amours?— Hark ye, Country-Gentleman.  B. Good. 
‛ Say ye, Sir?  Tru. 
Nay, nay, leave your Grimace, and be serious: I am not disposed to railly.— I understand you pretend to a young Lady in the Country that is my Mistress. Look ye, Mister— you must quit your claim to her, and that quickly too, or I shall give your little Worship much Correction; d'you mind me? much Correction: for I hate a Rival, and love her extremely.  B. Good. 
And never saw her in your life? I perceive you are a good Catholic lover, and have a strong implicit faith. It were a happy time for crooked Virgins, and the like, if all Matches might be made thus, without Demonstration.  Tru. 
These are but idle words: Come, Sir, to the matter. Will ye surrender your Mistress?  B. Good. 
How, Sir, surrender? Morblew! d'you talk of surrendering, when I come here to bid you battle?— Look ye, Sir, there's Mr. Goodfeild on your side, if he please, and I have here my friend to oppose him; so that we are provided of Seconds: But I confess I had rather fight ye single.  Tru. 
Ay, ay, let it be so.— But I could wish—  B. Good. 
That I would surrender without fighting—  Tru. 
No: that thou wert more a man, and then I need not blush at such a little Conquest.  B. Good. 
For my part, I'll be ingenious. I confess I have been a servant to your Mistress; and to tell ye true, I have been very familiar with her: therefore, look ye, I care not two pins if I do quit her to ye, for once; but I must tell ye, you'll have no such Prize of her. She's damnably Crooked, and all that: then she paints like the Devil: she has a Mouth like a Monster: and is blind of one Eye: her Nose, I confess, is a rich one; but (to be brief) she has the poorest Presence that e'er ye saw in a woman. Then for her Wit and Genius, 'tis as defective as her Beauty.— With such a Match as this is, give ye Joy, Sir.  Tru. 
Why, this is not to be endured! I'd rather he had continued still to be my Rival, than thus blaspheme my Mistress.— Come, Sir, draw—  (He draws. Good. 
Hold, jack; be thine own Judge whether she lies, or no.  (Takes off her Periwig.) B. Good. 
Nay, nay, let him run his Mistress through, and see who'll repent it.  Tru. 
Mock me not, friend: can I be so happy to find a Mistress in a Rival?— Oh, Madam!  B. Good. 
Where was now your good Genius to prompt ye? (as you know who says)— Perhaps you'll say my Brother played that part.— Come, put up, put up your Weapon, Sir; you are a little too forward: 'tis not the Mode to quarrel till after Marriage.  Tru. 
Well, Madam, by this fair hand— (Takes her hand & kisses it. I vow, I can never forgive the injury you have done yourself and truth, in such a Character: and I am resolved, e'er long, to be revenged on ye for it, to some purpose.  B. Good. 
No threatenings, I beseech you, Sir. Your great Threatners are ever the least performers.  Good. 
Are you not much surprised, jack, at this discovery?  Tru. 
Extremely; but more pleased.  Good. 
Nay, I myself was as great a stranger to the Intrigue, till this morning.— Come, you shall know all, as we go.  B. Good. 
Ay, ay, let's return: Now my Duels are over, I have no more occasion for the open field.  Good. 
True, Sister: A private apartment is much more proper for what's like to follow.  Tru. 
But as we walk, Madam, how are you pleased I shall treat ye in this disguise? as a Mistress, or a friend?  B. Good. 
As a friend, Sir, for life. If you appear too servile while I am in Breeches, you will encourage me to wear 'em always.—  Tru. 
Here's my boy— Honnow, Sirrah, what's the matter?  Enter Boy. Boy. 
Sir, this Letter was brought to your Chamber this morning. I have been in quest of ye at several places, and at last imagined you might be here a walking.  Tru. 
Look here, Ned Goodfeild, this comes to me from Spruce, Docket's Clerk; no doubt it contains intelligence of your Mistress— read it.  Good. (reads) 
Sir, my Master, the Venerable Attorney Mr. Docket, sallies forth this morning to one Madam Goodfeild, a rich Country-Widow, I mean a Wooing, or perhaps something more; for if I can apprehend any thing from what I hear, 'tis possible it may succeed. He began with her last night in no ill hour, and (according to a Widow's expedition in these affairs) he may meet with his match this morning.— But this is not the business of my Letter. If you have any affairs with Mistress Lucia, you may use your discretion. Be at your Chamber, and within these few hours you shall receive further assistance from  Your Servant I. S. B. Good. 
Frank, dost thou hear? why, this is he that Loveal mentioned at the window.  Fran. 
Assuredly.  B. Good. 
Then have I obliged a poor Lover, and never knew it. No doubt but I have had a great hand in making this Match.  Good. 
How's that?  B. Good. 
Being minded last night to Gallant my Mother, not dreaming that she had a Servant, I gave her a Song, and the Fiddles, about twelve: to be short, her Maid came to the window, and from her Mistress told us, she knew we were Mr. Docket's Music, and very honestly confessed he had much engaged her; or words to that purpose.  Good. 
Gad, ye have done well. Did you but know the nature o'the beast, you would not fancy him for a Father-in-Law, of all men living.  B. Good. 
Oh! what a Coup d'etourdy have I committed?  Tru. 
No more of that: 'Tis a very happy accident, and will conduce much to our advantage, for a Reason that I know.— In the mean time, Ned, we must be active: 'Tis a shame that young people should be outstriped in their Amours, by two such old Creatures, that have not known what Love is, and the true ends of Marriage, these twenty years. Let's see who shall be married first of all us, and the Devil take the hindmost.— I am for this morning.  Good. 
And I.  B. Good. 
Nay, nay, though the old folks dote, and are hasty, it would not become us to do so. Marriage is a serious thing, and should be thought of. Pray let's look a little before we leap into Wedlock.  Good. 
How now, Sister! did not you commit yourself to my conduct this morning? Gad, I'll not have my Amours put off one minute for ye, an you were my flesh and blood a thousand times more than ye are.  B. Good. 
Nay, be not furious, Brother. Ha, ha, ha, I know what's what as well as all the Brothers in England. For my part, look ye, if it must be so, ye shall find me civil.  Tru. 
Well, Ned, I'll go now about thy Affair: In the mean time I commit my dear Mistress to thy charge. As we go, I'll appoint where to meet thee with thine, before the Canonical hour be over.  Good. 
Come, Sister, now I'm at your service, to wait upon you to your Lodgings, and help to shift ye.  B. Good. 
Sweet Sir, I have a Maid.  Good. 
Then I'll shift her.  Fran. 
That you shan't I assure you, Sir; for to shift a Maid, is to make her a woman.  Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  
A Dressing-Chamber.  A Table, with a Glass and Boxes, etc. Enter Madam Goodfeild and Loveal. Good. 
Loveal, what's a clock?  Lov. 
'Tis near Eight, Madam.  Good. 
Come, dress me quickly; for I'm resolved to make a day on't. I protest, Mr. Docket's Music run in my head all night.  Lov. 
They call it Serenading here in London, as the people of the house tell me: Without doubt it was a sign of great kindness to your Ladyship. Well; I vow, Madam, I dreamed of him to night, and me thought he was such a fine man; and performed things so well.— Oh, jupiter, that I had but such a Husband, I could be contented to stay a whole half year longer on that condition.  Good. 
Nay, Wench, I confess he is a well-made man: But methinks I could wish he were a little younger.  Lov. 
O, Madam, ne'er fear that: I warrant he's tough; and though his hair looks now a little grisled, yet one may easily perceive 'twas black; and that's a hardy colour, and holds out well.— But did you observe his Nose, Madam?  Good. 
Ay, ay, 'tis a promising Member. But that which likes me best, was to see how loving he appeared in his drink last night: He must needs be good conditioned.— Well, Loveal, how sayst thou, had I best encourage his Wooing, or send him a flat denial? what's thy advice?  Lov. 
Advice, Madam? I hope there needs no advice in the matter: if your own flesh and blood can't advise ye, you are in a sad condition. For my part, Madam, I'll tell ye true, if I were under your Ladyship's Coats, I'd make no more ado but send him a comfortable Message, and marry him this very morning.  Good. 
Nay, I know there's seldom any good comes of delaying.  Lov. 
I'm sure, Madam, if you had lost so many Suitors as I have by that means, and been so often Bobbed as I have been, you'd hate a put-off as you hate the Devil.  Good. 
Well said, Wench; nay, nay, I am not much averse to the business: I only felt you a little, how you were inclined; and since I find you are of my opinion, I perceive two heads are better than one.— Prithee, Loveal, call the Boy.  Lov. 
(going to the door)— jack— he's a coming, Madam.  Enter Boy. Good. 
Come hither, Sirrah. Can you go to Mr. Dockets? and come again presently; and not play at Chuckfarthing by the way?  Boy. 
Yes forsooth, Madam.  (Bowing. Good. 
Yet it's no matter, neither.— Is Trupenny about the house?  Boy. 
Yes, Madam.  (Bowing. Good. 
Go, send him to me quickly.  Boy. 
Yes, Madam.  (Bowing. Exit. Lov. 
I vow, Madam, our Boy is become very mannerly of late.  Good. 
Ay, ay, Wench; I hope to get credit by him: and your proud Citizens Wives shall see that we in the Country can tell how to breed other people's children, too, if we are minded.— But here comes Trupenny. Enter Trupenny. Come hither, Steven. What, you went home with Mr. Docket last night?  Trup. 
Yes, Madam: And I protest, he kept me with him above an hour, to toss your Ladyship's Health over and over in a quart of Mum.  Good. 
Well, Steven, in my mind your Mum is not comparable to our Darbyshire-Ale: it has a good Body, indeed, but is nothing so palletable.  Trup. 
Kuds niggers, Madam, you say true: it tastes so strong of Beans, o'my conscience they Malt Beans in that Country where they make it, and so put in a double quantity of Hops, and that's all.  Good, 
Nay, nay, I believe I could tell how to brew Mum, an I had a mind.— But let that pass: Come hither, Steven, and mind what I say. I would have ye go presently to Mr. Dockets— d'you observe?  Trup. 
Yes, Madam.  Good. 
Well: tell him, I sent you to see how he does this morning— would not that be best, Loveal?  Lov. 
No, Madam, I think 'twould be better thus— tell him, my Lady and I— d'you observe me, Steven?— present our Service to him, and would desire him of all Love—  Good. 
Aw, Loveal, I doubt that would not be handsome, neither. Therefore, d'you mind me, Steven? only tell him this, I would have him make haste, and put on a clean Band, and—  Lov. 
Oh, Madam, never talk of a clean Band; he'll wear a Cravat to day, sure, though he ne'er wore one in his life before. Look ye, Steven, mind me; Tell him thus; First of all knock at the door, and ask if he be within, then ask if he be stirring; then he'll send for you up to his Bedside— I protest, Madam, I think ye had better let me go, foro'my Conscience, he'll ne'er do the business handsomely.  Trup. 
I war'nt ye, Madam.— Lord, Mrs. Loveal, d'you think yourself such a woman for the business? I hold a Crown, I do it as well as you can for your heart and blood, or your Mother before ye.—  Good. 
Well, good Steven, no more words, but make haste; and tell him only this, I would have him come and speak with me presently, and I shall satisfy him in the business which he mentioned last night. This is all at present, but run, good Steven, for fear he be gone out.  Trup. 
I shall, Madam.  Exit. Lov. 
Hark ye, Steven, tell him, my Lady desires he would bring his man with him that was here last night.  Good. 
He don't hear.— But 'tis no matter; leave that to me; I'll provide thee a Husband, I warrant thee, Wench.  Lov. 
Ay, Madam, you have often said so; but words are wind, and I want something that's more substantial.  Good. 
Nay, if I say I will, I will; though it cost me a hundred pound.— Come, put on my shoes.  Lov. 
I'll fetch'em, Madam; they are in the next Room.  Good. 
No matter: I'll go thither myself, and take one Pipe, and by that time, perhaps, the party will be come.  Exeunt.  

SCENE III.  Enter Docket, Dashwel, Spruce. Dash. 
Sir, what are you pleased shall be done in Mr. Richman's business? the Sheriff of Essex has returned nulla Bona on the sifa; and to take out a Casa, would be to little purpose; for I am told, the Defendant can't be found in rerum naturum, and some say he's gone to Sea.  Dock. 
No matter; let that rest. The Plaintiff han't feed me for Expedition this Term.— But have you delivered the Declarations in Ejectment yet?  Dash. 
What, those in Holborn, Sir?  Dock. 
Yes, in Com. Middlesex.  Dash. 
No, I protest, Sir, not yet.  Dock. 
O fie, Thomas, don't you know the Tenants in Possession are to appear and defend Crastino Trin? and you no forwarder?— Away, man, and about it presently; and as ye go, take the Devonshire Latitats, and seal 'em. But d'you hear, Thomas, be sure ye return within this hour, for I intent then to go forth; and we must not be both out.  Dash. 
It shall be done, Sir.  Exit. Dock. 
This Dashwel, is a rare fellow for business: I protest, I have had many Clerks, but never had the like. Spruce, come hither: Do you observe the Talents of your fellow Dashwel?  Spr. 
Yes, Sir; they are something long. He cuts his Nails but once a fortnight, and then observes the Moon precisely.  Dock. 
Ye Fool; I mean his gifts, and Qualifications.  Spr. 
Cry ye mercy, Sir, I understand ye now. Indeed, Sir, he writes an excellent Hand; but his Court is beyond comparison.  Dock. 
That's not all, Spruce, that's not all: He's one that loves the Law, nay, dotes upon the Law; I mean, the Practic part: and o'my conscience he was cut out for a Practiser in his Mother's belly. He's one that has found out the amorous Beauties, and the ravishing Graces of Practice; things that none can perceive, but such a one as he is. In comparison to these, he hates your Plays, your Masquerades, your Serenades, your Revellings (except only at Christmas, and then the good Soul is ravished in the Temple-hall where he drinks small Beer, and sees'em dance till his belly aches again) but above all things, he abhors, like a child of the Law, your damned Poetry; with which, Spruce, I fear you are a little infected.  Spr. 
Who I, Sir? God forbid. I vow, I have so great an aversion to Meeter, and all that, that if you'll believe me, I dare not sing Psalms for fear o'the worst.  Dock. 
Nay, Spruce, there you are again a t'other side: I would not have ye think there's any harm in Robert Wiseman's Psalms, nor in the old Song of Chevie Chace, but that they may be both used, and very innocently. And more than so, I believe there are some Volumes of Meeter that are very convenient, and of great use in a Lawyer's Study, as The Garland of Good will, The furious fight of Floddon-field, and all Mr. Wither's his Works; all these I believe Dashwel has, and need not be ashamed of 'em. Nay, I can very well remember, when I first learned Court-hand I had all the Ballad of the Two little Children by heart, and me thought it was so comfortable. But that which ought to be odious to the understanding of all true Clerks, is your modern Poetry, your new fashion or modish Poetry, your Play-Poetry, or Dramatic Meeter, your ranting and tearing Poetry, your Poetry that breaks windows, or, as they themselves call it, your Heroic Poetry.— (Knocking without. Spruce, see who's at door.  Spruce goes to the door, and enters with Trupenny. Spruce. 
(entering) Sir, here's Mr. Trupenny, with urgent business from his Lady.  Dock. 
Oh, Sweet Mr. Trupenny! Let me embrace my dear friend: And how does thy good Lady, ha? I protest, Mr. Trupenny, I was resolved to wait upon her within this half hour, to know her resolutions in the business aforesaid: You understand me?  Trup. 
Lord, Sir! how you and my Lady jump together. Let me never stir now, if she has not sent me to you for the very same end and purpose; namely, that ye should hie ye to her, and she'd give your Worship all the satisfaction imaginable.  Dock. 
sayst thou so, old boy? hold, here's six Fees I protest, a whole Guiny for thy good news: Ten groats is below such a Message— Spruce, here, take my Hat, run, fetch my new Beaver, my Cane and my Gloves, quickly: I'll not demur a minute. Oh, Sweet Mr. Trupenny!  Trup. 
I vow to God, Sir, you are such an obliging man.— Pray, Sir, have ye done any thing in Mrs. Betty's business? I make bold to ask, because my Lady has ordered me to slit that cause, as they say.  Dock. 
Not yet, Sir; I protest, I have been so busy: But it shall be dispatched in good time.  Trup. 
Nay, nay, let it rest: 'tis fit the old one should be served first.  Spr. 
Sir, here are your things.  Dock. 
Well said: Give 'em me. So; now, Mr. Trupenny, I am ready to wait upon ye. Come, Sir—  Trup. 
After you, Sir—  Dock. 
Lord, Mr. Trupenny, you are so Complimental! I vow, you shall go first—  Trup. 
Well, if it must be so—  (Is going. Dock. 
O Lord, what had I forgot! Now if my life lay on't I cannot go till Dashwel returns.  Trup. 
I hope not so, Mr. Docket. God knows what occasion my Lady has of ye.  Dock. 
Ah, Mr. Trupenny, ye say true; and I would go with all my heart; but if you did but know what occasion I have to stay at home at this time, you would not blame me— Hark ye, Sir, a word in private. You must know, Mr. Trupenny, I have here in the house a very pretty young Niece, a great fortune she is: her Father and Mother are both dead, but that's all one, for I am her Guardian.  Trup. 
How's this? a pretty woman i'the house, and I ne'er set eye on her as oft as I have been here? Time has been, that I have smelled out a pretty Wench at a streets length: it's a sign I grow old.  Dock. 
Nay, never wonder, Mr. Trupenny: She always keeps her Chamber, or to say true, I keep her there. For I protest, here are so many idle fellows about the Town, that I dare not let her be seen, as little as possibly. And besides that, I have a constant eye upon her myself; but in my absence, I commit that trust generally to Dashwel. As for this Spruce, he's a sly fellow, and I dare not leave her to him.  Trup. 
What, you are afraid they would be nought together while you are out? not unlikely.  Dock. 
No; but he's a cunning Rascal in these affairs: and who knows but he may let her out to some young fellow, or else help some young fellow in to her? Therefore I dare not trust him; and yet I would said go to your Lady.—  Trup. 
What an unlucky thing is this! Is there no way?—  Dock. 
O Lord, Mr. Trupenny, now I think on't— are you engaged in any urgent business, at this time?  Trup. 
All my business was only to you, Sir, with this Message— But since you can't come, I must return, and let my Lady know it.  Dock. 
No, no, that shan't be. I'll go myself: But in the mean time, sweet Mr. Trupenny, let me conjure you, as you are my friend, and the like, to stay behind and supply my place, as it were. You understand me? 'Tis but only till Dashwel comes, which will be within this half hour.  Trup. 
Nay, nay, if that be all, let me alone to watch her water; I'm old dog at that office. I dare swear, I have occupied the place above twenty times in the Country.  Dock. 
O, Sir, how you oblige me? Well, I'll leave ye. Say nothing, but fall into discourse with Spruce, and all's, well. I have tarried too long from your Lady, I confess, but I'll redeem the time, and run all the way.  Exit. Spr. 
What, is he gone, and does this fellow stay? O the Devil! (aside) now cannot I perform to Mr. Truman; and then I've lost my Credit for ever. Some trick must be thought of.— Dear Sir, how glad am I my Master has left us together? I have often wished this happy opportunity, to be better acquainted with good Mr. Trupenny. I vow, Sir, you are the goodest Gentleman I ever met with.  Trup. 
O, Sir, your humble Servant. No great Gentleman neither: My Father was a High-constable, and I am my Lady's Steward, in default of a better— But I pray, Mr. Spruce, if a man may be so bold— what a clock is't?  Spr. 
Not bolder than welcome, I assure ye, Sir. Why truly, Sir, I think 'tis betwixt nine and ten.  Trup. 
Ay, Sir; but I meant to have craved a glass of your small Beer, but I protest I was almost ashamed.  Spr. 
Indeed, Sir, it's none of the best, being very thin, and something sour: and (as you say very well) it's a shame to drink it.  Trup. 
Not so neither, Sir; I do not mean so, Sir; but I vow to Gad, Sir, your Master plied me so with Mum last night, that I'm as dry this morning, as a Post horse; and my stomach is a little— as it were.  Spr. 
Shall we go to the next Apothecaries, and drink a Gill of Stomach-water?  Spr. 
No, Sir, no, that needs not; my Lady has an excellent water in the Country that she makes herself: but that's nothing, you'll say, we are here, and that's there.  Spr. 
When all's done, I say, after a nights drinking, there's no settler like a Dose of the same next morning. Come, Sir, you shall go with me to a place hard by, where there's excellent Mum; faith, we'll have one pint together. Nay, it shan't cost ye a farthing.  Trup. 
(aside) Now would this cunning Rogue whedle me from my charge: but soft, old birds are not caught with chaff.— I tell ye, Sir, I do not love Mum; it has no pleasurable taste: therefore if you please, I'll take a seat.— Hark, what music's this?  (A Lute. Spr. 
(aside) A pox on him for me; now shall I never be rid of him.— Music? what Music?  Trup. 
Why don't ye hear, man?  Spr. 
Oh, cry ye mercy; I hear it now: 'Tis a young Lady of my acquaintance that would be private.  Trup. 
Nay, nay, I won't disturb her.  Spr. 
To tell ye true, 'tis my Master's Niece, whom he has, for faults best known to himself, confined to her Chamber. I perceive she is preparing for a Song; and than you'll hear the best Voice in London, Mr. Trupenny.  Trup. 
Ay marry Sir, I love singing with all my heart; and time was, when I could ha'—  Spr. 
Whist, whist.  (Within. 

Song.  

Ah! how charming is the shade,  
How sweet the calm delight,  
That in this amorous Grove is made;  
How cool the shade, and yet the day how bright!   

Hark! the little Philomela  
On yonder Bough complains,  
And while she her sad tale does tell,  
Echo replies in the same mournful strains.   

Thus, thus, is both the eye and ear  
Ravished with what they see and hear.  
Does not all this  
Invite us to soft Love, and mutual Bliss?  
See my Clymene, see,  
How that enamoured pair of Doves  
With melting Sympathy,  
Enjoy their ever equal Loves.   

They know no ears, nor feel they ought  
To trouble the more pleasing thought.  
Full of the same  
Soft fire they burn, and cherish the kind flame.  
Ah! happy, happy they!  
We two may full as happy be,  
If you but smile, and say,  
Content, Amintas, I agree.  
Content, Amintas, I agree.    Trup. 
By that sigh, with which the Lady concludes her Song, I presume, Mr. Spruce, she is in Love.  Spr. 
Truly, Mr. Trupenny, it is not impossible; for our Ladies here in London are apt, once in their lives at least, to love something or other: what they do in the Country I know not.— But a fig for your women, and all that belongs to 'em: Let us behave ourselves like men. Methinks it is the unseemliest thing in the world for us two to sit here like sots, when we have so excellent an opportunity for a Voyage to the next Tavern or Alehouse, and taste a merry Glass.  Trup. 
(aside) O'ho, are ye there? He's at it again to drill me off, but all this won't do.  Spr. 
I perceive ye are all very sober men, in your Country.  Trup. 
Nay, nay, no more Sobriety than will do us good; but that's all one. Look ye, Mr. Spruce, for your Wine I don't love it, and for your Ale, ye have not a drop in London worth drinking; that's the short on't.  Spr. 
How, Mr. Trupenny, not a drop worth drinking? Did you ever taste our Cock-ale?  Trup. 
Cock-ale, no; what's that?  Spr. 
Why, there you show your ignorance. Look ye, Sir, I lay ye five pound you shall say, ye never tasted the like in the Country.  Trup. 
Nay, nay, nay, nay, five pound is a wager not to be laid among friends; and besides that, I have not so much about me; but I hold a Crown, let it be what it will, we have Ale in Darbyshire worth ten on't.—  Spr. 
Ye make me mad. I hold an Angel to your Crown, that after the first Bottle, you yourself shall confess, that for Colour, Taste, Farewell, Body, and all that, it excels your Darbyshire, as far as your Darbyshire excels your Dashwood.  Trup. 
How, I confess it? Sir, here's the Guiny your Master gave me e'en now, I wager this to your Angel, I'll be hanged first. Come, lead away; this wager shall be tried presently.— I'll stand up for my Country while I breathe.  Spr. 
But perhaps you are otherways engaged at present; or perhaps you have made a vow not to he seen in an Alehouse.  Trup. 
No matter for that, Sir, I'll not suffer my Country to be run down, by ne'er a pitiful Londoner in England. Come along, Sir.  Spr. 
Nay, then prepare to say, we've better drink.  Trup. 
Which if I do, I'll hang; that's fair I think.  Exeunt.   

ACT IU.  

SCENE I.  
Fleetstreet.  Enter Spruce, Truman, Lucia, Maid. Spr. 
WEll, now I have brought ye together, ye know best your own Affairs, and how to husband time with most advantage. I must return to my Steward, that was so lately, Madam, your trusty Overlooker.  Tru. 
Prithee, what hast thou done with him?  Spr. 
Why, faith, Sir, after I had drawn him from his Post, by the means I told ye, I very soberly conveyed my Gentleman to the Cock-ale-house, where in conclusion he will be very drunk: for, as good luck would have it, I was no sooner entered, but I met there a certain true Trojan (indeed a Brother Clerk of my acquaintance) I left him, after a charming glass or two gone round—  Tru. 
But missing you, may he not make an escape, suspecting—  Spr. 
His Companion's more trusty Keeper. No, Sir, no, he's as fast as if he were in the Stocks for three lives; I mean, for parting Compos mentis. If he have not a better opinion of London-Liquor ever after, let 'em spare their Cocks, and boil me in the next Brewing: And that shall be called Spruce-ale— Oh, how your City-wives will flock to't!  Enter Boy. Boy. 
Sir, your Coach is ready, and waits where you appointed:  Tru. 
Enough. Come, Madam, give me the honour to conduct you to your Servant; whom when you have known but half as well as I do, you will confess to be the worthiest Lover, as I the best of Friends.  Luc. 
You see, Sir, what a confidence I give to what you tell me, and how I trust your Conduct. I must confess, with many Blushes, I have no Aversion to his love or person: But still I tremble when I think my Uncle (whose severe nature I too well know) may dash my happiness with many sorrows.  Tru. 
Think not of that, dear Madam, Fortune is more indulgent. Your Uncle is this morning with my Friend's Mother, a rich Widow, in the height of his Wooing: And you may easily conclude, Madam, he dares not show displeasure at her Son's Match, since so advantageous, for that's the way to disoblige his Mistress.  Luc. 
Then, Sir, why may not he know it beforehand?  Tru. 
By no means. If so, he will undoubtedly by some sinister means prevent it, and that purely for lucre of your Portion, Madam: But when 'tis done, he cannot disapprove it, for the former Reason. Besides, an opportunity or advantage once neglected, is in Love, as in a Battle, never to be recovered.—  Maid. 
Oh, Madam! we are all defeated: Yonder comes Dashwel, your old spy; if he sees us here, or finds us not at home, he'll raise the Hue and Cry, and we are lost for ever.  Spr. 
Fear nothing; but you three cross over there, and away: Leave me to him, and if I don't prevent his doing mischief, think me a duller sot than he is.  Enter Dashwel at one door, and at the other Exeunt Truman, Lucia, Maid. Spr. 
Oh! you are a rare one, to stay thus long.  Dash. 
I could not help it for my heart and blood, I vow now. A Countryman, an old acquaintance, met me in Holborn, and would needs give me a Pint.— But is my Master gone out?  Spr. 
No.  Dash. 
Then omnia bene. I'll make haste to him, for I know he sits upon thorns.—  (Is going. Spr. 
Hold. You must not go in: there's Madam Goodfeild with him, and they are private. But should you know all, you'd cut your throat, that's certain, for being out o'the way.  Dash. 
What, Felo de se? I'll be hanged first.— But prithee, good Spruce, what's the matter?  Spr. 
O'my Conscience, you deal with the Devil, or else you were wrapped in your Mother's Smock; one o'the two, I'm confident. Come, come, I know you make use of Philters, Annulets, and Love-potions, or something of that nature.—  Dash. 
If I do, the Dews take me. You know there's the Statute of Primo against it.  Spr. 
Ay, ay, but that's nothing: for here was Mrs. Loveal came with her Lady; but now she's gone.—  Dash. 
Ah, what a Rogue was I to be away.— Ah, sweet Mrs. Loveal! and how much she made of me last night!  Spr. 
Look ye; I knew you would run mad at this, and never hear me out.  Dash. 
Yes, yes, I will hear thee: Dear Spruce, say on.  Spr. 
With Mrs. Loveal came a delicate young thing about Eighteen, whom she called Cousin; but I vow, she was the finest woman, I e'er saw in my life—  Dash. 
Oh!—  Spr. 
Such a pretty Mouth, and such a little plump Lip,—  Dash. 
Oh!—  Spr. 
A little nimble Hand and Foot; and then withal so slender, you might span her.—  Dash. 
Oh!—  Spr. 
Round amorous Breasts, that heave and pant with Love: white and soft as Down of Swans—  Dash. 
Oh!—  Spr. 
Then to crown all, an Eye like any Basilick— you know, Tom, a Basilick has a delicate Eye.  Dash. 
Ay, ay,— Oh! that I had been at home. Oh! that cursed Countryman, and that damned Tavern.  Spr. 
Mrs. Loveal had not been entered so long as you might tell one hundred, but that she asked me for ye— and smiled like any thing.  Dash. 
Did she e'faith? I vow, I am beholding to her.  Spr. 
I told her you were abroad. At this she seemed as sad as if she'd had her purse cut.  Dash. 
Alack, alack, Poor heart!  Spr. 
After this she stayed but little; and parting, with a low Courtesy, desired me to remember her Love to ye, and tell ye, she and her Cousin were going directly to the Folly, where they should both be very glad to see ye.  Dash. 
Edad, I'll go put on a clean pair of Sleeves, and follow 'em immediately.—  Spr. 
Ye ben't mad? If ye lose time ye lose 'em. They are hardly got to the Temple-stairs yet: Away directly, 'tis ten to one you overtake 'em.  Dash. 
Ye say true; farewell. If my Master ask for me, make some Lie or other, and all's well.  Spr. 
Let me alone for lying— But d'you hear? She bid me tell you, that if you find 'em not at the Folly, you will not fail to have 'em in the long Walk at the New-spring-garden.  Dash. 
Enough—  Spr. 
One word more.— But, says she, If we should chance to be gone from thence, he will be sure to meet me at my Ousins Lodgings—  Dash. 
Dear Spruce, where's that?  Spr. 
At the sign of the Windmill in the Old-pell-mell.  Dash. 
Enough, enough; I'll not delay my joys one minute longer.  Exit. Spr. 
So; thou art secure for one three hours. This Dashwel is the easiest Gudgeon! he gulps a Lie as readily as Jugglers swallow Knives. Now to my Steward; if he has swallowed Glasses with equal haste and pleasure, he's in his altitudes by this time.  Exit.  

SCENE II.  Enter Ned Goodfeild, B. Goodfeild, and Frank, in their own Apparel. Good. 
NOW I can call you Sister again, with a safe Conscience. Methinks, before ye looked like a Brother of the Blade, or a kind of little Huff.— Come, bear up, the Rendezvous is not far off.  B. Good. 
Methinks you are grown very Heroic, Brother? you think of nothing but close fighting. For my part, since I am returned to Petticoats again, my mind is not so masculine as lately. And I consider, more distance would more become this Habit.  Good. 
Cunning Hypocrite! Now should not I proceed in this Assignation, you yourself would be my chief Tormentor; and my own flesh and blood, like another Brutus, would give me the first Bodkin.—  B. Good. 
As sure as can be.  Good. 
Fie, fie, Sister, be more ingenious: This backward dissimulation of a longing Female, is odious in a Person of Quality, and a Town-Lady, and shows the coursest breeding in the world. I shall be ashamed to keep you company, unless you converse with more Integrity and Candour.  B. Good. 
Faith, Brother, I can't help it. Since I shifted my Apparel, I am infected with what belongs to a Petticoat and Waistcoat: 'tis the humour of the Garment, and therefore you must pardon me.  Good. 
I do; but jack Truman shall prescribe your Penance, which if it be more pleasant than the fault deserves, you ought to thank your too indulgent Confessor.  B. Good. 
A propos: Let us make haste then to the place of Exccution. But by the way, Brother, let me tell you, I think it would be better if—  Good. 
Away with your impertinent Propositions. I think there is nothing in nature so Capricious as a she-wit. Is this a time for advice, when it is now near eleven a clock, and you know what we are to do effectually before twelve?  B. Good. 
Yet do but hear my Reasons.  Enter Docket, Widow, Loveal. Dock. 
Well, Madam, since we are agreed on the main point in Issue, and you are pleased once more to lie under Covert-Baron, there's now no more to be done, but to turn down this lane, and we shall quickly arrive at an honest Parson's, my intimate acquaintance, indeed the Ordinary of Newgate, who will give us the Book of Matrimony as compendiously as if he were to teach the Neck-verse.  Wid. 
Soft, Mr. Docket, though we have a Country-proverb, that Marriage and Hanging go by Destiny, yet methinks, for luck-sake, I would not be married by one that deals so near the Gallows.  Dock. 
The truth is, Madam, he has often promised to marry me for nothing: but that's all one; rather than displease my dear Widow, I am content to lose his Assumpsit. How like ye, Madam, to be married by a Reader of an Inns a Court? I know 'em all.  Wid. 
By no means, Sir: Do your Readers at the Inns a Court marry fokes? Never stir, now that's as bad as to be married by a Justice of Peace, out upon't!  Dock. 
Nay, my Dear, you mistake me clearly. I mean, a Chappel-Reader.  Wid. 
Cry ye mercy, Mr. Docket, I understand ye now. Well, Sir, what you please.— O my heart! Come hither, Loveal; do ye know those two that stand talking yonder?  Lov. 
As I hope to live and do well, Madam, I dare say 'tis Mr. Edward Goodfeild, and Mrs. Betty, your Ladyships only Son and Daughter. Nay, I'll be sworn yonder's Frank too.  Wid. 
I vow, I think so. But how come they together, and in London? I left my Daughter in the Country, and sure an God'll my Son's at Cambridge.  Lov. 
I fear me, Madam, there's some naughty design in hand; for I dare swearupon a Book 'tis they.  Dock. 
Never trouble yourself, Madam, London's a large place, and here's one body or other like every body i'the Nation. For my part; I have sometimes met somebody as I have been going along the street, as like somebody as I know, as e'er you saw; and yet when all came to all I have been deceived.  B. Good. 
Now let me die, and all that, Brother, but yonder's my Mother and her new Servant, a't'other side the way; and as the Devil would have it, she has spied us. What shall we do in this case? this is no time to take notice of Mothers.  Wid. 
Well, to be sure, Loveal, we'll walk softly before. Do you step o'er the way, and see if it be they for certain, and then follow us.  Exeunt Dock. Wid. B. Good. 
Brother, we are all undone: This wicked Mother of ours has sent her woman over to make further discovery. Look where she comes▪  Eran. 
Madam, you spoil all: Be not surprised, but you two stand aside as unconcerned, and leave me to her; if I don't send her off with less satisfaction than she came on, say I'm not worth your Service.  (Good. and B. Good. retire a little. Fran. 
(meeting Loveal) Oh! me cher Maitress, Madam Belamy! Ah, how blessé am I to see me good Friend a Londres! Merdugues, I am the happy woman in the varlde.  Speaking, and Acting like a French woman all this Scene. Lov. 
What means this Gibberish? I understand not a word she says.  Fran. 
Ah, Madam, you cunno I speak no good Englesh. I have been but two day in does City. Mais je Scais bien que vous parlez bon Francois.  Lov. 
Now, for aught I know, she bids the Devil take me, in French. Lord, to see how I was mistaken, to think this was Frank. Well, I'll e'en back again, and say nothing, lest I appear as much beside the Cushion as she is  (Is going. Fran. 
(staying her) Ah, Maistress Belamy, verfore are you so estrange? Ma foy, have you oblie how ver merry we were ensemble last summer, vid Messieurs de Cour Dauphnie, at the little Caberet, Au teste noir, in de Ru'e St. Jasques a Paris? Look you, Madam, dear stand me ver good friend Monsieur le Marquis de Montausiere, vid his Sister Madame de Fountain-amante. Give me the honour, Je vous supply, to introduce you into his cunnisance: you'll find him de ver noble Gentlemane, and he'll make ver much of your body, begar.  Lov. 
Pray let me go, Mistress.— Fie upon her, for a naughty woman! I shall be undone if I stay.  (aside. Fran. 
You need no be affear, sweet Madam Belamy, he was ver well curè a Rouen, before he came in Engleterre, begar.  Lov. 
Let me go, I say. I know ye not, not I And you are mistaken in me, that you are; I am none of those you take me for: my name's Loveal, and not Bellany— How I hate the looks of these French people! It's no wonder we can't abide 'em. For my part, I never saw any of 'em before, and I hope, never shall again— Let me go, I say.  Fran. 
Ma foy, Madame; me ask your pardon treshumblement, if you be not dat good English Lady Maistress Belamy, in whose company I have had the great honour to be garanted a Paris and Fountainbleau. Yet for that you are so ver like the good graces of me dear friend, if you do please to go along vid Monsieur, Madame, and your Servant, to a little Frigate below the bridge, we have dere one two tree glasses of ver excellent Frontiniack, and the little Collation, to which you will do very great honour, Si vous playst.  Lov. 
O Lord, a Spirit, a Spiritd a French Spirit! I shall be carried to Barbados. Away, Spirit, farewell, Satan; I have heard of your tricks. But soft, older and wiser.  Exit. Fran. 
Well▪ how like ye my dispatch?  B. Good. 
Oh, most cleverly done, Wench! 'Twas a neat Conveyance; there's ne'er a Lawyer of 'em in Town can draw a better. Take my best French Point, tomorrow, for thy witty French Wheedle.  Good. 
'Faith 'twas a most important Service, my Girl: and Monsieur the marquess de Montausere is your very humble Servant for it. Without doubt, had Loveal been confirmed in her untimely knowledge of us, it would have been no small obstruction to our Designs.  B. Good. 
Yet was the pleasure of the action greater than the profit. I vow, Madam de Fountain-amante had much ado to keep the due Grimace proper to a person of her Quality, and not laugh outright.— But, I'll stay here no longer, Brothers, not only to avoid such another Rancounter, but chiefly, because I long to be at my Journeys end.  Good. 
That is, you think it long to night. I understand ye, Sister.  B. Good. 
'Tis well you do: walk you afore, while my Maid ties my shoestring— I'll follow immediately—  N. Good. 
Prithee make haste—  Exit. B. Good. 
So, he is gone (to Frank stooping) away, Wench, let us turn down this lane; I am resolved to have one frolic more in the open field of this world, before I enter into the enclosures of Matrimony—  Fran. 
'Slife, Madam, what will your Brother and Servant apprehend from such delays?—  B. Good. 
No matter for my Brother; as for my Servant, this is my last effort to exercise his patience, and try how much he loves me— Come away, away—  Exeunt.  

SCENE III.  The Scene opens, and discovers Trupenny and Clarke, in play. Trup. 
WEll, all this can't be helped. But the Devil's in the Cards, that's plain. ud's bud, I've played at Put a thousand times, and a thousand to that, but I never had such cursed luck before— Come, Sir, shuffle: But first let's draw the Table more to the light; Gad I have drunk so much, I can scarcely see.  They bring the Table forward upon the Stage. Clar. 
Shakstone, sha'! this is nothing: Give me a man that can sit at it from twelve at noon, to twelve at night, then go to bed sober, and swear there's no strong drink in London: there's your true English heart of Oak.  Trup. 
As I live Mr. Clarke, you say finely.— But let us to our Books again—  Clar. 
Ten such as these would overrun the Low Countries, and drown all Germany in a Rummer. Come, Sir, before we go any further, here's one brimmer to your better fortune. (drinks) Faith, Sir, you have the worst luck of any man living. lose Eleven games together and never turn Stake? why, you don't drink well, man. Unless you ply the Glass with better Courage, you'll never win a game at One and thirty.  Trup. 
Say ye so? Nay, then fill it up; I'll do ye right, e'faith, Boy. If you provoke me once at this Weapon, you'll find me a mad Boy; I'll tell you that.  (Drinks. Clar. 
Sa, sa. That's he, that's he.  Tru. 
Now, Sir, deal.— (Clark deals. Gad, Sir, I'll see ye. If I lose with these Cards, I'll never play at Put more.  Clar. 
Why then I'm gone. You know, Sir, I'm bound and can't refuse: Play away— that's mine; and there's a trey, e'faith.  Trup. 
That's tied.—  Clar. 
Gad, there's another trey, win it and wear it.  Trup. 
ud's, I've lost. Was ever such damned luck?— Well, I won't leave ye yet— Drawer, bring a fresh pack o'Cards— Come, Sir, I'll double the Stakes; what a Devil, I can't lose always— Let me see— [feels in his pockets]— (aside) ud's bud, I ha' lost all my Money; here's but one poor Nine pence, a Groat and five Farthings— (stamps) Was ever such a cursed hand seen? three Trays at once? What man alive could ha' thought it?— Sir, can you lend me Five shillings?  Clar. 
How, Sir, lend? Sbud, Sir, you are not in earnest? what butter me with my own money? this is worse than to play upon tick: You must know, Mr. Trupenny, there's a Statute against it; and besides that, it is not the custom of London, I assure ye.  Trup. 
No? why then— hark ye, Drawer, a word with ye: thou seemest an honest fellow. (stroke him upon the head) Look ye, Drawer, yond Gentleman has won all my money at Put; prithee lend me half a Crown, to win as much back again as may pay the Reckoning.  Draw. 
Faith, Sir, I can't, and it were to save my life.— By and by, by and by, I come, I come, Sir.  Exit Drawer. Trup. 
Why there's the Devil. Oh, here comes Mr. Spruce: nay; then I care not.  Enter Spruce. Spr. 
Gentlemen, I must seriously beg your pardon: I have been diverted by so many unlucky accidents, that I protest, my stay has been almost an hour longer than I intended.  Clar. 
There needs no Apology, sweet Mr. Spruce; we have been so seriously engaged since you went, that we scarce ever thought o'you.  Spr. 
Well, than I hope you like the Ale, Mr. Trupenny. Come, where stands the Glass? we'll whisk it about, e'faith, boys.  Trup. 
Nay, nay, nay, Mr. Spruce, never talk of that. Whisk quoth a? I have had enough of Put, one would think; but that's all one. Hark ye, Mr. Spruce, one word in private: Mr. Spruce, as I hope to live now— yet first I should have told ye— but that's no matter neither— then as I was saying, Sir, your friend yonder has won Thirty shillings of me at half-Crown-put; and nothing vexes me, but he has not left me money enough for another stake. Now, worthy Mr. Spruce, as the saying is, I take you for my friend, and I hope to sinde ye so: Can ye do a man the favour, Sir, as to lend a Crown, or an Angel? As I'm an honest man, you shall ha''t again.  Spr. 
What to do, Mr. Trupenny?  Trup. 
Only to win my Thirty shillings back again: nothing else, I protest.  Spr. 
How, Mr. Trupenny, win it back? I perceive you done't know Mr. Clark: why he's the only Put-man in Town. I hold ye six to four, an ye play with him till midnight, ye shall never win two pence of him. He knows ye all the Cards as well as he that made 'em; and then for the sleek, the nip, the double, and all that, he is the Devil of a Gamester.  Trup. 
Nay, Guds sooks, if he be the Devil of a Gamester, I have nothing to say to him. 'Sbud I always thought some such thing.— But now, how shall we do to pass the time? methinks now I'm in, I'm loath to leave good company.  Spr. 
What think ye of a Wench, Mr. Trupenny? I know a Miss hard by, that is excellent company, Gad: What say ye?  Trup. 
Not a word more of that, if you love me, Mr. Spruce. For aught I know, she may be the Devil of a Gamester too. And then, look ye, I had rather lose Thirty shillings at Cards, than give a Surgeon Forty shillings for a cure, and Three pound for seeresie. I must confess, look ye, Mr. Spruce, I love the sport well enough; but pox on't, there's no doing in this naughty Town of London, (as my Lady calls it.) Besides, Sir, should I get it, you understand me; ud's bud, Sir, it were enough to spoil a whole Country.— Come, come, without further ceremony, let us all sit down, and drink while we can stand. Mr. Spruce, my Service to ye.  (Drinks. Spr. 
Sir, your humble Servant—  Clar. 
But pray, Mr. Trupenny, why are you such an enemy to London?  Trup. 
Fough, I hate it.— Why, did you never hear the Song?  Clar. 
The Song, what Song?  Trup. 
Why this 'tis to be an ignorant Londoner.— I'll tell ye, Mr. Spruce, for you are my friend, and an understanding person. It was made by a very honest fellow in our Country that chanced to be at Bartholomew-fair once, and had his pocket picked.  Clar. 
Ay, ay, I knew him very well; his name was Bartholomew Coke.  Trup. 
No, Sir, he was none of your Cokes, I assure ye, but a Kinsman of mine at Mansfield. To see how you're mistaken with your Cokes ' s.—  Spr. 
Nay, nay, never mind him, man, but on with your Song.  Trup. 
Cuds bud, it's the finest Song you e'er heard in your life. The Clerk of our Parish sings it rarely to the tune of the Sixteenth Psalm, and it will go to Green sleeves, but that's all one— I'll sing it as well as I can.  Spr. 
Ay, sweet Mr. Trupenny, let's ha''t.  Trup. 
Hem, hem.— Faith, Gentlemen, my voice is but so, so. But that's no matter. Time was when I could have done well; but—  Trupenny Sings. To be sung all▪ yuronge, in a drunken humour. 

SONG.  

1.  
O London, wicked London-Town!  
Whose Spots so many and so brown,  
Deform thy face in such a fashion,  
Thou dost appear the one black Patch—  
Yea, of the Nation.   

2.  
Ye Ladies that wear powdered Toors:  
Ye honest Women eek, and Whores,  
Reform your lives, and by degrees  
Leave the Back-fall, and rather fall—  
Yea, on your knees.   

3.  
Ye Gallants that wear Sword and Scabbard;  
The Cooper's eek, that deal in Clapboard,  
Repent for shame: and do ye hear?  
Drink no more Sack, but rather Ale—  
Yea, drink small Beer.   

4.  
Ye men of Trade that deal in Lying,  
I mean, in Selling and in Buying,  
Look to your Wives, for it is spoken,  
They are as cracked as you yourselves—  
Yea, full as broken—    
Boy, bring another Chamber-pot. Plague on ye, you Rogue, you never empty.  Spr. 
Didst thou ever hear a foolish Song worse sung in thy life, Dick Clark?  Clar. 
'Tis beyond expectation ridiculous.— But hang him; this Country-Fop begins to be cursed drunk, and his humour will quickly become tedious: Let's dispatch him, and away.  Spr. 
Withal my heart. Tother Glass does the work.  Clar. 
Or else the Devil's in him. Let me die, I am confident the Sot has drunk at least Eight or ten bottles for his own share in less than an hour. While he was busy in play, I used to fill the Glass and set it by him, and he would never mind, but take off Three or Four together in that manner. As for example, you shall see— (Clark fills and sets it to Trupenny. Methinks you droop, Mr. Trupenny?  Trup. 
No, Sir, not droop; there's nothing of drooping in the case, I assure you; but only I was thinking of a thing which I had quite forgot; that is, Mr. Spruce, how I should have stayed at your Master's Chamber, about a thing that I know— But hang't let it pass, here's a Health in a Rummer.  (Drinks. Spr. 
I protest, Mr. Trupenny, you are the merriest man— Ha, ha, he— But all this while I must not forget to be civil. Look you, Mr. Trupenny, here's one Glass I'll put about to your best Concern; I mean, the good health of your good Lady Madam Goodfeild— Mr. Clark, my Service to you.  Trup. 
Hold, Sir— you shall excuse me, efeckins.  Spr. 
What, not your Lady's health?  Trup. 
Not so, Sir; I do not mean so, Sir, I assure you: But only I'll begin it myself— well, I say nothing; but she's as good a Lady as any in England, and has as able a Servant as any in the world— but that's all one. I defy your pimping Glasses (throws away the Glass.) Drawer, bring a whole Bottle, I say, a whole Bottle. Look you, d'you see, I will begin my Lady's health in a whole Bottle, an it were as deep as a— Churm. And as I'm an honest man, I'll see myself pledged— Mr. Clark, here's to ye, with all my heart—  [Drinks at a Bottle. Clar. 
Ah, pure Country-frolick▪  Spr. 
The Rogue's mad.  Clar. 
How he stares—  Spr. 
And blows—  Clar. 
And sweats at it.—  Spr. 
How now, Mr. Trupenny?  [Trupenny falls back. Trup. 
(down) Gentlemen, I drink fair.— This damned Rogue Drawer has gi'n me a Chair that wants a— wants a— one leg—  Spr. 
Rather, you want two— Come, Clark, here's no more to be done. Now, which way are you bound?  Clar. 
Here, Drawer, here's the Reckoning— Faith, jack, now I have recruited my Pockets indifferently well; I must directly into Holborn: I have a certain Intrigue there, with a Cutler's Wife, that must not be neglected. Farewell.  Exit. Spr. 
Drawer, run and fetch a Porter with a great Basket; and dost hear— [whispers]— you understand me?  Draw. 
A little below Fetter-lane, say you, Sir?  Spr. 
Yes. I leave this to thy manage: Do it ingeniously, and here's shilling for thy pains.  Exit. Draw. 
Thank ye, noble Master. Let me alone for Roguery— [to Trupenny]— Sir, Sir, will ye please to rise, and walk into the next Room? there's Company a coming hither that have bespoke a Dinner.  Trup. 
E'faith, now, 'tis all off— and— e— gad I can drink no more.  Draw. 
Let me help ye up, Sir,— methinks you're something heavy— [searches his Pockets]— what a Devil, nothing but a few greasy Papers?—  Trup. 
Nay, nay, nay— take off your Bottle, Mr. Spruce; ud's bud, I'll not bate ye an Ace, look ye.— Ho'now, what are you? the Drawer? Ah, poor little Drawer, let me kiss thee— where is Mr. Spruce, ye Rogue Drawer?  Draw. 
Sir, the Gentlemen are stepped into the next Room, only to—  Trup. 
As I hope to live, I'll follow them, and see myself pledged, and then,— call a Coach, ye Rogue— for I can drink no more, ye Rogue— but will go home like a Prince, ye Son of a Nine-eyes.  Draw. 
This way, Sir.  Exeunt. Enter Loveal sola, and after a while enter to her, Spruce. Lov. 
Lord! what a wide Town is this London; I have been, I believe, in Forty several places, but cannot find my Mistress out— nor in all my Jaunt I have not met with Trupenny: Pray Heaven he be not spirited away by that strange French creature— Well, I dare swear she had the foul Disease, she spoke so strangely; for I have heard folk say, it altars the speech much: Out upon her for a filthy beast; I warrant it is so.  Enter Spruce. Spr. 
Mrs. Loveal! most happily met—  Lov. 
Mr. Spruce! I profess, I am glad I have met with somebody I know; I had like to have been spirited away, which so scared me, that I was forced to run for it; if I had not, I vow, I do believe I should ne'er have seen Darbyshire more. But pray, Mr. Spruce, may I be so bold to ask where people use to be married in London? for my Mistress is gone with Mr. Docket on that design, but I cannot find 'em—  Spr. 
If you will permit me the honour of waiting on you, I will show you the place—  Lov. 
Indeed, Sir, I would not trouble you; but if you can tell me where our Steward Trupenny is, he shall go with me— I protest to you, he has not seen home since he went this morning to your Master's Chamber: I wonder where a murrain he should be!—  Spr. 
I left him just now drinking a Glass at the Cock-ale-house, with a Countryman of his, whom he met with by chance—  Lov. 
The Devil take him; he'll get drunk, and then there will be no ho with him: He is as mad as a Buck in Rutting-time, when he is in his Beer, as they say—  Spr. 
But, Mrs. Loveal, I have a Request to you, in behalf of a poor despairing Lover: good Soul, losing his heart in your company, he is wandering about the Town to find you out— for they are your Eyes have conquered him—  Lov. 
Nay, good Mr. Spruce, no more, if you love me; you act the flattering Courtier now— but I confess, I have had some languishing looks in my time; I will assure you, they have been called the Sun, Moon, and seven Stars too: Nay, I believe I can look killingly still; see, Mr. Spruce, do I not?—  Spr. 
Such looks would kill a Basilisk—  Lov. 
Nay, nay, I could have done, but alas, alas, I grow old, yet not so old, but I have seen my Elders doted on, aye, and by young men too— I vow by my Virginity, I am but forty odd—  Spr. 
(aside) Virginity quoth a?— Ay marry, that is an age fit for a Lady Mayoress: women, especially Maids about Forty, are in their prime, being past the wanton years; but so fond and vain are young Virgins at thirty, that I have seen 'em hang about men's necks and kiss 'em, and dote on all they met.  Lov. 
Ha, ha, he, that is true; Trupenny knows it of me; but (though with much ado, I must tell you) I am honest, I can assure you— but not to appear uncivil, May I, without offence, desire to know who this poor creature is? for I pity him heartily; and I vow to you, I am so charitable, I would not have him cast himself away for me, poor Soul, for the world—  Spr. 
To say true, it is Dashwel, my fellow-clerk—  Lov. 
Loving Mr. Dashwel— now, Mr. Spruce, I dare swear Marriages are made in Heaven; for I must confess— yet, ha, ha, he, you will perhaps wonder at my confidence, I have had a great kindness for him from the first time I saw him— but I vow, I mean honestly—  Spr. 
But you have not only vanquished him, but another too that has seen you, is become your Admirer; and he being jealous of Dashwel, has on purpose sent him out of the way, that he might have the freer converse with you— and now—  Lov. 
Mr. Spruce, speak not for him— if you do, I must deny you; for I vow to you, I can like none but Mr. Dashwel—  Spr. 
Then woe to unfortunate Spruce, that must die with despair— the wretchedest creature on the earth—  Lov. 
Lord, Mr. Spruce, is't you? hold, hold, Sir, and take some of my Spirit to comfort you— but I fear you do but play the rogue.  Spr. 
I swear—  Lov. 
Nay, nay, I vow I believe you do not— and tell you true, you are the only man I wished to be my Husband; and to show my good nature— see, I am ready to sacrifice myself to your will: But ha! bless me, what's here?  Enter Porter with Trupenny in a basket: boys following. Trup. 
Why, you young Sons of Whores, what ado is here? did you ne'er see a man ride in a Coach before?— Ha, Mr. Spruce, and my old Mother Midnight Loveal— So ho, Mr. Spruce. Mrs. Loveal, will you ride? hold Coachman, hold you Rogue— Yfeck 'tis fine riding.  Exit. Lov. 
Now, out upon him for a beast, and a shame take all ill-luck, say I, for making me lose your good company: Now must I go put him to bed, or my Mistress will lead me such a life— for he is my charge when he is in this condition— a filthy beast— farewell, sweet Mr. Spruce, till an hour hence, and then I will steal out to finish the business you wot of, if you think fit.  Exit. Spr. 
Farewell, Fondling.  
Now to my Lovers  
Whose serious Passion merits more success:  
This is but Love-burlesque, or something less.  Exit.   

ACT V.  

SCENE I.  Enter Truman, Ned Goodfeild, and Lucia. Luc. 
YOu see, Mr. Truman, I have performed what you desired; but know, had I not been well assured that that was true you told me, I should not have so soon, or easily consented: and I hope, Sir, you will not impute it either to folly or fondness, but to an Uncle's rigour, that made me act what now I have done.  N. Good. 
Far be it from me, Madam, to harbour such base thoughts of one so Virtuous— but I shall ever acknowledge the favour my best of Friends hath done me.— And Friend, suspect not my Sister's fidelity, for I know she has so just a sense of Honour, that what she promises she will perform: Yet, I must confess, her long stay somewhat startles me.  Tru. 
Use no farther motives, for they will rather induce me to cherish, than dissipate my breeding Jealousies: Her Country-innocence is an argument more prevailing than all your Rhetoric. Were she indeed one of the gay Ladies of the Town, whose words and actions ne'er agree, I should have known how to have managed my Amour.  Luc. 
Your Boy, Mr. Truman, perhaps brings some news of the Lady—  Enter Boy. Tru. 
Sirrah, have you met with Madam Goodfeild?  Boy. 
Yes, Sir; and she is just now going to be married to a Gentleman that is with her.  Tru. 
How, to another? Now, Ned, I begin to suspect thy fidelity.  N. Good. 
It is impossible she should be false: the boy mistakes.  Boy. 
I am sure, Sir, that what I say is truth; for I sifted it out of their boy; who told me, his Lady Mrs. Goodfeild and Mr. Docket were going to be married.  Tru. 
Docket! blessed mistake! it is thy Mother, Ned— now my hopes revive again.  N. Good. 
Did not I tell thee, jack, it was a mistake? but, Sirrah, are they not married yet?  Boy. 
No, Sir, for one Parson denied them, the Canonical hour being past, and they having no Licence neither, so that now they are coming to Lincolns-Inn, in hopes to find the Reader within, who is Mr. Docket's friend.  N. Good. 
Better than I could have wished. jack, as thou lovest me or my Sister, contrive some way to hinder this match; I hate the thoughts of being controlled or allied to such an impertinent Ignoramus— besides, who knows but he may wheedle her out of what would be our due, when she dies?  Tru. 
They come; therefore retire, Ned, with thy Mistress, and something I will do to manifest my Love for thy Sister— I have it—  N. Good. 
Good luck attend thee.  N. Good. Lucia, Exeunt. Enter Docket, Widow, Goodfeild, and Boy. Tru. 
Oh, Mr. Docket, I am glad I have met you—  Dock. 
To see me married, you would say,— Why, look you, Mr. Truman, you must excuse me, that I did not invite you. Widows use to go to't with secrecy; and for my part, I love not to blazon to the world what I am going about.  W. Good. 
Pray, Mr. Docket, what Gentleman is that? he seems to be a person of Worth—  Dock. 
Why, lovely Bride, it is a worthy friend of mine, a man of a fair State, and sober Conversation— therefore for my sake salute him.  Tru. 
Madam, your humble Servant— but, Mr. Docket— your Niece—  Dock. 
My Niece? what of her?— Oh you like her— and would, with my consent, marry her, and by that means relieve your Mortgage— Why look you, Mr. Truman, I want money— and you know—  Tru. 
Right, I do know, Mr. Docket, that unless you make haste, your Niece will be stole away and married.  Dock. 
How, stole away, and married? undone— undone— but now I think on it, let 'em if they dare, I'll bring my Writ of Ravishment de Guard against them: But for fear of the worst, good Friend, keep my Widow company till I step home, and I'll return immediately— Oh Heavens, my Niece stole! I'll firk un e'faith.  Exit. Tru. 
Now, Widow, since the old Goat is shifted off, let us make the best use of our time we can—  W. Good. 
As how? I pray— (I hope he won't be uncivil—  [aside. Tru. 
Why in chousing the old fool, by taking me into his place—  W. Good. 
What, marry you? that would be fine—  Tru. 
Certain, Widow, there is some difference between me and the Lawyer Docket: First, I am younger, and consequently fitter for a Widow's service: In the next place, I am richer, to please her A varice: and lastly, not to flatter myself, I think I am handsomer to beget Christianlike Children; for, Agad, if this fellow get any, it must be with his Inkhorn, and what they will prove, judge you—  W. Good. 
I vow, Sir, you are a pleasant Gentleman— but—  Tru. 
No butts, good Widow, but along, for I am allover in Love; and till I overwhelm thee with kindness, I shall not be myself—  W. Good. 
But may I trust to you, that you are inearnest?— I swear, a comely person, and so like Squire Goodfeild, that was! I warrant an able person— [aside] But, Sir, pray put none of your London▪ tricks on me: I fear you do but exercise your Wit upon me; for you Towngallants love to flout poor Countrie-Gentlewomen to make you sport—  Tru. 
If thou delayest one minute longer, Widow, I'll vow to blast thy Reputation, kill all that dare pretend to you, and at last, in spite of thyself, enjoy thee, and then Jilt thee—  W. Good. 
Goodness! what pretty words you Gentlemen have; Jilt me? well, that must be some fine thing, it sounds so well; Jilt— I might have lived in Darbyshire to Methusabem's age, and not have heard such fine things.  Tru. 
ud's precious, Widow, what mean you?— swear instantly to be mine, or I vow, I will prosecute what I told you—  W. Good. 
Hold, hold, Sir, I will swear or do any thing— but is this the London-way of Courtship?— It is somewhat boisterous, methinks, to force a woman to have a man whether she will or no— but Lord, what will Mr. Docket say, if I should cozen him?— I vow, now I think on't, I cannot, for my honour is engaged, and he has my word to be none but his—  Tru. 
What an unmannerly old-fashioned Widow art thou to talk thus (in London too) of thy honour & word— when the most Heroic act an alamode Lady can do, is to break promise, shake hands with Honour, and banish Reputation from her Dwelling.— Honour quoth a? Well, this is the last time of asking; and if denied, expect to see thy name in to morrow's Gazet, as an Advertisement to all young Gentlemen to beware of keeping thee company, for fear of being infected with ten thousand Diseases more than e'er were named in a Mountebanks Bill.  W. Good. 
No more, good Sir, and here is my hand, I will be none but yours— but what shall we do about Mr. Docket? I would be loath, now he is set agog, as they say; he should be disappointed: were it my own case, I should not be pleased—  Tru. 
Hang him— but however, I will contrive some means how to bestow him, now he is agog, as you say—  [Studies. Enter Loveal— Lov. 
So, I have put Trupenny to sleep, and now I will steal to Mr. Spruce, who longs for my coming: I dare say, poor Soul— well, he is as loving good conditioned sweet natured young man as lives, though I say it.— Ha! my Lady here? if she sees me, I am ruined—  W. Good. 
Oh, Loveal! were they my Son and Daughter we met an hour ago?—  Lov. 
No, Madam, we were both mistaken; they were your beyond-Sea French folk, Papists I warrant they were, they had such hard names; and they jabbered so, it would have frightened you to have heard them speak.  W. Good. 
I durst to have sworn it had been them—  Tru. 
Is this your Maid, Madam?—  W. Good. 
Yes, Sir, for want of a better—  Tru. 
Fortune is kinder to us than we could have expected— What should hinder your Maid supplying your place, and marry Mr. Docket?  W. Good. 
Why nothing, Sir, sure; for now I shall oblige her, and keep my word too; for she to sadly longs for a Husband, that I was forced to promise to help her to one; and I must have bought one, rather than have failed, or I should have led a tedious life with her—  Tru. 
Well, Madam, if you will give her a little instructions how to personate yourself, I will step to the Temple in the interim, and find out a Parson there to complete our business, and in the Cloisters I will expect you— till then, dear Widow, your Servant. In the mean time let my Boy attend you.  Exit. W. Good. 
Your humble Servant, Sir— Loveal, I remembering my promise to you, have accordingly found out a Husband for you. This Gentleman that is gone—  Lov. 
Well, this London is a brave place for Husbands; I wonder not now what makes the Countrie-maids flock up so fast to it— had I known so much before, I would not have stayed so long in Darbyshire— and I vow, this Gentleman is as handsome a man as ever a Darbyshire-blade of 'em all.  W. Good. 
Hold, you are too fast, Loveal, this is not the man, but he and I have found out one for you.  Lov. 
How, is not he the man? nay, then, Madam, know, I have not been so long in Town, but that my good fortune has provided for me; and had not your Ladyship seen me, within an hour I had altered my condition.  W. Good. 
What, were you going to be married? to whom I pray?  Lov. 
Either to Mr. Dashwel, or Mr. Spruce, I know not which; for both, poor things, are so much in love with me, that I was resolved to marry the first of 'em I met.  W. Good. 
Dashwel and Spruce? Come, come, you are a fool; but be ruled by me, and you shall marry their Master.  Lov. 
Mr. Docket! now, Madam, you jeer me; for I cannot believe you will give him away from yourself.  W. Good. 
Thou may'st be sure, Wench, I have provided otherways for myself, or I should hardly have parted with him.  Lov. 
Well, Madam, do with me as you please: for since I have had Love made to me, my mind so runs on Matrimony, that I shall not be myself till I have entered into that delicious kind of life.  W. Good. 
See, Mr. Docket comes; here, put on my great Scarf and Veil, and be sure not to show your face till you come home, but pretend an unusual Modesty, and play no old Ape's tricks of Fondness, but behave yourself decently, and counterfeit my Speech, for he must take you for me; and when he comes, ask him if he has found his Niece.— Do you think you can do all this? I much doubt your Ability.  Lov. 
I'll warrant you, Madam— what not remember how to wheedle a man, and of this Age? it has been my practice this twenty years: But I must confess, my over-forwardness was the cause of my ill success; but I'll have more wit hereafter; and if I carry it not swimmingly, may I die before I taste the sweets of Matrimony, which is a most insupportable Curse.  W. Good. 
Be sure you take heed; my Honour will suffer if you prove too coming, as they phrase it.— And now for my smug handsome young Gentleman.— Well, Mr. Docket, you may thank yourself for this deceit; for by your own confession he is richer, and my own eyes tell me he is both handsomer and younger, and consequently fitter to satisfy a Widow's love.  Exit. Enter Docket hastily. Dock. 
Certainly there is more in it than I can apprehend, that Mr. Truman should tell me such a story! for I met Dashwel, and he protestando said, my Niece was safe at home. Ha! well thought on, if he should be stolen away with my Widow?— How, how, no Truman! Docket, Docket, where's thy Widow, man?  Lov. 
[counterfeiting W. Good.] Oh, Mr. Docket, that unmannerly clownish friend of yours left me alone so soon as you was gone; but I was resolved to stay, were it till midnight: But pray now, have you found your Niece?  Dock. 
It is her voice— Sing O be joyful— Widow mine, my Niece is safe— and now I have thee once more, I am resolved not to let thee go till we have joined Issue— But why this Veil? A Widow and bashful? for shame turn up— in troth I will bring a Levari facias.  Lov. 
Hold, hold, Mr. Docket, let me hide my blushes; when we are fast to one another, as they say, than you shall turn up what you please.  Dock. 
sayst thou so, Widow? along, along then, for fear of another Demurrer.  Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  Enter Dashwel hastily: After him, B. Goodfeild, and Frank, in visards. Dash. 
WHat would she have? I know her not. Has she not picked my pocket?  B. Good. 
This is the rarest Mortal I ever met with: see how the Rogue shakes! But Mr. Anthony—  Dash. 
I say once more, Gentlewoman, you are mistaken; my name is neither john, Humphrey, Dick, Rowland, jeossery, Stephen, Anthony, nor Mark Anthony neither, but plain Thomas Dashwel, senior Clerk to Mr. Docket.  Fran. 
Your Father-in-law's Clerk, on my life, Madam. A word, Sir; is not your Master an Attorney of Cliffords-Inn?  Dash. 
Yes, and Gentleman too.  B. Good. 
He is about marrying a Darbyshire-widow—  Dash. 
Yes, yes, they are Legitimo Matrimonio copulat ' by this time.  Fran. 
Her name, Goodfeild—  Dash. 
Right— If this should be the Devil I have been talking with all this while?  [Aside. B. Good. 
Friend, haste to thy Master, tell him if he marries the Widow, this night will prove his last: I have decreed it, I his fate have said it.  Dash. 
It is a Devil, o'my conscience; would I were rid of her company. Nay, nay, nay, pray forsooth keep more distance— Look, look, her Eyes are all of a flame, and I shall be damned before my time!  Enter Truman. Tru. 
What a Rogue am I to disappoint a longing Widow? but when she shall know it was for younger flesh, she will not certainly be so unreasonable to blame me.— Well, her Daughter is a witty wild frolicking Rascal, and I love her to excess; but her absence sets my patience on the Rack.  Dash. 
Oh, Mr. Truman, I am glad you are come.  Tru. 
What's the matter, man? thou look'st as if thou wert scared out of thy little Wits.  Dash. 
Wits quoth I? here stands, I fear, the Ruins of one who once was a hopeful Pleader. See, see, Mr. Truman, this Petticoat-Sathan has made divers and sundry assaults manus graviter imposuit, & cetera, insultum fecit vi & armis verbis opprobriis & minis— I have a good mind to swear the Peace against her— But oh, good sweet Mr. Truman— she approaches; as I hope to draw a Plea again, I will be gone, and so the Devil take the hindmost.  [Runs out. Tru. 
Some well-meaning Punk, on my life, following her Calling. It is easier to see a Court-Lady in her natural Complexion, than Fleetstreet and the Temples without this kind of Cattle.  B. Good. 
Have at my Temple-lover once more; if he proves according to my wish, he is my own. I'll try if he is one of the Fashionable Towngallants, who, good-natured Souls, keep Wenches for others as well as for themselves.  Fran. 
If he proves constant after all these trials, with my consent he should be Chronicled.  B. Good. 
Your name is Truman, as I take it.  Tru. 
You take it right.  Fran. 
And for want of wit, your dull sottish Worship is entering into the bonds of Matrimony.  Tru. 
How the Devil came you to know it? 'tis neither in Gazet, nor Banes yet askti'th ' Church.  B. Good. 
Gad sa' me, you're a base perfidious fellow.  Fran. 
Damn me! a Rascal.  Tru. 
High day, Petticoat-hectors?  Fran. 
To use a Lady thus?  Tru. 
Use her? how? what Lady? which of ye?  B. Good. 
Me, ungrateful man? but I'll have your throat cut, Mister—  Fran. 
Or nose slit, look ye.  Tru. 
Dashwel's words prove true; these are a couple of Devils: Nothing but Blood and Wounds! 'Sbud who are ye? and why this anger to me, Damsels?  B. Good. 
Treacherous perjured Villain, who was not only content to debauch me, a poor innocent Country-girl— but notwithstanding thousands of protestations of keeping me with a gilt Coach, and set of Horses for three lives, or one and twenty years, at last to Jilt me. But hang you, Renegado, your promises, performances, and treats, prove all too sligh tfor a Lady's service.— Follow me, if you dare.  Tru. 
Villain? perjured? debauched? gilt Coach? Jilt me? treats? What a Pox is the meaning of all this? Hold, hold, Madam Mystery, Gad ere you and I part, you must explain yourself a little better.  B. Good. 
Unworthy man, how often did you treat me at Plays, the Park, and Mulberry-garden, before I yielded? Have you forgot that too— and how you carried me to Tunbridge?  Fran. 
Yes, Madam; by the same token he had not money enough to pay the lodging, so that you were forced to pledge your little Dog for Nine and six pence, to save his honour— 'Tis true, when we came to London he sent his Tailor to redeem him, which he put to his account for this Suit he has on; but I suppose you do not remember this?  Tru. 
Thou— I know not what! a Puppy save my Honour? thou riddleing lying Satan, vanish, or—  Fran. 
I warrant you have forgot too, how last Winter you presented me a Jennet Muff of a Noble, and at the same time promised me a Ring worth five Guinies, on condition I would praise your Dancing to my Lady: which I did, but from that hour to this, I never saw or Ring or Gold.  Tru. 
Oh, impudent Jilt!  B. Good, 
Faithless man! consider who it is that courts you to be constant.  Fran. 
Think of her Beauty and Behaviour.  B. Good. 
Her Faith in violate.  Tru. 
Her singular Modesty!  Fran. 
Ay, her Modesty; but above all, her Blood and Affinity: Think of her Relations at Court, able to promote you to what Pitch she pleases: Half a word from her, can make you a Justice of Quorum, and send you into the Country with a Commission to domineer over your Betters. I'll tell you as a secret, there is my Lord— hum— and Sir Thomus— hum— have been her Ousins any time this six years, off and on.  B. Good. 
In fine, tell me, as you are a Gentleman and no Soldier, how can you find in your heart to forsake a Lady thus, and undo yourself by marrying?  Fran. 
To forsake one that loves you, to be tied to one for life, who without question, if she has any wit, as you are Husband, will hate and Cuckold you— Ha, ha, he.  B. Good. 
Ay, one that loves and dotes upon you— Ha, ha, he.  Tru. 
Was ever man thus baited by a couple of Vizard-masks?  Fran. 
Faith I think not.  B. Good. 
Oh that I were but a man, for thy sake! I have been too much a woman, I'm sure.  Fran. 
Nay, nay, Madam, rather than fail, I'll hire a pair of Breeches at the next Brokers, and then break his pate, for all this.  Tru. 
Why, thou, thou, what shall I call thee? thou unheardof Jilt, and thou other Spirit of impudence, what Devil set you on to abuse me thus? Follow me no further, but tremble at the Neighbourhood of Bridewell, and be silent.  Enter Ned Goodfeild. N. Good. 
How now, Sister! what do you here?  Tru. 
How? his Sister! 'Slife I am ruined.  [Aside. N. Good. 
Oh, jack here too!— then I perceive the business is done betwixt my Sister and you.— Methinks you walk at distance like man and wife already.  Tru. 
No, Ned, it is undone, and I so too, if you stand not my friend to her: thy Sister, whom I had never seen in her own Habit before, has provoked me to do that I fear will blast that good opinion she before had entertained of me.  B. Good. 
Fear not, Sir, I like you never the worse for what has past, especially considering who was the cause of your passion, and of whom the discourse was supposed to be. Like a wise Physician who has made a Patient sick by trying Experiments, I now will apply that remedy which will, I suppose, reduce you to your Wits again. Here— how say you?  (Offering her hand. Tru. 
Gad, now I have you, Madam, hang me if I quit my hold till we are made Yoak-fellows: and if I trust you more out of my sight—  N. Good. 
So; away, and I will follow presently.  Exit. B. Good. 
Do you know what a dreadful thing it is you go about?  Tru. 
Think not to scare me, Madam; for so long as every couple hitherto, both good and bad, have had at least a month of pleasure, I am resolved to try what it is. Madam, it is decreed, and so forth— Dear Rogue, let us to it.—  Exeunt.  

SCENE III.  Enter on one side, Docket, Loveal: On the other, Ned Goodfeild, Lucia. Dock. 
HOw, how's this? my Niece with a stranger? undone, undone. Now I begin to suspect Dashwel is false, and all was true which Mr. Truman told me.  [Aside. Luc. 
My Uncle, Sir! what shall I do?  N. Good. 
Fear. nothing, Madam, I will be your shield against his anger.  Dock. 
Niece, Niece, Niece, Baggage, a word I pray— What Gentleman is that? what, what have ye been doing together? why don't you answer me? what is he? from whence? whither would he? with whom would he speak?— ha—  N. Good. 
Why, faith Sir, I am a Cantabrigian, a Gentleman, and my business was with this Lady; and we have dispatched the very same Affair as you and my Mother have been about, To have and to hold, for better for worse, and so forth; and now in hopes you will pardon a wandering Son, Madam, I beg a blessing on this Lady and myself.  Dock. 
How? married, married! Cuds lid married?  Lov. 
Now I am sure this is my young Master Edward; and because he takes me for my Lady, for once I will act the part of a Mother [aside.] Son Edward, you have it; but how came it to pass you left Cambridge? who gave you leave, pray, to come up to this lewd Town? go to, it is not well done of you.  Dock. 
Widow that was, is this your Son?  Lov. 
Yes, Mr. Docket, and a witty child he is, but much of his Father's resolute humour, Peace be with him: for if at any time I desired him not to do so, or so, be sure he would do't; therefore I cannot blame him. But Son, are you married to that Gentlewoman?  N. Good. 
As sure as you are to Mr. Docket, Madam.  Dock. 
But not with my consent. However, Sir, for your Mother's sake, who is now my bride, this likewise being our Wedding-day, I pardon you: But d'you hear? expect nothing from me.  N. Good. 
Lass, Sir, I should be too unreasonable to expect anything from you besides the Portion her Father left her; Six thousand pounds will satisfy me well enough.  Dock. 
But let me tell you, Sir, she has not Six thousand groats, marrying without my consent, as by her Father's Will may and doth more fully appear.  Lov. 
— Now I have it— Then, Sir, I hope you will not desire or expect to intermeddle with my Concerns: I have but Six hundred pounds a year Jointure, besides Four or Five thousand pounds in Money, Plate, and Goods; but these are not worth speaking of.  Dock. 
How, so wealthy? nay, than I am friends— It is but three or four years' forbearance, and I shall cheat her of as much as the Portion comes to; therefore 'twill be policy to comply [Aside]— Well, Sir, for your Mother's sake I am reconciled to you, and must confess—  Enter Truman, B. Goodfeild, Frank. 
Six thousand pounds is my Niece's Portion, which in truth I cannot keep from her, it being by the Will due upon her day of marriage; and my design in giving out the Penalty, was in hopes that no one would have ventured on her; and she dying single, her Portion then would have been my own.  Tru. 
To which we are Witnesses.  Dock. 
Oh, Mr. Truman! with all my heart.  B. Good. 
Brother, give you joy— Mother, your Blessing  [Offers to kneel. Lov. 
I can hold no longer— [discovers herself] Oh, Mrs. Betty, I am overjoyed to see you in London—  All, Loveal! Dock. 
How, how's this? what cheated of my Widow too? Wretched miserable Docket, thou art undone, undone—  Tru. 
Fear not that, man; she's a thrifty Soul I warrant you. But Docket, couldst thou in thy Conscience think it reasonable to swallow Widows as fast as Mortgages? No, Sir, no; and you see now, that by my own contrivance, without the help of the Chancery, I have superseded your desires: ha, ha, he—  Dock. 
Look ye, I will instantly draw up an Indictment against ye all for Cheats.  N. Good. 
And I will immediately take out a Writ against you for my wife's Portion; you understand me?  Tru. 
But provided you give an Appearance, and put in good Bail, you shall not be arrested; for you know Six thousand pounds requires special Bail, Mr. Docket. But to prevent such extremity, I will make a bold proposal.— Deliver up my Mortgage, and I will become responsible to my friend for your Niece's Portion.  Dock. 
Hum! Deliver up your Mortgage, Sir? Curia advisare unit: let me consider on it.  N. Good. 
Do it, and I agree to't with all my heart.  Dock. 
[aside] Here is no parting with Money, for it is the same sum; and should I be stubborn, they'll have me up in Chancery, and that will soak my Purse.— And I have now what I have longed for many a day; a Wife, though none of the best, yet she'll serve.— Mr. Truman, I'll do't; and let all bear witness, I here promise to deliver up Mr. Truman's Mortgage, provided that upon receipt thereof he enters into Bond to my Nephew and Niece for the payment of her Portion. In the mean time, Nephew, I give it you— And now, Sir, I give you Joy with all my heart.  N. Good. 
Your Servant, Sir.— And now, friend, before these, I give you back your Mortgage in lieu of my Sister's Portion.  Dock. 
Well done, i'faith, Nephew— how luckily it falls out! Two Portions paid, and a Mortgage satisfied, without handling one farthing of Money.  Enter Spruce, Dashwel. Spr. 
Advance, man, and see thy Mistress in earnest, for she is my Master's Wife now.  Dash. 
Married to my Master? I will instantly have him up in the Ecclesiastical Court de Matrimonio prelocut ', for that will amount to a Contract.  Spr. 
Spare thy pains, man, he'll be too hard for thee at that weapon; and since he has her, we must submit to our hard fortune.  Dash. 
Well, patience per force, et cetera— but what a Rascal was you to make me run the Gauntlet about the Town?  Enter Widow Goodfeild, and Boy. W. Good. 
Hist, hist, Mr. Truman, Mr. Truman—  [Runs to him. Tru. 
Your Blessing, Madam.  [Kneels. W. Good. 
My Pardon you mean, for making me wait so long.  Tru. 
this Lady, Madam, was pleased to forbid the Banes, and take me herself.  W. Good. 
How's this? my Daughter? Lord, Betty, what make you in London?  B. Good. 
Madam, understanding your desire of having me married, I thought London the likeliest place to meet with a good Husband in, which since I have found true; and I thank my Stars I am better matched than I should ha'been with Sir Alexander—  W. Good. 
My Son Edward in Town too?  N. Good. 
Yes, Madam, and begs both Pardon and blessing; for Mr. Docket's Niece and I have been at the same sport my Sister and Friend have been at.  W. Good. 
What a day of Accidents has this been! my Journey made fruitless, my Children married, and myself disappointed— But Mr. Truman.  [Takes Truman aside. Tru. 
I understand you, Madam— but enough of that— could you in reason, expect to have two Husbands before your Daughter had one?  W. Good. 
This vexes me a little: however, I'll carry it off 〈◊〉 moothly [aside.] I swear, Mr. Truman, you have had singular good fortune, to meet with a Wife; for could you think I was in 〈◊〉 arnest? that so Grave and Sober a person as myself would marry 〈◊〉 o light a young London gallant as you are? I thought only to 〈◊〉 'ave made sport with you, and to let you know that Country- Gentlewomen can carry on designs, and have wit upon occasion, 〈◊〉 s well as your fine flaunting Londoners, an they list.  Tru. 
That I suspected; besides, Madam, I had not the ambition on to be your Husband; your Son, was the greatest happiness I aimed at— which, by my Friend's assistance, and this Ladies kind consent, I am according to my wish.  W. Good. 
I cannot be angry with you; for your marrying my Daughter, shows you have a Respect for me— therefore Heaven bless you together; and here I publicly promise not to marry again— but be good Children, and when I die, share what I leave behind me.  All. 
We are obliged to you.  B. Good. 
Frank, suspect me not; thy service shall be rewarded: I hate Ingratitude.— Find out the man you can like for a Husband, and I promise thee a Portion, Wench.  Fran. 
With your pardon, Madam— I am of too modish a nature, to comply with so ungentile a thing as Matrimony: my Request is only this, that you'll be pleased to accept of my service, while I am serviceable; but when I grow old and past my labour, as they say, a small allowance for Pap, Buttermilk, and roasted Chestnuts is all I desire.  Spr. 
In the mean time, know me for your Gallant; for when that dreadful Winter of Age comes, you'll be good for nothing but to make Touchwood.  N. Good. 
Mr. Spruce, your Service has been so considerable, that when opportunity offers, I never will appear ungrateful.—  Spr. 
Your Servant, Sir.  Dock. 
So, so, all's concluded, and I am very well satisfied with my Spouse here, seeing the Widow has missed of her Aim— and being my Wedding-night, my Niece disposed of too— Dashwel, come hither; run you before to the Rose-Tavern, and bid 'em send the Supper I bespoke to Cliffords-Inn-Hall; and then step to the Cock-ale-house and get Fiddles, for I am resolved, Gallants, to dance the Measures ere I go to bed— and then—  Dash. 
Ay, marry Sir; shall I see Argulius, and O base Regis danced again? I love those Temple-dances with all my heart.  Exit. All. 
Agreed, agreed.—  Tru. 
This Generous Frolic of thine, old Lawyer, has quite reconciled me to thee; and I am resolved to make Quarrels, but I'll be thy Client for this— Lead thy way with thy Duck there—  Lov. 
Ay, ay, let's be going, I begin to grow very sleepy, my Dear.  Tru. 
Grey heads may dote, as their dull Passions move;  
But only Heaven and Youth make perfect Love.  Exeunt omnes.    

ERRATA.  
PAge 25. line 31. read le Peak. p. 47. l. 8. r. err. p. 53. l. 7. r. with whom I left him. p. 70. l. 30. r. certainly.   

EPILOGUE.  
THe plague of Writing has infected all;  
'Tis a Disease grown epidemical,  
And not confined to th' bounds of this lewd Town,  
But o'er the Nation the Infection's slown.  
For Country-Squires now drunken Catches write,  
Whilst Miss is here lampooned by jilted Knight.  
The brisk gay Fop, and modest Lover too,  
With senseless Rhymes coy Mistresses pursue.  
Nay, the great man, Heir to more Wealth than Wit,  
From Authors steals, yet swears those lines he writ:  
But he (suspecting you the cheat should find)  
Both to himself, and world, will prove so kind  
To let you know in Verse a piece of's mind.  
Then blundring through the streams of Poetric  
He knowingly displays Debaucherie,  
Which proves to be his own Epitome.  
The Zealot too, (as I'm informed) through th' Nose  
Pronounced a fatal Sentence against Prose:  
For being inspired with Brother Hopkins Rhyme,  
He woos a Sister in the like jangling Chime.  
Nay, should w'enquire, no doubt there are but few  
Amongst ye here, but what are Dabblers too;  
And Muse as well as Miss for kindness sue.  
It is the world's blind side— then, Sirs, forbear  
Your censures now, lest fondly ye appear,  
Not to our Author, but t'your self severe.  
Though plain, 'tis new, your Rigour then suspend,  
Since to divert you this he did intend.  
If all should write alike, then where would be  
Your blessed Diana, sweet Variety?  
FINIS.