[]A CHRISTMAS TALE.

SCENE I. A beautiful Landſkip.

TYCHO, Tycho! where are you, Tycho? ſure the fellow has taken me at my word, and gone to hang or drown himſelf—he threatened both—Lovers are great bullies, and ſwear a thouſand things, they never intend to perform; if the poor woman ſhews any fear, the bullies rave the more, and ſhe gives up at once that no⯑bleſt privilege of the ſex, making the wiſeſt fools, and the ſtouteſt miſerable—I have a tongue to be ſure that moves quick, and by out-running my wit ſometimes, may encourage young coxcombs to hope too much; but then my heart all the while, poor thing! knows nothing of the matter, and feels no more, than my ſhoe-knots.

Where can this Tycho have hid himſelf? I'm ſure he went this way—ſtay, is not that my gentleman creeping along the ſide of the canal? It is either he, my other lover, Faladal, or the monkey in his new livery; I muſt give him a little more hope, or we ſhall have no more ſport with him.

There's a hard-hearted ſhe-devil for you!—do I look like a monkey in a new livery? I don't know how love may have alter'd me, but I know a few weeks ago, that I had the beſt face in this iſland, or my glaſs is a deceiver of youth. If I had not ſo much tenderneſs in my com⯑poſition, [3] I would play the devil among theſe petticoats— But here ſhe comes again, and I can't ſay boo! to her for the life of me.

It was the monkey, and a very pretty fellow he is, now he is well dreſſed.

La! what's that?—did not I hear ſomebody ſigh? It muſt be my lover Tycho!—where are you, Tycho?

Here am I!

Where?

Here.

Where, I ſay? Pray ſhew your ſweet face.

Here it is.

When you loſe this, you wont get a better.

Not 'till I buy a gingerbread one—What are you doing there?

I was going to hang myſelf for love; but, having left the cord behind me, I fell aſleep 'till you waken'd me—Pray lend me your garters, for I will not live, that I am reſolv'd.

Come down, and I'll lend you any thing.—What can I poſſibly do with this ſtrange animal.

Here am I!

What is it you want?

Death or you.—I muſt have one of you.

Have not I told you often, and I will now repeat it, that I can't leave Camilla; let but Floridor, your friend, get the conſent of Camilla, my friend, then I Robinette, her friend, take you Tycho, his friend.—What would the fellow have?

Your friend, and my friend, and his friend, and her friend: then all are friends.—Isn't it ſo?

To be ſure—Now go about your buſineſs.

O bleſs me! now I am come to myſelf, I muſt ſend Floridor immediately to his father, upon ſpecial matters▪ I thought to make away with myſelf, and quite forgot it.

Floridor is as violent in love, as you are melancholly: You muſt both mend your manners, or Camilla and I ſhall look out for others—No more melancholy, Tycho, if you love, and would win me.

Am I too melancholy for you?

Too melancholly! your face ſeems preparing for a funeral, inſtead of looking out for a wedding: I hate me⯑lancholy, and all melancholy people: A cloudy face betokens a cloudy heart, and I will have neither: Never will I ſail to the port of matrimony but with a ſmiling ſea, and a clear ſky—that's the way to make a good voyage of it.

And ſo it is, faith; he! he! he!—My face will be⯑come ſmiles, as well as a great deal of thinking: I have ſtudy'd myſelf fnto melancholy, but I'll burn my books, and be as merry as you pleaſe to make me. He! he! he!

Now you dance about my heart, and will certainly run away with it.

He! he! he!—But where's Faladel, Robinette?

Perhaps ſleeping in ſome tree for love of me, as you did.

If he would do the other thing for you, I ſhould be very happy.

Melancholy and jealous too!—I declare off—Fye for ſhame! a man, a young man, of perſon, parts, addreſs, and coverſation, to be jealous of an old ſimpering, ſwag⯑gering, rhiming gentleman uſher, who is as dry as a mum⯑my, and talks of love; has no ſtrength, and talks of fighting giants; has no wit, and thinks to gain me! O, Fye, for ſhame!

It is, indeed, both a ſin and a ſhame—I'll know my⯑ſelf better, and be afraid of nobody but you, Robinette: I would ſay more, but it is time for me to laugh, he! he! he! is it not?

Now you ſhew yourſelf to advantage—But, look at the lovers there! they have had a freſh quarrel, I ſuppoſe; go and end it; and take the hot fool home to his father to cool him.

I'll be melancholy no more—to pleaſe you, Robinette, I will dance when I am ſad; be pert and merry, tho' I have nothing to ſay, like other young gentlemen—I'll be quite in the mode, more of the monkey, and leſs of the man.—Tol, lol, lol.—Will that do? bye Robinette. Tol, lol, lol.—Heigho!

I do like this fellow a little, though I plague him ſo— and perhaps I plague him becauſe I like him;—he's a ſtrange creature, and yet I like him—I'm a ſtrange crea⯑ture too, and he likes me—he has a hundred faults— hold, hold, Signora Robinetta,—have not you a little fault or two in the corner of your heart, if your neighbours could come at them?—O woman, woman! what an agreeable, whimſical, fanciful coy, coquettiſh, quick-ſighted, no-ſighted, angelical, devilliſh, jumble of agreeable matter art thou?

SCENE II.

I cannot bear your jealouſy.

My jealouſy would have merit with you, if you lov'd as I did—but I have done, madam, and have nothing more to ſay.

Then go to your father, who has ſomething to ſay to you.

I'll follow you, Tycho.

What do you ſtay for, if you have no more to ſay?

I will but ſay three words, and then I'll come.

If you have three words, the lady will have three thou⯑ſand; which, at about two hundred and fifty words a minute, will juſt take up—I know my time, and will be with you again.

Pray go to your father, I have told you my mind, Flo⯑ridor, why will you preſs me to change it? Don't let an ill-opinion of your ſex miſlead you, and injure me!—I am reſolv'd.—You have my heart, I confeſs it—'tis ungene⯑rous to urge me farther, when you know my greateſt diſ⯑treſs is to refuſe you any thing.

My ſuſpicions, Camilla, are the ſtrongeſt proofs of my paſſion.

Can you ſuſpect me of ſuch falſehood, as to pretend a paſſion for you, and ſecretly indulge one for another.

Nigromant, though a wicked, is a powerful magician, and his frequent viſits might alarm a heart leſs ſenſible than mine.

My pride will not let me anſwer an accuſation that re⯑flects the greateſt diſhonour, both upon you and myſelf.

How can you ſuffer me to be tortur'd with jealouſy, when you might—

Stop, Floridor! when I might—what? Scorn a father's commands, given me with his laſt breath and bleſſing!

With his laſt breath, and bleſſing!

Upon his death bed he enjoin'd me, with tears in his eyes, not to give my hand but to him who could give me proofs of what this inchanted laurel would unfold.

And what are they?—I conjure you tell me.

See, and behold!

You have prov'd your Love to me, by its unfolding at your requeſt—Now read what is more expected from you.

Valor, Conſtancy, and Honour! Can the ſon of Bonoro, and your lover, be ſuſpected?

I muſt not hear you, Floridor: Can you love me, and refuſe me theſe proofs?—Marriage, my father added, was too great a ſtake to venture upon common ſecurity: If your paſſion is a true one, you'll convince me by your obedience; if it is a common one, I am too proud to ac⯑cept it, and too grateful to diſobey my father.

You ſhall have the proofs from me you deſire, and in return, I will exact but one from you.

If in my power, you ſhall command it.

Never ſee that curs'd magician, Nigromant, more.

Do you keep him from me then; how can I avoid him; he is crafty and powerful; ſhould I enrage him, he would deſtroy our happineſs for ever.

You have Spells to protect us.

You have Valour to protect us;—it is you Floridor muſt deliver me from him; valor, conſtancy, and honour, may ſubdue all evil ſpirits, and it is by them alone, you can only reach the ſummit of your wiſhes.

Then I will prepare for the trial.

Stay Floridor! I have ſomething yet to do.

What can this mean?—What now trial for a heart, ſo devoted to the object of its paſſion, that every trifling circumſtance hurries the ſpirits to it, as if alarmed by ap⯑proaching danger!

SCENE I. Bonoro's Cell, with Priſons round it.

What can be the meaning my ſon is not yet arrived? Love is his maſter now, and his father muſt wait, 'till ſu⯑perior commands are obey'd. Tycho!— Tycho!

Here am I!

Where is my ſon Floridor?

Where I left him—at the old place.

With Camilla?

To be ſure!

Did you tell him I wanted him.

I did.

What ſaid he?

That he would ſay but three words and follow me. I heard him ſay a hundred, and ſing a thouſand: Lovers are bad arithmeticians.

Why did not you return ſooner?

I waited for him, to be ſure.

Have a care, Tycho—I will ſooner forgive your weak⯑neſs, than your falſehood—tell me the truth; Robinette detain'd you.

I was a little love bound, I muſt confeſs.

Confeſs the truth always, nor ever be aſham'd of the moſt natural, if not the nobleſt paſſion.

I am half dead with it, I'm ſure.

But I muſt never be melancholy again, and that it is that makes me ſo merry: He! he! he!—Heigh-ho!

Let no paſſion raiſe your mind beyond its proper bounds, I knew of your fooliſh intentions—Such actions are the effects either of vice, cowardice, or poor paltry, miſtaken philoſophy.

You need not throw away your leſſons upon me—I am in ſpirits now, and always a laughing. He! he! he!

That may be as fooliſh the other way; ſilly minds have have no medium.

There's no pleaſing ſome folks; full, or faſting.

I pity your weakneſs, and am a friend to your honeſt ſimplicity.

I wiſh you wou'd give me ſome love powder for Robinette.

She is forward enough without it—If her blood riſes above temperate, you may repent the experiment.—Here's my ſon—leave us.

With all my heart—I'll go write to Robinette.

I wiſh you had made a little more haſte with your three words.

No excuſes for your delay, ſon—Your miſtreſs detain'd you, and your father ought to wait.

I am aſham'd of my neglect.

I excuſe it—I know the noble reſolutions you have made, which have more than half perform'd my commands. Camilla is an honour to her ſex; deſerve her, ſon, by your virtues, and my bleſſing ſhall attend your union.

Thus let me ſhew my thanks, duty, gratitude and love.

Riſe Son, and attend to me—fome uncommon act of valor is expected from you.—Before I obtain'd your mother's hand, I conquer'd, and impriſon'd thefe evil ſpirits,

who moleſted the world in various characters: You are now upon your trial—What can ſo ſtrongly demand your valor, as the deſtruction at once of your rival Nigromant, and the leader of theſe evil ſpirits?

Nothing—may I prove myſelf the ſon of ſuch a father!

Valour is beſt attended by faithfulneſs and ſimplicity; Tycho ſhall be your 'ſquire—I will myſelf with the pro⯑per ceremony dip the ſhield and fword in the lake of va⯑pours.—But theſe incantations will not do alone—Valor, Conſtancy, and Honour, muſt render all my charms effectual.

As I feel your leſſons, 'tis the beſt earneſt of my execu⯑ting them—but Sir! Father! I find you are inform'd that I am enjoin'd by Camilla to give proofs—

I am—Her father the good Bianco was my friend; his pow'r now poſſeſs'd by his daughter▪ was a limitted one; he was oppreſſed at the end of his life by the ſuperior arts of the wicked Nigromant, for refuſing him her hand—New what object can at once ſo warmly bring forth the proofs required of you, as ſo formidable a rival, and deteſted a monſter!

My heart pants for the conteſt!

If you conquer, my ſon, you gain glory and Camilla; if you are vanquiſh'd—come to my arms—

I ſhall have that melancholy conſolation that you gave the beſt proofs of your virtues.

Your words melt me, and exalt me above myſelf!

I muſt away to the lake with the ſword and ſhield—

Shall I attend you, Sir?

No, I muſt be alone—Now mark me, ſon; ſtay you here, and in my abſence be a guardian of theſe evil ſpirits; this wand, ſhould they be riotous, or endeavour to tear off the taliſmans from their dens, will defeat their projects—

To ſecure your wand, ſleep muſt not cloſe your eyes 'till my return—a drowſy watchman is the robber's beſt friend—evil ſpirits have power only over thoughtleſs, lazy minds:

Tycho!

Here am I.

Approach, my 'Squire.

Your father has told me of my advancement, and if a man of honour may be ſaid to know himſelf, I will venture to ſay, that you are not very unfortunate in a 'Squire.

I am convinc'd of it—and the firſt duty I ſhall put you upon, is to guard theſe evil ſpirits in my abſence—I ſhall return directly, but I muſt ſee Camilla again—

To ſpeak three words more—

I have ſomething to ſay to her, which unſaid would damp the glory of any action I might atchieve, and which when ſaid, will lighten, and ſtrengthen my heart for any adventure.

The moment your father has pardon'd one fault, you commit another—you keep his good nature in fine exer⯑ciſe.

I will never again give him the leaſt cauſe of complaint— I muſt ſpeak with Camilla, and directly,

I have three words too for Robinetta—

Don't be a fool, but mind what I ſay to you.

A Knight may plunge over head and ears, while the poor 'Squire muſt not wet his feet.

No talking but mark me—ſhould theſe evil ſpirits dare to be turbulent, this wand will controul them—one caution above all is not to ſleep upon any pretence whatſo⯑ever; ſhould the wand drop from your hand, we are un⯑undone!—be wiſe, active, and vigilant!

The young ſinner preaches well—I am forbid talking, and ſleeping, I wonder he did not add eating and drinking too! 'tis very hard that I may not take one look at Robi⯑nette; I am fleſh and blood as well as he—am as perſon⯑able as he—as jealous as he—have as fine paſſions, and am as much belov'd as he—To divert my melancholy, I will ſhew myſelf fit for my office, (it is not every fool in office [20] can do that) and examine theſe culprits, ſinners, and evil ſpirits—I will not get too near 'em thò' for fear of their laying a claw upon me—

Who are you in this lob's pound here?—

Save you, ſweet Signior!

Well, well, none of your parlaver—anſwer my queſti⯑ons directly, and keep your paws in your den.—

What are you?

I am a Jeſuit.

The devil you are!—and how came you here?

Having ſome cardinal virtues, and making larger ſtrides then they ſaid became me, they have laid me by the heels, and it is impoſſible for me to do any good here.

No, nor any where elſe—ſo draw in your beak, cormo⯑rant—And who are you with your ſharp looks and your claws?

I am an Attorney, at your ſervice.

Not at mine, I beg of you—are you in for your virtues too?

A little miſtake in practice only.

Then for fear of more miſtakes, you ſhall ſtay where you are, Mr. Attorney.

Signior Tycho!—I beg your ears a moment.

What have you loſt your own?

I am a poetical ſpirit, and here's a ſatire upon your neighbours, and a panegrick upon yourſelf.

I'll touch nothing that belongs to you—I love my neighbours, and I hate abuſe—ſo keep in your fingers,

But who are you that ſwell and look ſo big?

I am a political ſpirit, I had a ſoul of fire, that over⯑leap'd all laws and conſiderations—I was a ſtateſman!

It was time to cool you a little, and ſpoil your leaping, by keeping your ſoul under lock and key—Who are you, friend?—and what are thoſe rattles in your hand?

A box and dice to divert us in our retirement.

Gameſters, I ſuppoſe—pray, gentlemen, what brought you here?

We loſt good fortunes, by keeping bad company, and to retrieve a little—

Became bad company yourſelves.

We did take an advantage, I muſt confeſs.

So they took an advantage of you, and put you where you are—I wiſh all your family was with you, brothers, ſiſters, and all!

Turn your eyes this way, beautiful Sir, and look upon me with an eye of pity.

O, the females have found me out at laſt! What are you, a hen Jeſuit?

I was an actreſs ſome months ago.

An actreſs! what ſpirit's that?

A ſpirit to entertain the public, but quitting that for private practice—

As you like private practcie, I wiſh you joy of your ſituation.

If you wou'd permit me to come forth, and approach you, I would amuſe you with my hiſtory.

Many thanks, fair lady; but as I know nothing of acting, we are both much better as we are.—Pray who are you, licking your lips, and with your mouth open?

I am a luxurious ſpirit; I lov'd eating and drinking a little too much.

O, a city ſpirit! I hope, friend, there is no great ſin in a little eating and drinking?

If I was out, good Sir, I would place ſuch ſavoury dainty diſhes before you!

Hold your tongue, Sirrah; no bribery and corruption! He ſets my mouth a watering already—this fellow ſhall be my cook, if I ſhould ever get a good government.

Turn to me, Signior; I have a right to be heard firſt.

Then don't loſe your right, I beg you—Who are you, Madam?

A ſpirit of quality!

And what are you in there for, Madam?

For being a woman of quality.

A woman of bad qualities you mean—Eye upon you! who ever heard of a bad woman of quality? this is ſcan⯑dalum magnatum horrendiſſimum! You are a foul weed, and ought to be pluck'd out from the fair garden of nobility! I wiſh Robinetta had heard me ſay that.

What have you ſingers and muſicians among you?

O yes, and dancers, actors, authors, and managers too: We could entertain you, ſweet Sir, if we were at liberty.

No, no, you'll ſing better in your cage, my pretty birds: Come let me hear you:

Whiſtle away—This is almoſt more than fleſh and blood can bear: Such ſweet looking ſpirits ſure could never hurt one.

Come, come, whiſtle away, my ſweet canary birds.

This is melting indeed! Bravo! bravo! Softly my an⯑gel; not ſo loud, I beſeech you—Sweet Robinetta! encore! encore! ſing again, or I'll—As love and valor,

and beauty's lips. Toll, lol, lal, lal!—Robinetta— obinetta—binetta—netta—etta—ta—a—

SCENE, Camilla's magnificent Garden.

WHY would you diſtreſs me thus, and doubly wound me by this raſh action? Your father will be incens'd at your diſobedience, and hate me as the cauſe of it; Tycho may be work'd upon by the evil ſpirits, and undo [...] my heart forebodes too—.

Can your heart be mine, and conceive any doubts of me!

Why ſhould I imagine that I have charms powerful enough to fix you mine for ever—change of place may occaſion change of ſentiment, new objects may eraſe for⯑mer impreſſions.

Indulge not theſe falſe alarms; thou art queen of my heart, and ſhalt reign there for ever, and alone.

My fancy teems with a thouſand apprehenſions, all my ſenſes are in diſorder! I heard, or thought I heart ſtrange noiſes in the air; even now my eyes are deceiv'd, or this garden, the trees, the flowers, the heav'ns change their colours to my ſight, and ſeem to ſay ſomething myſterious, which is not in my heart to expound.

Theſe are the phantoms of love and fear.

O, Floridor! you have taught me love, and love has taught me fear.

Well you may ſtart and be confounded, ſon!

I am the cauſe of his diſobedience—let me be puniſh'd.

Riſe, excellent woman!

Your virtues are the beſt excuſes for his diſobedience, which will become its own puniſhment—his labours are trebled by it!

My father!

Tycho has been overcome by the evil ſpirits—they have broken their chains, and fled to your rival and enemy, Nigromant—miſchief is abroad!

Then I am wretched indeed!

Doubt not of my valor, or my love;—Increaſe of dan⯑ger makes me more worthy of Camilla.

Your ſpirit charms me, and diſarms my anger—I have diſenchanted from ſleep, and forgiven the poor penitent 'Squire; his was an error of judgment; yours of paſſion; but it is paſt and forgot. Tycho waits for you, with your ſword and ſhield, in the grove by the inchanted lake— Begone! remember the words of this divine oracle; may Valor, Conſtancy, and Honour guide you—let no pleaſures entice you—no terrors daunt you—when once you ſee him, never loſe ſight of your foe; follow him where ever he leads you; the greateſt dangers are only the rugged pathſ which will lead you to renown, in the arms of in⯑nocence and beauty.

So, ſo, all matters are made up again; and the con⯑fuſion, which my poor, ſimple, melancholy lover, Tycho, occaſion'd, is all kindly ſettled by the benevolence of Bonoro—I could not help liſt'ning to his fine ſayings, [30] not out of curioſity, but it really does one's heart good to hear a fine preacher of morality, and which is wonderful, ſee him practiſe it too. But the lovers, I ſee,

are taking their laſt leave—the good man can ſcarce part them—their lips are glew'd together—they'll never be got aſunder!—it makes both my eyes and my mouth water— I'll look at 'em no more.

[31] I don't know what's the matter with me to day, I am full of miſchief I believe—I am afraid theſe evil ſpirits that are got abroad again are a little buſy with me—it can't be the loſs of Tycho ſure that affects me—I don't love him ſo well as that neither—no matter what it is—why don't my loving couſin come back?—O this love! this love! ſhe can't leave her dying ſwain.—Why ſhould not I go after mine too? tho' I am not dying for him, he is for me—I'll go towards Bonoro's cell, I'm reſolv'd—as I have leſs paſ⯑ſion, I ſhall appear more generous by looking after my lover in his preſent ſituation.—I never knew 'till this moment that I was half ſo good a creature as I really am.

SCENE, the Outſide of BONORO's Cell.

Farewel, O farewel! my Floridor! Thou ſeeſt, but can'ſt not hear with what reluctance I am ſeparated from thee!—He too with unwilling ſteps moves ſlow along, and turns his head this way, to ſhew that duty, and inclination, cannot yet be reconcil'd—now he ſtands ſtill, and with his eyes, and one hand rais'd to Heaven, preſſing his bo⯑ſom with the other, he ſeems to ſwear eternal love!—I will ratify that vow, and make it mutual—now he ſeems diſ⯑treſs'd, and hurries down the hill, and now he's gone!—and now—I'm wretched!—heigh ho!

Heigh ho! why he'll come again, couſin, depend upon it.

May I depend upon his coming again as he goes away, conſtant and faithful; his father warn'd him to let no plea⯑ſure entice him—is not that alarming?

What is it your turn to be jealous?

Can one love much, and not be jealous a little?

Can you be long in doubt, and have ſupernatural powers to aſſiſt you?—

The paſſions of Love counteracts all operations of ma⯑gic, and levels us with the weakeſt—we can try gold, but we can't make it—it is conceal'd by nature from the wiſeſt of us.

Make a trial of his affections then, by aſſuming a form, if poſſible, handſomer than your own.

That is not in my power, I can aſſume a form leſs agree⯑able, if poſſible, than my own, and with that, and ſome other circumſtance, I am now going upon the trial.

I will attend you.

No, I ſhall diſpenſe with your company for ſome time, I leave you miſtreſs of my garden, and my caſtle; ſee whom you pleaſe, and do what you pleaſe; make yourſelf happy, while I perhaps am ſeeking to be miſerable

Poor creature!—I would not have her cares for all her magic, and her grandeur—mirth has got ſuch poſſeſſion of my heart, that I defy all the handſome fellows in the world to take more of it, than I pleaſe to give them. I have two lovers, which I keep as two Monkies to divert me; I make 'em play me a thouſand tricks, can change the very nature of 'em—if they grow miſchievous, I pu⯑niſh 'em—if all monkies were ſerved ſo, there would be leſs impertinence in the world—but mum—one of 'em [...] here—this is too old, and too lively, I muſt make hi [...] melancholy or turn him off.

Signora Robinette—I have follow'd you to ſay half a dozen kind words to you, and vaniſh; he! he! he!—by my faith and wand, I will not encroach upon you!

By my faith and fardingale, you may vaniſh before you have ſaid the kind words to me if you pleaſe! he! he! he! [mimicks him] well what do you follow me for?—

I could not help it—I knew where you was going, I followed you, and the following little ode came along with me, and is at your ſervice.

Upon my word that's very pretty and very moving.

Indeed and alack-a-day, I ſhall certainly die ſoon, if you don't cure me with kindneſs, he! he! he! I ſhall in⯑deed for ever and for aye—he! he!—

What is your diſorder, pray?

Alack-a-day! I'm troubled with the Tycho—Signora Robinette, do you underſtand me? he! he! by my faith I am!—

Jealouſy I proteſt—and of poor Tycho—

Poor or rich—I am troubled with the Tycho, and I muſt either take ſteel myſelf, or make my rival take it— do you underſtand me? he! he! he!

it is a ſerious matter I do aſſure you—he! he! he! there muſt be blood ſhed—he! he! he! by my faith and wand, there muſt i

I wiſh you would make it a ſerious matter, and not be grinning ſo, to ſpoil one of the handſomeſt faces in the Iſland.

Alack-a-day! I can't help laughing for the life of me, I was born ſo—tho' I'm unhappy all the while to deſpera⯑tion, he! he! he! by my faith and wand I am!

By my faith too, my heart ſhall never be a prize for the beſt grinner; you muſt ſhew your love to me, by wear⯑ing a face of deſperation, indeed.

What kind of face is that?

Thus—your eyes thus—looking about as it were thus —or thus—

Looking about for what?—my ſweet cruel queen of hearts! he! he! he!

For a tree, or a canal to be ſure, to put an end to your deſpair.

To dangle, or float upon!—I underſtand you—he! he! he!—by my faith I'll hit your taſte, or die for it— will this do? or this, or this—he! he! he!

I'll ſtand by my ſong for ever and aye.

You're at your grinning again.

Alack-a-day! and ſo I am—I can't ſtop it—my fea⯑tures run away with me—but I'll go and practiſe a little by myſelf—and return again directly, quite a new crea⯑ture—by my faith I will!

Ha! ha! ha! if every woman before marriage, would but train up her lovers to her inclination, as ſhe does her birds [38] or her dogs, we never ſhould have an unhappy marriage; to be too much in love, and to give men their way, ſpoils every thing—But what have we here? my lover, Tycho, and prepar'd for battle!—like maſter, like man; he comes to take his laſt adieu—He ſeems very ſad and thought⯑ful; but he ſees me, and brightens up into unnatural ſmiles—Ah, Signior Cavaleiro Tycho!

Here am I! as merry as my ſituation will permit me—I have leave to kiſs your fair hand and away. Tho' I am made a 'Squire, I have had ſad luck ſince I ſaw you,

But it is all over, and I don't mind it now, he! he! he!

If I had not taught you to laugh at misfortunes, your laſt adventure, with the evil ſpirits, would have broke your heart.

There was the devil to do! I have not recover'd my fright yet, I am ſure, tho' I put a good face upon it, he! he! he!

Sad work indeed! but how was it?

Two ſhe devils throw'd me into a trance, and as I could not help myſelf in my ſleep, they help'd themſelves out of their priſons, and left me to pay the reckoning.

And a long one it was.

It was indeed! but our kind old gentleman, gave me a four look, a long ſpeech, pity'd my weakneſs, and forgave me—'tis a good old ſoul!

Sad work indeed, Tycho!

It was horrible, horrible, and moſt horrible! He! he! he!

But how was it?

You muſt know I love muſic vaſtly, tho' I don't ſing a note—and two ſhe angel-devils, ſung me ſo out of my ſenſes, that I fell faſt aſleep.

Ay, ay, your old diſorder—But I am ſorry you can't ſing, your rival, Faladel, who was here juſt now, ſings very prettily.

Yes, he may ſing; but he can't write as I can—I have wrote a ſong upon you; and who knows but you may teach me to ſing, as you have taught me to laugh, he! he! he!

O pray let's hear it.

Your eyes are grey, but no matter for that, poets may ſuppoſe any thing.

You have a fine ſet of teeth, and if you had not, I was reſolv'd to give 'em to you—I don't love by halves.

[40] Let my rival do that if he can—I wrote it, and ſet it myſelf.

I don't doubt it—But, Tycho, I don't know if a bright noſe, is any compliment.

Why not?—You muſt have ſomething bright about you:—but I don't want for words—you may alter it to wond'rous right—or white—or light—or tight—a tight noſe, is no bad thing as times go; he! he! he!—Here comes my rival; ſhall I hanſel my maiden ſword, and lay him dead at your feet?

By no means—Kill him with jealouſy!—See how me⯑lancholy he is; he has loſt all his ſpirit.

And I have got it; he! he! he!—What a diſmal piece of mortality it is: I am quite aſham'd now that ever I wore ſuch a face as his.

Now for a curious ſcene!

I hope I have conquer'd my fooliſh nature, Robinette internally, and externally for ever and aye. But there my rival,

ſhall I ſacrifice him to you beauty and my paſſion?

O, by no means! draw your wit upon him; cut him up with that!

You command me. What a ſimple fellow it is, grin⯑ning like an ideot, without ideas?

Did not I tell you ſo? A ſmirking face gives me the heart-burn.

What a poor melancholy fool it is—he has done for himſelf I ſee. Look at old miſerable, Robinette; he! he! he!

What a figure from top to toe!—Attack him, Tycho.

Your ſervant, Signior Faladel.—I am ſorry for your misfortune; he! he! he!

What misfortune, pray Mr. Merry Andrew?

Attack his grinning, Faladel.

Attack his melancholy, Tycho.

I verily thought, Don Faladel, that you had put your face into mourning for ſome family misfortune; ha! ha! ha!

How can I help being melancholy, when I ſee how contemptible your grinning has made you? what a ſu⯑perlative happineſs! I would laugh now if I durſt.

As you are both my friends, and one of you ſomething more—

A great deal more, I believe.

I thought ſo, poor ſoul!

Pray let me introduce you to know each other better—

I have no objection; he! he! ho!

I can have none to your commands.

Take hands then—You muſt not be rivals, (for I can but love one of you) and therefore be friends.

What a fool ſhe makes of the poor man!

How ſhe ſhews Diſmal of!

Thank you, gentlemen—I need not ſay which is my choice.

No, no.

It is too plain.

Half an eye may ſee it.

I muſt, therefore, now take my leave; firſt of you, Signior Tycho—Diſtreſs'd damſels, impriſon'd Knights, and various adventures attend you—Don't be jealous, Signior Faladel, if I conduct this redoubted and magnani⯑mous 'Squire a little on his way.

Not in the leaſt!—How ſhe jeers him.

Come, Don Tycho, the ſword is drawn, the lance is couch'd, and the Knight is impatient.

Donna Robinette, my ſword is thine, my valor thine, my heart is thine, my blood is thine, and at my return, my body ſhall be thine—Signior Diſmallo, farewel! I wiſh your body joy of its wooden head. He! he! he!

By my ſaith and wand, if I had not been commanded to the contrary—I would have divided his body, and ſpoil'd his grinning—but ſhe hates and deteſts him for it, as ſhe adores me for the contrary.

Poor fooliſh fellow, he is gone—he'll be a breakfaſt for ſome giant—I begin to pity him.

Alack-a-day! he does not know his own weakneſs, and has ſuch a contemptible figure that he is below your pity, by my faith he is.

I like his ſpirit, of knight errantry—it becomes him.

Do you? I have a prodigious quantity of it myſelf, and by my faith and wand, ſay but a word and I will be among the dragons, monſters, giants, and hobgoblins to⯑morrow morning.

Will not that be depriving Camilla of the moſt com⯑plete gentleman-uſher, that ever bore wand.

Alack-a-day! all titles and ſervices ſhall be given up for that of being your moſt humble ſervant and obedient Knight for ever, and for aye!

If you will go—I ſhall preſent you with a ſcarf— come on, Sir Faladel.

SCENE I. A dark Wood.

What a ſeries of diſtreſſes, ſince they broke their pri⯑ſons, have theſe evil ſpirits prepar'd for me! they have convey'd my ſword and ſhield from Tycho, have by their miſchievous arts, diſturb'd and intoxicated his mind, and all my fair proſpect of renown, and poſſeſſion of the [47] higheſt earthly bliſs with Camilla is vaniſh'd and gone!— what can I ſay to her—what can I plead to my fa⯑ther?—

Signior Don Floridor, the loſt ſheep is found!

Here comes again the unhappy intoxicated wretch— where are you, Tycho?

Here am I.

Heve you recover'd my ſword and ſhield?

No—but I have recover'd a better thing—hic—my underſtanding!

I wiſh I could ſee a proof of it.

I wiſh you had found your's, and then you would not be in ſuch a paſſion.

Tycho, collect yourſelf, and anſwer a few queſtions.

Do you have all your ſenſes about you, or I ſhall be too hard for you.

Prith'ee, peace—in the firſt place, at what time did you perceive yourſelf diſordered?

As ſoon as I found that I had loſt my ſenſes.

How came you to loſe your ſenſes?

As other people do—by ſeeing a fine woman.

What Robinette?

Much handſomer!

What did ſhe do?—anſwer quickly.

Don't be in ſuch a paſſion—thus it is—Don Tycho, ſays ſhe (looking with ſuch ſweetneſs as I do now) I have long admir'd you, lov'd or ador'd you—I forget which.

No matter which.

I muſt be—hic—exact—looking ſweetly as I ſaid be⯑fore—ſhe ſtretched out the whiteſt arm, with the tapereſt fingers—thus—here Don Tycho take this—whenever you find yourſelf diſtreſs'd in mind—taſte it and be yourſelf again—ſhe gave it me, ſigh'd, wept much, and took to her heels—I had juſt parted with Robinette, who with tears in her eyes, gave me this ſcarf—I ſeeing the poor creature ſo tender hearted about me—I grew tender hearted a bout her—ſound myſelf low ſpirited, very low ſpirited— tapp'd the elixir of life, and was enchanted as you ſaw me.

Drunk you mean—as I now ſee you.

No, enchanted.

Enchanted!

Yes, I ſay enchanted—I ſpeak plain ſure, I know what drunkenneſs is well enough; here is the enchanted vial!

It was an evil ſpirit that deluded you.

Good or evil ſpirit, it is gone.

It was one of the evil ſpirits, your folly ſet at liberty, that met you, tempted, and over came you—and the con⯑ſequences have undone us.

I ſhall know the traitreſs again when I ſee her, but don't fret about your ſword and ſhield—you ſhall have mine, and I'll ſtand by, if I can, and ſee fair play.

I ſhall go diſtracted with my misfortunes!

Here is the evil ſpirit!—hold, hold, if it is, ſhe is vaſtly alter'd ſince I ſaw her.

Hold your peace, you intoxicated fool, or you'll repent your preſumption.

I am not intoxicated with your perſon, Madam Noſe and Chin.

Ceaſe your ribaldry, Tycho—forgive his folly, he is not [50] himſelf, or he would not have given his tongue ſuch li⯑cence.

Young Knight, civility ſhould always be rewarded— what is the matter with you? can I be of ſervice?

Impoſſible! impoſſible! my mind will burſt with agony!

I know you have a charm for the tooth-ach, and a ſpell for the ague—but can you diſchant, or unconjure my brains—that is, can you with witch elm, crooked pins, a dry toad, or any of your family receipts, make me as ſen⯑ſible as I was before—

Very eaſily—drink of the water of yonder brook, plen⯑tifully, and reſt yourſelf upon the bank 'till you are call'd for, and the vapours of your brain will diſperſe, and you'll be ſober again.

As I'm a little thirſty, and a little ſleepy, I'll take your preſcription; and if I was not already over head and ears in love, I would take you too—kind old lady, yours— harkee—If you are his friend too—give the Knight a little advice, and bid him take mine, if he would go thro' life as he ought to do.

Vexation, young man, will never find your ſword and ſhield.

Tormenting me will never cure my vexation—why will you torment me, when you can't aſſiſt me?

Young Knight, you don't know what I might do with kind uſage.

Unavailing pity, as it wounds our pride, doubles our diſtreſs.

Paſſion blinds you, and you can't ſee your friends.

Pardon me, venerable lady—you have cool'd my heated imagination, and my folly is a convert to your wiſdom.

I will ſhew my wiſdom, by aſking before hand what re⯑ward you will give me, to recover your ſword and ſhield.

You ſhall command my ſervices, and every thing in my power.

Shall I?

By my ſword, and honour of Knighthood!

Will you as a pledge of our compact, give me thoſe trifling flowers that are ty'd round your head?

Trifling flow'rs, and give them to you!—you ſhould ſooner take my head from my body, or tear my heart from my boſom, than have the ſmalleſt bud of my ſweet Camilla's chaplet.

O love's extravagance!—I may command every thing in your power, but what you dont chuſe to part with.

Aſk my life, and you ſhall have it—this wreath is dearer to me than my life.

Well, well, I'll take you at your word.

Behold what charms there are, in a young hero's ſervices!

How delightful to my eyes, are theſe inſtruments of my fame and glory!—Now taſk my ſervice and my gratitude.

I am not in haſte for my reward—other cares demand your ſervices—I ſhall call upon you in my turn.

To whom am I bound in gratitude for ever?

Grinnelda is my name.

SCENE II. The outſide of Bonoro's Cell.

My heart is agitated and diſtreſs'd! the various accidents which have befallen my ſon, make me tremble for his youth and inexperience; I am unhappy and perplex'd in ſpite of ſupernatural pow'rs; the feelings of the father riſe ſu⯑perior to every thing—Radel, my ſpirit, Radel!

Here my lord and maſter.

Fly to my ſon with a troop of my ſpirits that he may not be ſurrounded and overcome by the evil ones, in his conflict with Nigromant.

With the pow'r and virtue you have given me, I fly to execute your commands.

Be ſwiſt as my wiſhes!

SCENE III. A proſpect of rocks.

Heaven bleſs her for it ſay I!—you have got your ſword and ſhield, and I my ſenſes—we are both beholden to her, and ſhould both do our beſt to be grateful: She might certainly have had me, had not Robinette engag'd me before hand. But what ſtrange, fine, tremendous, diabo⯑lical, grand palace have we here?

This is the domain of Nigromant—Tycho, ſhould the demons come upon you, remember they are but phantoms, and will be diſpers'd by one gleam of your ſword, as va⯑pours before the ſun: If free from guilt, you may defy, and deſpiſe them!

Then I am their man!

Here will I plant my laurels, or mix my aſhes with the duſt.

And I as your 'Squire, wall take a ſlip of your laurels, or ſlip into the next world, as other raſh 'Squires have done before me.

Should I fall, and you ſurvive, Tycho, take this chap⯑let to Camilla, tell her, that my love never yielded, tho' my body did.

And if your unworthy 'Squire drops, and you ſurvive, (which heav'n forbid) tell Robinette, that Tycho was true to the laſt—tell her—that—that—But as I hope I ſhall be able to carry the meſſage myſelf, let us to buſineſs, and put our loves in our pockets, 'till we have done fighting.

Approach the caſtle gates, Tycho, and ſound the horn of deſiance—Call forth the black magician, the wicked Nigromant, to ſingle combat.

To ſingle combat, you're right—your commands ſhall be obey'd.

I have wak'd his devilſhip! and blown all his caſtle about his ears!

Floridor, ſon of Bonoro, I come!

Nigromant, ſon of darkneſs and miſchief, I attend thee!

Floridor, ſon of Bonoro, I abhor thy father's virtues! I hate thee, and thy race! I call to thee, and defy thee! and thou ſhall feel my vengeance.

I don't like the ſound of his voice.

Come forth, thou foul ſon of darkneſs! I have ex⯑perienced the miſchievous hatred of thee, and thy crew— Come forth from thy lurking places, face me like an open foe, and I'll forgive thee!

Here I am!

This muſt be the cock-devil of 'em all!

A good journey, good maſter—your feathers will be ſing'd at leaſt; and if I had follow'd him, I ſhould have been ready roaſted for the magician's table.

Here come the demons! but free from guilt, I defy, and deſpiſe 'em!

I have done their buſineſs!—

Here is more work for me!—What have we hear, a feather'd monſter?

Evil ſpirit approach me not—If you will fight as a gen⯑tleman ought, and come with a ſword by your ſide, I am your man—but I am no match for your beak and claws, therefore keep off!

Hoo! hoo! hoo!

I don't underſtand you, Mr. Owl.

I am no evil ſpirit, but your rival, Faladel.

Faladel!

By my faith and my wand I am.

Faladel! ha! ha! ha! and they have made an owl of you, ha! ha! ha! I knew what your melancholy would come to, ha! ha! ha! but how came you ſo alter'd for the better?

I went a Knight-erranting, by the command of Robi⯑nette, and the evil ſpirits belonging to this caſtle would not fight me, but, alack-a-day, chang'd me into this ſhape, to divert the ladies of the Seraglio, for ever and for aye!

And a very comical diverting devil you muſt be, ha! ha! ha! I would not have Robinette ſee you thus, ſhe will like you ten times better than before—Such creatures as you in your human ſhapes, (if they may be call'd ſo) are neither fiſh, fleſh, or fowl; but now you are ſomething —you look wiſe at leaſt, have a handſomer face, a finer ſhape, and a much better pair of legs, ha! ha! ha!

What, you have not left off your grinning I ſee, tho' Robinette hates it ſo—

Are you Don Tycho, 'Squire to the victorious and magnanimous Floridor, ſon of Bonoro?

And is he victorious?

He has conquer'd and bound Nigromant, and by the aſſiſtance of his father's good ſpirits, all the evil ones are in chains.

Hoo! hoo! hoo!

The conqueror has call'd for his 'Squire to attend his triumphal entry into the palace and ſeraglio!

My heart is with him already, and the reſt of my body ſhall follow as ſoon as my legs will permit it.

I fly to let him know it.

Hoo! hoo! hoo!

What makes you ſo merry?

One touch of the ſword, that has vanquiſh'd Nigro⯑mant will reſtore me—be a generous rival, and preſent me to him.

Upon my ſoul you had better take my advice and ſtay as you are—but if you will be reſtor'd again from your being ſomething to your former nothingneſs, I will preſent you to him; give me a tip of your wing, and I'll hand you to your reſtoration—come along.

Hoo! hoo! hoo!

SCENE IV. The Caſtle Gates.

Come along—come along—you are once more in my clutches, and I'll take care that you ſhall never catch me napping again.

Magnanimous don Tycho!

O you couple of ſhe devils—with your ſweet lullabys —it was your ſtring-tickling, and quavering, that un⯑did me!—none of your hypocritical ſide-looks at me

dare not to touch thoſe deluding ſtrings, that poiſon to the ears of honeſt men, or I ſhall forget your ſex, and drag you at my chariot wheels—

Have pity upon us, moſt gracious 'Squire!

I will not be gracious—I have no pity—and I will be a ſevere, tho' upright judge—foul as you are, you ſhall have a fair trial, and be aſſur'd (for all your ogling and ſmiling) that I ſhall find better employment for your fingers than tinkling men of virtue aſleep, that hell may break looſe, and the devils have a holiday.

I have a petition to deliver.

Juſtice is blind and can't read it—when I am a gover⯑nor, all my judges ſhall be without eyes, ears, hands, or pockets; no eyes to read petitions, no ears to hear 'em, no hands to take bribes, and no pockets to hold them.— I am an upright judge myſelf who will not be brib'd, and what is ſtill more wonderful, am not worth a doit: —ſilence ye fiends!

SCENE, I.

What a fine refreſhment this is after the hard labour of fighting and trying cauſes?

Tycho!—has Faladel receiv'd the benefit he expected, from the touch of my ſword?

It was wonderfully efficacious! he moulted ſo faſt, that tho' he made all the haſte he could to his apartment, he left as many feathers in the way, as if he had been pluck'd for the ſpit—the moment he is pick'd clean from the owl, he will reſume the monkey again, and appear before your honour, to pick a quarrel with me; the old bone of contention, Robinette.

We ſhall cool his courage—bring before us the un⯑happy beauties, who have been forc'd away, and confined for the tyrant's pleaſures.

Open the female apartments, and let their treaſures be pour'd down at the feet of the conqueror.—Thoſe that belong to the 'Squire, I ſhall viſit privately, and diſpoſe off by private contract—

Earth and heaven! Camilla!

Hell and the devil! Robinette!

All my laurels are blaſted!

Mine are in a ſad pickle too!

My life, my love, my Floridor! all my ſorrows vaniſh [65] in theſe arms! [as ſhe runs to Floridor, he turns away] What cold, and regardleſs of me?

Can I ſee you here, in the Seraglio of Nigromant, and not have cauſe to lament, in the 'midſt of my triumph?

Can you ſee me here, and in chains, and not find cauſe for a greater triumph than that which you have gain'd! unjuſt and ungrateful Floridor!—we were ſeiz'd upon by the magician, convey'd here to be the ſlaves of his pleaſure; but my heart was engag'd, my mind was free, I reſiſted his paſſion, ſcorn'd his pow'r, and I triumph'd in theſe chains!—unjuſt and ungrateful Floridor!

Then I have conquer'd, indeed!—and thus I ſieze the brighteſt reward, that ever conqueſt was crown'd withal!

Where are your chains, Robinette?

I left 'em behind me.

I believe they ſlip'd eaſily off—but did you reſiſt too, Robinette?

I won't ſatisfy you—don't think that I am like Camilla, to be ſuſpected one moment, and hugg'd the next!—

Only ſay to ſatisfy my honour, that you came here a⯑gainſt your will, and I'll paſs over the conſequences.

Your honour!—I prefer one feather of my favorite owl, I have here, to your whole mind and body.

O ho! Signiora Robinette, have I caught you? what, do you prefer that owl, Faladel, to me?

To all the world at preſent—I did like monkies ſome⯑time ago—my mind is chang'd—I hate grinning and folly—I am for wiſdom and gravity—and ſo ſollow your inclinations, as I ſhall mine.

And ſo I will; for my inclinations are to follow you— She ſhall either take me round the neck directly, or I'll wring her owl's neck off before her face—She has taught me to be merry, and I won't be made miſerable again, if I can help it—I have not conquer'd the evil ſpirits for nothing.

For the conqueror, Floridor!

By my aſſiſtance you recover'd your ſword and ſhield, by which you have conquer'd Nigromant, and are poſ⯑ſeſs'd of his treaſures:—You are now worthy of my love, and therefore I demand your's:

What a ſpiteful old hag?

Whence comes that letter, Floridor, which diſtreſſes and confounds you ſo?—I beg to ſee it—what's the mat⯑ter?—You alarm me!

Don't be alarm'd, indeed it is nothing!

Then let me ſee this nothing—what, more confounded? O, Floridor! falſe, falſe, Floridor!

To convince you, how little I value the writer, and re⯑gard the contents—thus I deſtroy at once her vanity and your apprehenſions.

Is heav'n and earth in league againſt me? what have I done, to provoke this war of elements?

The devils are got loſe again—O, Signior Floridor, what have we done? The palace is on fire, the ladies have loſt their ſenſes, and I have loſt both the ladies and my ſenſes, for I ſaw—

What, what?—where is Camilla?

I thought I ſaw her carried thro' the air by the kind old witch, who ſober'd me, and recover'd your ſword and ſhield—but away—ſee the flames are coming upon us! I am no Salamander as you are, and therefore I ſhall get into a colder climate.

I will brave it all!

What can all this mean? by what offence unknown to me have I brought this complicated diſtreſs upon me?

What a dreadful combuſtion is this!—Where my Knight is, I can't tell; and where I am, and how I got here, the fiends alone who brought me here can tell—

Hark! did not I hear a voice—who's there?

I hear a voice too! I am afraid no friendly one; I ex⯑pect every moment to feel feathers upon my ſkin, and a crooked beak inſtead of a noſe.

Who is muttering there?—art thou a good or evil ſpirit?

I am neither at preſent—and how you Signior Floridor can ſpeak with ſo clear a tone of voice in ſuch place as this, and in your condition, puzzles my philoſophy—

My conſcience upbraids me with nothing, and why ſhould I fear?

My conſcience is not quite aſleep—but I hope my play⯑ing at hide-and-ſeek with the ſeraglio girls a little, cannot be any great offence, after Robinette had diſcarded me—

Joy to you, Floridor! joy to myſelf—now I have caught you near my own premiſſes, I ſhall not let you go till you have fulfill'd your engagements with me—

Where is Camilla, pray?

I have her ſafe, and very ſafe—a pledge for your ful⯑filling the conditions of our treaty.

My ſword is ready to obey your commands.

Pooh! pooh! I want no aſſiſtance of your ſword, not I; I muſt have your love, young man, and in return you ſhall have my maiden affections, for they were never yet beſtow'd upon any one.

What can I do, or ſay to her, while my Camilla is in danger?

Tell her you'll have her—ſhe can't live long, and then Camilla may be your's.

What are you muttering to him?

I was only wiſhing him joy of his good fortune, of which he does not ſeem quite ſo ſenſible as he ought.

His joy perhaps is ſo great, he wants words to expreſs it.

What will become of us?—pray if I may be ſo bold, what tomb is that?—your late huſband's?

No, no, fool! I am yet a virgin:—that tomb is in⯑tended to bury any ungrateful lover, that may chance to come in my way—do you ſee that houſe there?

I ſee that—houſe do you call it?—I have ſeen a hand⯑ſomer pigſtye.

Aye that houſe, and all its furniture are mine—go you there, and prepare for our approaching nuptials.

She's mad!—I cant ſtand upright in the houſe, unleſs I put my head out of the chimney.

Why don't you do as I order you.

I'll bring it here, if you pleaſe?

If you are inſolent—I ſhall take another courſe with you—do as I bid you, or—

You'll make me—I am gone.

Come along,—come along,—I muſt compel you to be happy—give me ſatisfaction, or you will repent it—

Draw me, tear me to pieces with wild horſes—my 'aſt breath ſhall ſigh Camilla—for I am her's—and her's alone—

And I am Floridor's, and Floridor's alone!

Behold the reward of thy valor, conſtancy and honour! the fire has try'd, and prov'd the value of the metal—come to my arms, my hero!—

Was Grinnelda, Camilla!—wonderful heav'n! let me firſt return my thanks there,

for inſpiring me with that valor, conſtancy and honour, that has borne me up againſt every trial, and completed my glory and happineſs, in the arms of my Camilla!

I reſign my pow'r, fortune, every thing to love, and be belov'd by thee.

But ſee your father, to perfect our uinon.

Am I aſleep, or awake, or neither? or both?—it muſt be a dream—

I forgot poor Tycho—have you prepar'd for the nup⯑tials?

I had almoſt prepar'd for a long voyage in the air.—I was luckily out of the hut to ſurvey it, when a wind took it up like a boy's kite, and it was ſoon out of ſight —I wiſh the old hag had been in it.

I muſt not hear you ſay a word againſt Grinnelda, 'tis thro' her that I am in poſſeſſion of Camilla—

Then heav'n bleſs her for it, ſay I—but I ſee I muſt be thro' ſomebody, to be in poſſeſſion of Robinette—and now is the time—

By my ſaith and wand, there is my rival, and he that will not die for you, ought not to live, and ſo let the ſtouteſt heart take you for ever, and for aye.

You owl, you! come on, I will ſoon make you look more diſmal than you are!

You monkey, you!—I will ſpoil your grinning, and ſattle your features in a moment, by my knighthood, I will—

Valiant Dons, a word with both of you, before you fight for that which you can never obtain—be aſſur'd, what [75] ever liberties, I may have taken with your folly, that I can never give my heart to an owl.

That's ſome comfort—he! he! he!

Nor a monkey—

[...] ſatisfied, for ever and for aye.

[...] take your ſcarf again,

I won't ſtay to be laugh'd at—if your love-ſtomach for me returns —you know where to ſend for ſome plumb cake, this ho⯑liday time, and ſo your ſervant.