[]THE GENEROUS FREE-MASON.

ACT I. SCENE I.

SCENE II. A Hall in old Moody's Houſe.

I tell you, Huſſie! Squire Noodle's the Man, He muſt be the Man, and he ſhall be the Man, or you ſhall die a Maid.

Die a Maid! what! come into the World for nothing—If ſhe does die a Maid, you're guilty of Murder, and ought to be hang'd for't.

Guilty of Murder, you Slut! how am I guil⯑ty of Murder?

Why in hindring the getting the Children my Lady might have—'Tis as bad as building a fine Houſe, and letting it ſtand empty—Taxes muſt be paid, you know.

Get out of my Houſe, Huſſie! or I'll break every Bone in your Skin.

I won't go out of your Houſe.

Blood and Fire! get out of my Houſe! or I'll fetch my great Gun, and pepper ye.

Dear Sir, your Gun is good for nothing—It may flaſh in the Pan, or ſo, but there's no Danger of its going off.

Was there ever ſuch a provoking Devil? Hold that damn'd Tongue of thine, or I'll run you through, Huſſie!

Alack-a-day! your Point's too blunt, indeed Sir, your Weapon has not been ſit for Uſe theſe twen⯑ty Years.

Did ever any one hear ſuch a provoking Minx—'sblood, get out my Houſe this Minute, or I'll—

I tell you, I won't! do your worſt! I fear you not.

Lettice, I command you hold your Peace.

I'm all Obedience.

Remember once more, I tell you, 'Squire Noodle's the Man; therefore prepare immediately for the Wedding. I'll go and ſend him to you, and give him a favourable Reception, or think of the Fate of Jeptha's Daughter.

What ſhall I do, Lettice? I'd rather lead Apes than marry that Fool, and that's a terrible hard Caſe you know.

Ah! if I had been in your Lover Cleremont's Place, I'd have put it out of your croſs old Father's Power before now.

Why, what wou'd your Wiſdom have done, pray?

I'll rell you, Madam.

Leave your Impertinence—my Circumſtances won't bear it.

Dear Madam! you don't know how much your Circumſtances will bear, till you're put to it.—But ſee, Madam! who's here.

My dear Caelia! I ſaw your Father go out, and flew on the Wings of Love to viſit you.

Wings of Love! if Cupid had not Darts as well as Wings, his Plumes wou'd ſignifie nothing—But talking Nonſenſe is the true Badge of a Lover—But Sir! the Tenement is Lett—Leaſes are drawn, and they intend to ſign and ſeal to-night—Indeed, Sir, none of your Goods muſt be ſent in here, I'll aſſure you.

What doſt thou mean?

To ſpeak plain Engliſh, your Miſtreſs is to mar⯑ry 'Squire Noodle immediately.

Death! and Fire! I'll cut the Raſcal's Throat!

Yes! and ſo dangle in a String at the Charge of the Sheriff.

Pr'ythee don't diſtract me! if my dear Caelia proves but conſtant, I dare the utmoſt Malice of my Fate.

There was a Whine!

What Work's here! I believe your Rogue Davy and I muſt lay our Heads together to aſſiſt [9] you, for two ſuch helpleſs Creatures did I never meet with in my Life.—In my Conſcience, two Lo⯑vers are but a couple of Fools.

If thou can'ſt bring Matters to bear, I'll give thee the Indies.

The Indies! Lard, Lard! Lovers and Poets in their Plays are plaguy generous, they'll give a Wo⯑man a Fortune of Fifty thouſand Pound, tho' they can't pay their Taylor. I'd adviſe you to keep the Indies to your ſelf; tho' if I accepted 'em, I ſhou'd find you out in your Geography, and look for my great Fortune near Parnaſſus.—No, no, Tickledown Farm will content me, at the Skirt of your Eſtate in the Country.

There's my Hand, thou ſha't have it.

And I'll give Davy a Hundred Pounds to ſtock it.

Ay, this is Right! The Man ſhou'd reward the Woman, and the Woman the Man.

There, Davy, take my Purſe.

And you mine, Lettice.

Ay, this is Encouragement indeed! Gold! thou Sovereign Cure for all Evils! welcome.

Oh! here comes my fooliſh Lover, with his wiſe Attendant.

Come along, Doodle, and you ſhall hear me court my Miſtreſs; and if you can think of any thing, put me in, d'ye hear, Doodle.

Ay, ay, Sir; I have ſeveral Compliments rea⯑dy made.

Very well indeed, Doodle, only the Sow and Joan came in a little odly, tho'.

Very fine, indeed, 'Squire! I ſuppoſe they are of your own compoſing.

Yes, Madam.

I proteſt you are a very great Poet.

Poet, Madam! why Maſter has wrote a fine Tragedum.

Yes, ſo I have, Doodle; and we'll have it play'd at our Wedding: and Madam, You, and I, and Doodle will act Parts in it.—Oh! I love Acting dearly.

Yes, my Maſter and I play'd two Fools in a Play once, and every Body ſaid my Maſter play'd finely.

Ay, ſo I did, to be ſure.

And pray what d'ye call your Tragedy?

Oh ſad! Oh ſad! Or, The Bloody Butcher. With, The Merry Humours of the Princeſs Trullibub.—Doodle ſhall play, O ſad! I'll play the Bloody Butcher, and you, Madam, ſhall play the Princeſs Trullibub.

A fine Piece, I warrant it.

Why ſo it is! Pray what have you to ſay to it?—O Lud! this is that fooliſh Fellow my Ri⯑val.—What, I warrant you think to get my Mi⯑ſtreſs from me!—Ha!

Pr'ythee don't be impertinent.

Impertinent! I'll bully the Dog! for he'll hardly fight before my Miſtreſs.

—What Buſineſs have you here? will you be gone!

Ay! will you be gone?

The ſilly Dog is deviliſhly afraid!—Will you be gone?

Ay, I ſay, will you be gone?

Oh! I'm blind!

And ſo am I too.

Will you be gone?

Ay, will you be gone?

Why, Maſter, I an't Will-you-be gone!

You Son of a Whore! you have knock'd my Eyes out.

Yes, Sir, and you have beaten my Teeth down my Throat.

I'll be reveng'd, and ſee 'em hang'd, if I can but recover my Eye-ſight again.

Cry, does ſhe! it is ſo like Laughing, that I hardly know one from t'other.

Hey day! what's to be done here, tro! Have you been walking up the Chimney, 'Squire?

Oh, Father-in-law! here has been that foo⯑liſh Fellow my Rival, with my Miſtreſs, and he, with that Bitches Puppy his Man, has blinded us.—I'll take the Law of him.—I'll ruin him in four Terms.—I'll—I'll—what ſhall I do to him, Doodle?

Do to him, Sir! Why, undo him—Hang him up in Chancery for Seven Years.—Put him into the Crown once a Year.—Indict him every Quarter for a Rape, once a Week for a Riot, and every Day for a Treſpaſs; and when his Money's all gone, Tranſport him for a Thief for his Endeavour to ſteal other Men's Goods.

Well, I ſhall ſoon put an end to his Imper⯑tinence—for you ſhall marry my Daughter imme⯑diately.

And then, Maſter, if you ſhould take him napping, as Moſs did his Mare! Get a Jury of [13] What-d'ye-callums, and you'll recover a ſwinging Sum.

Ay, ſo I ſhall, Doodle.

What ſhall I do, Lettice? my Ruin now ap⯑proaches.

I have it—we'll put him upon being made a Maſon, and that may gain Time.

The Society will never admit ſuch a Fool a⯑mong 'em.

Well, but I hope Davy and his Comrades may make him a mock Maſon, and that will do every whit as well. Therefore ſmile upon him, ſeem to comply, and leave the reſt to me.

Well, Mrs. Diſobedience! what are you and your Contriver plotting now!—But I ſhall watch your Waters, I warrant you.

Why, I'll tell you our Plot, Sir—I have been perſuading my Miſtreſs to marry the Squire—for ſince you went I have been inform'd that Mr. Clere⯑mont keeps three Miſtreſſes, has ſeven Children by one, five by another, and two by a Blackamoor—and to all this, is one of the greateſt Gameſters in the Nation, has three Mortgages upon his Eſtate, has ſold his Place in the Government, ſpent the Money, and is going to be proſecuted for a Rape; and not having Money enough to, to, to—you know what, is in danger of a Halter.—And tho' I muſt own I had a Friendſhip for him, yet I have more Love for my Mi⯑ſtreſs than to ſee her undone, which ſhe muſt be if ſhe marries Cleremont, and therefore ſhe conſents to marry the Squire.

O Lud! Doodle, that's pure!

Ay, by the Mackins is it!

And is this true, you little—

Yes, Sir.

Why d'ye think I wou'd tell you a Lye?

Adad, I'll get Mopſa with Child for Joy.

Dear Sir, never undertake a Work you can't get through ſtitch with.

Ah, you're a Wag! Adad, I'm as overjoy'd as a Country Curate at a Wedding or a Chriſtening—and I'll ſing you a Song.

Adad! I'm as over-joy'd as—as—as a Par⯑ſon when he's made a Biſhop.—Well Squire, you'll get your Tackle in Order, you find my Daughter is ready for you, and I'll go fetch the Parſon to give you a Stitch.

Harkye Squire, there's one Bar ſtill in the way.

O Lud! what's that?

Your Miſtreſs has made a Vow ſhe'll never marry any Man that is not a Free-Maſon, and that was the Reaſon ſhe preferr'd Mr. Cleremont before you—Therefore by all means get your ſelf made one out of hand.

Ay, but which way muſt I go about it?

Let me ſee—now I think on't, my Bro⯑ther is Maſter of a Lodge—I'll ſend him to wait on you preſently.

Well, that will be pure!—Doodle! I'm to be made a Maſon, and I'll make my Miſtreſs a Maſon, and we'll make you a Maſon, Doodle, and then my Miſtreſs will have me.

Well, by the Mackins! that's brave—But Maſter, don't you remember you ſaid you wou'd Serenade your Miſtreſs to-night? pray don't forget that.

Don't you fear that, Mr. Doodle.—I'll Se⯑renade my Miſtreſs to be ſure, for my Barber told me 'twas the Faſhion.

Come along, Doodle.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Come along, Doodle!—Now for the Se⯑renade!—Pray which is my Miſtreſs's Window, Doodle?

That, Sir.

Doodle, ask the Man if he can play The three Children in the Wood.—

Yes Sir, he ſays he can.

Come, begin then—Why the Devil don't you play? You're as long at Twang, Twang, as a Qua⯑ker is Humming and Hawing before he holds forth.

Indeed, Maſter Noodle, this is a ſad merry Tune.

A ſad merry Tune! that is becauſe a ſad Fel⯑low plays it; you ſhall hear me ſing to it—and you will find it quite another thing.—Come, Mr.—Play agen.

Maſter, wou'd it not be better to ſay, ſtretch your Eyes abroad?

Why ſure, Mr. Doodle! did I take you into my Service to teach me? Stretch her Eyes! Yes, I war⯑rant you! No, I ſay, Stretch her Legs; Do you think ſhe can come to the Window without ſtretching her Legs, Mr. Doodle?

It's very true indeed, Maſter.

Yes, I think it is.—Oh ſtretch your Eyes a⯑broad, my Dear. Did you ever ſee the like!—This Baſtardly Rogue, Doodle, has put me quite out.

[19] Is not that very pretty, Doodle?

Beneath your bright Window! Very pretty in⯑deed, Maſter.

Boar-Cat! you are a Bull-Bitch to call me Boar-Cat, you are ſo! od! if I had you here, I'd give you a good Douſe on the Chops, I wou'd ſo. Boar-Cat! Why, Doodle, do I look or ſing like a Boar-Cat?

A Boar-Cat! no indeed, Maſter. But indeed Maſter—O ſtretch your Legs abroad, is a very dumpiſh Tune—have you never a merrier in your Budget?

Well remember'd efackins, Doodle—yes, yes, I have another of my own making to the Tune of the Black Joak—You, Fidler! can you play the Black Joak?

Take care what you ſay, he's no Fidler, he's a Maſter of Muſic.

Oh, I cry your Marcy, Mr. Maſter of Mu⯑ſic—will you be pleas'd to play me the Black Joak—I made this Song, Doodle, in Praiſe of my Miſtreſs's Beauty. I ſhow'd it to our Thraſher, and I can aſſure you he likes it. You know, Doodle, he's a Poet him⯑ſelf, and Poets never flatter one another.—Why don't you play?

There Doodle! is it not fine Poetry.

Oh! Geminy! how I ſhou'd ſtare! very fine indeed, Maſter.

But why does not my Miſtreſs come and thank me, Ha! Doodle.

Why, may be ſhe is a-ſleep ſtill—we muſt make a greater Noiſe to wake her.

Ay! come then—Dol, dol dorol.

Oh! Lud, Doodle! I'm half drown'd.

Yes, Sir, and I am t'other half.

What Midnight Caterwawling Raſcals are theſe—I'll teach 'em how to diſturb a ſleeping Neigh⯑bourhood.

Oh, Doodle! I'm beaten like Eggs to a Pud⯑ding.

Yes, Sir, and one of 'em is Addle, for here's and odd ſort of a Smell between us.

O lud, Doodle! here he comes again!—Let's be gone! Murder! Fire! Popery, and Sedition!

They'll hardly come a Serenading again in Haſte, I believe. But I fear my dear Caelia is gone to Reſt—I'll try however.

Oh that I had thee in my longing Arms! with eager Kiſſes, Careſſes, and Embraces, I'd never quit thee till thou wert wholly mine.

Lud! lud! what a Whining's here! Don't you remember the old Proverb, Signior—Faint Heart ne⯑ver—you underſtand me.

Ods me! I hear my old Maſter! away! away as faſt as you can—for if he ſees you we're undone for ever—while we poor Souls go to Bed, hug our Pillows, and dream of I know not what, and of Force be contented till ſomething better offers.

Cleremont, adieu!

May gentle Sleep thoſe orient Luſtres cloſe, And peaceful Dreams attend thy ſoft Repoſe.

SCENE II.

Is this the worthy Perſon that has an Inclina⯑tion to be made one of our Noble Society?

Yes, I am.—But pray may not my Man Doodle be made one along with me?

Oh fie Sir! no, no; he muſt wait without 'till the Ceremony be over.

O Lud! what muſt not Doodle ſtay in the Room with me?—I ſhall be frighted out of my Wits!

I tell you, No! therefore be gone, Fellow! when we have done we'll call you.

What adickens are they going to do?—I hope they won't equip my Maſter for an Opera-Sing⯑er!—Adad, if they ſhou'd they'll ſpoil his Mar⯑riage.

Sit down in that Chair.

They ſeem to me to be mighty odd looking Fellows. I wiſh I get ſafe out of their Hands.

Bind faſt his Arms and Legs.

O Jemminy! What are you going to do?

Only to proceed in our Ceremony.—When were you ſhav'd laſt?

O Lud! ſhav'd! I was never ſhav'd in my Life.

Well then, Lathering ſhall ſerve turn.

I am glad of that, I did not know but they might have Shav'd and Bled all under one.

Pantagruel, fetch the Baſon of Antiquity prefently. You muſt know, this Baſon was made out of half the Queen of Egypt's great Pearl, when ſhe treated Mark Antony in the Highlands of Scot⯑land.

A Pearl! as I hope to ſav'd, it looks like a common Baſon that may be bought for Three⯑pence.

A-lack-aday! you'll ſee with other Eyes when you have gone thro' this Ceremony.—This very Baſon was given to our Honourable Society by Alexander the Great, when he turn'd Proteſtant after conquering North-Wales.

There, Sir, we have done with your Face; now lets ſee your Nails.—Fetch me the myſte⯑rious Penknife.

A Pen-knife, d'ye call it! adad it looks to me big enough for a Scythe.

A Scythe! why, this is the greateſt Piece of Antiquity we have.—This Penknife was made of Eve's Spaniſh Needle that ſhe ſew'd A⯑dam's Fig Breeches with—when they were ſtript by the Turks at the Siege of Namur.

Why then, Adam and Eve were a ſwing⯑ing Couple—But I know that's a Lye, for I have got their Pictures in our Nurſery at Home.

There, Sir! we have done with your Fin⯑gers.

Done with my Fingers—yes! but what the Devil have you done with my Rings? Ha!

O lud, lud! have but a little Patience—and you'll ſee 'em all turn'd to Brilliants of the firſt Water—your Eye-Sight can't be clear'd till you are put in the Queen of Sheba's Petticoat. Pantagruel! fetch her Majeſty's Divining Petticoat—Sir, when [28] you are in this Petticoat—you'll ſee all Things, paſt, preſent, and to come—

A Petticoat! why as I hope to be marry'd, it looks like a Sack! a common Sack!

A Lard help you! a Sack! tho' really now I muſt confeſs, when I was made a Maſon firſt, I had almoſt the ſame Notion of Things as you have, good Sir—But you'll ſee after another manner when once you're in this wonderful Petticoat—Why, Sir, this Petticoat was made of the Webs of the Feet of the Eaſt-Indian Bird of Paradiſe—and the Whalebone made of one of the Hairs of King Brogdignagian's Beard, brought over by Captain Lemuel Gulliver.

O Lord, Sir! I do believe it—a Lye.

Come, Sir—in with him—when you are in—you'll ſee ſuch ſtrange Things will amaze you.

See, quotha! od, it is as dark as a narrow Lane in a Winter's Night. But hark, you—Mr.—Mr.—Mr.—a what the Devil is your Name—Oh—Mr. Watergruell—When ſhall I ſee theſe ſame fine Things—Ha! why what the Devil are you all dumb?—Od! my Mind miſgives—Ha! O Lord! Murder! Fire! Brimſtone and Gunpowder—Doodle—where's Doodle?

Here, Maſter—

You Son of a Bitch, you have kick'd my Noſe off.

Kick'd your Noſe off—why where are you, Maſter.

Here, here.

Oh lud! Murder! Murder! this can't be my Maſter?

Ha! what's the matter, Doodle?

The matter! why your Face is as black as a Cole-Miner's, or a Chimney-Sweeper's.

O lud! I am undone!—I'll have the Rogues hang'd for Murder, for I am ſure I have Money e⯑nough to bribe a Jury, and Witneſſes to ſwear they have murder'd me—But now I am talking of Mo⯑ney, let me feel, if they have not rob'd me as well as murder'd me.

Oh lud, Doodle! They have pick'd my Pocket of a hundred Pound, and ſtole my Rings off my Fingers—They ſhall be hang'd to be ſure.

ACT III. SCENE I.

O ſick, ſick! I have ſent Doodle for a Doctor, but I believe the Devil's in him, and the Doctor too, for as I live, I ſhall be dead before he comes, if they don't make haſte—Oh Pox take theſe Maſons; if this is being made a Maſon, I'd rather ride Poſt upon a Broomſtick, from Scotland to Wales—

Od ſo! here comes the Doctor at laſt: Mighty Sir, your Servant.

Salva Domina.

Salve, Dam ye—is that your Breeding—I thought you Doctors never curſt or ſwore—Be⯑ſides, Sir, I don't want any of your Salve—mine is an inward Diſtemper, d'ye think you can cure me?

Cure you, Sir! why I have cur'd five hundred incurable Diſeaſes within this Twelvemonth—why I cur'd my Grandmother of the Tooth-ach three Weeks after ſhe was dead.

Oh Jeminy! he's a pure Man, Doodle.

So he is indeed, Maſter.

There's no Diſtemper comes amiſs to me.

Let me feel your Pulſe—

Pray, Sir, how long have you to go?

Oh lud! there's a Queſtion, for a Man of your Parts—To go! why theſe ſixty Years, I [36] hope—without I get Lappy, and then Doodle ſhall carry me.

'Tis in vain to hide your Diſtemper from me—you are with Child.

With Child! Oh lud, Doodle, what ſhall I do! this muſt be thoſe plaguy Rogues doing with their What-d'ye-Callum Petticoat—I ſhall be diſgrac'd for ever—to bring a Baſtard into the Family—why my Miſtreſs will never have me, if ſhe hears I am with Child before Marriage.

'Tis a very ſad thing, Maſter—But it's ma⯑ny an honeſt Body's Caſe beſides yours—now I think on't, I'll tell you what you ſhall do.

What! good Doodle?

E'en marry your Miſtreſs to-night, ſwear ſhe's the Father, and if you ſhou'd be both brought to Bed at the ſame Time, why one Lying-in may ſerve you both.

Egad! and ſo I will!—But this is a ſad thing to be with Child, and not know the Father, Doodle.

Why, Maſter, let the Pariſh father it: we'll drop it in a Basket at the Church-Warden's Door, as I was, and then you know, he's oblig'd to take Care of it.

What then, are you a Baſtard, Doodle?

Truly, I can't tell, for I don't remember the Day I was born, nor did I ever hear that I had any Father or Mother; and to be ſure thoſe that never had any Father or Mother, can't be lawfully begot you know, Maſter.

Why that's very true, indeed, Doodle—

See who's at the Door, Doodle.

I can hardly keep my Countenance—Their abominable Simplicity will make me laugh in ſpite of my Teeth—In my Conſcience, one may perſwade theſe Fellows, the Moon's made of a Mince-Pye.

O lud! Murder! Murder!

O Jeminy! what's the matter, Doodle?

I'm almoſt choakt.

How ſo, Doodle?

Why, a Sow's Face Son of a Bitch clap'd this Letter in my Hand, and when he had done, lug'd the Knocker of the Door ſo hard with one Hand, and me by the Ear with the other, that I thought verily the Edge of the Door wou'd have ſerv'd me, as Judith did Holofernes, and have cut off my Head when he had almoſt choakt me, the Rogue ran away—There—I wiſh, I had never ſeen the Face on't.

'Tis di⯑rected to me, I find.

Ha! why what the Dickens is the matter now?

O Gemini

O Lud! what ſhall I do—od now I think on't, I'll have him taken up, and hang'd, for this is as bad as the Houſe-firers Letters—is it not, Mr. Doctor?

Why, 'tis a terrible Letter, I muſt own—but you can't prove any thing againſt him—you can't ſwear that's his Hand.

Yes, but I can ſwear it.

Why did you ever ſee it, Doodle?

No, but I felt it at the Door, and my Ear will bear me Witneſs, and we'll both ſwear, that Let⯑ter's the ſame Hand-writing.

Indeed, Gentlemen, that won't [...] go a nearer way to work, and marry the Lady imme⯑diately.

That's fine Advice truly—why [...] if I cou'd, you may be ſure.

Sir, if you'll leave this Affair to me, I'll not only bring you your Miſtreſs, but a Parſon to marry you.

Will you! ah dear Sir!

you are the beſt Friend I ever met with in my Life.

I'll write a Letter to her Father, you ſhall co⯑py it, and I'll carry it myſelf, and I warrant we ſuc⯑ceed.

Adod! and I'll make you amends—I have a Couſin of mine Heir to a great Eſtate, his Father wants a Phyſician—you ſhall be recommended to him—you underſtand your Buſineſs—and he'll pay you well.

Sir, I thank you.

But I am ſadly afraid my Miſtreſs won't love me, when I am marry'd to her.

But Maſter, you know the old Saying, lying together makes Pigs love.

Ay, that's true, Doodle—and now I remem⯑ber a Song of my Father's making.

Come into the next Room, and we'll finiſh the Mat⯑ter.

Well, Son-in-Law, is the Parſon come? You ſee I have brought my Daughter, according to your Deſire in your Letter.

The Parſon! yes, and the Parſon's Wife, too.

The Parſon's Wife! what a pize does ſhe do here? Oh, I ſuppoſe ſhe ſmells a good Supper.

No, no; my new Friend the Doctor ſays ſhe plays rarely upon the Pipe and Tabor, ſo we ſhall have Muſick for nothing.

She has other Buſineſs, which you ſhall know by and by.

Well, Son in-Law, diſpatch your Grace as faſt as you can, and I'll go haſten Supper.—But don't fall too before I come.

They won't perhaps make a Meal, Sir, but they may have a mind to pick a Bit, or ſo.

Thou'rt a Wag-tail, Huſſy.—But I'll make haſte.—And when the Wedding's over, Son, we'll think how to puniſh that Rogue Claremont.

Ay, pray Sir do, for the Thoughts of him may chance to ſpoil my Maſter's Stomach to-night.

Ah, my little Goldfinch! have I caught you at laſt?

You muſt throw ſome Salt upon her Tail firſt.

Yes, yes! I'll ſalt her, broil her, and eat her.

Bleſs me! you're a dangerous Man, Squire.

Don't fear, Madam, his Fury will ſoon be over.

Come, my Dear, my Stomach's up, and I cou'd ſeed heartily, if Grace was ſaid.—Od! I [41] fancy it's a pure thing to be marry'd, for Old and Young, Rich and Poor, are fond of the Nooſe.—Beſides, I was always afraid to lye alone.

Ah, Father-in-Law! egad I have don't at laſt, I have tickled her Toby for her.

Ay, ay, Maſter has tickled her—

Pray hold your Prating, Mr. Doodle—You muſt not be ſo familiar with me as you have been, now I am a marry'd Man.

No, my Dear, I'll take care your Servants ſha'nt be impertinent for the future.

Why, what the dickens have I got here! this is the Parſon's Wife.

No Sir, you are miſtaken—I paſs'd for the Parſon's Wife, to get into the Houſe indeed, [44] but I'll aſſure you I am no Body's Wife but thine, Deary.

Deary, with a Pox! Pray who are you? Whence came you? Whither go you? And who d'ye belong to?

Why, in the firſt Place, She is my Siſter.

Is ſhe, is ſhe?

And for the next Queſtion of, Whence came you? I came from Keeping, from one that has turn'd me off.

And in anſwer to your Where are you going? She is going to be Miſtreſs of your Family.

Fourthly and Laſtly, anſwers for it ſelf, for I am now your Wife.

Well, Jenny, I'm glad of thy good Fortune.—You know I'm to have Five hundred for making the Match, my Dear.

Depend on't, I'll never be worſe than my Word, my Dear.

My Dear, and my Dear, with a Pox t'ye—I'll hang my ſelf, be bury'd alive, and walk.

Well, I'll ſwear I think you are a happy Man, Squire.

Maſter, if you don't miſcarry, lay the Child upon her, ſwear ſhe's the Father; and have her hang'd for a Witch.

O Lud, Doodle! I have miſcarry'd already, I think.

Oons! What is the meaning of this?

Meaning, Sir! why the Meaning's plain—This is my Siſter, poor Girl, who keeping Shop, and having nothing but ſtale Ware to deal with, beſides Loſſes by Fire, was almoſt ready to ſtarve. So I con⯑triv'd to marry her to this Gentleman, that ſhe may know where to eat, that's all.

Oons! my Mind miſgives me; where's my Daughter, Huſſy?

Lawd, don't trouble your ſelf about your Daughter, ſhe is full of Buſineſs.—I'm afraid ſhe'll have Work to do all Night.—But here ſhe comes, and your Son too.

Oh, here comes the Doctor!—Did not you tell me I ſhou'd be marry'd in half an Hour—and here—

Why, is the Devil in the Man! are you not marry'd?

Yes, but I mean to Madam Caelia.

That cou'd hardly be, for I was forc'd to mar⯑ry her my ſelf.

Was you ſo! you were deviliſhly hard put to't. Here, I'll give you my Wife, and Forty Shil⯑lings to change, and ſhe's a better bred Woman, I can aſſure you, and can get her own Living if occa⯑ſion be.

I muſt e'en be contented as I am.

Maſter, ſince you are ſo willing to part with her, give me the Money, and I'll take her. And if I don't like her, you ſhall have her again—for I believe ſhe will be Wife enough for us both.

Well ſaid, Doodle!

Cleremont! let me come at the Dog; I'll mur⯑der him, a Dog, a cut-throat Dog—Draw, you Dog, and let me kill you.

No, Sir, it is not his Time to draw yet.—Come, Sir, I'll be his Champion

and whip you thro' the Lungs immediately.—Why don't you make your Thruſt? Oh I had forgot—thoſe Days are over with you.—Come, Sir, and Madam, kneel down

Come, old Fellow, give 'em your Bleſſing, d'ye hear!

I bleſs 'em! Damn 'em.

What, d'ye diſpute? Zounds! do it, or I'll run my Sword thro' your Midriff.

Why, the Devil's in her, ſure.—Well, ſince I can't help it, Bleſs ye! Bleſs ye!

Now, my Love, our Joys are compleated.

Since my Father is reconcil'd, my Happineſs can't receive Addition.

Well, Lettice, ſince my Maſter and your Mi⯑ſtreſs have brought Matters to bear—I hope you'll let me take Poſſeſſion of your Tenement.

You muſt be Tenant for Life then—for I don't care to let Lodgings, where People run away [47] and pay no Rent. Yet I have known many an honeſt Woman pick up a pretty Living by it—and indeed if you can't occupy the Tenement your ſelf, it would be unreaſonable it ſhou'd lie empty.

One thing I had like to have forgot.—There's your Money and Rings again, Squire—I did not intend to cheat you, and it was impoſſible to make a Fool of you, for I think you were ready made to my Hands, and I am your moſt humble Trout, Davy Dub-Fool.

Lovers, lead on, the Grace you know is ſaid, The Cloath is laid, but you may Sup—in Bed.

SCENE