THE PLATONICK LADY. A Comedy. As it is Acted at the QUEENS THEATRE IN THE HAY-MARKET.
By the Author of the Gameſter, and Love's Contrivance.
LONDON, Printed for James Knapton, at the Crown in St. Paul's Church-Yard, and Egbert Sanger, at the Poſt-Houſe at the Middle-Temple-Gate in Fleetſtreet. 1707. Price 1s. 6d. Where may be had all Sorts of PLAYS.
MY Muſe choſe to make this Univerſal Addreſs, hoping, among the numerous Crowd, to find ſome Souls Great enough to protect her againſt the Carping Malice of the Vulgar World; who think it a proof of their Senſe, to diſlike every thing that is writ by Women. I was the more induc'd to this General Application, from the Uſage I have met on all ſides.
A Play ſecretly introduc'd to the Houſe, whilſt the Au⯑thor remains unknown, is approv'd by every Body: The Actors cry it up, and are in expectation of a great Run; the Bookſeller of a Second Edition, and the Scribler of a Sixth Night: But if by chance the Plot's diſcover'd, and the Brat found Fatherleſs, immediately it flags in the Opini⯑on of thoſe that extoll'd it before, and the Bookſeller falls in his Price, with this Reaſon only, It is a Woman's. Thus they alter their Judgment, by the Eſteem they have for the Author, tho' the Play is ſtill the ſame. They ne'er re⯑flect, that we have had ſome Male-Productions of this kind, void of Plot and Wit, and full as inſipid as ever a Wo⯑man's of us all.
I can't forbear inſerting a Story which my Bookſeller, that printed my Gameſter, told me, of a Spark that had ſeen my Gameſter three or four times, and lik'd it extremely: Having bought one of the Books, ask'd who the Author was; and be⯑ing told, a Woman, threw down the Book, and put up his Money, ſaying, he had ſpent too much after it already, and was ſure if the Town had known that, it wou'd never have run ten days. No doubt this was a Wit in his own Eyes. It is ſuch as theſe that rob us of that which inſpires the Poet, Praiſe. And it is ſuch as theſe made him that Printed my Comedy call'd, Love's Contrivance; or, Medin [] cin Malgre lui, put two Letters of a wrong Name to it; which tho' it was the height of Injuſtice to me, yet his impoſing on the Town turn'd to account with him; and thus paſſing for a Man's, it has been play'd at leaſt a hun⯑dred times.
And why this Wrath againſt the Womens Works? Per⯑haps you'll anſwer, becauſe they meddle with things out of their Sphere: But I ſay, no; for ſince the Poet is born, why not a Woman as well as a Man? Not that I wou'd derogate from thoſe great Men who have a Genius, and Learning to improve that Genius: I only object againſt thoſe ill-natur'd Criticks, who wanting both, think they have a ſufficient claim to Senſe, by railing at what they don't underſtand. Some have arm'd themſelves with re⯑ſolution not to like the Play they paid to ſee; and if in ſpite of Spleen they have been pleas'd againſt their Will, have maliciouſly reported it was none of mine, but given me by ſome Gentleman: Nay, even my own Sex, which ſhou'd aſſert our Prerogative againſt ſuch Detractors, are often backward to encourage a Female Pen.
Wou'd theſe profeſt Enemies but conſider what Examples we have had of Women that excell'd in all Arts; in Muſick, Painting, Poetry; alſo in War: Nay, to our immortal Praiſe, what Empreſſes and Queens have fill'd the World? What cannot England boaſt from Women? The mighty Romans felt the Power of Boadicea's Arm; Eliza made Spain trem⯑ble; but ANN, the greateſt of the Three, has ſhook the Man that aim'd at Univerſal Sway. After naming this Mi⯑racle, the Glory of our Sex, ſure none will ſpitefully cavil at the following Scenes, purely becauſe a Woman writ'em. This I dare venture to ſay in their behalf, there is a Plot and Story in them, I hope will entertain the Reader; which is the utmoſt Ambition of,
AS I was ſaying, Sir, I have advanc'd the Expences of our Summers Expedition from Epſom to Tunbridge, from Tun⯑bridge to the Bath, and from thence to London here; where inſtead of Board-wages, I have liv'd upon Hopes that ſome of theſe Places wou'd furniſh you with a Bubble, and me with my Money; but I ſee no appearance of it: Therefore pray let you and I diſ⯑count.
Prithee, Equipage, have but Patience to ſee what this Winter produces.
No, Sir; the Affront you put upon me at Tun⯑bridge I can't forget, when you had loſt fifty Guineas to the Knight upon Honour, and pretended you had ſent [2] me Poſt to London to your Scrutore for the Money, and that I had robb'd you and run away with your Keys; when you ordered me to keep out of the way till he had left the Town.
Thou know'ſt I had no other quibble to avoid paying the Debt, and quitting the Place with Honour: Come, don't reflect upon my Misfortune; we have ſeen better Summers.
In troth, Sir, I thought Bath promis'd well; I am ſure 'twas very full of Company; and if you had not fallen in Love, you might have paid me out of the Subſcription.
How muſt I have liv'd like a Gentleman then, Sirrah? I ſhall break your Head.
I have done upon that Subject, Sir; I only deſire my Diſcharge and Wages; that's all.
Do you know what you ask, Equipage? A Gameſter and a Soldier are both Sons of Fortune; now to quit my Service, is directly to embroil your ſelf with Fortune.
I have been embroil'd with her from the firſt Day I enter'd into your Service: But I thank my Stars I am a⯑bove Fortune, and deſign to forſake the World.
Ha, ha, forſake the World!
Yes, Sir, I have lately made ſome moral Reflecti⯑ons on the Uncertainty of worldly Pleaſures. I am weary of being well beaten, and ill fed; of paſſing the Night at a Tavern Door, and the Day in carrying Meſſages from one Miſs to another. In ſhort, Sir, I am weary of the ſubſervient Title, without the ſubſervient Money, and reſolve to marry; that is, when I can find a Woman that deſerves me.
A difficult matter truly.
So it is, Sir; but this Digreſſion makes you for⯑get that there is a ſmall Rule in Arithmetick to be adjuſt⯑ed. I have ſerv'd you theſe eight Years at twenty-five [3] Crowns a Year, which in plain Engliſh is forty-two Pounds Sterling; of which I have received now and then a broken Pate: Nevertheleſs there remains two and forty Pounds; which I deſire you'd give me immediately, Sir.
Two and Forty Pounds—a great deal of Mo⯑ney—eight Years Service; Mercy upon me! How have I had Patience to endure this Dog ſo long?
How have I had Patience to ſtay thus long for my Wages?
Are not you a Rogue, Sirrah?
Yes, Sir.
And deſerve to be hang'd?
As Affairs ſtands now it ſeems. Whilſt I was ſilent I was a very honeſt Fellow; but now I ask for my Wages, I'm fit for the Gallows: Faith, Sir, you might be a Duke by your Conſcience.
Well, Sirrah, you know I am good natur'd; hang me if I am not very unwilling to part with thee: I will not turn thee away, go get my Cloak.
Turn me away! why, 'tis not you that turn me away; 'tis I that turn you away, if you go to that.
Well, well, we won't diſpute about that; thou ſhalt not leave me.
Be pleas'd to pay me then; for I deſign the Mo⯑ney for my Wife's Jointure: Look ye, Sir, here's the Re⯑ceipt ready.
The Devil's in the Fellow, I think; thy Noddle runs of nothing but thy own Buſineſs; prithee let's think a little of mine. Mrs. Brazen the Match-maker, is to help me to a Somerſetſhire Widow worth fifty thouſand Pound; ſhe's juſt come to Town.
But pray, Sir, conſider my Buſineſs.
I tell you, I am in haſte to ſee her.
'Tis done in one word, Sir; my Wages.
Well, ſince you are ſo reſolute, we will part, tho' it trouble me never ſo much. Give me the Receipt: Let's ſee how you have drawn it.
There, Sir.
Now begon; I diſcharge you.
But my Wages, Sir.
Ah, Equipage, Equipage, the parting with thee ſoftens me even into Tears. If I ſtay I ſhall unman my ſelf: Farewel.
The Devil! did not I know him well enough not to truſt him with the Receipt till I had the Mo⯑ney? But, egad, I'll be even with him one way, I'll have his cowardly Bones well beaten, if my Project takes.
I can't imagine from whence proceeds this change. You that us'd to love Parks, Plays, Balls, Drawing-Rooms, Picquet, Baſlett, and ſuch nice Converſation: You'd not endure my Lady Lockup, becauſe ſhe entertain'd you with nothing but railing at her Servants; of their Waſte, and her good Houſe-wifery; nor Mr. Self-love, becauſe he always got to the Glaſs before you; my Lady Wrinkle laid on too much White, and my Lady Blouze too much Red, and Mrs. Coquet engroſs'd the whole Company: My Lady Prattle fill'd your Ears with the Beauty and Wit of her Children.
And is there any thing ſo diſagreeable on Earth, as the Sayings of Miſs and Maſs repeated: But what of all this?
Why then, I wrack my poor Brain in finding out why you ſpend ſo much time with your Country Couſin, Mrs. Dowdy; who is the very reverſe of every thing you us'd to admire.
Charity, Toylet, perfect Charity. You know my aukward Couſin wants Inſtructions: She's left a rich Wi⯑dow, and comes to London on purpoſe to Dreſs and make a Figure.
Born and bred in Somerſetſhire; never five Miles from Home before, wore the Cloath of her own Spinning, dain'd to make her own Butter, paid the Labourers their Wages on Work-days, and took a Jigg with them on Holy-days. She will make a Figure indeed, by that time the Faſhion-mungers have done with her. Pardon me, Madam, if I can't help thinking you have ſome ſtronger Motive than Charity.
What does your Wiſdom gueſs?
Why truly, Madam, I ſhould gueſs your Ladyſhip may have ſome ſmall Pulſe for the handſome young Offi⯑cer that Mrs. Dowdy is ſo much affraid you ſhould ſee, and thruſt you into the Bed-Chamber, when he came into the Dining-Room: I remember with what Fury you catch'd up the red-hot Poker, and burnt a Hole through the Door to look at him: Belvil, I think they call his Name.
Upon my Life thou haſt hit it, Girl; I'll not con⯑ceal my Plot, ſince I deſign thee Chief Inſtrument. [...]f you remember, I told you that five Years ſince I was in France; and my Mother's Siſter being of the Romiſh Perſwa⯑ſion, had enter'd her ſelf among the Auguſtines in Paris: She over-perſwaded me to Board there too, hoping (I ſup⯑poſe) from her endeavours to make me quit my Religion, and profeſs my ſelf a Nun: During my aboad there, this very Gentleman us'd to make me frequent Viſits at the Grate; the firſt time I ſaw him he came a long with ano⯑ther [6] that paid a Compliment to a young Lady of the ſame Convent: Our Acquaintance held near two Months. 'Twas then, Toylet, that I felt the force of Love, but not without a thouſand Proteſtations of the ſame from him. But my Father hearing of my Aunts deſign, and apprehending my Youth, (for I was then not full ſixteen) might be prevail'd upon to change my Faith, ſent for me to England in ſuch haſte, that I was not permitted to ſtay one Hour in the Monaſtery after the Meſſenger arri⯑ved; ſo had no opportunity to inform Belvil of my De⯑parture.
I preſume you've kept a Correſpondence ever ſince.
No, I knew not how to direct to him; he told me he had been bred in the Spaniſh-Netherlands, and came to France only for his Pleaſure: His Parents (he ſaid) were Engliſh, and he ſpoke the Language very well.
Nor did not you inform him of your Family?
He often preſt it, and I promis'd to ſatisfie him; but my Father's unexpected Commands broke all our Mea⯑ſures; and from that Day, till I ſaw him here, I never heard of him.
And what is your Deſign now, Madam? I fear he is a Man of Gallantry; beſides you know he makes love to your Couſin; you cannot love him ſtill ſure?
Indeed I do; nay more, can love nothing elſe.
What will you do with Sir Charles Richley then? who your Father upon his Death-Bed enjoyn'd you to marry, whom he contracted you to in your Childhood.
I cannot love him; it was in my Nonage, and the Barter's illegal; and therefore I'll not Mind it; beſides I'm inform'd he is in Love elſewhere, and cares as little for me as I for him; and I would not be a Wife i'th' Mode.
In my Opinion, Sir Charles has all the Accompliſh⯑ments of his Sex, and a fair Eſtate.
I own it; but I have a whimſical Heart, not to be touch'd with Jointures and Settlements.
And if I have any skill in Faces, Belvil is a gene⯑ral Lover.
No matter; my Conqueſt will be the greater to get him from them all; beſides, I will run any risk to break this unreaſonable Contract.
What you pleaſe, Madam; I am ready to convey a Letter or a Meſſage to him.
No, I have a Stratagem to try his Temper, and fathom his Inclinations, I do not intend to diſcover my ſelf to him, till I have him within my Power, beyond a poſſibility of retreat. Come in with me, and I'll give thee a full Relation, and prepare our ſelves for my deſign.
Ha! 'tis time to Dreſs. Robin.
Sir.
My Things.
Here's a Letter for you, Sir.
Lay it by.
Won't you read it, Sir.
No, I know the Hand. Egad, it is as hard to get rid of a Citizen's Wife, when liſted in her Service, as Subſiſtance out of the Hand of an Agent, who is juſt ſetting up his Coach: She's as troubleſome as a Dun when our Stock's exhauſted.
Here's another Letter, Sir; and the Footman ſtays for an Anſwer.
Lucinda's Character! Slave, how durſt you defer my Joy ſo long?
Oh, Sir, ever whilſt you live the ſweeteſt Bit for the laſt.
The Brightneſs of the Day tempts me to a Morning's Walk; if you've an Inclination, you'll find me in the Park at Twelve, Lucinda. An Inclination! Yes, I have an Inclination; I wiſh you would gratifie it. Bid the Footman wait; I'll ſend an Anſwer.
Yes, Sir.
So, Mrs. Peeper; what News from Somerſetſhire?
Somerſetſhire, Manners; you ſhou'd have ſaid St. James's; for my Lady is as great a Belle as the beſt of 'em, I aſſure you that.
A Belle! ſo is a Broom-ſtick.
Carry this Letter to the Footman. Well, Mrs. Peeper, what Affair brings you?
I come from my Lady, Sir: She—
Robin, my Coat.
Is Impatient till ſhe ſees you: All the Trades in the Creation are employ'd in her Dreſs; ſhe ſpares no Art to charm you; there's Milleners, Mantua-makers, Tire⯑women, and ſo forth.
My Watch.
Amongſt a Crowd of Compleaters, a Match, maker has ſhuffled in, and propoſes one Sir John Sharper to her; if you are cold you'll loſe her, upon my Virginity, you will.
My Sword.
Ha! how careleſs you are; what, not a Word? In Truth, I don't know where you'll find ſuch another Fool, as my Miſtreſs, with Fifty Thouſand Pound.
My Perriwigg.
Sure, if you don't value my Lady, you might an⯑ſwer me.
My Handkercher and Snuff-Box. So am I well now, Mrs. Peeper?
Well: Ah! Nature has been but too kind to you. But, Sir, concerning my Lady; you know I am entirely in your Intereſt.
Why then to be ſincere with thee, I never did, nor never ſhall care Three-pence for her, without one thing.
But her Fortune, Sir.
Shall never tempt me to marry her at a venture.
No! why then to what purpoſe do you court her? 'Tis calling your Gallanty in queſtion to ſuſpect an In⯑treague.
No faith, Peeper, my deſign is quite another thing; and if thou wou'dſt aſſiſt me—
In any thing, Sir, within my Power.
Say'ſt thou! there then
When we wou'd have a Lawyer plead heartily, we muſt not for⯑get his Fee.
You are ſo generous, that to keep up the Simile, Lawer-like, I'll ſpare no Breath to ſerve you.
But don't you carry the Simile too far, and take Bribes on both ſides.
I ſcorn it. Inſtruct me, Sir.
Find ſome way to perſuade her to let me ſee the Writings of her Eſtate; tell her 'tis the only way to fix me; for what ever we ſay in Commendation of your Sex, Beauty, Shape, Wit, and ſo forth, is but the Fable; the Moral is the Money, Girl.
But you won't marry her you ſay, Sir?
Not till I am ſatisfied what ſhe's worth, my Dear; but theſe Writings muſt be ſeen: Upon Honour, it [10] ſhall turn as much to your Account, whether I marry her or not.
Nay then—Well, Sir, it ſhall be done; when will you prove it?
Two Hours hence.
Your Servant.
What, juſt upon the Wing? I'm glad I've nick't the time, and find you without Company.
Why, have you Secrets to impart? Robin, leave us.
Come, come, diſcloſe ſome warm, wiſh⯑ing, kind, conſenting Fair: Or is it a plump, ſoft, whole⯑ſome Country Girl thou woud'ſt conſign over to thy Friend. 'm not nice, nor care who plucks the Roſe I ſmell to, provided it has not loſt its ſweetneſs.
Sure thou thinkeſt the Buſineſs of the World is converted into Wenching.
I'm ſure there's no pleaſure in that Buſineſs where a Woman is not concern'd.
A Woman is the Subject. But ſuch a Woman.
I fear ſo, Belvil.
Then ſhe is in Love with me? where does ſhe live? what's her Name? how dignify'd or diſtinguiſh'd? by Miſtreſs, Madam, or Right Honourable—Maid, Wife or Widow? Quick, quick diſcloſe.
'Tis Lucinda.
The Devil! have you rais'd my expectation to this height, then pall me with an Acquaintance? But what of her?
You brought me into the Danger; I came wounded off, and have no hopes of Cure, but from your roving Temper. You weigh the Sex alike, and without a Pang may give me leave to try my Fortune with her.
This comes of carrying a Friend to ſee one's Mi⯑ſtriſs. Why, I thought you had been engag'd from your Childhood. Come will you be upon the ſquare, bring me to your Miſtriſs; if I like her as well as I do Lucinda, per⯑haps we may agree upon the change.
I will: ſhe cannot fail to charm thee; all Eyes, but mine, adore her: And ſure 'twas the Malice of our Stars caus'd our Fathers to conclude the Match, where In⯑tereſt only held the Scale, and gentle Love fled from either ſide: But be ſerious. How far are you engag'd with Lu⯑cinda?
Faith, 'tis a kind of intricate Story, but you muſt be ſatisfied. I have been bred a Soldier of Fortune, and am to this Day ignorant who my Parents were. The Man who took care of me, always told me England was my Na⯑tive Country, taught me the Language; and for ought I know, ſome travelling Prince begot me: My Foſter-Father was in Battle kill'd, and never gave me farther Light: I had ſtill an Inclination to ſee this Country.
This Story ſeems Romantick—
You'll think it ſo before I have done: Being land⯑ed, and travelling with my Servant towards London, I loſt my way; Night came on; when, at a diſtance, we diſco⯑vered Lights and made up to 'em. It proved Lucinda's Country Houſe: Her Uncle, Sir Thomas Beamont, kindly receiv'd and entertain'd us.
Lucky Chance!
So it prov'd to them; for that very Night her Houſe was beſet with Thieves: Their number muſt have prevail'd but for our unexpected Aid; we beat them off, preſerv'd their Wealth, and perhaps their Lives. The La⯑dy [12] expreſs'd a thouſand Thanks. The old Man grew In⯑quiſitive, who I was, and whence I came. I frankly told him the Story of my Life: He ſtood amaz'd, and ask'd me fifty Queſtions, and ſeem'd ſurpriz'd at every Anſwer.
Well; and what enſu'd upon that?
Why, he has ever ſince been mighty fond of me, and forc'd Money upon me, which I could ſcarcely make him take my Note for.
You're eſtabliſh'd every way; his kindneſs pro⯑motes you Intereſt with his Niece.
Quite contrary: His generous Carriage has oblig'd me to ſwear to him, never to attempt to marry her, if ſhe ſhould conſent without his leave, which he ſeems ſtill a⯑verſe to. I confeſs I love her beyond the reſt of her Sex, except one I ſaw thro' a Grate in France, that I could ne⯑ver hear of ſince: yet this reſtraint keeps me from preſſing my Suit for Marriage, and I have too much reſpect to at⯑tempt the other.
Does ſhe know the Injunction?
No; that he forbad me too—Beſides, ſhe is de⯑voted to Platonick Notions
I never mind that in a handſome Woman: This generous Declaration draws another Queſtion, why do you addreſs Mrs. Dowdy?
That's another Injunction of the old Gentle⯑man's, to procure the Writings of an Eſtate out of her Hands, that her Husband cheated a Relation of his of. You ſee, Sir Charles, I have a World of Buſineſs cut out, and have made you entirely my Confident: No foul play; do ye hear?
There can be none with a Prince that aims at univerſal Monarchy. But ſetting Love apart, laſt Night after you left us, there came a Fellow into the Chocolate-Houſe, who pretended he had made a Campaign in the Nature of a Voluntier; and amongſt a number of palpable [13] Lyes, ſwore, at the Battle of Blenheim, he purſu'd a French General over the Danube, and took him Priſoner on the o⯑ther ſide, then brought him over upon his Back; the E⯑nemies Cannon playing at him all the while: The Com⯑pany laugh'd: I confeſs it rais'd my Spleen, and I cou'd not forbear ſaying, That Action was too Glorious in it ſelf to want a Romance to illuſtrate it.
So I ſuppoſe you brought a ſquabble upon your Hands.
No; he ſwore, look'd big, bluſter'd, and walk'd off.
Sir Charles, here's a Porter with a Letter.
Sir, a Gentleman that ſaw you come in here, bid me give you this.
Very well, I'll come to him: Ha, ha, ha.
Him! what, 'tis not a Challenge I hope? I muſt go with you.
Suppoſe it true, 'tis not fair to carry a ſecond when the Inviter names none. But 'tis no ſuch thing: Adieu.
If this ſhou'd be a Duel now—I cou'd never for⯑give my ſelf for letting him go alone, eſpecially if he comes to any harm.
Why; ſuppoſe he ſhould be kill'd, Sir.
Raſcal, I had rather ſuppoſe you hang'd, Sir.
A ſudden Death prevents a great deal of Vexa⯑tion, Sir, ſometimes
How do you make that out?
Why, when a Man takes his ſick Bed, the ſad Formalitics that attend it, are more dreadful than Death it ſelf: His Friends and Relations all weeping round his [14] Bed; a Lawyer, brib'd by his Spouſe to urge the Will: That made, the Sorrow is finiſh'd; each then enquire after their Legacy: And the diſconſolate Wife having borrow⯑ed a Weed of her Neighbour, is conſulting her Glaſs to ſee how it becomes her. Her Thoughts are where to find another Husband; the Servants Heads full of their Mourn⯑ing: So that if the dying Man calls for a Cordial; ſlap, they give him a Bolous—He deſires to be rais'd—They pull away the Pillow.
Ha, ha.
The Doctor, whoſe Preſcription has poiſon'd him, orders a double Doſe of Opium, to ſmooth his Paſ⯑ſage to the other World; takes his two Guineas Fee, throws himſelf into his Chariot, and bids his Coachman drive on to the next Patient. Now, Sir, a Builet, or an Oilet-hole in the Guts prevents all this.
You muſt preach this when we are raiſing Recruits, Sirrah; Ha, ha. But I muſt to the Park to meet Lucinda.
Oh, Sir! if you are a Gentleman protect me.
Ha! from what, Madam. Egad, I ſhall be famous for delivering diſtreſs'd Dam'ſels.
Purſu'd by an old jealous Husband, whom I mar⯑ried by my Friends Command, when I had given my Heart and Vows to another; he begg'd for one kind part⯑ing Hour; which I, in pity, granted: But, Oh! the ill⯑fated Moment brought both my Husband and my Father to be Spectators of our Meeting; they call'd for help to ſeize him, but he leapt the Balcony; and in the Buſtle I eſcaped with my Woman, but know not whither.
Bleſs me! what a Story has ſhe patch'd up.
Fear not, Madam, I'll defend you againſt all the Fathers and Husbands in Chriſtendom.
And I will take your Ladiſhip's Woman into my Protection.
If your Face anſwers your Shape and Mien, I can⯑not blame your Husband's Fears: Convince me, Madam.
After what I have told you, if you are generous, you will not ask to ſee my Face. Give me but Sanctuary here till Night, ſhall favour my eſcape to a Friend's Houſe.
Command it, Madam—Robin, a Curſe of For⯑tune, to ſend me a Collation at home, when I'm engag'd a⯑broad: But I muſt not diſappoint Lucinda. Madam, Buſi⯑neſs of the laſt Conſequence calls me out; but my return ſhall be ſudden. Can I ſerve you, by enquiring if the Storm be over?
By no means: enquiry wou'd ruin me. At your return, perhaps I may inform you more.
Humph! that was kindly inſinuated—Robin, give Orders that no Perſon be admitted into my Lodgings in my abſence. Madam, your moſt humble.
Well, Madam, what's your next Project? The Gentleman ſhew'd but little Curioſity. 'Tis certainly an Aſſignation that hurried him hence—Or he had been more preſſing to have ſeen your Face; and if he had, he wou'd infallibly have remember'd you, and then your Plot wou'd have been ſpoil'd.
'Tis impoſſible: For having had the Small-Pox ſince, I am perſwaded he will not know me. He ſays he will return inſtantly; in the mean time I'll view his Lodgings.
To what end will you ſtay? 'Tis ten to one if he comes back theſe ſix Hours.
No matter; I reſolve to finiſh what I once be⯑gin. I'll
WHAT ſhou'd be the reaſon of Belvill's ſtay, Betty? I wiſh I had not ſent to him, I'm very uneaſie: How calm my Hours were before I knew this Man.
I thought Platonick Love never diſturb'd the Mind, Madam.
Yes, when the Friendſhip is nice and particular.
Nay, nay, I never knew Friendſhip in different Sexes but came to particulars at laſt: See here he is.
Hey; what Lady have you laviſh'd your Wit up⯑on this Morning, that you are forc'd to Trade upon other Mens Stocks?
Hang theſe Poetical Rogues, they publiſh every pret⯑ty Thought, that a Gentleman's forc'd to borrow to ex⯑preſs his own Notions.
Pray how do ye apply the laſt Line, Belvill?
—To meet the warlike God ſhe loves.
You may be vain enough to think your ſelf a Mars—
But when did I betray the Weakneſs of a Venus?
S'life Madam! I ask your Pardon, this villainous Love is got into my Heart, and dictates ſo faſt to my Tongue, I had quite forgot your Platonicks.
And our Articles laſt Night too I ſuppoſe.
Ah! the Study's as crabbed as the Law—And the Practice as unpleaſant as Pennance. Imprimis, that I muſt take Pains to make the World underſtand our Con⯑verſation is only Friendſhip, and tho' no Body will believe me—Swear I admire the Beauties of your Mind—without regarding thoſe of your Perſon—Proteſt I have no deſire to Kiſs thoſe roſie Lips—preſs that ſoft white Hand—and Sigh my Soul, out in your Boſome—
The Devil! How the Fellow talks—
All this you muſt poſitively obſerve—But then conſider the freedoms I allow Ballances the reſtraint. I pro⯑miſe you all publick Marks of my Favour; my Conduct is ſincere and open, I hate a falſe Prude who won't know a Gentleman in Company, tho' three Hours before ſhe had held private Conference with him in her Bed-chamber; that ſolemnly declares ſhe never writ or receiv'd a Billet doux in her Life, and knows at the ſame time ſhe keeps a Woman on purpoſe for the Buſineſs.
Like your reforming Ladies, who all the while they are giving a young Fellow advice againſt Wenching, their Looks ſlyly inſinuate a liking to his Perſon.
Or Mrs. Prim the Poetical She-Philoſopher, whoſe Diſcourſe and Writings are fill'd with Honour and ſtrict Rules of Virtue; that vows ſhe cou'd not Sleep if ſhe was [18] guilty of one criminal Thought—yet is terribly wrong'd if ſhe has not twice ſlipt aſide for a natural Tympany.
Oh! How I hate the noiſe of Virtue in my Ears from a Woman—whom I know lives by Vice; and 'tis a Maxim with me—That ſhe who rails moſt, yields ſooneſt.
I have the ſame Opinion of thoſe Men, who boaſt much of their Secrecy, only for an opportunity to gain ſomething to betray—Well, I think our Sentiments agree, therefore I hope you ſubmit to the Conditions.
When one has given a Tyrant Power 'tis Prudence to obey.
Hold; One thing more; During this League you muſt Addreſs no other Woman.
The Devil! You'l next preſcribe my Eating, Drink⯑ing, Sleeping, Walking—Nay, even Thinking! Ma⯑dam, I ſuppoſe you have read of Aeſop's Ox. S'death! Ma⯑dam I am of Cowly's Mind, when I am all Soul, I ſhall keep your Rules.
Nay, don't believe I am jealous, but it wou'd touch my Pride, to have it ſaid the Man that I eſteem'd worthy to be ſeen with—was Miſtreſs ſuch a Ones conqueſt—
So by what I can diſcover, you'd have me have no other Affair upon my Hands, but waiting upon you to no purpoſe.
To no purpoſe! Is not Friendſhip the nobleſt Aim of human Kind?
Had your Parents thought ſo, the World had ne⯑ver known your Charms, Ha, ha, ha. Well, but when I have Sworn all this, what Tye have I upon you?
Oh you need not fear me—I have an indiffe⯑rence to your whole Sex.
Heigh, ho!
Why do you Sigh?
Only reflecting upon the deſperate Caſe of a Friend of mine, who confeſs'd to me half an Hour ago he was dying for Love of you.
Dying for me! Who is it Belvill?
Ha, my Platonick Lady, hang me if I tell you—
Nay, let it alone—I care not—I think I am weary with walking; you have often Importun'd me to ſee the Collection of Pictures you brought over. Come, my Maid's with me, I'le go now and Drink ſome Tea with you.
Oh the Devil! What a time ſhe has choſe now—Robin, Zounds—what ſhall we do with the Woman that is at home?
Ah pox of Ill-luck; Choak me If I know Sir?
What's that Whiſper? He ſhan't ſtir a ſtep before me—I'll have nothing but Tea.
Dear Madam, let him go, he, he, he, he, ſha, ſha, ſhall only get a little Jelly or Sweet-meats or ſo—Robin, Sirrah, lock her into your Garret.
It ſhall be done Sir.
I ſay it ſhall not be done Sir.
Then we are all undone Sir.
I hate Sweet-meats in a Morning, 'twill ſpoil my Dinner—There's ſomething more; I read Confuſion in his Face.
But Mrs. Betty does I'm ſure—Pray let him go.
I tell you no Scout ſhall go before—
What ſhall I do—Oh Sir, why you forget Sir Charles, whom you reſolv'd to prevent Fighting the Duel.
This is a new-born Lye—I'll humour it, but re⯑ſolve to find it out.
True, but this Lady makes me forget all other Friends.—
To preſerve Sir Charles is of greater conſequence than my Viſit, I'll defer that till ſome other time; you'l ſee me to my Coach.
The Rogue has brought me off—Tho' I hope Sir Charles is in no Danger.
I wou'd not loſe the pleaſure of your kind Intention: Let it be to Morrow Madam.
I'll think on't; Come—
So here's a Guinea ſlap, for my Maſter always rewards my Politicks.
The Devil! Never Man was ſo drawn in [...] a Kicking certainly—Ah hang Dog—
Are you there? You are always out of the way when you ſhou'd do a Body any Service.
Service, Sir!
Ay Service Sir: I was appointed to meet a pretty Lady in Hide-Park, and being there before her Hour, comes me up a bluſtering Fellow, who pretending I had ſent him a Challenge, drew upon me, ſo I was oblig'd to Fight him; and Egad if I had not underſtood Fencing very well, I had been whipt thro' the Lungs, for he had a curſed long Reach—but I cloſed in with him, tripp'd up his Heels, took away his Sword, and gave him his Life.
Oh the damn'd Lye—This was a Plot of my contrivance, and I have ſeen him fairly Kick'd.
What's that you mutter?
I was ſaying to my ſelf, Sir, 'twas very unfortu⯑nate, for ten to one but you'd loſt the Lady by it.
Egad and ſo I did, for ſhe ſhriek'd out, and drove away like the Devil, when ſhe ſaw us engag'd.
Where will his Lyes end
She was very hard Hearted Sir, not to ſend her Coach-man to part ye.
And diſcover our Intreague.
True, I'd forgot that—Well, Sir, you know I ſtill follow in hopes of my Wages.
I owe you none, Sirrah; Han't I a Receipt to ſhew—however becauſe you are ſometimes an uſeful—Raſcal you ſhall ſtay with me, and partake my good For⯑tune; I expect an Emiſſary with News about the rich Wi⯑dow I was telling you of.
Shall I believe him or no—if there were any hopes I'd ſtick cloſe
Nay, Sir, you know what an Affection I have for you—
Yes, you Dog, I know it full well—but con⯑veniency ſometimes makes a Man of Honour pocket Af⯑fronts.
What have I done Sir?
Sirrah, you might have kept me out of the Cho⯑colate-Houſe when I was Drunk laſt Night, and brought this Quarrel upon my Hands.
Oh Sir! But as long as you Conquer'd your Man—
Peace, here comes Mrs. Brazen.
A fit Companion by my Troth.
Good Morrow noble Squire.
My Genius, my better Angel! well how fares my buxſome Widow, ha?
Fortune ſmiles upon my Lad of Iron. I have been with her all this Morning, and I have prais'd thee from Head to Foot—I have ſet her a Gog I'll warrant thee Boy.
Did you touch upon my Courage?
His Courage! Ah, in what Latitude does that lie?
Thy Valour Boy! I ſaid thou wert a meer Hercules, Man both in Love and War! I told her you had a large Eſtate, and you were of the antient Family of the O Sharpers in Ireland, dear Joy.
Pox, why in Ireland?
Oh! becauſe the Iriſh-Men carry away all the Fortunes—I ſaid you kept your own Coach too.
I hope you ſaid I had left it in my own Coun⯑try then—
No, no, here Man—I can help thee to a Coach Boy from the Knights to my Lord Dukes: Why, 'tis my Buſineſs I tell thee; if there were occaſion I can have half a dozen Foot-men in Liveries too.
Heark ye Miſtreſs—obſerve my Stature—Humph—A'n't I a handſome Fellow?
Help me to a Fortune now, and you ſhall go halves.
Say you ſo? I'll put you down in my Book; you are not the firſt Servant I have rais'd to a Lady's Bed—as 'tis well known in this Town.
But when muſt I ſee her Mrs. Brazen? I am Impa⯑tient.
See her—but look ye Squire you know the Conditions, when ſhall we Sign and Seal—for you'l grant I muſt live out of my honeſt Endeavours. I'm ſure I take a great deal of Pains for my Thouſand Pounds—up early and down late—then Mercy on me, how do I [23] ſtretch my Conſcience when I am ſetting out one of you young Rogues!
But are you ſure ſhe'l have me?
Sure? I can perſwade them to any thing let me come at 'em. Heark ye under the Roſe, 'tis a Receipt of mine has prevailed with all the old Women to marry of late—
Away! Let's to the Tavern, and over a Cup of mull'd Sack ſeal to thy Demands.
With all my Heart—Come Sirrah, hold up your Head, you are in my Book you Rogue, and that's the High Road to Preferment, Sirrah.
Along then. A hey for Little Equipage.
What think you now Madam—cou'd any thing but a Miſtreſs make him guilty of ſuch Ill-manners, to leave a Lady in diſtreſs ſo long—
Moſt certain—my Patience is quite worn out—I muſt go.
Dear Madam, ſince we have efcap'd hitherto undiſ⯑cover'd, think of him no more.
Don't you trouble your ſelf about that, I ſhan't give him over thus—but do you get me a Chair.
Yes, Madam.
Let me examine my ſelf a little. What have I under⯑taken here—A duce of too much Liberty—If my old Dad had been alive, I durſt not have gone a Ro⯑ver hunting thus. Do I value Reputation—Yes, as much as any Body does—that follows their Inclination— [24] Ay, but whether will that Inclination carry me? Why, not beyond the Rules of Honour, and then—a Fig for the Cenſure of the World, I ſay—Oh! Here he comes.
Now Madam I am entirely yours, pray oblige me with your Commands. I hope you have not been di⯑ſturb'd.
No way but by my Grief Sir—
I long to ſee her Face.
Baniſh Grief, you are here ſecure, lay by Conſtraint—and venture to Unmask—Sparkling Eyes—Lovely Hair—I ſhall run Mad.
I thought I had had your Promiſe not to ask that.
Promiſe Madam—S'Death, I, I, I, faith Ma⯑dam; I won't tell your Husband, if I happen to know him.
Indeed—Indeed, I ſhan't put it in your Power.
Robin, run call out Fire—Thieves, or the Devil—That ſhe may drop her Mask in the Surprize.
Yes Sir, yes Sir, Sir,
Here's Sir Charles coming up.
Sir Charles! I am undone.
For Heaven's ſake, Sir, give me leave to retire; if I am ſeen, I'm ruin'd.
In, in quickly.
Oh! Sir Charles, I have been in ſome Apprehenſions for you, tho' you ſeem'd to diſguiſe the Matter; it was a Duel: Ha!
Something like it.
I ſee thy Sword has not fail'd thee.
No, nor my Shoes neither! I have us'd them pretty fairly ſince I went out—
In Walking?
No in Kicking—'twas the very numerical Coward I told thee of—at the Chocolate-Houſe—When I bid him draw, he ſwore he came to meet a Lady and was not prepar'd for Fighting—deny'd the Challenge, and provok'd me to a warm Breathing. And this was the end of my Adventure.
Ha, ha, ha, I'll be hang'd if 'twas not Mr. Sharper.
The very ſame—a Gentleman told me ſo as I came out of the Park. But prethee Belvill let me go into thy Dreſſing-Room, to put my ſelf a little in Order, after this Heat; Come Robin help me.
Hold, hold, hold!
Why, what's the matter? You han't a Wench there have you?
No, then I wou'd not ſtop you, but 'tis a Woman of Condition.
How my Blood chills—'tis Lucinda.
The ſame; She had a Mind to ſee my Pictures, I know not if ſhe is willing to be ſeen.
You are a Happy Man—Adieu.
Your Servant.
Sir Charles, I am glad to ſee you in Safety; Belvill left me abruptly—to prevent a Duel he ſaid you were ingag'd in—I re⯑ſolv'd to follow and inquire after it.
I am happy if I created the leaſt Concern in you, Madam. Heark ye Belvill, doubtleſs you miſtook the Lady's Name within
Confuſion! She here? Then I am caught.
Well, Sir Charles, all Danger over; now for the Pictures.
What the Devil ſhall I ſay.
Faith Madam you have ſurpriz'd me a little, Batchellor's Lodgings are ſeldom in Order—pleaſe to take one turn in the Garden, and they ſhall be prepar'd for you. Dear Charles bring me off this once, and I'll tell you all hereafter.
Come Madam, there's as many Curioſities in the Garden, as in the Gallery; let him ſet his Things in Order, ha, ha.
Make haſt then for my Uncle will ſtay Dinner.
Madam there's a Chair—I was ſtop'd—
Sweet-heart I want no Chair, my Coach is here.
Oh wretched! What have I done now?
Ah! The Devil wou'd not let me 'ſcape—thus—
So, I apprehend the Diſorder of your Rooms now Sir—
Ha, ſure 'tis Toylet's Voice—then ſhe within ſhou'd be Iſabella—if I muſt Marry her my Honour is concern'd, and I ſhall have occaſion for my Sword in ear⯑neſt—I'll to her Houſe this Moment, e're I upbraid him.
Perfidious Man—to uſe ſuch Artifice to me.
I confeſs it has a Face againſt me, but give me leave, and I will tell you the whole Story—
Say you ſo, but I'll prevent that—
No Sir, you need not, her ſelf will do it.
Gad, with all my Heart—
Let her tell the plain Truth— [27] How came you here Madam?
How came I here, why was it not your own Ap⯑pointment? Are you falſe? Did you not come with Haſt and Rapture, and tell me what Excuſes you had made—to get an Hour the Happieſt of your Life?
S'death and Hell! What's the meaning of this? Did you not tell me Madam?—
Go you are baſe, what Confuſion you are in? Pray Madam what was your Buſineſs here?
My Buſineſs Madam, the ſame with yours I ſup⯑poſe; if I had not lov'd him, I had not come hither; and if you had not been Jealous you had not followed us—My Chair waits—and ſo farewel, your Servant.
Diſtraction! Affronted too—very well, Sir.
Upon my Faith Madam 'tis all a Trick—they are two Devils; was ever Man thus abuſed? Robin run, force them back—I'll unmask them before your Face, and make them confeſs their damn'd Deſign.
Yes, yes, I'll bring them back with a Vengeance; put their Shams upon Gentlemen.
Madam hear me but ſpeak—
No! nor ever ſee thee more—for now I am con⯑vinc'd there is not one of all thy curſed flattering Race—that is not Perjur'd in his turn.
By all the burning Paſſion in my Breaſt, which I feel your Anger blow yet higher—Theſe Women came—
No matter why nor whence they came—ſince I have ſeen them here—Our Converſation ends, approach me not, for by all the torturing Pangs of jealous Love—for I do find it Love, had I a Dagger I'd fix it in thy Heart or mine, ſooner than think of being reconcil'd
'Tis in vain to follow her. So, I thought by my ſelf, what our Platonicks wou'd come to. But who can this [28] Woman be? She is either ſet on, or elſe Egad ſhe's another Platonick, that has taken a liking to my Perſon too.
Well Sirrah, where are they, what ſaid they, what were they?
Devils, Sir, Devils! I believe they vaniſh'd—for I cou'd not find them—
Sirrah you look as if you ly'd.
Faith and ſo I do; I got a Guinea to hold my Tongue.
Raſcal! tell me who they are.
Upon my Faith, Sir, I don't know; but to confeſs the Truth Sir, the Maid pull'd her Mask off, She was ve⯑ry pretty—and ſaid She was in Love with me; and her Lady was a great Fortune, and deſperately taken with you Sir: So I thought 'twas pity to Hurt them, Sir, and let them go—
You did ſo Villain, have they ſtole nothing? Find them out again you Dog, or I'll cut your Ears off—I will be juſtify'd—in Love with you, Vermin—I ſhall have a Surgeon's Bill to pay I ſuppoſe before next Campaign, theſe are common Jilts; call me a Chair, I'll to Lucinda's and uſe her Uncle's Intereſt for my Peace—To be thus plagued for nothing, 'twou'd vex a Stoick—S'death had it been a real Intreague, there had been ſome Conſolation in't, I find Lu⯑cinda's Rage gives me real Pain.
We'l, we'l la you now, la you now Shour and Shour you'l Gally me.
Here's your Ladyſhips Manto and Petticoat.
Ladyſhip, why what a main difference is here between this Town and the Country—I was never call'd above Forſooth in all my Life—Mercy on me, why you ha ſpoil'd my Petticoat mun, zee Peeper, She has cut it in a Thouſand Bits.
Oh, that's the Faſhion, theſe are Furbelows Madam—'tis the prettieſt made Coat—
Furbelow's, a murrain take 'em, they ſpoil all the Zilk—good ſtrange, ſhour London Women do nothing but ſtudy Vaſhions, they never mind their Dairy I warant 'em.
Ladies have no other employment for their Brain—and our Art lies in hiding the defects of Nature—Furbelows upwards, were deviſed for thoſe that have no Hips, and too large ones, brought up the full-bottom'd Furbelows.
And a long Neck and a hollow Breaſt, firſt made uſe of the Stinkirk—and here's a delicate one for your Lady⯑ſhip—I have a Book in my Pocket juſt come from France, Intituled, The Elements of the Toylet—
Elements, mercy on me! what do they get up into the Sky now?
A Learned Author to be ſure—let me ſee that Mrs. Wheedle.
Here Mrs. Peeper, 'tis the Second Volume; the Firſt only ſhews an Alphabetical Index of the moſt notable Pieces which enter into the Compoſition of a Comode.
Well, I ſhall ne'er mind theſe hard Names; Oh Sirs, Peeper, what ſwinging Cathedral Headgeer is this?
Oh, Modiſh French Night-Clothes; Madam, what's here—all ſorts of Dreſſes painted to the Life—Ha, ha, ha, Head-cloaths to ſhorten the Face—Favorites to raiſe the Forehead—to heighten flat Cheeks flying Cornets—four Pinners to help narrow Foreheads and long Noſes, and very forward, to make the Eyes look Languiſhing
Ay, that Peeper, double it down, Oh, I love Languiſhing.
Take it and read it at your leiſure, Madam.
I ſhall never ha done ſhour zeeing all my vine things.
Hy day, what's theſe two pieces of Band-Box for?
'Tis Paſt board Madam, for your Ladyſhip's Rump.
A Rump, ho, ho, ho, has Couſin Isbel a Rump, Peeper?
Certainly Madam.
If Couſin has one, as I hope to be Kiſs'd—I'll have it Mrs. Turnup.
Will your Ladyſhip ſit down and let me ſhape your Eye-brows?
Ods fleſh, the Devil's in you, I think, what will you tear all the Hair off? a murrain take ye, an this be your ſhaping.
Be pleaſed to put on the Addition Madam.
What does ſhe mean now? To pull my Skin off mehap next; ha Peper, are theſe your London Vaſhions?
No, no, Addition is only Paint, Madam.
Paint Miſtreſs, od I've a good mind to hit you a dows o'th' Chops, zo I have, what de ye take me for a Whore, becauſe I'm come to London, ha? Paint quoth a.
Fy, fy, Madam, Women of the firſt Rank think it no Crime to help Nature in the Complexion.
Zay you zo? Nay, my Skin was ever count⯑ed none of the beſt—well we'll zhut the Door then.
There you are in the wrong again, Madam; our Ladies make no ſcruple of letting all the World ſee 'em lay it on—
Well, in my Conſcience and Zoul, they care not what they zhow here—
Madam, your Dancing-Maſter.
O lack, get all you into the next Room, and ſtay for me there.
Madam, you promis'd to hear a word from me about Sir John Sharper—
Zo I will by and by.
Will your Ladyſhip pleaſe to take a Dance?
Pſhaw, I hate your One, Two, Three, teach me a London Dance mun.
I'll lead you a Courant Madam.
Ay, a Rant, with all my Heart, I dan't under⯑ſtand the Names, let en be a Dance, and 'tis well enough.
Hy, hy, do you call this Dancing? ads heartlikins, in my thoughts 'tis plain Walking; I'll ſhew you one of our Coun⯑try Dances; play me a Jig.
Oh dear, Madam you'll quite ſpoil your Steps.
Dan't tell me that—I was counted one of the beſt Dancers in all our Pariſh, zo I was
Ay, round a May-pole—There are Fellows now in this Town ſo wretched, that to purchaſe this Woman's Wealth, wou'd to her Face ſwear ſhe's an Angel.
True; but if they had her once, would uſe her like the Devil—
Madam, your Singing-Maſter.
O la, I can't Dance no more now.
Are you ready, Madam?
Ay, ay, Man.
Fa, la, mi, Sol.
Louk you Friend, I can't ſpeak Out-landiſh, but I intend to learn; I'm to have a Maſter come.
This is not Out-landiſh, Madam, 'tis only the Notes to try your Voice.
Nay, nay, and that be all, I'll zing you a Zong de ye ſee, and ſhow you my Voice ſhour
Madam, you'll not be dreſt in your New Cloaths by that time Captain Belvill comes.
Ods Fleſh well thought on, I can Learn no more this Morning,
But Peeper, when did he zay he'd come?
In two Hours, Madam.
Well, I ſhall Charm him zure—odſo, but where's Couſin Bell to day; you muſt vetch her mun to zee my vine Things, ſhe'll tell me an they be vite or not—
Bleſs me Madam, ſhe's gone away to the Bath, in my Lady Flounce's Coach this Morning.
How! gone a hundred Mile and ne'er bid one Good bye.
Oh dear, Madam, London Ladies ne'er ſtand upon Ceremony—why, Sir Charles Richly that is to marry her, knew nothing of it—he was here juſt now to enquire for her, and was extreamly Surpriz'd.
Ad ſhe'll make a rare Wife I'll war rant her—and ſhe has zuch Frolicks—well, but you zay the Cap⯑tain will come; but an he don't come ſoon, Mrs. Brazon will bring me a Squire, or a Knight, I tell you that.
Oh Madam, Belvill is the Sweeteſt, Nobleſt Gen⯑tleman; beſides, we ſhould Encourage thoſe that Defend us.
Nay, for that matter I dan't mind, I like a Zouldier, but not for that Reaſon, de ye zee, there's Conveniency in't, for now I have learn'd to be a Gentle⯑woman, I'll do as the Gentle Volk do, I'll not have another Husband dangling at my Tail, like our Roger, that I could ne'er ſpend a Shilling at a Wake or a Goſſipping, but I muſt be call'd to an Account for't; but methinks he hangs off mainly.
Shall I tell you, he is reckon'd the Handſomeſt Man in Town, all the Ladies are in Love with him; if you don't mind your Hits, you'll loſe him. The only way for a Widow to ſecure a Young Gentleman, is to let him into her Eſtate; now Madam, did he once ſee the Writings I have ſeen, I'd engage him yours.
But I dan't know if it be ſafe or no, for I remember Roger wou'd never let me zee 'em in all his Life, but now he's Dead—why what care I who zee'n; I'll car⯑ry him to my Trunk and ſhew him all—
Oh Madam, do it decently, I'll fetch out your Trunk, and you ſhall pretend to be looking over ſome Mortgage, and ask his Advice in't.
Ay, ay, Wench, that will do, vetch 'em—
Well, I long till I am Dizned zo I do—come, come.
Zetten down, and let me put on my vine Rigging Wench, Hark! zombody Knocks—
Odſo Mr. Belvil's here—he's come ſooner than he promis'd, which ſhews the greater Paſſion.
A murrain take theſe People, they ſtaid Chat⯑tering ſo long, or I might have been Dreſs'd now; hold a⯑way.
I have kept my Word, Sir, there are the Papers diſplay'd.
Honeſt Peeper—now to keep my Word with this Old Gentleman, who has once more reconcil'd me to his Neice—Ha! Widow, how doſt thou do Widow?
Do you underſtand Law Captain?
No Faith, the Sword's my Profeſſion, yet there are ſome Caſes I underſtand; pray what is yours, Widow?
Louk ye, I can't Read theſe Lawyers Crampt Hand de zee, and I'd pray you look 'em over a little, they may be your own another day.
A long day firſt, if thou—art an Incumbent up⯑on it—with all my Heart; this Induſtrious Wench has wrought her to my purpoſe.
Let me ſee.
An Account of the Eſtate of um, um—
Did not I do it right now?
Oh, Excellent, Madam.
Ay, ay, let me alone for Trivance, and ſiche—
A Deed of Truſt for James Beaumont Eſquire. Ha, the very Writing Sir Thomas mention'd—this muſt along with me—
Why, you are a Fortune for a Lord, Widow.
Nay, nay, dan't Joak—I have ſomething to truſt to you zee Captain; you ſhall have warm Winter Quarters Captain; Ho, ho—
Well ſaid, Widow, I'll Kiſs thee for that I'faith.
Pſhaw, zee now how you all white a Body, but your Breath is zo zweet—
I wiſh I cou'd ſay the ſame by yours.
Od in my mind a ſmells like a Noſegay—pray Captain let me ſmell it again.
Withal my Heart.
I like him mainly; wou'd it was over once, that I might have'm all to my ſelf—
Oh, the Monſter grows ſo Loving, that if Robin comes not to my Reſcue, as I order'd him, I ſhall be Smo⯑ther'd.
Zhour, and zhour, you have Bewitch'd me Captain; I'm all in a trembling Fit, and my Fleſh glows like an Oven zo it does.
Oh, her Condition is eaſily to be gueſs'd; I have been in ſuch a Twitter my ſelf before now.
Sir, Sir! The General ſtays in his Coach to ſpeak with you.
My dear Widow I muſt beg your Pardon at this time.
But when will you come again Captain? they zay 'tis very unlucky to be long a Wooing.
I'll ſpeak to the Man in Black this Evening Widow, and then—
Ay, Ay, I know what's to be done then as well as e're a Londoner of 'em all.
Heark ye I don't think her Rich enough, manage your Affairs with Sir John Sharper, do you hear? But there's thy Fee—
Well I ſhall carry a handzomer Man into Zomerzetſhire than the High-Sheriff of the County: Come [37] Peeper, come in and let me Dreſs, for zhour if I had had all this vine Gear on, a wou'd ha Married me now.—
As much as ever—
A tite Country Laſs, hang me Madam if I ſhou'd know you.
I wou'd not have you, I ought to be diſguis'd for my purpoſe.
But Madam do you think Lucinda does not know her Tenant's Daughter that is coming up to London, which you are to Perſonate?
No, no, She never ſaw her; her Taylor has inform'd me of every Circumſtance; him I have brib'd to my Inte⯑reſt; here he comes, get you gon, you have Belvill's Key, be ready for all my Orders; Act as I directed, and preſerve your Acquaintance with Robin.
Fear me not—
Well Mr. Shread, do you think you can manage this Affair?
Manage it Madam! What is it I can't do for this Purſe? Why Madam I can work Miracles! I can ſteal as much out of a Pair of Breeches as will make a Coat; and for telling a Lye with an honeſt Face, let little Shread alone.
I have been ſo much with my Couſin Dowdy ſince She came to Town, I warrant I hit the Country Dialect—Come, Knock at the Door.
Sir pray let your Lady know here's a young Country-Maid, Farmer Rent-Land's Daughter, come to wait on her.
Come in and I'le acquaint my Lady—
She's coming, and Belvill's here, I ſee his Footman; now if I'm but receiv'd I ſhall be a Spy upon their Actions, watch all their Turns, and break their Meaſures.
How de do Mr. Shread—is this the Daughter of Farmer Rentland, that he writ to me about?
Yes and pleaſe you forſooth Madam, and I have another Letter from Vather in my Pouch—
Madam the Girl is a little Clowniſh, her Father's my Couſin, he writ to me to meet her at the Carriers and bring her to your Ladyſhip.
Very well, your Father's an honeſt Man, he deſires me to let you be in my Houſe till he comes up to Town in order to put you to the Change—you are welcome—She is very pretty. Sweet-heart don't you wonder at this fine City?
I kno'nt how vine 'tis yet, for one can zee nought for Crowd, I ſuppoſe 'tis Vair Time, there's zuch—thruſting and ſqueezing.
She appears Rough to your Ladyſhip, but the Girl has good natural Parts and apt to learn—
I like her Plainneſs, leave her with me, I'll take great Care of her.
Yes, Madam; good bye Couſin.
Good bye—you'l bring my Bundle and my Box—beſure you wait without for my farther Orders.
I will—your Servant Madam.
What's your Name fair Maid?
Dorothy and pleaſe you.
And do you think you ſhall be contented to ſtay with me till your Father comes to Town Mrs. Dorothy?
Contented forſooth! od zhour, and zhour, I ne'er ſaw nought zo Handſome in all the Days of my Breath. Zhour I cou'd look at you all Day.
Does the Country teach Flattery too?
Madam, where are you? we ſhall be too late for the Show.
Zhow! Oh dear forſooth take me with you to zee the Zhow—How my Heart beats.
What pretty Country Girl is this?
One of my Tenant's Daughters; we'll take her with us to your Lodging.
To his Lodgings, mum—now a diſpatch to Toy⯑let. I'll fit you there.
With all my Heart, there's Innocence and Beauty in her Face; if you pleaſe to get ready, Madam, I have only two Words to diſpatch with your Uncle and I'll at⯑tend you.
Here he comes Sir—we'll leave you; Come Mrs. Dorothy.
Yes forſooth—
Ha, Sir Thomas, what wou'd you Reward the Man with that ſhou'd bring you the Writings you deſir'd? ha Friend?
Say [...] thou my Boy! I wou'd give him, let me ſee what wou'd I give him—I wou'd give him as much as I have given to the Lawyers to no purpoſe, which is full Fifteen Hundred Pounds. But haſt thou got 'em my Hero?
Fifteen Hundred Pound, piſh; will you give me your Niece?
Fy, fy, fy, a Wife! Why the Devil ſhou'd a young Fellow's Head run of Marriage?
Becauſe a young Fellow is very much in Love.
Why Love her Boy, I wou'd have thee Love her, but prithee talk no more of Marriage—but let me ſee the Writings.
Love her! Why what does he mean—he wou'd not have me lie with her ſure—See 'em, why here they are—but I muſt know what right you have to theſe Papers Sir. Thomas e'er I part with them, for I wou'd not be guilty of a baſe Action; beſides the Widow and the whole Eſtate is at my Service—I can Marry her.
I had rather ſee thee Hang'd—I'll give you my Honour that nothing ſhall redound to your Diſgrace in this Affair. Surely you may take my Word young Man.
It never ſhall be ſcrupled by me; there, take 'em.
Moſt Joyfully: Ay, theſe are they, let me Em⯑brace thee my Boy for this good Service—But heark ye, don't you Marry that ill-manner'd Jug, the Relict of a cheat⯑ing old Rogue, that has not left a Foot of Eſtate but what he deſerv'd to be Hang'd for.
In my Conſcience this old Fellow wou'd have me Marry no Body; what a Devil does he pretend to? Egad I wiſh he does not lay claim to me for his Son at laſt.
Ha! Sir Charles, what ſay'ſt thou, wou'd not Matrimony agree with thee, if thou lik'd the Woman?
Or with any Man certainly.
Why don't you Marry then Sir Charles?
Becauſe I can't have the Woman I like Sir Thomas, and ſhe that I'm deſtin'd for, neither likes me, nor I her, and to ſhew the true Nature of a Wife before ſhe wears the Title, ſhe's gone to the Bath this Morning without taking Leave.
Nay, if ſhe has ſuch an early Inclination to the Bath, thank thy Stars thou art not Marry'd Boy, for the Bath is a Pregnant Place; I know a Virgin that went there to be cur'd of the Green-ſickneſs, and came back with a Timpany, ha, ha, ha.
Why hark ye, Sir Charles, how will you keep your Word then, no Pretentions to Lucinda, ſince you can't pro⯑duce your Miſtreſs.
How's that, how's that, haſt thou a Mind to my Neice, Knight, ſhe's a witty Baggage, I tell you that, and a weighty one too, twenty Thouſand Pound beſide my Bleſſing, court her, win her, and wear her.
The Devil, what becauſe he has a Title?
And a good Eſtate Belvill, put in that.
Sink the Eſtate, the Brave deſpiſe it.
Yet the Bold fight for't.
No, 'tis for Honour we hazard Life, and Eaſe, to preſerve ungrateful Men like you, in what do's he merit Lu⯑cinda more than I—nor ſhall he dare think of her while I wear this.
Hownot dare! ſuch Language, Sir, I ſhall not take, tho' from a Friend.
Nor a Friend ſhan't take a Miſtreſs from me, Sir.
Mettled Lads i'faith—A Miſtreſs Sir, pray what Hopes have you had relating to that Affair?
Hopes Sir, did not you give me Leave to love her?
But as I take it, that was not Leave to marry her.
Did you not take Pains to reconcile us to Day?
True, becauſe I thought her in the Wrong.
And have you not promis'd ſhe ſhall come to my Lodg⯑ings to ſee the Embaſſadour go by? Do you make any Scruple of letting her be ſeen in my Company.
No, for I don't think thee Scandalous, and ſhe ſhall come to thy Lodgings, and I'll come with her; yet this is nothing to the Purpoſe—Thou art a pretty Fellow faith—but a Little too impudent to expect Twenty Thou⯑ſand Pound, with nothing but a red Coat and a Commiſſi⯑on.
Is this your Probity, I ſhall begin to ſuſpect every Thing, I find why you extorted the Promiſe from me, never to marry her without your Conſent.
You ſhall have no Cauſe to blame me, I am, and will be thy Friend—Sir Charles you are out of Hu⯑mour, never mind the young Warriour, by Mars the God of War, thou haſt my Conſent, addreſs her Man.
So has all the Creation, I think—What a Pox does this old Fellow aim at!—
I am not to be deter'd by his Threats; but 'tis Lucinda muſt decide this.
No, even if ſhe conſent, you ſhall diſpute the Prize with me.
Let it come to that, ye Fates, and ſee how glad⯑ly I wou'd meet thee.
If you are ſo hot, let us diſpatch it now.
With all my Heart—
Hold, hold, I'll have no Fighting this Day, to Mor⯑row as you pleaſe.
Well then, to Day we have done.
I am always to be found; Farewel—
Come put off your ill Humour, and let's go ſee the Show Boy—
Egad this is a ſtrange unaccountable old Gentle⯑man.
LA yee now, la yee now, ſtand away from the Glaſs, will you, loke, loke, I ſhall ne'er adon ſtaring at my zelf, I'm zhour I'm viner than any of our Volk in Taunton; good Sirs, if old Roger Dowdy were alive, and zeen me thiſen, he wou'd zwear I was going to fly away.
Ah Madam, he underſtood no better—I think you look as well as any Lady at Court.
Nea, nea, I always thought I ſhould look like other Volk an I was but Clad as vinely, and zo I us'd to tell Roger, well, and do I zeem zo vitty Peeper, don't thik Band-Box thruſt out ones Tail rarely? Od one might carry a Griſt to Mill on't, as well as on a Packſadde, ho, ho, ho.
You are exact from Head to Foot.
Ay, an't I mun, zee my Shoes;
but theſe zilken Hoſe are woundy Cold; han't I got too many Beauty Spots on, in my Mind now my Vace louks juſt like a Plumb-Cake var all the World— [44] Zhour I ſhall ne'er like thik Head-Gear, one muſt always louk vore-right, vor the Duce a Bit one can zee of either Zide—Faugh, I hate this red Stuff upon my Lips, I can't vorbear liking 'em, and it may be Poiſon for ought I know.
Good Morrow to your Ladyſhip, bleſs me, ſure I'm miſtaken 'tis not the ſame!
The very zame Mrs. Brazen, but am I zo chang'd indeed now?
Chang'd, why you are a Cherubim.
'Parel Sheaps you know.
Why you'll kill Sir John, at firſt Sight, Ma⯑dam.
Oh dear, I hope not.
He waits without poor Gentleman, but lit⯑tle knows the Danger he is in—Shall I admit him Ma⯑dam?
Why realy now Mrs. Brazen, I am zorry the Perſon of Quality ſhou'd loſe his Labour, but I can't help it—He ſhou'd ha com'd zooner, de yee zee vor I'm engag'd.
How Madam, you han't ſerv'd me ſo I hope?—Make a Fool of a Gentleman of his Fortune, that keeps his Coach, and four Footmen, beſides a Valet-de-Chambre, it's a Shame—He cou'd have made you a Lady Madam—
His own Coach, and a Lady, zay yee; nay, nay, don't be in a Paſſion—Od I ſhou'd like a Coach, and Ladiſhip hugely—Shall I zee him Peeper?
By all means ſee him Madam.
Ay but won't the Captain think me valſe hearted then?
Falſe hearted, Madam! Why Ladies here are diſtinguiſh'd by the Number of their humble Servants—
And ſcarce know two Hours before they Marry which to chuſe—There was my Lady Waver, had three Gentlemen fancied her Wedding Cloaths, and then threw Dies which of the three ſhou'd have her—
Ha, ha, ha, by the Maſs that's very pretty, why let him come in then—But do you realy think the Captain won't break his Heart?
Oh, no no, you need not fear that, perhaps He has two or three Miſtreſſes.
My dear Lady I'll fetch him this Mi⯑nute—
Zay you zo, nay an it be the vaſhon, I'm reſolv'd to have as many Zweet hearts as I can get—Here put up my Ban Box, zet my voretop, and bruſh my Gown and make me vity—
So, ſo, you are exact now Madam.
There's the Lady, Sir John.
You need not tell me which is She, ſuch Beau⯑ty is remarkable, her Eyes caſt a Luſtre, bright as the Meridian Sun, which dazles all beholders.
Mercy on me, what high Speaking is this?—Zo I ſuppoſe they talk at Court—Oh dear Sir, you Gentlemen are zo voll of your Jears, that we Country Volk dan't know what to zay to you.
What a Shape is there!
That's my Ban-Box—
What a Complexion!
That's my Paint—Vor they zay my Complexion was but, zo, zo,—
What Ruby Lips!
I'm glad to hear that—I was affraid I had lick'd it all off.
I ſwear he is a well bread Gentleman.
A Courtier every Inch of him.
Oh Mrs. Brazen, if you have brought me to the Sight of all theſe Charms, and ſhe ſhou'd prove in⯑exorable.
Goodneſs forbid.
Oh I'm a dead Man Mrs. Brazen—No Com⯑paſſion Madam, for a poor dying Lover—
Speak Comfort to him Madam, he is juſt ready to Swoon.
Why, what can I zay Mrs. Brazen—Will the Gentleman drink a little Cherry-Brandy—
Brandy Madam, ads Heart, is that a Cordi⯑al for a dying Lover—
Why 'tis my Cordial when I'm not well, Mrs. Brazen.
A Word, a Look, a Smile revives him.
Good Sirs, is it poſſible you can be zo zmitten Sir?
It is the firſt Wound I e'er receiv'd, tho' I have given Thouſands, and met my Enemies in Clouds of Smoak, and Sheets of Fire, and with this good Sword have made my Way—
Ah dan't draw it good Sir—He is a brave Souldier I warrant him.
I proteſt Madam, I begin to pitty him—You can never let ſuch a great Man die.
Ay but then the Captain will die, what ſhall I do?
Do Madam, let's go into your Cloſet, and taſt ſome of your Cherry-Brandy; oh dear, oh dear—I am very Faint, take her by the Hand, Sir John.
Indeed I can't, for to tell you the Truth, I am promis'd—
Promis'd—I'll hunt the World but I will find my Rival out, rip up his Breaſt, and upon my Sword's Point ſend you the Heart you doat on.
Oh hold you, hold you, good Sir John—What zhall I do to prevent Murder?
Give him your Hand, and take him into your Cloſet, I ſay, there we'll appeaſe him I warrant you.
Well, well, come into the Cloſet then; mer⯑cy on me, I was never zo lov'd before zhour.
Now for my Thouſand Pound—
Pretty well for the firſt Time; now to try how Generous he'll be to me—If you don't disburſe Sir John, for all your Go between, I'll ſooner match my Miſtreſs to your Valet, I promiſe you that.
Well, and what haſt thou got to treat us Boy? ha!
You ſhall have what you will Sir Thomas, this Lady ſhall name.
Uncle you retain the old Country Cuſtom, all for Eating and Drinking; I am for the Show.
But what ſays my little Somerſetſbire Laſs, I warrant a Cheeſecake wou'd go down with you now.
No I thank you Zir, my Belly's full evads, my thinks this is a huge vine Houſe.
And in Troth thou art huge Pretty, are all the Farmers Daughters in Somerſetſhire thus Handſome?
Yes indeed, and Handſomer too.
Neice I'll gather your Rents next Year in that Country my ſelf—I will.
So Mrs. Dorothy, I think you have made a Conqueſt here.
I don't know what you mean Madam.
I'faith this is a pretey Rogue.
But this Room do's not look upon the Pall-Mall.
No Madam, but the next does; open the Door Robin.
I never ſaw the Key ſince the ſtrange Women were here.
What, Whiſpering again!
You careleſs Raſcal, here take my Key.
The Devil, the Devil—
Inhuman Monſter, muſt I be expos'd—
Expos'd, 'tis I am expos'd; Confuſion, another Woman.
How, how's this Belvill—What, forgot to let your Miſtreſs out this Morning? ha!
My Miſtreſs, 'sdeath, Hell and Furies—
Do not counterfeit Surpriſe, this is a palpable Abuſe.
Why truly Neice it do's appear a Sort of an Abuſe as a Man may ſay; but let's hear what Defence he can make—
Defence—I hope it needs none; what End cou'd I have in this—I'm ſure it looks more like a Trick upon me.
What mean you Sir, do you ſuſpect I'd give my ſelf the Trouble to put a Trick upon you—Oh Auda⯑cious!
Hold, hold, no hard Words before we know for what.
Get you off, get you off.
Nay, nay, egad I'll ſee whether you be Fleſh and Blood, Spirit, or the Devil.
Ah, if this Fool perſiſts we are diſcover'd—I muſt ſhew him my Face—You know not what you do, 'tis I.
I, and how came I hither?
I long'd to ſee you, and that I might charm you the more, I dreſt my ſelf in my Miſtreſſes Cloaths, and [49] came in hopes to meet you alone, being caught, I was forc'd to ſay any thing, let me go, or we ſhall never meet again.
Get you gone, if my Maſter finds it out, my Bones will pay for it.
Abſurdity! It has indeed a Face of Truth to have People haunt your Lodgings that you know nothing of.
Nay, now I zee 'tis true what we Country Volk zay, that the London Men are all as valſe as the Devil.
What gone again—Raſcal, which Way went ſhe? Why did not you ſtop the Fiend, for 'twas a Fiend I am ſure.
If you think ſo Sir, why ſhould you be Angry? For who cou'd ſtop the Devil.
I'll make you fetch the Devil Sirrah if ſhe be gone.
I'll try Sir.
Nay, nay, that's ſending the Devil after his Dam, as we zay in Zomerſetſhire, my poor Judgement tells me, he's no vit Perſon to zend after her zhour.
Right, his Man doubtleſs is in the Secret—Even this Innocent cau find out your Deceit.
Deceit, ſtay here Dog.
With all my Heart.
Madam ſend who you pleaſe—'sdeath.
Let me go forſooth, I'm zhour I know her Gown agen—I minded her when ſhe ſliv'd off.
Ay, ay, let little Roſie Cheek go—Why what a Buſle is here about a Gipſie—But thoul't not find the Way back my Girl.
Oh never vear me, I've an Engliſh Tongue in my Head—I've vound the Way over Heaths, Copſes, and Commons you'd be maz'd in.
Your Words are vain, back to the Nations you have been bred in, where Women are ſo coming to your Wiſhes, there needs no Truth nor Conſtancy.
Truth—I think Truth's my Foe, for I never made ſo much uſe of her to ſo little Purpoſe in my Life, I believe you wiſh'd a Quarrel, and wanted only Opportunity, elſe what I've ſaid wou'd have convinc'd you.
Believe ſo ſtill, and ſee my Face no more.
Why Neice, Neice, won't you ſtay for little So⯑merſetſbire—She's gone—Look ye now, did not I tell you Matrimony wou'd not agree with you, yet you wou'd Marry I warrant—Take my Word for't, you are not made for one another.
I wiſh we had never ſeen one another.
I ha vound her ifaith.
Ha, and who is ſhe?
A very vine Lady I aſure you that, but where's Mi⯑ſtreſs? var I ſhan't tell you what zhe zaid to me.
Oh ſhe's gone ſtark Mad Child—Prethee tell as Reaſonable Folks—
Said, why did'ſt thou ſpeak to her?
Yes marry did I, and ſhe got into a huge vine Coach, zo zhe did, and call'd me into her, and pull'd off her Vizard, and zhow'd me the vineſt Vace that ever I zaw, zhour, and zhour 'twas as bright as the Zun, ſhe zaid ſhe was in Love with you to diſtraction mun, and vow'd ſhe wou'd have you whatzomever it coſt her.
What a confounded Lye has this Country Toad told? And egad I dare not contradict her.
Why hark ye Belvill, don't your Chops water at this Story, ha? My Hero! adod thou wert wrapt up in thy Mother's—Faith thou wert, thou wert I faith Boy—
Piſhaw, ſhe does not know a Woman of Condition from an Orange Wench—Some tawdry Drab in a Hack⯑ney-Coach.
He makes very bold with my Miſtreſs truly.
Nay this was no Stage Coach I'm Zhour, it was as rich and as full of Toſſels, as Squire Penſilly's laſt Exeter Zize.
What not warm yet? Why it may be a Dut⯑cheſs for ought you know—
The Devil—Sir Thomas, either reconcile me once more to your Niece, or by Jove I'll diſcover the Grand Secret, and ſet the Widow upon your Back.
Here's a Dog now, in my Conſcience, I be⯑lieve you'd make a good States Man—Sirrah, what the Action you do in the Morning, will you be ſuch a Rogue to Peach in the Afternoon?
I'm out at all this—Sure he was born without Curioſity—Or is grown Conſtant to torment me.
But Sir, zhan't we go home to my Lady? Mahap Zhee may be Zick She's vext zo.
And pretty Creature won't you ſpeak for me?
No by my Troth ſha'n't I, I believe you are valſe, zo I do.
Come along Dolly.
Ah ſuch an Eye, an ſuch a—Come along Dolly—Let me ſee you in the Evening, de you hear Belvill, and if the Lady comes again with Squire Penſilly's Coach, ſtrike her Boy, ſtrike her.
Your Zervant, Sir.
What will be the Event of this?—What Wo⯑man cou'd this be?
Ha, ha, ha.
Why do you Snear Sirrah?
Ah Sir, I wou'd tell you, if I durſt—
What is't you wou'd tell me? Out with it.
Ay, but will you forgive me, Sir?
If thou canſt explain this Riddle, I will.
Why then Sir, all that this Country Wench has told you, is a notorious Lye.
How do you know that?
Becauſe Sir, the Woman that was here is a Miſtreſs of mine, who lodges at the next Door.
A Miſtreſs of yours Sirrah in that Garb—What was her Buſineſs, and how do you know it?
Sir, ſhe ſhew'd me her Face, and told me ſhe came to ſee me, the Cloaths ſhe ſaid were her Ladies, I ſuppoſe ſhe had a Mind to captivate me, 'tis the very Maid to that very Lady that you left in your Lodgings to Day Sir, and ſhe told me too by the by, Sir, that her Miſtreſs is no more marry'd than you are.
There muſt be ſomething in this more than I can find out—Egad I'll endeavour to ſee her at leaſt—Hark ye Sirrah, fetch me this Woman inſtantly.
Od ſo, yonder ſhe goes—
They may talk what they will of Spain, but for my part, I think the Engliſh Women can manage an Intreague with the beſt of them.
Here ſhe is Sir, trembling Ripe, anſwer for your ſelf now.
Pray tell me Miſtreſs, why is my Lodgings your Randezvous, and what do you deſign by thoſe Ap⯑pearances?
Diſſembling Varlet, to betray me to thy Ma⯑ſter—Look ye Sir, ſince I'm caught, the Truth ſhall out; for my Part I only obey'd the Commands of my La⯑dy, as we Servants muſt you know.
Very good, but prethee who is your Lady Child?
Ay there's the Query—
It's my Lady Elizabeth Lovemore, a great Heireſs, and very beautiful, but I can't help ſaying I think her a lit⯑tle Mad to run after you, when there's fifty dying for her.
Humph!—And is ſhe ſo very Handſome doſt thou ſay?
A reigning Toaſt—admir'd even by her own Sex, and then you muſt allow ſhe's Handſome indeed—
Now I queſtion if it would not puzzle Patridge the Almanack Maker, to find out whether this Wench Lyes or not?
And where do's this beautiful Lady of thine live, ha?
In Golden-Square the third Houſe of the Right-Hand.
There I have trapt you Gentlewoman, don't you Lodge at next Door.
Yes, what then? Can't my Lady Lodge me at any Door that ſhe pleaſes, when 'tis A Propo.
This is a whimſical Tale, however I reſolve to ſee the End of it, name your Time when I may ſee this fair In⯑cognita; I'm not obdurate faith, ſhe ſhan't die, aſſure her that.
If ſhe do's he muſt have chang'd his Nature with the Country.
A Meſſenger in the Evening ſhall bring you to the Houſe.
I'll expect it, 'tis in vain for me to think of Conſtan⯑cy, the Devil is ſure to throw ſomething in my Way, to hinder my pious Reſolutions.
I'm of your Mind Sir, and for my Part I have not found this ſingular Paſſion turn to any Account with me, ſince you begun, therefore Sir, if you'd take my Advice, e'en arm your ſelf with a Bottle of Burgundy, that you may at⯑tack your new Miſtreſs with the better Courage.
But Pox I find Lucinda ſtill ſticks here—
Nothing like a Glaſs to waſh her away Sir.
It ſhall be ſo—
Good Heavens, who wou'd wiſh to be a Woman? Nature's unerring Laws are ſtill the ſame as when ſhe form'd the Order of the World—But Cuſtom has de⯑bauch'd her Rules, and given Tyrant Men pretence to glory in their Falſhood—What Libertine e'er loſt a Friend for being ſo? Nor ſtands he leſs in Fame for perjur'd Vows, that has betray'd a Thouſand truſting Maids, whilſt we for every trifling Fault condemn'd, become the Subject of li⯑centious Tongues, yet ſure our Crimes are Regiſtred alike in the great Impartial Book above—
Madam, Sir Charles Richley to wait on you.
Bring him up—
tho' I'm in no Hu⯑mour to Entertain—
Do I not invade your Privacy Madam? There ſeems a Melancholly ſettled on your Brow.
I confeſs Sir Charles I'm under ſome diſorder.
Happy the Man for whom thoſe Sighs are paid, as I am wretched in Deſpair.
Ha!
Oh Belvill, unworthy of ſuch Love or Beauty.
Nam'd you not Belvill, Sir? What of him.
I did—May not a Wretch that's Raving in a Feaver expreſs his eager Wiſhes for the Bowl, which he ſees his healthful Friend paſs by untaſted.
I underſtand you not.
Why ſhou'd I conceal the Burning Pain, when perhaps another Opportunity may never offer—I love [55] you Madam, not with a looſe ungarded Flame, but all the Faculties of my Soul are center'd in you.
How—Wou'd you ſupplant your Friend? Is this like a Man of Honour?
Oh I had died in Silence, had not he, the happy he provok'd me, he threaten'd me like a Boy, he threaten'd me, if I preſum'd to own my Paſſion—
Then 'tis me he Loves above the reſt, alas! how apt are we to flatter our Diſeaſe.
And cou'd you hope, that I ſhou'd liſten to an ungrateful Man?
Alas! too much you do—and ſince when next Belvill and I meet—Fate only knows the Conſe⯑quence—Let me beg this Favour, tho' I confeſs 'tis boldneſs, to ask if you deſign Belvill for your Husband?
You take indeed a Liberty beyond what I expected from you, but I'll not diſguiſe the Truth, of all Men living, Belvill made the firſt Impreſſion in my Heart, and cou'd he clear himſelf of this late Accident, I think I ſhou'd prefer him.
Now who's ungrateful, he or I? Had I ſuch Hopes, what Crowns Shou'd Bribe me to forſwear the Marriage?
How's that? Take heed how you traduce him, am I ſo cheap, that he ſhou'd Swear he wou'd not Wed me, Confuſion! 'tis Falſe, and were he here, you durſt not for your Soul affirm it.
Yes, ſince you have hear'd me, if a thouſand Points were levell'd at my Breaſt, I wou'd maintain it, and in the Face of Death proclaim he ſaid, he had Sworn never to Marry you.
Sworn, oh Impudence! Oh weakneſs in my ſelf to liſten to an unknown Villain, his Mercenary Soul ne'er harbour'd generous Thoughts: He ſhou'd have been with Gold rewarded for the Buſineſs of his Sword, and the Defence he made againſt Midnight Robbers paid with Money, not a Heart. What did his baſe degenerate Soul [56] hope I ſhou'd yield to looſe Deſires? And durſt he make his Friend his Confidant? Deſtraction! The bare Idea warms me to Revenge, and turns me all to Fury.
What have I ſaid? Oh let me Madam, tho' againſt my ſelf atteſt that in all our Converſation from our firſt Aquaintance, I never knew him ſwerve from Honour, what e'er his Reaſons were to Swear it—
Revoke not what thou haſtſaid, but, hence be⯑gone, and leave me to my Self, for Tygers, Wolves and Serpents are leſs hurtful than thy barbarous Kind.
Your Commands do's like the Hand of Fate forbid my Stay—But oh! remember 'tis the faithful⯑leſt of your Slaves Obeys you.
So, Sir Charles is gone—His Exit is my Cue, may his Love ſucceed I ſay—I'll help it as forward as I can—What an Air ſhe gives her Self—The ve⯑ry bare imagination of ſlighted Love is the Devil I find—Oh vorſooth an't you well, will you pleaſen that I ſhall get you zomewhat—
Alas poor Innocence 'tis not in thy Power, to aſſwage the Torment of my Mind—didſt thou e'er meet with an ungrateful Swain?
No, no they are all true in our Country, I heard of but one valſe, and he had been at London—But you don't ask me about the toping Lady, I vollow'd from the Vine Gentleman's Lodgings.
I had forgot it, didſt thou ſee her—
Did I, yes I did zhour.
And what was the Creature?
Nay, he can tell you that vorſooth better than I, for they are mainly well acquainted, I vound that—
Ha! how didſt thou find it? Did the ugly Thing tell thee?
Nay in troth, ſhe is not ugly vorſooth—tho' I hate her for your Sake—
Faithful, kind, good natur'd Creature.—
She gin me this Silver Book, and writ down where ſhe lives, and deſires you of all Love to let her Zee you this Evening, and ſhe'll tell you all, I did not zay one Word to him on't.—
A plain Direction—I thought never to have concern'd my ſelf with this vile Man's Affairs, but I'll detect him throughly—then throw him from my Heart for ever—
I hope ſo e'er I have done.
Well, I proteſt you are a waggiſh Man, Lord how you have rouzl'd and touzl'd one?—All my Rigging hangs as if 'twas zhaked on with a Zhed Vork, as the old Zaying is—
Ay there's a Man for you now Widow, ah wou'd I were in your Place, a brisk young Dog I Faith, I ask your Pardon, Sir, John, I'm a little Free—But 'tis my Way and Madam's Cherry Brandy was ſo good—
Will you have t'other Cup, Mrs. Brazen? Ads lid my Hearts Open.
Nay then take a Souldier in that will defend the Breach Widow.
Zhaw you ſpoil all ones Rump, you zqueeſe one zo—In troth I think him main handſom—
Matters go rarely, if no Devil croſs it, I ſhall come in for my Wages at laſt.
How ſtands Taunton Dean now Widow? Ha!
what's here a Rival?
Oh the Devil! this fighting Fellow here, we are all unravell'd I doubt?—
I fear ſo too—I hate this Spark, he has too much Sence for me to get any Thing by him.
Let me ſee who are you?
What do you pretend to, ha? Hold up your Head, ha, ha, ha, ha.
Oh dear Sir, what do you do, you'll ſpoil all, did not you ſay—
Look ye
I don't care what I ſaid, I'll take Care of the Widow.
Ah dear Belvill don't prevent my Fortune.
Don't tell me of your Fortune, was not you kickt this Morning?
Anſwer me that.
So, if my Contrivance ruins all now, I ſhan't come in for a Souce.
A duce take you for bringing your drunken Maſter here, when we were upon the Point of Concluding.
What wou'd you have me do with him?
Widow, why Widow I tell you
this Scoun⯑drel ſhan't have you Widow.
Stand away Mrs. Brazen, look yee Sir, Mat⯑ters are gone varder than you think vor, and don't zhow none of your drunken Frolicks here, de yee zee, for I va⯑lue them not a Ruſh—What zhour I ne'er broke Gold with yee—
No matter for that, I'll ſhew you your Bargain Wi⯑dow, and then I have done—He is—
A Plague of ill Luck.
He is Widow—
What is he, uds lid dan't you affront any ci⯑vil Gentleman in my Houſe, I dan't love yee well enough de yee zee to bear that; what is he now, what is he, he is a Man I hope.
Sweet Captain.
'Sdeath Sir, what do ye mean?
Don't exalt your Voice Sirrah;
don't I know you for a very Poltron, noted for your Cowardice, and kick'd out of all Converſation for your Lying—So Widow, I have warm'd ye—Now Robin I'll go Home and ſleep till the Hour of Aſſignation—
A Rival's Rage, ſtark Mad, he has loſt you Madam.
Come how de yee, Sir John, od my Heart goes apit apat, I was woundy afraid yee wou'd have fit.
No, no, he knew your Preſence hindred me from drawing, elſe I'd ha made a Cartridge of his Skin, and pounded his Fleſh into Gun-Powder.
A dod he has a World of Courage.
Ah Madam, you'd ſay ſo, if you had ſeen what I have ſeen.
Od I am glad I'ſcap'd this drunken Rogue, but hold yee, hold yee, he can't ha no Claw upon my E⯑ſtate, can ha, 'cauſe I ha kept him Company?
He—Marry Sir John, Madam, I'll ingage ye ſecure.
Come Madam, ſpeak a kind Word, my Coach waits at the Door, let's go take the Air.
And a Glaſs of good Canary.
Of all Liquours indeed Zack Wine pleaſes me beſt. For the Air, de yee Zee that's but little, it all zmells of Zea-Coal.
So, there's Hopes agen.
Do, Madam go.
I don't know how to deny them, they are ſuch courteous Volk.
Mrs. Brazen, before the Marriage is over, you muſt ſecure me my Hundred Pound.
I will, I will.
WELL, my Wit will let me no farther into this Deſign, when you have brought 'em hither, do you imagine it poſſible to deceive 'em any longer, Madam?
If I pleaſe it is—But my Plot draws towards an End—If when I diſcover my ſelf, he ſhou'd ſtill retain his Love for her—I have reap'd this Advantage however by it, I ſhall get rid of that odious Contract, for I can prove that Sir Charles made violent Love to Lucinda, and will [61] force him to releaſe me, on that pretence I'll fix the Rea⯑ſon of my Frolick, if Belvill's falſe, but never think of Love again.
I wiſh the Pains you have taken to get free from one, and try the Conſtancy of the other, do's not caſt a Reproach upon your Fame.
That I weigh'd before, the Cenſure of the World is guided by Prejudice, or Partiality, and not worth my Care, I depend on none, and can juſtify my Conduct to my ſelf—
I'm glad on't with all my Heart, I fancy you'll have a Tryal of Patience, for I dare ſwear Belvill and Lucinda are reconcil'd again, they will find you out Madam in your Roguery.
If they be, I fancy I ſhall break the Peace once more, and make the Breach yet wider; is every Thing in order, have you told my Footmen what Name I wear at preſent.
Yes Madam, and they have put on all their ſtrange Liveries, and ſtare, and ask a thouſand Queſtions, but I ſeal'd their Mouths with your Ladyſhip's Gratuity.
Very well, be ready to admit her, for I know ſhe'll inſtantly be here, I left her upon the Teaze.
Bleſs me Madam, ſhe's coming.
Now for my Tragical Face.
She appears indeed no common Beauty.
I doubt not, Madam, your Surpriſe at my Deſire to ſee you here, but when you ſhall know the Ties I have to that falſe Man, ungrateful Belvill, I'm ſure you will for⯑give me.
Our Sex are too apt to credit the Appearances of Truth from the proteſting Tyrants—I have Reaſons to ſuſpect [62] Belvil baſe, and long to know your Story—Sure my Eyes deceive me, or ſhe reſembles much the Country Maid I have at Home—But 'tis impoſſible; Betty take the Coach, and fetch Dorothy hither.
Yes Madam.
I ask your Pardon—Some Orders to my Maid, and now I'm all Attention.
Humph, I gueſs thoſe Orders, but no matter.
Madam I was born many Leagues from hence in Flanders, my Name is Donna Clara; 'twas my hard Fate to ſee this Captain Belvill, there he Conquer'd me, as few I think can make Reſiſtance to his Charms, I Marry'd him, gave him my Heart and Fortune, the laſt was I'm ſure too great to be deſpis'd.
Marry'd, oh the harden'd Villain!
Nay, and what ſhou'd have endear'd him more to me, my Wedlock Joys were bleſt with a lovely Boy, his perfect Image, in his Parents Time become an Or⯑phan.
Oh the deteſted Monſter! What a Precipice have I eſcap'd—Go on thou injur'd Fair, and be aſſur'd I will aſſiſt thee.
He ſaid his Buſineſs call'd him to this Country, and left me with the firm Promiſe of his endleſs Faith—I writ, and writ, but ſtill no Anſwer came; at length, di⯑rected by my Headſtrong Love, I follow'd him, but oh how Cold was my Reception! He forthwith charg'd me I ſhou'd change my Name, and as I priz'd my Life, not to declare my Marriage—I obey'd in all, nay even ſupply'd him to my own undoing, but being inquiſitive to find the fatal Cauſe of this ſad Alteration, I learnt 'twas you.
Oh how I hate my ſelf for having been the In⯑nocent Author of ſuch Wrongs.
'Twas I caus'd that diſturbance in his Lodgings, nor durſt I ſhew my Face, dreading his Rage, I have no Friend in England and am moſt Forlorne—
Methinks there's Sympathy in Woes like theſe which melt me into Pitty—Which Way can I retrieve me in your loſt Opinion, or how redreſs your anxious Sor⯑rows?
He ſent Word he'd inſtantly be here, tell him the Ills he has committed, but reproach him gently.
Be ſure I'll tell him.
And doubtleſs he'll deny it with Imprecations, but I'll be near to Second you.
The Devil's in him now if he don't long to ſee the Woman has made all theſe Stories on him—
Madam, my Maſter—
The perfidious Traytor ſhocks me.
A Trembling ſeizes me all o'er permit me to re⯑tire till you have taxt him.
Do, and compoſe your Self.
Well, where's this Loving Lady of yours?
Ay too loving for you baſe Man.
Ha Lucinda—Trapt agen—now ſparkling Champain aſſiſt me—why this is kindly done—and yet faith 'tis not fair neither, why did not you ſend your own Name, I did but Gallop now, I ſhou'd have flown then.
Oh unparrallel'd Confidence, how cam'ſt thou by that honeſt looking form, haſt thou not a Cloven Foot?
Humph ha! egad I think not.
Stand off thou vile Contagion, bear to thy Injur'd Wife thy boaſted Paſſion.
Wife!
She well deſerves what ever thou can'ſt pay.
The Devil ſhe do's.
Nor can thy Future Life attone the Wrongs thou haſt done her.
Done her, who a Pox is ſhe—Wife—Death, what do you mean Madam?
Ay he may well ask that Queſtion.
Oh Aſſurance! You don't know Donna Clara, whom you eſpous'd in Flanders?
Donna Clara, Donna Fury, Madam, this is too much.
Too much indeed thou ſteel'd Impoſture, could'ſt thou abandon ſo much Beauty in her blooming Pride, even when Nature to augment thy Joys had bleſt thee with a Son.
Death, Madam, you make me Mad, a Son! it may be ſo, tho' hang me if I know any thing of the Matter.
Nor you don't know that you're in her Houſe I ſup⯑poſe neither?
Not I faith—I don't know whoſe Houſe it is, nor do I care three Farthings; go on with your Banter—Donna Clara—A Son, Wife, and the Devil.
Come forth Madam, and confront this Traytor. Now, Sir, do you ſtart?
Ha! whoſe this—What do's ſhe intend?
Forgive me, Sir, that I have reveal'd the Secret, but my impatient Love no longer cou'd endure a Rival.
Secret, what do's ſhe mean? Egad ſhe's very hand⯑ſome, pray Madam, who are you, Donna Clara, or the Lady Elizabeth Lovemore?
Oh wretched! am I then forgotten?
Sink me if I Remember you.
Oh that my Uncle now were here, that I at once might blaſt his Hopes, and baniſh him our Houſe for ever—Riſe Madam, he is not worth your tender Care—Do's not thy Soul reflect upon thy Actions, and ſhew thy Guilt as black as Hell?
Damnation, Madam what deſign ye by theſe Pre⯑tences?
What did you deſign baſe Man in your Addreſs to me?
'Twas your Beauty, Madam, made him Falſe; Oh do not chide Him, cruel as he is I love him ſtill.
'Gad I'll have ſome Revenge for her Plot.
Do'ſt thou ſo my dear pretty Creature, well thy Ver⯑tue has overcome me, here where are my
Servants, let the Bed be made this Minute, I'm impa⯑tient till I have thee in my Arms, Madam, you'll fling the Stocking? I'll fancy it is again my Wedding Night, and my beautious Wife not yet enjoy'd.
Oh! you know her now, Sir.
Heavens! what ſhall I do now, what have I drawn upon my Self here?
And how do's my Charming Boy, is he with you?
Sir, I, I, I.
Ha, ſhe Stammers and bluſhes.
By all my Joys thou art more charming than when I firſt embrac'd thee, thy Breath is Jeſſamine, thy Bo⯑ſome ſweeter than Beds of Roſes.
For Honour's ſake ſtand off, hear me and I'll confeſs the Truth.
Ha!
Oh Madam! Dorothy's gone, the Servants tell me ſhe call'd for a Coach in another Air, and away ſhe flung like Lightning—
More Riddles.
But here's your Uncle and Sir Charles.
Ha, Sir Charles, I ſhall be expos'd—but muſt re⯑ſolve to bear it out.
Oh Uncle, I am glad you are come to prove the Baſeneſs of your Favourite.
How, how, my Boy baſe?
He's Marry'd, yet impudently deny'd it to her Face; ſhe follow'd him from Flanders, there ſhe ſtands, and I believe you'll think ſhe meritted kinder Uſage.
Then Madam he is not ſo culpable as you ima⯑gin'd, he had reaſon for his Oath.
And haſt thou ſhot the Gulf of Matrimony my Lad ha?
So it ſeems, Sir Thomas.
Why let me ſee thy Wife then—What de ye turn your Back? You need not be aſham'd of my Boy, my Hero Madam.
How, Iſabella!
Yes Iſabella, I hope you have no Pretentions to Iſabella.
Piſhaw, you miſtake Man, this is Donna Clara.
Who the Devil's Iſabella?
I'm ſurpris'd; pray explain this to me, for only I am in the Dark.
Why did notyou ſay 'twas his Wife?
I thought ſo—
He do's not, or he will not know me—
I own I have gone beyond my Sex and Quality, but it was to purchaſe Liberty, and break a forc'd Contract with that perfidious Man who paid his Vows to you.
I ſhou'd not have put you to this Trouble Ma⯑dam, if you had let me known your Mind ſooner.
What, am I then a Property, am I a Perſon fit to be Abus'd?
Why then thou art not Marry'd, Man—Have Patience Neice.
I can have none, and will renounce Mankind.
Faith and Troth but thou ſhalt not.
What Devil has poſſeſt thee with ſuch Indifference for a Woman ſo charming, Sir Charles, had not Lucinda en⯑groſs'd my Heart, I cou'd adore this Beauty, and make my only Requeſt, to be what but now ſhe call'd me, Husband.
Some kind Angel inform him who I am, and ſave my Bluſhes.
She never thought me worth her Conqueſt.
Nor ever will—
Short and Pithy—
Now Madam, I hope my Innocence is clear'd.
I am convinc'd—I ſuppoſe Madam you were my Farmer's Daughter too—
I was indeed Madam, at your Service—Toylet, and this was the Lady in your Lodgings; when we were there, I keep my Word with you, Sir, you ſee I confeſs all.
Now Madam, ſince your Uneaſineſs has diſcover'd your Love, pray let the Parſon make an End of our Plato⯑nicks.
What do I hear?
I ſee a real Paſſion cannot be diſguis'd—
Hold, hold, I forbid the Banes.
Bleſt Sound.
What! do you know of another Marriage Sir Thomas, ha?
No, but I know that which you don't know, Boy—Why I'll hold you Fifty Pound you don't know your own Name—
No, that's very hard indeed.
As hard as it is, 'tis true—What's your Name now?
James Belvill, I never had any other Name that I know of.
Why look ye there now, did not I tell you, you did not know your Name, then there's the Wrigtings again, you young Dog you, which intitles you to Two Thouſand a Year, and James Beamont Sirrah, ha, ha.
How's this, my Name?
As ſure as he's thy own Brother Girl.
My Brother!
My Siſter!
What is this he I have ſo often heard you lament? Why did you conceal it from me thus long?
Her Brother, oh lucky Turn!
Becauſe I was reſolv'd he ſhould get the Wri⯑tings of his Eſtate before he was known, that he might not be plagu'd with Law as I have been.
Then Lucinda's free. Oh Tranſport—Dear Sir Thomas unfold.
Thus then, My Brother was a Merchant, a thriving Man, there were not ſo many Privateers Abroad in his Time, nor the French ſo powerful.
Very well, go on Sir Thomas—I ſhall have a Fa⯑ther at laſt—
This Daughter, upon his Death-Bed he be⯑queath'd to me, you his Son he did not think fit to truſt in my Hands, being wheedled by that old Rogue Roger Dowdy his Steward, who inſinuated that I being next Heir, was not proper for your Guardian, ſo prevail'd with my Brother to let him have you, and with you the Writings, Care and Management of the Eſtate—
Happy Story.
Then you are my Uncle, Sir—
Certainly Boy.
But how are you ſure this is my Brother, Sir.
If you'll give me Leave, dear Madam, you ſhall hear.
Your Father left Effects in Spain, whether Dowdy went to adjuſt 'em, and with him took this proper Fellow, then an Infant; at his Return pretended he was Dead, and produc'd a forg'd Will, wherein he was left my Brother's Heir, in caſe of your Death; but I had private Intelligence from Spain, that he had Boarded you there, and chang'd your Name to Belvill—I have ever ſince been in Law with him till he dy'd: I got him into Chancery which we call the Court of Equity, but 'tis the Court of the Devil, for the old Raſcal brib'd the Lawyers ſo high, that I have hung there theſe Twenty Years.
Oh how my Heart leaps at this Relation.
I ſent for you ſeveral Times, but the Diſtance of Place, and the Man that had the Care of you being a Soldier, you was ſtill remov'd, at laſt I loſt my Intelligence of you in the Spaniſh Netherlands, till that lucky Night that brought you to our Houſe, and being weary of Law, I put you upon that Stratagem to get the Writings.
It agrees with every Circumſtance of my Life; thus let me pay you a Son's Duty for your Care;
and now Siſter let me Embrace you with a Brother's Love.
And all my Paſſion ſhall be turn'd to a Siſter's Fond⯑neſs—Whilſt what I as a Lover lik'd, I recommend to fair Iſabella.
Iſabella, oh that Name rouzes a Thought within my Breaſt, which I cou'd wiſh for ever loſt, ſince the Cauſe is never to be found.
You do not wiſh to find it I preſume, our Inclinati⯑ons may poſſibly alter with the Air, we do not breath the ſame in London which we did in Paris.
Ha!
You have learnt from the Beau-mond, that the Con⯑verſation of a Drawing-Room is beyond that of a Grate.
By Heaven 'tis ſhe, my Iſabella,
for whom I've ſearcht, and ſigh'd ſo long, now I am bleſt indeed.
What, another turn?
Pray unriddle this Brother.
You ſhall know it all at large within; let this ſuffice at preſent, this Lady is my Wife by Promiſe, five Years ago in France we plighted Faiths, and nothing now ſhall part us.
You muſt own I have deſerv'd you.
With this Embrace take my Conſent,
ſo thou'lt advance my Intereſt here.
With all my Soul.
And mine, with all my Spirit.
Oh Sir, Mrs. Dowdy, and a whole Coach full of Folks, ſhe has been hunting you all the Town over ſhe ſaid, and ſeeing me at the Door knew you were here, Sir.
Will you give me leave Madam, to bring 'em into your Houſe?
With all my Heart, my Time's ſhort in this Houſe, I only hir'd it for this Purpoſe.
Oh Robin! your Maſter is found Heir to Two Thouſand a Year.
Say'ſt thou ſo, then you and I muſt talk more of the Buſineſs, we ſhall live rarely Girl, for he's gene⯑rous as a Prince.
Go, bring 'em up.
Oh Captain! have I vound you? Z'dslid give me my Writings you ſtole from me, you cheating Knave you, or I'll zet Sir John on your Back.
I am afraid my dear Country Couſin the Right owner has got 'em into his Hands, and won't eaſily re⯑turn 'em.
Sir John—ha, ha, ha, how long has he been a Knight? Why this is Sharper, a Fellow not worth Two Pence if thou art Married to him Widow, much good may do thee—
The very honourable Gentleman I met this Morning.
Pox on her for bringing me here, wou'd I were well out again.
Well, well, an he be no Knight, I don't care de yezee, he is my Husband, and for all you have chouc'd me out of Two Thouſand Pound a Year, I have enough to maintain him, and make him a Gentleman too, mun.
Hark ye, hark ye, take me along with you—Chouc'd you, did you ſay? Have a Care, don't you remem⯑ber a Child nam'd James Beamont, your Husband car⯑ried into Spain, ha?
Od and it troubled his Conſcience mainly zo it did—But what of him?
Nothing, only I am that Child it ſeems, and have made bold to ſecure my Eſtate, and henceforth will ma⯑nage it my Self.
Zay you zo! nay then 'tis beſt to be quiet.
I find Miſtreſs, your Husband was a great Knave—
Zo may your Husband vor ought I know vor⯑ſooth—I can't zay much for his Honeſty truly, but I'm zhour I was a good Gentlewoman born, as Cozen Iſbell here can teſtifie.
Don't call me for a Witneſs, for my part I was told I am related to you, but our Acpuaintance began in London.
How, Two Thouſand pound a Year lopt off, wou'd I were unmarried again.
There's too much for you Raſcal yet—
Come Jemmy, you ſhall go in and ſign Releaſes this joyful Day, and forgive her all that's paſt.
with all my Heart.
But hark ye, hark ye, Sir,
how muſt I have my Thouſand Pound?
When you can ſecure the Eſtate you promis'd me, you unconſcionable Jade: Your Judgment, Gentlemen, do's ſhe deſerve a Thouſand Pound for making the Match be⯑tween us?
I'm afraid ſhe rather deſerves to have her Bones broke.
Not a Groat, when the Marriage is over your Buſineſs is done.
A Thouſand Pound, oh you graceleſs Puſs—Ad's Life I gin her a Hundred zo I did; let me come at her, I'll pull her Noſe off—
Ha, ha, ha, ha.
This is good Diverſion.
A Hundred Pound! I ſhou'd have a rare Trade on't, if every old Woman was as ſneaking as you in the Matches I have made lately.
Don't let your Clack walk here Dol Domiſchief, out, out—
I ſhall get my Wages.
'Tis beſt for me to hold my Tongue, leſt I be ſerv'd the ſame Sauce.
Come Spouſe, let's down into the Country, 'fore George I ha paid woundy Dear for learning London Vaſhons.
Ha, the Fidlers ſmell a Wedding, let's have a Country Dance.