told me about half an Hour ago, he was going to sup with some Company,
he doubted would keep him out till three or four o'clock in the
Morning, and desir'd I would let my Servant acquaint you with it, that
you might not expect him: But my Fellow's a Blunder-head; so, lest he
should make some mistake, I thought it my Duty to deliver the Message
myself.
_Aman._ I'm very sorry he shou'd give you that trouble, Sir: But----
_Ber._ But since he has, will you give me leave, Madam, to keep him to
play at Ombre with us?
_Aman._ Cousin, you know you command my House.
_Wor. to Ber._] And, Madam, you know you command me, tho' I'm a very
wretched Gamester.
_Ber._ O you play well enough to lose your Money, and that's all the
Ladies require; so without any more Ceremony, let us go into the next
Room and call for the Cards.
_Aman._ With all my heart.
[_Exit ~Wor~. leading ~Aman~._
_Ber. sola._ Well, how this Business will end, Heaven knows; but she
seems to me to be in as fair a way----as a Boy is to be a Rogue, when
he's put Clerk to an Attorney.
[_Exit ~Berinthia~._
+SCENE+, Berinthia's _Chamber_.
_Enter ~Loveless~ cautiously in the dark._
_Lov._ So, thus for all's well. I'm got into her Bed-Chamber, and I
think nobody has perceiv'd me steal into the House; my Wife don't
expect me home till four o'Clock; so if _Berinthia_ comes to Bed by
eleven, I shall have a Chace of five Hours. Let me see, where shall I
hide myself? Under her Bed? No; we shall have her Maid searching there
for something or other; her Closet's a better place, and I have a
Master-Key will open it: I'll e'en in there, and attack her just when
she comes to her Prayers, that's the most like to prove her critical
Minute; for then the Devil will be there to assist me.
[_He opens the Closet, goes in, and shuts the door after him._
_Enter ~Berinthia~ with a Candle in her hand._
_Ber._ Well, sure I am the best-natur'd Woman in the World. I that love
Cards so well (there is but one thing upon the Earth I love better)
have pretended Letters to write, to give my Friends a _Tête-à-Tête_;
however, I'm innocent, for Picquet is the Game I set 'em to: at her
own peril be it, if she ventures to play with him at any other. But
now what shall I do with myself? I don't know how in the World to pass
my time; wou'd _Loveless_ were here to _badiner_ a little! Well, he's
a charming Fellow, I don't wonder his Wife's so fond of him. What if
I shou'd set down and think of him till I fall asleep, and dream of
the Lord knows what? O, but then if I shou'd dream we were married, I
shou'd be frighted out of my Wits. [_Seeing a Book._] What's this Book?
I think I had best go read. _O Splenetique!_ 'tis a Sermon. Well, I'll
go into my Closet, and read the _Plotting Sisters_. [_She opens the
Closet, sees ~Loveless~, and shrieks out._] O Lord, a Ghost, a Ghost, a
Ghost, a Ghost!
_Enter ~Loveless~ running to her._
_Lov._ Peace, my Dear; it's no Ghost, take it in your Arms, you'll find
'tis worth a hundred of 'em.
_Ber._ Run in again; here's somebody coming.
_Enter Maid._
_Maid._ O Lord, Madam, what's the matter?
_Ber._ O Heav'ns! I'm almost frighted out of my Wits. I thought verily
I had seen a Ghost, and 'twas nothing but the white Curtain, with
a black Hood pinn'd up against it; you may be gone again, I am the
fearfullest Fool.--
[_Exit Maid._
_Re-enter ~Loveless~._
_Lov._ Is the Coast clear?
_Ber._ The Coast clear! I suppose you are clear, you'd never play such
a Trick as this else.
_Lov._ I am very well pleas'd with my Trick thus far, and shall be so
till I have play'd it out, if it ben't your Fault: where's my Wife?
_Ber._ At Cards.
_Lov._ With whom?
_Ber._ With _Worthy_.
_Lov._ Then we are safe enough.
_Ber._ You are so! Some Husbands wou'd be of another mind, if he were
at Cards with their Wives.
_Lov._ And they'd be in the right on't too. But I dare trust
mine:----Besides, I know he's in love in another place, and he's not
one of those who court half a dozen at a time.
_Ber._ Nay, the truth on't is, you'd pity him if you saw how uneasy he
is at being engag'd with us; but 'twas my Malice. I fancy'd he was to
meet his Mistress some where else, so did it to have the pleasure of
seeing him fret.
_Lov._ What says _Amanda_ to my staying abroad so late?
_Ber._ Why she's as much out of Humour as he, I believe they wish one
another at the Devil.
_Lov._ Then I'm afraid they'll quarrel at Play, and soon throw up the
Cards: [_Offering in pull her into her Closet._] Therefore, my dear
charming Angel, let us make good use of our time.
_Ber._ Heavens! what do you mean?
_Lov._ Pray what do you think I mean?
_Ber._ I don't know.
_Lov._ I'll shew you.
_Ber._ You may as well tell me.
_Lov._ No, that wou'd make you blush worse than t'other.
_Ber._ Why, do you intend to make me blush?
_Lov._ Faith, I can't tell that; but if I do, it shall be in the dark.
[_Pulling her._
_Ber._ O Heavens! I wou'd not be in the dark with you for all the World.
_Lov._ I'll try that.
[_Puts out the Candles._
_Ber._ O Lord! are you mad! What shall I do for Light?
_Lov._ You'll do as well without it.
_Ber._ Why, one can't find a Chair to sit down?
_Lov._ Come into the Closet, Madam, there's Moonshine upon the Couch.
_Ber._ Nay, never pull, for I will not go.
_Lov._ Then you must be carried.
[_Carrying her._
_Ber._ Help, help, I'm ravish'd, ruin'd, undone. O Lord, I shall never
be able to bear it.
[_Very softly._
+SCENE+, _Sir ~Tunbelly~'s House_.
_Enter Miss ~Hoyden~, Nurse, ~Young Fashion~, and ~Bull~._
_Young Fash._ This quick dispatch of yours, Mr. _Bull_, I take so
kindly, it shall give you a claim to my Favour as long as I live, I do
assure you.
_Miss._ And to mine too, I promise you.
_Bull._ I most humbly thank your Honours; and I hope, since it has
been my Lot to join you in the holy Bands of Wedlock, you will so
well cultivate the Soil which I have crav'd a Blessing on, that your
Children may swarm about you like Bees about a Honey-Comb.
_Miss._ I'cod with all my Heart, the more the merrier, I say; ha, Nurse.
_Enter ~Lory~, taking his Master hastily aside._
_Lo._ One Word with you, for Heaven's sake.
_Young Fash._ What the Devil's the matter?
_Lo._ Sir, your Fortune's ruin'd, and I don't think your Life's worth
a quarter of an Hour's Purchase: Yonder's your Brother arriv'd with
two Coaches and six Horses, twenty Footmen and Pages, a Coat worth
fourscore Pound, and a Perriwig down to his Knees: So judge what will
become of your Lady's Heart.
_Young Fash._ Death and Furies! 'tis impossible.
_Lo._ Fiends and Spectres! Sir, 'tis true.
_Young Fash._ Is he in the House yet?
_Lo._ No, they are capitulating with him at the Gate; the Porter tells
him, he's come to run away with _Miss Hoyden_, and has cock'd the
Blunderbuss at him; your Brother swears Gad Damme, they are a parcel
of Clawns, and he had a good mind to break off the Match; but they
have given the Word for Sir _Tunbelly_, so I doubt all will come out
presently. Pray, Sir, resolve what you'll do this Moment, for I'gad
they'll maul you.
_Young Fash._ Stay a little. [_To Miss._] My Dear, here's a troublesome
Business my Man tells me of; but don't be frighten'd, we shall be too
hard for the Rogue. Here's an impudent Fellow at the Gate (not knowing
I was come hither _incognito_) has taken my Name upon him, in hopes to
run away with you.
_Miss._ O the Brazen-fac'd Varlet, it's well we are married, or may be
we might never have been so.
_Young Fash._ [_Aside._] I'gad, like enough: Pr'ythee, dear Doctor, run
to Sir _Tunbelly_, and stop him from going to the Gate, before I speak
with him.
_Bull._ I fly, my good Lord----
[_Exit ~Bull~._
_Nurse._ An't please your Honour, my Lady and I had best lock ourselves
up till the Danger be over.
_Young Fash._ Ay, by all means.
_Miss._ Not so fast, I won't be lock'd up any more. I'm marry'd.
_Young Fash._ Yes, pray my Dear do, till we have seiz'd this Rascal.
_Miss._ Nay, if you pray me, I'll do any thing.
[_Exeunt ~Miss~ and ~Nurse~._
_Young Fash._ O! here's Sir _Tunbelly_ coming. [_To_ Lo.] Hark you,
Sirrah, things are better than you imagine; the Wedding's over.
_Lo._ The Devil it is, Sir.
_Young Fash._ Not a Word, all's safe: But Sir _Tunbelly_ don't know it,
nor must not yet; so I am resolv'd to brazen the Business out, and have
the Pleasure of turning the Impostor upon his Lordship, which I believe
may easily be done.
_Enter Sir ~Tunbelly~, ~Chap.~ and ~Servants~ arm'd._
_Young Fash._ Did you ever hear, Sir, of so impudent an Undertaking?
Sir _Tun._ Never, by the Mass, but we'll tickle him, I'll warrant him.
_Young Fash._ They tell me, Sir, he has a great many People with him
disguis'd like Servants.
Sir _Tun._ Ay, ay, Rogues enow; but I'll soon raise the Posse upon 'em.
_Young Fash._ Sir, if you'll take my Advice, we'll go a shorter way
to work; I find, whoever this Spark is, he knows nothing of my being
privately here; so if you pretend to receive him civilly, he'll enter
without Suspicion; and as soon as he is within the Gate, we'll whip up
the Drawbridge upon his Back, let fly the Blunderbuss to disperse the
Crew, and so commit him to Gaol.
Sir _Tun._ I'gad, your Lordship is an ingenious Person, and a very
great General; but shall we kill any of 'em, or not?
_Young Fash._ No, no, fire over their Heads only to fright them; I'll
warrant the Regiment scours when the Colonel's a Prisoner.
Sir _Tun._ Then come along, my Boys, and let your Courage be
great----for your Danger is but small.
[_Exeunt._
+SCENE+, _The Gate._
_Enter Lord ~Foppington~ and ~Followers~._
_Lord Fop._ A Pax of these Bumkinly People, will they open the Gate, or
do they desire I shou'd grow at their Moat-side like a Willow? [_To the
Porter._] Hey, Fellow--Pr'ythee do me the Favour, in as few words as
thou canst find to express thyself, to tell me whether thy Master will
admit me or not, that I may turn about my Coach, and be gone.
_Por._ Here's my Master himself now at hand, he's of Age, he'll give
you his Answer.
_Enter Sir ~Tunbelly~, and his Servants._
Sir _Tun._ My most noble Lord, I crave your pardon for making your
Honour wait so long; but my Orders to my servants have been to admit no
body without my Knowledge, for fear of some Attempts upon my Daughter,
the Times being full of Plots and Roguery.
_Lord Fop._ Much Caution, I must confess, is a Sign of great Wisdom:
But, stap my Vitals, I have got a Cold enough to destroy a Porter--He,
hem--
Sir _Tun._ I am very sorry for't, indeed, my Lord; but if your Lordship
please to walk in, we'll help you to some brown Sugar-Candy. My Lord,
I'll shew you the way.
_Lord Fop._ Sir, I follow you with pleasure.
[_Exeunt._
[_As Lord ~Foppington~'s Servants go to follow him
in, they clap the Door against ~La Varole~._
_Servants within._ Nay, hold you me there, Sir.
_La Var._ _Jernie, qu'est ce que veut dire ça?_
Sir _Tun._ [_Within._]----Fire, Porter.
_Porter fires._----Have among you, my Masters.
_La Var._ _Ah je suis mort_--
[_The servants all run off._
_Port._ Not one Soldier left, by the Mass.
+SCENE+ _changes into a Hall._
_Enter Sir ~Tunbelly~, the ~Chaplain~ and ~Servants~, with
Lord ~Foppington~ disarm'd._
Sir _Tun._ Come, bring him along, bring him along.
_Lord Fop._ What the Pax do you mean, Gentlemen, is it Fair time, that
you are all drunk before Dinner?
Sir _Tun._ Drunk, Sirrah! Here's an impudent Rogue for you! Drunk or
Sober, Bully, I'm a Justice of the Peace, and know how to deal with
Strolers.
_Lord Fop._ Strolers!
Sir _Tun._ Ay, Strolers; come, give an account of yourself; what's
your Name? where do you live? Do you pay Scot and Lot? Are you a
_Williamite_, or a _Jacobite_? Come.
_Lord Fop._ And why dost thou ask me so many impertinent Questions?
Sir _Tun._ Because I'll make you answer 'em before I have done with
you, you Rascal you.
_Lord Fop._ Before Gad, all the Answer I can make thee to 'em, is, that
thou art a very extraordinary old Fellow; stap my Vitals--
Sir _Tun._ Nay, if you are for joaking with Deputy-Lieutenants, we know
how to deal with you: Here, draw a Warrant for him immediately.
_Lord Fop._ A Warrant----what the Devil is't thou wou'dst be at, old
Gentleman?
Sir _Tun._ I wou'd be at you, Sirrah, (if my Hands were not ty'd as a
Magistrate) and with these two double Fists beat your Teeth down your
Throat, you Dog you.
_Lord Fop._ And why would'st thou spoil my Face at that rate?
Sir _Tun._ For your Design to rob me of my Daughter, Villain.
_Lord Fop._ Rab thee of thy Daughter----Now I do begin to believe I am
a-bed and a-sleep, and that all this is but a Dream--If it be, 'twill
be an agreeable Surprize enough, to waken by and by; and instead of the
impertinent Company of a nasty Country Justice, find my self perhaps in
the Arms of a Woman of Quality--[_To Sir ~Tun.~_] Pr'ythee, old Father,
wilt thou give me leave to ask thee one Question?
Sir _Tun._ I can't tell whether I will or not, till I know what it is.
_Lord Fop._ Why, then, it is, whether thou didst not write to my Lord
_Foppington_ to come down and marry thy Daughter?
Sir _Tun._ Yes, marry did I, and my Lord _Foppington_ is come down, and
shall marry my Daughter before she's a Day older.
_Lord Fop._ Now give me thy Hand, dear Dad, I thought we should
understand one another at last.
Sir _Tun._ This Fellow's mad----here bind him Hand and Foot.
[_They bind him down._
_Lord Fop._ Nay, pr'ythee, Knight, leave fooling, thy Jest begins to
grow dull.
Sir _Tun._ Bind him, I say, he's mad----Bread and Water, a dark Room,
and a Whip, may bring him to his Senses again.
_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] I'gad, if I don't waken quickly, by all that I
can see, this is like to prove one of the most impertinent Dreams that
ever I dreamt in my Life.
_Enter ~Miss~ and ~Nurse~._ [_~Miss~ going up to him._]
_Miss._ Is this he that wou'd have run away with me? Fough, how
he stinks of sweets! Pray, Father, let him be dragg'd through the
Horse-Pond.
_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] This must be my Wife by her natural Inclination
to her Husband.
_Miss._ Pray, Father, what do you intend to do with him? hang him?
Sir _Tun._ That at least, Child.
_Nurse._ Ay, and it's e'en too good for him too.
_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] _Madame la Governante_, I presume, hitherto this
appears to me to be one of the most extraordinary Families that ever
Man of Quality match'd into.
Sir _Tun._ What's become of my Lord, Daughter?
_Miss._ He's just coming, Sir.
_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] My Lord----What does he mean by that now?
_Enter ~Young Fashion~ and ~Lory~._
_Seeing him._] Stap my Vitals, _Tam_, now the Dream's out.
_Young Fash._ Is this the Fellow, Sir, that design'd to trick me of
your Daughter?
Sir _Tun._ This is he, my Lord, how do you like him? Is not he a pretty
Fellow to get a Fortune?
_Young Fash._ I find by his Dress, he thought your Daughter might be
taken with a Beau.
_Miss._ O Gemini! Is this a Beau? let me see him again----ha! I find a
Beau is no such ugly thing neither.
_Young Fash._ I'gad, she'll be in love with him presently; I'll e'en
have him sent away to Gaol. [_To_ Lord Fop.] Sir, tho' your Undertaking
shews you are a Person of no extraordinary Modesty, I suppose you han't
Confidence enough to expect much Favour from me.
_Lord Fop._ Strike me dumb, _Tam_, thou art a very impudent Fellow.
_Nurse._ Look if the Varlet has not the Frontery to call his Lordship
plain _Thomas_.
_Bull._ The business is, he wou'd feign himself mad, to avoid going to
Gaol.
_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] That must be the Chaplain, by his unfolding of
Mysteries.
Sir _Tun._ Come, is the Warrant writ?
_Cler._ Yes, Sir.
Sir _Tun._ Give me the Pen, I'll sign it----So now, Constable, away
with him.
_Lord Fop._ Hold one Moment----Pray, Gentlemen; my Lord _Foppington_,
shall I beg one Word with your Lordship?
_Nurse._ O ho, it's my Lord with him now; see how Afflictions will
humble Folks.
_Miss._ Pray, my Lord, don't let him whisper too close, lest he bite
your Ear off.
_Lord Fop._. I am not altogether so hungry, as your Ladyship is pleased
to imagine. [_To_ Young Fash.] Look you, _Tam_, I am sensible I have
not been so kind to you as I ought, but I hope you'll forget what's
past, and accept of the five thousand Pounds I offer; thou may'st live
in extreme Splendor with it; stap my Vitals.
_Young Fash._ It's a much easier matter to prevent a Disease than to
cure it; a quarter of that Sum would have secur'd your Mistress; twice
as much won't redeem her.
[_Leaving him._
Sir _Tun._ Well, what says he?
_Young Fash._ Only the Rascal offer'd me a Bribe to let him go.
Sir _Tun._ Ay, he shall go, with a Pox to him: Lead on, Constable.
_Lord Fop._. One word more, and I've done.
Sir _Tun._ Before Gad, thou art an impudent Fellow, to trouble the
Court at this rate, after thou art condemned; but speak once for all.
_Lord Fop._ Why then once for all; I have at last luckily call'd to
mind, that there is a Gentleman of this Country, who I believe cannot
live far from this place, if he were here, would satisfy you, I am
_Novelty_, Baron of _Foppington_, with five thousand Pounds a year,
and that Fellow there a Rascal, not worth a Groat.
Sir _Tun._ Very well; now who is this honest Gentleman you are so well
acquainted with. [_To_ Young Fash.] Come, Sir, we shall hamper him.
_Lord Fop._ 'Tis Sir _John Friendly_.
Sir _Tun._ So, he lives within half a Mile, and came down into the
Country but last Night; this bold-fac'd Fellow thought he had been at
_London_ still, and so quoted him; now we shall display him in his
Colours: I'll send for Sir _John_ immediately. Here, Fellow, away
presently; and desire my Neighbour he'll do me the favour to step over,
upon an extraordinary Occasion; and in the mean while you had best
secure this Sharper in the _Gate-House_.
_Const._ An't please your Worship, he may chance to give us the Slip
thence: If I were worthy to advise, I think the Dog-kennel's a surer
Place.
Sir _Tun._ With all my heart, anywhere.
_Lord Fop._ Nay, for Heaven's sake, Sir, do me the favour to put me in
a clean Room, that I mayn't daub my Clothes.
Sir _Tun._ O when you have married my Daughter, her Estate will afford
you new ones: Away with him.
_Lord Fop._ A dirty Country Justice is a barbarous Magistrate, stap my
Vitals----
[_Exit Constable with Lord ~Foppington~._
_Young Fash._ [_Aside._] I gad I must prevent this Knight's coming, or
the House will grow soon too hot to hold me.
_To_ Sir _Tun._] Sir, I fancy 'tis not worth while to trouble Sir
_John_ upon this impertinent Fellow's Desire: I'll send and call the
Messenger back----
Sir _Tun._ Nay, with all my heart; for to be sure he thought he was far
enough off, or the Rogue wou'd never have nam'd him.
_Enter Servant._
_Serv._ Sir, I met Sir _John_ just lighting at the Gate; he's come to
wait upon you.
Sir _Tun._ Nay, then it happens as one cou'd wish.
_Young Fash._ [_Aside._] The Devil it does! _Lory_, you see how things
are, here will be a Discovery presently, and we shall have our Brains
beat out: For my Brother will be sure to swear he don't know me:
Therefore run into the Stable, take the two first Horses you can light
on, I'll slip out at the Back-Door, and we'll away immediately.
_Lo._ What, and leave your Lady, Sir?
_Young Fash._ There's no Danger in that, as long as I have taken
possession; I shall know how to treat with them well enough, if once I
am out of their reach. Away, I'll steal after thee.
[_Exit ~Lory~, his Master follows
him out at one Door, as Sir ~John~ enters at t'other._
_Enter Sir ~John~._
Sir _Tun._ Sir _John_, you are the welcom'st Man alive; I had just
sent a Messenger to desire you'd step over, upon a very extraordinary
Occasion--we are all in Arms here.
Sir _John._ How so?
Sir _Tun._ Why, you must know----a sinical sort of a tawdry Fellow
here (I don't know who the Devil he is, not I) hearing, I suppose,
that the Match was concluded between my Lord _Foppington_ and my Girl
_Hoyden_, comes impudently to the Gate, and with a whole Pack of Rogues
in Liveries, wou'd have pass'd upon me for his Lordship: But what does
I? I comes up to him boldly at the Head of his Guards, takes him by the
Throat, strikes up his Heels, binds him Hand and Foot, dispatches a
Warrant, and commits him Prisoner to the Dog-kennel.
Sir _John._ So, but how do you know but this was my Lord? for I was
told he set out from _London_ the Day before me, with a very fine
Retinue, and intended to come directly hither.
Sir _Tun._ Why now to shew you how many Lies People raise in that
damn'd Town, he came two Nights ago Post, with only one Servant, and is
now in the House with me: But you don't know the Cream of the Jest yet;
this same Rogue, (that lies yonder Neck and Heels among the Hounds)
thinking you were out of the Country, quotes you for his Acquaintance,
and said, if you were here, you'd justify him to be Lord _Foppington_,
and I know not what.
Sir _John._ Pray will you let me see him?
Sir _Tun._ Ay, that you shall presently----here, fetch the Prisoner.
[_Exit Servant._
Sir _John._ I wish there ben't some Mistake in the Business, where's my
Lord? I know him very well.
Sir _Tun._ He was here just now; see for him, Doctor, tell him Sir
_John_ is here to wait upon him.
[_Ex. Chaplain._
Sir _John._ I hope, Sir _Tunbelly_, the young Lady is not married yet.
Sir _Tun._ No, things won't be ready this Week; but why do you say, you
hope she is not married?
Sir _John._ Some foolish Fancies only, perhaps I'm mistaken.
_Re-enter Chaplain._
_Bull._ Sir, his Lordship is just rid out to take the Air.
Sir _Tun._ To take the Air! Is that his _London_ Breeding, to go to
take the Air, when Gentlemen come to visit him?
Sir _John._ 'Tis possible he might want it, he might not be well, some
sudden Qualm perhaps.
_Enter Constable, ~&c.~ with Lord ~Foppington~._
_Lord Fop._ Stap my Vitals, I'll have Satisfaction.
Sir _John._ [_Running to him._] My dear Lord _Foppington_!
_Lord Fop._ Dear _Friendly_, thou art come in the critical Minute,
strike me dumb.
Sir _John._ Why, I little thought to have found you in Fetters.
_Lord Fop._ Why truly the World must do me the justice to confess, I
do use to appear, a little more _degagé_: But this old Gentleman, not
liking the Freedom of my Air, has been pleased to skewer down my Arms
like a Rabbit.
Sir _Tun._ Is it then possible that this shou'd be the true Lord
_Foppington_ at last?
_Lord Fop._ Why what do you see in his Face to make you doubt of it?
Sir, without presuming to have any extraordinary Opinion of my Figure,
give me leave to tell you, if you had seen as many Lords as I have
done, you would not think it impossible a Person of a worse _Taille_
than mine, might be a modern Man of Quality.
Sir _Tun._ Unbind him, Slaves: my Lord, I'm struck dumb, I can only
beg Pardon by Signs; but if a Sacrifice will appease you, you shall
have it. Here, pursue this _Tartar_, bring him back----Away, I say, a
Dog, Oons----I'll cut off his Ears and his Tail, I'll draw out all his
Teeth, pull his skin over his Head----and----what shall I do more?
Sir _John._ He does indeed deserve to be made an Example of.
_Lord Fop._ He does deserve to be _chartrè_, stap my Vitals.
Sir _Tun._ May I then hope I have your Honour's Pardon?
_Lord Fop._ Sir, we Courtiers do nothing without a Bribe; that fair
young Lady might do Miracles.
Sir _Tun._ _Hoyden_, come hither, _Hoyden_.
_Lord Fop._ _Hoyden_ is her Name, Sir?
Sir _Tun._ Yes, my Lord.
_Lord Fop._ The prettiest Name for a Song I ever heard.
Sir _Tun._ My Lord----here's my Girl, she's yours, she has a wholesome
Body, and virtuous Mind; she's a Woman complete, both in Flesh and in
Spirit; she has a Bag of mill'd Crowns, as scarce as they are, and
fifteen hundred a-year flitch'd fast to her Tail: so go thy ways,
_Hoyden_.
_Lord Fop._ Sir, I do receive her like a Gentleman.
Sir _Tun._ Then I'm a happy Man, I bless Heaven, and if your Lordship
will give me leave, I will, like a good Christian at _Christmas_, be
very drunk by way of Thanksgiving. Come, my noble Peer, I believe
Dinner's ready; if your Honour pleases to follow me, I'll lead you on
to the Attack of a Venison Pasty.
[_Exit Sir ~Tun.~_
_Lord Fop._ Sir, I wait upon you: Will your Ladyship do me the favour
of your little Finger, Madam?
_Miss._ My Lord, I'll follow you presently. I have a little Business
with my Nurse.
_Lord Fop._ Your Ladyship's most humble Servant; come, Sir _John_, the
Ladies have _des Affaires_.
[_Exeunt ~Lord Fop~. and Sir ~John~._
_Miss._ So, Nurse, we are finely brought to bed! What shall we do now?
_Nurse._ Ah, dear Miss, we are all undone! Mr. _Bull_, you were us'd to
help a Woman to a Remedy.
[_Crying._
_Bull._ A lack a-day, but it's past my Skill now, I can do nothing.