SCENE VII. Thersander’s _Tent_.

_He enters with a Letter in his Hand open--with

Attendants_.

_Ther_. Be gone, I’ll read the Letter o’er again,

[_Exeunt Attendants_.

And here impress thy Cruelty, and see what that will do

To set me free.

_Ther_. reads the Letter--

_Finding it impossible to obey your unkind Commands, I am

fled, and do resolve never to marry that_ Barbarian, _whose

Crimes are only known to me; no, nor any other that cannot

bring me his Head; whereto sollicite_ Artabazes, _and_ Ismenes,

if they will obey_. Cleomena.

If I consult my Reason and my Courage,

They say I should not love this cruel Maid.

But oh, my Reason, you’re weak to counsel;

I’ll think of nothing else but dying for her,

Since ‘tis my Life she asks, and here demands it.

But ‘tis in vain to arm my happy Rivals,

For I my self can more devoutly serve you.

’.is I will pierce this unaccepted Heart,

Whose Flames are found so criminal--

_Enter_ Lysander.

_Lys_. Sir, there’s without a Youth that desires admittance.

_Ther_. From whom comes he?

_Lys_. He would not tell me that, but has a Letter,

Which he’ll deliver only to your Highness.

_Ther_. Bring him in, it may be from _Amintas_.

_Enter_ Cleomena _drest like a Country-Shepherd, comes

bowing to him, gives him a Note_.

_Ther_. reads to himself--

Guard thee well, _Thersander_; for thou shalt die by the

Hand that brings thee this.

[_She stabs him; he falls into_ Lysander’s _Arms_.

_Cleo_. Here’s to thee, dear _Clemanthis_--

_Lys_. Help, Treason, help--

_Ther_. Ah, lovely Youth, who taught thee so much cruelty?

And why that Language with that angry Blow?

_Cleo_. Behold this Face, and then inform thy self.

[_Discovers her self_.

_Ther_. ‘Tis _Cleomena_! oh ye Gods, I thank ye!

It is her Hand that wounds me,

And I’ll receive my Death with perfect Joy,

If I may be permitted but to kiss

That blessed Hand that sent it.

_Enter_ King _and Guards_.

_King. Thersander_ murder’d! oh, inhumane Deed!

Drag the Traitor to a Dungeon, till we have

Invented unheard of Tortures to destroy him by--

[_The Guards seize_ Cleo. _and_ Sem. _who was just entring_.

My Wounds are deep as thine, my dear _Thersander_;

Oh, fatal Day, wherein one fatal Stroke.

Has laid the Hopes of _Scythia_ in his Tomb!

_The Guards go to carry_ Cleo. _and_ Sem.

Ther. _calls ‘em back_.

_Ther_. Oh, stay, and do not bear so rudely off

Treasures you cannot value.

--Sir,--do not treat her as my Murderer,

But as my Sovereign Deity--

Instead of Fetters, give her Crowns and Scepters;

And let her be conducted into Dacia,

With all the Triumphs of a Conqueror.

For me, no other Glory I desire,

Than at her Feet thus willingly to expire.

[_Goes to throw himself at her Feet, they prevent it and go off_.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

_A Council-Table: The_ King of Scythia _seated

on a Throne, Officers, Attendants, Guards_.

_King_. Bring the fair Prisoner forth, and let’s examine

What Reasons could inspire her with this Cruelty;

--How beautiful she is! [_Gazes on her_.

_Enter_ Cleomena _in Fetters_, Lysander, _with Guards_.

_Cleo_. Thy Silence seems to license me to speak,

And tell thee, King, that now our Faults are equal;

My Father thou hast kill’d, and I thy Son;

This will suffice to tell thee who I am.

--Now take my Life, since I have taken his,

And thou shalt see I neither will implore

Thy needless Clemency by any Word or Sign:

But if my Birth or Sex can merit ought,

Suffer me not to languish any longer

Under these shameful Irons.

[_With scorn_.

_King_. Cruel as Fair, ‘tis with too much injustice

Thou say’st our Crimes are equal:

For thou hast kill’d a Prince that did adore thee;

And I depriv’d thy Father of his Life,

When he assaulted mine in open Field,

And so, as cannot leave a stain on thee,

Or give thee Cause to say I’ve done thee wrong,

But if I had, wherefore (oh, cruel Maid)

Didst thou not spare that Heart that dy’d for thee,

And bend thy Rage against thy Father’s Foe?

But thou well know’st, in killing of _Tkersander_,

The Father’s Life would quickly follow after.

_Cleo_. I will not seek excuses for my actions,

But I protest to thee before the Gods,

It was not to revenge my self on thee

I kill’d thy Son;

But what he suffered was for his own Sin,

For he has banish’d from me all on Earth

That could compleat my Happiness--

[_Weeps_.

--And now dispose my Destiny as you please,

Only remember that I am a Woman.

_King_. What thou hast said will find but little credit:

--But yet if _Thersander_ lives,

And if it please the Gods to spare that Life,

I shall have Generosity enough

To set thee free in favour of thy Sex,

And my _Thersander’s_ Love.

_Cleo_. Not dead? Why should the Gods protect him?

_King_. Her Soul’s possest with some despair.

Madam, I doubt you need not fear his Life,

He will obey, and die as you desire-- [_Weeps_.

But not with Satisfaction, till he see you

Conducted into _Dacia_.

I should not of my self have been so generous,

T’ have given you freedom with the Life of him

Who did deserve a kinder Destiny;

But ‘tis his Will--and possible his last.

Therefore you’re free, and may depart this Camp

Whene’er you please; only this favour grant,

(If an unhappy King may hope for any)

You’ll suffer him to take his last farewel.

_Cleo_. Immortal Gods! how can it be? a Man

Whose Wickedness arm’d me against his Life,

Shou’d shew such Virtue in the rest of’s Actions.

--Sir, I will see the Prince,

Not as the Price of what you offer’d me,

But that he may confess he did deserve

A Death less glorious than I have given him:

And I shall take it well if he will own

That which may justify my Offence to you.

_King_. Madam, I thank you--

Dismiss her Fetters, and if she please,

Let her have Garments suitable to her Sex,

Only the Guards attend her at a distance.

[_Go out severally_.

SCENE II. _The Grove_.

_Enter_ Amintas, _drest like a Shepherd_, Urania _like

a Shepherdess, the Druid_, Lyces, _and other dancing Swains, &c_.

_Druid_. Sir, I’m afraid you have made too bold a venture;

And though your Wounds were more numerous than dangerous,

I am not willing you should trust ‘em to the Air.

_Amin_. Father, your Skill has wrought a perfect Cure,

For which, the Life you sav’d you shall command.

_Ura_. Me too h’ has freed of all my jealous Fears,

By this eternal Knot ‘twixt thee and me

Which he has tied, and Fate can ne’er undo.

--Father--to you I owe _Amintas’. Liberty--

To you his Life; and now for all my Joys,

Which if my future Service can repay,

Command with Freedom her you have preserv’d.

_Amin_. Come, dear _Urania_, let’s hasten to the Camp;

For I impatient grow to see my Prince;

Heaven knows what my Mishap may have procur’d him.

_Ura_. How loth I am to leave these pretty Shades,

The Gods and Nature have design’d for Love:

Oh, my _Amintas_, wou’d I were what I seem,

And thou some humble Villager hard by,

That knew no other pleasure than to love,

To feed thy little Herd, to tune a Pipe,

To which the Nymphs should listen all the Day;

We’d taste the Waters of these Crystal Springs,

With more delight than all delicious Wines;

And being weary, on a Bed of Moss,

Having no other Canopy but Trees,

We’d lay us down, and tell a thousand Stories.

_Amin_. For ever so I’d be content to dwell,

I wou’d put off all frightful Marks of War,

And wou’d appear as soft and calm to thee,

As are thy Eyes when silently they wound.

An Army I wou’d quit to lead thy Flock,

And more esteem a Chaplet wreath’d by thee,

Than the victorious Laurel.

--But come, Love makes us idle.

_Druid_. My Prayers ever go along with you,

And your fair Bride, _Urania_.--I cou’d wish

My Youth and Vigour were as heretofore,

When only Courts and Camps cou’d make me happy;

And then I wou’d not bid farewel so soon

To so much Virtue as I’ve found in you.

_Amin_. I humbly thank you, Father, for a Goodness

That shames my poor Returns.

Come, pretty _Lyces_, and thou, honest _Damon_,

With all the rest of our kind Train;

Let’s hasten to the Camp, during this Truce,

Your little rustick Sports will find a welcome.

_Ura_. There are no Women in the Camp, my Lord.

_Amin_. No matter, thou canst not hate a Soldier,

Since I am one; and you must be obedient,

And learn to bear my Bow and Arrows now,

It is the Duty of a _Scythian’s_ Wife.

_Ura_. She that can claim _Amintas_ by such Ties,

May find a Safety wheresoe’er she flies.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE III. _A Prison_.

_Enter_ Orsames _joyful, and_ Geron.

_Ors_. Am I indeed a King?

And is there such a thing as fair _Olympia_?

Hadst thou not been the first had told me this,

By Heaven, thou’dst dy’d for thus concealing it;

Not all the Obligations of my Youth

Should have preserv’d thee.

_Ger_. Till now I wanted Opportunity;

For had you known your Quality before,

You wou’d have grown impatient of the Crown,

And by that Haste have overthrown your Interest.

_Ors_. And canst thou now provide against my Ignorance?

_Ger_. Sir, we have gain’d the Army on our side.

_Ors_. What’s that?

_Ger_. Those Numbers that I told you should adore you.

_Ors_. When shall I see them, _Geron_?

_Ger_. E’er long, Sir: should your Deliverance

Be wrought by any other Means than theirs,

It were to snatch a Glory from their Hands,

Which they design their only Recompence.

_Ors_. Oh, how I am transported with the Joy!

But, _Geron_, art thou sure we do not dream?

_Ger_. Then Life it self’s a Dream--

Hark, I hear a noise--

[_Noise_.

_Within_] Kill the Dog--down with him!

_Ors_. Oh, how I’m ravisht with this unknown Noise!

_Within_.] Break down the Prison-Walls and Gates, and force your

Passage--

_Enter_ Vallentio, _followed by_ Gorel _and a Rabble of

Citizens and Officers, tearing in the Keeper all bloody_.

_Val_. No killing to day, my Fellow-Soldiers, if you can

help it; we will not stain our Triumphs in Blood--

[_They all stand and gaze_. Ors. _gazes on them_.

Ye Gods, instruct me where to bow my Knee--

But this alone must be the Deity--

[_Kneels_, Ors. _lets him kneel, and gazes on him_.

_1 Cit_. Is that the King, Neighbour, in such mean Clothes?

_Gorel_. Yes, Goodman Fool, why should the Colonel kneel else?

_2 Cit_. Oh, pray, Neighbour, let me see a little, I never saw a King in

all the days of my Life. Lord, Lord! Is that he the Colonel kneels to?

_Gorel_. What Questions this ignorant Fellow asks!

_3 Cit_. Good lack-a-day, ‘tis as a Man may say--’tis just such another

Body as one of us, only he looks a little more terrably.

_Ger_. Sir, why do you let him kneel?

_Ors_. Rise, and let me look upon thee.

_Val_. Great Sir, we come to offer you a Crown,

That long has waited for this great Support;

It ought to have been presented in a more glorious order,

But Time and your Affairs permit not that.

A thousand Dangers wait upon Delay;

But though the World be yours, it is not safe

Depending on a fickle Multitude,

Whom Interest, and not Reason renders just.

_Ors_. Thou art a wondrous Man.

_1 Cit_. Good _Gorel_, stand back, and let me see a little; my Wife loves

Newalties abominationly, ami I must tell her something about the King.

_Gorel_. What a Pox have we to do with your Wife? stand back.

_Val_. Now deign, great Sir, to arm your Hand with this--

[_Gtves_ Ors. _a Sword, he gazes on it_.

Nay, view it well, for though it be but homely,

It carries that about it can make the Wearer proud;

--An Edge--pray feel it, Sir,--’t has dealt

Many a mortal Wound--

See how it dares the Sun for Brightness, Sir!

Or if there be a Stain, it is an Ornament,

Dy’d in the Blood of those that were your Enemies:

It never made a Blow or Thrust in vain.

--How do you like it, Sir?

_Ors_. So well, I know not whether this or thee

Be most agreeable to me;

You need not teach me how I am to use it,

That I will leave for those that dare offend me.

Look, _Geron_, is it not a glorious Object?

There’s nothing but my bright _Olympia’s_ Eyes

That can out-glitter this.

_1 Cit_. Hah, _Simon_, did he not talk bravely?

_Val_. Come, Sir, ‘tis time you left this Dungeon for a Throne;

For now’s the time to make the World your own.

All shouting--Vive le Roy, Vive le Roy.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE IV. _A Tent_.

_Enter_ Cleomena _and_ Semiris, _drest as Women again_.

_Sem_. Dear Madam, I cou’d wish you’d sleep awhile.

_Cleo_. That Peace I have not been acquainted with

Since my _Clemanthis’. Death;

Yet now methinks my Heart’s more calm and still,

And I perhaps may thus expire in silence--

Prithee, _Semiris_, take thy Lute and sing to’t,

Whilst I will try to sleep.

[_Lies down on a Couch, Sem. plays and sings_.

SONG, made by _J. Wright_ Esq:

_Fair Nymph, remember all your Scorn

Will be by Time repaid;

Those Glories which that Face adorn,

And flourish as the rising Morn,

Must one day set and fade.

Then all your cold Disdain for me

Will but increase Deformity,

When still the kind will lovely be.

Compassion is of lasting Praise;

For that’s the Beauty ne’er decays.

Fair Nymph, avoid those Storms of Fate

Are to the Cruel due;

The Powers above, though ne’er so late.

Can be, when they revenge your Hate,

As pitiless as you.

Know, charming Maid, the Powers divine

Did never such soft Eyes design

To wound a Heart so true as mine:

That God who my dear Flame infus’d,

Will never see it thus abus’d_.

Return, my dear _Clemanthis_, oh, return,

[Cleo. _rises as in a Dream_.

And see ‘tis not into thy lovely Bosom

That I have sent my Vengeance.

_Sem_. What mean you, Madam?

_Cleo_. But thou, poor Ghost--

Instead of hasting me to my Revenge,

Endeavour’st to touch me with Compassion.

_Sem_. Madam, who is’t you follow thus and speak to?

_Cleo. Thersander_, why do’st rob me of that Face?

Is’t to disarm me of my Indignation?

_Sem_. Oh, Madam, what do you do?

_Cleo_. Ha! dost thou see nothing?

_Sem_. Not any thing.

_Cleo_. Yonder’s the _Scythian_ with _Clemanthis’. Face,

Or else _Clemanthis_ with _Thersander’s_ Wound.

_Sem_. Compose your Thoughts, dear Madam, ‘twas a Dream,

An idle Dream, born from a troubled Fancy.

--How was it, Madam?

_Cleo_. Methought I saw _Clemanthis_,

As when he was most charming to my Soul,

But pale and languishing, having a Wound

Like that I gave his Murderer

To which with one of’s Hands he seem’d to point;

The other stretching out with passionate Actions,

And gazing on me,--thus methought he spoke:

--See how you recompense my faithful Sufferings,

--See the performance of your Promises;

Look on this Wound which you have given my Heart,

That Heart that still ador’d you:

And yet you’re not content with all these Cruelties,

Though even in your Anger and my Death,

I still continue faithful and submissive.

--Thus spoke the lovely Phantom.

_Enter_ Pimante.

_Pim_. Madam, there waits without a Servant to the Prince.

_Cleo_. He may come in.

_Enter_ Lysander.

_Lys_. Madam, my dying Prince begs you may know

How willingly he does obey your Will,

And dying still implores you wou’d believe

He’s guilty of no fault but having lov’d you,

For which presumption he deserves to die;

--But ‘tis not by your Dagger, but your Eyes:

That was too weak to exercise your Will,

Your Cruelty had power alone to kill;

And now from you one visit he implores,

And after that he’ll trouble you no more. [_Weeps_.

_Cleo_. That I will grant to satisfy the King.

_Lys_. When he is dead--

He’ll send the Spirit of _Clemanthis_ to you,

Who shall upbraid you with your Cruelty,

And let you see, in wounding of _Thersander_,

You’ve found the readiest way to kill _Clemanthis_.

_Cleo_. What means he by these Words?

_Lys_. He humbly begs you’ll pardon the rough treatment

You’ve had among the _Scythians_,

Whose Crown, he says, _Clemanthis_ promis’d you,

And he intreats you would accept it from him.

_Cleo_. To send the Spirit of _Clemanthis_ to me--

How this agrees with my sad Dream!

How did thy Master know--

_Clemanthis_ promis’d me the Crown of _Scythia_?--

[_Advances towards_ Lys. _and she starts_.

--Sure I have seen that Face before--

Art not _Lysander_, Page to _Clemanthis_?

_Lys_. Madam, I am, and ever serv’d that Master.

_Cleo_. How couldst thou then come near his Enemy?

_Lys_. Madam, it was by his Command I came.

_Cleo_. How could _Clemanthis_ love his Murderer?

It is no wonder then that generous Spirit

Came while I slept, and pleaded for the Prince.

_Lys_. What means the Princess?

_Enter_ Pimante.

_Pim_. Oh, Madam, I have news to tell you that will

Make you forswear ever fighting again.

_Cleo_. What mean you?

_Pim_. As I was passing through a Street of Tents,

I saw a wounded Man stretcht on the ground;

And going, as others did, to learn his Fate,

I heard him say to those that strove to help him,

Alas, my Friends, your Succours are in vain;

For now I see the Gods will be reveng’d

For brave _Clemanthis’. Murder.

How! cry’d I out, are you then one of those

_Thersander_ sent to kill that Cavalier?

_Thersander_, cry’d he, had no hand in it;

But _Artabazes_ set us on to kill him.

Here he began to faulter in his Speech;

And sure he spoke the truth, for ‘twas his last.

_Cleo_. This looks like Truth. _Thersander’s_ every Action

Declar’d too much of Virtue and of Honour,

To be the Author of so black a Deed.

--Tell him, I’ll visit him, and beg his pardon.

[_To_ Lys. _who bows and goes out_.

--Generous _Thersander_, if this News be true,

My Eyes shall spare some drops for injuring you.

[_Excunt_.

SCENE V. _Changes to_ Thersander’s _Tent_.

_He in a Night-gown sitting on a Couch; by him the_ King,

_Officers, Attendants to them. Enter_ Cleomena, Semiris,

Pimante; Lysander; _the_ King _rises to meet_ Cleo. _and

seats her in a Chair by him_.

_Cleo. Thersander_, I am come to beg thy pardon,

If thou art innocent, as I must believe thee,

And here before the King to make confession

Of what I did refuse the Queen my Mother.

--Know then, I lov’d, and with a perfect Passion,

The most unfortunate of Men, _Clemanthis_.

His Birth I never knew, but do believe

It was illustrious, as were all his Actions;

But I have lost him by a fatal accident,

That very day he should have fought with you.

[_Weeps_.

_Ther_. Gods! where will this end? [_Aside_.

_Cleo_. But e’er the fatal moment of his Death,

_Ismenes_ beg’d to know who did the Murder:

But he could answer nothing but _Thersander_,

And we believ’d it you.

Then Love and my Revenge made me a Soldier;

--You know the rest--

And doubtless you’ve accus’d me with Ingratitude.

_Ther_. No, I shall ne’er complain of _Cleomena_,

[_He kneels before her_.

If she still love _Clemanthis_.

_Cleo_. There needs no more to make me know that Voice.

Oh stay, this Joy too suddenly surprizes--

[_Ready to swound_.

--Gently distil the Bliss into my Soul,

Lest this Excess have the effects of Grief:

--Oh, my _Clemanthis_! do I hold thee fast?

And do I find thee in the Prince of _Scythia_?

_King_. I lose my Reason by this strange encounter!

_Ther_. Was’t then a secret to my _Cleomena_,

That her _Clemanthis_ was the Prince of _Scythia_?

I still believ’d that was his only Crime.

_Cleo_. By all my Joys I knew it not--but sure

This is Enchantment; for it is as certain

These Eyes beheld thee dead.

_Pim_. Ay, and so did I, I’ll be sworn.

_Ther_. That must be poor _Amintas_ in my Dress,

Whose Story, when you know, you will bemoan.

_Cleo_. But oh my Life! the cruel Wound I gave thee,

Let me be well assur’d it is not mortal,

Or I am lost again.

_King_. The Surgeon gives me hopes, and ‘twere convenient

You should forbid him not to speak too much--

_Enter a Soldier_.

_Sold_. Arm, arm, great Sir, I think the Enemy

Is rallying afresh, for the Plain is cover’d

With numerous Troops, which swiftly make this way.

_King_. They dare not break the Truce.

_Sold_. I know not, Sir, but something of a King I heard them talk of--

_Cleo_. It is _Vallentio_ that has kept his word--

Receive ‘em, Sir, as Friends, not Enemies;

It is my Brother, who ne’er knew till now

Ought of a peopled World.

_King_. I long to see that Monarch, whose Friendship I

Must court for you, fair Princess:

If you’ll accept _Thersander_ whom I offer’d,

I do not doubt an happy Peace on both sides.

_Cleo_. Sir. ‘tis an honour which we ought to sue for.

_Ther_. And ‘tis to me a Blessing--

I wanted Confidence to ask of Heaven.

_Enter_ Ors. Val. Hon. Art. Ism. Geron. _Soldiers, &c_. Ors.

_drest gay with a Truncheon in his Hand, advances first, is

met by the_ King, _who gaze on each other_.

_Ors_. If thou be’st he that art _Orsames’. Enemy,

I do demand a Sister at thy Hands.

_King_. Art thou _Orsames_?

_Ors_. So I am call’d by all that yet have view’d me:

--Look on me well--

Dost see no marks of Grandure in my Face?

Nothing that speaks me King?

_King_. I do believe thou art that King, and here

[_Gives him_ Cleo.

I do resign that Sister thou demandest.

_Ors_. It is a Woman too! another Woman!

I wou’d embrace thee if I durst approach thee.

_Cleo_. You need not fear, you may embrace your Sister--

[Cleo. _embraces him_.

_Ors_. This is the kindest Women I e’er saw.

_Cleo_. Brother, behold this King no more your Enemy,

Since I must pay him Duty as a Father.

_Enter_ Queen, Olympia, _Women_.

_Ors_. Hah, _Olympia_! sure ‘tis an airy Vision--

_Ger_. Approach her, Sir, and try.

_Qu_. Permit a wretched Mother here to kneel.

_King_. Rise, Madam, and receive me as your Friend;

This pair of Lovers has united all our Interests.

[_Points to_ Cleo. _and_ Thers.

_Qu_. Heavens! what’s this I see, _Clemanthis_

And the Prince of _Scythia_?

_Ther_. Yes, Madam, and a Man that humbly begs

The happy Title of your Son--_Honorius_,

Of you I ask the greatest Pardon--

[_Talks to_ Olympia.

_Ors_. I am a King, and do adore thee too,

And thou shalt rule a World with me, my Fair;

A Sword I’ll give thee, with a painted Bow,

Whence thou shalt shoot a thousand gilded Arrows.

_Olym_. What to do, Sir?

_Ors_. To save the expence of Cruelty;

For they will kill as sure, but rightly aim’d;

This noble Fellow told me so. [_To_ Val.

_Olym_. Sir, I’ll do any thing that you will have me:

But now the Queen your Mother, Sir, expects you.

_Ors_. Instruct my Eyes, _Olympia_, for ‘tis lately

I’ve learnt of some such thing.

_Olym_. This, Sir, you ought to kneel to her.

_Ors_. Must I then kneel to ought but Heaven and thee?

[_Kneels_.

_Qu_. My dear _Orsames_, let my Tears make way.

Before I can assure thee of my Joy.

_Ors_. Gods! how obliging is this kind Concern!

Not all my Passion for my fair _Olympia_

Cou’d ever yet betray me to a Tear.

[_Weeps_.

_Qu_. Thou’st greater need of Anger than of Tears,

Having before thy Eyes thy worst of Enemies,

One that has long depriv’d thee of a Crown,

Through what she thought her Duty to the Gods;

But now repents her superstitious Error,

And humbly begs thy Pardon.

_Ors_. I will, if you’ll implore _Olympia_ but to love me.

_Qu_. I will, my _Orsames_; and ‘tis the only Present

I can make to expiate my Fault.

_Ors_. And I’ll receive her as the only thing

Can make me both a happy Subject and a King.

Oh, _Geron_, still if this should prove a Dream!

_Ger_. Sir, Dreams of Kings are much less pleasant.

_Enter_ Lysander.

_Lys_. Sir, there are without some Shepherdesses,

Who say they wou’d present you [_To_ Ther.

Something that will not be unwelcome to your Highness.

_Ther_. Let them come in--

_They seat themselves. Enter_ Amin. Ura. _maskt, Shepherds,

Shepherdesses, followed with Pipes, or Wind-Musick. They

dance; after which_ Amin. _kneels to the Prince_,

Ura. _to the Princess_.

--My dear _Amintas_, do I find thee live?

Fortune requites my Sufferings

With too large a share of Happiness.

_Amin_. Sir, I do live to die again for you.

_Ther_. This, my Divine, is he who had [_To_ Cleo.

The Glory to be bewail’d by you; for him you wept;

For him had almost dy’d.

_Amin_. That Balm it was, that like the Weapon-salve

Heals at a distance--

_Cleo_. But why, Amintas, did you name _Thersander_,

When you were askt who wounded you?

_Amin_. Madam, if loss of Blood had given me leave,

I wou’d have told you how I came so habited,

And who I was, though not how I was wounded.

_King_. Still I am in a mist, and cannot see the happy path I tread.

_Ther_. Anon we will explain the Mystery, Sir.

_Hon_. Now, great _Orsames_, ‘tis but just and fit

That you receive the Rites of Coronation,

Which are not to be paid you in a Camp;

The Court will add more to that joyful Day.

_King_. And there we’ll join our Souls as well as Swords,

Our Interests as our Families.

_Ors_. I am content that thou should’st give me Laws:

Come, my _Vallentio_, it shall ne’er be said

I recompense thy Services

With any thing less grateful than a Woman:

--Here, I will chuse for thee--

And when I know what ‘tis I more can do,

If there be ought beyond this Gift, ‘tis thine.

[_Gives him_ Sem.

_Ther. Scythia_ and _Dacia_ now united are:

The God of Love o’ercomes the God of War.

_After a Dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses, the Epilogue

is spoken by Mrs_. Barry, _as a Nymph; at his Royal

Highness’s second Exile into_ Flanders.

EPILOGUE.

_After our showing Play of mighty Pains,

We here present you humble Nymphs and Swains.

Our rustick Sports sometimes may Princes please,

And Courts do oft divert in Cottages,

And prize the Joys with some young rural Maid,

On Beds of Grass beneath a lovely Shade,

’.ove all the Pride of City-Jilts, whose Arts

Are more to gain your Purses than your Hearts;

Whose chiefest Beauty lies in being fine;

And Coyness is not Virtue, but Design.

We use no Colours to adorn the Face,

No artful Looks, nor no affected Grace,

The neighbouring Stream serves for a Looking-glass.

Ambition is not known within our Groves;

Here’s no Dispute for Empire, but for Loves;

The humble Swain his Birth-right here enjoys,

And fears no Danger from the publick Voice;

No Wrong nor Insolence from busy Powers,

No Rivals here for Crowns, but those of Flowers,

His Country and his Flocks enjoy with ease,

Ranges his native Fields and Groves in Peace;

Nor forc’d by Arbitrary Votes to fly

To foreign Shores for his Security.

Our humble Tributes uncompell’d we pay,

And cheerful Homage to the Lord of May;

No Emulation breaks his soft Repose,

Nor do his Wreaths or Virtues gain him Foes:

No publick Mischiefs can disturb his Reign,

And Malice would be busy here in vain.

Fathers and Sons just Love and Duty pay;

This knows to be indulgent, that t’obey.

Here’s no Sedition hatcht, no other Plots,

But to entrap the Wolf that steals our Flocks.

Who then wou’d be a King, gay Crowns to wear,

Restless his Nights, thoughtful his Days with Care;

Whose Greatness, or whose Goodness cant secure

From Outrages which Knaves and Fools procure?

Greatness, be gone, we banish you from hence,

The noblest State is lowly Innocence.

Here honest Wit in Mirth and Triumph reigns,

Musick and Love shall ever bless our Swains,

And keep the Golden Age within our Woods and Plains_.

THE CITY HEIRESS; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TREAT-ALL.

ARGUMENT.

The scene is London. Sir Timothy Treat-all, an old seditious knight, that

keeps open house for Commonwealthsmen and true Blue Protestants, has

disinherited his nephew, Tom Wilding, a town gallant and a Tory. Wilding

is pursuing an intrigue with Lady Galliard, a wealthy widow, and also

with Chariot, heiress to the rich Sir Nicholas Get-all, recently

deceased. Lady Galliard is further hotly wooed by Sir Charles Meriwill, a

young Tory, but she favours Wilding. Sir Charles is encouraged in his

suit by his roystering uncle, Sir Anthony. Wilding introduces his

mistress Diana to Sir Timothy as the heiress Charlot; and at an

entertainment given by Sir Timothy, Charlot herself appears, disguised as

a Northern lass, to watch the progress of Tom’s intrigue with the widow,

who eventually yields to him. Sir Charles, none the less, backed by Sir

Anthony, still persists, and after various passionate scenes forces her

to consent to become his bride. Meanwhile Sir Timothy has arranged a

marriage with Diana, whom he firmly believes to be Charlot. During the

progress of the entertainment he is visited by a strange nobleman and his

retinue, who offer him the crown of Poland and great honours. That night,

however, his house is rifled by thieves and his money and papers stolen.

He himself is pinioned hand and foot, the foreign lord bound fast in his

own room, and all his followers secured. Sir Timothy having married Diana

discovers that she is none other than his nephew’s mistress, and,

moreover, the Polish ambassador was Tom in masquerade, the attendants and

burglars his friends, who by obtaining his treasonable correspondence are

able effectually to silence the old knight. Wilding is united to Charlot,

whilst Lady Galliard weds Charles Meriwill.

SOURCE.

The City Heiress is most manifestly borrowed from two main sources. Sir

Anthony Meriwill and Charles are Durazzo and Caldoro from Massinger’s

_The Guardian_ (licensed 31 October, 1633, 8vo, 1655). Mrs. Behn has

transferred to her play even small details and touches. The burglary,

that most wonderful of all burglaries, is taken and improved from

Middleton’s _A Mad World, My Masters_ (4to, 1608), Act ii, where Sir

Bounteous Progress is robbed by Dick Folly-Wit, his grandson, in

precisely the same way as Sir Timothy is choused by Tom. On 4 February,

1715, Charles Johnson produced at Drury Lane his _The Country Lasses; or,

The Custom of the Manor_, a rifacimento of Fletcher’s _The Custom of the

Country_ and _The City Heiress_. It is a well-written, lively enough

comedy, but very weak and anaemic withal when compared to Mrs. Behn. B.

G. Stephenson, in his vivacious libretto to Cellier’s tuneful opera,

_Dorothy_, produced at the Gaiety Theatre, 25 September, 1886, has made

great use of Johnson’s play, especially Act i, where the gallants meet

the two ladies disguised as country girls; the duel scenes of Act v; and

the pseudo-burglary of Act iii. He even gives his comic sheriff’s officer

the name of Lurcher, who in Johnson is the rackety nephew that tricks his

hospitable old uncle, Sir John English. The _Biographia Dramatica_ states

that Mrs. Behn ‘introduced into this play (_The City Heiress_) a great

part of the _Inner Temple Masque_ by Middleton.’ This charge is

absolutely unfounded, and it would not be uninteresting to know how so

complete an error arose. The two have nothing in common. It must be

allowed that Mrs. Behn has displayed such wit and humour as amply to

justify her plagiarisms. Sir Timothy Treat-all himself is, of course,

Shaftesbury almost without disguise. There are a thousand telling hits at

the President of the Council and his vices. He was also bitterly

satirized in many other plays. In Nevil Payne’s _The Siege of

Constantinople_ (1675) he appears as The Chancellor; 1680 in Otway’s

Shakespearean cento cum bastard classicism _Caius Marius_ some very plain

traits can be recognized in the grim Marius senior; in Southerne’s _The

Loyal Brother_ (1682) Ismael, a villainous favourite; in _Venice

Preserved_ (1682) the lecherous Antonio; in the same year Banks

caricatured him as a quite unhistorical Cardinal Wolsey, _Virtue

Betray’d; or, Anna Bullen_; in Crowne’s mordant _City Politics_ (1683)

the Podesta of a most un-Italian Naples; the following year Arius the

heresiarch in Lee’s _Constantine the Great_; in the operatic _Albion and

Albanius_ (1685), Dryden does not spare even physical infirmities and

disease with the crudest yet cruellest exhibition, and five years later

he attacked his old enemy once more as Benducar in that great tragedy

_Don Sebastian_.

THEATRICAL HISTORY.

_The City Heiress; or, Sir Timothy Treat-all_ was produced at the Duke’s

House, Dorset Garden, in 1682. Downes specially mentions it as having

been ‘well acted’, and it was indeed an ‘all star’ cast. It had a

tremendous ovation but in spite of its great merit did not become a stock

play, probably owing to the intensely political nature of much of its

satirical wit, a feature necessarily ephemeral. It seems, however, to

have been presented from time to time, and there was a notable revival on

10 July, 1707, at the Haymarket, for the benefit of Husband and Pack. Sir

Timothy was played by Cross; Tom Wilding, Mills; Sir Anthony, Bullock;

Foppington, Pack; Lady Galliard, Mrs. Bradshaw; Charlot, Mrs. Bicknall;

Clacket, Mrs. Powell. It met with a very favourable reception.

To the Right Honourable _Henry_ Earl of _Arundel_, and Lord _Mowbray_.

MY LORD,

’.is long that I have with great impatience waited some opportunity to

declare my infinite Respect to your Lordship, coming, I may say, into the

World with a Veneration for your Illustrious Family, and being brought up

with continual Praises of the Renowned Actions of your glorious

Ancestors, both in War and Peace, so famous over the Christian World for

their Vertue, Piety, and Learning, their elevated Birth, and greatness of

Courage, and of whom all our English History are full of the Wonders of

their Lives: A Family of so Ancient Nobility, and from whom so many

Heroes have proceeded to bless and serve their King and Country, that all

Ages and all Nations mention ‘em even with Adoration: My self have been

in this our Age an Eye and Ear-witness, with what Transports of Joy, with

what unusual Respect and Ceremony, above what we pay to Mankind, the very

Name of the Great Howards of Norfolk and Arundel, have been celebrated on

Foreign Shores! And when any one of your Illustrious Family have pass’d

the Streets, the People throng’d to praise and bless him as soon as his

Name has been made known to the glad Croud. This I have seen with a Joy

that became a true English heart, (who truly venerate its brave

Country-men) and joyn’d my dutiful Respects and Praises with the most

devout; but never had the happiness yet of any opportunity to express

particularly that Admiration I have and ever had for your Lordship and

your Great Family. Still, I say, I did admire you, still I wish’d and

pray’d for you; ‘twas all I cou’d or durst: But, as my Esteem for your

Lordship daily increased with my Judgment, so nothing cou’d bring it to

a more absolute height and perfection, than to observe in these

troublesome times, this Age of Lying, Peaching, and Swearing with what

noble Prudence, what steadiness of Mind, what Loyalty and Conduct you

have evaded the Snare, that ‘twas to be fear’d was laid for all the Good,

the Brave, and Loyal, for all that truly lov’d our best of Kings and this

distracted Country. A thousand times I have wept for fear that Impudence

and Malice wou’d extend so far as to stain your Noble and ever-Loyal

Family with its unavoidable Imputatious; and as often for joy, to see how

undauntedly both the Illustrions Duke your Father, and your Self, stem’d

the raging Torrent that threatned, with yours, the ruin of the King and

Kingdom; all which had not power to shake your Constancy or Loyalty: for

which, may Heaven and Earth reward and bless you; the noble Examples to

thousands of failing hearts, who from so great a President of Loyalty,

became confirm’d. May Heaven and Earth bless you for your pious and

resolute bravery of Mind, and Heroick honesty, when you cry’d, _Not

Guilty_; that you durst, like your great self, speak Conscientious Truths

in a Juncto so vitious, when Truth and Innocence was criminal: and I

doubt not but the Soul of that great Sufferer bows down from Heaven in

gratitude for that noble service done it. All these and a thousand marks

you give of daily growing Greatness; every day produces to those like me,

curious to learn the story of your Life and Actions, something that even

adds a Lustre to your great Name, which one wou’d think you’d be made no

more splendid: some new Goodness, some new act of Loyalty or Courage,

comes out to cheer the World and those that admire you. Nor wou’d I be

the last of those that dayly congratulate and celebrate your rising

Glory; nor durst I any other way approach you with it, but this humble

one, which carries some Excuse along with it.

Proud of the opportunity then, I most humbly beg your Lordships’

patronage of a Comedy, which has nothing to defend it, but the Honour it

begs, and nothing to deserve that Honour, but its being in every part

true Tory! Loyal all-over! except one Knave, which I hope no body will

take to himself; or if he do, I must e’en say with _Hamlet_,

--Then let the strucken Deer go weep--

It has the luck to be well received in the Town; which (not for my

Vanity) pleases me, but that thereby I find Honesty begins to come in

fashion again, when Loyalty is approv’d, and Whigism becomes a Jest

where’er ‘tis met with. And, no doubt on’t, so long as the Royal Cause

has such Patrons as your Lordship, such vigorous and noble Supporters,

his Majesty will be great, secure and quiet, the Nation flourishing and

happy, and seditious Fools and Knaves that have so long disturb’d the

Peace and Tranquility of the World, will become the business and sport of

Comedy, and at last the scorn of that Rabble that fondly and blindly

worshipt ‘em; and whom nothing can so well convince as plain

Demonstration, which is ever more powerful and prevailent than Precept,

or even Preaching it self. If this have edifi’d effectual, ‘tis all I

wish; and that your Lordship will be pleas’d to accept the humble

Offering, is all I beg, and the greatest Glory I care shou’d be done,

MY LORD,

Your Lordship’s most Humble

and most Obedient Servant,

A. BEHN.

THE CITY HEIRESS; or, Sir _Timothy Treat-all_.

PROLOGUE,

Written by Mr. _Otway_, Spoken by Mrs. _Barry_.

_How vain have proved the Labours of the Stage,

In striving to reclaim a vitious Age!

Poets may write the Mischief to impeach,

You care as little what the Poets teach,

As you regard at Church what Parsons preach.

But where such Follies, and such Vices reign,

What honest Pen has Patience to refrain?

At Church, in Pews, ye most devoutly snore

And here, got dully drunk, ye come to roar:

Ye go to Church to glout, and ogle there,

And come to meet more loud convenient here.

With equal Zeal ye honour either Place,

And run so very evenly your Race,

Y’ improve in Wit just as you do in Grace.

It must be so, some Daemon has possest

Our Land, and we have never since been blest.

Y’ have seen it all, or heard of its Renown,

In Reverend Shape it staled about the Town,

Six Yeomen tall attending on its Frown.

Sometimes with humble Note and zealous Lore,

’.wou’d play the Apostolick Function o’er:

But, Heaven have mercy on us when it swore.

Whene’er it swore, to prove the Oaths were true,

Out of its much at random Halters flew

Round some unwary Neck, by Magick thrown,

Though still the cunning Devil sav’d its own:

For when the Inchantment could no longer last,

The subtle Pug most dextrously uncas’d,

Left awful Form for one more seeming pious,

And in a moment vary’d to defy us;

From silken Doctor home-spun Ananias:

Left the leud Court, and did in City fix,

Where still, by its old Arts, it plays new Tricks,

And fills the Heads of Fools with Politicks.

This Daemon lately drew in many a Guest,

To part with zealous Guinea for--no Feast.

Who, but the most incorrigible Fops,

For ever doomed in dismal Cells, call’d Shops,

To cheat and damn themselves to get their Livings,

Wou’d lay sweet Money out in Sham-Thanksgivings?

Sham-Plots you may have paid for o’er and o’er;

But who e’er paid for a Sham-Treat before?

Had you not better sent your Offerings all

Hither to us, than Sequestrators Hall?

I being your Steward, Justice had been done ye;

I cou’d have entertain’d you worth your Money_.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

Sir _Timothy Treat-all_, an old seditious Knight, |

that keeps open House for Commonwealthsmen | Mr. _Nokes_.

and true blue Protestants, Uncle to _T. |

Wilding_, |

_Tom Wilding_, a Tory, his discarded Nephew, Mr. _Bctterton_.

Sir _Anthony Meriwill_, an old Tory Knight of Mr. _Lee_.

_Devonshire_,

Sir _Charles Meriwill_, his Nephew, a Tory also, |

in love with L. _Galliard_, and Friend to | Mr. _Williams_.

_Wilding_, |

_Dresswell_, a young Gentleman, Friend to Mr. _Bowman_.

_Wilding_,

_Foppington_, a Hanger-on on _Wilding_, Mr. _Jevon_.

_Jervice_, Man to Sir _Timothy_.

_Laboir_, Man to _Tom Wilding_.

Boy, Page to Lady _Galliard_.

Boy, Page to _Diana_.

Guests, Footmen, Musick, &c.

WOMEN.

Lady _Galliard_, a rich City-Widow, in love with | Mrs. _Barry_.

_Wilding_, |

_Charlot_, The City-Heiress, in love with _Wilding_, Mrs. _Butler_.

_Diana_, Mistress to _Wilding_, and kept by him, Mrs. _Corror_.

Mrs. _Clacket_, a City Baud and Puritan, Mrs. _Novice_.

Mrs. _Closet_, Woman to Lady _Galliard_, Mrs. _Lee_.

Mrs. _Sensure_, Sir _Timothy’s_ Housekeeper.

_Betty_, Maid to _Diana_.

Maid at _Charlot’s_ lodging.

SCENE, _Within the Walls of_ London.

ACT I.

SCENE I. _The Street_.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy Treat-all, _follow’d by_ Tom Wilding

bare, Sir_ Charles Meriwill, Foppington, _and

Footman with a Cloke_.

Sir _Tim_. Trouble me no more: for I am resolv’d, deaf and obdurate, d’ye

see, and so forth.

_Wild_. I beseech ye, Uncle, hear me.

Sir _Tim_. No.

_Wild_. Dear Uncle--

Sir _Tim_. No.

_Wild_. You will be mortify’d--

Sir _Tim_. No.

_Wild_. At least hear me out, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. No, I have heard you out too often, Sir, till

you have talkt me out of many a fair Thousand; have had

ye out of all the Bayliffs, Serjeants, and Constables Clutches

about Town, Sir; have brought you out of all the Surgeons,

Apothecaries, and pocky Doctors Hands, that ever pretended

to cure incurable Diseases; and have crost ye out of the Books

of all the Mercers, Silk-men, Exchange-men, Taylors,

Shoemakers, and Sempstresses; with all the rest of the

unconscionable City-tribe of the long Bill, that had but

Faith enough to trust, and thought me Fool enough to pay.

Sir _Char_. But, Sir, consider, he’s your own Flesh and Blood.

Sir _Tim_. That’s more than I’ll swear.

Sir _Char_. Your only Heir.

Sir _Tim_. That’s more than you or any of his wise Associates can tell,

Sir.

Sir _Char_. Why his wise Associates? Have you any Exception to the

Company he keeps? This reflects on me and young _Dresswell_, Sir, Men

both of Birth and Fortune.

Sir _Tim_. Why, good Sir _Charles Meriwill_, let me tell you, since

you’ll have it out, That you and young _Dresswell_ are able to debauch,

destroy, and confound all the young imitating Fops in Town.

Sir _Char_. How, Sir!

Sir _Tim_. Nay, never huff, Sir; for I have six thousand Pound a Year,

and value no Man: Neither do I speak so much for your particular, as for

the Company you keep, such Tarmagant Tories as these, [To Fop.] who

are the very Vermin of a young Heir, and for one tickling give him a

thousand bites.

_Fop_. Death! meaning me, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Yes, you, Sir. Nay, never stare, Sir; I fear you not; No Man’s

hectoring signifies this--in the City, but the Constables: no body dares

be saucy here, except it be in the King’s name.

Sir _Char_. Sir, I confess he was to blame.

Sir _Tim_. Sir _Charles_, thanks to Heaven, you may be leud, you have a

plentiful Estate, may whore, drink, game, and play the Devil: your Uncle,

Sir Anthony Meriwill, intends to give you all his Estate too. But for

such Sparks as this, and my Fop in Fashion here, why, with what Face,

Conscience, or Religion, can they be leud and vitious, keep their

Wenches, Coaches, rich Liveries, and so forth, who live upon Charity, and

the Sins of the Nation?

Sir _Char_. If he hath youthful Vices, he has Virtues too.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, he had, but I know not, you have bewitch’d him

Amongst ye.

[weeping.

Before he fell to Toryism, he was a sober, civil Youth,

and had some Religion in him, wou’d read ye Prayers Night and Morning

with a laudable Voice, and cry Amen to ‘em; ‘twou’d have done one’s Heart

good to have heard him--wore decent Clothes, was drunk but on Sundays and

Holidays; and then I had Hopes of him.

[_Still weeping_.

_Wild_. Ay, Heaven forgive me.

Sir _Char_. But, Sir, he’s now become a new Man, is casting off all his

Women, is drunk not above five or six times a week, swears not above once

in a quarter of an Hour, nor has not gam’d this two Days--

Sir _Tim_. ‘Twas because the Devil was in’s Pocket then.

Sir _Char_.--Begins to take up at Coffee-houses, talks gravely in the

City, speaks scandalously of the Government, and rails most abominably

against the Pope and the French King.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, this shall not wheedle me out of one English Guinea;

and so I told him yesterday.

_Wild_. You did so, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Yes; by a good Token you were witty upon me, and swore I lov’d

and honoured the King no where but on his Coin.

Sir _Char_. Is it possible, Sir.

_Wild_. God forgive me, Sir; I confess I was a little overtaken.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, so it shou’d seem: for he mistook his own Chamber, and

went to bed to my Maid’s.

Sir _Char_. How! to bed to your Maid’s! Sure, Sir, ‘tis scandal on him.

Sir _Tim_. No, no, he makes his brags on’t, Sir. Oh, that crying Sin of

Boasting! Well fare, I say, the Days of old Oliver, he by a wholesom Act

made it death to boast; so that then a Man might whore his Heart out, and

no body the wiser.

Sir _Char_. Right, Sir, and then the Men pass’d for sober religious

Persons, and the Women for as demure Saints--

Sir _Tim_. Ay, then there was no scandal; but now they do not only boast

what they do, but what they do not.

_Wild_. I’ll take care that fault shall be mended, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, so will I, if Poverty has any Feats of Mortification; and

so farewel to you, Sir.

[Going.

_Wild_. Stay, Sir, are you resolv’d to be so cruel then, and ruin all my

Fortunes now depending?

Sir _Tim_. Most religiously--

_Wild_. You are?

Sir _Tim_. I am.

_Wild_. Death, I’ll rob.

Sir _Tim_. Do and be hang’d.

_Wild_. Nay, I’ll turn Papist.

Sir _Tim_. Do and be damn’d.

Sir _Char_. Bless me, Sir, what a Scandal would that be to the Family of

the _Treat-alls_!

Sir _Tim_. Hum! I had rather indeed he turn’d Turk or Jew, for his own

sake; but as for scandalizing me, I defy it: My Integrity has been known

ever since Forty one; I bought three Thousand a year in Bishops Lands, as

’.is well known, and lost it at the King’s return; for which I’m honour’d

by the City. But for his farther Satisfaction, Consolation, and

Destruction, know, That I Sir _Timothy Treat-all_, Knight and Alderman,

do think my self young enough to marry, d’ye see, and will wipe your Nose

with a Son and Heir of my own begetting, and so forth.

[_Going away_.

_Wild_. Death! marry!

Sir _Char_. Patience, dear Tom, or thou’t spoil all.

_Wild_. Damn him, I’ve lost all Patience, and can dissemble no longer,

though I lose all--Very good, Sir; harkye, I hope she’s young and

handsome; or if she be not, amongst the numerous lusty-stomacht Whigs

that daily nose your publick Dinners, some maybe found, that either for

Money, Charity, or Gratitude, may requite your Treats. You keep open

House to all the Party, not for Mirth, Generosity or good Nature, but for

Roguery. You cram the Brethren, the pious City-Gluttons, with good Cheer,

good Wine, and Rebellion in abundance, gormandizing all Comers and Goers,

of all Sexes, Sorts, Opinions and Religions, young half-witted Fops,

hot-headed Fools, and Malecontents: You guttle and fawn on all, and all

in hopes of debauching the King’s Liege-people into Commonwealthsmen;

and rather than lose a Convert, you’ll pimp for him. These are your

nightly Debauches--Nay, rather than you shall want it, I’ll cuckold you

my self in pure Revenge.

Sir _Tim_. How! Cuckold his own natural Uncle!

Sir _Char_. Oh, he cannot be so profane.

_Wild_. Profane! why he deny’d but now the having any share in me; and

therefore ‘tis lawful. I am to live by my Wits, you say, and your old

rich good-natur’d Cuckold is as sure a Revenue to a handsome young Cadet,

as a thousand Pound a Year. Your tolerable Face and Shape is an Estate in

the City, and a better Bank than your Six per Cent, at any time.

Sir _Tim_. Well, Sir, since Nature has furnisht you so well, you need but

up and ride, show and be rich; and so your Servant, witty Mr. _Wilding_.

[_Goes out. He looks after him_.

Sir _Char_. Whilst I am labouring another’s good, I quite neglect my own.

This cursed, proud, disdainful Lady _Galliard_, is ever in my Head; she’s

now at Church, I’m sure, not for Devotion, but to shew her Charms, and

throw her Darts amongst the gazing Croud; and grows more vain by

Conquest. I’m near the Church, and must step in, though it cost me a new

Wound.

[Wild, _stands pausing_.

_Wild_. I am resolv’d--Well, dear _Charles_, let’s sup together to night,

and contrive some way to e reveng’d of this wicked Uncle of mine. I must

leave thee now, for I have an Assignation here at Church.

Sir _Char_. Hah! at Church!

_Wild_. Ay, _Charles_ with the dearest She-Saint, and I hope Sinner.

Sir _Char_. What, at Church? Pox, I shall be discover’d now in my Amours.

That’s an odd place for Love-Intrigues.

_Wild_. Oh, I am to pass for a sober, discreet Person to the Relations;

but for my Mistress, she’s made of no such sanctify’d Materials; she is a

Widow, _Charles_, young, rich, and beautiful.

Sir _Char_. Hah! if this shou’d prove my Widow, now. [_Aside_.

_Wild_. And though at her own dispose, yet is much govern’d by Honour,

and a rigid Mother, who is ever preaching to her against the Vices of

Youth, and t’other end of the Town Sparks; dreads nothing so much as her

Daughter’s marrying a villanous Tory. So the young one is forc’d to

dissemble Religion, the best Mask to hide a kind Mistress in.

Sir _Char_. This must be my Lady _Galliard_. [_Aside_.

_Wild_. There is at present some ill understanding between us; some

damn’d Honourable Fop lays siege to her, which has made me ill received;

and I having a new Intrigue elsewhere, return her cold Disdain, but now

and then she crosses my Heart too violently to resist her. In one of

these hot Fits I now am, and must find some occasion to speak to her.

Sir _Char_. By Heaven, it must be she--I am studying now, amongst all our

She-Acquaintance, who this shou’d be.

_Wild_. Oh, this is of Quality to be conceal’d; but the dearest loveliest

Hypocrite, white as Lillies, smooth as Rushes, and plump as Grapes after

a Shower, haughty her Mein, her Eyes full of Disdain, and yet bewitching

sweet; but when she loves soft, witty, wanton, all that charms a Soul,

and but for now and then a fit of Honour, Oh, damn the Nonsense! wou’d be

all my own.

Sir _Char_. ‘Tis she, by Heaven! [_Aside_.]

Methinks this Widow shou’d prove a good Income to you, as things now

stand between you and your Uncle.

_Wild_. Ah, _Charles_, but I am otherways dispos’d of. There is the most

charming pretty thing in nature fallen in love with this Person of mine,

a rich City-Heiress, _Charles_, and I have her in possession.

Sir _Char_. How can you love two at once? I’ve been as wild and as

extravagant, as Youth and Wealth cou’d render me; but ne’er arrived to

that degree of Leudness, to deal my Heart about: my Hours I might, but

Love shou’d be intire.

_Wild_. Ah, _Charles_, two such bewitching Faces wou’d give thy Heart the

lye:--But Love divides us, and I must into Church. Adieu till Night.

[_Exit_.

Sir _Char_. And I must follow, to resolve my Heart in what it dreads to

learn. Here, my Cloke. [_Takes his Cloke from his Man, and puts it on_.]

Hah, Church is done! See, they are coming forth!

_Enter People cross the Stage, as from Church; amongst ‘em Sir_

Anthony Meriwill, _follow’d by Sir_ Timothy Treat-all.

Hah, my Uncle! He must not see me here.

[_Throws his Cloke over his Face_.

Sir _Tim_. What my old Friend and Acquaintance, Sir Anthony Meriwill!

Sir _Anth_. Sir _Timothy Treat-all_!

Sir _Tim_. Why, how long have you been in Town, Sir?

Sir _Anth_. About three days, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Three days, and never came to dine with me! ‘tis unpardonable!

What, you keep close to the Church, I see: You are for the Surplice

still, old Orthodox you; the Times cannot mend you, I see.

Sir _Anth_. No, nor shall they mar me, Sir.

Sir _Char_. They are discoursing; I’ll pass by. [_Aside_.

[_Ex. Sir_ Charles.

Sir _Anth_. As I take it, you came from Church too.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, needs must when the Devil drives. I go to save my Bacon,

as they say, once a Month, and that too after the Porridge is serv’d up.

Sir _Anth_. Those that made it, Sir, are wiser than we. For my part, I

love good wholesom Doctrine, that teaches Obedience to the King and

Superiors, without railing at the Government, and quoting Scripture for

Sedition, Mutiny and Rebellion. Why here was a jolly Fellow this Morning

made a notable Sermon. By George, our Country-Vicars are mere Scholars to

your Gentlemen Town-Parsons! Hah, how he handled the Text, and run

Divisions upon’t! ‘twould make a Man sin with moderation, to hear how he

claw’d away the Vices of the Town, Whoring, Drinking, and Conventicling,

with the rest of the deadly number.

Sir _Tim_. Good lack! an he were so good at Whoring and Drinking, you’d

best carry your Nephew, Sir _Charles Meriwill_, to Church; he wants a

little documentizing that way.

Sir _Anth_. Hum! you keep your old wont still; a Man can begin no

Discourse to you, be it of Prester John, but you still conclude with my

Nephew.

Sir _Tim_. Good Lord! Sir Anthony, you need not be so purty; what I say,

is the Discourse of the whole City, how lavishly you let him live, and

give ill Examples to all young Heirs.

Sir _Anth_. The City! The City’s a grumbling, lying, dissatisfy’d City,

and no wise or honest Man regards what it says. Do you, or any of the

City, stand bound to his Scrivener or Taylor? He spends what I allow him,

Sir, his own; and you’re a Fool, or Knave, chuse ye whether, to concern

your self.

Sir _Tim_. Good lack! I speak but what wiser Men discourse.

Sir _Anth_. Wiser Men! wiser Coxcombs. What, they wou’d have me train my

Nephew up, a hopeful Youth, to keep a Merchant’s Book, or send him to

chop Logick in an University, and have him returned an arrant learned

Ass, to simper, and look demure, and start at Oaths and Wenches, whilst I

fell his Woods, and grant Leases: And lastly, to make good what I have

cozen’d him of, force him to marry Mrs. Crump, the ill-favour’d Daughter

of some Right Worshipful.--A Pox of all of such Guardians!

Sir _Tim_. Do, countenance Sin and Expenccs, do.

Sir _Anth_. What Sin, what Expences? He wears good Clothes, why,

Trades-men get the more by him; he keeps his Coach, ‘tis for his Ease;

A Mistress, ‘tis for his Pleasure; he games, ‘tis for his Diversion: And

where’s the harm of this? is there ought else you can accuse him with?

Sir _Tim_. Yes,--a Pox upon him, he’s my Rival too. [_Aside_.

Why then I’ll tell you, Sir, he loves a Lady.

Sir _Anth_. If that be a Sin, Heaven help the Wicked!

Sir _Tim_. But I mean honourably--

Sir _Anth_. Honourably! why do you know any Infirmity in him, why he

shou’d not marry? [_Angrily_.

Sir _Tim_. Not I, Sir.

Sir _Anth_. Not you, Sir? why then you’re an Ass, Sir--But is this Lady

young and handsom?

Sir _Tim_. Ay, and rich too, Sir.

Sir _Anth_. No matter for Money, so she love the Boy.

Sir _Tim_. Love him! No, Sir, she neither does, nor shall love him.

Sir _Anth_. How, Sir, nor shall love him! By _George_, but she shall, and

lie with him too, if I please, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. How, Sir! lie with a rich City-Widow, and a Lady, and to be

married to a fine Reverend old Gentleman within a day or two?

Sir _Anth_. His Name, Sir, his Name; I’ll dispatch him presently.

[_Offers to draw_.

Sir _Tim_. How, Sir, dispatch him!--Your Servant, Sir.

[_Offers to go_.

Sir _Anth_. Hold, Sir! by this abrupt departure, I fancy you the Boy’s

Rival: Come, draw.

[_Draws_.

Sir _Tim_. How, draw, Sir!

Sir _Anth_. Ay, draw, Sir; not my Nephew have the Widow!

Sir _Tim_. With all my Soul, Sir; I love and honour your Nephew. I his

Rival! alas, Sir, I’m not so fond of Cuckoldom. Pray, Sir, let me see you

and Sir _Charles_ at my House, I may serve him in this business; and so I

take my leave, Sir--Draw quoth-a! Pox upon him for an old Tory-rory.

[_Aside_.

[_Exit_.

_Enter as from Church, L_. Galliard, Closet, _and Footman_:

Wilding _passes carelessly by her, Sir_ Charles Meriwill

_following, wrapt up in his Cloke_.

Sir _Anth_. Who’s here? _Charles_ muffled in a Cloke peering after a

Woman?

My own Boy to a Hair! She’s handsom too. I’ll step aside; for I must see

the meaning on’t.

[_Goes aside_.

L. _Gal_. Bless me! how unconcern’d he pass’d!

_Clos_. He bow’d low, Madam.

L. _Gal_. But ‘twas in such a fashion, as exprest Indifferency, much

worse than Hate from _Wilding_.

_Clos_. Your Ladyship has us’d him ill of late; yet if your Ladyship

please, I’ll call him back.

L. _Gal_. I’ll die first--Hah, he’s going! Yet now I think on’t I have a

Toy of his, which to express my scorn, I’ll give him back now--this Ring.

_Clos_. Shall I carry it, Madam?

L. _Gal_. You’ll not express Disdain enough in the Delivery; and you may

call him back.

[Clos. _goes to_ Wild.

Sir _Char_. By Heaven, she’s fond of him. [_Aside_.

_Wild_. Oh, Mrs. Closet! is it you?--Madam, your Servant: By this

Disdain, I fear your Woman, Madam, has mistaken her Man. Wou’d your

Ladyship speak with me?

L. _Gal_. Yes.--But what? the God of Love instruct me. [_Aside_.

_Wild_. Command me quickly, Madam; for I have business.

L. _Gal_. Nay, then I cannot be discreet in Love. [_Aside_.

--Your business once was Love, nor had no idle hours

To throw away on any other thought;

You lov’d, as if you had no other Faculties,

As if you’d meant to gain eternal Bliss,

By that Devotion only: And see how now you’re chang’d.

_Wild_. Not I, by Heaven; ‘tis you are only chang’d.

I thought you’d lov’d me too, curse on the dull mistake!

But when I beg’d to reap the mighty Joy

That mutual Love affords,

You turn’d me off from Honour,

That Nothing, fram’d by some old sullen Maid,

That wanted Charms to kindle Flames when young.

Sir _Anth_. By George, he’s i’th’ right. [_Aside_.

Sir _Char_. Death! can she hear this Language? [_Aside_.

L. _Gal_. How dare you name this to me any more?

Have you forgot my Fortune, and my Youth,

My Quality, and Fame?

_Wild_. No, by Heaven, all these increase my Flame.

L. _Gal_. Perhaps they might, but yet I wonder where

You got the boldness to approach me with it.

_Wild_. Faith, Madam, from your own encouragement.

L. _Gal_. From mine! Heavens, what Contempt is this?

_Wild_. When first I paid my Vows, (good Heaven forgive me)

They were for Honour all;

But wiser you, thanks to your Mother’s care too,

Knowing my Fortune an uncertain hope,

My Life of Scandal, and my leud Opinion,

Forbad me wish that way; ‘twas kindly urg’d;

You cou’d not then forbid my Passion too,

Nor did I ever from your Lips or Eyes

Receive the cruel Sentence of my Death.

Sir _Anth_. Gad, a fine Fellow this!

L. _Gal_. To save my Life, I wou’d not marry thee.

_Wild_. That’s kindly said.

But to save mine, thou’t do a kinder thing;

--I know thou wo’t.

L. _Gal_. What, yield my Honour up!

And after find it sacrific’d anew,

And made the scorn of a triumphing Wife!

Sir _Anth_. Gad, she’s i’th’ right too! a noble Girl I’ll warrant her.

L. _Gal_. But you disdain to satisfy these fears;

And like a proud and haughty Conqueror,

Demand the Town, without the least Conditions.

Sir _Char_. By Heaven, she yields apace. [_Aside_.

_Sir. Anth_. Pox on’t, wou’d I had ne’er seen her; now

I have Legions of small Cupids at Hot-cockles in my Heart.

_Wild_. Now I am pausing on that word Conditions.

Thou say’st thou wou’t not have me marry thee;

That is, as if I lov’d thee for thy Eyes

And put ‘em out to hate thee;

Or like our Stage-smitten Youth, who fall in Love with a

Woman for acting finely, and by taking her off the Stage,

deprive her of the only Charm she had,

Then leave her to ill Luck.

Sir _Anth_. Gad, he’s i’th’ right again too! a rare Fellow!

_Wild_. For, Widow, know, hadst thou more Beauty, yet not all of ‘em were

half so great a Charm as they not being mine.

Sir _Anth_. Hum! how will he make that out now?

_Wild_. The stealths of Love, the midnight kind Admittance,

The gloomy Bed, the soft breath’d murmuring Passion;

Ah, who can guess at Joys thus snatch’d by parcels?

The difficulty makes us always wishing,

Whilst on thy part, Fear makes still some resistance;

And every Blessing seems a kind of Rape.

Sir _Anth_. H’as don’t!--A Divine Fellow that; just of my Religion. I am

studying now whether I was never acquainted with his Mother.

[L. Gal. _walks away_. Wild. _follows_.

L. _Gal_. Tempt me no more! what dull unwary Flame

Possest me all this while! Confusion on thee, [_In Rage_.

And all the Charms that dwell upon thy Tongue.

Diseases ruin that bewitching Form,

That with the soft feign’d Vows debaucht my Heart.

Sir _Char_. Heavens! can I yet endure! [_Aside_.

L. _Gal_. By all that’s good, I’ll marry instantly;

Marry, and save my last Stake, Honour, yet,

Or thou wilt rook me out of all at last.

_Wild_. Marry! thou canst not do a better thing;

There are a thousand Matrimonial Fops,

Fine Fools of Fortune,

Good-natur’d Blockheads too, and that’s a wonder.

L. _Gal_. That will be manag’d by a Man of Wit.

_Wild_. Right.

L. _Gal_. I have an eye upon a Friend of yours.

_Wild_. A Friend of mine! then he must be my Cuckold.

Sir _Char_. Very fine! can I endure yet more? [_Aside_.

L. _Gal_. Perhaps it is your Uncle.

_Wild_. Hah, my Uncle!

[_Sir_ Charles _makes up to ‘em_.

Sir _Anth_. Hah, my _Charles_! why, well said, _Charles_, he bore up

briskly to her.

Sir _Char_. Ah, Madam, may I presume to tell you--

Sir _Anth_. Ah, Pox, that was stark naught! he begins like a Fore-man

o’th’ Shop, to his Master’s Daughter.

_Wild_. How, _Charles Meriwill_ acquainted with my Widow!

Sir _Char_. Why do you wear that scorn upon your Face?

I’ve nought but honest meaning in my Passion,

Whilst him you favour so profanes your Beauties,

In scorn of Marriage and Religious Rites,

Attempts the ruin of your sacred Honour.

L. _Gal_. Hah, _Wilding_ boast my Love! [_Aside_.

Sir _Anth_. The Devil take him, my Nephew’s quite spoil’d!

Why, what a Pox has he to do with Honour now?

L. _Gal_. Pray leave me, Sir.--

_Wild_. Damn it, since he knows all, I’ll boldly own my flame.

You take a liberty I never gave you, Sir.

Sir _Char_. How, this from thee! nay, then I must take more.

And ask you where you borrow’d that Brutality,

T’ approach that Lady with your saucy Passion.

Sir _Anth_. Gad, well done, _Charles_! here must be sport anon.

_Wild_. I will not answer every idle Question.

Sir _Char_. Death, you dare not.

_Wild_. How, dare not!

Sir _Char_. No, dare not; for if you did--

_Wild_. What durst you, if I did?

Sir _Char_. Death, cut your Throat, Sir.

[_Taking hold on him roughly_.

Sir _Anth_. Hold, hold, let him have fair play, and then curse him that

parts ye. [_Taking ‘em asunder, they draw_.

L. _Gal_. Hold, I command ye, hold!

Sir _Char_. There rest my Sword to all Eternity.

[_Lays his Sword at her Feet_.

L. _Gal_. Now I conjure ye both, by all your Honour,

If you were e’er acquainted with that Virtue,

To see my Face no more,

Who durst dispute your Interest in me thus,

As for a common Mistress, in your Drink.

[_She goes out, and all but_ Wild. _Sir_ Anth. _and_

_Sir Char, who stands sadly looking after her_.

Sir _Anth_. A Heavenly Girl!--Well, now she’s gone, by George, I am for

disputing your Title to her by dint of Sword.

Sir _Char_. I wo’not fight.

_Wild_. Another time will decide it, Sir.

[Wild, _goes out_.

Sir _Anth_. After your whining Prologue, Sir, who the Devil would have

expected such a Farce?--Come, _Charles_, take up thy sword, _Charles_;

and d’ye hear forget me this Woman.--

Sir _Char_. Forget her, Sir! there never was a thing so excellent!

Sir _Anth_. You lye, Sirrah, you lye, there’s a thousand

As fair, as young, and kinder by this day.

We’ll into th’ Country, _Charles_, where every Grove

Affords us rustick Beauties,

That know no Pride nor Painting,

And that will take it and be thankful, _Charles_;

Fine wholesom Girls that fall like ruddy Fruit,

Fit for the gathering, _Charles_.

Sir _Char_. Oh, Sir, I cannot relish the coarse Fare.

But what’s all this, Sir, to my present Passion?

Sir _Anth_. Passion, Sir! you shall have no Passion, Sir.

Sir _Char_. No Passion, Sir! shall I have Life and Breath?

Sir _Anth_. It may be not, Sirrah, if it be my will and pleasure.

--Why how now! saucy Boys be their own Carvers?

_Sir Char_. Sir, I am all Obedience. [Bowing and sighing.

Sir _Anth_. Obedience! Was ever such a Blockhead! Why then, if I command

it, you will not love this Woman?

Sir _Char_. No, Sir.

Sir _Anth_. No, Sir! But I say, Yes, Sir, love her me; and love her me

like a Man too, or I’ll renounce ye, Sir.

Sir _Char_. I’ve try’d all ways to win upon her Heart,

Presented, writ, watcht, fought, pray’d, kneel’d, and wept.

Sir _Anth_. Why, there’s it now; I thought so: kneel’d

and wept! a Pox upon thee--I took thee for a prettier Fellow--

You shou’d have huft and bluster’d at her door,

Been very impudent and saucy, Sir,

Leud, ruffling, mad; courted at all hours and seasons;

Let her not rest, nor eat, nor sleep, nor visit.

Believe me, _Charles_, Women love Importunity.

Watch her close, watch her like a Witch, Boy,

Till she confess the Devil in her,--Love.

Sir _Char_. I cannot, Sir,

Her Eyes strike such an awe into my Soul--

Sir _Anth_. Strike such a Fiddle-stick.--Sirrah, I say, do’t; what, you

can towse a Wench as handsomely--You can be leud enough upon occasion. I

know not the Lady, nor her Fortune; but I’m resolv’d thou shalt have her,

with practising a little Courtship of my Mode.--Come--Come, my Boy

_Charles_, since thou must needs be doing, I’ll shew thee how to go a

Widow-wooing.

ACT II.

SCENE I. _A Room_.

_Enter_ Charlot, Foppington, _and_ Clacket.

_Charl_. Enough, I’ve heard enough of _Wilding’s_ Vices, to know I am

undone.

[_Weeps_.

--_Galliard_ his Mistress too? I never saw her, but I have heard her

fam’d for Beauty, Wit, and Fortune: That Rival may be dangerous.

_Fop_. Yes, Madam, the fair, the young, the witty Lady _Galliard_, even

in the height of his Love to you; nay, even whilst his Uncle courts her

for a Wife, he designs himself for a Gallant.

_Charl_. Wondrous Inconstancy and Impudence!

Mrs. _Clack_. Nay, Madam, you may rely upon Mr. _Foppington’s_

Information; therefore if you respect your Reputation, retreat in time.

_Charl_. Reputation! that I forfeited when I ran away with your Friend,

Mr. _Wilding_.

Mrs. _Clack_. Ah, that ever I shou’d live to see

[_Weeps_]

the sole Daughter and Heir of Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, ran away with one

of the leudest Heathens about Town!

_Charl_. How, your Friend, Mr. _Wilding_, a Heathen; and with you too,

Mrs. _Clacket_! that Friend, Mr. _Wilding_, who thought none so worthy as

Mrs. _Clacket_, to trust with so great a Secret as his flight with me; he

a Heathen!

Mrs. _Clack_. Ay, and a poor Heathen too, Madam. ‘Slife, if you must

marry a Man to buy him Breeches, marry an honest Man, a Religious Man, a

Man that bears a Conscience, and will do a Woman some Reason--Why, here’s

Mr. _Foppington_, Madam; here’s a Shape, here’s a Face, a Back as strait

as an Arrow, I’ll warrant.

_Charl_. How! buy him Breeches! Has _Wilding_ then no Fortune?

_Fop_. Yes, Faith, Madam, pretty well; so, so, as the Dice run; and now

and then he lights upon a Squire, or so, and between fair and foul Play,

he makes a shift to pick a pretty Livelihood up.

_Charl_. How! does his Uncle allow him no present Maintenance?

_Fop_. No, nor future Hopes neither: Therefore, Madam, I hope you will

see the Difference between him and a Man of Parts, that adores you.

[Smiling and bowing.

_Charl_. If I find all this true you tell me, I shall know how to value

my self and those that love me.--This may be yet a Rascal.

_Enter Maid_.

_Maid_. Mistress, Mr. _Wilding’s_ below.

[_Exit_.

_Fop_. Below! Oh, Heaven, Madam, do not expose me to his Fury, for being

too zealous in your Service.

[_In great Disorder_.

_Charl_. I will not let him know you told any thing, Sir.

_Fop_. Death! to be seen here, would expose my Life.

[_To_ Clacket.

Mrs. _Clack_. Here, here, step out upon the Stair-case, and slip

into my Chamber.

[_Going out, returns in fright_.

_Fop_. Owns, he’s here; lock the Door fast; let him not enter.

Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, Heavens, I have not the Key! hold it, hold it fast,

sweet, sweet Mr. _Foppington_. Oh, should there be Murder done, what a

Scandal wou’d that be to the House of a true Protestant!

[_Knocks_.

_Charl_. Heavens! what will he say or think, to see me shut in with a

Man?

Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, I’ll say you’re sick, asleep, or out of Humour.

_Charl_. I’d give the World to see him. [_Knocks_.

_Wild_. [_Without_,] _Charlot, Charlot_! am I deny’d an entrance? By

Heaven, I’ll break the Door.

[_Knocks again_; Fop. _still holding it_.

_Fop_. Oh, I’m a dead Man, dear Clacket! [_Knocking still_.

Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, hold, Sir, Mrs. _Charlot_ is very sick.

_Wild_. How, sick, and I kept from her!

Mrs. _Clack_. She begs you’ll come again an Hour hence.

_Wild_. Delay’d! by Heaven, I will have entrance.

_Fop_. Ruin’d! undone! for if he do not kill me, he may starve me.

Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, he will not break in upon us! Hold, Sir, hold a little;

Mrs. _Charlot_ is just--just--shifting her self, Sir; you will not be so

uncivil as to press in, I hope, at such a Time.

_Charl_. I have a fine time on’t, between ye, to have him think I am

stripping my self before Mr. _Foppington_--Let go, or I’ll call out and

tell him all.

[Wild, _breaks open the Door and rushes in_: Fop. _stands

close up at the entrance till he is past him, then venturing

to slip out, finds_ Wild, _has made fast the Door: so he is

forc’d to return again and stand close up behind_ Wild.

_with signs of Fear_.

_Wild_. How now, _Charlot_, what means this new Unkindness? what, not a

Word?

_Charl_. There is so little Musick in my Voice, you do not care to hear

it: you have been better entertain’d, I find, mightily employ’d, no

doubt.

_Wild_. Yes, faith, and so I have, _Charlot_: damn’d Business, that Enemy

to Love, has made me rude.

_Charl_. Or that other Enemy to Love, damn’d Wenching.

_Wild_. Wenching! how ill hast thou tim’d thy Jealousy! What Banker, that

to morrow is to pay a mighty Sum, wou’d venture out his Stock to day in

little Parcels, and lose his Credit by it?

_Charl_. You wou’d, perfidious as you are, though all your Fortune, all

your future Health, depended on that Credit.

[_Angry_.

_Wild_. So, hark ye, Mrs. Clacket, you have been prating I find in my

Absence, giving me a handsom Character to _Charlot_--You hate any good

thing shou’d go by your own Nose. [_Aside to_ Clacket.

Mrs. _Clack_. By my Nose, Mr. _Wilding_! I defy you: I’d have you to

know, I scorn any good thing shou’d go by my Nose in an uncivil way.

_Wild_. I believe so.

Mrs. _Clack_. Have I been the Confident to all your Secrets this three

years, in Sickness and in Health, for richer, for poorer; conceal’d the

Nature of your wicked Diseases, under the honest Name of Surfeits; call’d

your filthy Surgeons, Mr. Doctor, to keep up your Reputation; civilly

receiv’d your t’other end of the Town young Relations at all Hours--

_Wild_. High!

Mrs. _Clack_. Been up with you, and down with you early and late, by

Night and by Day; let you in at all Hours, drunk and sober, single and

double; and civilly withdrawn, and modestly shut the Door after me?

_Wild_. What! The Storm’s up, and the Devil cannot lay it.

Mrs. _Clack_. And I am thus rewarded for my Pains!

[_Weeps_.

_Wild_. So Tempests are allay’d by Showers of Rain.

Mrs. _Clack_. That I shou’d be charg’d with speaking ill of you, so

honest, so civil a Gentleman--

_Charl_. No, I have better Witness of your Falshood.

_Fop_. Hah, ‘Sdeath, she’ll name me!

_Wild_. What mean you, my _Charlot_? Do you not think I love you?

_Charl_. Go ask my Lady _Galliard_, she keeps the best Account of all

your Sighs and Vows, And robs me of my dearest softer Hours.

[_Kindly to him_.

Mrs. _Clack_. You cannot hold from being kind to him. [_Aside_.

_Wild. _Galliard_! How came she by that Secret of my Life? [_Aside_.]

Why, ay, ‘tis true, I am there sometimes about an Arbitration, about a

Suit in Law, about my Uncle.

_Charl_. Ay, that Uncle too--

You swore to me you were your Uncle’s Heir;

But you perhaps may chance to get him one,

If the Lady prove not cruel.

_Wild_. Death and the Devil, what Rascal has been prating to her!

[_Aside_.

_Charl_. Whilst I am reserv’d for a dead Lift, if Fortune prove unkind,

or wicked Uncles refractory: Yet I cou’d love you though you were a

Slave,

[_In a soft Tone to him_.

And I were Queen of all the Universe.

Mrs. _Clack_. Ay, there you spoil’d all again--you forgot your self.

_Charl_. And all the World when he looks kindly on me. But I’ll take

Courage and be very angry. [_Aside_. Nor do your Perjuries rest here;

you’re equally as false to _Galliard_, as to me; false for a little

Mistress of the Town, whom you’ve set up in spite to Quality.

[_Angry_.

Mrs. _Clack_. So, that was home and handsom.

_Wild_. What damn’d Informer does she keep in pension?

_Charl_. And can you think my Fortune and my Youth

Merits no better Treatment? [_Angry_.

How cou’d you have the Heart to use me so? [_Soft to him_.

I fall insensibly to Love and Fondness. [_Aside_.

_Wild_. Ah, my dear _Charlot_! you who know my Heart, can you believe me

false?

_Charl_. In every Syllable, in every Look;

Your Vows, your Sighs, and Eyes, all counterfeit.

You said you lov’d me, where was then your Truth?

You swore you were to be your Uncle’s Heir;

Where was your Confidence of me the while.

To think my Generosity so scanted,

To love you for your Fortune?

--How every Look betrays my yielding Heart! [_Aside_.

No, since Men are grown so cunning in their

Trade of Love, the necessary Vice I’ll practise too,

And chaffer with Love-Merchants for my Heart.

Make it appear you are your Uncle’s Heir,

I’ll marry ye to morrow.

Of all thy Cheats, that was the most unkind,

Because you thought to conquer by that Lye.

To night I’ll be resolv’d.

_Wild_. Hum! to night!

_Charl_. To night, or I will think you love me for my Fortune;

Which if you find elsewhere to more advantage,

I may unpitied die--and I shou’d die

If you should prove untrue. [Tenderly to him.

Mrs. _Clack_. There you’ve dasht all again.

_Wild_. I’m resolv’d to keep my Credit with her--

Here’s my Hand;

This Night, _Charlot_, I’ll let you see the Writings.

--But how? a Pox on him that knows for _Thomas_. [_Aside_.

_Charl_. Hah! that Hand without the Ring!

Nay, never study for a handsom Lye.

_Wild_. Ring? Oh, ay, I left it in my Dressing-room this Morning.

_Charl_. See how thou hast inur’d thy Tongue to falshood!

Did you not send it to a certain Creature

They call _Diana_,

From off that Hand that plighted Faith to me?

_Wild_. By Heaven, ‘tis Witchcraft all;

Unless this Villain _Foppington_ betray me.

Those sort of Rascals would do any thing

For ready Meat and Wine--I’ll kill the Fool--hah, here!

[_Turns quick, and sees him behind him_.

_Fop_. Here, Lord! Lord!

Where were thy Eyes, dear _Wilding_?

_Wild_. Where they have spy’d a Rascal.

Where was this Property conceal’d?

_Fop_. Conceal’d! What dost thou mean, dear _Tom_?

Why, I stood as plain as the Nose on thy Face, mun.

_Wild_. But ‘tis the ungrateful Quality of all your sort to make such

base returns.

How got this Rogue Admittance, and when in,

The Impudence to tell his treacherous Lyes?

_Fop_. Admittance! why thou art stark mad: Did not I come in with you,

that is, follow’d you?

_Wild_. Whither?

_Fop_. Why, into the House, up stairs, stood behind you when you swore

you wou’d come in, and follow’d you in!

_Wild_. All this, and I not see!

_Fop_. Oh, Love’s blind; but this Lady saw me, Mrs. _Clacket_ saw me--

Admittance quotha!

_Wild_. Why did you not speak?

_Fop_. Speak! I was so amaz’d at what I heard, the villanous Scandals

laid on you by some pick-thank Rogue or other, I had no Power.

_Wild_. Ay, thou know’st how I am wrong’d.

_Fop_. Oh, most damnably, Sir!

_Wild_. Abuse me to my Mistress too!

_Fop_. Oh, Villains! Dogs!

_Charl_. Do you think they have wrong’d him, Sir? For I’ll believe you.

_Fop_. Do I think, Madam? Ay, I think him a Son of a Whore that said it;

and I’ll cut his Throat.

Mrs. _Clack_. Well, this Impudence is a heavenly Virtue.

_Wild_. You see now, Madam, how Innocence may suffer.

_Charl_. In spite of all thy villanous dissembling, I must believe, and

love thee for my quiet.

_Wild_. That’s kind; and if before to morrow I do not shew you I deserve

your Heart, kill me at once by quitting me--Farewel--I know where both my

Uncle’s Will and other Writings lie, by which he made me Heir to his

whole Estate. My Craft will be in catching; which if past, Her Love

secures me the kind Wench at last. [_Aside_.

[_Goes out with_ Fop.

Mrs. _Clack_. What if he should not chance to keep his Word now?

_Charl_. How, if he shou’d not! by all that’s good, if he shou’d not, I

am resolv’d to marry him however. We two may make a pretty Shift with

three thousand Pound a year; yet I wou’d fain be resolv’d how Affairs

stand between the old Gentleman and him. I wou’d give the World to see

that Widow too, that Lady _Galliard_.

Mrs. _Clack_. If you’re bent upon’t, I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Madam;

There’s every Day mighty Feasting here at his Uncle’s hard by, and you

shall disguise your self as well as you can, and so go for a Niece of

mine I have coming out of Scotland; there you will not fail of seeing my

Lady _Galliard_, though, I doubt, not Mr. _Wilding_, who is of late

discarded.

_Charl_. Enough; I am resolv’d upon this Design; let’s in and practise

the northern Dialect.

[_Ex. both_.

SCENE II. _The Street_.

_Enter_ Wilding _and_ Foppington.

_Wild_. But then _Diana_ took the Ring at last?

_Fop_. Greedily, but rail’d, and swore, and ranted at your

late Unkindness, and wou’d not be appeas’d.

_Enter_ Dresswell.

_Wild. Dresswell_, I was just going to see for thee.

_Dres_. I’m glad, dear _Tom_, I’m here to serve thee.

_Wild_. And now I’ve found thee, thou must along with me.

_Dres_. Whither? but I’ll not ask, but obey.

_Wild_. To a kind Sinner, _Frank_.

_Dres_. Pox on ‘em all; prithee turn out those petty Tyrants of thy

Heart, and fit it for a Monarch, Love, dear _Wilding_, of which them

never knew’st the Pleasure yet or not above a day.

_Wild_. Not knew the Pleasure! Death, the very Essence the first Draughts

of Love. Ah, how pleasant ‘tis to drink when a Man’s a dry! The rest is

all but dully sipping on.

_Dres_. And yet this _Diana_, for thither thou art going, thou hast been

constant to this three or four Years.

_Wild_. A constant Keeper thou mean’st; which is indeed enough to get the

Scandal of a Coxcomb: But I know not, those sort of Baggages have a kind

of Fascination so inticing--and faith, after the Fatigues of formal

Visits to a Man’s dull Relations, or what’s as bad, to Women of Quality;

after the busy Afflictions of the Day, and the Debauches of the tedious

Night, I tell thee, _Frank_, a Man’s best Retirement is with a soft kind

Wench. But to say Truth, I have a farther Design in my Visit now. Thou

know’st how I stand past hope of Grace, excommunicated the Kindness of my

Uncle.

_Dres_. True.

_Wild_. My leud Debauches, and being o’th’ wrong Party, as he calls it,

is now become an _irreconcilable_ Quarrel, so that I having many and

hopeful Intrigues now depending, especially those of my charming Widow,

and my City-Heiress, which can by no means be carried on without that

damn’d necessary call’d ready Mony; I have stretcht my Credit, as all

young Heirs do, till ‘tis quite broke. New Liveries, Coaches, and Clothes

must be had, they must, my Friend.

_Dres_. Why do’st thou not in this Extremity clap up a Match with my Lady

_Galliard_? or this young Heiress you speak of?

_Wild_. But Marriage, _Frank_, is such a Bugbear! And this old Uncle of

mine may one day be gathered together, and sleep with his Fathers, and

then I shall have six thousand Pound a Year, and the wide World before

me; and who the Devil cou’d relish these Blessings with the clog of a

Wife behind him?--But till then, Money must be had, I say.

_Fop_. Ay, but how, Sir?

_Wild_. Why, from the old Fountain, _Jack_, my Uncle; he has himself

decreed it: He tells me I must live upon my Wits, and will, _Frank_.

_Fop_. Gad, I’m impatient to know how.

_Wild_. I believe thee, for thou art out at Elbows; and when I thrive,

you show it i’th’ Pit, behind the Scenes, and at Coffee-houses. Thy

Breeches give a better account of my Fortune, than Lilly with all his

Schemes and Stars.

_Fop_. I own I thrive by your influence, Sir.

_Dres_. Well, but to your Project, Friend, to which I’ll set a helping

Hand, a Heart, a Sword, and Fortune.

_Wild_. You make good what my Soul conceives of you. Let’s to _Diana_

then, and there I’ll tell thee all.

[_Going out, they meet_ Diana, _who enters with her

Maid_ Betty, _and Boy, looks angrily_.

--_Diana_, I was just going to thy Lodgings!

_Dia_. Oh, las, you are too much taken up with your rich City-Heiress.

_Wild_. That’s no cause of quarrel between you and I, _Diana_: you were

wont to be as impatient for my marrying, as I for the Death of my Uncle;

for your rich Wife ever obliges her Husband’s Mistress; and Women of your

sort, _Diana_, ever thrive better by Adultery than Fornication.

_Dia_. Do, try to appease the easy Fool with these fine Expectations--No,

I have been too often flatter’d with the hopes of your marrying a rich

Wife, and then I was to have a Settlement; but instead of that, things go

backward with me, my Coach is vanish’d, my Servants dwindled into one

necessary Woman and a Boy, which to save Charges, is too small for any

Service; my twenty Guineas a Week, into forty Shillings; a hopeful

Reformation!

_Wild_. Patience, _Diana_, things will mend in time.

_Dia_. When, I wonder? Summer’s come, yet I am still in my embroider’d

Manteau, when I’m drest, lin’d with Velvet; ‘twould give one a Fever but

to look at me: yet still I am flamm’d off with hopes of a rich Wife,

whose Fortune I am to lavish.--But I see you have neither Conscience nor

Religion in you; I wonder what a Devil will become of your Soul for thus

deluding me!

[_Weeps_.

_Wild_. By Heaven, I love thee!

_Dia_. Love me! what if you do? how far will that go at the Exchange for

Point? Will the Mercer take it for current Coin?--But ‘tis no matter, I

must love a Wit with a Pox, when I might have had so many Fools of

Fortune: but the Devil take me, if you deceive me any longer.

[_Weeping_.

_Wild_. You’ll keep your word, no doubt, now you have sworn.

_Dia_. So I will. I never go abroad, but I gain new Conquests. Happy’s

the Man that can approach nearest the Side-box where I sit at a Play, to

look at me; but if I deign to smile on him, Lord, how the overjoy’d

Creature returns it with a Bow low as the very Benches; Then rising,

shakes his Ears, looks round with Pride, to see who took notice how much

he was in favour with charming Mrs. _Dy_.

_Wild_. No more, come, let’s be Friends, _Diana_; for you and I must

manage an Uncle of mine.

_Dia_. Damn your Projects, I’ll have none of ‘em.

_Wild_. Here, here’s the best softner of a Woman’s Heart; ‘tis Gold, two

hundred Pieces: Go, lay it out, till you shame Quality into plain Silk

and Fringe.

_Dia_. Lord, you have the strangest power of persuasion! Nay, if you buy

my Peace, I can afford a Pennyworth.

_Wild_. So thou canst of anything about thee.

_Dia_. Well, your Project, my dear _Tommy_?

_Wild_. Thus then--Thou, dear _Frank_, shalt to my Uncle, tell him, that

Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, as he knows, being dead, and having left, as he

knows too, one only Daughter his whole Executrix, Mrs. _Charlot_, I have

by my civil and modest Behaviour, so won upon her Heart, that two Nights

since she left her Father’s Country-house at _Lusum_ in _Kent_, in spite

of all her strict Guards, and run away with me.

_Dres_. How, wilt thou tell him of it, then?

_Wild_. Hear me--That I have hitherto secur’d her at a Friend’s House

here in the City; but diligent search being now made, dare trust her

there no longer: and make it my humble Request by you, my Friend, (who

are only privy to this Secret) that he wou’d give me leave to bring her

home to his House, whose very Authority will defend her from being sought

for there.

_Dres_. Ay, Sir, but what will come of this, I say?

_Wild_. Why, a Settlement; you know he has already made me Heir to all he

has, after his decease: but for being a wicked Tory, as he calls me, he

has after the Writings were made, sign’d, and seal’d, refus’d to give ‘em

in trust. Now when he sees I have made my self Master of so vast a

Fortune, he will immediately surrender; that reconciles all again.

_Dres_. Very likely; but wo’t thou trust him with the Woman, Thomas.

_Wild_. No, here’s _Diana_, who, as I shall bedizen, shall pass for as

substantial an Alderman’s Heiress as ever fell into wicked Hands. He

never knew the right _Charlot_, nor indeed has any body ever seen her but

an old Aunt and Nurse, she was so kept up--And there, _Diana_, thou shall

have a good opportunity to lye, dissemble, and jilt in abundance, to keep

thy hand in ure. Prithee, dear _Dresswell_, haste with the News to him.

_Dres_. Faith, I like this well enough; this Project may take,

and I’ll about it.

[_Goes out_.

_Wild_. Go, get ye home, and trick and betauder your self up like a right

City-Lady, rich, but ill-fashion’d; on with all your Jewels, but not a

Patch, ye Gypsy, nor no Spanish Paint d’ye hear.

_Dia_. I’ll warrant you for my part.

_Wild_. Then before the old Gentleman, you must behave your self very

soberly, simple, and demure, and look as prew as at a Conventicle; and

take heed you drink not off your Glass at Table, nor rant, nor swear: one

Oath confounds our Plot, and betrays thee to be an arrant Drab.

_Dia_. Doubt not my Art of Dissimulation.

_Wild_. Go, haste and dress--

[_Ex_. Dian. Bet. _and Boy_.

_Enter Lady_ Gall, _and_ Closet, _above in the Balcony_;

Wild. _going out, sees them, stops, and reads a Paper_.

_Wild_. Hah, who’s yonder? the Widow! a Pox upon’t, now have I not power

to stir; she has a damn’d hank upon my Heart, and nothing but right down

lying with her will dissolve the Charm. She has forbid me seeing her, and

therefore I am sure will the sooner take notice of me.

[_Reads_.

_Clos_. What will you put on to night, Madam? You know you are to sup at

Sir _Timothy Treat-all’s_.

L. _Gal_. Time enough for that; prithee let’s take a turn in this

Balcony, this City-Garden, where we walk to take the fresh Air of the

Sea-coal Smoak. Did the Footman go back, as I ordered him, to see how

_Wilding_ and Sir _Charles_ parted?

_CIos_. He did, Madam, and nothing cou’d provoke Sir _Charles_ to fight

after your Ladyship’s strict Commands. Well, I’ll swear he’s the sweetest

natur’d Gentleman--has all the advantages of Nature and Fortune: I wonder

what Exception your Ladyship has to him.

L. _Gal_. Some small Exception to his whining Humour; but I think my

chiefest dislike is, because my Relations wish it a Match between us. It

is not hate to him, but natural contradiction. Hah, is not that _Wilding_

yonder? he’s reading of a Letter sure.

_Wild_. So, she sees me. Now for an Art to make her lure me up: for

though I have a greater mind than she, it shall be all her own; the Match

she told me of this Morning with my Uncle, sticks plaguily upon my

Stomach; I must break the Neck on’t, or break the Widow’s Heart, that’s

certain. If I advance towards the Door now, she frowningly retires; if I

pass on, ‘tis likely she may call

me.

[_Advances_.

L. _Gal_. I think he’s passing on,

Without so much as looking towards the Window.

_Clos_. He’s glad of the excuse of being forbidden.

L. _Gal_. But, Closet, know’st thou not he has abus’d my Fame,

And does he think to pass thus unupbraided?

Is there no Art to make him look this way?

No Trick--Prithee feign to laugh. [Clos. _laughs_.

_Wild_. So, I shall not answer to that Call.

L. _Gal_. He’s going! Ah, Closet, my Fan!--

[_Lets fall her Fan just as he passes by; he

takes it up, and looks up_.

Cry mercy, Sir, I am sorry I must trouble you to bring it.

_Wild_. Faith, so am I; and you may spare my Pains, and send your Woman

for’t, I’m in haste.

L. _Gal_. Then the quickest way will be to bring it.

[_Goes out of the Balcony with_ Closet.

_Wild_. I knew I should be drawn in one way or other.

SCENE III. _Changes to a Chamber_.

_Enter L_. Galliard, Wilding, Closet. _To them_ Wilding,

_delivers the Fan, and is retiring_.

L. _Gal_. Stay, I hear you’re wondrous free of your Tongue, when ‘tis let

loose on me.

_Wild_. Who, I, Widow? I think of no such trifles.

L. _Gal_. Such Railers never think when they’re abusive; but something

you have said, a Lye so infamous!

_Wild_. A Lye, and infamous of you! impossible! What was it that I call’d

you, Wise or Honest?

L. _Gal_. How can you accuse me with the want of either?

_Wild_. Yes, of both: Had you a grain of Honesty, or intended ever to be

thought so, wou’d you have the impudence to marry an old Coxcomb, a

Fellow that will not so much as serve you for a Cloke, he is so visibly

and undeniably impotent?

L. _Gal_. Your Uncle you mean.

_Wild_. I do, who has not known the Joy of Fornication this thirty Year,

and now the Devil and you have put it into his Head to marry, forsooth.

Oh, the Felicity of the Wedding-Night!

L. _Gal_. Which you, with all your railing Rhetorick, shall not have

power to hinder.

_Wild_. Not if you can help it; for I perceive you are resolved to be a

leud incorrigible Sinner, and marry’st this seditious doting Fool my

Uncle, only to hang him out for the sign of the Cuckold, to give notice

where Beauty is to be purchas’d, for fear otherwise we should mistake,

and think thee honest.

L. _Gal_. So much for my want of Honesty; my Wit is the part of the Text

you are to handle next.

_Wild_. Let the World judge of that by this one Action: This Marriage

undisputably robs you both of your Reputation and Pleasure. Marry an old

Fool, because he’s rich! when so many handsome proper younger Brothers

wou’d be glad of you.

L. _Gal_. Of which hopeful number your self are one.

_Wild_. Who, I! Bear witness, Closet; take notice I’m upon my Marriage,

Widow, and such a Scandal on my Reputation might ruin me; therefore have

a care what

you say.

L. _Gal_. Ha, ha, ha, Marriage! Yes, I hear you give it out, you are to

be married to me: for which Defamation, if I be not reveng’d, hang me.

_Wild_. Yes, you are reveng’d; I had the fame of vanquishing where’er I

laid my Seige, till I knew thee, hard-hearted thee; had the honest

Reputation of lying with the Magistrates Wives, when their Reverend

Husbands Were employ’d in the necessary Affairs of the Nation,

seditiously petitioning: and then I was esteemed; but now they look on me

as a monstrous thing, that makes honourable Love to you. Oh, hideous, a

Husband Lover! so that now I may protest, and swear, and lye my Heart

out, I find neither Credit nor Kindness; but when I beg for either, my

Lady _Galliard’s_ thrown in my Dish: Then they laugh aloud, and cry, who

wou’d think it of gay, of fine Mr. _Wilding_? Thus the City She-wits are

let loose upon me, and all for you, sweet Widow: but I am resolv’d I will

redeem my Reputation again, if never seeing you, nor writing to you more,

will do it. And so farewel, faithless and scandalous honest Woman.

L. _Gal_. Stay, Tyrant.

_Wild_. I am engag’d.

L. _Gal_. You are not.

_Wild_. I am, and am resolv’d to lose no more time on a peevish Woman,

who values her Honour above her Lover. [_He goes out_.

L. _Gal_. Go, this is the noblest way of losing thee.

_Clos_. Must I not call him back?

L. _Gal_. No, if any honest Lover come, admit him; I will forget this

Devil. Fetch me some Jewels; the Company to night at Sir Timothy’s may

divert me.

[_She sits down before her Glass_.

_Enter_ Boy.

_Boy_. Madam, one, Sir Anthony Meriwill, wou’d speak with your Ladyship.

L. _Gal_. Admit him; sure ‘tis Sir _Charles_ his Uncle; if he come to

treat a Match with me for his Nephew, he takes me in a critical Minute.

Wou’d he but leave his whining, I might love him, if ‘twere but in

Revenge.

_Enter Sir_ Anthony Meriwill _and Sir_ Charles.

_Sir. Anth_. So, I have tutor’d the young Rogue, I hope he’ll learn in

time. Good Day to your Ladyship; _Charles_ [putting him forward] my

Nephew here, Madam--Sirrah--notwithstanding your Ladyship’s Commands--

Look how he stands now, being a mad young Rascal!--Gad, he wou’d wait on

your Ladyship--A Devil on him, see if he’ll budge now--For he’s a brisk

Lover, Madam, when he once begins. A Pox on him, he’ll spoil all yet.

L. _Gal_. Please you sit, Sir.

Sir _Char_. Madam, I beg your Pardon for my Rudeness.

L. _Gal_. Still whining?--

[_Dressing her self carelesly_.

Sir _Anth_. D’ye hear that, Sirrah? oh, damn it, beg Pardon! the Rogue’s

quite out of’s part.

Sir _Char_. Madam, I fear my Visit is unseasonable.

Sir _Anth_. Unseasonable! damn’d Rogue, unseasonable to a Widow?--Quite

out.

L. _Gal_. There are indeed some Ladies that wou’d be angry at an untimely

Visit, before they’ve put on their best Faces, but I am none of those

that wou’d be fair in spite of Nature, Sir--Put on this Jewel here.

[_To_ Clos.

Sir _Char_. That Beauty needs no Ornament, Heaven has been too bountiful.

Sir _Anth_. Heaven! Oh Lord, Heaven! a puritanical Rogue, he courts her

like her Chaplain. [_Aside, vext_.

L. _Gal_. You are still so full of University Complements--

Sir _Anth_. D’ye hear that, Sirrah?--Ay, so he is, indeed, Madam--To her

like a Man, ye Knave. [_Aside to him_.

Sir _Char_. Ah, Madam, I am come--

Sir _Anth_. To shew your self a Coxcomb.

L. _Gal_. To tire me with Discourses of your Passion--

Fie, how this Curl fits!

[Looking in the Glass.

Sir _Char_. No, you shall hear no more of that ungrateful Subject.

Sir _Anth_. Son of a Whore, hear no more of Love, damn’d Rogue! Madam, by

George, he lyes; he does come to speak of Love, and make Love, and to do

Love, and all for Love--Not come to speak of Love, with a Pox! Owns, Sir,

behave your self like a Man; be impudent, be saucy, forward, bold,

touzing, and leud, d’ye hear, or I’ll beat thee before her: why, what a

Pox! [_Aside to him, he minds it not_.

Sir _Char_. Finding my Hopes quite lost in your unequal Favours to young

_Wilding_, I’m quitting of the Town.

L. _Gal_. You will do well to do so--lay by that Necklace, I’ll wear

Pearl to day. [_To_ Clos.

Sir _Anth_. Confounded Blockhead!--by George, he lyes again, Madam. A

Dog, I’ll disinherit him. [_Aside_.] He quit the Town, Madam! no, not

whilst your Ladyship is in it, to my Knowledge. He’ll live in the Town,

nay, in the Street where you live; nay, in the House; nay, in the very

Bed, by George; I’ve heard him a thousand times swear it. Swear it now,

Sirrah: look, look, how he stands now! Why, dear _Charles_, good Boy,

swear a little, ruffle her, and swear, damn it, she shall have none but

thee. [_Aside to him_.] Why, you little think, Madam, that this Nephew

of mine is one of the maddest Fellows in all Devonshire.

L. _Gal_. Wou’d I cou’d see’t, Sir.

Sir _Anth_. See’t! look ye there, ye Rogue--Why, ‘tis all his Fault,

Madam. He’s seldom sober; then he has a dozen Wenches in pay, that he may

with the more Authority break their Windows. There’s never a Maid within

forty Miles of Meriwill-Hall to work a Miracle on, but all are Mothers.

He’s a hopeful Youth, I’ll say that for him.

Sir _Char_. How I have lov’d you, my Despairs shall witness: for I will

die to purchase your Content.

[_She rises_.

Sir _Anth_. Die, a damn’d Rogue! Ay, ay, I’ll disinherit him: A Dog, die,

with a Pox! No, he’ll be hang’d first, Madam.

Sir _Char_. And sure you’ll pity me when I’m dead.

Sir _Anth_. A curse on him; pity, with a Pox. I’ll give him ne’er a

Souse.

L. _Gal_. Give me that Essence-bottle. [_To_ Clos.

Sir _Char_. But for a Recompence of all my Sufferings--

L. _Gal_. Sprinkle my Handkerchief with Tuberose. [_To_ Clos.

Sir _Char_. I beg a Favour you’d afford a Stranger.

L. _Gal_. Sooner, perhaps. What Jewel’s that? [_To_ Clos.

_Clos_. One Sir _Charles Merwill_--

L. _Gal_. Sent, and you receiv’d without my Order!

No wonder that he looks so scurvily.

Give him the Trifle back to mend his Humour.

Sir _Anth_. I thank you, Madam, for that Reprimand. Look in that Glass,

Sir, and admire that sneaking Coxcomb’s Countenance of yours: a pox on

him, he’s past Grace, lost, gone: not a Souse, not a Groat; good b’ye to

you, Sir. Madam, I beg your Pardon; the next time I come a wooing, it

shall be for my self, Madam, and I have something that will justify it

too; but as for this Fellow, if your Ladyship have e’er a small Page at

leisure, I desire he may have Order to kick him down Stairs. A damn’d

Rogue, to be civil now, when he shou’d have behav’d himself handsomely!

Not an Acre, not a Shilling--buy Sir Softhead.

[_Going out meets Wild, and returns_.]

Hah, who have we here, hum, the fine mad Fellow? so, so, he’ll swinge

him, I hope; I’ll stay to have the pleasure of seeing it done.

_Enter_ Wilding, _brushes by Sir_ Charles.

_Wild_. I was sure ‘twas Meriwill’s Coach at Door.

[_Aside_.

Sir _Char_. Hah, _Wilding_!

Sir _Anth_. Ay, now, Sir, here’s one will waken ye, Sir.

[_To Sir_ Char.

_Wild_. How now, Widow, you are always giving Audience to Lovers, I see.

Sir _Char_. You’re very free, Sir.

_Wild_. I am always so in the Widow’s Lodgings, Sir.

Sir _Anth_. A rare Fellow!

Sir _Char_. You will not do’t elsewhere?

_Wild_. Not with so much Authority.

Sir _Anth_. An admirable Fellow! I must be acquainted with him.

Sir _Char_. Is this the Respect you pay Women of her Quality?

_Wild_. The Widow knows I stand not much upon Ceremonies.

Sir _Anth_. Gad, he shall be my Heir. [_Aside still_.

L. _Gal_. Pardon him, Sir, this is his Cambridge Breeding.

Sir _Anth_. Ay, so ‘tis, so ‘tis, that two Years there quite spoil’d him.

L. _Gal_. Sir, if you’ve any further Business with me, speak it; if not,

I’m going forth.

Sir _Char_. Madam, in short--

Sir _Anth_. In short to a Widow, in short! quite lost.

Sir _Char_. I find you treat me ill for my Respect;

And when I court you next,

I will forget how very much I love you.

Sir _Anth_. Sir, I shall be proud of your farther Acquaintance; for I

like, love, and honour you.

[_To_ Wild.

_Wild_. I’ll study to deserve it, Sir.

Sir _Anth_. Madam, your Servant. A damn’d sneaking Dog, to be civil and

modest with a Pox!

[_Ex. Sir_ Char, _and Sir_ Anth.

L. _Gal_. See if my Coach be ready.

[_Ex_. CIos.

_Wild_. Whether are you janting now?

L. _Gal_. Where you dare not wait on me, to your Uncle’s to Supper.

_Wild_. That Uncle of mine pimps for all the Sparks of his Party;

There they all meet and bargain without Scandal:

Fops of all sorts and sizes you may chuse,

Whig-land offers not such another Market.

_Enter_ Closet.

_Clos_. Madam, here’s Sir _Timothy Treat-all_ come to wait on your

Ladyship to Supper.

_Wild_. My Uncle! Oh, damn him, he was born to be my Plague: not--

Disinheriting me had not been so great a Disappointment; and if he sees

me here, I ruin all the Plots I’ve laid for him. Ha, he’s here.

_Enter Sir_ Tim.

Sir _Tim_. How, my Nephew Thomas here!

_Wild_. Madam, I find you can be cruel too,

Knowing my Uncle has abandon’d me.

Sir _Tim_. How now, Sir, what’s your Business here?

_Wild_. I came to beg a Favour of my Lady _Galliard_, Sir, knowing her

Power and Quality here in the City.

Sir _Tim_. How a Favour of my Lady _Galliard_! The Rogue said indeed he

would cuckold me. [_Aside_.] Why, Sir, I thought you had been taken up

with your rich Heiress?

_Wild_. That was my Business now, Sir: Having in my possession the

Daughter and Heir of Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, I would have made use of the

Authority of my Lady _Galliard’s_ House to have secur’d her, till I got

things in order for our Marriage; but my Lady, to put me off, cries I

have an Uncle.

L. _Gal_. A well contrived Lye. [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Well, I have heard of your good Fortune; and however a

Reprobate thou hast been, I’ll not shew my self so undutiful an Uncle, as

not to give the Gentlewoman a little House-room: I heard indeed she was

gone a week ago, And, Sir, my House is at your Service.

_Wild_. I humbly thank you, Sir. Madam, your Servant. A pox upon him and

his Association.

[_Goes out_.

Sir _Tim_. Come, Madam, my Coach waits below.

[_Exit_.

ACT III.

SCENE I. _A Room_.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy Treat-all, _and_ Jervice.

Sir _Tim_. Here, take my Sword, _Jervice_. What have you inquir’d, as I

directed you, concerning the rich Heiress, Sir _Nicholas Get-all’s_

Daughter?

_Jer_. Alas, Sir, inquir’d! why, ‘tis all the City-News that she’s run

away with one of the maddest Tories about Town.

Sir _Tim_. Good Lord! Ay, ay, ‘tis so; the plaguy Rogue my Nephew has got

her. That Heaven shou’d drop such Blessings in the Mouths of the wicked!

Well, _Jervice_, what Company have we in the House, _Jervice_?

_Jer_. Why, truly, Sir, a fine deal, considering there’s no Parliament.

Sir _Tim_. What Lords have we, _Jervice_?

_Jer_. Lords, Sir, truly none.

Sir _Tim_. None! what, ne’er a Lord! some mishap will befall me, some

dire mischance! Ne’er a Lord! ominous, ominous! our Party dwindles daily.

What, nor Earl, nor Marquess, nor Duke, nor ne’er a Lord! Hum, my Wine

will lie most villanously upon my Hands to Night. _Jervice_, what, have

we store of Knights and Gentlemen?

_Jer_. I know not what Gentlemen there be, Sir; but there are Knights,

Citizens, their Wives and Daughters.

Sir _Tim_. Make us thankful for that; our Meat will not lie upon our

Hands then, _Jervice_: I’ll say that for our little Londoners, they are

as tall Fellows at a well-charg’d Board as any in Christendom.

_Jer_. Then, Sir, there’s Nonconformist-Parsons.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, then we shall have a clear Board; for your true

Protestant Appetite in a Lay-Elder, does a Man’s Table Credit.

_Jer_. Then, Sir, there’s Country Justices and Grand-Jury-Men.

Sir _Tim_. Well enough, well enough, _Jervice_.

_Enter Mrs_. Sensure.

_Sen_. An’t like your Worship, Mr. _Wilding_ is come in with a Lady

richly drest in Jewels, mask’d, in his Hand, and will not be deny’d

speaking with your Worship.

Sir _Tim_. Hah, rich in Jewels! this must be she. My Sword again,

_Jervice_.--Bring ‘em up, _Sensure_.--Prithee how do I look to Night,

_Jervice_?

[_Setting himself_.

_Jer_. Oh, most methodically, Sir.

_Enter_ Wild, _with_ Diana, _and_ Betty.

_Wild_. Sir, I have brought into your kind protection the richest Jewel

all London can afford, fair Mrs. _Charlot Gett-all_.

Sir _Tim_. Bless us, she’s ravishing fair! Lady, I had the honour of

being intimate with your worthy Father. I think he has been dead--

_Dia_. If he catechize me much on that point, I shall spoil all.

[_Aside_.

Alas, Sir, name him not; for if you do,

[_weeping_.

I’m sure I cannot answer you one Question.

_Wild_. For Heaven sake, Sir, name not her Father to her; the bare

remembrance of him kills her. [_Aside to him_.

Sir _Tim_. Alas, poor Soul! Lady, I beg your Pardon. How soft-hearted she

is! I am in love; I find already a kind of tickling of I know not what,

run frisking through my Veins. [_Aside_.

_Bet_. Ay, Sir, the good Alderman has been dead this twelve-month just,

and has left his Daughter here, my Mistress, three thousand Pound a Year.

[_Weeping_.

Sir _Tim_. Three thousand Pound a Year! Yes, yes, I am in love.

[_Aside_.

_Bet_. Besides Money, Plate, and Jewels.

Sir _Tim_. I’ll marry her out of hand, [_Aside_.] Alas, I cou’d even

weep too; but ‘tis in vain. Well, Nephew, you may be gone now; for ‘tis

not necessary you shou’d be seen here, d’ye see.

[_Pushing him out_.

_Wild_. You see, Sir, now, what Heaven has done for me; and you have

often told me, Sir, when that was kind you wou’d be so. Those Writings,

Sir, by which you were so good to make me Heir to all your Estate, you

said you wou’d put into my possession, whene’er I made it appear to you I

could live without ‘em, or bring you a Wife of Fortune home.

Sir _Tim_. And I will keep my word; ‘tis time enough.

[_Putting him out_.

_Wild_. I have, ‘tis true, been wicked; but I shall now turn from my evil

ways, establish my self in the religious City, and enter into the

Association. There want but these same Writings, Sir, and your good

Character of me.

Sir _Tim_. Thou shalt have both, all in good time, Man: Go, go thy ways,

and I’ll warrant thee for a good Character, go.

_Wild_. Ay, Sir, but the Writings, because I told her, Sir, I was your

Heir; nay, forc’d to swear too, before she wou’d believe me.

Sir _Tim_. Alas, alas! how shreudly thou wert put to’t!

_Wild_. I told her too, you’d buy a Patent for me; for nothing woos a

City-Fortune like the hopes of a Ladyship.

Sir _Tim_. I’m glad of that; that I can settle on her presently.

[_Aside_.

_Wild_. You may please to hint something to her of my godly Life and

Conversation; that I frequent Conventicles, and am drunk no where but at

your true Protestant Consults and Clubs, and the like.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, if these will please her, I have her for certain.

[_Aside_.

Go, go, fear not my good word.

_Wild_. But the Writings, Sir--

Sir _Tim_. Am I a Jew, a Turk? Thou shalt have any thing, now I find thee

a Lad of Parts, and one that can provide so well for thy Uncle.

[_Aside_.

[_Puts him out, and addresses himself to the Lady_.

_Wild_. Wou’d they were hang’d that trust you, that have but the art of

Legerdemain, and can open the Japan-Cabinet in your Bed-chamber, where I

know those Writings are kept. Death, what a disappointment’s here! I

wou’d ha’ sworn this Sham had past upon him. [_Aside_.] But, Sir, shall

I not have the Writings now?

Sir _Tim_. What, not gone yet! for shame, away; canst thou distrust thy

own natural Uncle? Fie, away, _Tom_, away.

_Wild_. A Plague upon your damn’d Dissimulation, that never failing Badge

of all your Party, there’s always mischief at the bottom on’t; I know ye

all; and Fortune be the Word. When next I see you, Uncle, it shall cost

you dearer.

[_Exit_.

_Enter_ Jervice.

_Jer_. An’t please your Worship, Supper’s almost over, and you are askt

for.

Sir _Tim_. They know I never sup; I shall come time enough to bid ‘em

welcome.

[_Exit_ Jer.

_Dia_. I keep you, Sir, from Supper, and better Company.

Sir _Tim_. Lady, Were I a Glutton, I cou’d be satisfy’d

With feeding on those two bright starry Eyes.

_Dia_. You are a Courtier, Sir; we City-Maids do seldom hear such

Language; in which you shew your kindness to your Nephew, more than your

thoughts of what my

Beauty merits.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, Lord, how innocent she is! [_Aside_.] My Nephew,

Madam? yes, yes, I cannot chuse but be wondrous kind upon his score.

_Dia_. Nay, he has often told me, you were the best of Uncles, and he

deserves your goodness, so hopeful a young Gentleman.

Sir _Tim_. Wou’d I cou’d see’t. [_Aside_.

_Dia_. So modest.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, ask my Maids. [_Aside_.

_Dia_. So civil.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, to my Neighbours Wives. [_Aside_.] But so, Madam, I

find by this high Commendation of my Nephew, your Ladyship has a very

slender opinion of your devoted Servant the while: or else, Madam, with

this not disagreeable Face and Shape of mine, six thousand Pound a year,

and other Virtues and Commodities that shall be nameless, I see no reason

why I shou’d not beget an Heir of my own Body, had I the helping hand of

a certain victorious Person in the World, that shall be nameless.

[_Bowing and smirking_.

_Dia_. Meaning me, I am sure; if I shou’d marry him now, and disappoint

my dear Inconstant with an Heir of his own begetting, ‘twou’d be a most

wicked Revenge for past Kindnesses. [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. I know your Ladyship is studying now who this victorious

Person shou’d be, whom I dare not name: but let it suffice, she is,

Madam, within a Mile of an Oak.

_Dia_. No, Sir, I was considering, if what you say be true, How

unadvisedly I have lov’d your Nephew, Who swore to me he was to be your

Heir.

Sir _Tim_. My Heir, Madam! am I so visibly old to be so desperate?

No, I’m in my years of desires and discretion,

And I have thoughts, durst I but utter ‘em;

But modestly say, Mum--

_Dia_. I took him for the hopefullest Gentleman--

Sir _Tim_. Let him hope on, so will I; and yet, Madam, in consideration

of your Love to him, and because he is my Nephew, young, handsome, witty,

and so forth, I am content to be so much a Parent to him, as if Heaven

please,--to see him fairly hang’d.

_Dia_. How, Sir! [_In amaze_.

Sir _Tim_. He has deserv’d it, Madam: First, for lampooning the Reverend

City with its noble Government, with the Right Honourable Gown-men;

libelling some for Feasting, and some for Fasting, some for Cuckolds, and

some for Cuckold-makers; charging us with all the seven deadly Sins, the

Sins of our Fore-fathers, adding seven score more to the number; the Sins

of Forty-One reviv’d again in Eighty-One, with Additions and Amendments;

for which, though the Writings were drawn, by which I made him my whole

Executor, I will disinherit him. Secondly, Madam, he deserves hanging for

seducing, and most feloniously bearing away a young City-Heiress.

_Dia_. Undone, undone! Oh, with what Face can I return again!

What Man of Wealth or Reputation, now

Will think me worth the owning!

[_Feigns to weep_.

Sir _Tim_. Yes, yes, Madam, there are honest, discreet, religious, and

true Protestant Knights in the City, that wou’d be proud to dignify and

distinguish so worthy a Gentlewoman.

[Bowing and smiling.

_Bet_. Look to your hits, and take fortune by the forelock, Madam.

[_Aside_.

--Alas, Madam, no Knight, and poor too!

Sir _Tim_. As a Tory Poet.

_Bet_. Well, Madam, take Comfort; if the worst come to the worst, you

have Estate enough for both.

_Dia_. Ay, Betty, were he but honest, Betty.

[_Weeping_.

Sir _Tim_. Honest! I think he will not steal; but for his Body, the Lord

have mercy upon’t, for he has none.

_Dia_. ‘Tis evident, I am betray’d, abus’d;

H’as lookt and sigh’d, and talkt away my Heart;

H’as sworn, and vow’d, and flatter’d me to ruin.

[_Weeping_.

Sir _Tim_. A small fault with him; he has flatter’d and

sworn me out of many a fair Thousand: why, he has no

more Conscience than a Politician, nor no more Truth

than a Narrative (under the Rose).

_Dia_. Is there no Truth nor Honesty i’th’ World?

Sir _Tim_. Troth, very little, and that lies all i’th’ City amongst us

sober Magistrates.

_Dia_. Were I a Man, how wou’d I be reveng’d!

Sir _Tim_. Your Ladyship might do it better as you are

were I worthy to advise you.

_Dia_. Name it.

Sir _Tim_. Why, by marrying your Ladyship’s most assur’d Friend, and most

humble Servant, _Timothy Treat-all_ of London, Alderman.

[_Bowing_.

_Bet_. Ay, this is something, Mistress; here’s Reason.

_Dia_. But I have given my Faith and Troth to _Wilding, Betty_.

Sir _Tim_. Faith and Troth! We stand upon neither Faith nor Troth in the

City, Lady. I have known an Heiress married and bedded, and yet with the

Advice of the wiser Magistrates, has been unmarried and consummated anew

with another, so it stands with our Interest: ‘tis Law by Magna Charta.

Nay, had you married my ungracious Nephew, we might by this our Magna

Charta have hang’d him for a Rape.

_Dia_. What, though he had my Consent?

Sir _Tim_. That’s nothing, he had not ours.

_Dia_. Then shou’d I marry you by stealth, the Danger wou’d be the same.

Sir _Tim_. No, no, Madam, we never accuse one another; ‘tis the poor

Rogues, the Tory Rascals we always hang. Let ‘em accuse me if they

please; alas, I come off hand-smooth with Ignoramus.

_Enter_ Jervice.

_Jer_. Sir, there’s such a calling for your Worship! They are all very

merry, the Glasses go briskly about.

Sir _Tim_. Go, go, I’ll come when all the Healths are past; I love no

Healths.

_Jer_. They are all over, Sir, and the Ladies are for dancing; so they

are all adjourning from the Dining-room hither, as more commodious for

that Exercise. I

think they’re coming, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Hah, coming! Call _Sensure_ to wait on the Lady to her

Apartment.--

[_Enter_ Sensure.]

And, Madam, I do most heartily recommend my most humble Address to your

most judicious Consideration, hoping you will most vigorously, and with

all your might, maintain the Rights and Privileges of the Honourable

City; and not suffer the Force or Persuasion of any Arbitrary Lover

whatsoever, to subvert their antient and Fundamental Laws, by seducing

and forcibly bearing away so rich and so illustrious a Lady: and, Madam,

we will unanimously stand by you with our Lives and Fortunes.--This I

learnt from a Speech at the Election of a Burgess. [_Aside_.

[_Leads her to the Door; She goes out with_ Betty _and_ Sensure.

_Enter Musick playing, Sir_ Anthony Meriwill _dancing

with a Lady in his Hand, Sir_ Charles with Lady_

Galliard, _several other Women and Men_.

Sir _Anth_. [_singing_.]

Philander _was a jolly Swain,

And lov’d by ev’ry Lass;

Whom when he met along the Plain,

He laid upon the Grass.

And here he kist, and there he play’d

With this and then the t’other,

Till every wanton smiling Maid

At last became a Mother.

And to her Swain, and to her Swain,

The Nymph begins to yield;

Ruffle, and breathe, then to’t again,

Thou’rt Master of the Field_.