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Title: The Busie Body
Author: Centlivre, Susanna, 1667?-1723
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "The Busie Body" ***

This book is indexed by ISYS Web Indexing system to allow the reader find any word or number within the document.

         The Augustan Reprint Society

               SUSANNA CENTLIVRE
               _THE BUSIE BODY_

            With an Introduction by
                   Jess Byrd

             Publication Number 19
               (Series V, No. 3)

                  Los Angeles
    William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
           University of California

       *       *       *       *       *


H. RICHARD ARCHER, _Clark Memorial Library_
RICHARD C. BOYS, _University of Michigan_
EDWARD NILES HOOKER, _University of California, Los Angeles_
H.T. SWEDENBERG, JR., _University of California, Los Angeles_


W. EARL BRITTON, _University of Michigan_


EMMETT L. AVERY, _State College of Washington_
BENJAMIN BOYCE, _University of Nebraska_
LOUIS I. BREDVOLD, _University of Michigan_
CLEANTH BROOKS, _Yale University_
JAMES L. CLIFFORD, _Columbia University_
ARTHUR FRIEDMAN, _University of Chicago_
SAMUEL H. MONK, _University of Minnesota_
ERNEST MOSSNER, _University of Texas_
JAMES SUTHERLAND, _Queen Mary College, London_

       *       *       *       *       *


Susanna Centlivre (1667?-1723) in _The Busie Body_ (1709) contributed
to the stage one of the most successful comedies of intrigue of the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. This play, written when there was a
decided trend in England toward sentimental drama, shows Mrs. Centlivre
a strong supporter of laughing comedy. She had turned for a time to
sentimental comedy and with one of her three sentimental plays, _The
Gamester_ (1704), had achieved a great success. But her true bent seems
to have been toward realistic comedies, chiefly of intrigue: of her
nineteen plays written from 1700 to 1723, ten are realistic comedies.
Three of these proved very popular in her time and enjoyed a long stage
history: _The Busie Body_ (1709); _The Wonder: A Woman Keeps a Secret_
(1714); and _A Bold Stroke for a Wife_ (1717). _The Busie Body_ best
illustrates Mrs. Centlivre's preference for laughing comedy with an
improved moral tone. The characters and the plot are amusing but
inoffensive, and, compared to those of Restoration drama, satisfy the
desire of the growing eighteenth-century middle-class audience for
respectability on the stage.

The theory of comedy on which _The Busie Body_ rests is a traditional
one, but Mrs. Centlivre's simple pronouncements on the virtues of
realistic over sentimental comedy are interesting because of the
controversy on this subject among critics and writers at this time. In
the preface to her first play, _The Perjur'd Husband_ (1700), she takes
issue with Jeremy Collier on the charge of immorality in realistic
plays. The stage, she believes, should present characters as they are;
it is unreasonable to expect a "Person, whose inclinations are always
forming Projects to the Dishonor of her Husband, should deliver her
Commands to her Confident in the Words of a Psalm." In a letter written
in 1700 she says: "I think the main design of Comedy is to make us
laugh." (Abel Boyer, _Letters of Wit, Politicks, and Morality_, London,
1701, p. 362). But, she adds, since Collier has taught religion to the
"Rhiming Trade, the Comick Muse in Tragick Posture sat" until she
discovered Farquhar, whose language is amusing but decorous and whose
plots are virtuous. This insistence on decorum and virtue indicates a
concession to Collier and to the public. Thus in the preface to _Love's
Contrivance_ (1703), she reiterates her belief that comedy should amuse
but adds that she strove for a "modest stile" which might not "disoblige
the nicest ear." This modest style, not practiced in early plays, is
achieved admirably in _The Busie Body_. Yet, as she says in the
epilogue, she has not followed the critics who balk the pleasure of
the audience to refine their taste; her play will with "good humour,
pleasure crown the Night." In dialogue, in plot, and particularly in
the character of the amusing but inoffensive Marplot, she fulfills her
simple theory of comedy designed not for reform but for laughter.

Mrs. Centlivre followed the practices of her contemporaries in borrowing
the plot for _The Busie Body_. The three sources for the play are: _The
Devil Is an Ass_ (1616) by Jonson; _L'Etourdi_ (1658) by Molière; and
_Sir Martin Mar-all or The Feigned Innocence_ (1667) by Dryden. From
_The Devil Is an Ass_, Mrs. Centlivre borrowed minor details and two
episodes, one of them the amusing dumb scene. This scene, though a close
imitation, seems more amusing in _The Busie Body_ than in Jonson's play,
perhaps because the characters, especially Sir Francis Gripe and
Miranda, are more credible and more fully portrayed. From the second
source for _The Busie Body_, Molière's _L'Etourdi_, I believe Mrs.
Centlivre borrowed the framework for her parallel plots, the theme of
Marplot's blundering, and the name and general character of Marplot. But
she has improved what she borrowed. She places in Molière's framework
more credible women characters than his, especially in the charming
Miranda and the crafty Patch; she constructs a more skillful intrigue
plot for the stage than his subplot and emphasizes Spanish customs in
the lively Charles-Isabinda-Traffick plot. Mrs. Centlivre concentrates
on Marplot's blundering, whereas Molière concentrates on the servant
Mascarille's schemes. Marplot's funniest blunder, in the "monkey" scene,
is entirely original as far as I know (IV, iv). But her greatest change
is in the character of Marplot, who in her hands becomes not so much
stupid as human and irresistibly ludicrous. Mrs. Centlivre's style is
of course inferior to that of Molière. In the preface to _Love's
Contrivance_ (1703), in speaking of borrowings from Molière, she said
that borrowers "must take care to touch the Colors with an English
Pencil, and form the Piece according to our Manners." Of course her
touching the "Colors with an English Pencil" meant changing the style
of Molière to suit the less delicate taste of the middle-class English

A third source for _The Busie Body_ is Dryden's _Sir Martin Mar-all_
(1667). Since Dryden followed Molière with considerable exactness, it
would be difficult to prove beyond doubt that Mrs. Centlivre borrowed
from Molière rather than from Dryden. Yet I believe, after a careful
analysis of the plays, that she borrowed from Molière. She made of _The
Busie Body_ a comedy of intrigue based on the theme and plot used by
both Molière and Dryden, but she omitted the scandalous Restoration
third plot which Dryden had added to Molière. Her characters are English
in speech and action, but they lack the coarseness apparent in Dryden's
_Sir Martin Mar-all_. Though it is impossible to prove the exact sources
of Mrs. Centlivre's borrowings, there is no doubt that she has improved
what she borrowed.

Whatever the truth may be about Mrs. Centlivre's use of her sources, her
play remained in the repertory of acting plays long after _L'Etourdi_
and _Sir Martin Mar-all_ had disappeared. _The Busie Body_ opened at the
Drury Lane Theater on May 12, 1709. Steele, who listed the play in _The
Tatler_ for May 14, 1709, does not mention the length of the run. Thomas
Whincop says that the play ran thirteen nights (_Scanderbeg_, London,
1747, p. 190), but Genest says the play had an opening run of seven
nights (_Some Account of the English Stage from the Restoration in 1660
to 1830_, II, 419). The play remained popular throughout the eighteenth
and nineteenth centuries. Genest lists it as being presented in
twenty-three seasons from 1709 to 1800. It was certainly presented much
more frequently than this record shows, for Dougald MacMillan in _The
Drury Lane Calendar_ lists fifty-three performances from 1747-1776,
whereas Genest records two performances in this period. The greatest
number of performances in any season was fourteen in 1758-59, the year
David Garrick appeared in the play. From the records available _The
Busie Body_ seems to have reached its greatest popularity in England
in the middle and late eighteenth century and the early part of the
nineteenth century. William Hazlitt, in the "Prefatory Remarks" to the
Oxberry acting edition of 1819, says _The Busie Body_ has been acted a
"thousand times in town and country, giving delight to the old, the
young, and the middle-aged."

_The Busie Body_ enjoyed a similar place of importance in the stage
history of America but achieved its greatest popularity, in New York
at least, in the nineteenth century. First performed in Williamsburg
on September 10, 1736, the play was presented fifteen times in New
York in the eighteenth century. In the nineteenth century forty-five
performances were given in New York in sixteen seasons from 1803 to 1885
(George Odell, _Annals of the New York Stage_). _The Busie Body_ is
frequently cited with _The Rivals_ and _The School for Scandal_ for
opening seasons and for long runs by great actors.

The text here reproduced is from a copy of the first edition now in the
library of the University of Michigan.

        _Jess Byrd_
        _Salem College_

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *
       *       *       *       *       *

                  BUSIE BODY:


             As it is Acted at the

           By Her Majesty's Servants.

       Written by Mrs. SUSANNA CENTLIVRE.

    Quem tulit ad scenam ventoso Gloria curru,
    Exanimat lentus Spectator, sedulus inflat.
    Sic Leve, sic parvum est, animum quod laudis avarum
    Subruit aut reficit--

                         Horat. Epist. Lib. II. Ep. 1.


Printed for BERNARD LINTOTT, at the _Cross-Keys_
between the Two _Temple-Gates_ in _Fleet-street_.

       *       *       *       *       *

                     To The
                RIGHT HONOURABLE

             _JOHN_ Lord _SOMMERS_,

      Lord-President of Her HAJESTY's most
           Honourable Privy-Council.

_May it please Your Lordship,_

As it's an Establish'd Custom in these latter Ages, for all Writers,
particularly the Poetical, to shelter their Productions under the
Protection of the most Distinguish'd, whose Approbation produces a kind
of Inspiration, much superior to that which the _Heathenish_ Poets
pretended to derive from their Fictitious _Apollo_: So it was my
Ambition to Address one of my weak Performances to Your Lordship, who,
by Universal Consent, are justly allow'd to be the best Judge of all
kinds of Writing.

I was indeed at first deterr'd from my Design, by a Thought that it
might be accounted unpardonable Rudeness to obtrude a Trifle of this
Nature to a Person, whose sublime Wisdom moderates that Council, which
at this Critical Juncture, over-rules the Fate of all _Europe_. But then
I was encourag'd by Reflecting, that _Lelius_ and _Scipio_, the two
greatest Men in their Time, among the _Romans_, both for Political and
Military Virtues, in the height of their important Affairs, thought
the Perusal and Improving of _Terence_'s Comedies the noblest way of
Unbinding their Minds. I own I were guilty of the highest Vanity, should
I presume to put my Composures in Parallel with those of that Celebrated
_Dramatist_. But then again, I hope that Your Lordship's native Goodness
and Generosity, in Condescension to the Taste of the Best and Fairest
part of the Town, who have been pleas'd to be diverted by the following
SCENES, will excuse and overlook such Faults as your nicer Judgment
might discern.

And here, my Lord, the Occasion seems fair for me to engage in a
Panegyrick upon those Natural and Acquired Abilities, which so brightly
Adorn your Person: But I shall resist that Temptation, being conscious
of the Inequality of a Female Pen to so Masculine an Attempt; and having
no other Ambition, than to Subscribe my self,

    My Lord,
      Your Lordship's
        Most Humble and
          Most Obedient Servant,



By the Author of TUNBRIDGE-WALKS.

Tho' modern Prophets were expos'd of late,
The Author cou'd not Prophesie his Fate;
If with such Scenes an Audience had been Fir'd,
The Poet must have really been Inspir'd.
But these, alas! are Melancholy Days
For Modern Prophets, and for Modern Plays.
Yet since Prophetick Lyes please Fools o'Fashion,
And Women are so fond of Agitation;
To Men of Sense, I'll Prophesie anew,
And tell you wond'rous things, that will prove true:
_Undaunted Collonels will to Camps repair,_
_Assur'd, there'll be no Skirmishes this Year;_
On our own Terms will flow the wish'd-for Peace,
All Wars, except 'twixt Man and Wife, will cease.
The Grand Monarch may wish his Son a Throne,
But hardly will advance to lose his own.
This Season most things bear a smiling Face;
But Play'rs in Summer have a dismal Case,
Since your Appearance only is our Act of Grace.
Court Ladies will to Country Seats be gone,
My Lord can't all the Year live Great in Town,
Where wanting _Opera's_, _Basset_, and a _Play_,
They'll Sigh and stitch a Gown, to pass the time away.
Gay City-Wives at _Tunbridge_ will appear,
Whose Husbands long have laboured for an Heir;
Where many a Courtier may their Wants relieve,
But by the Waters only they Conceive.
The _Fleet-street_ Sempstress--Toast of _Temple_ Sparks,
That runs Spruce Neckcloths for Attorney's Clerks;
At _Cupid_'s _Gardens_ will her Hours regale,
Sing fair _Dorinda_, and drink Bottl'd Ale.
At all Assemblies, Rakes are up and down,
And Gamesters, where they think they are not known.
  Shou'd I denounce our Author's fate to Day,
To cry down Prophecies, you'd damn the Play:
Yet Whims like these have sometimes made you Laugh;
'Tis Tattling all, like _Isaac Bickerstaff_.
  Since War, and Places claim the Bards that write,
Be kind, and bear a Woman's Treat to-Night;
Let your Indulgence all her Fears allay,
And none but Woman-Haters damn this Play.


In me you see one _Busie-Body_ more;
Tho' you may have enough of one before.
With Epilogues, the _Busie-Body_'s Way,
We strive to help; but sometimes mar a Play.
At this mad Sessions, half condemn'd e'er try'd,
Some, in three Days, have been turn'd off, and dy'd,
In spight of Parties, their Attempts are vain,
For like false Prophets, they ne'er rise again.
Too late, when cast, your Favour one beseeches,
And Epilogues prove Execution Speeches.
Yet sure I spy no _Busie-Bodies_ here;
And one may pass, since they do ev'ry where.
Sowr Criticks, Time and Breath, and Censures waste,
And baulk your Pleasure to refine your Taste.
One busie Don ill-tim'd high Tenets Preaches,
Another yearly shows himself in Speeches.
Some snivling Cits, wou'd have a Peace for spight,
To starve those Warriours who so bravely fight.
Still of a Foe upon his Knees affraid;
Whose well-hang'd Troops want Money, Heart, and Bread.
Old Beaux, who none not ev'n themselves can please,
Are busie still; for nothing--but to teize
The Young, so busie to engage a Heart,
The Mischief done, are busie most to part.
Ungrateful Wretches, who still cross ones Will,
When they more kindly might be busie still!
One to a Husband, who ne'er dreamt of Horns,
Shows how dear Spouse, with Friend his Brows adorns.
Th' Officious Tell-tale Fool, (he shou'd repent it.)
Parts three kind Souls that liv'd at Peace contented,
Some with Law Quirks set _Houses_ by the Ears;
With Physick one what he wou'd heal impairs.
Like that dark Mob'd up Fry, that neighb'ring Curse,
Who to remove Love's Pain, bestow a worse.
Since then this meddling Tribe infest the Age,
Bear one a while, expos'd upon the Stage.
Let none but _Busie-Bodies_ vent their Spight!
And with good Humour, Pleasure crown the Night!_

Dramatis Personæ.


Sir _George Airy_. A Gentleman of Four Thousand a Year
in Love with _Miranda_.
    Acted by Mr. _Wilks_.

Sir _Francis Gripe_. Guardian to _Miranda_ and _Marplot_,
Father to _Charles_, in Love with _Miranda_.
    Mr. _Estcourt_.

_Charles_. Friend to _Sir George_, in Love with _Isabinda_.
    Mr. _Mills_.

Sir _Jealous Traffick_. A Merchant that had liv'd sometime
in _Spain_, a great Admirer of the _Spanish_ Customs,
Father to _Isabinda_.
    Mr. _Bullock_.

_Marplot_. A sort of a silly Fellow, Cowardly, but very
Inquisitive to know every Body's Business, generally spoils
all he undertakes, yet without Design.
    Mr. _Pack_.

_Whisper_. Servant to _Charles_.
    Mr. _Bullock_ jun.


_Miranda_. An Heiress, worth Thirty Thousand Pound, really
in Love with Sir _George_, but pretends to be so with her
Guardian Sir _Francis_.
    Mrs. _Cross_.

_Isabinda_. Daughter to Sir _Jealous_, in Love with _Charles_,
but design'd for a _Spanish_ Merchant by her Father, and kept
up from the sight of all Men.
    Mrs. _Rogers_.

_Patch_. Her Woman.
    Mrs. _Saunders_.

_Scentwell_. Woman to _Miranda_.
    Mrs. _Mills_.

[Transcriber's Note:
The scenes within each Act are not numbered. Their descriptions are
listed here for convenience:

ACT I   [scene i]   The Park
ACT II  [scene i]   [Sir Francis Gripe's house]
        [scene ii]  Sir Jealous Traffick's House
        [scene iii] Charles's Lodging
ACT III [scene i]   [outside Sir Jealous Traffick's house]
        [scene ii]  the Street
        [scene iii] Sir Francis Gripe's House
        [scene iv]  a Tavern
ACT IV  [scene i]   the Out-side of Sir Jealous Traffick's House
        [scene ii]  Isabinda's Chamber
        [scene iii] a Garden Gate open
        [scene iv]  the House [of Sir Jealous Traffick]
ACT V   [scene i]   [Sir Francis Gripe's house]
        [scene ii]  the Street before Sir _Jealous_'s Door
        [scene iii] Inside the House [of Sir Jealous Traffick] ]

                  BUSIE BODY.

           ACT I. SCENE _The Park_.

      Sir _George Airy_ meeting _Charles_.

_Cha._ Ha! Sir _George Airy!_ A Birding thus early, what forbidden Game
rouz'd you so soon? For no lawful Occasion cou'd invite a Person of your
Figure abroad at such unfashionable Hours.

Sir _Geo._ There are some Men, _Charles_, whom Fortune has left free
from Inquietudes, who are diligently Studious to find out Ways and Means
to make themselves uneasie.

_Cha._ Is it possible that any thing in Nature can ruffle the Temper of
a Man, whom the four Seasons of the Year compliment with as many
Thousand Pounds, nay! and a Father at Rest with his Ancestors.

Sir _Geo._ Why there 'tis now! a Man that wants Money thinks none can be
unhappy that has it; but my Affairs are in such a whimsical Posture,
that it will require a Calculation of my Nativity to find if my Gold
will relieve me or not.

_Cha._ Ha, ha, ha, never consult the Stars about that; Gold has a Power
beyond them; Gold unlocks the Midnight Councils; Gold out-does the Wind,
becalms the Ship, or fills her Sails; Gold is omnipotent below; it makes
whole Armies fight, or fly; It buys even Souls, and bribes the Wretches
to betray their Country: Then what can thy Business be, that Gold won't
serve thee in?

Sir _Geo._ Why, I'm in Love.

_Cha._ In Love--Ha, ha, ha, ha; In Love, Ha, ha, ha, with what, prithee,
a _Cherubin!_

Sir _Geo._ No, with a Woman.

_Cha._ A Woman, Good, Ha, ha, ha, and Gold not help thee?

Sir _Geo._ But suppose I'm in Love with two--

_Cha._ Ay, if thou'rt in Love with two hundred, Gold will fetch 'em, I
warrant thee, Boy. But who are they? who are they? come.

Sir _Geo._ One is a Lady, whose Face I never saw, but Witty as an Angel;
the other Beautiful as _Venus_--

_Cha._ And a Fool--

Sir _Geo._ For ought I know, for I never spoke to her, but you can
inform me; I am charm'd by the Wit of One, and dye for the Beauty of the

_Cha._ And pray, which are you in Quest of now?

Sir _Geo._ I prefer the Sensual Pleasure, I'm for her I've seen, who is
thy Father's Ward _Miranda_.

_Cha._ Nay then, I pity you; for the Jew my Father will no more part
with her, and 30000 Pound, than he wou'd with a Guinea to keep me from

Sir _Geo._ Now you see Gold can't do every thing, _Charles_.

_Cha._ Yes, for 'tis her Gold that bars my Father's Gate against you.

Sir _Geo._ Why, if he is this avaricious Wretch, how cam'st thou by such
a Liberal Education?

_Cha._ Not a Souse out of his Pocket, I assure you; I had an Uncle who
defray'd that Charge, but for some litte Wildnesses of Youth, tho' he
made me his Heir, left Dad my Guardian till I came to Years of
Discretion, which I presume the old Gentleman will never think I am; and
now he has got the Estate into his Clutches, it does me no more good,
than if it lay in _Prester John_'s Dominions.

Sir _Geo._ What can'st thou find no Stratagem to redeem it?

_Cha._ I have made many Essays to no purpose; tho' Want, the Mistress of
Invention, still tempts me on, yet still the old Fox is too cunning for
me--I am upon my last Project, which if it fails, then for my last
Refuge, a Brown Musquet.

Sir _Geo._ What is't, can I assist thee?

_Cha._ Not yet, when you can, I have Confidence enough in you to ask it.

Sir _Geo._ I am always ready, but what do's he intend to do with
_Miranda?_ Is she to be sold in private? or will he put her up by way of
Auction, at who bids most? If so, Egad, I'm for him: my Gold, as you
say, shall be subservient to my Pleasure.

_Cha._ To deal ingeniously with you, Sir _George_, I know very little of
Her, or Home; for since my Uncle's Death, and my Return from Travel, I
have never been well with my Father; he thinks my Expences too great,
and I his Allowance too little; he never sees me, but he quarrels; and
to avoid that, I shun his House as much as possible. The Report is, he
intends to marry her himself.

Sir _Geo._ Can she consent to it?

_Cha._ Yes faith, so they say; but I tell you, I am wholly ignorant of
the matter. _Miranda_ and I are like two violent Members of a contrary
Party, I can scarce allow her Beauty, tho' all the World do's; nor she
me Civility, for that Contempt, I fancy she plays the Mother-in-law
already, and sets the old Gentleman on to do mischief.

Sir _Geo._ Then I've your free Consent to get her.

_Cha._ Ay and my helping-hand, if occasion be.

Sir _Geo._ Pugh, yonder's a Fool coming this way, let's avoid him.

_Cha._ What _Marplot_, no no, he's my Instrument; there's a thousand
Conveniences in him, he'll lend me his Money when he has any, run of my
Errands and be proud on't; in short, he'll Pimp for me, Lye for me,
Drink for me, do any thing but Fight for me, and that I trust to my own
Arm for.

Sir _Geo._ Nay then he's to be endur'd; I never knew his Qualifications

  _Enter _Marplot_ with a Patch cross his Face._

_Marpl._ Dear _Charles_, your's,--Ha! Sir _George Airy_, the Man in the
World, I have an Ambition to be known to (_aside_.) Give me thy Hand,
dear Boy--

_Cha._ A good Assurance! But heark ye, how came your Beautiful
Countenance clouded in the wrong place?

_Marpl._ I must confess 'tis a little _Mal-a-propos_, but no matter for
that; a Word with you, _Charles_; Prithee, introduce me to Sir
_George_--he is a Man of Wit, and I'd give ten Guinea's to--

_Cha._ When you have 'em, you mean.

_Marpl._ Ay, when I have 'em; pugh, pox, you cut the Thread of my
Discourse--I wou'd give ten Guinea's, I say, to be rank'd in his
Acquaintance: Well, 'tis a vast Addition to a Man's Fortune, according
to the Rout of the World, to be seen in the Company of Leading Men; for
then we are all thought to be Politicians, or Whigs, or Jacks, or
High-Flyers, or Low-Flyers, or Levellers--and so forth; for you must
know, we all herd in Parties now.

_Cha._ Then a Fool for Diversion is out of Fashion, I find.

_Marpl._ Yes, without it be a mimicking Fool, and they are Darlings
every where; but prithee introduce me.

_Cha._ Well, on Condition you'll give us a true Account how you came by
that Mourning Nose, I will.

_Marpl._ I'll do it.

_Cha._ Sir _George_, here's a Gentleman has a passionate Desire to kiss
your Hand.

Sir _Geo._ Oh, I honour Men of the Sword, and I presume this Gentleman
is lately come from _Spain_ or _Portugal_--by his Scars.

_Marpl._ No really, Sir _George_, mine sprung from civil Fury, happening
last Night into the Groom-Porters--I had a strong Inclination to go ten
Guineas with a sort of a, sort of a--kind of a Milk Sop, as I thought: A
Pox of the Dice he flung out, and my Pockets being empty as _Charles_
knows they sometimes are, he prov'd a surly _North-Britain_, and broke
my Face for my Deficiency.

Sir _Geo._ Ha! ha! and did not you draw?

_Marpl._ Draw, Sir, why, I did but lay my Hand upon my Sword to make a
swift Retreat, and he roar'd out. Now the Deel a Ma sol, Sir, gin ye
touch yer Steel, Ise whip mine through yer Wem.

Sir _Geo._ Ha, ha, ha,

_Cha._ Ha, ha, ha, ha, fase was the Word, so you walk'd off, I suppose.

_Marp._ Yes, for I avoid fighting, purely to be serviceable to my
Friends you know--

Sir _Geo._ Your Friends are much oblig'd to you, Sir, I hope you'll rank
me in that Number.

_Marpl._ Sir _George_, a Bow from the side Box, or to be seen in your
Chariot, binds me ever yours.

Sir _Geo._ Trifles, you may command 'em when you please.

_Cha._ Provided he may command you--

_Marpl._ Me! why I live for no other purpose--Sir _George_, I have the
Honour to be carest by most of the reigning Toasts of the Town, I'll
tell 'em you are the finest Gentleman--

Sir _Geo._ No, no, prithee let me alone to tell the Ladies--my
Parts--can you convey a Letter upon Occasion, or deliver a Message with
an Air of Business, Ha!

_Marpl._ With the Assurance of a Page and the Gravity of a Statesman.

Sir _Geo._ You know _Miranda!_

_Marpl._ What, my Sister _Ward?_ Why, her Guardian is mine, we are
Fellow Sufferers: Ah! he is a covetous, cheating, sanctify'd Curmudgeon;
that Sir _Francis Gripe_ is a damn'd old--

_Char._ I suppose, Friend, you forget that he is my Father--

_Marpl._ I ask your Pardon, _Charles_, but it is for your sake I hate
him. Well, I say, the World is mistaken in him, his Out-side Piety,
makes him every Man's Executor, and his Inside Cunning, makes him every
Heir's Jaylor. Egad, _Charles_, I'm half persuaded that thou'rt some
_Ward_ too, and never of his getting: For thou art as honest a Debauchee
as ever Cuckolded Man of Quality.

Sir _Geo._ A pleasant Fellow.

_Cha._ The Dog is Diverting sometimes, or there wou'd be no enduring his
Impertinence: He is pressing to be employ'd and willing to execute, but
some ill Fate generally attends all he undertakes, and he oftner spoils
an Intreague than helps it--

_Marpl._ If I miscarry 'tis none of my Fault, I follow my Instructions.

_Cha._ Yes, witness the Merchant's Wife.

_Marpl._ Pish, Pox, that was an Accident.

Sir _Geo._ What was it, prithee?

_Ch._ Why, you must know, I had lent a certain Merchant my hunting
Horses, and was to have met his Wife in his Absence: Sending him along
with my Groom to make the Complement, and to deliver a Letter to the
Lady at the same time; what does he do, but gives the Husband the
Letter, and offers her the Horses.

_Marpl._ I remember you was even with me, for you deny'd the Letter to
be yours, and swore I had a design upon her, which my Bones paid for.

_Cha._ Come, Sir _George_, let's walk round, if you are not ingag'd, for
I have sent my Man upon a little earnest Business, and have order'd him
to bring me the Answer into the Park.

_Marpl._ Business, and I not know it, Egad I'll watch him.

Sir _Geo._ I must beg your Pardon, _Charles_, I am to meet your Father

_Ch._ My Father!

Sir _Geo._ Aye! and about the oddest Bargain perhaps you ever heard off;
but I'll not impart till I know the Success.

_Marpl._ What can his Business be with Sir _Francis?_ Now wou'd I give
all the World to know it; why the Devil should not one know every Man's

_Cha._ Prosperity to't whate'er it be, I have private Affairs too; over
a Bottle we'll compare Notes.

_Marpl._ _Charles_ knows I love a Glass as well as any Man, I'll make
one; shall it be to Night? Ad I long to know their Secrets.

  _Enter _Whisper_._

_Whis._ Sir, Sir, Mis _Patch_ says, _Isabinda_'s Spanish Father has
quite spoil'd the Plot, and she can't meet you in the Park, but he
infallibly will go out this Afternoon, she says; but I must step again
to know the Hour.

_Marpl._ What did _Whisper_ say now? I shall go stark Mad, if I'm not
let into this Secret.

_Cha._ Curst Misfortune, come along with me, my Heart feels Pleasure at
her Name. Sir _George_, yours; we'll meet at the old place the usual

Sir _Geo._ Agreed; I think I see Sir _Francis_ yonder.

_Cha._ _Marplot_, you must excuse me, I am engag'd.

_Marpl._ Engag'd, Egad I'll engage my Life, I'll know what your
Engagement is.

_Miran._ (_Coming out of a Chair._) Let the Chair wait: My Servant, That
dog'd Sir _George_ said he was in the Park.

  _Enter _Patch_._

Ha! Mis _Patch_ alone, did not you tell me you had contriv'd a way to
bring _Isabinda_ to the Park?

_Patch._ Oh, Madam, your Ladiship can't imagine what a wretched
Disappointment we have met with: Just as I had fetch'd a Suit of my
Cloaths for a Disguise: comes my old Master into his Closet, which is
right against her Chamber Door; this struck us into a terrible
Fright--At length I put on a Grave Face, and ask'd him if he was at
leisure for his Chocolate, in hopes to draw him out of his Hole; but he
snap'd my Nose off, No, I shall be busie here this two Hours; at which
my poor Mistress seeing no way of Escape, order'd me to wait on your
Ladiship with the sad Relation.

_Miran._ Unhappy _Isabinda!_ Was ever any thing so unaccountable as the
Humour of Sir _Jealousie Traffick_.

_Patch._ Oh, Madam, it's his living so long in _Spain_, he vows he'll
spend half his Estate, but he'll be a Parliament-Man, on purpose to
bring in a Bill for Women to wear Veils, and the other odious _Spanish_
Customs--He swears it is the height of Impudence to have a Woman seen
Bare-fac'd even at Church, and scarce believes there's a true begotten
Child in the City.

_Miran._ Ha, ha, ha, how the old Fool torments himself! Suppose he could
introduce his rigid Rules--does he think we cou'd not match them in
Contrivance? No, no; Let the Tyrant Man make what Laws he will, if
there's a Woman under the Government, I warrant she finds a way to break
'em: Is his Mind set upon the _Spaniard_ for his Son-in-law still?

_Patch._ Ay, and he expects him by the next Fleet, which drives his
Daughter to Melancholy and Despair: But, Madam, I find you retain the
same gay, cheerful Spirit you had, when I waited on your Ladiship.--My
Lady is mighty good-humour'd too, and I have found a way to make Sir
_Jealousie_ believe I am wholly in his Interest, when my real Design is
to serve her; he makes me her Jaylor, and I set her at Liberty.

_Miran._ I know thy Prolifick Brain wou'd be of singular Service to her,
or I had not parted with thee to her Father.

_Patch._ But, Madam, the Report is that you are going to marry your

_Miran._ It is necessary such a Report shou'd be, _Patch_.

_Patch._ But is it true, Madam?

_Miran._ That's not absolutely necessary.

_Patch._ I thought it was only the old Strain, coaxing him still for
your own, and railing at all the young Fellows about Town; in my Mind
now, you are as ill plagu'd with your Guardian, Madam, as my Lady is
with her Father.

_Miran._ No, I have Liberty, Wench, that she wants; what would she give
now to be in this _dissabilee_ in the--open Air, nay more, in pursuit of
the young Fellow she likes; for that's my Case, I assure thee.

_Patch._ As for that, Madam, she's even with you; for tho' she can't
come abroad, we have a way to bring him home in spight of old _Argus_.

_Miran._ Now _Patch_, your Opinion of my Choice, for here he comes--Ha!
my Guardian with him; what can be the meaning of this? I'm sure Sir
_Francis_ can't know me in this Dress--Let's observe 'em.

  _Enter Sir _Francis Gripe_ and Sir _George Airy_._

Sir _Fran._ Verily, Sir _George_, thou wilt repent throwing away thy
Money so, for I tell thee sincerely, _Miranda_, my Charge do's not love
a young Fellow, they are all vicious, and seldom make good Husbands; in
sober Sadness she cannot abide 'em.

_Miran._ (_Peeping._) In sober Sadness you are mistaken--what can this

Sir _Geo._ Look ye, Sir _Francis_, whether she can or cannot abide young
Fellows is not the Business; will you take the fifty Guineas?

Sir _Fran._ In good truth--I will not, for I knew thy Father, he was a
hearty wary Man, and I cannot consent that his Son should squander away
what he sav'd, to no purpose.

_Mirand._ (_Peeping._) Now, in the Name of Wonder, what Bargain can he
be driving about me for fifty Guineas?

_Patch._ I wish it ben't for the first Night's Lodging, Madam.

Sir _Geo._ Well, Sir _Francis_, since you are so conscientious for my
Father's sake, then permit me the Favour, _Gratis_.

_Miran._ (_Peeping._) The Favour! Oh my Life! I believe 'tis as you
said, _Patch_.

Sir _Fran._ No verily, if thou dost not buy thy Experience, thou wou'd
never be wise; therefore give me a Hundred and try Fortune.

Sir _Geo._ The Scruples arose, I find, from the scanty Sum--Let me
see--a Hundred Guineas-- (_Takes 'em out of a Purse and chinks 'em._)
Ha! they have a very pretty Sound, and a very pleasing Look--But then,
_Miranda_--But if she should be cruel--

_Miran._ (_Peeping._) As Ten to One I shall--

Sir _Fran._ Ay, do consider on't, He, he, he, he.

Sir _Geo._ No, I'll do't.

_Patch._ Do't, what, whether you will or no, Madam?

Sir _Geo._ Come to the Point, here's the Gold, sum up the Conditions--

Sir _Fran._ (_Pulling out a Paper_.)

_Miran._ (_Peeping_.) Ay for Heaven's sake do, for my Expectation is on
the Rack.

Sir _Fran._ Well at your own Peril be it.

Sir _Geo._ Aye, aye, go on.

Sir _Fran._ _Imprimis_, you are to be admitted into my House in order to
move your Suit to _Miranda_, for the space of Ten Minutes, without Lett
or Molestation, provided I remain in the same Room.

Sir _Geo._ But out of Ear shot--

Sir _Fran._ Well, well, I don't desire to hear what you say, Ha, ha, ha,
in consideration I am to have that Purse and a hundred Guineas.

Sir _Geo._ Take it--
    (_Gives him the Purse_.

_Miran._ (_Peeping_.) So, 'tis well it's no worse, I'll fit you both--

Sir _Geo._ And this Agreement is to be perform'd to Day.

Sir _Fran._ Aye, aye, the sooner the better, poor Fool, how _Miranda_
and I shall laugh at him--Well, Sir _George_, Ha, ha, ha, take the last
sound of your Guineas, Ha, ha, ha. (_Chinks 'em_.)

_Miran._ (_Peeping_.) Sure he does not know I am _Miranda_.

Sir _Geo._ A very extraordinary Bargain I have made truly, if she should
be really in Love with this old Cuff now--Psha, that's morally
impossible--but then what hopes have I to succeed, I never spoke to

_Miran._ (_Peeping_.) Say you so? Then I am safe.

Sir _Geo._ What tho' my Tongue never spoke, my Eyes said a thousand
Things, and my Hopes flatter'd me hers answer'd 'em. If I'm lucky--if
not, 'tis but a hundred Guineas thrown away.
    (__Miranda_ and _Patch_ come forwards._

_Miran._ Upon what Sir _George?_

Sir _Geo._ Ha! my _Incognito_--upon a Woman, Madam.

_Miran._ They are the worst Things you can deal in, and damage the
soonest; your very Breath destroys 'em, and I fear you'll never see your
Return, Sir _George_, Ha, ha!

Sir _Geo._ Were they more brittle than _China_, and drop'd to pieces
with a Touch, every Atom of her I have ventur'd at, if she is but
Mistress of thy Wit, ballances Ten times the Sum--Prithee let me see thy

_Miran._ By no means, that may spoil your Opinion of my Sense--

Sir _Geo._ Rather confirm it, Madam.

_Patch._ So rob the Lady of your Gallantry, Sir.

Sir _Geo._ No Child, a Dish of Chocolate in the Morning never spoils my
Dinner; the other Lady, I design a set Meal; so there's no danger--

_Miran._ Matrimony! Ha, ha, ha; what Crimes have you committed against
the God of Love, that he should revenge 'em so severely to stamp Husband
upon your Forehead--

Sir _Geo._ For my Folly in having so often met you here, without
pursuing the Laws of Nature, and exercising her command--But I resolve
e'er we part now, to know who you are, where you live, and what kind of
Flesh and Blood your Face is; therefore unmask and don't put me to the
trouble of doing it for you.

_Miran._ My Face is the same Flesh and Blood with my Hand, Sir _George_,
which if you'll be so rude to provoke.

Sir _Geo._ You'll apply it to my Cheek--The Ladies Favours are always
Welcome; but I must have that Cloud withdrawn. (_Taking hold of her_.)
Remember you are in the _Park_, Child, and what a terrible thing would
it be to lose this pretty white Hand.

_Miran._ And how will it sound in a _Chocolate-House_, that Sir _George
Airy_ rudely pull'd off a Ladies Mask, when he had given her his Honour,
that he never would, directly or indirectly endeavour to know her till
she gave him Leave.

_Patch._ I wish we were safe out.

Sir _Geo._ But if that Lady thinks fit to pursue and meet me at every
turn like some troubl'd Spirit, shall I be blam'd if I inquire into the
Reality? I would have nothing dissatisfy'd in a Female Shape.

_Miran._ What shall I do?

Sir _Geo._ Ay, prithee consider, for thou shalt find me very much at thy

_Patch._ Suppose, Sir, the Lady shou'd be in Love with you.

Sir _Geo._ Oh! I'll return the Obligation in a Moment.

_Patch._ And marry her?

Sir _Geo._ Ha, ha, ha, that's not the way to Love her Child.

_Miran._ If he discovers me, I shall die--Which way shall I escape?--Let
me see.

Sir _Geo._ Well, Madam--

_Miran._ I have it--Sir _George_, 'tis fit you should allow something;
if you'll excuse my Face, and turn your Back (if you look upon me I
shall sink, even mask'd as I am) I will confess why I have engag'd you
so often, who I am, and where I live?

Sir _Geo._ Well, to show you I'm a Man of Honour I accept the
Conditions. Let me but once know those, and the Face won't be long a
Secret to me.

_Patch._ What mean you, Madam?

_Miran._ To get off.

Sir _Geo._ 'Tis something indecent to turn ones Back upon a Lady; but
you command and I obey. (_Turns his Back._) Come, Madam, begin--

_Miran._ First then it was my unhappy Lot to see you at _Paris_ (_Draws
back a little while and speaks_) at a Ball upon a Birth-Day; your Shape
and Air charm'd my Eyes; your Wit and Complaisance my Soul, and from
that fatal Night I lov'd you. (_Drawing back._) And when you left the
Place, Grief seiz'd me so--No Rest my Heart, no Sleep my Eyes cou'd

  _Last I resolv'd a hazardous Point to try,_
  _And quit the Place in search of Liberty._

Sir _Geo._ Excellent--I hope she's Handsome--Well, Now, Madam, to the
other two Things: Your Name, and where you live?--I am a Gentleman, and
this Confession will not be lost upon me.--Nay, prithee don't weep, but
go on--for I find my Heart melts in thy Behalf--speak quickly or I shall
turn about--Not yet.--Poor Lady, she expects I shou'd comfort her; and
to do her Justice, she has said enough to encourage me. (_Turns about._)
Ha? gone! The Devil, jilted? Why, what a Tale has she invented--of
_Paris_, Balls, and Birth-Days.--Egad I'd give Ten Guineas to know who
this Gipsie is.--A Curse of my Folly--I deserve to lose her; what Woman
can forgive a Man that turns his Back.

  _The Bold and Resolute, in Love and War,
  To Conquer take the Right, and swiftest way;
  The boldest Lover soonest gains the Fair,
  As Courage makes the rudest Force obey,
  Take no denial, and the Dames adore ye,
  Closely pursue them and they fall before ye._

The End of the First ACT.

ACT the Second.

  _Enter Sir _Francis Gripe_, _Miranda_._

Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

_Miran._ Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha; Oh, I shall die with Laughing.--The
most Romantick Adventure: Ha, ha! what does the odious young Fop mean? A
Hundred Pieces to talk an Hour with me; Ho, ha.

Sir _Fran._ And I'm to be by too; there's the Jest; Adod, if it had been
in Private, I shou'd not have car'd to trust the young Dog.

_Mirand._ Indeed and Indeed, but you might _Gardy_.--Now methinks
there's no Body Handsomer than you; So Neat, so Clean, so Good-Humour'd,
and so Loving.--

Sir _Fran._ Pritty Rogue, Pritty Rogue, and so thou shalt find me, if
thou do'st prefer thy _Gardy_ before these Caperers of the Age, thou
shalt out-shine the Queen's Box on an _Opera_ Night; thou shalt be the
Envy of the Ring (for I will Carry thee to _Hide-Park_) and thy Equipage
shall Surpass, the what--d'ye call 'em Ambassadors.

_Miran._ Nay, I'm sure the Discreet Part of my Sex will Envy me more for
the Inside Furniture, when you are in it, than my Outside Equipage.

Sir _Fran._ A Cunning Bagage, a faith thou art, and a wise one too; and
to show thee thou hast not chose amiss, I'll this moment Disinherit my
Son, and Settle my whole Estate upon thee.

_Miran._ There's an old Rogue now: (_Aside._) No, _Gardy_, I would not
have your Name be so Black in the World--You know my Father's Will runs,
that I am not to possess my Estate, without your Consent, till I'm Five
and Twenty; you shall only abate the odd Seven Years, and make me
Mistress of my Estate to Day, and I'll make you Master of my Person to

Sir _Fran._ Humph? that may not be safe--No _Chargy_, I'll Settle it
upon thee for _Pin-mony_; and that will be every bit as well, thou

_Miran._ Unconscionable old Wretch, Bribe me with my own Money--Which
way shall I get out of his Hands?

Sir _Fran._ Well, what art thou thinking on, my Girl, ha? How to Banter
Sir _George?_

_Miran._ I must not pretend to Banter: He knows my Tongue too well:
(_Aside._) No, _Gardy_, I have thought of a way will Confound him more
than all I cou'd say, if I shou'd talk to him Seven Years.

Sir _Fran._ How's that? Oh! I'm Transported, I'm Ravish'd, I'm Mad--

_Miran._ It wou'd make you Mad, if you knew All, (_Aside._) I'll not
Answer him one Word, but be Dumb to all he says--

Sir _Fran._ Dumb, good; Ha, ha, ha. Excellent, ha, ha, I think I have
you now, Sir _George_: Dumb! he'll go Distracted--Well, she's the
wittiest Rogue--Ha, ha, Dumb! I can but Laugh, ha, ha, to think how
damn'd Mad he'll be when he finds he has given his Money away for a a
Dumb Show. Ha, ha, ha.

_Miran._ Nay, _Gardy_, if he did but know my Thoughts of him, it wou'd
make him ten times Madder: Ha, ha, ha.

Sir _Fran._ Ay, so it wou'd _Chargy_, to hold him in such Derision, to
scorn to Answer him, to be Dumb: Ha, ha, ha, ha.

  _Enter _Charles_._

Sir _Fran._ How now, Sirrah, Who let you in?

_Char._ My Necessity, Sir.

Sir _Fran._ Sir, your Necessities are very Impertinent, and ought to
have sent before they Entred.

_Char._ Sir, I knew 'twas a Word wou'd gain Admittance no where.

Sir _Fran._ Then, Sirrah, how durst you Rudely thrust that upon your
Father, which no Body else wou'd admit?

_Char._ Sure the Name of a Son is a sufficient Plea. I ask this Lady's
Pardon if I have intruded.

Sir _Fran._ Ay, Ay, ask her Pardon and her Blessing too, if you expect
any thing from me.

_Miran._ I believe yours, Sir _Francis_, in a Purse of Guinea's wou'd be
more material. Your Son may have Business with you, I'll retire.

Sir _Fran._ I guess his Business, but I'll dispatch him, I expect the
Knight every Minute: You'll be in Readiness.

_Miran._ Certainly! my Expectation is more upon the wing than yours, old

Sir _Fran._ Well, Sir!

_Char._ Nay, it is very Ill, Sir; my Circumstances are, I'm sure.

Sir _Fran,_ And what's that to me, Sir: Your Management shou'd have made
them better.

_Char._ If you please to intrust me with the Management of my Estate, I
shall endeavour it, Sir.

Sir _Fran._ What to set upon a Card, and buy a Lady's Favour at the
Price of a Thousand Pieces, to Rig out an Equipage for a Wench, or by
your Carelessness enrich your Steward to fine for Sheriff, or put up for

_Char._ I hope I shou'd not spend it this way: However, I ask only for
what my Uncle left me; Your's you may dispose of as you please, Sir.

Sir _Fran._ That I shall, out of your Reach, I assure you, Sir. Adod
these young Fellows think old Men get Estates for nothing but them to
squander away, in Dicing, Wenching, Drinking, Dressing, and so forth.

_Char._ I think I was born a Gentleman, Sir; I'm sure my Uncle bred me
like one.

Sir _Fran._ From which you wou'd infer, Sir, that Gaming, Whoring, and
the Pox, are Requisits to a Gentleman.

_Char._ Monstrous! when I wou'd ask him only for a Support, he falls
into these unmannerly Reproaches; I must, tho' against my Will, employ
Invention, and by Stratagem relieve my self.

Sir _Fran._ Sirrah, what is it you mutter, Sirrah, ha? (_Holds up his
Cane._) I say, you sha'n't have a Groat out of my Hands till I
Please--and may be I'll never Please, and what's that to you?

_Char._ Nay, to be Robb'd, or have one's Throat Cut is not much--

Sir _Fran._ What's that, Sirrah? wou'd ye Rob me, or Cut my Throat, ye

_Char._ Heaven forbid, Sir,--I said no such thing.

Sir _Fran._ Mercy on me! What a Plague it is to have a Son of One and
Twenty, who wants to Elbow one out of one's Life, to Edge himself into
the Estate.

  _Enter _Marplot_._

_Marpl._ Egad he's here--I was afraid I had lost him: His Secret cou'd
not be with his Father, his Wants are Publick there--Guardian,--your
Servant _Charles_, I know by that sorrowful Countenance of thine. The
old Man's Fist is as close as his strong Box--But I'll help thee--

Sir _Fran._ So: Here's another extravagant Coxcomb, that will spend his
Fortune before he comes to't; but he shall pay swinging Interest, and so
let the Fool go on--Well, what do's Necessity bring you too, Sir?

_Marpl._ You have hit it, Guardian--I want a Hundred Pound.

Sir _Fran._ For what?

_Marpl._ Po'gh, for a Hundred Things, I can't for my Life tell you for

_Char._ Sir, I suppose I have received all the Answer I am like to have.

_Marpl._ Oh, the Devil, if he gets out before me, I shall lose him

Sir _Fran._ Ay, Sir, and you may be marching as soon as you please--I
must see a Change in your Temper e'er you find one in mine.

_Marpl._ Pray, Sir, dispatch me; the Money, Sir, I'm in mighty haste.

Sir _Fran._ Fool, take this and go to the Cashier; I sha'n't be long
plagu'd with thee.
    (_Gives him a Note._

_Marpl._ Devil take the Cashier, I shall certainly have _Charles_ gone
before I come back agen.
    (_Runs out._

_Char._ Well, Sir, I take my Leave--But remember, you Expose an only Son
to all the Miseries of wretched Poverty, which too often lays the Plan
for Scenes of Mischief.

Sir _Fran._ Stay, _Charles_, I have a sudden Thought come into my Head,
may prove to thy Advantage.

_Char._ Ha, does he Relent?

Sir _Fran._ My Lady _Wrinkle_, worth Forty Thousand Pound, sets up for a
Handsome young Husband; she prais'd thee t'other Day; tho' the
Match-makers can get Twenty Guinea's for a sight of her, I can introduce
thee for nothing.

_Char._ My Lady _Wrinkle_, Sir, why she has but one Eye.

Sir _Fran._ Then she'll see but half your Extravagance, Sir.

_Char._ Condemn me to such a piece of Deformity! Toothless, Dirty,
Wry-neck'd, Hunch-back'd Hag.

Sir _Fran._ Hunch-back'd! so much the better, then she has a Rest for
her Misfortunes; for thou wilt Load her swingingly. Now I warrant you
think, this is no Offer of a Father; Forty Thousand Pound is nothing
with you.

_Char._ Yes, Sir, I think it is too much; a young Beautiful Woman with
half the Money wou'd be more agreeable. I thank you, Sir; but you Chose
better for your self, I find.

Sir _Fran._ Out of my Doors, you Dog; you pretend to meddle with my
Marriage, Sirrah.

_Char._ Sir, I obey: But--

Sir _Fran._ But me no Buts--Be gone, Sir: Dare to ask me for Money
agen--Refuse Forty Thousand Pound! Out of my Doors, I say, without

    (_Exit _Char_._

  _Enter Servant._

_Serv._ One Sir _George Airy_ enquires for you, Sir.

  _Enter _Marplot_ Running._

_Marpl._. Ha? gone! Is _Charles_ gone, Guardian?

Sir _Fran._ Yes; and I desire your wise Worship to walk after him.

_Marpl._ Nay, Egad, I shall Run, I tell you but that. Ah, Pox of the
Cashier for detaining me so long, where the Devil shall I find him now.
I shall certainly lose this Secret.
    (_Exit, hastily._

Sir _Fran._ What is the Fellow distracted?--Desire Sir _George_ to walk
up--Now for a Tryal of Skill that will make me Happy, and him a Fool:
Ha, ha, ha, in my Mind he looks like an Ass already.

  _Enter Sir _George_._

Sir _Fran._ Well, Sir _George_, Dee ye hold in the same Mind? or wou'd
you Capitulate? Ha, ha, ha: Look, here are the Guinea's, (_Chinks
them._) Ha, ha, ha.

Sir _Geo._ Not if they were twice the Sum, Sir _Francis_: Therefore be
brief, call in the Lady, and take your Post--if she's a Woman, and, not
seduc'd by Witchcraft to this old Rogue, I'll make his Heart ake; for if
she has but one Grain of Inclination about her, I'll vary a Thousand
Shapes, but find it.

  _Enter _Mirand_._

Sir _Fran._ Agreed--_Miranda._ There Sir _George_, try your Fortune,
(_Takes out his Watch._)

Sir _Geo._
  So from the Eastern Chambers breaks the Sun,
  Dispels the Clouds, and gilds the Vales below.
    (_Salutes her._

Sir _Fran._ Hold, Sir, Kissing was not in our Agreement.

Sir _Geo._ Oh! That's by way of Prologue:--Prithee, Old Mammon, to thy

Sir _Fran._ Well, young _Timon_, 'tis now 4 exactly; one Hour, remember
is your utmost Limit, not a Minute more.
    (_Retires to the bottom of
the Stage._

Sir _Geo._ Madam, whether you will Excuse or Blame my Love, the Author
of this rash Proceeding depends upon your Pleasure, as also the Life of
your Admirer; your sparkling Eyes speak a Heart susceptible of Love;
your Vivacity a Soul too delicate to admit the Embraces of decay'd

_Miran._ (_Aside._) Oh, that I durst speak--

Sir _Geo._ Shake off this Tyrant _Guardian_'s Yoke, assume your self,
and dash his bold aspiring Hopes; the Deity of his Desires, is Avarice;
a Heretick in Love, and ought to be banish'd by the Queen of Beauty.
See, Madam, a faithful Servant kneels and begs to be admitted in the
Number of your Slaves.
    (Miranda _gives him her Hand to Raise him._

Sir _Fran._ I wish I cou'd hear what he says now. (_Running up._) Hold,
hold, hold, no Palming, that's contrary to Articles--

Sir _Geo._ Death, Sir, Keep your Distance, or I'll write another Article
in your Guts.
    (_Lays his Hand to his Sword._

Sir _Fran._ (_Going back._) A Bloody-minded Fellow!--

Sir _Geo._ Not Answer me! Perhaps she thinks my Address too Grave: I'll
be more free--Can you be so Unconscionable, Madam, to let me say all
these fine things to you without one single Compliment in Return? View
me well, am I not a proper Handsome Fellow, ha? Can you prefer that old,
dry, wither'd, sapless Log of Sixty-five, to the vigorous, gay,
sprightly Love of Twenty-four? With Snoring only he'll awake thee, but I
with Ravishing Delight wou'd make thy Senses Dance in Consort with the
Joyful Minutes--ha? not yet, sure she is Dumb--Thus wou'd I steal and
touch thy Beauteous Hand, (_Takes bold of her Hand_) till by degrees I
reach'd thy snowy Breasts, then Ravish Kisses thus,
    (_Embraces her in Extasie._

_Miran._ (_Strugles and flings from him._) Oh Heavens! I shall not be
able to contain my self.

Sir _Fran._ (_Running up with his Watch in his Hand._) Sure she did not
speak to him--There's Three Quarters of the Hour gone, Sir
_George_--Adod, I don't like those close Conferences--

Sir _Geo._ More Interruptions--You will have it, Sir.
    (_Lays his Hand to his Sword._

Sir _Fran._ (_Going back._) No, no, you shan't have her neither.

Sir _Geo._ Dumb still--sure this old Dog has enjoyn'd her Silence; I'll
try another way--I must conclude, Madam, that in Compliance to your
Guardian's Humour, you refuse to answer me--Consider the Injustice of
his Injunction. This single Hour cost me a Hundred Pound--and wou'd you
answer me, I cou'd purchase the 24 so: However, Madam, you must give me
leave to make the best Interpretation I can for my Money, and take the
Indication of your Silence for the secret Liking of my Person:
Therefore, Madam, I will instruct you how to keep your Word inviolate to
Sir _Francis_, and yet Answer me to every Question: As for Example, When
I ask any thing, to which you wou'd Reply in the Affirmative, gently Nod
your Head--thus; and when in the Negative thus; (_(Shakes his Head_.)
and in the doubtful a tender Sigh, thus

_Miran._ How every Action charms me--but I'll fit him for Signs I
warrant him.

Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha, ha, poor Sir _George_, Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Sir _Geo._ Was it by his desire that you are Dumb, Madam, to all that I
can say?

_Miran._ (_Nods._)

Sir _Geo._ Very well! she's tractable I find--And is it possible that
you can love him? Miraculous! (__Miran._ Nods._) Pardon the bluntness of
my Questions, for my Time is short; may I not hope to supplant him in
your Esteem? (__Miran._ Sighs._) Good! she answers me as I could
wish--You'll not consent to marry him then? (__Miran._ Sighs._) How,
doubtful in that--Undone again--Humph! but that may proceed from his
Power to keep her out of her Estate till Twenty Five; I'll try
that--Come, Madam, I cannot think you hesitate in this Affair out of any
Motive, but your Fortune--Let him keep it till those few Years are
expir'd; make me Happy with your Person, let him enjoy your
Wealth--(__Miran._ holds up her Hands._) Why, what Sign is that now?
Nay, nay, Madam, except you observe my Lesson, I can't understand your

Sir _Fran._ What a Vengeance, are they talking by Signs, 'ad I may be
fool'd here; what do you mean, Sir _George?_

Sir _Geo._ To Cut your Throat if you dare Mutter another Syllable.

Sir _Fran._ Od! I wish he were fairly out of my House.

Sir _Geo._ Pray, Madam, will you answer me to the Purpose? (__Miran._
shakes her Head, and points to Sir _Francis_._) What! does she mean she
won't answer me to the purpose, or is she afraid yon' old Cuff should
understand her Signs?--Aye, it must be that, I perceive, Madam, you are
too apprehensive of the Promise you have made to follow my Rules;
therefore I'll suppose your Mind and answer for you--First, for my self,
Madam, that I am in Love with you is an infallible Truth. Now for you:
(_Turns on her side._) Indeed, Sir, and may I believe it--As certainly,
Madam, as that 'tis Day light, or that I Die if you persist in
Silence--Bless me with the Musick of your Voice, and raise my Spirits to
their proper Heaven: Thus low let me intreat; e'er I'm oblig'd to quit
this Place, grant me some Token of a favourable Reception to keep my
Hopes alive. (_Arises hastily turns of her side._) Rise, Sir, and since
my Guardian's Presence will not allow me Privilege of Tongue, Read that
and rest assured you are not indifferent to me. (_Offers her a Letter._)
Ha! right Woman! But no (_She strikes it down._) matter I'll go on.

Sir _Fran._ Ha! what's that a Letter--Ha, ha, ha, thou art baulk'd.

_Miran._ The best Assurance I ever saw--

Sir _Geo._ Ha? a Letter, Oh! let me Kiss it with the same Raptures that
I would do the dear Hand that touch'd it. (_Opens it._) Now for a quick
Fancy and a long _Extempore_--What's here? (_Reads._) "Dear, Sir
_George_, this Virgin Muse I consecrate to you, which when it has
receiv'd the Addition of your Voice, 'twill Charm me into Desire of
Liberty to Love, which you, and only you can fix." My Angel! Oh you
transport me! (_Kisses the Letter._) And see the Power of your Command;
the God of Love has set the Verse already; the flowing Numbers Dance
into a Tune, and I'm inspir'd with a Voice to sing it.

_Miran._ I'm sure thou art inspir'd with Impudence enough.

Sir _Geo._ (_Sings._)
  _Great Love inspire him;
  Say I admire him.
  Give me the Lover
  That can discover
  Secret Devotion
  from silent Motion;
  Then don't betray me,
  But hence convey me._

Sir _Geo._ (_Taking hold of _Miranda_._) With all my Heart, this Moment
let's Retire.

    (_Sir _Francis_ coming up hastily._)

Sir _Fran._ The Hour is expir'd, Sir, and you must take your leave.
There, my Girl, there's the Hundred Pound which thou hast won, go, I'll
be with you presently, Ha, ha, ha, ha.

    (_Exit _Miranda_._

Sir _Geo._ Ads Heart, Madam, you won't leave me just in the Nick, will

Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha, she has nick'd you, Sir _George_, I think, Ha,
ha, ha: Have you any more Hundred Pounds to throw away upon Courtship,
Ha, ha, ha.

Sir _Geo._ He, he, he, he, a Curse of your fleering Jests--Yet, however
ill I succeeded, I'll venture the same Wager, she does not value thee a
spoonful of Snuff--Nay more, though you enjoyn'd her Silence to me,
you'll never make her speak to the Purpose with your self.

Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha, did not I tell thee thou would'st repent thy
Money? Did not I say she hated young Fellow's, Ha, ha, ha.

Sir _Geo._ And I'm positive she's not in Love with Age.

Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, no matter for that, Ha, ha, she's not taken with
your Youth, nor your Rhetorick to boot, ha, ha.

Sir _Geo._ Whate'er her Reasons are for disliking a me, I am certain she
can be taken with nothing about thee.

Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha; how he swells with Envy!--Poor Man, poor
Man--Ha, ha; I must beg your Pardon, Sir _George_, _Miranda_ will be
Impatient to have her share of Mirth: Verily we shall Laugh at thee most
Egregiously; Ha, ha, ha.

Sir _Geo._ With all my Heart, faith--I shall Laugh in my Turn too--For
if you dare marry her old _Belzebub_, you would be Cuckolded most
Egregiously; Remember that, and Tremble--

  _She that to Age her Beauteous Self resigns,
  Shows witty Management for close Designs.
  Then if thou'rt grac'd with fair _Miranda_'s Bed,
  _Actæon_'s Horns she Means, shall Crown thy Head._

Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha; he is mad.

  _These fluttering Fops imagine they can Wind,
  Turn, and Decoy to Love, all Women-kind:
  But here's a Proof of Wisdom in my Charge,
  Old Men are Constant, Young Men live at Large.
  The Frugal Hand can Bills at Sight defray,
  When he that Lavish is, has Nought to pay._

SCENE _Changes to Sir _Jealous Traffick_'s House._

  _Enter Sir _Jealous_, _Isabinda_, _Patch_ following._

Sir _Jeal._ What in the Balcone agen, notwithstanding my positive
Commands to the contrary!--Why don't you write a Bill upon your
Forehead, to show Passengers there's something to be Let--

_Isab._ What harm can there be in a little fresh Air, Sir?

Sir _Jeal._ Is your Constitution so hot, Mistriss, that it wants
cooling, ha? Apply the Virtuous _Spanish_ Rules, banish your Tast, and
Thoughts of Flesh, feed upon Roots, and quench your Thirst with Water.

_Isab._ That, and a close Room, wou'd certainly make me die of the

Sir _Jeal._ No, Mistriss, 'tis your High-fed, Lusty, Rambling, Rampant
Ladies--that are troubl'd with the Vapours; 'tis your Ratifia, Persico,
Cynamon, Citron, and Spirit of Clary, cause such Swi--m--ing in the
Brain, that carries many a Guinea full-tide to the Doctor. But you are
not to be Bred this way; No Galloping abroad, no receiving Visits at
home; for in our loose Country, the Women are as dangerous as the Men.

_Patch._ So I told her, Sir; and that it was not Decent to be seen in a
Balcone--But she threaten'd to slap my Chaps, and told me, I was her
Servant, not her Governess.

Sir _Jeal._ Did she so? But I'll make her to know, that you are her
_Duenna_: Oh that incomparable Custom of _Spain!_ why here's no
depending upon old Women in my Country--for they are as Wanton at
Eighty, as a Girl of Eighteen; and a Man may as safely trust to
_Asgill_'s Translation, as to his great Grand-Mother's not marrying

_Isab._ Or to the _Spanish_ Ladies Veils, and _Duenna's_, for the
Safeguard of their Honour.

Sir _Jeal._ Dare to Ridicule the Cautious Conduct of that wise Nation,
and I'll have you Lock'd up this Fortnight, without a Peephole.

_Isab._ If we had but the Ghostly Helps in _England_, which they have in
_Spain_, I might deceive you if you did,--Sir, 'tis not the Restraint,
but the Innate Principles, secures the Reputation and Honour of our
Sex--Let me tell you, Sir, Confinement sharpens the Invention, as want
of Sight strengthens the other Senses, and is often more Pernicious than
the Recreation innocent Liberty allows.

Sir _Jeal._ Say you so, Mistress, who the Devil taught you the Art of
Reasoning? I assure you, they must have a greater Faith than I pretend
to, that can think any Woman innocent who requires Liberty. Therefore,
_Patch_, to your Charge I give her; Lock her up till I come back from
Change: I shall have some sauntring Coxcomb, with nothing but a Red Coat
and a Feather, think, by Leaping into her Arms, to Leap into my
Estate--But I'll prevent them, she shall be only Signeur _Babinetto_'s.

_Patch._ Really, Sir, I wish you wou'd employ any Body else in this
Affair; I lead a Life like a Dog with obeying your Commands. Come,
Madam, will you please to be Lock'd up.

_Isab._ Ay, to enjoy more Freedom than he is aware of.
    (_Exit with _Patch_._

Sir _Jeal._ I believe this Wench is very true to my Interest: I am happy
I met with her, if I can but keep my Daughter from being blown upon till
Signeur _Babinetto_ arrives; who shall marry her as soon as he comes,
and carry her to _Spain_ as soon as he has marry'd her; she has a
pregnant Wit, and I'd no more have her an _English_ Wife, than the Grand
Signior's Mistress.

  _Enter _Whisper_._

_Whisp._ So, I see Sir _Jealous_ go out; where shall I find Mrs. _Patch_

  _Enter _Patch_._

_Patch._ Oh Mr. _Whisper_, my Lady saw you out at the Window, and
order'd me to bid you fly, and let your Master know she's now alone.

_Whisp._ Hush, Speak softly; I go, go: But hark'e Mrs. _Patch_, shall
not you and I have a little Confabulation, when my Master and your Lady
is engag'd?

_Patch._ Ay, Ay, Farewell.
    (_Goes in, and shuts the Door._

  _Re-enter Sir _Jealous Traffick_ meeting _Whisper_._

Sir _Jeal._ Sure whil'st I was talking with Mr. _Tradewell_, I heard my
Door clap. (_Seeing _Whisper_._) Ha! a Man lurking about my House; who
do you want there, Sir?

_Whisp._ Want--want, a pox, Sir _Jealous!_ what must I say now?--

Sir _Jeal._ Ay, want; have you a Letter or Message for any Body
there?--O my Conscience, this is some He-Bawd--

_Whisp._ Letter or Message, Sir!

Sir _Jeal._ Ay, Letter or Message, Sir.

_Whisp._ No, not I, Sir.

Sir _Jeal._ Sirrah, Sirrah, I'll have you set in the Stocks, if you
don't tell me your Business immediately.

_Whisp._ Nay, Sir, my Business--is no great matter of Business neither;
and yet 'tis Business of Consequence too.

Sir _Jeal._ Sirrah, don't trifle with me.

_Whisp._ Trifle, Sir, have you found him, Sir?

Sir _Jeal._ Found what, you Rascal.

_Whisp._ Why _Trifle_ is the very Lap-Dog my Lady lost, Sir; I fancy'd I
see him run into this House. I'm glad you have him--Sir, my Lady will be
over-joy'd that 1 have found him.

Sir _Jeal._ Who is your Lady Friend?

_Whisp._ My Lady Love-puppy, Sir.

Sir _Jeal._ My Lady Love-puppy! then prithee carry thy self to her, for
I know no other Whelp that belongs to her; and let me catch ye no more
Puppy-hunting about my Doors, lest I have you prest into the Service,

_Whisp._ By no means, Sir--Your humble Servant; I must watch whether he
goes, or no, before I can tell my Master.

Sir _Jeal._ This Fellow has the Officious Leer of a Pimp; and I half
suspect a Design, but I'll be upon them before they think on me, I
warrant 'em.

SCENE __Charles_'s Lodging._

  _Enter _Charles_ and _Marplot_._

_Char._ Honest _Marplot_, I thank thee for this Supply; I expect my
Lawyer with a Thousand Pound I have order'd him to take up, and then you
shall be Repaid.

_Marpl._ Pho, pho, no more of that: Here comes Sir _George Airy_--

      _Enter Sir _George_._

Cursedly out of Humour at his Disappointment; see how he looks! Ha, ha,

Sir _Geo._ Ah, _Charles_, I am so humbled in my Pretensions to Plots
upon Women, that I believe I shall never have Courage enough to attempt
a Chamber-maid agen--I'll tell thee.

_Char._ Ha, ha; I'll spare you the Relation by telling you--Impatient to
know your Business with my Father, when I saw you Enter, I slipt back
into the next Room, where I overheard every Syllable.

Sir _Geo._ That I said--But I'll be hang'd if you heard her Answer--.
But prithee tell me, _Charles_, is she a Fool?

_Char._ I ne'er suspected her for one; but _Marplot_ can inform you
better, if you'll allow him a Judge.

_Marpl._ A Fool! I'll justifie she has more Wit than all the rest of her
Sex put together; why she'll Rally me, till I han't one word to say for
my self.

_Char._ A mighty Proof of her Wit truly--

_Marpl._ There must be some Trick in't, Sir _George_; Egad I'll find it
out if it cost me the Sum you paid for't.

Sir _Geo._ Do and Command me--

_Marpl._ Enough, let me alone to Trace a Secret.--

  _Enter _Whisper_, and speaks aside to his Master._

The Devil! _Whisper_ here agen, that Fellow never speaks out; is this
the same, or a new Secret? Sir _George_, won't you ask _Charles_ what
News _Whisper_ brings?

Sir _Geo._ Not I, Sir; I suppose it does not relate to me.

_Marpl._ Lord, Lord, how little Curiosity some People have! Now my chief
Pleasure lies in knowing every Body's Business.

Sir _Geo._ I fancy, _Charles_, thou hast some Engagement upon thy Hands:
I have a little Business too. _Marplot_, if it falls in your way to
bring me any Intelligence from _Miranda_, you'll find me at the Thatch'd
House at Six--

_Marpl._ You do me much Honour.

_Char._ You guess right, Sir _George_, wish me Success.

Sir _Geo._ Better than attended me. _Adieu_.

_Char._ _Marplot_, you must Excuse me.--

_Marpl._ Nay, nay, what need of any Excuse amongst Friends! I'll go with

_Char._ Indeed you must not.

_Marpl._ No, then I suppose 'tis a Duel, and I will go to secure ye.

_Char._ Secure me, why you won't fight.

_Marpl._ What then! I can call People to part ye.

_Char._ Well, but it is no Duel, Consequently no Danger. Therefore
prithee be Answer'd.

_Marpl._ What is't a Mistress then?--Mum--You know I can be silent upon

_Char._ I wish you cou'd be Civil too: I tell you, You neither Must nor
Shall go with me. Farewel.

_Marpl._ Why then--I Must and Will follow you.

    _The End of the Second Act._

ACT the Third

  _Enter _Charles_._

_Char._ Well, here's the House, which holds the Lovely Prize quiet and
serene; here no noisie Footmen throng to tell the World, that Beauty
dwells within; no Ceremonious Visit makes the Lover wait; no Rival to
give my Heart a Pang; who wou'd not scale the Window at Midnight without
fear of the Jealous Father's Pistol, rather than fill up the Train of a
Coquet, where every Minute he is jostled out of Place. (_Knocks
softly._) Mrs. _Patch_, Mrs. _Patch._

  _Enter _Patch_._

_Patch._ Oh, are you come, Sir? All's safe.

_Char._ So in, in then.

  _Enter _Marplot_._

_Marpl._ There he goes: Who the Devil lives here? Except I can find out
that, I am as far from knowing his Business as ever; gad I'll watch, it
may be a Bawdy-House, and he may have his Throat cut; if there shou'd be
any Mischief, I can make Oath, he went in. Well, _Charles_, in spight of
your Endeavour to keep me out of the Secret; I may save your Life, for
ought I know: At that Corner I'll plant my self; there I shall see
whoever goes in, or comes out. Gad, I love Discoveries.

SCENE _Draws. _Charles_, _Isabinda_, and _Patch_._

_Isab._ _Patch_, look out sharp; have a care of Dad.

_Patch._ I warrant you.

_Isab._ Well, Sir, if I may judge your Love by your Courage, I ought to
believe you sincere; for you venture into the Lyons Den when you come to
see me.

_Char._ If you'd consent whilst the furious Beast is abroad, I'd free
you from the Reach of his Paws.

_Isab._ That wou'd be but to avoid one Danger, by running into another;
like the poor Wretches, who fly the Burning Ship, and meet their Fate in
the Water. Come, come, _Charles_, I fear if I consult my Reason,
Confinement and Plenty is better than Liberty and Starving. I know you'd
make the Frolick pleasing for a little time, by Saying and Doing a World
of tender things; but when our small Substance is once Exhausted, and a
Thousand Requisits for Life are Wanting; Love, who rarely dwells with
Poverty, wou'd also fail us.

_Char._ Faith, I fancy not; methinks my Heart has laid up a Stock will
last for Life; to back which, I have taken a Thousand Pound upon my
Uncle's Estate; that surely will support us, till one of our Fathers

_Isab._ There's no trusting to that my Friend, I doubt your Father will
carry his Humour to the Grave, and mine till he sees me settled in

_Char._ And can ye then cruelly Resolve to stay till that curs'd _Don_
arrives, and suffer that Youth, Beauty, Fire and Wit, to be sacrific'd
to the Arms of a dull _Spaniard_, to be Immur'd and forbid the Sight of
any thing that's Humane.

_Isab._ No, when it comes to the Extremity, and no Stratagem can Relieve
us, thou shalt List for a Soldier, and I'll carry thy Knapsack after

_Char._ Bravely Resolv'd; the World cannot be more Savage than our
Parents, and Fortune generally assists the Bold; therefore Consent now:
Why shou'd we put it to a future Hazard? who knows when we shall have
another Opportunity?

_Isab._ Oh, you have your Ladder of Ropes, I suppose, and the Closet
Window stands just where it did; and if you han't forgot to write in
Characters, _Patch_ will find a way for our Assignations. Thus much of
the _Spanish_ Contrivance, my Father's Severity has taught me, I thank
him; tho' I hate the Nation, I admire their Management in these Affairs.

  _Enter _Patch_._

_Patch._ Oh, Madam, I see my Master coming up the Street.

_Char._ Oh the Devil, wou'd I had my Ladder now; I thought you had not
expected him till Night; why, why, why, why; what shall I do, Madam?

_Isab._ Oh, for Heaven's sake! don't go that way, you'll meet him full
in the Teeth: Oh unlucky Moment!--

_Char._ Adsheart, can you shut me into no Cupboard, Ram me into no
Chest, ha?

_Patch._ Impossible, Sir, he Searches every Hole in the House.

_Isab._ Undone for ever! if he sees you, I shall never see you more.

_Patch._ I have thought on't: Run you to your Chamber, Madam; and Sir,
come you along with me, I'm certain you may easily get down from the

_Char._ My Life, _Adieu_--Lead on, Guide.

_Isab._ Heaven preserve him.

SCENE Changes to the Street.

  _Enter Sir _Jealous_, with _Marplot_ behind him_._

Sir _Jeal._ I don't know what's the matter; but I have a strong
Suspicion, all is not right within; that Fellow's sauntring about my
Door, and his Tale of a Puppy, had the Face of a Lye, methought. By St.
_Jago_, if I shou'd find a Man in the House, I'd make Mince-Meat of

_Marpl._ Ah, poor _Charles_--ha? Agad he is old--I fancy I might bully
him, and make _Charles_ have an Opinion of my Courage.

Sir _Jeal._ My own Key shall let me in; I'll give them no Warning.
    (_Feeling for his Key._

_Marpl._ What's that you say, Sir. (_Going up to Sir _Jealous_._

Sir _Jeal._ What's that to you, Sir. (_Turns quick upon him._

_Marpl._ Yes, 'tis to me, Sir; for the Gentleman you threaten is a very
honest Gentleman. Look to't, for if he comes not as safe out of your
House, as he went in, I have half a Dozen _Mirmidons_ hard-by shall beat
it about your Ears.

Sir _Jeal._ Went in; what is he in then? Ah! a Combination to undo
me--I'll _Mirmidon_ you, ye Dog you--Thieves, Thieves.
    (_Beat_'s Marplot_ all this while he cries _Thieves_._

_Marpl._ Murder, Murder; I was not in your House, Sir.

  _Enter Servant._

_Serv._ What's the matter, Sir?

Sir _Jeal._ The Matter, Rascals? Have you let a Man into my House; but
I'll flea him Alive, follow me, I'll not leave a Mousehole unsearch'd;
if I find him, by St. _Jago_, I'll Equip him for the _Opera._

_Marpl._ A Duce of his Cane, there's no trusting to Age--what shall I do
to Relieve _Charles!_ Egad, I'll raise the Neighbourhood--Murder,
Murder-- (__Charles_ drops down upon him from the Balcone._) _Charles_
faith I'm glad to see thee safe out, with all my Heart.

_Char._ A Pox of your Bawling: How the Devil came you here?

_Marpl._ Here, gad I have done you a piece of Service; I told the old
Thunderbolt, that the Gentleman that was gone in was--

_Char._ Was it you that told him, Sir? (_Laying hold of him._) Z'death,
I cou'd crush thee into Atoms.
    (_Exit _Charles_._

_Marpl._ What will you choak me for my Kindness?--will my Enquiring Soul
never leave Searching into other Peoples Affairs, till it gets squeez'd
out of my Body? I dare not follow him now, for my Blood, he's in such a
Passion--I'll to _Miranda_; if I can discover ought that may oblige Sir
_George_, it may be a means to Reconcile me agen to _Charles_.

  _Enter Sir _Jealous_ and _Servants_._

Sir _Jeal._ Are you sure you have search'd every where?

_Serv._ Yes, from the Top of the House to the Bottom.

Sir _Jeal._ Under the Beds, and over the Beds?

_Serv._ Yes, and in them too, but found no Body, Sir.

Sir _Jeal._ Why, what cou'd this Rogue mean?

  _Enter _Isabinda_ and _Patch_._

_Patch._ Take Courage, Madam, I saw him safe out. (_Aside to _Isab_._

_Isab._ Bless me! what's the matter, Sir?

Sir _Jeal._ You know best--Pray where's the Man that was here just now?

_Isab._ What Man, Sir? I saw none!

_Patch._ Nor I, by the Trust you repose in me; do you think I wou'd let
a Man come within these Doors, when you were absent?

Sir _Jeal._ Ah _Patch_, she may be too cunning for thy Honesty; the very
Scout that he had set to give Warning discover'd it to me--and
threaten'd me with half a Dozen _Mirmidons_--But I think I maul'd the
Villain. These Afflictions you draw upon me, Mistress!

_Isab._ Pardon me, Sir, 'tis your own Ridiculous Humour draws you into
these Vexations, and gives every Fool pretence to banter you.

Sir _Jeal._ No, 'tis your Idle Conduct, your Coquetish Flurting into the
Balcone--Oh with what Joy shall I resign thee into the Arms of Don
_Diego Babinetto!_

_Isab._ And with what Industry shall I avoid him!

Sir _Jeal._ Certainly that Rogue had a Message from some body or other;
but being baulk'd by my coming, popt that Sham upon me. Come along, ye
Sots, let's see if we can find the Dog again. _Patch_, lock her up; D'ye
    (_Exit with Servants._

_Patch._ Yes, Sir--ay, walk till your Heels ake, you'll find no Body, I
promise you.

_Isab._ Who cou'd that Scout be, which he talks of?

_Patch._ Nay, I can't imagine, without it was _Whisper_.

_Isab._ Well, dear _Patch_, let's employ all our Thoughts how to escape
this horrid Don _Diego_, my very Heart sinks at his Terrible Name.

_Patch._ Fear not, Madam, Don _Carlo_ shall be the Man, or I'll lose the
Reputation of Contriving, and then what's a Chambermaid good for?

_Isab._ Say'st thou so, my Girl: Then--
  _Let Dad be Jealous, multiply his Cares,
  While Love instructs me to avoid the Snares;
  I'll, spight of all his _Spanish_ Caution, show
  How much for Love a _British_ Maid can do._

SCENE _Sir _Francis Gripe_'s House._

_Sir _Francis_ and _Miranda_ meeting._

_Miran._ Well, _Gardee_, how did I perform my Dumb Scene?

Sir _Fran._ To Admiration--Thou dear little Rogue, let me buss thee for
it: Nay, adod, I will, _Chargee_, so muzle, and tuzle, and hug thee; I
will, I faith, I will.
    (_Hugging and Kissing her._

_Miran._ Nay, _Gardee_, don't be so lavish; who wou'd Ride Post, when
the Journey lasts for Life?

Sir _Fran._ Ah wag, ah wag--I'll buss thee agen for that.

_Miran._ Faugh! how he stinks of Tobacco! what a delicate Bedfellow I
shou'd have!

Sir _Fran._ Oh I'm Transported! When, when, my Dear, wilt thou Convince
the World of thy Happy Day? when shall we marry, ha?

_Miran._ There's nothing wanting but your Consent, Sir _Francis_.

Sir _Fran._ My Consent! what do's my Charmer mean?

_Miran._ Nay, 'tis only a Whim: But I'll have every thing according to
form--Therefore when you sign an Authentick Paper, drawn up by an able
Lawyer, that I have your Leave to marry, the next Day makes me yours,

Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha, a Whim indeed! why is it not Demonstration I
give my Leave when I marry thee.

_Miran._ Not for your Reputation, _Gardee_; the malicious World will be
apt to say, you trick'd me into Marriage, and so take the Merit from my
Choice. Now I will have the Act my own, to let the idle Fops see how
much I prefer a Man loaded with Years and Wisdom.

Sir _Fran._ Humph! Prithee leave out Years, _Chargee_, I'm not so old,
as thou shalt find: Adod, I'm young; there's a Caper for ye.

_Miran._ Oh never excuse it, why I like you the better for being
old--But I shall suspect you don't love me, if you Refuse me this

Sir _Fran._ Not Love thee, _Chargee!_ Adod I do love thee better than,
than, than, better than--what shall I say? Egad, better than Money, I
faith I do--

_Miran._ That's false I'm sure (_Aside._) To prove it do this then.

Sir _Fran._ Well, I will do it, _Chargee_, provided I bring a License at
the same time.

_Miran._ Ay, and a Parson too, if you please; Ha, ha, ha, I can't help
Laughing to think how all the young Coxcombs about Town will be
mortify'd when they hear of our Marriage.

Sir _Fran._ So they will, so they will; Ha, ha, ha.

_Miran._ Well, I fancy I shall be so happy with my _Gardee!_

Sir _Fran._ If wearing Pearls and Jewels, or eating Gold, as the old
Saying is, can make thee happy, thou shalt be so, my Sweetest, my
Lovely, my Charming, my--verily I know not what to call thee.

_Miran._ You must know, _Gardee_, that I am so eager to have this
Business concluded, that I have employ'd my Womans Brother, who is a
Lawyer in the _Temple_, to settle Matters just to your Liking, you are
to give your Consent to my Marriage, which is to your self, you know:
But Mum, you must take up notice of that. So then I will, that is, with
your Leave, put my Writings into his Hands; then to Morrow we come slap
upon them with a Wedding, that no body thought on; by which you seize me
and my Estate, and I suppose make a Bonfire of your own Act and Deed.

Sir _Fran._ Nay, but _Chargee_, if--

_Miran._ Nay, _Gardee_, no Ifs--Have I refus'd three _Northern_ Lords,
two _British_ Peers, and half a score Knights, to have you put in your

Sir _Fran._ So thou hast indeed, and I will trust to thy Management. Od,
I'm all of a Fire.

_Miran._ 'Tis a wonder the dry Stubble does not blaze.

  _Enter _Marplot_._

Sir _Fran._ How now! who sent for you, Sir? What's the Hundred Pound
gone already?

_Marpl._ No, Sir, I don't want Money now.

Sir _Fran._ No, that's a Miracle! But there's one thing you want, I'm

_Marpl._ Ay, what's that, _Guardian?_

Sir _Fran._ Manners, what had I no Servants without?

_Marpl._ None that cou'd do my Business, _Guardian_, which is at present
with this Lady.

_Miran._ With me, Mr. _Marplot!_ what is it, I beseech you?

Sir _Fran._ Ay, Sir, what is it? any thing that relates to her may be
deliver'd to me.

_Marpl._ I deny that.

_Miran._ That's more than I do, Sir.

_Marpl._ Indeed, Madam, why then to proceed: Fame says, that you and my
most Conscionable _Guardian_ here, design'd, contriv'd, plotted and
agreed to chouse a very civil, honourable, honest Gentleman, out of a
Hundred Pound.

_Miran._ That I contrived it!

_Marpl._ Ay you--You said never a Word against it, so far you are

Sir _Fran._ Pray tell that civil, honourable, honest Gentleman, that if
he has any more such Sums to fool away, they shall be received like the
last; Ha, ha, ha, ha, chous'd, quotha! But hark ye, let him know at the
same time, that if he dare to report I trick'd him of it, I shall
recommend a Lawyer to him shall shew him a Trick for twice as much; D'ye
hear, tell him that.

_Marpl._ So, and this is the way you use a Gentleman, and my Friend.

_Miran._ Is the Wretch thy Friend?

_Marpl._ The Wretch! Look ye, Madam, don't call Names; Egad I won't take

_Miran._ Why you won't beat me, will you? Ha, ha.

_Marpl._ I don't know whether I will or no.

Sir _Fran._ Sir, I shall make a Servant shew you out at the Window if
you are sawcy.

_Marpl._ I am your most humble Servant, _Guardian_; I design to go out
the same way I came in. I wou'd only ask this Lady, if she do's not
think in her Soul Sir _George Airy_ is not a fine Gentleman.

_Miram._ He Dresses well.

Sir _Fran._ Which is chiefly owing to his Taylor, and _Valet de

_Miran._ And if you allow that a proof of his being a fine Gentleman, he
is so.

_Marpl._ The judicious part of the World allow him Wit, Courage,
Gallantry and Management; tho' I think he forfeited that Character, when
he flung away a Hundred Pound upon your Dumb Ladyship.

Sir _Fran._ Does that gaul him? Ha, ha, ha.

_Miran._ So, Sir _George_ remaining in deep Discontent, has sent you his
trusty Squire, to utter his Complaint: Ha, ha, ha.

_Marpl._ Yes, Madam; and you, like a cruel, hard-hearted Jew, value it
no more--than I wou'd your Ladyship, were I Sir _George_, you, you,

_Miran._ Oh, don't call Names. I know you love to be employ'd, and I'll
oblige you; and you shall carry him a Message from me.

_Marpl._ According as I like it: What is it?

_Miran._ Nay, a kind one you may be sure--First tell him, I have chose
this Gentleman to have, and to hold, and so forth.
    (_Clapping her Hand into Sir _Francis_'s._

Sir _Fran._ Oh the dear Rogue, how I dote on her!

_Miran._ And advise his Impertinence to trouble me no more, for I prefer
Sir _Francis_ for a Husband before all the Fops in the Universe.

_Marpl._ Oh Lord, Oh Lord! She's bewitch'd, that's certain; Here's a
Husband for Eighteen--Here's a Shape--Here's Bones ratling in a Leathern
Bag. (_Turning Sir _Francis_ about._) Here's Buckram, and Canvass, to
scrub you to Repentance.

Sir _Fran._ Sirrah, my Cane shall teach you Repentance presently.

_Marpl._ No faith, I have felt its Twin-Brother from just such a
wither'd Hand too lately.

_Miran._ One thing more, advise him to keep from the Garden Gate on the
left Hand; for if he dares to saunter there, about the Hour of Eight, as
he used to do, he shall be saluted with a Pistol or a Blunderbuss.

_Sir Fran._ Oh monstrous! why _Chargee_; did he use to come to the
Garden Gate?

_Miran._ The Gardner describ'd just such another Man that always watch'd
his coming out, and fain wou'd have bribed him for his Entrance--tell
him he shall find a warm Reception if he comes this Night.

_Marpl._ Pistols and Blunderbusses! Egad, a warm Reception indeed; I
shall take care to inform him of your Kindness, and advise him to keep
farther off.

_Miran._ I hope he will understand my Meaning better, than to follow
your Advice.

Sir _Fran._ Thou hast sign'd, seal'd, and ta'en Possession of my Heart;
for ever, _Chargee_, Ha, ha, ha; and for you, Mr. Sauce-box, let me have
no more of your Messages, if ever you design to inherit your Estate,

_Marpl._ Why there 'tis now. Sure I shall be out of your Clutches one
Day.--Well, _Guardian_, I say no more; but if you be not as errant a
Cuckold, as e're drove Bargain upon the Exchange, or paid Attendance to
a Court; I am the Son of a Whetstone; and so your humble Servant.

_Miran._ Don't forget the Message; Ha, ha.

Sir _Fran._ I am so provok'd!--'tis well he's gone.

_Miran._ Oh mind him not, _Gardee_, but let's sign Articles, and then--

Sir _Fran._ And then--Adod, I believe I am Metamorphos'd; my Pulse beats
high, and my Blood boils, methinks--
    (_Kissing and Hugging her._

_Miran._ Oh fye, _Gardee_, be not so violent; Consider the Market lasts
all the Year--Well, I'll in and see if the Lawyer be come, you'll

Sir _Fran._ Ay, to the World's End, my Dear. Well, _Franck_, thou art a
lucky Fellow in thy old Age, to have such a delicate Morsel, and Thirty
Thousand Pound in love with thee; I shall be the Envy of Batchelors, the
Glory of Marry'd Men, and the Wonder of the Town. Some Guardians wou'd
be glad to compound for part of the Estate, at dispatching an Heiress,
but I engross the whole: _O! Mihi præteritos referet si Jupiter Annos._

SCENE _Changes to a Tavern; discovers Sir _George_ and _Charles_ with
Wine before them, and _Whisper_ waiting._

Sir _Geo._ Nay, prithee don't be Grave, _Charles;_ Misfortunes will
happen: Ha, ha, ha, 'tis some Comfort to have a Companion in our

_Char._ I am only apprehensive for _Isabinda_, her Father's Humour is
implacable; and how far his Jealousie may transport him to her Undoing,
shocks my Soul to think.

Sir _Geo._ But since you escap'd undiscover'd by him, his Rage will
quickly lash into a Calm, never fear it.

_Char._ But who knows what that unlucky Dog, _Marplot_, told him; nor
can I imagine what brought him thither; that Fellow is ever doing
Mischief; and yet, to give him his due, he never designs it. This is
some Blundering Adventure, wherein he thought to shew his Friendship, as
he calls it: A Curse on him.

Sir _Geo._ Then you must forgive him; what said he?

_Char._ Said! nay, I had more mind to cut his Throat, than hear his

Sir _Geo._ Where is he?

_Whisp._ Sir, I saw him go into Sir _Francis Gripe_'s just now.

_Char._ Oh! then he is upon your Business, Sir _George_; a thousand to
one, but he makes some Mistake there too.

Sir _Geo._ Impossible, without he huffs the Lady, and makes Love to Sir

  _Enter Drawer._

_Draw._ Mr. _Marplot_ is below, Gentlemen, and desires to know if he may
have Leave to wait upon ye.

_Char._ How civil the Rogue is when he has done a fault!

Sir _Geo._ Ho! Desire him to walk up. Prithee, _Charles_, throw off this
Chagreen, and be good Company.

_Char._ Nay, hang him, I'm not angry with him. _Whisper_, fetch me Pen,
Ink and Paper.

_Whisp._ Yes, Sir.

    (_Ex. _Whisp_._

  _Enter _Marplot_._

_Char._ Do but mark his sheepish Look, Sir _George_.

_Marpl._ Dear _Charles,_ don't o'erwhelm a Man--already under
insupportable Affliction. I'm sure I always intend to serve my Friends;
but if my malicious Stars deny the Happiness, is the fault mine?

Sir _Geo._ Never mind him, Mr. _Marplot_, he is eat up with Spleen. But
tell me, what says _Miranda?_

_Marpl._ Says--nay, we are all undone there too.

_Char._ I told you so; nothing prospers that he undertakes.

_Marpl._ Why can I help her having chose your Father for Better for

_Char._ So: There's another of Fortune's Strokes; I suppose I shall be
Edg'd out of my Estate, with Twins every Year, let who will get 'em.

Sir _Geo._ What is the Woman really Possest?

_Marpl._ Yes with the Spirit of Contradiction, she rail'd at you most

Sir _Geo._ That's no ill Sign.

  _Enter _Whisper_, with Pen, Ink and Paper._

_Marpl._ You'd say it was no good Sign, if you knew all.

Sir _Geo._ Why, prithee?

_Marpl._ Hark'e, Sir _George_, Let me warn you, pursue your old Haunt no
more, it may be dangerous.
    (Charles _sits down to write._

Sir _Geo._ My old Haunt, what d'you mean?

_Marpl._ Why in short then, since you will have it, _Miranda_ vows if
you dare approach the Garden-Gate at Eight a Clock, as you us'd, you
shall be saluted with a Blunderbuss, Sir. These were her Words; nay, she
bid me tell you so too.

Sir _George_, Ha! The Garden-Gate at Eight, as I us'd to do! There must
be a Meaning in this. Is there such a Gate, _Charles?_

_Char._ Yes, yes; it opens into the Park, I suppose her Ladyship has
made many a Scamper through it.

Sir _Geo_. It must be an Assignation then. Ha, my Heart springs with
Joy, 'tis a propitious Omen. My dear _Marplot_, let me embrace thee,
thou art my Friend, my better Angel--

_Marpl._ What do you mean, Sir _George?_

Sir _Geo._ No matter what I mean. Here take a Bumper to the Garden-Gate,
ye dear Rogue, you.

_Marpl._ You have Reason to be transported, Sir _George_; I have sav'd
your Life.

Sir _Geo_. My Life! thou hast sav'd my Soul, Man. _Charles_, if thou
do'st not pledge this Health, may'st thou never taste the Joys of Love.

_Char._ _Whisper_, be sure you take care how you deliver this (_gives
him the Letter_) bring me the Answer to my Lodgings.

_Whisp._ I warrant you, Sir.

_Marpl._ Whither does that Letter go?--Now dare I not ask for my Blood.

_Char._ Now I'm for you.

Sir _Geo._ To the Garden-Gate at the Hour of Eight, _Charles_, along,

_Char._ I begin to conceive you.

_Marpl._ That's more than I do, Egad--to the Garden-Gate, Huzza,
(_Drinks._) But I hope you design to keep far enough off on't, Sir

Sir _Geo._ Ay, ay, never fear that; she shall see I despise her Frowns,
let her use her Blunderbuss against the next Fool, she shan't reach me
with the Smoak, I warrant her, Ha, ha, ha.

_Marpl._ Ah, _Charles_, if you cou'd receive a Disappointment thus _En
Cavalier_, one shou'd have some comfort in being beat for you.

_Char._ The Fool comprehends nothing.

Sir _Geo._ Nor wou'd I have him; prithee take him along with thee.

_Char._ Enough: _Marplot_, you shall go home with me.

_Marpl._ I'm glad I'm well with him however. Sir _George_, yours. Egad,
_Charles_, asking me to go home with him, gives me a shrewd suspicion
there's more in the Garden-Gate, than I comprehend. Faith, I'll give him
the drop, and away to _Guardians_, and find it out.

Sir _Geo._ I kiss both your Hands--And now for the Garden-Gate.

  _It's Beauty gives the Assignation there,_
  _And Love too powerful grows t' admit of Fear._

_The End of the Third Act._

ACT the Fourth.

SCENE the Out-side of Sir _Jealous Traffick_'s House, _Patch_ peeping
out of Door.

  _Enter _Whisper_._

_Whisp._ Ha, Mrs. _Patch_, this is a lucky Minute, to find you so
readily, my Master dies with Impatience.

_Patch._ My Lady imagin'd so, and by her Orders I have been scouting
this hour in search of you, to inform you that Sir _Jealous_ has invited
some Friends to Supper with him to Night, which gives an Opportunity to
your Master to make use of his Ladder of Ropes: The Closet Window shall
be open, and _Isabinda_ ready to receive him; bid him come immediately.

_Whisp._ Excellent, He'll not disappoint I warrant him: But hold, I have
a Letter here, which I'm to carry an Answer of: I can't think what
Language the Direction is.

_Patch._ Pho, 'tis no Language, but a Character which the Lovers
invented to avert Discovery: Ha, I hear my old Master coming down
Stairs, it is impossible you shou'd have an Answer; away, and bid him
come himself for that--begone we are ruined if you're seen, for he has
doubl'd his Care since the last Accident.

_Whisp._ I go, I go.

_Patch._ There, go thou into my Pocket. [_Puts it besides, and it falls
down._] Now I'll up the back Stairs, lest I meet him. Well, a dexterous
Chamber-maid is the Ladies best Utensil, I say.

  _Enter Sir _Jealous_ with a Letter in his Hand._

Sir _Jeal._ So, this is some Comfort, this tells me that _Seignior Don
Diego Babinetto_ is safely arriv'd, he shall marry my Daughter the
Minute he comes, ha. What's here [_takes up the Letter _Patch_ drop'd_]
a Letter! I don't know what to make of the Superscription. I'll see
what's within side, [_opens it_] humph; 'tis _Hebrew_ I think. What can
this mean. There must be some trick in it; this was certainly design'd
for my Daughter, but I don't know that she can speak any Language but
her Mother-Tongue. No matter for that, this may be one of Love's
Hieroglyphicks, and I fancy I saw _Patch_'s Tail sweep by. That Wench
may be a Slut, and instead of guarding my Honour, betray it; I'll find
it out I'm resolv'd; who's there? What Answer did you bring from the
Gentlemen I sent you to invite?

_Serv._ That they'd all wait of you, Sir, as I told you before, but I
suppose you forget, Sir.

Sir _Jeal._ Did I so, Sir, but I shan't forget to break your Head, if
any of 'em come, Sir.

_Serv._ Come, Sir, why did not you send me to desire their Company, Sir?

Sir _Jeal._ But I send you now to desire their Absence; say I have
something extraordinary fallen out, which calls me abroad, contrary to
Expectation, and ask their Pardon, and d'ye hear, send the Butler to me.

_Serv._ Yes, Sir.

  _Enter _Butler_._

Sir _Jeal._ If this Paper has a Meaning I'll find it. Lay the Cloath in
my Daughter's Chamber, and bid the Cook send Supper thither presently.

_Butl._ Yes, Sir,--hey day, what's the Matter now?

Sir _Jeal._ He wants the Eyes of _Argus_, that has a young handsome
Daughter in this Town, but my Comfort is, I shall not be troubl'd long
with her. He that pretends to rule a Girl once in her Teens, had better
be at Sea in a Storm, and would be in less Danger.
  _For let him do, or Counsel all he can,_
  _She thinks and dreams of nothing else but Man._

SCENE _Isabinda_'s Chamber, _Isabinda_ and _Patch_.

_Isab._ Are you sure, no Body saw you speak to _Whisper?_

_Patch._ Yes, very sure Madam, but I heard Sir _Jealous_ coming down
Stairs, so I clap'd this Letter into my Pocket.
    (_Feels for the Letter._

_Isab._ A Letter! give it me quickly.

_Patch._ Bless me! what's become on't--I'm sure I put it--
    (_Searching still._

_Isab._ Is it possible, thou could'st be so Careless--Oh! I'm undone for
ever if it be lost.

_Patch._ I must have drop'd it upon the Stairs. But why are you so much
alarm'd, if the worst happens no body can read it, Madam, nor find out
whom it was design'd for.

_Isab._ If it falls into my Father's Hands the very Figure of a Letter
will produce ill Consequences. Run and look for it upon the Stairs this

_Patch._ Nay, I'm sure it can be no where else.-- (_As she's going out
of the Door meets the Butler._) How now, what do you want?

_Butl._ My Master order'd me to lay the Cloth here for his Supper.

_Isab._ Ruin'd past Redemption--

_Patch._ You mistake sure; what shall we do?

_Isab._ I thought he expected Company to Night--Oh! poor _Charles_--Oh!
unfortunate _Isabinda_.

_Butl._ I thought so too Madam, but I suppose he has alter'd his Mind.
    (_Lays the Cloth, and Exit._

_Isab._ The Letter is the Cause; this heedless Action has undone me: Fly
and fasten the Closet-window, which will give _Charles_ notice to
retire. Ha, my Father, oh! Confusion.

  _Enter Sir _Jealous_._

Sir _Jeal._ Hold, hold, _Patch_, whither are you going. I'll have no
body stir out of the Room till after Supper.

_Patch._ Sir, I was only going to reach your easie Chair--Oh! wretched

Sir _Jeal._ I'll have no body stir out of the Room. I don't want my
easie Chair.

_Isab._ What will be the event of this? (_Aside._

Sir _Jeal._ Hark ye Daughter, do you know this Hand?

_Isab._ As I suspected--Hand do you call it, Sir? 'Tis some School-boy's

_Patch._ Oh! Invention, thou Chamber-maid's best Friend, assist me.

Sir _Jeal._ Are you sure you don't understand it?

(_Patch._ _Feels in her Bosom, and shakes her Coats._)

_Isab._ Do you understand it, Sir?

Sir _Jeal._ I wish I did.

_Isab._ Thank Heaven you do not. (_aside_) Then I know no more of it
than you do indeed, Sir.

_Patch._ Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have you done, Sir? Why the Paper is
mine, I drop'd it out of my Bosom.
    (_Snatching it from him._

Sir _Jeal._ Ha! yours, Mistress.

_Isab._ What does she mean by owning it.

_Patch._ Yes, Sir, it is.

Sir _Jeal._ What is it? Speak.

_Patch._ Why, Sir, it is a Charm for the Tooth-ach--I have worn it this
seven Year, 'twas given me by an Angel for ought I know, when I was
raving with the Pain; for no body knew from whence he came, nor whither
he went, he charg'd me never to open it, lest some dire Vengeance befal
me, and Heaven knows what will be the Event. Oh! cruel Misfortune that I
should drop it, and you should open it--If you had not open'd it--

_Isab._ Excellent Wench.

Sir _Jeal._ Pox of your Charms, and Whims for me, if that be all 'tis
well enough; there, there, burn it, and I warrant you no Vengeance will

_Patch._ So, all's right again thus far.

_Isab._ I would not lose _Patch_ for the World--I'll take courage a
little. (_aside_) Is this Usage for your Daughter, Sir, must my Virtue
and Conduct be suspected? For every Trifle, you immure me like some dire
Offender here, and deny me all Recreations which my Sex enjoy, and the
Custom of the Country and Modesty allow; yet not content with that you
make my Confinement more intolerable by your Mistrusts and Jealousies;
wou'd I were dead, so I were free from this.

Sir _Jeal._ To morrow rids you of this tiresome Load,--_Don Diego
Babinetto_ will be here, and then my Care ends and his begins.

_Isab._ Is he come then! Oh how shall I avoid this hated Marriage?

  _Enter Servants with Supper._

Sir _Jeal._ Come will you sit down?

_Isab._ I can't eat, Sir.

_Patch._ No, I dare swear he has given her Supper enough. I wish I cou'd
get into the Closet--

Sir _Jeal._ Well, if you can't eat, then give me a Song whilst I do.

_Isab._ I have such a Cold I can scarce speak, Sir, much less sing. How
shall I prevent _Charles_ coming in.

Sir _Jeal._ I hope you have the Use of your Fingers, Madam. Play a Tune
upon your _Spinnet_, whilst your Woman sings me a Song.

_Patch._ I'm as much out of Tune as my Lady, if he knew all.

_Isab._ I shall make excellent Musick. (_Sits down to play._

_Patch._ Really, Sir, I'm so frighted about your opening this Charm,
that I can't remember one Song.

Sir _Jeal._ Pish, hang your Charm; come, come, sing any thing.

_Patch._ Yes, I'm likely to sing truly (_aside_) humph, humph, bless me,
Sir, I cannot raise my Voice, my Heart pants so.

Sir _Jeal._ Why, what does your Heart pant so that you can't play
neither? Pray what Key are you in, ha?

_Patch._ Ah, wou'd the Key was turn'd of you once.

Sir _Jeal._ Why don't you sing, I say!

_Patch._ When Madam has put her _Spinnet_ in Tune, Sir, humph, humph.--

_Isab._ I cannot play, Sir, whatever ails me.

Sir _Jeal._ Zounds sit down, and play me a Tune, or I'll break the
_Spinnet_ about your Ears.

_Isab._ What will become of me?
    (_Sits down and plays._

Sir _Jeal._ Come, Mistress.
    (_To_ Patch

_Patch._ Yes, Sir.
    (_Sings, but horribly out of Tune._

Sir _Jeal._ Hey, hey, why you are a top of the House, and you are down
in the Cellar. What is the meaning of this? Is it on purpose to cross
me, ha?

_Patch._ Pray Madam, take it a little lower, I cannot reach that
Note--nor any Note I fear.

_Isab._ Well, begin--Oh! _Patch_ we shall be discover'd.

_Patch._ I sink with the Apprehension, Madam,--humph, humph-- (_Sings_)

    (__Charles_ pulls open the Closet Door._

_Char._ Musick and Singing
  _'Tis thus the bright Coelestial Court above,_
  _Beguiles the Hours with Musick and with Love._
Death! her Father there, (_The Women shriek_) then I must fly--
    (_Exit into the Closet_)

    (_Sir _Jealous_ rises up hastily, seeing _Charles_ slip back into
    the Closet._

Sir _Jeal._ Hell and Furies, a Man in the Closet--

_Patch._ Ah! a Ghost, a Ghost--he must not enter the Closet--
    (Isabinda _throws her self down before the Closet-door as in
    a Sound._

Sir _Jeal._ The Devil! I'll make a Ghost of him I warrant you.
    (_Strives to get by._

_Patch._ Oh hold, Sir, have a care, you'l tread upon my Lady-- who waits
there? Bring some Water: Oh! this comes of your opening the Charm: Oh,
oh, oh, oh.
    (_Weeps aloud._

Sir _Jeal._ I'll Charm you, House-wife, here lies the Charm, that
conjur'd this Fellow in I'm sure on't, come out you Rascal, do so:
Zounds take her from the Door, or I'll spurn her from it, and break your
Neck down Stairs.

_Isab._ Oh, oh, where am I--He's gone, I heard him leap down.
    (_Aside to _Patch_._

_Patch._ Nay, then let him enter--here, here Madam, smell to this; come
give me your Hand; come nearer to the Window, the Air will do you good.

Sir _Jeal._ I wou'd she were in her Grave. Where are you, Sirrah,
Villain, Robber of my Honour; I'll pull you out of your Nest.
    (_Goes into the Closet._

_Patch._ You'l be mistaken, old Gentleman, the Bird is flown.

_Isab._ I'm glad I have 'scap'd so well. I was almost dead in earnest
with the Fright.

  _Re-enter Sir _Jealous_ out of the Closet._

Sir _Jeal._ Whoever the Dog were he has escap'd out of the Window, for
the Sash is up. But tho' he is got out of my Reach, you are not: And
first Mrs. _Pandor_, with your Charms for Tooth-ach, get out of my
House, go, troop; yet hold, stay, I'll see you out of my Doors my self,
but I'll secure your Charge e'er I go.

_Isab._ What do you mean, Sir? Was she not a Creature of your own

Sir _Jeal._ She was of the Devil's providing for ought I know.

_Patch._ What have I done, Sir to merit your Displeasure?

Sir _Jeal._ I don't know which of you have done it; but you shall both
suffer for it, till I can discover whose Guilt it is: Go get in there,
I'll move you from this side of the House (_Pushes _Isabinda_ in at the
other Door, and locks it; puts the Key in his Pocket._) I'll keep the
Key my self: I'll try what Ghost will get into that Room. And now
forsooth I'll wait on you down Stairs.

_Patch._ Ah, my poor Lady--Down Stairs, Sir, but I won't go out, Sir,
till I have look'd up my Cloaths.

Sir _Jeal._ If thou wer't as naked as thou wer't born, thou should'st
not stay to put on a Smock. Come along, I say, when your Mistress is
marry'd you shall have your Rags, and every thing that belongs to you;
but till then--
    (_Exit, pulling her out._

_Patch._ Oh! barbarous Usage for nothing.

  _Re-enter at the lower Door._

Sir _Jeal._ There, go, and, come no more within sight of my Habitation,
these three Days, I charge you.
    (_Slaps the Door after her._

_Patch._ Did ever any Body see such an old Monster!

  _Enter _Charles_._

_Patch._ Oh! Mr. _Charles_ your Affairs and mine are in an ill Posture.

_Char._ I am immur'd to the Frowns of Fortune: But what has befal'n

_Patch._ Sir _Jealous_, whose suspicious Nature's always on the Watch;
nay, even whilst one Eye sleeps, the other keeps Sentinel: Upon sight of
you, flew into such a violent Passion, that I cou'd find no Stratagem to
appease him, but in spight of all Arguments, lock'd his Daughter into
his own Apartment, and turn'd me out of Doors.

_Char._ Ha! oh, _Isabinda_.

_Patch._ And swears she shall neither see Sun nor Moon, till she is _Don
Diego Babinetto_'s Wife, who arrived last Night, and is expected with

_Char._ He dies, yes, by all the Wrongs of Love he shall; here will I
plant my self, and thro' my Breast he shall make his Passage, if he

_Patch._ A most heroick Resolution. There might be ways found out more
to your Advantage. Policy is often preferr'd to open force.

_Char._ I apprehend you not.

_Patch._ What think you of personating this _Spaniard_, imposing upon
the Father, and marrying your Mistress by his own Consent.

_Char._ Say'st thou so my Angel! Oh cou'd that be done, my Life to come
wou'd be too short to recompence thee: But how can I do that, when I
neither know what Ship he came in, nor from what part of _Spain_; who
recommends him, nor how attended.

_Patch._ I can solve all this. He is from _Madrid_, his Father's Name
_Don Pedro Questo Portento Babinetto_. Here's a Letter of his to Sir
_Jealous_, which he drop'd one Day; you understand _Spanish_, and the
Hand may be counterfeited: You conceive me, Sir.

_Char._ My better Genius, thou hast reviv'd my drooping Soul: I'll about
it instantly. Come to my Lodgings, and we'll concert Matters.


SCENE a Garden Gate open, _Scentwell_ waiting within.

  _Enter Sir _George Airy_._

Sir _Geo._ So, this is the Gate, and most invitingly open: If there
shou'd be a Blunderbuss here now, what a dreadful Ditty wou'd my Fall
make for Fools; and what a Jest for the Wits; how my Name wou'd be
roar'd about Streets. Well I'll venture all.

_Scentw._ Hist, hist, Sir _George Airy_--

Sir _Geo._ A Female Voice, thus far I'm safe, my Dear.

_Scentw._ No, I'm not your Dear, but I'll conduct you to her, give me
your Hand; you must go thro' many a dark Passage and dirty Step before
you arrive--

Sir _Geo._ I know I must before I arrive at Paradise; therefore be quick
my charming Guide.

_Scentw._ For ought you know; come, come your Hand and away.

Sir _Geo._ Here, here Child, you can't be half so swift as my Desires.


SCENE the House.

  _Enter _Miranda_._

_Miran._ Well, let me reason a little with my mad self. Now don't I
transgress all Rules to venture upon a Man, without the Advice of the
Grave and Wise; but then a rigid knavish Guardian who wou'd have marry'd
me. To whom? Even to his nauseous self, or no Body: Sir _George_ is what
I have try'd in Conversation, inquir'd into his Character, am satisfied
in both. Then his Love; who wou'd have given a hundred Pound only to
have seen a Woman he had not infinitely loved? So I find my liking him
has furnish'd me with Arguments enough of his side; and now the only
Doubt remains whether he will come or no.

  _Enter _Scentwell_._

_Scentw._ That's resolv'd, Madam, for here's the Knight.
    _Exit_ Scentwell.

Sir _Geo._ And do I once more behold that lovely Object, whose Idea
fills my Mind, and forms my pleasing Dreams!

_Miran._ What beginning again in Heroicks!--Sir _George_, don't you
remember how little Fruit your last Prodigal Oration produced, not one
bare single Word in answer.

Sir _Geo._ Ha! the Voice of my _Incognita_--Why did you take Ten
Thousand ways to captivate a Heart your Eyes alone had vanquish'd?

_Miran._ Prithee, no more of these Flights; for our Time's but short,
and we must fall into Business: Do you think we can agree on that same
terrible Bugbear, _Matrimony_, without heartily Repenting on both sides.

Sir _Geo._ It has been my wish since first my longing Eyes beheld ye.

_Miran._ And your happy Ears drank in the pleasing News, I had Thirty
Thousand Pound.

Sir _Geo._ Unkind! Did I not offer you in those purchas'd Minutes to run
the Risque of your Fortune, so you wou'd but secure that lovely Person
to my Arms.

_Miran._ Well, if you have such Love and Tenderness, (since our Woing
has been short) pray reserve it for our future Days, to let the World
see we are Lovers after Wedlock; 'twill be a Novelty--

Sir _Geo._ Haste then, and let us tye the Knot, and prove the envy'd

_Miran._ Hold! not so fast, I have provided better than to venture on
dangerous Experiments headlong--My _Guardian_, trusting to my dissembled
Love, has given up my Fortune to my own dispose; but with this
_Proviso_, that he to Morrow morning weds me. He is now gone to _Doctors
Commons_ for a License.

Sir _Geo._ Ha, a License!

_Miran._ But I have planted Emissaries that infallibly take him down to
_Epsom_, under pretence that a Brother Usurer of his, is to make him his
Executor; the thing on Earth he covets.

Sir _Geo._ 'Tis his known Character.

_Miran._ Now my Instruments confirm him, this Man is dying, and he sends
me word he goes this Minute; it must be to Morrow e'er he can be
undeceiv'd. That time is ours.

Sir _Geo._ Let us improve it then, and settle on our coming Years,
endless, endless Happiness.

_Miran._ I dare not stir till I hear he's on the Road--then I and my
Writings, the most material point, are soon removed.

Sir _Geo._ I have one Favour to ask, if it lies in your power, you wou'd
be a Friend to poor _Charles_, tho' the Son of this tenacious Man: He is
as free from all his Vices, as Nature and a good Education can make him;
and what now I have vanity enough to hope will induce you, he is the Man
on Earth I love.

_Miran._ I never was his Enemy, and only put it on as it help'd my
Designs on his Father. If his Uncle's Estate ought to be in his
Possession, which I shrewdly suspect, I may do him a singular piece of

Sir _Geo._ You are all Goodness.

  _Enter _Scentwell_._

_Scentw._ Oh, Madam, my Master and Mr. _Marplot_ are just coming into
the House.

_Miran._ Undone, undone! if he finds you here in this Crisis, all my
Plots are unravell'd.

Sir _Geo._ What shall I do! can't I get back into the Garden?

_Scentw._ Oh, no! he comes up those Stairs.

_Miran._ Here, here, here! can you condescend to stand behind this
Chimney-Board, Sir _George?_

Sir _Geo._ Any where, any where, dear Madam, without Ceremony.

_Scentw._ Come, come, Sir; lie close--
    (_They put him behind the Chimney-Board._

  _Enter Sir _Francis_ and _Marplot_: Sir _Francis_ peeling an Orange_._

Sir _Fran._ I cou'd not go, tho' 'tis upon Life and Death, without
taking leave of dear _Chargee_. Besides, this Fellow buz'd in my Ears,
that thou might'st be so desperate to shoot that wild Rake which haunts
the Garden-Gate; and that wou'd bring us into Trouble, dear--

_Miran._ So, _Marplot_ brought you back then: I am oblig'd to him for
that, I'm sure--
    (_Frowning at _Marplot_ aside._

_Marpl._ By her Looks she means she is not oblig'd to me. I have done
some Mischief now, but what I can't imagine.

Sir _Fran._ Well, _Chargee_, I have had three Messengers to come to
_Epsom_ to my Neighbour _Squeezum_'s who, for all his vast Riches, is

_Marpl._ Ay, see what all you Usurers must come to.

Sir _Fran._ Peace, ye young Knave! Some Forty Years hence I may think
on't--But, _Chargee_, I'll be with thee to Morrow, before those pretty
Eyes are open; I will, I will, _Chargee_, I'll rouze you, I saith.--Here
Mrs. _Scentwell_, lift up your Lady's Chimney-Board, that I may throw my
Peel in, and not litter her Chamber.

_Miran._ Oh my Stars! what will become of us now?

_Scentw._ Oh, pray Sir, give it me; I love it above all things in
Nature, indeed I do.

Sir _Fran._ No, no, Hussy; you have the Green Pip already, I'll have no
more Apothecary's Bills.
    (_Goes towards the Chimney._

_Miran._ Hold, hold, hold, dear _Gardee_, I have a, a, a, a, a Monkey
shut up there; and if you open it before the Man comes that is to tame
it, 'tis so wild 'twill break all my China, or get away, and that wou'd
break my Heart; for I am fond on't to Distraction, next thee, dear
    (_In a flattering Tone._

Sir _Fran._ Well, well, _Chargee_, I wont open it; she shall have her
Monkey, poor Rogue; here throw this Peel out of the Window.

    (_Exit _Scentwell_._

_Marpl._ A Monkey, dear Madam, let me see it; I can tame a Monkey as
well as the best of them all. Oh how I love the little Minatures of Man.

_Miran._ Be quiet, Mischief, and stand farther from the Chimney--You
shall not see my Monkey--why sure--
    (_Striving with him._

_Marpl._ For Heaven's sake, dear Madam, let me but peep, to see if it be
as pretty as my Lady _Fiddle-Faddle_'s. Has it got a Chain?

_Miran._ Not yet, but I design it one shall last its Life-time: Nay, you
shall not see it--Look, _Gardee_, how he teazes me!

Sir _Fran._ (_Getting between him and the Chimney._) Sirrah, Sirrah, let
my _Chargee_'s Monkey alone, or _Bambo_ shall fly about your Ears. What
is there no dealing with you?

_Marpl._ Pugh, pox of the Monkey! here's a Rout: I wish he may Rival

  _Enter a Servant._

_Serv._ Sir, they put two more Horses in the Coach, as you order'd, and
'tis ready at the Door.

Sir _Fran._ Well, I'm going to be Executor, better for thee, Jewel. B'ye
_Chargee_, one Buss!--I'm glad thou hast got a a Monkey to divert thee a

_Miran._ Thank'e, dear _Gardee_.--Nay, I'll see you to the Coach.

Sir _Fran._ That's kind, adod.

_Miran._ Come along, Impertinence.
    (_To _Marplot_._

_Marpl._ (_Stepping back._) Egad, I will see the Monkey: Now (_Lifts up
the Board, and discovers Sir_ George_._) Oh Lord, Oh Lord! Thieves,
Thieves, Murder!

Sir _Geo._ Dam'e, you unlucky Dog! 'tis I, which way shall I get out,
shew me instantly, or I'll cut your Throat.

_Marpl._ Undone, undone! At that Door there. But hold, hold, break that
China, and I'll bring you off.
    (_He runs off at the Corner, and throws down some China._

  _Re-enter Sir _Francis_, _Miranda_, and _Scentwell_._

Sir _Fran._ Mercy on me! what's the matter?

_Miran._ Oh, you Toad! what have you done?

_Marpl._ No great harm, I beg of you to forgive me: Longing to see the
Monkey, I did but just raise up the Board, and it flew over my
Shoulders, scratch'd all my Face, broke yon' China, and whisk'd out of
the Window.

Sir _Fran._ Was ever such an unlucky Rogue! Sirrah, I forbid you my
House. Call the Servants to get the Monkey again; I wou'd stay my self
to look it, but that you know my earnest Business.

_Scentw._ Oh my Lady will be the best to lure it back; all them
Creatures love my Lady extremely.

_Miran._ Go, go, dear _Gardee_; I hope I shall recover it.

Sir _Fran._ B'ye, by'e, Dear'e. Ah, Mischief, how you look now! B'ye,

_Miran._ _Scentwell_, see him in the Coach, and bring me word.

_Scentw._ Yes, Madam.

_Miran._ So, Sir, you have done your Friend a signal piece of Service, I

_Marpl._ Why look you, Madam! if I have committed a fault, thank your
self; no Man is more Serviceable when I am let into a Secret, nor none
more Unlucky at finding it out. Who cou'd divine your Meaning, when you
talk'd of a Blunderbuss, who thought of a Rendevous? and when you talk'd
of a Monkey, who the Devil dreamt of Sir _George?_

_Miran._ A sign you converse but little with our Sex, when you can't
reconcile Contradictions.

  _Enter _Scentwell_._

_Scentw._ He's gone, Madam, as fast as the Coach, and Six can carry him.

  _Enter Sir _George_._

Sir _Geo._ Then I may appear.

_Marpl._ Dear, Sir _George_, make my Peace! On my Soul, I did not think
of you.

Sir _Geo._ I dare swear thou didst not. Madam, I beg you to forgive him.

_Miran._ Well, Sir _George_, if he can be secret.

_Marpl._ Ods heart, Madam, I'm as secret as a Priest when I'm trusted.

Sir _Geo._ Why 'tis with a Priest our Business is at present.

_Scentw._ Madam, here's Mrs. _Isabinda_'s Woman to wait on you.

_Miran._ Bring her up.

  _Enter _Patch_._

How do'e, Mrs. _Patch_, what News from your Lady?

_Patch._ That's for your private Ear, Madam. Sir _George_, there's a
Friend of yours has an urgent Occasion for your Assistance.

Sir _Geo._ His Name.

_Patch._ _Charles._

_Marpl._ Ha! then there is something a-foot that I know nothing of. I'll
wait on you, Sir _George_.

Sir _Geo._ A third Person may not be proper perhaps; as soon as I have
dispatch'd my own Affairs, I am at his Service. I'll send my Servant to
tell him, I'll wait upon him in half an Hour.

_Miran._ How come you employ'd in this Message, Mrs. _Patch?_

_Patch._ Want of Business, Madam. I am discharg'd by my Master, but hope
to serve my Lady still.

_Miran._ How discharg'd! you must tell me the whole Story within.

_Patch._ With all my Heart, Madam.

_Marpl._ Pish! Pox, I wish I were fairly out of the House. I find
Marriage is the end of this Secret: And now I am half mad to know what
_Charles_ wants him for.

Sir _Geo._ Madam, I'm doubly press'd, by Love and Friendship: This
Exigence admits of no delay. Shall we make _Marplot_ of the Party?

_Miran._ If you'll run the Hazard, Sir _George_; I believe he means

_Marpl._ Nay, nay, for my part, I desire to be let into nothing: I'll
begon, therefore pray don't mistrust me.

Sir _Geo._ So now has he a mind to be gone to _Charles_: but not knowing
what Affairs he may have upon his Hands at present, I'm resolv'd he
sha'n't stir: No, Mr. _Marplot_, you must not leave us, we want a third
    (_Takes hold of him._

_Marpl._ I never had more mind to be gone in my Life.

_Miran._ Come along then; if we fail in the Voyage, thank your self for
taking this ill starr'd Gentleman on Board.

_Sir_ Geo.
  _That Vessel ne'er can Unsuccessful prove,_
  _Whose Freight is Beauty, and whose Pilot Love._

The End of the Fourth ACT.

ACT the Fifth.

  _Enter _Miranda_, _Patch_, and _Scentwell_._

_Miran._ Well, _Patch_, I have done a strange bold thing! my Fate is
determin'd, and Expectation is no more. Now to avoid the Impertinence
and Roguery of an old Man, I have thrown my self into the Extravagance
of a young one; if he shou'd despise, slight or use me ill, there's no
Remedy from a Husband, but the Grave; and that's a terrible Sanctuary to
one of my Age and Constitution.

_Patch._ O fear not, Madam, you'll find your account in Sir _George
Airy_; it is impossible a Man of Sense shou'd use a Woman ill, indued
with Beauty, Wit and Fortune. It must be the Lady's fault, if she does
not wear the unfashionable Name of Wife easie, when nothing but
Complaisance and good Humour is requisite on either side to make them

_Miran._ I long till I am out of this House, lest any Accident shou'd
bring my _Guardian_ back. _Scentwell_, put my best Jewels into the
little Casket, slip them, into thy Pocket, and let us march off to Sir.

_Scentw._ It shall be done, Madam.
    (_Exit_ Scentwell.

_Patch._ Sir _George_ will be impatient, Madam; if their Plot succeeds,
we shall be well receiv'd; if not, he will be able to protect us.
Besides, I long to know how my young Lady fares.

_Miran._ Farewell, old _Mammon_, and thy detested Walls; 'twill be no
more sweet Sir _Francis_, I shall be compell'd to the odious Task of
Dissembling no longer to get my own, and coax him with the wheedling
Names of my _Precious_, my _Dear_, dear _Gardee_. Oh Heavens!

  _Enter Sir _Francis_ behind._

Sir _Fran._ Ah, my sweet _Chargee_, don't be frighted. (_She starts._)
But thy poor _Gardee_ has been abused, cheated, fool'd, betray'd, but no
Body knows by whom.

_Miran._ (_Aside._) Undone! past Redemption.

Sir _Fran._ What won't you speak to me, _Chargee!_

_Miran._ I'm so surpriz'd with Joy to see you, I know not what to say.

Sir _Fran._ Poor, dear Girl! But do'e know that my Son, or some such
Rogue, to rob or murder me, or both, contriv'd this Journey? For upon
the Road I met my Neighbour _Squeezum_ well, and coming to Town.

_Miran._ Good lack, good lack! what Tricks are there in this World!

  _Enter _Scentwell_, with a Diamond Necklace in her Hand; not seeing
Sir _Francis_._

_Scentw._ Madam, be pleas'd to tye this Neck-lace on; for I can't get it
into the-- (_Seeing Sir _Francis_._

_Miran._ The Wench is a Fool, I think! cou'd you not have carry'd it to
be mended, without putting it in the Box?

Sir _Fran._ What's the matter?

_Miran._ Only Dear'e, I bid her, I bid her--Your ill Usage has put every
thing out of my Head. But won't you go, _Gardee_, and find out these
Fellows, and have them punish'd! and, and--

Sir _Fran._ Where shou'd I look them, Child? No I'll sit me down
contented with my Safety, nor stir out of my own Doors, till I go with
thee to a Parson.

_Miran._ (_Aside._) If he goes into his Closet I am ruin'd. Oh! bless me
in this Fright, I had forgot Mrs. _Patch_.

_Patch._ Ay, Madam, and I stay for your speedy Answer.

_Miran._ (_Aside._) I must get him out of the House. Now assist me

Sir _Fran._ Mrs. _Patch_, I profess I did not see you, how dost thou do,
Mrs. _Patch_; well don't you repent leaving my _Chargee?_

_Patch._ Yes, every body must love her--but I came now--Madam, what did
I come for, my Invention is at the last Ebb.
    (_Aside to _Miranda_._

Sir _Fran._ Nay, never Whisper, tell me.

_Miran._ She came, dear _Gardee_ to invite me to her Lady's Wedding, and
you shall go with me _Gardee_, 'tis to be done this Moment to a
_Spanish_ Merchant; Old Sir _Jealous_ keeps on his Humour, the first
Minute he sees her, the next he marries her.

Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha, I'd go if I thought the sight of Matrimony wou'd
tempt _Chargee_ to perform her Promise: There was a smile, there was a
consenting Look with those pretty Twinklers, worth a Million. Ods
precious, I am happier than the Great _Mogul_, the Emperour of _China_,
or all the Potentates that are not in Wars. Speak, confirm it, make me
leap out of my Skin.

_Miran._ When one has resolv'd, 'tis in vain to stand shall I, shall I,
if ever I marry, positively this is my Wedding Day.

Sir _Fran._ Oh! happy, happy Man--Verily I will beget a Son, the first
Night shall disinherit that Dog, _Charles_. I have Estate enough to
purchase a Barony, and be the immortalizing the whole Family of the

_Miran._ Come then _Gardee_, give me thy Hand, let's to this House
of _Hymen_.
  _My Choice is fix'd, let good or ill betide,_

Sir _Fran._
  _The joyful Bridegroom, I_

  _And I the happy Bride._


  _Enter Sir _Jealous_ meeting a Servant._

_Serv._ Sir, here's a couple of Gentlemen enquire for you; one of 'em
calls himself _Seignor Diego Babinetto_.

Sir _Jeal._ Ha! _Seignor Babinetto!_ Admit 'em instantly--Joyful Minute;
I'll have my Daughter marry'd to Night.

  _Enter _Charles_ in _Spanish_ Habit, with Sir _George_ drest like a

Sir _Jeal._ Senior, beso Las Manos vuestra merced es muy bien venido en
esta tierra.

_Char._ Senhor, soy muy humilde, y muy obligado Cryado de vuestra
merced: Mi Padre Embia a vuestra merced, los mas profondos de sus
respetos; y a Commissionado este Mercadel Ingles, de concluyr un
negocio, que me Haze el mas dichoso hombre del mundo, Haziendo me su

Sir _Jeal._ I am glad on't, for I find I have lost much of my _Spanish_.
Sir, I am your most humble Servant. _Seignor Don Diego Babinetto_ has
inform'd me that you are Commission'd by _Seignor Don Pedro_, &c. his
worthy Father.

Sir _Geo._ To see an Affair of Marriage Consummated between a Daughter
of yours, and _Seignor Diego Babinetto_ his Son here. True, Sir, such a
Trust is repos'd in me as that Letter will inform you. I hope 'twill
pass upon him.
    (_Gives him a Letter._

Sir _Jeal._ Ay, 'tis his Hand.
    (_Seems to read._

Sir _Geo._ Good ---- you have counterfeited to a Nicety, _Charles._
    (_Aside to _Charles_._

_Char._ If the whole Plot succeeds as well, I'm happy.

Sir _Jeal._ Sir I find by this, that you are a Man of Honour and
Probity; I think, Sir, he calls you _Meanwell_.

Sir _Geo._ _Meanwell_ is my Name, Sir.

Sir _Jeal._ A very good Name, and very Significant.

_Char._ Yes, Faith if he knew all.

Sir _Jeal._ For to Mean-well is to be honest, and to be honest is the
Virtue of a Friend, and a Friend is the Delight and Support of Human

Sir _Geo._ You shall find that I'll Discharge the part of a Friend in
what I have undertaken, Sir _Jealous_.

_Char._ But little does he think to whom.

Sir _Geo._ Therefore, Sir, I must intreat the Presence of your fair
Daughter, and the Assistance of your Chaplain; for _Seignor Don Pedro_
strictly enjoyn'd me to see the Marriage Rites perform'd as soon as we
should arrive, to avoid the Accidental Overtures of _Venus_.

Sir _Jeal._ Overtures of _Venus!_

Sir _Geo._ Ay, Sir, that is, those little Hawking Females that traverse
the Park, and the Play-house to put off their damag'd Ware--they fasten
upon Foreigners like Leeches, and watch their Arrival as carefully, as
the _Kentish_ Men do a Ship-wreck. I warrant you they have heard of him

Sir _Jeal._ Nay, I know this Town swarms with them.

Sir _Geo._ Ay, and then you know the _Spaniards_ are naturally Amorous,
but very Constant, the first Face fixes 'em, and it may be dangerous to
let him ramble e'er he is tied.

_Char._ Well hinted.

Sir _Jeal._ Pat to my Purpose--Well, Sir, there is but one thing more,
and they shall be married instantly.

_Char._ Pray Heaven, that one thing more don't spoil all.

Sir _Jeal._ _Don Pedro_ writ me Word in his last but one, that he
design'd the Sum of Five Thousand Crowns by way of Joynture for my
Daughter; and that it shou'd be paid into my Hand upon the Day of

_Char._ Oh! the Devil.

Sir _Jeal._ In order to lodge it in some of our Funds, in case she
should become a Widow, and return for _England_.

Sir _Geo._ Pox on't, this is an unlucky Turn. What shall I say?

Sir _Jeal._ And he does not mention one Word of it in this Letter.

_Char._ I don't know how he should.

Sir _Geo._ Humph! True, Sir _Jealous_, he told me such a Thing, but,
but, but, but--he, he, he, he--he did not imagine that you would insist
upon the very Day, for, for, for, for Money you know is dangerous
returning by Sea, an, an, an, an--

_Char._ Zounds, say we have brought it in Commodities.
    (_Aside to Sir_ George.

Sir _Geo._ And so Sir, he has sent it in Merchandize, _Tobacco_,
_Sugars_, _Spices_, _Limons_, and so forth, which shall be turn'd into
Money with all Expedition: In the mean time, Sir, if you please to
accept of my Bond for Performance.

Sir _Jeal._ It is enough, Sir, I am so pleas'd with the Countenance of
_Seignor Diego_, and the Harmony of your Name, that I'll take your Word,
and will fetch my Daughter this Moment. Within there (_Enter Servant_)
desire Mr. _Tackum_ my Neighbour's Chaplain to walk hither.

_Serv._ Yes, Sir.

Sir _Jeal._ Gentlemen, I'll return in an Instant.

_Char._ Wondrous well. Let me embrace thee.

Sir _Geo._ Egad that 5000 _l._ had like to have ruin'd the Plot.

_Char._ But that's over! And if Fortune throws no more Rubs in our way.

Sir _Geo._ Thou'lt carry the Prize--but hist, here he comes.

  _Enter Sir _ Jealous_, dragging in _Isabinda_._

Sir _Jeal._ Come along, you stubborn Baggage you, come along.

  Oh hear me, Sir! hear me but speak one Word,
  Do not destroy my everlasting Peace;
  My Soul abhors this _Spaniard_ you have chose
  Nor can I wed him without being curst.

Sir _Jeal._ How's that!

  Let this Posture move your tender Nature.    (_Kneels._
  For ever will I hang upon these Knees;
  Nor loose my Hands till you cut off my hold,
  If you refuse to hear me, Sir.

_Char._ Oh! that I cou'd discover my self to her.

Sir _Geo._ Have a care what you do. You had better trust to his

Sir _Jeal._ Did you ever see such a perverse Slut: Off I say Mr.
_Meanwell_ pray help me a little.

Sir _Geo._ Rise, Madam, and do not disoblige your Father, who has
provided a Husband worthy of you, one that will Love you equal with his
Soul, and one that you will Love, when once you know him.

_Isab._ Oh! never, never. Cou'd I suspect that Falshood in my Heart, I
wou'd this Moment tear it from my Breast, and streight present him with
the Treacherous Part.

_Char._ Oh! my charming faithful Dear.

Sir _Jeal._ Falshood! why, who the Devil are you in Love with? Ha! Don't
provoke me, for by St. _Jago_ I shall beat you, Housewife.

_Char._ Heaven forbid; for I shall infallibly discover my self if he

Sir _Geo._ Have Patience, Madam! and look at him: Why will you
prepossess your self against a Man that is Master of all the Charms you
would desire in a Husband?

Sir _Jeal._ Ay, look at him, _Isabinda_, _Senior pase vind adelante._

_Char._ My Heart bleeds to see her grieve, whom I imagin'd would with
Joy receive me. _Seniora obligue me vuestra merced de sumano._

Sir _Jeal._ (_Pulling up her Head._) Hold up your Head, hold up your
Head, Housewife, and look at him: Is there a properer, handsomer, better
shap'd Fellow in _England_, ye Jade you. Ha! see, see the obstinate
Baggage shuts her Eyes; by St. _Jago_, I have a good Mind to beat 'em
    (_Pushes her down._

  Do then, Sir, kill me, kill me instantly.
  'Tis much the kinder Action of the Two,
  For 'twill be worse than Death to wed him.

Sir _Geo._ Sir _Jealous_, you are too passionate. Give me leave, I'll
try by gentle Words to work her to your Purpose.

Sir _Jeal._ I pray do, Mr. _Meanwell_, I pray do; she'll break my Heart.
(_weeps_) There is in that, Jewels of the Value of 3000 _l._ which were
her Mother's; and a Paper wherein I have settled one half of my Estate
upon her now, and the whole when I dye. But provided she marries this
Gentleman, else by St. _Jago_, I'll turn her out of Doors to beg or
starve. Tell her this, Mr. _Meanwell_, pray do.
    (_Walks off._

Sir _Geo._ Ha! this is beyond Expectation--Trust to me, Sir, I'll lay
the dangerous Consequence of disobeying you at this Juncture before her,
I warrant you.

_Char._ A sudden Joy runs thro' my Heart like a propitious Omen.

Sir _Geo._ Come, Madam, do not blindly cast your Life away just in the
Moment you would wish to have it.

_Isab._ Pray cease your Trouble, Sir, I have no Wish but sudden Death to
free me from this hated _Spaniard_. If you are his Friend inform him
what I say; my Heart is given to another Youth, whom I love with the
same strength of Passion that I hate this _Diego_; with whom, if I am
forc'd to wed, my own Hand shall cut the Gordian Knot.

Sir _Geo._ Suppose this _Spaniard_ which you strive to shun should be
the very Man to whom you'd flye?

_Isab._ Ha!

Sir _Geo._ Would you not blame your rash Result, and curse those Eyes
that would not look on _Charles_.

_Isab._ On _Charles!_ Oh you have inspir'd new Life, and collected every
wandring Sense. Where is he? Oh! let me flye into his Arms.

Sir _Geo._ Hold, hold, hold, 'Zdeath, Madam, you'll ruin all, your
Father believes him to be _Seignor Barbinetto_. Compose your self a
little, pray Madam.
    (_He runs to Sir _Jealous_._

_Char._ Her Eyes declare she knows me.

Sir _Geo._ She begins to hear Reason, Sir, the fear of being turn'd out
of Doors has done it.
    (_Runs back to_ Isabinda.

_Isab._ 'Tis he, oh! my ravish'd Soul.

Sir _Geo._ Take heed, Madam, you don't betray your self. Seem with
Reluctance to consent, or you are undone, (_runs to Sir _Jealous_._)
speak gently to her, Sir, I'm sure she'll yield, I see it in her Face.

Sir _Jeal._ Well, _Isabinda_, can you refuse to bless a Father, whose
only Care is to make you happy, as Mr. _Meanwell_ has inform'd you.
Come, wipe thy Eyes; nay, prithee do, or thou wilt break thy Father's
Heart; see thou bring'st the Tears in mine to think of thy undutiful
Carriage to me.

_Isab._ Oh! do not weep, Sir, your Tears are like a Ponyard to my Soul;
do with me what you please, I am all Obedience.

Sir _Jeal._ Ha! then thou art my Child agen.

Sir _Geo._ 'Tis done, and now Friend the Day's thy own.

_Char._ The happiest of my Life, if nothing Intervene.

Sir _Jeal._ And wilt thou love him?

_Isab._ I will endeavour it, Sir.

  _Enter Servant._

_Serv._ Sir, Here is Mr. _Tackum_.

Sir _Jeal._ Show him into the Parlour--_Senior tome vind sueipora; cete
Momenta les Junta les Manos._
    (_Gives her to_ Charles.

_Char._ Oh! transport--_Senior yo la recibo Como se deve un Tesoro tan
Grande._ Oh! my Joy, my Life, my Soul.

_Isab._ My Faithful everlasting Comfort.

Sir _Jeal._ Now, Mr. _Meanwell_ let's to the Parson,
  _Who, by his Art will join this Pair for Life,_
  _Make me the happiest Father, her the happiest Wife._

SCENE Changes to the Street before Sir _Jealous_'s Door.

  _Enter _Marplot_, Solus._

_Marpl._ I have hunted all over the Town for _Charles_, but can't find
him; and by _Whisper_'s scouting at the End of the Street, I suspect he
must be in this House again. I'm inform'd too that he has borrow'd a
_Spanish_ Habit out of the _Play-house_. What can it mean?

  _Enter a Servant of Sir _Jealous_'s to him, out of the House._

Hark'e, Sir, do you belong to this House?

_Serv._ Yes, Sir.

_Marpl._ Pray can you tell if there be a Gentleman in it in _Spanish_

_Serv._ There is a _Spanish_ Gentleman within, that is just a going to
marry my young Lady, Sir.

_Marpl._ Are you sure he is a _Spanish_ Gentleman?

_Serv._ I'm sure he speaks no _English_, that I hear of.

_Marpl._ Then that can't be him I want; for 'tis an _English_ Gentleman,
tho' I suppose he may be dress'd like a _Spaniard_, that I enquire

_Serv._ Ha! who knows but this may be an Impostor? I'll inform my
Master; for if he shou'd be impos'd upon, he'll beat us all round.
(_Aside._) Pray, come in, Sir, and see if this be the Person you enquire

SCENE Changes to the Inside the House.

  _Enter _Marplot_._

_Marpl._ So, this was a good Contrivance: If this be _Charles_, now will
he wonder how I found him out.

  _Enter Servant and _Jealous_._

Sir _Jeal._ What is your earnest Business, Blockhead, that you must
speak with me before the Ceremony's past? Ha! who's this?

_Serv._ Why this Gentleman, Sir, wants another Gentleman in _Spanish_
Habit, he says.

Sir _Jeal._ In _Spanish_ Habit! 'tis some Friend of Seignior _Don
Diego_'s, I warrant. Sir, I suppose you wou'd speak with Seignior

_Marpl._ Hy-day! what the Devil does he say now!--Sir, I don't
understand you.

Sir _Jeal._ Don't you understand _Spanish_, Sir?

_Marpl._ Not I indeed, Sir.

Sir _Jeal._ I thought you had known Seignior _Barbinetto_.

_Marpl._ Not I, upon my word, Sir.

Sir _Jeal._ What then you'd speak with his Friend, the _English_
Merchant, Mr. _Meanwell_.

_Marpl._ Neither, Sir; not I.

Sir _Jeal._ Why who are you then, Sir? and what do you want?
    (_In an angry Tone._

_Marpl._ Nay, nothing at all, not I, Sir. Pox on him! I wish I were out,
he begins to exalt his Voice, I shall be beaten agen.

Sir _Jeal._ Nothing at all, Sir! Why then what Business have you in my
House? ha?

_Serv._ You said you wanted a Gentleman in _Spanish_ Habit.

_Marpl._ Why ay, but his Name is neither _Barbinetto_ nor _Meanwell_.

Sir _Jeal._ What is his Name then, Sirrah, ha? Now I look at you agen, I
believe you are the Rogue threaten'd me with half a Dozen
_Mirmidons_--Speak, Sir, who is it you look for? or, or--

_Marpl._ A terrible old Dog!--Why, Sir, only an honest young Fellow of
my Acquaintance--I thought that here might be a Ball, and that he might
have been here in a Masquerade; 'tis _Charles_, Sir _Francis Gripe_'s
Son, because I know he us'd to come hither sometimes.

Sir _Jeal._ Did he so?--Not that I know of, I'm sure. Pray Heaven that
this be Don _Diego_--If I shou'd be trick'd now--Ha! my Heart misgives
me plaguily--within there! stop the Marriage--Run, Sirrah, call all my
Servants! I'll be satisfy'd that this is Seignior _Pedro_'s Son e're he
has my Daughter.

_Marpl._ Ha, Sir _George_, what have I done now ?

  _Enter Sir _George_ with a drawn Sword between the Scenes._

Sir _Geo._ Ha! _Marplot_, here--Oh the unlucky Dog--what's the matter,
Sir _Jealous?_

Sir _Jeal._ Nay, I don't know the matter, Mr._Meanwell_.

_Marpl._ Upon my Soul, Sir _George_--
    (_Going up to Sir _Geo.__

Sir _Jeal._ Nay then, I'm betray'd, ruin'd, undone: Thieves, Traytors,
Rogues! (_Offers to go in._) Stop the Marriage, I say--

Sir _Geo._ I say, go on Mr._Tackum_--Nay, no Ent'ring here, I guard this
Passage, old Gentleman; the Act and Deed were both your own, and I'll
see 'em sign'd, or die for't.

  _Enter Servants._

Sir _Jeal._ A pox on the Act and Deed!--Fall on, knock him down.

Sir _Geo._ Ay, come on, Scoundrils! I'll prick your Jackets for you.

Sir _Jeal._ Z'ounds, Sirrah, I'll be Reveng'd on you.
    (_Beats _Marplot_._

Sir _Geo._ Ay, there your Vengeance is due; Ha, ha.

_Marpl._ Why, what do you beat me for? I ha'nt marry'd your Daughter.

Sir _Jeal._ Rascals! why don't you knock him down?

_Serv._ We are afraid of his Sword, Sir; if you'll take that from him,
we'll knock him down presently.

  _Enter _Charles_ and _Isabinda_._

Sir _Jeal._ Seize her then.

_Char._ Rascals, retire; she's my Wife, touch her if you dare, I'll make
Dogs meat of you.

Sir _Jeal._ Ah! downright _English_:--Oh, oh, oh, oh!

  _Enter Sir _Francis Gripe_, _Mirand_, _Patch_, _Scentwell_,
  and _Whisper_._

Sir _Fran._ Into the House of Joy we Enter without knocking: Ha! I think
'tis the House of Sorrow, Sir _Jealous_.

Sir _Jeal._ Oh Sir _Francis!_ are you come? What was this your
Contrivance, to abuse, trick, and chouse me of my Child!

Sir _Fran._ My Contrivance! what do you mean?

Sir _Jeal._ No, you don't know your Son there in _Spanish_ Habit.

Sir _Fran._ How! my Son in _Spanish_ Habit. Sirrah, you'll come to be
hang'd; get out of my sight, ye Dog! get out of my sight.

Sir _Jeal._ Get out of your sight, Sir! Get out with your Bags; let's
see what you'll give him now to maintain my Daughter on.

Sir _Fran._ Give him! He shall be never the better for a Penny of
mine--and you might have look'd after your Daughter better, Sir
_Jealous_. Trick'd, quotha! Egad, I think you design'd to trick me: But
look ye, Gentlemen, I believe I shall trick you both. This Lady is my
Wife, do you see? And my Estate shall descend only to the Heirs of her

Sir _Geo._ Lawfully begotten by me--I shall be extremely oblig'd to you,
Sir _Francis_.

Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha, ha, poor Sir _George!_ You see your Project was
of no use. Does not your Hundred Pound stick in your Stomach? Ha, ha,

Sir _Geo._ No faith, Sir _Francis_, this Lady has given me a Cordial for
    (_Takes her by the Hand._

Sir _Fran._ Hold, Sir, you have nothing to say to this Lady.

Sir _Geo._ Nor you nothing to do with my Wife, Sir.

Sir _Fran._ Wife, Sir!

_Miran._ Ay really, _Guardian_, 'tis even so. I hope you'll forgive my
first Offence.

Sir _Fran._ What have you chous'd me out of my Consent, and your
Writings then, Mistress, ha?

_Miran._ Out of nothing but my own, _Guardian_.

Sir _Jeal._ Ha, ha, ha, 'tis some Comfort at least to see you are
over-reach'd as well as my self. Will you settle your Estate upon your
Son now?

Sir _Fran._ He shall starve first.

_Miran._ That I have taken care to prevent. There, Sir, is the Writings
of your Uncle's _Estate_, which has been your due these three Years.
    (_Gives _Char._ Papers._

_Char._ I shall study to deserve this Favour.

Sir _Fran._ What have you robb'd me too, Mistress! Egad I'll make you
restore 'em.--Huswife, I will so.

Sir _Jeal._ Take care I don't make you pay the Arrears, Sir. 'Tis well
it's no worse, since 'tis no better. Come, young Man, seeing thou hast
out-witted me, take her, and Bless you both.

_Char._ I hope, Sir, you'll bestow your Blessing too, 'tis all I'll ask.

Sir _Fran._ Confound you all!

_Marpl._ Mercy upon us! how he looks!

Sir _Geo._ Ha, ha, ne'er mind his Curses, _Charles_; thou'lt thrive not
one jot the worse for 'em. Since this Gentleman is reconcil'd, we are
all made happy.

Sir _Jeal._ I always lov'd Precaution, and took care to avoid Dangers.
But when a thing was past, I ever had Philosophy to be easie.

_Char._ Which is the true sign of a great Soul: I lov'd your Daughter,
and she me, and you shall have no reason to repent her Choice.

_Isab._ You will not blame me, Sir, for loving my own Country best.

_Marpl._ So here's every Body happy, I find, but poor _Pilgarlick_. I
wonder what Satisfaction I shall have, for being cuff'd, kick'd, and
beaten in your Service.

Sir _Jeal._ I have been a little too familiar with you, as things are
fallen out; but since there's no help for't, you must forgive me.

_Marpl._ Egad I think so--But provided that you be not so familiar for
the future.

Sir _Geo._ Thou hast been an unlucky Rogue.

_Marpl._ But very honest.

_Char._ That I'll vouch for; and freely forgive thee.

Sir _Geo._ And I'll do you one piece of Service more, _Marplot_, I'll
take care that Sir _Francis_ make you Master of your Estate.

_Marpl._ That will make me as happy as any of you.

_Patch._ Your humble Servant begs leave to remind you, Madam.

_Isab._ Sir, I hope you'll give me leave to take _Patch_ into favour

Sir _Jeal._ Nay, let your Husband look to that, I have done with my

_Char._ Her own Liberty shall always oblige me. Here's no Body but
honest _Whisper_ and Mrs. _Scentwell_ to be provided for now. It shall
be left to their Choice to Marry, or keep their Services.

_Whisp._ Nay then, I'll stick to my Master.

_Scentw._ Coxcomb! and I prefer my Lady before a Footman.

Sir _Jeal._ Hark, I hear Musick, the Fidlers smell a Wedding. What say
you, young Fellows, will ye have a Dance?

Sir _Geo._ With all my Heart; call'em in.


Sir _Jeal._ Now let us in and refresh our selves with a chearful Glass,
in which we'll bury all Animosities: And

  _By my Example let all Parents move,
  And never strive to cross their Childrens Love;
  But still submit that Care to Providence above._


       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *
       *       *       *       *       *


          are pleased to announce that

  of The University of California, Los Angeles

will become the publisher of the Augustan Reprints in May, 1949. The
editorial policy of the Society will continue unchanged. As in the past,
the editors will strive to furnish members inexpensive reprints of rare
seventeenth and eighteenth century works.

Publications for the fourth year (1949-1950)

[Transcriber's Note:
Many of the listed titles are or will be available from Project
Gutenberg. Where possible, the e-text number is given in brackets.]

(_At least six items will be printed in the main from the following


John Dryden, _His Majesties Declaration Defended_ (1681) [#15074]
Daniel Defoe (?), _Vindication of the Press_ (1718) [#14084]
_Critical Remarks on Sir Charles Grandison, Clarissa, and Pamela_ (1754)


Thomas Southerne, _Oroonoko_ (1696)
Mrs. Centlivre, _The Busie Body_ (1709)
Charles Johnson, _Caelia_ (1733)
Charles Macklin, _Man of the World_ (1781) [#14463]


Andre Dacier, _Essay on Lyric Poetry_
_Poems_ by Thomas Sprat
_Poems_ by the Earl of Dorset
Samuel Johnson, _Vanity of Human Wishes_ (1749), and one of the 1750
  _Rambler_ papers. [#13350]


Lewis Theobald, _Preface to Shakespeare's Works_ (1733) [#16346]

A few copies of the early publications of the Society are still
available at the original rate.


H. RICHARD ARCHER, _William Andrews Clark Memorial Library_
R.C. BOYS, _University of Michigan_
E.N. HOOKER, _University of California, Los Angeles_
H.T. SWEDENBERG, JR., _University of California, Los Angeles_


First Year (1946-1947)

 1. Richard Blackmore's _Essay upon Wit_ (1716), and Addison's
    _Freeholder_ No. 45 (1716). (I, 1) [#13484]

 2. Samuel Cobb's _Of Poetry_ and _Discourse on Criticism_ (1707).
    (II, 1) [#14528]

 3. _Letter to A.H. Esq.; concerning the Stage_ (1698), and Richard
    Willis' _Occasional Paper No. IX_ (1698). (III, 1) [#14047]

 4. _Essay on Wit_ (1748), together with Characters by Flecknoe, and
    Joseph Warton's _Adventurer_ Nos. 127 and 133. (I, 2) [#14973]

 5. Samuel Wesley's _Epistle to a Friend Concerning Poetry_ (1700) and
    _Essay on Heroic Poetry_ (1693). (II, 2)

 6. _Representation of the Impiety and Immorality of the Stage_ (1704)
    and _Some Thoughts Concerning the Stage_ (1704). (III, 2) [#15656]

Second Year (1947-1948)

 7. John Gay's _The Present State of Wit_ (1711); and a section on Wit
    from _The English Theophrastus_ (1702). (I, 3) [#14800]

 8. Rapin's _De Carmine Pastorali_, translated by Creech (1684). (II, 3)

 9. T. Hanmer's (?) _Some Remarks on the Tragedy of Hamlet_ (1736).
    (III, 3) [#14899]

10. Corbyn Morris' _Essay towards Fixing the True Standards of Wit,
    etc._ (1744). (I, 4) [#16233]

11. Thomas Purney's _Discourse on the Pastoral_ (1717). (II, 4) [#15313]

12. Essays on the Stage, selected, with an Introduction by Joseph Wood
    Krutch. (III, 4) [#16335]

Third Year (1948-1949)

13. Sir John Falstaff (pseud.), _The Theatre_ (1720). (IV, 1) [#15999]

14. Edward Moore's _The Gamester_ (1753). (V, 1) [#16267]

15. John Oldmixon's _Reflections on Dr. Swift's Letter to Harley_
    (1712); and Arthur Mainwaring's _The British Academy_ (1712).
    (VI, 1)

16. Nevil Payne's _Fatal Jealousy_ (1673). (V, 2) [_in preparation_]

17. Nicholas Rowe's _Some Account of the Life of Mr. William Shakespear_
    (1709). (Extra Series, 1) [#16275]

18. Aaron Hill's Preface to _The Creation_; and Thomas Brereton's
    Preface to _Esther_. (IV, 2) [#15870]

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *
       *       *       *       *       *

[Errors and Anomalies Noted by Transcriber:

Introduction (1949):
  it is unreasonable to expect...
    _text reads_ is it...

  Lord-President of Her HAJESTY's most / Honourable Privy-Council.
    _so in original_

Act I
  Ad I long to know their Secrets.
    _The word "ad" with related forms ("adod") occurs several times
    in the play_

  Sir _Jealousie Traffick_
    The name occurs twice in this form.

Act II
  _Enter _Mirand_._
    _The name occurs in this form four times: twice where the full form
    _Miranda_ is expected, twice in place of its usual abbreviation

  Sir _Geo._ Whate'er her Reasons are for disliking a me
    _reading "a" uncertain_

Act II scene iii
  (_Beat_'s Marplot_ all this while he cries _Thieves_._
    _punctuation and typography as in original_

Act II scene iv
  Sir _Fran._ No, that's a Miracle! But there's one thing you want...
    _text reads_ one thing you wan't

  _Miran._ The Gardner describ'd just such another Man
    _text gives two consecutive lines to Marplot_

Act IV scene ii
  (Isabinda _throws her self down before the Closet-door as in a Sound._
    _so in original_: swound?

Act IV scene iv
  _Enter Sir _Francis_ and _Marplot_
    _text reads_ Marplott

Act V scene iv
  Changes to the Inside the House.
    _so in original_

Act V final scene
  Sir _Geo._ With all my Heart; call'em in.
    _text reads_ with all my ]

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