Chapter IV: Part 4

_Lord Fop._ He does deserve to be _chartrè_, stap my Vitals.

Sir _Tun._ May I then hope I have your Honour's Pardon?

_Lord Fop._ Sir, we Courtiers do nothing without a Bribe; that fair young Lady might do Miracles.

Sir _Tun._ _Hoyden_, come hither, _Hoyden_.

_Lord Fop._ _Hoyden_ is her Name, Sir?

Sir _Tun._ Yes, my Lord.

_Lord Fop._ The prettiest Name for a Song I ever heard.

Sir _Tun._ My Lord----here's my Girl, she's yours, she has a wholesome Body, and virtuous Mind; she's a Woman complete, both in Flesh and in Spirit; she has a Bag of mill'd Crowns, as scarce as they are, and fifteen hundred a-year flitch'd fast to her Tail: so go thy ways, _Hoyden_.

_Lord Fop._ Sir, I do receive her like a Gentleman.

Sir _Tun._ Then I'm a happy Man, I bless Heaven, and if your Lordship will give me leave, I will, like a good Christian at _Christmas_, be very drunk by way of Thanksgiving. Come, my noble Peer, I believe Dinner's ready; if your Honour pleases to follow me, I'll lead you on to the Attack of a Venison Pasty.

[_Exit Sir ~Tun.~_

_Lord Fop._ Sir, I wait upon you: Will your Ladyship do me the favour of your little Finger, Madam?

_Miss._ My Lord, I'll follow you presently. I have a little Business with my Nurse.

_Lord Fop._ Your Ladyship's most humble Servant; come, Sir _John_, the Ladies have _des Affaires_.

[_Exeunt ~Lord Fop~. and Sir ~John~._

_Miss._ So, Nurse, we are finely brought to bed! What shall we do now?

_Nurse._ Ah, dear Miss, we are all undone! Mr. _Bull_, you were us'd to help a Woman to a Remedy.

[_Crying._

_Bull._ A lack a-day, but it's past my Skill now, I can do nothing.

_Nurse._ Who wou'd have thought that ever your Invention shou'd have been drain'd so dry?

_Miss._ Well, I have often thought old Folks Fools, and now I'm sure they are so; I have found a way myself to secure us all.

_Nurse._ Dear Lady, what's that?

_Miss._ Why, if you two will be sure to hold your Tongues, and not say a word of what's past, I'll e'en marry this Lord too.

_Nurse._ What! two Husbands, my Dear?

_Miss._ Why you had three, good Nurse, you may hold your Tongue.

_Nurse._ Ay, but not all together, sweet Child.

_Miss._ Psha, if you had, you'd ne'er thought much on't.

_Nurse._ O but 'tis a Sin--Sweeting.

_Bull._ Nay, that's my business to speak to, Nurse. I do confess, to take two Husbands for the Satisfaction of the Flesh, is to commit the Sin of Exorbitancy; but to do it for the Peace of the Spirit, is no more than to be drunk by way of Physick: Besides, to prevent a Parent's Wrath, is to avoid the Sin of Disobedience; for when the Parent's angry the Child is froward. So that upon the whole Matter, I do think, tho' Miss shou'd marry again, she may be sav'd.

_Miss._ I'cod, and I will marry again then, and so there is an end of the Story.

[_Exeunt._

+ACT+ V. +SCENE+ _London_.

_Enter ~Coupler~, ~Young Fashion~, and ~Lory~._

_Coup._ Well, and so Sir _John_ coming in--

_Young Fash._ And so Sir _John_ coming in, I thought it might be Manners in me to go out, which I did, and getting on Horseback as fast as I cou'd, rid away as if the Devil had been at the Rear of me; what has happen'd since, Heav'n knows.

_Coup._ I'gad, Sirrah, I know as well as Heaven.

_Young Fash._ What do you know?

_Coup._ That you are a Cuckold.

_Young Fash._ The Devil I am! By who?

_Coup._ By your Brother.

_Young Fash._ My Brother! which way?

_Coup._ The old way, he has lain with your Wife.

_Young Fash._ Hell and Furies, what dost thou mean?

_Coup._ I mean plainly, I speak no Parable.

_Young Fash._ Plainly! Thou dost not speak common Sense, I cannot understand one Word thou sayst.

_Coup._ You will do soon, Youngster. In short, you left your Wife a Widow, and she married again.

_Young Fash._ It's a Lye.

_Coup._----I'cod, if I were a young Fellow, I'd break your Head, Sirrah.

_Young Fash._ Dear Dad, don't be angry, for I'm as mad as _Tom ~of~ Bedlam_.

_Coup._ When I had fitted you with a Wife, you shou'd have kept her.

_Young Fash._ But is it possible the young Strumpet cou'd play such a Trick?

_Coup._ A young Strumpet, Sir----can play twenty Tricks.

_Young Fash._ But pr'ythee instruct me a little farther; whence comes thy Intelligence!

_Coup._ From your Brother, in this Letter; there, you may read it.

[_~Young Fashion~ reads._

Dear _Coupler_,

[Pulling off his Hat,] _I Have only time to tell thee in three Lines, or thereabouts, that here has been the Devil! That Rascal ~Tam~, having stole the Letter thou hadst formerly writ for me to bring to Sir ~Tunbelly~, form'd a damnable Design upon my Mistress, and was in a fair way of Success when I arriv'd. But after having suffer'd some Indignities (in which I have all daub'd my embroider'd Coat) I put him to flight. I sent out a Party of Horse after him, in hopes to have made him my Prisoner, which if I had done, I would have qualified him for the Seraglio, stap my Vitals. The Danger I have thus narrowly 'scap'd, has made me fortify myself against further Attempts, by entering immediately into an Association with the young Lady, by which we engage to stand by one another, as long as we both shall live. In short, the Papers are seal'd, and the Contract is sign'd, so the Business of the Lawyer is ~achevé~; but I defer the divine part of the thing till I arrive at ~London~, not being willing to consummate in any other Bed but my own._

Postscript,

_'Tis possible I may be in the Tawn as soon as this Letter; for I find the Lady is so violently in love with me, I have determin'd to make her happy with all the Dispatch that is practicable, without disardering my Coach Harses._

So, here's rare Work, I'faith!

_Lo._ I'gad, Miss _Hoyden_ has laid about her bravely.

_Coup._ I think my Country-Girl has play'd her part, as well as if she had been born and bred in St. _James_'s Parish.

_Young Fash._----That Rogue the Chaplain.

_Lo._ And then that Jade the Nurse, Sir.

_Young Fash._ And then that drunken Sot, _Lory_, Sir; that cou'd not keep himself sober to be a Witness to the Marriage.

_Lo._ Sir----with respect----I know very few drunken Sots that do keep themselves sober.

_Young Fash._ Hold your prating, Sirrah, or I'll break your Head; dear _Coupler_, what's to be done?

_Coup._ Nothing's to be done till the Bride and Bridegroom come to Town.

_Young Fash._ Bride and Bridegroom! Death and Furies! I can't bear that thou shouldst call them so.

_Coup._ Why, what shall I call them, Dog and Cat?

_Young Fash._ Not for the World, that sounds more like Man and Wife than t'other.

_Coup._ Well, if you'll hear of them in no Language, we'll leave them for the Nurse and the Chaplain.

_Young Fash._ The Devil and the Witch.

_Coup._ When they come to Town----

_Lo._ We shall have stormy Weather.

_Coup._ Will you hold your tongues, Gentlemen, or not?

_Lo._ Mum.

_Coup._ I say when they, come, we must find what Stuff they are made of, whether the Churchman be chiefly compos'd of the Flesh, or the Spirit; I presume the former----For as Chaplains now go, 'tis probable he eats three Pound of Beef to the reading one Chapter----This gives him carnal Desires, he wants Money, Preferment, Wine, a Whore; therefore we must invite him to Supper, give him fat Capons, Sack and Sugar, a Purse of Gold, and a Plump Sister. Let this be done, and I'll warrant thee, my Boy, he speaks Truth like an Oracle.

_Young Fash._ Thou art a profound Statesman, I allow it; but how shall we gain the Nurse?

_Coup._ O never fear the Nurse, if once you have got the Priest, for the Devil always rides the Hag. Well, there's nothing more to be said of the Matter at this time, that I know of; so let us go and enquire, if there's any News of our People yet, perhaps they may be come. But let me tell you one thing by the way, Sirrah, I doubt you have been an idle Fellow; if thou hadst behav'd thyself as thou shoud'st have done, the Girl wou'd never have left thee.

[_Exeunt._

+SCENE+, _~Berinthia~'s Apartment._

_Enter her ~Maid~, passing the Stage, follow'd by ~Worthy~._

_Wor._ Hem, Mrs. _Abigail_, is your Mistress to be spoken with?

_Ab._ By you, Sir, I believe she may.

_Wor._ Why 'tis by me I wou'd have her spoken with.

_Ab._ I'll acquaint her, Sir.

[_Exit ~Ab~._

_~Worthy~ solus._

One Lift more I must persuade her to give me, and then I'm mounted. Well, a young Bawd, and a handsome one for my Money, 'tis they do the Execution; I'll never go to an old one, but when I have occasion for a Witch. Lewdness looks heavenly to a Woman, when an Angel appears in its Cause; but when a Hag is Advocate, she thinks it comes from the Devil. An old Woman has something so terrible in her Looks, that whilst she is persuading your Mistress to forget she has a Soul, she stares Hell and Damnation full in her Face.

_Enter ~Berinthia~._

_Ber._ Well, Sir, what News bring you?

_Wor._ No News, Madam, there's a Woman going to cuckold her Husband.

_Ber._ _Amanda_?

_Wor._ I hope so.

_Ber._ Speed her well.

_Wor._ Ay, but there must be a more than a God-speed, or your Charity won't be worth a Farthing.

_Ber._ Why, han't I done enough already?

_Wor._ Not quite.

_Ber._ What's the matter?

_Wor._ The Lady has a Scruple still which you must remove.

_Ber._ What's that?

_Wor._ Her Virtue----she says.

_Ber._ And do you believe her?

_Wor._ No, but I believe it's what she takes for her Virtue; it's some Relicks of lawful Love: she is not yet fully satisfy'd her Husband has got another Mistress, which unless I can convince her of, I have opened the Trenches in vain; for the Breach must be wider, before I dare storm the Town.

_Ber._ And so I'm to be your Engineer!

_Wor._ I'm sure you know best how to manage the Battery.

_Ber._ What think you of springing a Mine? I have a Thought just now come into my Head, how to blow her up at once.

_Wor._ That would be a Thought, indeed!

_Ber._----Faith, I'll do't, and thus the Execution of it shall be. We are all invited to my Lord _Foppington_'s to-night to Supper, he's come to Town with his Bride, and maketh a Ball, with an Entertainment of Musick. Now you must know, my Undoer here, _Loveless_, says he must needs meet me about some private Business (I don't know what 'tis) before we go to the Company. To which end he has told his Wife one Lye, and I have told her another. But to make her amends, I'll go immediately, and tell her a solemn Truth.

_Wor._ What's that?

_Ber._ Why, I'll tell her, that to my certain Knowledge her Husband has a Rendezvous with his Mistress this Afternoon; and that if she'll give me her Word, she will be satisfy'd with the Discovery, without making any violent Inquiry after the Woman, I'll direct her to a Place, where she shall see them meet.--Now, Friend, this I fancy may help you to a critical Minute. For home she must go again to dress. You, with your good-breeding, come to wait upon us to the Ball, find her all alone, her Spirit enflam'd against her Husband for his Treason, and her Flesh in a Heat from some Contemplations upon the Treachery, her Blood on a Fire, her Conscience in ice; a Lover to draw, and the Devil to drive----Ah, poor _Amanda_!

_Wor._ [_Kneeling._] Thou Angel of Light, let me fall down and adore thee!

_Ber._ Thou Minister of Darkness, get up again, for I hate to see the Devil at his Devotions.

_Wor._ Well, my incomparable _Berinthia_----How shall I requite you----

_Ber._ O ne'er trouble yourself about that: Virtue is its own Reward: There's a Pleasure in doing good, which sufficiently pays itself. Adieu.

_Wor._ Farewel, thou best of Women.

[_Exeunt several ways._

_Enter ~Amanda~, meeting ~Berinthia~._

_Aman._ Who was that went from you?

_Ber._ A Friend of yours.

_Aman._ What does he want?

_Ber._ Something you might spare him, and be ne'er the poorer.

_Aman._ I can spare him nothing but my Friendship; my Love already's all dispos'd of: Tho', I confess, to one ungrateful to my Bounty.

_Ber._ Why there's the Mystery! You have been so bountiful, you have cloy'd him. Fond Wives do by their Husbands, as barren Wives do by their Lap-Dogs; cram them with Sweetmeats till they spoil their Stomachs.

_Aman._ Alas! Had you but seen how passionately fond he has been since our last Reconciliation, you wou'd have thought it were impossible he ever should have breath'd an Hour without me.

_Ber._ Ay but there you thought wrong again, _Amanda_; you shou'd consider, that in Matters of Love Men's Eyes are always bigger than their Bellies. They have violent Appetites, 'tis true, but they have soon din'd.

_Aman._ Well; there's nothing upon Earth astonishes me more than Men's Inconstancy.

_Ber._ Now there's nothing upon Earth astonishes me less, when I consider what they and we are compos'd of. For Nature has made them Children, and us Babies. Now, _Amanda_, how we us'd our Babies, you may remember. We were mad to have them, as soon as we saw them; kiss'd them to pieces, as soon as we got them; then pull'd off their Clothes, saw them naked, and so threw them away.

_Aman._ But do you think all Men are of this Temper?

_Ber._ All but one.

_Aman._ Who's that?

_Ber._ _Worthy_.

_Aman._ Why, he's weary of his Wife too, you see.

_Ber._ Ay, that's no Proof.

_Aman._ What can be a greater?

_Ber._ Being weary of his Mistress.

_Aman._ Don't you think 'twere possible he might give you that too?

_Ber._ Perhaps he might, if he were my Gallant; not if he were your's.

_Aman._ Why do you think he shou'd be more constant to me, than he wou'd to you? I'm sure I'm not so handsome.

_Ber._ Kissing goes by Favour; he likes you best.

_Aman._ Suppose he does; That's no Demonstration he wou'd be constant to me.

_Ber._ No, that I'll grant you: But there are other Reasons to expect it; for you must know after all, _Amanda_, the Inconstancy we commonly see in Men of Brains, does not so much proceed from the Uncertainty of their Temper, as from the Misfortunes of their Love. A Man sees, perhaps, an hundred Women he likes well enough for an Intrigue, and away; but possibly, thro' the whole Course of his Life, does not find above one, who is exactly what he could wish her: now her, 'tis a thousand to one, he never gets. Either she is not to be had at all (tho' that seldom happens, you'll say) or he wants those Opportunities that are necessary to gain her; either she likes somebody else much better than him, or uses him like a Dog, because he likes no body so well as her. Still something or other Fate claps in the way between them and the Woman they are capable of being fond of. And this makes them wander about from Mistress to Mistress, like a Pilgrim from Town to Town, who every Night must have a fresh lodging, and 's in haste to be gone in the Morning.

_Aman._ Tis possible there may be something in what you say; but what do you infer from it, as to the Man we were talking of?

_Ber._ Why, I infer, that you being the Woman in the World the most to his Humour, 'tis not likely he would quit you for one that is less.

_Aman._ That is not to be depended upon, for you see Mr. _Loveless_ does so.

_Ber._ What does Mr. _Loveless_ do?

_Aman._ Why, he runs after something for Variety, I'm sure he does not like so well as he does me.

_Ber._ That's more than you know, Madam.

_Aman._ No, I'm sure on't: I am not very vain, _Berinthia_; and yet I'll lay my Life, if I could look into his Heart, he thinks I deserve to be prefer'd to a thousand of her.

_Ber._ Don't be too positive in that neither: A Million to one, but she has the same Opinion of you. What wou'd you give to see her?

_Aman._ Hang her, dirty Trull; tho' I really believe she's so ugly, she'd cure me of my Jealousy.

_Ber._ All the Men of Sense about Town say she's handsome.

_Aman._ They are as often out in those things as any People.

_Ber._ Then I'll give you further Proof----all the Women about Town say, she's a Fool: Now I hope you are convinc'd?

_Aman._ Whate'er she be, I'm satisfy'd he does not like her well enough to bestow any thing more than a little outward Gallantry upon her.

_Ber._ Outward Gallantry!----[_Aside._] I can't bear this. [_To Aman._] Don't you think she's a Woman to be fobb'd off so. Come, I'm too much your Friend, to suffer you should be thus grossly impos'd upon, by a Man who does not deserve the least part about you, unless he knew how to set a greater Value upon it. Therefore in one word, to my certain knowledge, he is to meet her now, within a quarter of an Hour, somewhere about that _Babylon_ of Wickedness, _Whitehall_. And if you'll give me your Word that you'll be content with seeing her mask'd in his Hand, without pulling her Headclothes off, I'll step immediately to the Person, from whom I have my Intelligence, and send you word whereabouts you may stand to see 'em meet. My Friend and I'll watch 'em from another place, and dodge 'em to their private Lodging: But don't you offer to follow 'em, lest you do it awkwardly, and spoil all. I'll come home to you again, as soon as I have earth'd 'em, and give you an account in what corner of the House the Scene of their Lewdness lies.

_Aman._ If you can do this, _Berinthia_, he's a Villain.

_Ber._ I can't help that, Men will be so.

_Aman._ Well! I'll follow your Directions; for I shall never rest till I know the worst of this matter.

_Ber._ Pray, go immediately, and get yourself ready then. Put on some of your Woman's Clothes, a great Scarf and a Mask, and you shall presently receive Orders. [_Calls within._] Here, who's there? get me a Chair quickly.

_Serv._ There are Chairs at the Door, Madam.

_Ber._ 'Tis well, I'm coming.

_Aman._ But pray, _Berinthia_, before you go, tell me how I may know this filthy Thing, if she would be so forward (as I suppose she will) to come to the Rendezvous first; for, methinks, I would fain view her a little.

_Ber._ Why, she's about my heighth; and very well shap'd.

_Aman._ I thought she had been a little crooked?

_Ber._ O no, she's as straight as I am. But we lose time, come away.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter ~Young Fashion~, meeting ~Lory~._

_Young Fash._ Well, will the Doctor come?

_Lo._ Sir, I sent a Porter to him as you order'd me. He found him with a Pipe of Tobacco and a great Tankard of Ale, which he said he wou'd dispatch while I cou'd tell three, and be here.

_Young Fash._ He does not suspect 'twas I that sent for him?

_Lo._ Not a Jot, Sir, he divines as little for himself, as he does for other Folks.

_Young Fash._ Will he bring Nurse with him?

_Lo._ Yes.

_Young Fash._ That's well; where's _Coupler_?

_Lo._ He's half way up the Stairs taking Breath; he must play his Bellows a little, before he can get to the top.

_Enter ~Coupler~._

_Young Fash._ O here he is. Well, old Phthisick, the Doctor's coming.

_Coup._ Wou'd the Pox had the Doctor----I'm quite out of Wind [_To Lo._] Set me a Chair, Sirrah. Ah----[_Sits down._] [_To Young Fash._] Why the Plague can'st not thou lodge upon the Ground-Floor?

_Young Fash._ Because I love to lie as near Heaven as I can.

_Coup._ Pr'ythee let Heaven alone; ne'er affect tending that way: Thy Center's downwards.

_Young Fash_. That's impossible. I have too much ill Luck in this World, to be damn'd in the next.

_Coup._ Thou art out in thy Logick. Thy Major is true, but thy Minor is false; for thou art the luckiest Fellow in the Universe.

_Young Fash_. Make out that.

_Coup._ I'll do't: Last Night the Devil ran away with the Parson of _Fat-goose_ Living.

_Young Fash._ If he had run away with the Parish too, what's that to me?

_Coup._ I'll tell thee what it's to thee. This Living is worth five hundred Pound a-year, and the Presentation of it is thine, if thou can'st prove thyself a lawful Husband to Miss _Hoyden_.

_Young Fash._ Say'st thou so, my Protector! then I'gad I shall have a Brace of Evidences here presently.

_Coup._ The Nurse and the Doctor?

_Young Fash._ The same: The Devil himself won't have Interest enough to make them withstand it.

_Coup._ That we shall see presently: Here they come.

_Enter ~Nurse~ and ~Chaplain~; they start back, seeing ~Young
Fashion~._

_Nurse._ Ah Goodness, _Roger_, we are betray'd.

_Young Fash._ [_Laying hold on them._] Nay, nay, ne'er flinch for the matter; for I have you safe. Come to your Trials immediately; I have no time to give you Copies of your Indictment. There sits your Judge.--

_Both kneeling._ Pray, Sir, have Compassion on us.

_Nurse._ I hope, Sir, my Years will move your Pity; I am an aged Woman.

_Coup._ That is a moving Argument, indeed!

_Coup._ [_To Bull._] Are not you a rogue of Sanctity?

_Bull._ Sir, with respect to my Function, I do wear a Gown. I hope, Sir, my Character will be consider'd; I am Heaven's Ambassador.

_Coup._ Did not you marry this vigorous young Fellow to a plump young buxom Wench?

_Nurse._ [_To Bull._] Don't confess, _Roger_, unless you are hard put to it, indeed?

_Coup._ Come, out with't--Now is he chewing the Cud of his Roguery, and grinding a Lye between his Teeth.

_Bull._ Sir,----I cannot positively say----I say, Sir----positively I cannot say----

_Coup._ Come, no Equivocation, no Roman Turns upon us. Consider thou stand'st upon Protestant Ground, which will slip from under thee like a _Tyburn_ Car; for in this Country we have always ten Hangmen for one Jesuit.

_Bull._ [_To Young Fash._] Pray, Sir, then will you but permit me to speak one word in private with Nurse?

_Young Fash._ Thou art always for doing something in private with Nurse.

_Coup._ But pray let his Betters be serv'd before him for once. I would do something in private with her myself; _Lory_, take care of this Reverend Gownman in the next Room a little. Retire, Priest. [_Exit ~Lo~. with ~Bull~._]--Now, Virgin, I must put the matter home to you a little: Do you think it might not be possible to make you speak Truth?

_Nurse._ Alas! Sir, I don't know what you mean by Truth.

_Coup._ Nay,'tis possible thou may'st be a Stranger to it.

_Young Fash._ Come, Nurse, you and I were better Friends when we saw one another last; and I still believe you are a very good Woman in the bottom. I did deceive you and your young Lady, 'tis true, but I always design'd to make a very good Husband to her, and to be a very good Friend to you. And 'tis possible in the end, she might have found herself happier and you richer, than ever my Brother will make you.

_Nurse._ Brother! Why is your Worship then his Lordship's Brother!

_Young Fash._ I am; which you should have known, if I durst have staid to have told you; but I was forc'd to take Horse a little in haste, you know.

_Nurse._ You were, indeed, Sir: poor young Man, how he was bound to scaure for't. Now won't your Worship be angry, if I confess the Truth to you; when I found you were a Cheat (with respect be it spoken) I verily believ'd Miss had got some pitiful Skip-Jack Varlet or other to her Husband, or I had ne'er let her think of marrying again.

_Coup._ But where was your Conscience all this while, Woman? Did not that stare you in the Face with huge Saucer-eyes, and a great Horn upon the Forehead? Did not you think you should be damn'd for such a Sin? Ha!

_Young Fash._ Well said, Divinity, press that home upon her.

_Nurse._ Why, in good truly, Sir, I had some fearful Thoughts on't, and cou'd never be brought to consent, till Mr. _Bull_ said it was a _Peckadilla_, and he'd secure my Soul for a Tythe-Pig.

_Young Fash._ There was a Rogue for you.

_Coup._ And he shall thrive accordingly: He shall have a good Living. Come, honest _Nurse_, I see you have Butter in your Compound; you can melt. Some Compassion you can have of this handsome young Fellow.

_Nurse._ I have, indeed, Sir.

_Young Fash._ Why, then, I'll tell you what you shall do for me. You know what a warm Living here is fallen; and that it must be in the Disposal of him who has the Disposal of Miss. Now if you and the Doctor will agree to prove my Marriage, I'll present him to it, upon condition he makes you his Bride.

_Nurse._ Naw the Blessing of the Lord follow your good Worship both by Night and by Day! Let him be fetch'd in by the Ears; I'll soon bring his Nose to the Grindstone.

_Coup._ [_Aside._] Well said, old Whit-Leather. Hey; bring in the Prisoner there.

_Enter ~Lory~ with ~Bull~._

_Coup._ Come, advance, holy Man! Here's your Duck does not think fit to retire with you into the Chancel at this time; but she has a Proposal to make to you in the Face of the Congregation. Come, _Nurse_, speak for yourself; you are of Age.

_Nurse._ _Roger_, are not you a wicked Man, _Roger_, to set your Strength against a weak Woman, and persuade her it was no Sin to conceal Miss's Nuptials? My Conscience flies in my Face for it, thou Priest of _Baal_; and I find by woful Experience, thy Absolution is not worth an old Cassock: therefore I am resolved to confess the Truth to the whole World, tho' I die a Beggar for it. But his Worship overflows with his Mercy, and his Bounty: He is not only pleas'd to forgive us our Sins, but designs thou sha't squat thee down in _Fat-goose_ Living; and, which is more than all, has prevail'd with me to become the Wife of thy Bosom.

_Young Fash._ All this I intend for you, Doctor. What you are to do for me, I need not tell you.

_Bull._ Your Worship's Goodness is unspeakable: Yet there is one thing seems a Point of Conscience; and Conscience is a tender Babe. If I shou'd bind myself, for the sake of this Living, to marry _Nurse_, and maintain her afterwards, I doubt it might be look'd on as a kind of Simony.

_Coup._ [_Rising up._] If it were Sacrilege, the Living's worth it: Therefore no more Words, good Doctor: but with the [_Giving ~Nurse~ to him._] Parish----here----take the Parsonage-house. 'Tis true, 'tis a little out of Repair; some Dilapidations there are to be made good; the Windows are broke, the Wainscot is warp'd, the Ceilings are peel'd, and the Walls are crack'd; but a little Glasing, Painting, White-wash, and Plaster, will make it last thy time.

_Bull._ Well, Sir, if it must be so, I shan't contend: What Providence orders, I submit to.

_Nurse._ And so do I, with all Humility.

_Coup._ Why, that now was spoke like good People. Come, my Turtle-Doves, let us go help this poor Pigeon to his wandering Mate again: and after Institution and Induction, you shall all go a-cooing together.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter ~Amanda~, in a Scarf, &c. as just returned, her
Woman following her._

_Aman._ Pr'ythee, what care I who has been here?

_Wom._ Madam, 'twas my Lady _Bridle_, and my Lady _Tiptoe_.

_Aman._ My Lady _Fiddle_, and my Lady _Faddle_. What dost stand troubling me with the Visits of a parcel of impertinent Women? When they are well seam'd with the Small Pox, they won't be so fond of shewing their Faces----There are more Coquettes about this Town--

_Wom._ Madam, I suppose, they only came to return your Ladyship's Visit, according to the Custom of the World.

_Aman._ Wou'd the World were on Fire, and you in the middle on't! Be gone: leave me.

[_Exit Wom._

_~Amanda~ sola._

At last I am convinc'd. My Eyes are Testimonies of his Falshood.
The base, ungrateful, perjur'd Villain----
Good Gods--What slippery Stuff are Men compos'd of!
Sure the Account of their Creation's false,
And 'twas the Woman's Rib that they were form'd of.
But why am I thus angry?
This poor Relapse shou'd only move my Scorn.
'Tis true, the roving Flights of his unfinish'd Youth
Had strong Excuses from the Plea of Nature:
Reason had thrown the Reins loose on his Neck,
And slipt him to unlimited Desire.
If therefore he went wrong, he had a Claim
To my Forgiveness, and I did him right.
But since the Years of Manhood rein him in,
And Reason, well digested into Thought,
Has pointed out the Course he ought to run;
If now he strays,
'Twou'd be as weak and mean in me to pardon,
As it has been in him t' offend. But hold:
'Tis an ill Cause indeed, where nothing's to be said for't.
My Beauty possibly is in the Wain:
Perhaps Sixteen has greater Charms for him:
Yes, there's the Secret. But let him know,
My Quiver's not entirely empty'd yet,
I still have Darts, and I can shoot 'em too;
They're not so blunt, but they can enter still;
The Want's not in my Power, but in my Will.
Virtue's his Friend; or, thro' another's Heart,
I yet cou'd find the way to make his smart.

[_Going off, she meets ~Worthy~._

Ha! He here? Protect me, Heaven, for this looks ominous.

_Wor._ You seem disorder'd, Madam; I hope there's no Misfortune happen'd to you?

_Aman._ None that will long disorder me, I hope.

_Wor._ Whate'er it be disturbs you, I wou'd to Heaven 'twere in my Power to bear the Pain, till I were able to remove the Cause.

_Aman._ I hope ere long it will remove itself. At least, I have given it warning to be gone.

_Wor._ Wou'd I durst ask, Where 'tis the Thorn torments you?
Forgive me, if I grow inquisitive;
'Tis only with desire to give you Ease.

_Aman._ Alas! 'tis in a tender Part. It can't be drawn without a World of Pain: Yet out it must; for it begins to fester in my Heart.

_Wor._ If 'tis the Sting of unrequited Love, remove it instantly: I have a Balm will quickly heal the Wound.

_Aman._ You'll find the Undertaking difficult: The Surgeon who already has attempted it, has much tormented me.

_Wor._ I'll aid him with a gentler Hand--if you will give me leave.

_Aman._ How soft soe'er the Hand may be, there still is Terror in the Operation.

_Wor._ Some few Preparatives would make it easy, could I persuade you to apply 'em. Make Home Reflections, Madam, on your slighted Love: Weigh well the Strength and Beauty of your Charms: Rouse up that Spirit Women ought to bear, and slight your God, if he neglects his Angel. With Arms of Ice receive his cold Embraces, and keep your Fire for those who come in Flames. Behold a burning Lover at your Feet, his Fever raging in his Veins. See how he trembles, how he pants! See how he glows, how he consumes! Extend the Arms of Mercy to his Aid: his Zeal may give him Title to your Pity, altho' his Merit cannot claim your Love.

_Aman._ Of all my feeble Sex, sure I must be the weakest, shou'd I again presume to think on Love. [_Sighing._]--Alas! my Heart has been too roughly treated.

_Wor._ 'Twill find the greater Bliss in softer Usage.

_Aman._ But where's that Usage to be found?

_Wor._ 'Tis here, within this faithful Breast; which if you doubt, I'll rip it up before your Eyes; lay all its Secrets open to your View; and then you'll see 'twas sound.

_Aman._ With just such honest Words as these, the worst of Men deceiv'd me.

_Wor._ He therefore merits all Revenge can do: his Fault is such, the Extent and Stretch of Vengeance cannot reach it. O make me but your Instrument of Justice; you'll find me execute it with such Zeal, as shall convince you I abhor the Crime.

_Aman._ The Rigour of an Executioner has more the Face of Cruelty than Justice: And he who puts the Cord about the Wretch's Neck, is seldom known to exceed him in his Morals.

_Wor._ What Proof then can I give you of my Truth?

_Aman._ There is on Earth but one.

_Wor._ And is that in my Power?

_Aman._ It is: And one that would so thoroughly convince me, I should be apt to rate your Heart so high, I possibly might purchase't with a part of mine.

_Wor._ Then, Heav'n, thou art my Friend, and I am blest; for if 'tis in my Power, my Will I'm sure will reach it. No matter what the Terms may be, when such a Recompence is offer'd. O tell me quickly what this Proof must be! What is it will convince you of my Love?

_Aman._ I shall believe you love me as you ought, if from this Moment, you forbear to ask whatever is unfit for me to grant.----You pause upon it, Sir----I doubt on such hard Terms, a Woman's Heart is scarcely worth the having.

_Wor._ A Heart like yours, on any Terms is worth it; 'twas not on that I paus'd: But I was thinking [_Drawing nearer to her._] whether some things there may not be, which Women cannot grant without a Blush, and yet which Men may take without Offence. [_Taking her Hand._] Your Hand I fancy may be of the Number: O pardon me, if I commit a Rape upon it, [_Kissing it eagerly._] and thus devour it with my Kisses!

_Aman._ O Heavens! let me go.

_Wor._ Never, whilst I have Strength to hold you here. [_Forcing her to sit down on a Couch._] My Life, my Soul, my Goddess----O forgive me!

_Aman._ O whither am I going? Help, Heaven, or I am lost.

_Wor._ Stand neuter, Gods, this once I do invoke you.

_Aman._ Then, save me, Virtue, and the Glory's thine.

_Wor._ Nay, never strive.

_Aman._ I will; and conquer too. My Forces rally bravely to my Aid, [_Breaking from him._] and thus I gain the Day.

_Wor._ Then mine as bravely double their Attack. [_Seizing her again._] And thus I wrest it from you. Nay, struggle not; for all's in vain: On Death or victory; I am determin'd.

_Aman._ And so am I. [_Rushing from him._] Now keep your distance, or we part for ever.

_Wor._ [_Offering again._] For Heaven's sake----

_Aman._ [_Going._] Nay then, farewel.

_Wor._ [_Kneeling and holding by her Clothes._] O stay, and see the Magick Force of Love: Behold this raging Lion at your Feet, struck dead with Fear, and tame as Charms can make him. What must I do to be forgiven by you?

_Aman._ Repent, and never more offend.

_Wor._ Repentance for past Crimes is just and easy; but sin no more's a Task too hard for Mortals.

_Aman._ Yet those who hope for Heaven, must use their best Endeavours to perform it.

_Wor._ Endeavours we may use, but Flesh and Blood are got in t'other Scale; and they are pond'rous things.

_Aman._ Whate'er they are, there is a Weight in Resolution sufficient for their Balance. The Soul, I do confess, is usually so careless of its Charge, so soft, and so indulgent to Desire, it leaves the Reins in the wild Hand of Nature, who, like a _Phaeton_, drives the fiery Chariot, and sets the World on Flame. Yet still the Sovereignty is in the Mind, whene'er it pleases to exert its Force. Perhaps you may not think it worth your while to take such mighty pains for my Esteem; but that I leave to you.

You see the Price I set upon my Heart; }
Perhaps 'tis dear: But spite of all your Art, }
You'll find on cheaper Terms we ne'er shall part. }

[_Exit ~Amanda~._

_~Worthy~ solus_.

Sure there's Divinity about her; and she'as dispens'd some portion on't to me. For what but now was the wild Flame of Love, or (to dissect that specious Term) the vile, the gross Desires of Flesh and Blood, is in a Moment turn'd to Adoration. The coarser Appetite of Nature's gone, and 'tis, methinks, the Food of Angels I require: how long this Influence may last, Heaven knows. But in this Moment of my Purity, I cou'd on her own Terms accept her Heart. Yes, lovely Woman, I can accept it. For now 'tis doubly worth my Care. Your Charms are much increas'd, since thus adorn'd. When Truth's extorted from us, then we own the Robe of Virtue is a graceful Habit.

Cou'd Women but our secret Counsels scan,
Cou'd they but reach the deep Reserves of Man,
They'd wear it on, that That of Love might last;
For when they throw off one, we soon the other cast.
Their Sympathy is such----
The Fate of one, the other scarce can fly--
They live together, and together die.

[_Exit._

_Enter ~Miss~ and ~Nurse~._

_Miss._ But is it sure and certain, say you, he's my Lord's own Brother?

_Nurse._ As sure, as he's your lawful Husband.

_Miss._ I'cod, if I had known that in time, I don't know but I might have kept him; For, between you and I, Nurse, he'd have made a Husband worth two of this I have. But which do you think you shou'd fancy most, Nurse?

_Nurse._ Why, truly, in my poor fancy, Madam, your first Husband is the prettier Gentleman.

_Miss._ I don't like my Lord's Shapes, Nurse.

_Nurse._ Why in good truly, as a body may say, he is but a Slam.

_Miss._ What do you think now he puts me in mind of? Don't you remember a long, loose, shambling sort of a Horse my Father call'd _Washy_?

_Nurse._ As like as two Twin-Brothers.

_Miss._ I'cod, I have thought so a hundred times: 'Faith, I'm tired of him.

_Nurse._ Indeed, Madam, I think you had e'en as good stand to your first Bargain.

_Miss._ O but, Nurse, we han't considered the main thing yet. If I leave my Lord, I must leave my Lady too: and when I rattle about the Streets in my Coach, they'll only say, there goes Mistress----Mistress----Mistress what? What's this Man's Name, I have married, Nurse?

_Nurse._ 'Squire _Fashion_.

_Miss._ 'Squire _Fashion_ is it?----Well, 'Squire, that's better than nothing: Do you think one cou'd not get him made a Knight, Nurse?

_Nurse._ I don't know but one might, Madam, when the King's in a good Humour.

_Miss._ I'cod, that wou'd do rarely. For then he'd be as good a Man as my Father, you know.

_Nurse._ By'r Lady, and that's as good as the best of 'em.

_Miss._ So 'tis, faith; for then I shall be my Lady, and your Ladyship at every Word, that's all I have to care for. Ha, Nurse! But hark you me, one thing more, and then I have done. I'm afraid, if I change my Husband again, I shan't have so much Money to throw about, Nurse.

_Nurse._ O, enough's as good as a Feast: Besides, Madam, one don't know, but as much may fall to your share with the younger Brother, as with the elder. For tho' these Lords have a power of Wealth, indeed; yet as I have heard say, they give it all to their Sluts and their Trulls, who joggle it about in their Coaches, with a Murrain to 'em, whilst poor Madam sits sighing and wishing, and knotting and crying, and has not a spare Half-Crown to buy her a _Practice of Piety_.

_Miss._ O, but for that, don't deceive yourself, Nurse. For this I must [_Snapping her Fingers._] say for my Lord, and a----for him: He's as free as an open House at _Christmas_. For this very Morning he told me, I shou'd have two hundred a-year to buy Pins. Now, Nurse, if he gives me two hundred a-year to buy Pins, what do you think he'll give me to buy fine Petticoats?

_Nurse._ Ah, my Dearest, he deceives these faully, and he's no better than a Rogue for his pains. These _Londoners_ have got a Gibberidge with them, would confound a Gipsey. That which they call Pin-money, is to buy their Wives every thing in the varsal World, down to their very Shoe-tyes? Nay, I have heard Folks say, That some Ladies, if they will have Gallants, as they call 'em, are forc'd to find them out of their Pin-money too.

_Miss._ Has he serv'd me so, say ye?----Then I'll be his Wife no longer, that's fixt. Look, here he comes, with all the fine Folks at 's heels. I'cod, Nurse, these _London_ Ladies will laugh till they crack again, to see me slip my Collar, and run away from my Husband. But, d'ye hear? Pray take care of one thing: When the Business comes to break out, be sure you get between me and my Father, for you know his Tricks; he'll knock me down.

_Nurse._ I'll mind him, ne'er fear, Madam.

_Enter Lord ~Foppington~, ~Loveless~, ~Worthy~, ~Amanda~,
and ~Berinthia~._

_Lord Fop._ Ladies and Gentlemen, you are all welcome. [_To_ Lov.] _Loveless_----That's my Wife; pr'ythee do me the favour to salute her: And do'st hear, [_Aside to him._] if thau hast a mind to try thy Fartune, to be reveng'd of me, I won't take it ill, stap my Vitals.

_Lov._ You need not fear, Sir, I'm too fond of my own Wife, to have the least Inclination for yours.

[_All salute Miss._

_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] I'd give a thausand Paund he wou'd make Love to her, that he may see she has sense enough to prefer me to him, tho' his own Wife has not: [_Viewing him._]--He's a very beastly Fellow, in my Opinion.

_Miss._ [_Aside._] What a Power of fine Men there are in this _London_! He that kist me first, is a goodly Gentleman, I promise you: Sure those Wives have a rare time on't, that live here always.

_Enter Sir ~Tunbelly~, with Musicians, Dancers, ~&c.~_

Sir _Tun._ Come, come in, good People, come in; come, tune your Fiddles, tune your Fiddles.

_To the Hautboys._] Bag-pipes, make ready there. Come, strike up.

[_Sings._

_For this is ~Hoyden~'s Wedding-day;
And therefore we keep Holy-day,
And come to be merry._

Ha! there's my Wench, I'faith: Touch and take, I'll warrant her; she'll breed like a tame Rabbit.

_Miss._ [_Aside._] I'cod, I think my Father's gotten drunk before Supper.

Sir _Tun._ [_To ~Lov~. and ~Wor~._] Gentlemen, you are welcome. [_Saluting ~Aman~. and ~Ber~._] Ladies, by your leave. Ha----They bill like Turtles. Udsookers, they set my old Blood a-fire; I shall cuckold some body before Morning.

_Lord Fop._ [_To Sir ~Tun~._] Sir, you being Master of the Entertainment, will you desire the Company to sit?

Sir _Tun._ Oons, Sir,----I'm the happiest Man on this side the _Ganges_.

_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] This is a mighty unaccountable old Fellow. [_To Sir ~Tun~._] I said, Sir, it wou'd be convenient to ask the Company to sit.

Sir _Tun._ Sit----with all my heart: Come, take your places, Ladies; take your places, Gentlemen: Come, sit down, sit down; a Pox of Ceremony, take your places.

[_They sit, and the Mask begins._

Dialogue between _Cupid_ and _Hymen_.

Cupid. 1.

_Thou Bane to my Empire, thou Spring of Contest,
Thou Source of all Discord, thou Period to Rest;
Instruct me what Wretches in Bondage can see,
That the Aim of their Life is still pointed to thee._

Hymen. 2.

_Instruct me, thou little impertinent God,
From whence all thy Subjects have taken the Mode
To grow fond of a Change, to whatever it be,
And I'll tell thee why those wou'd be bound, who are free._

Chorus.

_For Change, we're for Change, to whatever it be,
We are neither contented with Freedom nor Thee.
Constancy's an empty Sound,
Heaven, and Earth, and all go round,
All the Works of Nature move,
And the Joys of Life and Love
Are in Variety._

Cupid. 3.

_Were Love the Reward of a pains-taking Life,
Had a Husband the Art to be fond of his Wife;
Were Virtue so plenty, a Wife cou'd afford,
These very hard Times, to be true to her Lord;
Some specious Account might be given of those
Who are ty'd by the Tail, to be led by the Nose._

4.

_But since 'tis the Fate of a Man and his Wife,
To consume all their Days in Contention and Strife:
Since whatever the Bounty of Heaven may create her,
He's morally sure he shall heartily hate her;
I think 'twere much wiser to ramble at large,
And the Volleys of Love on the Herd to discharge._

Hymen. 5.

_Some colour of Reason thy Counsel might bear,
Cou'd a Man have no more than his Wife to his share;
Or were I a Monarch so cruelly just,
To oblige a poor Wife to be true to her Trust;
But I have not pretended, for many Years past,
By marrying of People, to make 'em grow chaste._

6.

_I therefore advise thee to let me go on,
Thou'd find I'm the Strength and Support of thy Throne;
For hadst thou but Eyes, thou wouldst quickly perceive it,
How smoothly the Dart
Slips into the Heart
Of a Woman that's Wed;
Whilst the shivering Maid
Stands trembling, and wishing, but dare not receive it._

Chorus.

_For Change,_ &c.

_The Mask ended, enter ~Young Fash~, ~Coupler~, and ~Bull~._

Sir _Tun._ So, very fine, very fine, i'faith; this is something like a Wedding; now if Supper were but ready, I'd say a short Grace; and if I had such a Bedfellow as _Hoyden_ to night----I'd say as short Prayers.

_Seeing Young Fash._ How now----what have we got here? A Ghost? Nay, it must be so; for his Flesh and Blood cou'd never have dar'd to appear before me. [_To him._] Ah, Rogue----

_Lord Fop._ Stap my Vitals, _Tam_ again?

Sir _Tun._ My Lord, will you cut his Throat? Or shall I?

_Lord Fop._ Leave him to me, Sir, if you please. Pr'ythee, _Tam_, be so ingenuous now, as to tell me what thy Business is here?

_Young Fash._ 'Tis with your Bride.

_Lord Fop._ Thau art the impudent'st Fellow that Nature has yet spawn'd into the Warld, strike me speechless.

_Young Fash._ Why you know my Modesty wou'd have starv'd me; I sent it a-begging to you, and you wou'd not give it a Groat.

_Lord Fop._ And dost thau expect by an excess of Assurance to extart a Maintenance fram me?

_Young Fash._ [_Taking Miss by the Hand._] I do intend to extort your Mistress from you, and that I hope will prove one.

_Lord Fop._ I ever thaught _Newgate_ or _Bedlam_ wou'd be his Fartune, and naw his Fate's decided. Pr'ythee, _Loveless_, dost knaw of ever a Mad Doctor hard by?

_Young Fash._ There's one at your Elbow will cure you presently.

_To Bull._ Pr'ythee, Doctor, take him in hand quickly.

_Lord Fop._ Shall I beg the Favour of you, Sir, to pull your Fingers out of my Wife's Hand?

_Young Fash._ His Wife! Look you there; now I hope you are all satisfy'd he's mad.

_Lord Fop._ Naw is it not impassible far me to penetrate what Species of Fally it is thou art driving at?

_Sir Tun._ Here, here, here, let me beat out his Brains, and that will decide all.

_Lord Fop._ No, pray, Sir, hold, we'll destray him presently according to Law.

_Young Fash._ [_To_ Bull.] Nay, then advance, Doctor: come, you are a Man of Conscience, answer boldly to the Questions I shall ask: Did not you marry me to this young Lady, before ever that Gentleman there saw her Face?

_Bull._ Since the Truth must out, I did.

_Young Fash._ Nurse, sweet Nurse, were not you a Witness to it?

_Nurse._ Since my Conscience bids me speak----I was.

_Young Fash._ [_To Miss._] Madam, am not I your lawful Husband?

_Miss._ Truly I can't tell, but you married me first.

_Young Fash._ Now I hope you are all satisfy'd?

Sir _Tun._ [_Offering to strike him, is held by ~Lov~. and ~Wor~._] Oons and Thunder, you lye.

_Lord Fop._ Pray, Sir, be calm, the Battle is in Disarder, but requires more Canduct than Courage to rally our Forces. Pray, Dactar, one word with you.

_To_ Bull [_Aside._] Look you, Sir, tho' I will not presume to calculate your Notions of Damnation, fram the Description you give us of Hell, yet since there is at least a passibility you may have a Pitchfark thrust in your Backside, methinks, it shou'd not be worth your while to risk your Saul in the next Warld, for the sake of a beggarly yaunger Brather, who is nat able to make your Bady happy in this.

_Bull._ Alas! my Lord, I have no worldly Ends; I speak the Truth, Heaven knows.

_Lord Fop._ Nay, pr'ythee, never engage Heaven in the matter; far, by all I can see, 'tis like to prove a Business for the Devil.

_Young Fash._ Come, pray, Sir, all above-board, no corrupting of Evidences; if you please, this young Lady is my lawful Wife, and I'll justify it in all the Courts of _England_; so your Lordship (who always had a Passion for Variety) may go seek a new Mistress, if you think fit.

_Lord Fop._ I am struck dumb with his Impudence, and cannot passitively tell whether ever I shall speak again, or nat.

Sir _Tun._ Then let me come and examine the Business a little, I'll jerk the Truth out of 'em presently; here, give me my Dog-Whip.

_Young Fash._ Look you, old Gentleman, 'tis in vain to make a Noise; if you grow mutinous, I have some Friends within Call, have Swords by their Sides, above four Foot long; therefore be calm, hear the Evidence patiently, and when the Jury have given their Verdict, pass Sentence according to Law: Here's honest _Coupler_ shall be Foreman, and ask as many Questions as he pleases.

_Coup._ All I have to ask is, whether Nurse persists in her Evidence? The Parson, I dare swear, will never flinch from his.

_Nurse._ [_To Sir ~Tun~. kneeling._] I hope in Heaven your Worship will pardon me; I have served you long and faithfully, but in this thing I was over-reach'd; your Worship, however, was deceiv'd as, well as I; and if the Wedding-Dinner had been ready, you had put Madam to Bed with him with your own Hands.

Sir _Tun._ But how durst you do this, without acquainting of me?

_Nurse._ Alas! if your Worship had seen how the poor Thing begg'd, and pray'd, and clung, and twin'd about me, like Ivy to an old Wall, you wou'd say, I who had suckled it, and swaddled it, and nurst it both wet and dry, must have had a Heart of Adamant to refuse it.

Sir _Tun._ Very well.

_Young Fash._ Foreman, I expect your Verdict.

_Coup._ Ladies and Gentlemen, what's your Opinions?

_All._ A clear Case, a clear Case.

_Coup._ Then, my young Folks, I wish you Joy.

Sir _Tun._ [_To_ Young Fash.] Come hither, Stripling; if it be true, then, that thou hast marry'd my Daughter, pr'ythee tell me who thou art?

_Young Fash._ Sir, the best of my Condition is, I am your Son-in-law; and the worst of it is, I am Brother to that Noble Peer there.

Sir _Tun._ Art thou Brother to that Noble Peer----Why then, that Noble Peer, and thee, and thy Wife, and the Nurse, and the Priest----may all go and be damn'd together.

[_Exit Sir ~Tun~._

_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] Naw, for my part, I think the wisest thing a Man can do with an aking Heart, is to put on a serene Countenance; for a Philosaphical Air is the most becoming thing in the Warld to the Face of a Person of Quality; I will therefore bear my Disgrace like a Great Man, and let the People see I am above an Affrant. [_To_ Young Fash.] Dear _Tam_, since Things are thus fallen aut, pr'ythee give me leave to wish thee Jay. I do it _de bon Cœur_, strike me dumb: you have marry'd a Woman beautiful in her Person, charming in her Airs, prudent in her Canduct, canstant in her Inclinations, and of a nice Marality, split my Wind-pipe.

_Young Fash._ Your Lardship may keep up your Spirits with your Grimace, if you please; I shall support mine with this Lady, and two thousand Pound a-year.

_Taking Miss._] Come, Madam: