The
Female Wits:


or, the
Triumvirate of Poets
At Rehearsal.


A
Comedy.


As it was Acted several Days successively with great Applause
At the
Theatre-Royal
In Drury-Lane.
By Her Majesty’s Servants.


Written by Mr. W. M.


“Ita Astutim sibi Arrogat Hominem Ingenia
Ut Homines credas.”
Cic.

London, Printed for William Turner, at the Angel at Lincolns-Inn Back-Gate,
William Davis, at the Black Bull in Cornhil, Bernard Lintott, at the Middle-Temple-Gate,
and Tho. Brown, at the Blackamoors Head near the Savoy. 17041704.


Price 1s. 6d.

A1r


The
Preface.

Though the Success of the Play has been such,
as to need no Apology for the Publication
of it; it having been Acted six Days running without
intermission; and being likely to have continued
much longer, had the Company thought fit
to oblige the Taste of the Town in General,
rather than that of some particular Persons; yet the
lateness of its appearance abroad, after its being
Acted some Years since with great Applause, seems
to require that the Reader should be satisfied why
it should fall under his Censure at a time when the
Town has almost lost the Remembrance of it. In
order to this, I take it for necessary to Premise, that
the Author of it, a Man of more Modesty than the
Generality of our present Writers, tho’ not of less
Merit than the best of ’em, was neither fond of his
own Performances, nor desirous others should fall in
love with them. What he writ was for his own Diversion;
and he could hardly be persuaded by the A Qua A1v
Quality to make it theirs, till his good Temper got
the better of his Aversion to write himself among
the List of the Poets; and he was prevail’d upon
to put it into the Hands of the Gentlemen belonging
to the Theatre in Drury-Lane, who did him
the same Justice, as was done by him to Dramatick
Poetry and the Stage. Among the rest, Mr.
Powel
and his Wife excell’d in the Characters they
represented, as did Mrs. Verbruggen, who play’d the
Chief Character, and whose Loss we must ever regret,
as the Chief Actress in her Kind, who never had
any one that exceeded her, or ever will have one
that can come up to her, unless a Miracle intervenes
for the support of the English Stage. It is written
in imitation of the Rehearsal; and though we
must not presume to say it comes up to the Character
of the Duke of Buckingham’s works, yet it does
not fall short of it, so much as many of our Modern
Performances, that please more for the sake of their
Patrons than the real Worth of those that Writ
’em. And to let those that shall give it their Perusal,
into the Knowledge of the Female Wits, who are here
hinted at, they are to understand; the Lady
whose Play is rehears’d, personates one Mrs. M--ly,
a Gentlewoman sufficiently known for a Correspondence
with the Muses some time since, though she
has of late discontinu’d it, (I presume for some more profitable A2r
profitable Employ) and those that go under the
Names of Mrs. Welfed, and Calista, are Mrs. P--x
and Mrs. T-----r, two Gentlewomen that have made
no small struggle in the World to get into Print;
and who are now in such a State of Wedlock to
Pen and Ink, that it will be very difficult for ’em
to get out of it. Whether the Characters are just
or no, that is left to the Reader’s determination:
But the Auditors thought the Pictures were true, or
they would have condemn’d the Person that drew
’em, in less than six Days. What remains is, to
justifie the Publication of it, and to acquaint the
World, that the Author being deceas’d, I got a
Copy of it; and out of my desire to divert the
Publick, I thought it might not be unacceptable
if it saw the Light. In short, if it pleases as much
in the Reading, as it did in the Acting, the Reader
cannot fail of his Satisfaction; if not, the Taste of
the Criticks is different from what it was some
Years since: And so, a Fig for their Censures,
which can neither affect him that Wrote this Play,
nor him that Publishes it.

A2 Pro- A2v


The
Prologue.

While Sinners took upon ’em to reform,

And on the Stage laid the late dreadful Storm,

Occasionally coming from the Crimes

Of us, whose Drama’s would instruct the Times.

We wonder’d Rebels who against the Crown,

Justly draw all these heavy Judgments down,

Should pass uncensur’d, unmolested stand,

And be a heavy Judgment to the Land,

But they, Heav’ns bless ’em for their daily care,

Have reconcil’d us now to Ale and Air:

For Wine we know not, while the luckless Hit,

Has taught us want of Laugh, and want of Wit.

But when the Observator’s Wrath withdraws,

And wanting Law instructs us in the Laws;

How happy are we made, who well agree,

To be laugh’d at by such a Fool as he.

Thanks to the Strumpets that would mask’d appear,

We now in their True Colours see ’em here:

False A3r

False, I should say, for who e’re saw before,

A Woman in True Colours and a Whore?

But it is not our Business to be rude

With Woman for the sake of Muffled Hood;

We lik’d ’em not with Masks or with their Paints,

Nor ever thought to baulk informing Saints.

They’re welcome to us, when we’re Peccant found,

Their Understanding’s safe as well as sound.

All that we strive to please are Good and Just;

For Goodness ever we have ta’ne on Trust:

But when we to true Virtue would appear,

The Real Saints and not the False are here.

We’re RegularyRegularly true to Royal Laws,

We admire th’ Effect and we adore the Cause.

All that we’re proud of is, that we have seen,

Our Reformation center in the Queen.

The A3v


The
Epilogue.

The Sermon ended, ’tis the Preacher’s way

For Blessings on the Auditors to pray,

And Supplicate what Doctrines have been said,

May thro’ their Ears into their Hearts be laid.

So does our Poet in this sinful Age,

(Not that the Pulpit’s likened to the Stage)

Fall to Petition after Application,

And beg that he may work a Reformation;

May turn the side of Follies now in Course,

And touch the guilty Scribe with due Remorse:

That every Fool his Errors may reclaim,

And take the Road of Pen and Ink to Fame.

What here he writes to quash the Womens Pride,

May to the Men with Justice be apply’d.

Each Sex is now so self-conceited grown,

None can digest a Treat that’s not their own.

So Æsop’s Monkey that his Off-spring brought,

It’s own the fairest of the Rivals thought;

As A4r

As it preferr’d deformity of Face

To all the Beauties of the Bestial Race.

But Manners might have hinder’d him, you’ll say,

From Ridiculing Women in his Play,

When his own Sex so very open lay.

Troth so he might, but as I said before,

Wits do themselves, as Beaux, themselves adore;

Your Man of Dress, your Dressing Female Apes,

And doats upon their several Aires and Shapes:

Fearful that what upon the Sex is cast,

May on themselves stick scandalously fast.

Not that the Good he’d with the Bad abuse,

Or lessen the true value of a Muse;

Since every Soul with Rapture must admire

The tuneful Motions of the skilful Lyre.

But as the Shade adds Beauty to the Light,

And helps to make it strike upon the Sight:

So those whom he has made his Present Theme,

Assist to make us Poetry esteem,

As we from what they are, distinctly see,

And learn, what other Poets ought to be.

Dra- A4v

Dramatis Personæ.

Mr. Awdwell, A Gentleman of Sense
and Education, in love with Marsilia,
Mr. Mills.

Mr. Praiseall, A conceited, cowardly Coxcomb;
a Pretender likewise to Marsilia’s
Affections,
Mr. Cibber.

Fastin, Son to Lord Whimsical, Husband
to Isabella, and in Love with his Father’s
Wife,
Mr. Powell.

Amorous, Steward to Lord Whimsical, and
in Love with Isabella,
Mr. Pinkethman.

Lord Whiffle, An empty Piece of Noise,
that always shews himself at Rehearsals
and in publick Places,
Mr. Thomas.

Lord Whimsicall, Husband to Lady Loveall, Mr. Verbruggen.

Women.

Marsilia, A Poetess, that admires her own
Works, and a great Lover of Flattery,
Mrs. Verbruggen.

Patience, her Maid, Mrs. Essex.

Mrs. Wellfed, One that represents a fat Female
Author, a good sociable well-natur’d
Companion, that will not suffer
Martyrdom rather than take off three
Bumpers in a Hand,
Mrs. Powell.

Calista, A Lady that pretends to the learned
Languages, and assumes to her self
the Name of a Critick,
Mrs. Temple.

Isabella, Wife to Fastin, and in Love with
Amorous,
Mrs. Cross.

Lady Loveall, Wife to Lord Whimsical,
and in Love with Fastin,
Mrs. Knight.

Betty Useful, A necessary Convenience of
a Maid to Lady Loveall,
Mrs. Kent.

B1r 1

Act I.


Scene a Dressing-Room, Table and
Toylet Furnish’d, &c.
Enter Marsilia in a Night-Gown, followed by
Patience.

Mar.

Why, thou thoughtless inconsiderable
Animal! Thou driv’ling dreaming
Lump! Is it not past Nine o’Clock?
Must not I be at the Rehearsal by
Ten, Brainless? And here’s a Toylet
scarce half furnish’d!

Pat.

I am about to it, Madam.

Mar.

Yes, like a Snail!――.
Mount, my aspiring Spirit! Mount! Hit yon azure Roof, and
justle Gods!

Repeats. B Pat. B1v 2

Pat.

Madam, your things are ready.

Mar.

Abominable! IntollerableIntolerable!past enduring! Stamps.
Speak to me whilst I’m Repeating!
Interrupting Wretch! What, a Thought more worth
Than worlds of thee! ―― what a Thought have I lost! —
Ay, ay, ’tis gone, ’tis gone beyond the Clouds. Cries.
Whither now, Mischievous? Do I use to Dress without Attendance?
So, finely prepar’d, Mrs. Negligence!
I never wear any Patches!

Pat.

Madam.

Mar.

I ask you if ever you saw me wear any Patches?
Whose Cook maid wert thou prithee? The Barbarous Noise of
thy Heels is enough to put the Melody of the Muses out of
ones Head.――Almond Milk for my Hands.――Sower!
By Heav’n this Monster designs to Poyson me.

Pat.

Indeed, Madam, ’tis but just made; I wou’d not offer
such an affront to those charming Hands for the World.

Mar.

Commended by thee! I shall grow sick of ’em.――
Well, but Patty, are not you vain enough to hope from the
fragments of my Discourse you may pick up a Play?
Come, be diligent, it might pass amongst a Crowd,
And do as well as some of its Predecessors.

Pat.

Nothing but Flattery brings my Lady into a good humour.
Aside.
With your Ladyship’s directions I might aim at something.

Mar.

My Necklace.

Pat.

Here’s a Neck! such a Shape! such a Skin!―― Tying
it on.

Oh! if I were a Man, I should run Mad!

Mar.

Humph! The Girl has more Sense than I imagin’d;
She finds out those Perfections all the Beau-mond have admired—
Well, Patty, after my Third day I’ll give you this Gown and
Pettycoat.

Pat.

Your Ladyship will make one of Velvet, I suppose.

Mar. B2r 3

Mar.

I guess I may; see who knocks.

Goes out, and
returns.

Pat.

Madam, ’tis Mrs. Wellfed.

Mar.

That ill-bred, ill-shap’d Creature! Let her come
up, she’s foolish and open-hearted, I shall pick something
out of her that may do her Mischief, or serve me to Laugh at.

Pat.

Madam, you invited her to the Rehearsal this Morning.

Mar.

What if I did? she might have attended me at the
Play house.—Go, fetch her up.

Enter Mrs. Wellfed and Patty.

Mrs. Wellfed.

Good morrow, Madam.

Mar.

Your Servant, dear Mrs. Wellfed, I have been longing
for you this Half-hour.

Mrs. Wellf.

’Tis near Ten.

Mar.

Ay, my impertinence is such a Trifle.—But, Madam,
are we not to expect some more of your Works?

Mrs. Wellf.

Yes; I am playing the Fool again.――—
The story is――

Mar.

Nay, for a Story, Madam, you must give me leave
to say, there’s none like mine: The turns are so surprizing,
the Love so passionate, the Lines so strong; ’Gad I’m afraid
there’s not a Female Actress in England can reach ’em.

Mrs. Wellf.

My Language!

Mar.

Now you talk of Language, what do you think a
Lord said to me t’other day? That he had heard I was a
Traveller, and he believ’d my Voyage had been to the Poets
Elyzium; for mortal Fires cou’d never inspire such words!
Was not this fine?

Mrs. Wellf.

Extravagantly fine! But, as I was saying――

Mar.

Mark but these two Lines.

B2 Mrs. B2v 4

Mrs. Wellf.

Madam, I have heard ’em already; you know
you repeated every word of your Play last Night.

Mar.

I hope, Mrs. Wellfed, the Lines will bear the being
heard twice and twice; else ’twou’d be bad for the Sparks
who are never absent from the Play-house, and must hear
’em Seventeen or Eighteen
Nights together.

Mrs. Wellf.

How Madam! that’s Three or Four more
than the Old Bachelour held out.

Mar.

Madam, I dare affirm there’s not two such Lines in
the Play you nam’d: Madam, I’m sorry I am forc’d to tell
you, Interruption is the rudest thing in the World.

Mrs. Wellf.

I am dumb. Pray proceed.

Mar.

Pray observe.――—
“My Scorching Raptures make a Boy of Jove;
That Ramping God shall learn of me to Love.”
My Scorching――

Mrs. Wellf.

Won’t the Ladies think some of those Expressions
indecent?

Mar.

Interrupting again, by Heav’n! ――Sure, Madam,
I understand the Ladies better than you. To my knowledge
they love words that have warmth, and fire, &c. in ’em.—
Here, Patty, give me a Glass of Sherry; my Spirits are
gone. ――No Manchet Sot! Ah! the Glass Brings a
Glass.

not clean! She takes this opportunity, because
she knows I never fret before Company, I! do I use to Drink
a Thimble full at a time?- -
Take that to wash your Face.

Throws it in her Face.

Pat.

These are Poetical Ladies with a Pox to ’em.

Aside.

Mar.

My Service to you Madam, I think you drink in a
Morning.

Mrs. Wellf.

Yes, else I had never come to this bigness,
Madam, to the encreasing that inexhausted spring of Poetry; that B3r 5
that it may swell, o’erflow, and bless the barren Land.

Mar.

Incomparable, I protest!

Pat.

Madam Calista to wait upon your Ladyship.

Mar.

Do you know her Child?

Mrs. Wellf,.

No.

Mar.

Oh! ’Tis the vainest, proudest, senseless Thing, she
pretends to Grammar, writes in Mood and Figure; does every
thing methodically.—Poor Creature! She shews me her
Works first; I always commend ’em, with a Design she shoul’d
expose ’em, and the Town be so kind to laugh her out of
her Follies.

Mr.Mrs. Wellf.

That’s hard in a Friend.

Mar.

But ’tis very usual.—Dunce! Why do you let
her stay so long? Exit Pat. Re-enter with Calista.
My best Calista! The charming’st Nymph of all Apollo’s
Train, let me Embrace thee!

Mr.Mrs. Wellf.

So, I suppose my Reception was preceeded like
this.

Aside.]

Mar.

Pray know this Lady, she is a Sister of ours.

Calista.

She’s big enough to be the Mother of the Muses. Aside.
Madam, your Servant.

Mrs. Wellf.

Madam, yours.

Salute.

Mar.

Now here’s the Female Triumvirate; methinks
’twou’d be but civil of the Men to lay down their Pens for
one Year, and let us divert the Town; but if we shou’d,
they’d certainly be asham’d ever to take ’em up again.

Calis.

From yours we expect Wonders.

Mar.

Has any Celebrated Poet of the Age been lately to
look over any of your Scenes, Madam?

Calis.

Yes, yes, one that you know, and who makes that
his pretence for daily Visits.

Mar.

But I had rather see one dear Player than all the
Poets in the Kingdom.

Calis. B3v 6

Calis.

Good Gad! That you shou’d be in Love with an
Old Man!

Mar.

He is so with me; and you’ll grant ’tis a harder
Task to Re-kindle dying Coals, than set Tinder on a Blaze.

Mr.Mrs. Wellf.

I guess the Spark. But why then is your Play at
this House?

Mar.

I thought you had known ’thad been an Opera, and
such an Opera! But I won t talk on’t, ’till you see it. Mrs.
Wellfed, is not your Lodgings often fill’d with the Cabals of
Poets and Judges?

Mr. Wellf.

Faith, Madam, I’ll not tell a Lye for the mat
ter; they never do me the Honour.

Mar.

I thought so, when I ask’d her.

Aside to Calista.

Mr.Mrs. Wellf.

My Brats are forc’d to appear of my own raising.

Mar.

Nay, Mrs. Wellfed, they don’t come to others to
assist, but admire.

Pat.

Madam, Mr. Aw’dwell, and Mr. Praiseall are below.

Mar.

Dear Ladies, step in with me, whilst I put on my
Mantua: Bring ’em up, and then come to me.— What
does that Aw’dwell here again to Day? Did not I do Him the
Honour to go abroad with him yesterday? Sure that’s enough
for his Trifle of a Scarf. Come Ladies.
That Ramping God shall learn of me to Love.

Exeunt. Enter Mr. Aw’dwell and Mr. Praiseall.

Mr. Aw’dw.

So, Mr. Praiseall, you are come, I suppose, to
pay your Tribute of Encomiums to the Fair Lady and her
Works.

Mr. Prais.

The Lady sometimes does me the Honour to
Communicate; my poor Abilities are at her Service, tho’ I
own my self weak.

Aw’dw.

Then you are not fit for the Ladies Service, to my
Knowledge.

Prais. Why, B4r 7

Prais.

Why, Sir? I was long an Oxonian, ’till a good [ ],
and the Practice of the Law, tempted me from my Studies.

Aw’dw.

Sir, I’ll tell you my Opinion of the University
Students: They are commonly as dull as they are dirty, and
their Conversation is as wretched as their Feeding; yet every
Man thinks his Parts unquestionable, if he has been at
Oxford.――Now all the Observation I have made of Oxford,
is, it’s a good Place to improve Beggars, and to spoil
Gentlemen; to make young Master vain, and think no Body
has Wit but himself.

Prais.

While the Lady has more complaisant Sentiments,
yours shan’t disturb me, Sir, I assure you.

Aw’dw.

What is’t bewitches me to Marsilia! I know her
a Coquet; I know her vain and ungrateful; yet, wise as
Almanzor, knowing all this, I still love on!

Aside.

Prais.

I wish Marsilia wou’d come! That fellow
looks as if he had a Mind to quarrel. I hate the sight of a
bent Brow in a Morning; I am always unlucky the whole
Day after.

Aw’dw.

Oh, one thing more of your Darling Oxford. You
know, if you get Learning, it robs Man of his noblest Part,
Courage. This your mighty Bard, by Experience owns,
the Learned are Cowards by Profession. Do you feel any
of your Martial Heat returns?

Prais.

Ay, he will quarrel, I find.— Aside.
Sir, I was never taught to practice Feats of Arms in a Lady’s
Anti-Chamber.

Aw’dw.

The Fool’s afraid: Yet shall I have the Pleasure to
see Marsilia prefer this Fop to me before my Face.

Exit. Enter B4v 8 Enter Marsilia, Calista, and Mrs. Wellfed.

Mars.

I must beg your Learned Ladyship’s Pardon.
Aristotle never said such a Word, upon my Credit.—
Patty, What an Air these Pinners have? Pull ’em more behind.
—Oh my Stars, she has pull’d my Head-cloaths
off!

Calist.

I cannot but re-mind you, Madam, you are mistaken;
for I read Aristotle in his own Language: The Translation
may alter the Expression.

Aw’dw.

Oh that I cou’d but Conjure up the Old Philosopher,
to hear these Women pull him in pieces!

Mar.

Nay, Madam, if you are resolv’d to have the last
Word, I ha’ done; for I am no lover of Words, upon my
Credit.

Prais.

I am glad to hear her say sh’as done, for I dare not
interrupt her.—Madam, your Ladyship’s most humble.—

Mars.

Mr. Praiseall, Yours.

Prais.

Charming Calista, I kiss those enchanting Fingers.

Mars.

Humph! That might ha’ been said to me more properly.

Aside.

Prais.

Mrs. Wellfed, tho’ last, not least.

Mrs. Wellf.

That’s right, Mr. Praiseall.

Prais.

In Love, I meant, Mrs. Wellfed.

Mr.Mrs. Wellf.

Prethee, add Good Tribonus, don’t steal by halves,
Mr. Praisewell.

Prais.

Lord, you are so quick!

Mar.

Well, you are come to go with us to the Rehearsal.

Prais.

’Tis a pleasing Duty, Madam, to wait on your Ladyship:
But then to hear the wondrous Product of your
Brain, is such a Happiness, I only want some of Marsilia’s
Eloquence to express it.

Aw’dw. How C1r 9

Aw’dw.

How this Flattery transports her! Swells her
Pride almost to bursting.

Aside.

Mars.

I do avow, Mr. Praiseall, you are the most complaisant
Man of the Age.

Aw’dw.

Are you yet at Leisure, Madam, to tell me how
you do?

Mars.

You see my Engagements, and have chosen a very
busie Time to ask such an insignificant Question.

Aw’dw.

What, it wants a Courtly Phrase?

Mars.

Must I meet with nothing but Interruption? Mr.
Praiseall!

Prais.

Madam?

Mars.

I think I have not seen you these two Days.

Prais.

So long I’ve liv’d in Greenland, seen no Sun, nor
felt no warmth.

Mars.

Heav’ns! Mr. Praiseall, why don’t you write?
Words like those ought to be preserv’d in Characters indeli
ble, not lost in Air.

Aw’dw.

’Tis pity your Ladyship does not carry a Commonplace
Book.

Mars.

For your self ’twou’d be more useful.—
But, as I was going to tell you, Mr. Praiseall, since I saw
you, I have laid a Design to alter Cateline’s Conspiracy.

Prais.

An Undertaking fit for so great a Hand.

Mars.

Nay, I intend to make use only of the first Speech.

Aw’dw.

That will be an Alteration indeed!

Mars.

Your opinion was not ask’d.
Nor wou’d I meddle with that, but to let the World, that is so
partial to those old Fellows, see the difference of a modern
Genius.— You know that speech, Mr. Praiseall, and
the Ladies, too, I presume.

Calista.

I know it so well, as to have turn’d it into Latin.

Prais.

That was extraordinary. But let me tell you, Madam
Calista, ’tis a harder Task to mend it in English.

C Mars. True, C1v 10

Mars.

True, true, Mr. Praiseall; That all the Universe
must own. —Patty. Give me another Glass of
Sherry, that I may speak loud and clear. —Mr. Praseall,
my Service to you.

Prais.

I kiss your unequall’d Hand.

Mrs. Wellfed.

This drinking is the best part of the Entertainment
in my Opinion.

Aside.

Mars.

Now, Mr. Praiseall.

Prais.

I am all Ear.

Mars.

I wou’d you were — I was just beginning to
speak.

Prais.

Mum, I ha’ done a Fault.

Aw’dw.

Sure this Scene will chace her from my Soul.

Aside.

Mars.

Thy Head! Thy Head! Proud City!—
I’ll say no more of his; I don’t love to repeat other Peoples
Works; — now my own. —
Thy solid Stones, and, cemented Walls, this Arm shall thy
scatter into Atoms; then on thy Ruins will I mount!
Mount my aspiring Spirit mount! Hit yon Azure Roof, and
justle Gods; — Ex. Patty.
My Fan, my Fan, Patty. —

All clap.

Prais.

Ah! Poor Ben! Poor Ben! You know, Madam,
there was a famous Poet pick’d many a Hole in his Coat in
several Prefaces. — He found fault, but never mended the
Matter.— Your Ladyship has lay’d his Honour in the Dust.—
Poor Ben! ’Tis well thou art dead; this News had broke
thy Heart.

Mars.

Then in the Conspiracy, I make Fulvia a Woman
of the nicest Honour; and such Scenes!

Mrs. Wellf.

Madam, you forget the Rehearsal.

Mars.

Oh Gods! That I could live in a Cave! Ecchoes
wou’d repeat, but not interrupt me; Madam, if you are beholden
to those creatures, I am not; let ’em wait, let’em
wait, or live without me if they can.

[Enter C2r 11 Enter Patty.

Pat.

Madam, your Chair Men are come.

Mars.

Let them wait, they are paid for’t.

Pat.

Not yet to my Knowledge, what ever they be after
the third Day; there’s a long Bill I’m sure.—

Aside.

Mars.

How do you think to go Mrs. Wellfed? Shall Pat.
call you another Chair?

Mrs. Wellf.

I have no Inclination to break poor Mens
Backs; I thank you, Madam, I’ll go a Foot.

Calist.

A Foot!

Mrs. Wellf.

Ay, a Foot, ’tis not far, ’twill make me leaner.
Your Servant Ladies.

Exit.

Mars.

Your Servant.

Prais.

A bouncing Dame! But she has done some things well enough.

Mars.

Fye, Mr. Praiseall! That you shou’d wrong your
Judgment thus! Don’t do it, because you think her my
Friend: I profess, I can’t forbear saying, her Heroicks want
Beautiful Uniformity as much as her Person, and her Comedies
are as void of Jests as her Conversation.

Prais.

I submit to your Ladyship.

Aw’dw.

Madam, shall I crave leave to speak a few Words
with you before you go?

Mars.

I must gratify you, tho’ ’tis to my Prejudice.—My
Dear Calista, be pleas’d to take my Chair to the Play-House,
and I’ll follow you presently.

Calist.

I will; but make haste.

Mars.

Fear not; yours waits below, I suppose, Sir.

Prais.

Yes Madam.

Mars.

Pray take Care of the Lady ’till I come.

Prais.

Most willingly.

Exit. C2 Mars. What C2v 12

Mars.

What a ridiculous conceited thing it is! —
A witty Woman conceited, looks like a handsome Woman
set out with Frippery.

Aw’dw .

Railing shou’d be my part: But, Marsilia, I’ll give
it a genteeler Name, and call it complaining.

Mars.

Pshaw! You are always a complaining I think. Don’t put me out of Humour, now I am just going to the Rehearsal.

Aw’dw.

Why are you so ungrateful? Is it from your Lands
water’d by Helicon, or my honest dirty Acres, your maintenance
proceeds? Yet I must stand like a Foot-boy, unregarded,
whilst a noisy Fool takes up your Eyes, your Ears, your
every Sense.

Mars.

Now, Mr. Aw’dwell, I’ll tell you a strange thing: The
difference between you and I, shall create a Peace.—As thus:
You have a mind to quarrel, I have not; so that there must
be a Peace, or only War on your side: Then again, you have
a mind to stay here, I have a mind to go; which will be a
Truce at least.—

Is going.

Aw’dw.

Hold, Madam, do not teaze me thus; tho’ you
know my Follies and your Power, yet the ill-us’d Slave may
break his Chain.

Mars.

What wou’d the Man have? If you’ll be goodhumour’d,
and go to the Play-house, do; if not, stay here.
Ask my Maid Questions, increase your Jealousie, be dogged
and be damn’d.

Aw’dw.

Obliging? If I shou’d go, I know my Fate;
’twou’d be like standing on the Rack.

Mars.

While my Play’s Rehearsing! That’s an Affront I
shall never forget whilst I breath.

Aw’dw.

Tho’ I thought not of your Play?

Mars.

That’s worse.

Aw’dw

Your Carriage, your cruel Carriage, was the thing C3r 13
thing I meant. If there shou’d be a Man of Quality, as you
call ’em, I must not dare to own I know you.

Mars.

And well remembred. My Lord Duke promis’d
he’d be there.—Oh Heav’ns! I wou’d not stay another moment,
No, not to finish a speech in Catiline. What a Monster
was I to forget it! Oh Jehu! My Lord Duke, and Sir
Thomas! Pat. another Chair;
Sir Thomas and my Lord Duke
both stay.—

Exit running.

Aw’dw.

Follow, follow. Fool, be gorg’d and glutted with
Abuses; then throw up them and Love together.—

Exit.

Scene the Play-House.
Enter Mr. Johnson, Mr. Pinkethman, Mrs. Lucas,
and Miss Cross.

Mrs. Cross.

Good morrow Mrs. Lucas; why what’s the
the Whim, that we must be all dress’d at
Rehearsal, as if we play’d?

Mrs. Lucas.

’Tis by the Desire of Madam Maggot the
Poetess, I suppose.

Mrs. Cross.

She is a little whimsical, I think, indeed;
for this is the most incomprehensible Part I ever had in my
Life; and when I complain, all the Answer I get is, ’tis
New, and ’tis odd; and nothing but new things and odd
things will do.— Where’s Mr. Powell, that we may
try a little
before she comes.

Mr. Johnson.

At the Tavern, Madam.

Mrs. Cross.

At the Tavern in a Morning?

Mr. Johns.

Why, how long have you been a Member of
this Congregation, pretty Miss, and not know honest George
regards neither Times nor Seasons in Drinking?

Enter. C3v 14 Enter Mrs. Wellfed .

Mrs. Cross.

O! Here comes Mrs. Wellfed. Your Servant
Madam.

Mrs. Wellf.

Your Servant Gentlemen and Ladies.

Mrs. Lucas.

Sit down, Mrs. Wellfed, you are out of Breath.

Mrs. Wellf.

Walking a Pace, and this ugly Cough— Coughs. Well the Lady’s a coming, and a couple of Beaus; but I
perceive you need not care who comes, you are all dress’d.

Mrs. Cross.

So it seems. I think they talk she expects a
Duke.

Mrs. Wellf.

Here’s two of the Company.

Enter Mr. Praiseall and Calista.

Prais.

Dear Mrs. Cross, your Beauties Slave.

Mrs. Cross.

Upon Condition, ’tis then, if I have no Beauty,
you are no Slave; and the matter is just as ’twas.

Prais.

Sharp, Sharp.—Charming Isabella, let me kiss the
Strap of your Shoe, or the Tongue of your Buckle.

Mrs. Cross.

Now have I such a mind to kick him i’th’
Chops— Aside.
Oh fye, Sir, What d’ye mean?

Calista.

So, now he’s got among the Players, I may hang
my self for a Spark.

Mr. Pink.

Prithee Johnson, who is that?

Mr. Johns.

He belongs to one of the Inns of Chancery.

Mr. Pink.

A Lawyer?

Mr. Johns.

I can’t say that of the Man neither, tho’ he
sweats hard in Term-time, and always is as much at Westminster,
as he that has most to do.

Mr. Pink C4r 15

Mr. Pink.

Does he practice?

Mr. Johns.

Walking there, much.

Mr. Pink.

But I mean, the Laws?

Mr. Johns.

How to avoid its Penalty only. The Men are
quite tir’d with him, so you shall generally see him dagling
after the Women. He makes a shift to saunter away his Hours
till the Play begins; after you shall be sure to behold his
ill-favour’d Phyz, peeping out behind the Scenes, at both
Houses.

Mr. Pink.

What, at one time?

Mr. Johns.

No, Faith, ’tis his moving from one House to
’tother takes up his time, which is the Commodity sticks of
his Hands; for he has neither Sense nor Patience to hear a
Play out.

Mr. Pink.

I have enough of him, I thank you Sir.

Calista.

How d’ye Madam?

To Mrs. Wellfed.

Mrs. Wellf.

At your Service, Madam.

Calista.

Marsilia committed me to the Care of Mr. Praiseall;
but more powerful Charms have robb’d me of my Gallant.

Mrs. Wellf.

I thank Heav’n, I ’m big enough to take care of
my self. Indeed to neglect a young pretty Lady, expose her
unmask’d amongst a Company of wild Players, is very dangerous.

Calist.

Unmask’d! Humph! I’ll be ev’n with you for
that. Aside.
Madam, I have read all your excellent Works, and I dare say,
by the regular Correction, you are a Latinist, tho’ Marsilia laught at it.

Mrs. Wellf.

Marsilia shews her Folly, in laughing at what
she don’t understand. Faith, Madam, I must own my ignorance,
I can go no further than the eight Parts of Speech.

Calist.

Then I cannot but take the Freedom to say, you,
or whoever writes, imposes upon the Town.

Mrs. Wellf. C4v 16

Mrs. Wellf.

’Tis no imposition, Madam, when ev’ry Body’s
inclination’s free to like, or dislike a thing.

Calist.

Your Pardon, Madam.

Prais.

How’s this? Whilst I am making Love, I shall have
my two Heroines wage War. Ladies, what’s your Dispute?

Mrs. Wellf.

Not worth appealing to a Judge, in my Opinion.

Calista.

I’ll maintain it with my Life; Learning is absolutely
necessary to all who pretend to Poetry.

Mrs. Wellf.

We’ll adjourn the Argument, Marsilia shall
hear the Cause.

Prais.

Ay, if you can perswade her to hold her Tongue so
long.

Mrs. Wellf.

I wish I cou’d engage you two in a Latin Dispute,
Mr. Praiseall, and you shou’d tell how often the Lady
breaks Pris—Pris What’s his Name? His Head, you know.

Prais.

Priscian, you mean, Hush! Hush!

Mrs. Wellf.

He cares not for entring the Lists neither.
Come, Mr. Praiseall, I’ll put you upon a more pleasing Task.
Try to prevail with that Fair Lady, to give us her New Dialogue.

Prais.

What, my Angel?

Mrs. Wellf.

Mrs. Cross, I mean.

Prais.

There is no other She, Madam.

Mrs. Cross.

Sir!

Prais.

Will you be so good, to charm our Ears, and feast
our Eyes; let us see and hear you in Perfection.

Mrs. Cross.

This Complement is a Note above Ela. If Marsilia
shou’d catch me anticipating her Song, she’d chide sadly.

Mrs. Wellf.

Oh, we’ll watch. I’ll call Mr. Leveridge.

Song D1r 17 SONG by Mrs. Cross.— A Dialogue.

Prais.

Thank you Ten thousand times, my Dear.

Calista.

I’m almost weary of this illiterate Company.

Mrs. Wellf.

Now, Mr. Praiseall, get but Mrs. Lucas’s New
Dance, by that time sure the Lady will come.

Prais.

I’ll warrant ye my little Lucas. Sings. “With a Trip and a Gim,
And a Whey and a Jerk
at Parting.”

Where art thou, my little Girl?

Little Boy.

She is but drinking a Dish of Coffee, and will
come presently.

Prais.

Pshaw! Coffee! What does she drink Coffee for?
She’s lean enough without drinking Coffee.

Mr. Pink.

Ay, but ’tis good to dry up Humours.

Prais.

That’s well, I faith! Players dry up their Humours!
Why what are they good for then? Let her exert
her Humours in Dancing, that will do her most good, and
become her best.—Oh, here she comes!—You little
Rogue; what do you drink Coffee for?

Mrs. Lucas.

For the same Reason you drink Claret; because
I love it.

Prais.

Ha, Pert! Come, your last Dance, I will not be
deny’d.

D Lucas. I D1v 18

Lucas.

I don’t intend you shall; I love to Dance, as well
as you do to see me.

Prais.

Say’st thou so? Come on then; and when thou
hast done, I’ll treat you all in the Green RooomRoom with Chocolate;
Chocolate, Huzzy; that’s better by half than Coffee.
All agreed.

A Dance by Mrs. Lucas.

Prais.

Titely done, I Faith, little Girl.

Enter Mrs. Knight.

Mrs. Cross.

Good morrow Mrs. Knight. Pray, dear Mrs.
Knight, tell me your Opinion of this Play; you read much,
and are a Judge.

Mrs. Knight.

Oh your Servant, Madam! Why truly,
my Understanding is so very small, I can’t find the Ladies
meaning out.

Mrs. Cross.

Why, the Masters admire it.

Mrs. Knight.

So much the worse. What they censure,
most times prospers; and commonly, what they admire,
miscarries: Pshaw! They know nothing. They have Power,
and are positive; but have no more a right Notion of things,
Mrs. Cross, than you can have of the Pleasures of Wedlock,
that are unmarry’d.

Mrs. Cross.

I submit to better Judgment in that, Madam.
I am sure the Authoress is very proud and impertinent, as indeed
most Authors are.—She’s a Favourite, and has
put ’em to a world of Expence in Cloaths. A Play welldress’d,
you know, is half in half, as a great Writer says;
The Morocco Dresses, when new formerly for Sebastian, they say D2r 19
say enliven’d the Play as much as the Pudding and Dumpling
Song did Merlin.

Mrs. Knight.

This Play must be dress’d if there’s any Credit
remains, tho’ they are so cursedly in debt already.

Mrs. Cross.

It wants it, Madam, it wants it.

Mr.Mrs. Wellf.

Well, Ladies, after this Play’s over, I hope
you’ll think of mine; I have two excellent Parts for ye.

ButBoth., We are at your Service.

Mrs. Wellf.

Mr. Pinkethman! Mr. Pinkethman! What, d’ye
run away from a Body?

Mr. Pink.

Who I? I beg your Pardon, Madam.

Mrs. Wellf.

Well, Mr. Pinkethman, you shall see what I
have done for you in my next.

Mr. Pink.

Thank ye, Madam, I’ll do my best for you too.

Mrs. Wellf.

Mr. Johnson!

Mr. Pink.

So, now she’s going her Rounds.

Mr.Mrs. Wellf.

Mr. Johnson! — Duce on him, he’s gone!
Well, I shall see him by and by.

Enter Mr. Praiseall.

Prais.

Ladies, the Chocolate is ready, and longs to be conducted
by your white Hands to your Rosie Lips!

Mrs. Wellf.

Rarely express’d! Come, Ladies.

Exeunt. Manent Mrs. Knight and Mrs. Wellfed.

Mrs. Knight.

I believe our People wou’d dance after any
Tom-Dingle for a pen’orth of Sugar-plums.

Mrs. Wellf.

Come Mrs. Knight, let you and I have a Bottle
of Sherry.

D2 Mrs. Knight. D2v 20

Mrs. Knight.

No, I thank you, I never drink Wine in a
Morning.

Mrs. Wellf.

Then you’ll never write Plays, I promise
you.

Mrs. Knight.

I don’t desire it.

Mrs. Wellf.

If you please, Madam, to pass the time away,
I’ll repeat one of my best Scenes.

Mrs. Knight.

Oh Heav’ns! No Rest! ―― Aside.
Madam, I doubt the Company will take it amiss. I am
your very humble Servant.

Exit hastily.

Mrs. Wellf.

What! Fled so hastily! I find Poets had need
be a little conceited, for they meet with many a Bauk. However,
scribling brings this Satisfaction, that like our Children,
we are generally pleas’d with it our selves.

So the fond Mother’s rapt with her pratling Boys,

Whilst the free Stranger flies th’ ungrateful Noise.

Exit.

The End of the First Act.

Act II. D3r 21

Act II.

Enter Calista and Mrs. Wellfed.

Calista.

I think MarsilliaMarsilia is very tedious.

Mrs. Wellf.

I think so too. ’Tis well ’tis Marsilia,
else the Players wou’d never have Patience.

Calis.

Why, do they love her?

Mrs. Wellf.

No, but they fear her, that’s all one.—
Oh! yonder’s Mr. Powell, I want to speak with him.

Calis.

So do I.

Enter Mr. Powell .

Mr.Mrs. Wellf.

Your Servant Mr. Powell.

Calis.

Sir, I am your humble Servant.

Mr. Powell.

Ounds! What am I fell into the Hands of
two Female Poets? There’s nothing under the Sun, but
two Bailiffs, I’d have gone so far to have avoided.

Calis.

I believe, Mr. Powell, I shall trouble you quickly.

Mr. Pow.

When you please Madam.

Calis.

Pray, Mr. Powell, don’t speak so careleslycarelessly: I hope
you will find the Characters to your Satisfaction; I make
you equally in Love with two very fine Ladies.

Mr. Pow.

Oh, never stint me Madam, let it be two Douzen,
I beseech you.

Calis.

The Thought’s new I am sure.

Mr. Pow.

The Practice is old, I am sure.

Mrs. Wellf.

Now, Mr. Powell, hear mine: I make two
very fine Ladies in Love with you, is not that better? Ha!

Calis. ;Why, D3v 22

Calis.

Why, so are my Ladies.

Mrs. Wellf.

But, my Ladies. —

Calis.

Nay, if you go to that, Madam, I defie any Ladies,
in the Pale, or out of the Pale, to love beyond my Ladies.

Mrs. Wellf.

I’ll stand up for the Violence of my Passion,
whilst I have a bit of Flesh left on my Back, Mr. Powell!

Calis.

Lord! Madam, you won’t give one leave to speak.

Mr. Pow.

O Gad! I am Deaf, I am Deaf, or else wou’d
I were.

Mrs. Wellf.

Well, Mr. Powell, when shall mine be done?

Calis.

Sure I have Mr. Powell’s Promise.

Mrs. Wellf.

That I am glad on, then I believe mine will
come first.

Calis.

D’ye hear that, Mr. PowelPowell! Come pray Name a Time.

Mrs. Wellf.

Then I’ll have time set too.

Mr. Pow.

O Heav’ns! Let me go! Yours shall be done to
day, and yours to morrow; farewell for a Couple of Teazers!
Oh the Devil!

Flinging from ’em. Marsilia Entring, meets him.

Mars.

What in a Heat, and a Passion, and all that, Mr.
Powell? Lord! I’ll tell you, Mr. Powell, I have been in a
Heat, and Fret, and all that, Mr. Powell! I met two or
three idle People of Quality, who thinking I had no more
to do than themselves, stop’d my Chair, and teaz’d me with
a Thousand foolish Questions.

Mr. Pow.

Ay, Madam, I ha’ been plagu’d with Questions too.

Mars.

There’s nothing gives me greater Fatigue than any
one that talks much; Oh! ’Tis the superlative Plague of the
Universe. Ump! This foolish Patch won’t stick: Oh Lord!
Don’t go Mr. Powell, I have a World of things to say to
you.

Patching at her Glass.

Mr. Pow.

The more’s my Sorrow.

Enter D4r 23 Enter Mr. Praiseall and Mrs. Knight.

Mar.

How do you like my Play, Mr. Powell?

Mr. Pow.

Extraordinary, Madam, ’tis like your Ladyship,
at Miracle.

Calis.

How civilly he treats her.

Mrs. Wellf.

He treats her with what ought to be dispis’d,
Flattery.

Mars.

What was that you said? Some fine thing I dare
swear? Well, I beg your Pardon a Thousand times: My
Head was got to Cataline: Oh, Mr. Powell, you shall be Catiline,
not Ben Johnson’s Fool, but my Cataline, Mr. Powell.

Mr. Pow.

I’d be a Dog to serve your Ladyship, as a
Learned Author has it.

Mar.

Oh my Jehu! What, no Body come?

Mrs. Knight.

No Body, Madam! Why here’s all the Players.

Mar.

Granted, Mrs. Knight, and I have great Value for
all the Players, and your self in particular; but give me
leave to say, Mrs. Knight, when I appear, I expect all that
have any Concerns in the Play-house, shou’d give their Attendance,
Knights, Squires, or however dignified, or distinguished.

Mrs. Knight.

I beg your Pardon, Madam, if we poor
Folks, without Titles, cou’d have serv’d you, we are ready.

Mar.

Mr. Powell! Mr. Powell! Pray stay by my Elbow.
Lord! I don’t use to ask a Man twice to stand by me.

Mr. Pow.

Madam, I am here.

Mr. Prais.

Ha! A rising Favourite, that may Eclipse my
Glory; Madam, I have been taking true Pains to keep your
Princes and Princesses together here.

Mar. Pray D4v 24

Mar.

Pray don’t interrupt me, Mr. Praiseall, at this time.
Mr. Powell, I suppose you observe, throughout my Play, I
make the Heroes, and Heroines in Love with those they
shou’d not be.

Mr. Pow.

Yes, Madam.

Mar.

For look ye, if every Woman had lov’d her own
Husband, there had been no Business for a Play.

Mr. Pow.

But, Madam, won’t the Critticks say, the Guilt
of their Passion takes off the Pity?

Mar.

Oh, Mr. Powell, trouble not your self about the
Criticks, I am provided for them; my Prologue cools their
Courage I warrant ’em; han’t you heard the Humour?

Mr. Pow.

No, Madam.

Mar.

I have two of your stoutest Men enter with long
Truncheons.

Mr. Pow.

Truncheons! Why Truncheons?

Mar.

Because a Truncheon’s like a Quarter-staff, has a mischievous
Look with it; and a Critick is cursedly afraid of
any thing that looks terrible.

Mr. Prais.

Why, Madam, there are abundance of Critticks,
and witty Men that are Soldiers.

Mar.

Not one upon my Word, they are more Gentlemen,
than to pretend to either; a Witty Man and a Soldier; you
may as well say a modest Man, and a Courtier; Wit is always
in the Civil Power, take my Word for it; Courage, and
Honesty work hard for their Bread; Wit and Flattery feeds on
Fools; and if they are counted Wise, who keep out of
Harm’s way, there’s scarce a Fool now in the Kingdom.

Mr. Prais.

Why, Madam, I have always took care to keep
my self out of Harms Way; not that it is my Pretence to
Wit, for I dare look Thunder in the Face; and if you think
no Wit has Courage, what made you send for me?

Mr. Pow.

Here’s good Sport towards.

Mar. ;Be- E1r 25

Mar.

Because I have Occasion for nothing but Wit: I
sent for you to vouch for mine, and not fight for your own.
Mr. Powell, let us mind our Cause.

Mr. Prais.

Damme, I dare fight!

Mar.

Not with me, I hope: This is all Interruption by
Heav’n!

Mr. Prais.

’Tis well there’s not a Man asserts your Cause.

Walks about.

Mar.

How Sir! Not a Man assert my Cause?

Prais.

No; if there were, this Instant you should behold
him weltring at your Feet.

Mr. Pow.

Sir!

Mr. Prais.

Hold! Honest George; I’ll not do the Town
such an Injury, to whip thee thro’ the Guts.

Mar.

Barbarous, not to endure the Jest the whole Audience
must hear with patience. Enter Mr. Aw’dwell.
Mr. Aw’dw. What’s here Quarrelling? Come on; I thank
Heav’n, I never was more inclin’d to Bloodshed in my
Life.

Mr. Prais.

This is my Evil Genius: I said I should have no
Luck to Day — Mr. Aw’dwell, your very humble Servant,
did you hear a Noise, as you came in? ’Twas I made the
Noise, Mr. Aw’dwell, I’ll tell you how ’twas.

Aw’dw.

Do, for I am resolv’d to justifie the Lady.

Mr. Prais.

Then you must know, I was trying to act one
of Marsillia’s Heroes, a horrible blustring Fellow! That
made me so loud, Sir; now, says Mr. Powell, you do it awkerdly;
whip says I, in answer like a Chollerick Fool, and
out comes Poker, whether George was out so soon I can’t
say.

E Mr. Pow. E1v 26

Mr. Pow.

How Sir! my Sword in the Scabbard, and
your’s drawn!

Mr. Prais.

Nay, nay, may be it was George, but now we
are as good Friends as ever, witness this hearty Hug! to Mars.)
Madam, I invented this Story to prevent your Rehearsals
being interrupted.

Mar.

I thank you Sir, your Cowardize has kept Quietness.

Mr. Prais.

Your Servant Madam, I shall find a time.

Mr. Aw’dw.

So shall I!

Mr. Prais.

’Tis hard tho’ one can’t speak a Word to a Lady
without being over-heard.

Mar.

Come Mr. Aw’dwell, sit down, I am oblig’d to you
for what you have done, but this Fellow may make a Party
for me at the Coffee-house; therefore prithee let him alone,
tho’ I believe my Play won’t want it. — Now clear the Stage;
Prompter give me the Book! Oh, Mr. Powell, you must stay,
I shall want your Advice; I’ll tell ye time enough for your
Entrance.

Mr. Pow.

Madam, give me leave to take a Glass of Sack,
I am qualmish

Mars.

Oh! Fie, Mr. Powell, we’ll have Sack here; d’ye
see Ladies, you have teaz’d Mr. Powell sick: Well, Impertinence,
in a Woman is the Devil!

Mrs. Wellf.

Shall we stay to be affronted?

Calista.

Prithee let’s stay, and laugh at her Opera, as she
calls it, for I hear ’tis a very foolish one.

Mar.

Come Prologue-Speakers! Prologue Speakers! Where
are you? I shall want Sack my self, by and by, I believe.

Enter E2r 27 Enter Two Men with Whiskers, large Truncheons,
Drest strangely.

Mar.

Lord, Mr. Powell, these Men are not half tall enough,
nor half big enough! What shall I do for a larger
sort of Men?

Mr. Pow.

Faith, Madam, I can’t tell, they say the Race
Diminishes every Day.

Mar.

Ay, so they do with a witness, Mr. Powell. Oh,
these puny Fellows will spoil the Design of my Prologue!
Hark ye! Mr. Powell, you know the huge tall Monster, that
comes in one Play, which was taken Originally from Bartholomew-fair?
Against this, is spoke Publickly; cou’d not we
contrive to dress up two such things, twou’d set the Upper-
Gallery a Clapping like mad? And let me tell you, Mr.
Powell, that’s a Clapping not to be despis’d.

Mr. Pow.

We’ll see what may be done: But, Madam, you
had as good hear these speak it now.

Mar.

Well, Sheep-biters, begin!

1st.

—Well, Brother Monster, What do you do here!

Mars.

Ah! And ’tother looks no more like a Monster than
I do; speak it fuller in the Mouth Dunce.
Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here?

1st.

—Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here?

2d.

—I come to put the Criticks in a mortal Fear.

Mars.

O Heav’ns! You shou’d have every thing that is
terrible in that Line! You shou’d speak it like a Ghost, like a
Giant, like a Mandrake, and you speak it like a Mouse.

Mr. Pow.

Madam, if you won’t let ’em proceed, we shan’t
do the first Act this Morning.

E2 Mar. ;I E2v 28

Mar.

I have no Patience! I wish you wou’d be a Monster,
Mr. Powell, for once, but then I cou’d not match you neither.

Mr. Pow.

I thank you Madam, come, these will mend with
Practice.

Mar.

—Come begin then, and go thro’ with it roundly.

1st.

—Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here?

2d.

—I come to put the Critticks in a mortal Fear.

1st.

—I’m also sent upon the same Design,

2d.

—Then let’s our heavy Trunchions shake and joyn.

Mar.

Ah! The Devil take thee, for a squeaking Treble!
D’ye mention shaking your Trunchions, and not so much as
stir ’em, Block! By my hopes of Cataline, you shall never
speak it, give me the Papers quickly.

Throws their Trunchions down.

1st.

—Here’s mine.

2d.

—And mine, and I’m glad on’t.

Mar.

Out of my Sight, begone I say! Pushes ’em off.
Lord! Lord! I shan’t recover my Humour again, this half
Hour!

Mr. Pow.

Why do you vex your self, so much, Madam?

Mr. Aw’dw.

Poetry ought to be for the use of the Mind,
and for the Diversion of the Writer, as well as the Spectator;
but to you, sure Madam, it proves only a Fatigue and
Toyl.

Mar.

Pray, Mr. Aw’dwell, don’t come here to make your
Remarks; what, I shan’t have the Priviledge to be in a Passion
for you! Shall I; how dare you contradict me?

Mr. Prais.

But you shall be in a Passion, if you have a
mind to it, by the Clubb of Hercules. Ah! Madam, if we
had but Hercules, Hercules and his Clubb wou’d ha’ done
rarely: Dear Madam! Let ’em have Clubbs next time, do
Madam, let ’em ha’ Clubbs; let it be my Thought.

Mar. What, E3r 29

Mar.

What, for you to brag on’t all the Town over! No,
they shan’t have Clubbs, tho’ I like Clubbs better my self too.

Mr. Prais.

I ha’ done, I ha’ done.

Mar.

O Heav’ns! Now I have lost Mr. Powell, with your
Nonsensical Clubbs, wou’d there was a lusty one about your
empty Pate.

Mr. Prais.

I ha’ done, I ha’ done, Madam.

Mar.

Mr. Powell! Mr. Powell!

Scene-Keeper

— He’s gone out of the House, Madam.

Mar.

Oh the Devil! Sure I shall go distracted! Where’s
this Book? Come we’ll begin the Play: Call my Lady
Loveall, and Betty Useful her Maid: Pray keep a clear
Stage.
Now look you, Mr. Praiseall. ’thas been the receiv’d Opinion,
and Practice in all your late Opera’s to take care of the Songish
part, as I may call it, after a great Man; and for the Play,
it might be the History of Tom Thumb; no matter how, I
have done just contrary, took care of the Language and Plot;
and for the Musick, they that don’t like it, may go whistle.

Mr. Aw’dw.

Why would you chuse to call it an Opera
then?

Mar.

Lord! Mr. Aw’dwell, I han’t time to answer every
impertinent Question.

Mr. Prais.


No Sir! We han’t time, it was the Lady’s Will,
and that’s Allmighty Reason.

Mr. Aw’dw.

I shall have an Opportunity to Kick that Fellow.

Mar.

I wonder my Lord Duke’s not come, nor Sir Thomas.
Bless me! What a Disorder my dress is in? Oh!
These People will give me the Spleen intollerabllyintollerably! Do they
design ever to enter or no? My Spirits are quite gone!
They may do e’en what they will.

Mrs. Wellf. E3v 30

Mrs. Wellf.

They are entring, Madam.

Mars.

Mrs. Wellfed, you know where to get good Wine;
pray speak for some, then perhaps we shall keep Mr. Powell.

Mrs. Wellf.

I’ll take care of it, I warrant you.

Mars.

I knew ’twas a pleasing Errand.

Enter Lady Loveall, and Betty Useful.

Mar.

Come Child, speak handsomly, this Part will do
you a Kindness.

Betty.

Why do those Eyes, Loves Tapers, that on whomsoe’er
they are fixt, kindle straight Desire, now seem to Nod,
and Wink, and hardly Glimmer in their Sockets?

Mar.

Mr. Praiseall, is not that Simile well carried on?

Mr. Prais.

To an Extreamity of Thought, Madam,
But I think ’tis stole.

Aside.

La. Lov.

Art thou the Key to all my Secrets, privy to every
rambling Wish, and canst not guess my Sorrows!

Betty.

No! For what Lover have ye mist, honest Betty
Useful
has been the Contriver, Guide and close Concealer
of your Pleasures: Amorous the Steward, you know, is
yours; the Butler too bows beneath your Conquering
Charms, and you have vow’d your Wishes in you own Family
shou’d be confin’d, who then of Worth remains?

La. Lov.

—Oh BetteyBetty! Betty!

Mar.

Good Mrs. Knight speak that as passionately as you
can, because you are going to Swoon, you know; and I hate
Women shou’d go into a Swoon, as some of our Authors
make ’em, without so much as altering their Face, or
Voice.

La. Lov.―― E4r 31

La. Lov.

— Madam, I never knew Betty sound well
in Heroick.

Mar.

Why, no Mrs. Knight, therefore in that lies the Art,
for you to make it sound well; I think I may say, without
a Blush, I am the first that made Heroick natural.

La. Lov.

I’ll do my best.
Oh! Betty! Betty! Fear and Love, like meeting Tides, o’erwhelm
me, the rowling Waves beat sinking Nature down,
and Ebbing Life retires!

Swoons.

Mar.

What d’ye think of that, Mr. Praiseall? There’s a
Clap for a Guinea: ’Gad if there is not, I shall scarce forbear
telling the Audience they are uncivil.

Prais.

Nor, Gad, I shall scarce forbear Fighting ’em one
by one. But hush! Now let’s hear what Betty says.

Betty.

Oh! My poor Lady! Look up, fair Saint! Oh close
not those bright Eyes! If ’tis in Betty’s Power, they shall
still be feasted with the Object of their Wishes.

Prais.

Well said, honest Betty.

Mar.

Nay, She is so throughout the whole Play, to the
very last, I assure you.

La. Lov.

Yes, he shall be mine! Let Law, and Rules,
confine the creeping Stoick, the cold lifeless Hermit, or the
Dissembling Brethren of Broad Hats, and narrow Bands;
I am a Libertine, and being so, I love my Husband’s Son, and
will enjoy him.

Mar.

There’s a Rant for you! Oh Lord! Mr. Praiseall,
look how Mrs. Betty’s surpriz’d: Well, she doth a silent Surprize
the best i’ th’ World; I must kiss her, I cannot help it,
’tis incomparable! Now speak Mrs. Betty, now speak.

Betty.

My Master’s Son just Married to a Celebrated Beauty,
with which he comes slowly on, and beneath this Courteous
Roof rests this Night his wearedwearied Head.

La. Lov.―― E4v 32

La. Lov.

—Let me have Musick then, to melt him
down; he comes and meets this Face to charm him. ’Tis
done! ’Tis done! By Heav’n, I cannot bear the reflected
Glories of those Eyes, all other Beauties fly before me.

Betty.

But Isabella is—

Mar.

Now Betty’s doubting —Dear Mrs. Knight, in this
Speech, stamp as Queen Statira does, that always gets a
Clap; and when you have ended, run off, thus, as fast as
you can drive. O Gad! Duce take your confounded Stumbling
Stage.

Stumbles.

Mr. Prais.

Oh! Madam!

Mar.

Hush! Hush! ’Tis nothing! Come Madam.

La. Lov.

No more, he is mine, I have him fast: Oh! The
Extasie!

Mar.

Now Stamp, and Hug your self, Mrs. Knight: Oh!
The strong Extasie!

La. Lov.

Mine! Forever mine!

Exit.

Betty.

But you must ask me leave first; yes, I will assist
her, for she is nobly generous, and pays for Pleasure, as dear
as a Chambermaids Avarice requires! Then, my old Master,
why, I fear not him, he is an old Book-worm, never out
of his Study; and whilst he finds out a way to the Moon,
my Lady and I’ll tread another beaten Road much pleasanter:
My next Task must be to tempt Fasting, with my
Lady’s Beauty, this Isabella.――

Enter Amourous the Steward.

Am.

Did I not hear the Name of Isabella? Isabella,
Charming as Venus rising from the Sea, or Dian a descendingding F1r 33
on Latmus Top too like Diana much I fear: Oh Isabella!
Where art thou! I loose my way in Tears, and
cannot find my Feet.

Exit.

Mar.

D’ye mark! This was Mr. Amorous the Steward,
and he was transported, he never saw Betty. Look Betty’s
surpris’d again.

Mr. Prais.

’Tis amazingly fine!

Betty.

What’s this I have heard? It makes for us; Mischief
and Scandal are a Feast for them who have past
the Line of Shame: Amorous has a Wife, and Isabella
Faustins, work on together, work, work, on together
work.

Mar.

Now make haste off, Mrs. Betty, as if you were
so full of Thought, you did not know what you did.
Gentlemen and Ladies, how d’ye like the first Scene?

Exit Betty.

Mr. Prais.

If your Ladyship swore, you might justly
use Ben Johnson’s Expressions; “By Gad ’tis Good”!

Mar.

What say you, Calista?

Calis.

’Tis beyond imitation. I never heard such stuff
in my Life.

Aside.

Mar.

Did you observe Betty said her Master was finding
out a new way to the Moon?

Mr. Prais.

Yes marry did I, and I was thinking to ask if
I might not go with him; for I have a great mind to see
the Moon World.

Mar.

And you shall see it all, and how they live in’t,
before the Play’s done; here they have talked of the Emperour
of the Moon, and the World in the Moon, but discovered
nothing of the Matter: Now, again, I go just contrary;
for I say nothing, and shew all.

F Mr. Prais. F1v 34

Mr. Prais.

And that’s kindly done to surprize us with such
a Sight.

Mar.

Observe, and you’ll be satisfied. Call Fastin, and Isabella,
attended; that is to say, call Mr. Powell, and Mistress Cross,
and the Mob; for their Attendants look much like the
Mob. Mr. Praiseall, do you know where the Scene of this
Play lies?

Mr. Prais.

Gad forgive me for a Sot; Faith I han’t minded
it.

Mar.

Why, to tell you the Truth, ’tis not yet resolv’d;
but it must be in some warm Climate, where the Sun
has power, and where there’s Orange Groves; for Isabella,
you’ll find, Loves walking in Orange Groves.

Mr. Prais.

Suppose you lay it in Holland, I think we have
most of our Oranges, and Lemons from thence.

Mr. Aw’dw.

Well said Geographer.

Mar.

No, no, it must be some where in Italy. Peace!
They are coming. Enter Fastin, and Isabella attended.
Attendance, don’t tread upon their Backs, keep at an awful
Distance there; so upon my Train! Ah thou Blockhead,
thou art as fit for a Throne, as a Stage.

Fas.

Shall I speak, Madam.

Mar.

Ay, dear Mr. Powell, soon as you please.

Fas.

Wellcome, dear Isabella, to this peaceful Seat of all
my Father’s Mansions, this is his Choice, this surrounded by
these melancholly Groves, it suits his Philosophick Temper
best; yet Fame reports, he has so long given his—Studies
truce, as to wed a Young and beauteous Bride.

Mr. Prais. F2r 35

Mr. Prais.

Why, Madam, had my Lady Loveall never
seen this Spark?

Mar.

No, no; but she had heard of him, and that’s all
one. —Don’t ask a Question just when People are a speaking,
good Mr. Praiseall.

Mr. Prais.

I beg your Pardon.

Mar.

Pish! Come Mrs. Cross.

Isabella.

Close by there, is an Orange Grove dark as my
Thoughts, yet in that Darkness lovely; there my Lord,
with your leave, I’d walk.

Fas.

Your Pleasure shall be mine.

Mar.

Lead her to the side Scene, Mr. Powell, now come
back again.

Fas.

To desire and love to walk alone, shews her Thoughts
entertain and please her more than I, that’s not so well.

Mar.

Mark! He is beginning to be jealous: Now comes
Betty, and I dare be bold to say, here’s a Scene excells Iago,
and the Moor.

Mr. Prais.

Come, dear Mrs. Betty Useful! Oh! She’s my
Heart’s Delight!

Enter Betty Useful.

Fas.

What Fair Nymph is this?

Betty.

From the bright Partner of your Fathers Bed, too
sweet a Blossome, alass, to hang on such a wither’d Tree,
whose sapless Trunck affords no Nourishment to keep her
Fresh and Fair! From her I come to you, and charming Isabella;
But where is that Lady? Can you be separate? Can
any thing divide her from your fond Eyes.

F2 Mar. Now F2v 36

Mar.

Now she begins.

Fas.

By her own desire, she chooses Solitudes, and private
Walks, flies these faithful Arms; or if she meets ’em, Cold
and Clammy as the Damp of Death her Lips still joyn my
Longings.

Betty.

Cold Sweats, Privacies and lonely Hours, all Signs
of strong Aversion: Oh had your Fate but thrown you on my
Lady, her very Eyes had rais’d your Passion up to Madness.

Fas.

Thou hast already kindled Madness here; Jealousie
that unextinguish’d Fire, that with the smallest Fuel burns,
is blazing round my Heart. Oh! Courteous Maid, go on!
Inform me if my Love is false.

Betty.

As yet, I cannot, the Office is ungrateful; but for
your sake, I’ll undertake it.

Fas.

Do; and command me ever.

Betty.

The Fair Clemene.

Fas.

My Mother, do you mean?

Betty.

Call her not so, unless you break her Heart: A
Thousand tender Names all Day and Night she gives you,
but you can never scape her Lips, her Curtains by me drawn
wide, discover your goodly Figure; each Morn the Idol’s
brought, eagerly she prints the dead Colours, throws her
tawny Arms abroad, and vainly hopes kisses so Divine,
wou’d inspire the painted Nothing, and mould into Man.

Mar.

Is not this moving, Mr. Powell?

Prais.

Ay, and melting too, I Gad, wou’d I was the
Picture for her sake.

Fas.

What’s this I hear?

Prais.

Nay, no harm, Sir.

Mar.

Fie! Mr. Praiseall! Let your ill-tim’d Jests alone.

Prais. I F3r 37

Prais.

I ha’ done, I ha’ done.

Mars.

Mr. Powell, be pleas’d to go on.

Fas.

What’s this I hear?

Betty.

Her own Picture, which sure she sees by Sympathy,
you’ll entertain by me, she prays you to exceptaccept.

Gives the Picture.

Mar.

Now, dear Mr. Powell, let me have the pleasure
to hear you rave. Oh! Mr. Praiseall, this Speech, I die
upon this Speech!

Mr. Prais.

Wou’d we cou’d hear it, Madam, I am preparing
to clap.

Fas.

What’s this thou hast given me? There’s more than
Necromantick Charms in every bewitching Line, my trembling
Nerves are in their Infancy; I am cold as Ice!

Mar.

Ay, ay, Love comes just like an Ague Fit.

Fas.

What alteration here? Now I am all on Fire! Alcides
Shirt sticks close; Fire, incestiousincestuous Fire; I blaze! I
burn! I Rost! I Fry! Fire! Fire!

Exit.

Betty.

And my Lady will bring Water, Water, ha, ha,
ha.

Mar.

Laugh heartily, Mrs. Betty, go off Laughing.

Betty.

Ha, ha, ha!

Exit.

Mar.

So, Mr. Praiseall, here’s a difficult matter brought
about with much ease.

Prais.

Yes, Faith Madam, so there is; the young Gentleman
made no great Scruple to fall in Love with his Motherin-Law.

Mar.

O fie, Mr. Praiseall, ’twas the Struglings of his
Virtue put him in such a Passion.

Prais.

Ah! Madam! When once Virtue comes to strugle,
either in Male or Female, it commonly yields.

Mars. You F3v 38

Mars.

You are waggish — Now for my Dance —
Mrs. ―― Mrs. Cross, Mrs. Cross, come you little Cherubim,
your Dance.

A Dance.

Aw’dwell.

Pray, Madam, who is this Dance to entertain?

Mar.

What, do you sit an Hour to study a cross Question?
Why, to satisfie you, Sir, you are to suppose Fastin, in
passing towards his Mothers Lodgings, may, out of some
Gallery, see it; now you are answered.

Aw’dw.

I am.

Mr. Prais.

Ay, and sufficiently too: A Gallery Balcony,
twenty Peepholes.

Enter Mrs. Cross.

Mrs. Cross.

Madam, I cou’d wish you wou’d not be disoblig’d
if I gave up this Part, I shall get my self, nor you,
no Credit by it.

Mar.

How, Mrs. Cross! Disoblig’d! Assure your self, I
shall resent it ill to the last Degree, what throw up my Heroine!
my Isabella! Was there ever a Character more Cha ste,
more Noble, or more Pitiful?

Mrs. Cross.

Yes, very Chaste, when I am in Love with
my Father-in-Law’s Steward, I know not why, nor wherefore.

Mar.

Mrs. Cross I maintain, no Woman in the Play-
House, nor out of the Play-house, can be chaster than I
make Isabella; but trouble your Head no further, I’ll do the
Part my self.

Mrs. Cross.

With all my Heart.

Mar. And F4r 39

Mar.

And let me tell you Mistress Cross, I shall command
whatever is in the Wardrobe, I assure you!

Mrs. Cross.

Any of my Gowns are at your Service, if
they’ll fit you, Madam.

Mar.

Nay, they shall be; perhaps, without boasting, I
command them, that command you.

Mrs. Cross.

Perhaps ’tis not worth boasting on; there’s your
part.

Exit.

Mar.

A little inconsiderable Creature! Well, she shall see
how much better ’twill be done, and for meer madness,
hang her self in her own Garters. Mrs. Wellfed, I’ll wear a
white Feather, That, I believe, will become me best. Patty,
is Patty there?

Pat.

Yes, Madam.

Mar.

Patty, run to the Exchange, bring me a Dozen yards
of Scarlet Ribbon; and d’ye hear Patty? Some shining
Patches, some Pulvil and Essence, my Lord Duke shall help
me to Jewels; throw up her part! I’ll fit her, let her see
how the Town will receive her, after I have trode the Stage.

Mr. Aw’dw.

Why, Madam, you are not in earnest!

Mar.

By my hopes of Catiline, I am.

Mr. Aw’dw.

For Heav’ns sake, don’t make your self so irrecoverably
rediculous.

Mr. Prais.

Do, Madam, I say, ’Gad. I’ll make such a Party!
Gad, I’ll do nothing but clap, from the time I come into
the House, ’till I go out; Ouns, I’ll be hang’d if it don’t
bring a Swindging Audience, on the third day.

Mr. Aw’dw.

To dance naked on the third Day, wou’d
bring a bigger Audience; Why don’t you perswade the Lady
to that? Speaking loud to MarsilliaMarsilia.
Do, MarsilliaMarsilia, be rul’d by your Vanity, and that good
Friend, Mr. Praiseall; but rest assur’d, after such a weakness,
I will never see your Face again.

Mar. Ha! F4v 40

Mar.

Ha! I must not loose him. aside) Why, Mr. Aw’dwell,
wou’d you have such a hopeful Play lost? Can you be so
unreasonable to desire it? And that Part ruins all.
Mr. Aw’dwell. Give me the Part, and I’ll try to perswade
Mrs. Cross.

Mar.

Do, that’s a good Boy; and I won’t disoblige him
this two days.

Mr. Aw’dw.

Is’t possible! Will you dine at your own Lodgings
to day? I’ll give Order for some Dishes of Meat
there?

Mar.

Yes, yes.

Mr. Aw’dw.

Don’t serve me now, as you did when I provided
a handsome Dinner for you at my own House; and
you whiskt to Chelsy, in a Coach, with the Lord knows
who.

Mar.

No, I scorn it.

Exit Mr. Aw’dwell.

Prais.

You was talking of Wine, there is some within;
pray take a Recruit before you proceed.

Mar.

A good Motion, wait upon these two Ladies in, and
I’ll follow; I must practice a little, least Mrs. Cross shou’d
prove stubborn, and then, not my Father’s Ghost shou’d hinder
me.

Calista.

We’ll begin your health.

Exeunt.

Mar.

Do.
Whom shall I Curse, my Birth, My Fate, or Stars! All are
my Foes! All bent to ruine Innocence!

Enter G1r 41 Enter Patty, with Patches, Powder, Looking-glass, &c.

Pat.

Oh, Madam!

Mar.

How now, Impertinence! was not you told of Interrupting
once to Day? Look how she stands now! How
long must I expect what you have to say?

Pat.

My Lord Whiffle is come to wait on your Ladyship,
and sends to know, whether you are at leisure.

Mar.

Ay, he understands Breeding, and Decorum. Is my
Dress in great disorder?

Pat.

You Look all Charming, Madam.

Mar.

Hold the Glass; give me some Patches; my Box is
done; I am much oblig’d to his Lordship for this Honour.
Some Powder. Pulls the Box out of her Pocket.
Put my Gown to rights, and shake my Tail. The unmannerly
Blockheads have made a Road over it, and left the
vile Impression of their Nauseous Feet. Well, how do I look
now, Patty?

Pat.

Like one of the Graces, drest for a Ball at the Court
of Orleans.

Mar.

Ha, ha, ha; well said, Patty; now for my dear,
dear Lord Whiffle.

Mr. Awdwell meeting her.

Mr. Awd.

How!

Mar.

And how too! why, look ye, Mr. Awdwell, my
Lord is come to pay his Respects to me; and I will pay G G1v 42
my Respects again to my Lord, in spight of your Tyrannical
Pretensions. And so, your humble Servant.

Exit

Mr. Awd.

Who wou’d a kind and certain Mistress choose,

Let him, like me, take one that loves a Muse.

Exit.

The End of the Second Act.

Act G2r 43

Act III.

Enter my Lord Whiffle, Marsilia, Mr. Awdwell,
Mr. Praisall, Mrs. Wellfed. and Calista.

Mrs. Well.

For my part I am quite tir’d, and have a great
mind to steal home to Dinner; will you
please to go with me, Madam?

Cal.

With all my Heart: Marsilia’s so taken up with
my Lord, they’ll never miss us.

Mrs. Well.

Come then.

Exeunt. Marsilia and my Lord Whiffle talk, both looking in
a great Glass.

Mar.

Thus I have told your Lordship the First part,
which is past.

LL. Whif.

I conceive you, Madam, I have the whole Story
in a Corner of my head intire, where no other Thought
shall presume to interpose. Confound me, if my damn’d
Barber has not made me look like a Mountebank: This
Wigg I shall never endure, that’s certain.

Mar.

Now I must beg your Lordship to suppose Fastin
having seen his Mother-in-Law, is wholly captivated with G2 her G2v 44
her Charms, and Betty and she have both foresworn the
Consummation of her Marriage with Fastin’s Father; so he
takes her to an adjacent Castle of his; she having cast the
old Philosopher in a deep sleep. I’m forc’t to tell your
Lordship this, because the Play does not mention it.

Mr. Awd.

I am afraid your Ladyship will be wanted,
like the Chorus of Old, to enlighten the understanding of
the Audience.

Mar.

Meer Malice, Spight, and burning Malice, by the
Gods!

L. Whiff.

Very good, my Coat is as full of wrinkles
as an Old Woman’s Face, by Jove.

Mr. Prais.

Madam, han’t they took Betty with ’em to his
Castle?

Mar.

Yes, yes; But, Mr. PraisallPraiseall, you must keep your
Distance a little now, and not interrupt me, when I am
talking to my Lord.

Mr. Prais.

I am dumb as a Fish.

Mar.

Now, if your Lordship pleases to sit down, you
will see my Opera begin; for tho’ some of the Play is
over, there has been no Scene Operaish yet.

Mr. Awd.

Operaish! That’s a word of your own, I suppose,
Madam.

Mr. Prais.

Ne’re the worse for that, I hope, Sir; why mayn’t
the Ladies make a word as well as the Men?

L. Whiff.

The Lady shall make what words she pleases;
and I will justifie her in’t.

Mr. Awd.

And I will laugh at her for it.

Mar.

Well, Mr. Awdwell, these Affronts, are not so
soon forgot as given.

Mr. Awd.

Use your Pleasure, Madam, the Fool’s almost
weary.

Mar.

He nettles me; but I think I have him in my power:
Is your Lordship ready to observe?

L. Whiff. G3r 45

L. Whiff.

Madam, I am all Attention.

Mar.

Come, the Night Scene there, a Dark Grove made
Glorious by a Thousand burning Lights: By Heav’ns my
words run of themselves into Heroick! Now Let em’ enter.

Enter Fastin, Lady Loveall.

Fast.

Cou’d Age expect to hold thee! Oh thou Heav’nly
Charmer! was there such an Impudence in Impotence; if
the old Dotard has liv’d past his Reason, he must be taught
it; yes, it shall dazle in his Eyes.

Mr. Awd.

A very Dutiful Son, this.

Mar.

Sir, I desire your Absence, if you won’t let the
Players go on: His Father has done a very foolish thing;
and must be call’d to an account for it.

L. Whiff.

Right Madam; all old Men do foolish things
when they marry young Wives, and ought to meet with
exemplary Punishments.

Mar.

Aye, your Lordship understands the Justice of the
thing — Mrs. Knight, if you please.

La. Lov.

Whilst my Ears devour your protested Love,
my Heart dances to the Musick of your Vows. But is there
no Falshood in a Form so lovely! if there is, these Eyes
that let the Object in, must weep for ever!

Fast.

By Honour and by Glory, I love thee more than
Mortal can express or bear.

Mar.

Now, Mr. PowelPowell, my Rhime with a Boon Grace.

Fast.

My scorching Raptures make a Boy of Jove;
That ramping God shall learn of me to love.

Mar.

How does your Lordship like these Lines?

L. Whiff. G3v 46

L. Whiff.

Madam, they exceed any of our modern
Flights, as far as a Description of Homer’s does Mr. Settle’s,
Poet in Ordinary for my Lord Mayor’s Show.

Mr. Prais.

After what my Lord has said, I dare not speak,
but I am all Admiration.

Mar.

to Mrs. Knight.) Madam I beg your pardon for this
Interruption; my Friends here will treat me with Flattery.

La. Lov.

to Fastin.) And you will be so vain to believe
it none. aside.) Nor Isabella shall not —

Fast.

Be nam’d only for Punishment, her Adultery with
Amorous is plain, therefore she shall be disgrac’d, and dye.

Mr. Awd.

Who had told him this?

Mar.

Why Betty had told him, tho’ Isabella’ was Innocent
as to the matter of Fact. Indeed Fate over-rul’d her Inclination:
I will not answer you another Question, I protest:
find it out as the rest of the World does.

Fastin

to his Attendants.) Guard the Orange Grove;
there let Isabella remain a Prisoner, whilst I entertain the
fair Clemene with a Song and Dances here.

(Italian Song by Mr. Pate.)

Mar.

This Song’s my own; and I think soft and moving.

L. Whiff.

My slacken’d Fibres! — My Sou’lsSoul’s dissolv’d.

Repeats.

Mar.

Now the Grotesque Entertainment; I have mine
perform’d by women, because it should differ from t’other
House: if it has done em’ any Injury I am sorry; but it
cou’d not be hop’d, the Play must not be absolutely without
Ornament. Pray take care, Gentlewomen, as we Poets are
fain to do, that we may excell the Men, who first led the
wayway.

Dance G4r 47 Dance.
After the Dance, a Drum beats. Enter Betty.

Prais.

Oh, Mrs. Betty!

Mar.

Hold your peace, Mrs. Betty’s in haste.

Bet.

Fly, Sir, fly; old Whimsical is waked by another
wretch, a Fornicator, who has liv’d past the Pleasure
and the Sin. These wither’d Cuffs come on, follow’d by
a monstrous Rabble, to seize the Lady.

Lady Lo.

Alas, I fear.

Fast.

Talk not of Fear, my Love, while I am by; thou
art as safe as if ten thousand Legions were thy Guard.
First to the Castle I will take my way, and leave thee
there secure; in the mean time my Men fall on upon his
mobbish Soldiers, but spare the stubborn old Man, because
he is my Father.

Exeunt.

Mar.

Now there’s his Duty, there’s his Duty! D’ye hear
that, Mr. Quarelsom!

Mr. Awd.

Wondrous Duty! sets the Rabble about his
Father’s Ears, and bids ’em not hurt him.

Mar.

Now, my Lord, and Gentlemen, and Ladies, where
are the Ladies?

Mr. Prais.

I have miss’d em’em a great while, Madam:
But I wou’d not interrupt you to tell you of’t.

Mar.

Ill-bred Things! who do they expect shou’d have
Patience with their dull stuff? But, as I was saying, I
must beg you once again to suppose old Lord Whimsical Loveall,
is attacking his Son’s Castle, and beaten back: Now they are behind G4v 48
behind the Scenes; sound a Storm again, three times;
now we’ll suppose ’em repuls’d. And from the Castle let
the Trumpets and Violins join in a Tune of Victory.
So, there’s a Battle well over.

L. Whiff.

With a very little trouble. But, Madam had
not the storming the Castle been as good a Scene as the taking
of Jerusalem.

Mar.

Granted, my Lord. But I have a Castle taken upon
the Stage; and twice, you know, had been Repetition.

Mr. Prais.

True; your Ladiship was never in the wrong
in your Life, unless it was when you said, I had no Courage.

Mar.

Change the Scene to the Orange Grove. Enter Isabella.
Your Servant Mrs. Cross, I am glad to see you again.

Mrs. Cross.

Truly the Gentleman would not be deny’d;
tho’ really, Madam, ’twas only fear I shou’d not serve you
in’t, made me backward.

Mar.

All’s well, and I’m pleas’d. Will you give your
self the trouble to enter again? because that will make you
look more alone.

Mrs. Cross.

Yes, Madam.

Goes out, and Re-enters.

Isab.

Methought I heard the sound of War pierce the hollow
Groves: Else ’twas my melancholly Fancy chim’d to
my sick Brain. Yet it cannot be Delusion; for I am a Prisoner.
A surly Fellow, who lookt as if Pity was his Foe,
told me, I here must wait my Lord’s Commands. Oh,
Fastin! if thou art cruel or unkind, thou art justly so:
For I came to thy Arms without a Heart, without Love’s Flames, H1r 49
Flames, or desire to kindle ’em. Oh! why was Amorous
sent to my Fathers Castle, to begin the Parly? ’Tis true,
he’s in the vale of Years; yet Oh! such Charms remain!
He found the way to my unguarded Heart; nor need he
storm, I could not the least Opposition make; he streight
was Lord of all within; yet, Chaste as Fires, which consume
in Urns, and vainly warm the Dead, so Useless is my
Flame!

Mar.

My Lord! wou’d your Lordship imagine Mrs. Cross
shou’d dislike the part, when I defie all the Virgins in Europe
to make so cold a Simile as that?

L. Wh.

Thou’st turn’d me into Marble; I am a Statue upon
the Tomb where the Urn’s inclos’d.

Mr. Prais.

My Teeth chatter in my head.

Mr. Awd.

Oh for a Couple of good Cudgels to warm
the Coxcombs.

aside.

Mar.

Well, dear Isabella, proceed.

Isab.

Thou Mother Earth, bear thy wretched Daughter:
Open thy all-receiving Womb, and take thy groaning burthen
in!

Mar.

Now You’ll see this Act, very full of Business. Come,
Lord Whimsicall, and Amorous, hastily.

Enter Lord Whimsicall and Amorous.

L. Whim.

Raise thee from Earth, thou most unhappy
Wife of my most wicked Son! fly, whilst faithful Amorous
and I Protect thee from what his Savage rage has doom’d.

Isab.

What has he doom’d? alas, I dare not fly with you
and Amorous.

H Amo. H1v 50

Amo.

Then leave me here to Death; follow your Father,
and shun approaching Danger.

Is.

What Death! what Danger! make me understand you.

Mar.

Ay, Poor Lady! she’s unwilling Amorous shou’d
dye too.

L. Whim.

Your Husband loudly proclaims you an Adultress,
and means to make War on that fair work of Heav’n, your
Face; And Noseless send you back to your own Father.

Amo.

Oh, horrid! hasten, Madam, from the brutal Tyrant.

Isa.

I must consult my Immortal Honour; that’s a
Beauty to me, more valued than Nature’s Out-work’s, a
Face. Let me consider, ’tis my Husband’s Father; to retire
till I am justifi’d, cannot be a Crime, Sir. I have resolv’d to go.
My Innocence is white as Alpine Snow,
By these Tears, which never cease to flow.

Mar.

Your Pardon, Mrs. give me leave to instruct you
in a moving Cry. Oh! there’s a great deal of Art in crying:
Hold your Handkerchief thus; let it meet your Eyes,
thus; your Head declin’d, thus; now, in a perfect whine,
crying out these words,
“By these Tears, which never cease to Flow.”
Is not that right my Lord?

L. Whim.

Oh gad! feelingly Passionate, Madam; were
your Ladyship to do it, the whole House wou’d catch the
Infection; and as in France they are all in a Tune, they’d
here be all in Tears.

Awdwell.

Now I fancy ’twou’d have just the contrary
effect on me.

Mar.

Oh Jehu! how am I tortur’d with your Nonsence!
Proceed, for Heav’ns sake; let my Ears be diverted with
my own words; for your’s grate ’em beyond induring.

Isab. H2r 51

Isab.

Must I repeat this stuff agen?

Mar.

Stuff! my Spirit rises at her: But ’tis in vain to resent
it. The truth on’t is, Poets are so increas’d, Players
value ’em no more than —

Awd.

Ballad-singers.

Awd.

Spiteful Devils. Well, Mrs. Cross, I’ll not
trouble you agen; Amorous shall suppose you are going.
Come, Mr. Pinkethman.

Amo.

Then with this Flaming Sword I’ll clear the way,
And hunt for Danger in the Face of Day.

Mar.

Well, Mr. Pinkethman, I think you are oblig’d to
me for choosing you for a Heroe; Pray do it well, that the
Town may see, I was not mistaken in my Judgment: Fetch
large Strides; walk thus; your Arms strutting; your
Voice big, and your Eyes terrible.
Then with this Flaming Sword I’ll clear the way.

Amo.

Then thus I’ll clear your way, Draws.
And hunt for Danger in the Face of Day.

Isa.

Alas, does any oppose us?

L. Whim.

Only some stragling fellows, which Amorous
will scour; and in the Corner of the Grove the Chariot
waits.

Exeunt.

Mar.

Now will your Ladyship please to conceive these
three are got into my Lord Whimsicall’s Castle? Whither
Fastin, mad with Jealousie and Love, pursues: Now your
Lordship shall see the storming of a Fort, not like your
Jerusalem, but the modern way; my Men shall go all up
thro’ a trap door, and ever now and then one drop polt
down dead.

talking eagerly, she throws my Lords
Snuff-box down.

L. Whim.

Like my Snuff-box, Madam. ’Ouns my Snuff
cost two Guineas.

Mar.

I beg your Lordship’s pardon.

H2 Mr. H2v 52

Mr. Prais.

Two Guineas, it shan’t be all lost then.

Picks up the Snuff. goes to the Scenes.

Mar.

Are you ready?

Mr. Praiseall,[Speaker label not present in original source]

Within.

Yes, yes, Madam.

Scene A Castle Storming.

Mar.

My Lord, my Lord, this will make you amends for
your Snuff! Drums beat; mount, ye Lumpish Dogs: what
are you afraid of? you know the Stones are only Wool:
Faster, with more Spirit? Brutes. Oh Jehu! I am sorry I
had not this Castle taken by women, then t’had been done
like my Grotesque Dance there: mount, mount, Rascals. MarciliaMarsilia bustling among ’em, loses her HeadCloathes.

Patty, Patty, my Head, my Head, the Brutes will trample
it to Pieces. Now, Mr. PowelPowell, enter like a Lyon.

Enter Fastin, Followers, Lady Loveall, Betty, &c.

Fast.

By Heav’n, I’ll tear her from her Lover’s Arms, my
Father only Spare.

La. Lov.

Spare him not: hear my Charge.
Aim every arrow, at his Destin’d Head,
There is no Peace, ’till that Curst Villain’s Dead.

Mar.

Look, look my Lord, where Mr. Powells got.

La. Lov.

Oh, the rash young Man; save him, Gods!

Betty.

Protect him, Venus!

Mr. H3r 53

Mr. Prais.

How heartily Betty prays, and to her own Deity,
I dare swear.

Fast.

They fly! they fly! sound Trumpets, Sound! let
Clemene’s Musick joyn confine my Father to yon distant
Tower: I’ll not see him ’till I have punish’d the Adultress:
Set wide the Gates, and let Clemenes know she’s Mistress
here.

La. Lov.

Where is he; Let me fly and bind his Wounds
up with my Hair, lull him upon my own Bosom, and sing
him into softest ease.
To Feast, and Revels Dedicate the Day.
Let the old Misers stores be all expos’d, and made the Soldiers
Prey!
D’ye hear, let the Butler dye, least he tell Tales.

Betty.

Madam, he shall then, no body will dare contradict
us in the Cellar neither.

Exeunt.

Mr. Prais.

Well said, Mrs. Betty; she loves a Cup, I like
her the better for’t.

Mr. Awd.

A hopeful Wife, this! do’s she go on thus Triumphant?

Mar.

I have sworn to answer you no more Questions.

L. Whiff.

Indeed, Madam, you have made her very wicked.

Mar.

The woman is a little Mischievous; but your Lordship
shall see I’ll bring her to Condign Punnishment. My
Lord, I will be bold to say, here is a Scene a coming, wherein
there is the greatest Distress that ever was seen in a Play:
’tis poor Amorous, and Isabella. Mr. Praisall, do you remember
that old Whimsicall was all along a Philosopher?
Come let down the Chariot.

Mr. Prais.

Lord Madam, do you think I don’t, why was
not he and I a going to the Moon together?

Mar.

Right! you must keep a steady, and a solid Thought
to find the Depths of this plot out. Now, my Lord, be pleas’d H3v 54
pleas’d once again to conceive these poor Lovers hunted above
the Castle, at last taking Sanctuary in a high pair of
Leads, which adjoyns to the old Man’s study; conceive
also their Enemies at their Heels; how then can these lost
Creatures ’scape?

Mr. Awd.

May be they both leapt over the Leads, and
broke their Necks.

L. Whiff.

That’s one way; but pray lets hear the Ladies.

Mar.

You must know, my Lord, at first I design’d this
for Tragedy; and they were both taken; She was
Poyson’d, and dy’d, like an Innocent Lamb, as she was indeed:
I was studying a Death for him; once I thought
Boys shou’d shoot him to Death with Pot-Guns: for your
Lordship may be pleas’d to understand, Amorous had been a
Soldier, tho’ now he was a Steward of the Family; and
that wou’d have been Disgrace enough, you know: But at
length I resolv’d to ram him into a great Gun, and
scatter him o’re the sturdy Plain: This, I say, was my first
resolve. But I consider’d, ’twould break the Lady’s Heart;
so there is nothing in their Parts Tragical but as your Lordship
shall see miraculously I turn’d it into an Opera.

L. Whif.

Your Ladyship’s Wit is Almighty, and produces
nothing but Wonders.

Mr. Prais.

The Devil take his Lordship, he is always before
hand with me, and goes so confounded high, there’s no
coming after him.

Mar.

Your Lordship shall see what, I think, their Opera’s
have not yet had.

Scene H4r 55

Scene The Leads of a Castle.
The Sun seen a little beyond: A Chariot stands
upon the Leads.
Enter Isabella, follw’d by Amorous.

Isab.

Now Death’s in view, methinks I fear the MonsterMonster.
Is there no God that Pities Innocence? Oh! thou All-seeing
Sun, contract thy Glorious Beam’s, hide me, in Darkness
hide me!

Mr. Awd.

I am sorry to find your Heroine Shrink.

Mar.

Oh! ’tis more natural for a woman than bold; as
an Imprison’d Cat, to fly Death i th Face, as ’twere. Humph
was it you I took pains to convince? Pray no more Interruption
of this Scene.

Amor.

Ten Massy Doors, all barr’d with wondrous
strength impede their Passage: Rest then, thou Milk-white
hunted Hind, forget the near Approach of fear, and hear the
Story of my Love.

Mr. Awd.

Hey boy, little Amorous! He’ll loose no opportunity.

Mr. Prais.

He is not like to have many; he was a fool,
if he did not improve ’em.

Isab.

We soon shall mount yon Blisful Seats! Let us be
rob’d with Innocence, least we want admittance there.

Amor.

All Dreams! meer Dreams! bred from the Fumes
of Crabbed Education, and must we for this lose true Substantial
Pleasure? By Heav’n, ’twould be a noble Justice to defeat H4v 56
defeat their Malice: they hunt us for imaginary Crimes;
and we must dye like Fools for doing nothing.

Mr. Prais.

Well urg’d, Amorous.

L. Whiff.

Bold, I vow.

Mar.

A Lover shou’d be so, my Lord.

Amor.

But give me up the Heav’n my ravenous Love requires:
Let me fill my Sences with thy Sweetness; then
let ’em pour upon me, I cou’d laugh at all their idle
Tortures, every pleas’d Limb shou’d dance upon the
Wheel.

Mar.

Dance upon the Wheel! that’s a new thought, I am
sure, my Lord.

L. Whiff.

Your Tract is all new, and must be uncommon,
because others can never find it.

Prais.

A Pox on him! he has out-done me agen.

Mar.

I am your Lordship’s very humble Servant: My
Lord, How Amorous gazes on her!

L. Whiff.

Piercing Eyes, I confess.

Prais.

An irresistable Lere- - - -I got in a word.

Isab.

Take off your Eyes; mine shou’d be fix’d above; but
Love draws ’em downwards, and almost pulls my Heart along.

Amo.

Give me your Heart! your Arms! Oh! give me all!
see at your Feet the wretched Amorous falls! Be not more
cruel than our Foes. Behold me on the Torture! Fastin cannot
Punish me with half the Racks denying Beauty lays on
longing Love.

Isab.

I recover strength: rise, and begone; Alas, thou
can’st not go; then at awful distance, cold as Ice, not dare
to let thy hot Breath agen offend my chaste Ears! If thou
hast, a Dagger rams thy Passion down thy Throat.

Mar.

Won’t this be a Surprize, my Lord, to see her have
such an Icy Fit?

L. Whiff.

When I thought she was just going to melt.

Amor. I1r 57

Amor.

See, you are obey’d; shivering your er’e-while raging
Lover stands; your Words and Looks, like Frost on
Flowers, have nipt my Hopes and fierce Desires!

Mr. Prais.

Alas, poor Amorous!

A Noise without.

Mar.

Do you hear, my Lord? do’s not your Heart ake
for the poor Lovers?

L. Whif.

I am ready to swoon, Madam.

Mr. Prais.

Wou’d I had some Cordial-water.

Mr. Awd.

Art thou Marsilia? wilt thou confess it? so
weak to believe these Coxcombs?

Mar.

I always choose to believe what peasespleases me best. If a
School-Boy had been told so often of a Fault, as you have
been, of Interruption, he had certainly left it. Make a Noise
agen without.

Isab.

Alas my fears return; what shall I do? I dare not
dye.

Amor.

Oh Let not Monstrous Fear deform the Beauties of
thy Soul, but brave thy Fate.

Mar.

Louder; but brave thy Fate; strain your Voice: I
tell you, Mr. Pinkethman, this speaking Loud gets the
Clap.

Amo.

Pox of this Heroick; I shall tear my Lungs. Aside.
But brave thy Fate.

Mar.

Aye, that goes to ones very Heart.

Awd.

And rends ones Head.

Isab.

I cannot, I dare not; Oh, they come! where shall
I hide me?

Gets into the Chariot.

Amo.

For Heav’n’s sake, Madam, come from hence: This
will expose us to all their scorn.

goes in after.

Mar.

Now, now, up with it. Here, my Lord, here’s the
wonder; this very Chariot Whimsical had been making fifty
Years, contriv’d beyond all humane Art, for the Sun to
draw up to the Moon; at this very Critical minute the
Matter’s affected. Is not your Lordship surpriz’d?

I L. Whiff. I1v 58

L. Whif.

I know not where I am!

Prais.

Oh! this is a plain case; so while the old Cuckold
was watching his Chariot, his Wife had Opportunity to
make him one.

Mar.

Right, right, Mr. Praisall: Now Amorous finds it
move.

Amor.

Ha! the Chariot moves; a Miracle is known in our
Preservation.

Isab.

Oh! I dye with fear!

Mar.

Now she falls in a Swoon, and never wakes ’till they
come into another world.

Mr. Prais.

E gad, ’tis well I am not in the Chariot with
her.

Mar.

You may open the Door, they are out of sight.

Enter Fastin, Lady Loveall and Betty.

Fast.

Where is the Hellish Pair? Let my Eyes be fasten’d
on ’em, that I may look ’em dead.

Mar.

Look dreadfully, sweet Mr. Powell, look dreadfully.

Mr. Awd.

Hark’e, Madam, only one thing; did you never
hear an old Proverb; “He that has a House of Glass shou’d
never throw Stones at his Neighbours?”
I think this young
Gentleman is guilty of much the same fault.

Mar.

Lord! Lord! I told ye once before, he did not
know his Father was marry’d to her, he took her for a pure
Virgin. Come, Mr. Powell, go on.

Fast.

Where are you hid? in what Lustful Corner?

L. Lov.

Alas, I fear they have escap’d, and I have such a
Detestation for ill Women, ’twould grieve me much to have
’em go unpunish’d.

Betty I2r 59

Betty.

I am sure they took the Stairs that led this wayway’
and must be here; let me ferret ’em.

Mr. Prais.

God-a-Mercy, Betty! Let Betty alone.

Bett.

A-dad I can’t set Eyes on ’em high nor low.

Mr. Prais.

No, they are too high for thee, indeed, little
Betty.

Mar.

Pray, Mr. PraisallPraiseall, be quiet; here’s a great Scene a
coming.

Mr. Prais.

I am silent as the Grave.

Fast.

In vain they think to ’scape my Rage, by thus
evading it; for if the Earth holds ’em, they shall be
found.

Betty.

Why, where’s my old Master’s Conjuring Chariot,
I wonder, that he alway’s told us wou’d carry him to Heaven,
when we little thought on’t? It us’d to stand here.

L. Lov.

It did so.

Betty.

Perhaps they are gone to Elyzium in it.

L. Lov.

No, Fool, Elyzium has no room for Lawless Lovers.

Betty.

Then you must never come there, ’ImI’m sure.

aside.

Mar.

That’s the first ill word Betty has given her Mistress;
and that was to her self too.

Fast.

Let my Chariots be prepar’d, we’ll leave this hated
place, and in my Castle unlade our Cares. Love shall crown
our Hours, and Wine and Musick rob ’em of ’em with delight.

L. Lov.

Whilst I weave flowry Chaplets for your Hair,
Revels and Masks to please your Sight prepare:
Feed on your Presence, on your absence grieve,
Love you alone, for you alone I’ll live.

Mar.

Now quick, quick, get behind her, Mr. least she
shou’d resist; the rest disarm Mr. Powell.

I2 Enter I2v 60 Enter Lord Whimsicall and others.

L. Whim.

Not fit to live, nor dye! but Death thou best
deserv’st.

stabs her.

L. Lov.

Oh! thou Impotence, only strong in mischief:
That feeble aged Arm has reach’d my youthful Heart.

Fast.

Slaves, unhand me! Oh! Clemene, Oh!

L. Lov.

Let me come at the Dotard, let me cover the
Blood-thirsty Man with Livid Gore.

Mar.

D’ye hear, Property-Man, be sure some red Ink
is handsomely convey’d to Mrs. Knight.

Fast.

Move, Dogs; bear her to me, that I may press her
close, and keep in Life.

Mar.

Strive and struggle now, Mr. Powell; Lord, you
scarce stir; hold me, hold me, some of you. Observe, that
I may press her close, and keep in Life; ye see my Breath’s
almost gone. Oh! if we Poets did but act, as well as write,
the Plays wou’d never miscarry.

Fast.

Why, there’s enow of you, both Males and Females;
entertain the Town when you will, I’ll resign the
Stage with all my Heart.

Mar.

And by my hopes of Cataline I’ll propose it. But
now pray go on.

Fast.

I say, lose your “Plebeian” Goals, and let me reach
my Love.

Mar.

Well, that’s your own; but ’twill do. You may
speak it, Mr. PowelPowell.

L. Whim.

What, the Sorceress! thy Father’s Wife,
rash Boy!

Fast I3r 61

Fast.

Ha, ha, ha, ha! Your Wife: I have heard indeed
of old Men that wanted Virgins, when vital warmth was
gone.

L. Whim.

To that Title do’s Clemene’s Impudence pretend.
Speak, lewd Adultress.

La. Lov.

Yes, I will speak, and own it all: Why shou’d
I mince the matter, now I’ve lost my hopes of him? For
the old Skeleton, sign alone, and shadow of a Man, I
might have yet been pure: But whilst gay Youths adorn’d
thy Family Clemene wou’d not sigh in vain.

Fast.

What’s this I hear?

Bet.

My Lady dying! I am not yet prepared to bear her
Company: I’ll e en shift for one. I wou’d not willingly
leave this wicked World, before I have tasted a little more
on’t.

Mr. Prais.

True, Mrs. Betty; slip behind me, and thou
art gone.

Mar.

See, my Lord, they are all struck in a Maze.

Exit.

L. Whiff.

’Tis very amazing!

L. Whim.

Why, Fastin, stare you thus? Is her wickedness
such News? Go, bear her off, and let her die alone.

La. Lov.

Do, convey me hence; for not gaping Pipes
of burning Sulphur, nor grinning hideous Fiends, can
jerk my Soul like that old Husband. Fogh! how he stinks!
Set him a fire with all his Chymistry about him, see how
he’ll blaze on his own Spirits.

Fast.

Rage not; it wastes thy precious Life.

Mr. Awd.

Then he loves her still.

Mar.

Yes; what, you think him hot and cold in a quarter
of an hour?

La. Lov.

Fastin, farewel. Oh! thou only Youth, whom I
can truly say I lov’d, for thee I’d run this mad Risque agen;
for thee I die. Away, away! and let me do the work I3v 62
work of Children in the dark.

Exit led off.

L. Whim.

Where’s my Chariot? my Chariot of the Sun,
Slaves! who has remov’d it? if it jogg’d but a Hair awry,
may set me backwards ten tedious Years. But it is gone!
where can it be?

Runs up and down to look it.

Fast.

Defeated Love! approaching Shame! Remorse and
deathless Infamy! they crowd one Breast too much: Here’s
to give ’em vent.

Stabs himself.

L. Whim.

Oh! ’tis gone! ’tis gone! my Chariot! Oh,
my Chariot!

Fast.

See, Clemene, see, thy Adorer comes! guiltily fond
and pressing after thee.

Dies.

L. Whim.

Have you all lookt below? is there no news of
this inestimable Chariot?

Serv.

No, my Lord; and here your Son is dead.

L. Whim.

Why dost thou tell me of my Son, the blind
work of Chance, the sport of Darkness, which produc’d a
Monster? I’ve lost an Engine, the labour’d care of half a
hundred Years. It is gone! I shall go mad.

Mar.

Good Mr. What-d’-call-’um, this last Speech to the
highest pitch of raving.

L. Whim.

Ha! the Sun has got it; I see the glorious
Tract: But I will mount and yet recover it: The covetous
Planet shall not dare to keep it for the use of his Paramour.
Bear me, ye Winds, upon your blustring Wings;
for I am light as Air, and mad as rowling Tempests.

Exit

Mar.

Is not this passion well exprest?

Mr. Awd.

’Tis indeed all mad Stuff.

Mar.

your word neither mends nor mars it, that’s one
Comfort. Mr. Powell, will you walk off, or be carry’d off?

Mr. Pow.

I’ll make use of my Legs, if you please, Madam.
Your most humble Servant.

Mar. I4r 63

Mar.

Mr. Powell, yours; I give you ten thousand thanks
for your trouble. I hope, Mr. Powell, you are convinc’d this
Play won’t fail.

Mr. Pow.

O Lord! Madam, impossible!

Exit.

Mar.

Well, sure by this Play, the Town will perceive
what a woman can do. I must own, my Lord, it stomachs
me sometimes, to hear young Fops cry, there’s nothing
like Mr. Such-a-one’s Plays, and Mr. Such-a-ones Plays.

L. Whiff.

But, Madam, I fear our excellent Entertainment’s
over; I think all your Actors are kill’d.

Mar.

True, my Lord, they are most of ’em dispatch’d.
But now, my Lord, comes one of my Surprizes; I make an
end of my Play in the World in the Moon!

L. Whiff.

In the World in the Moon!

Mr. Prais.

Prodigious!

Mar.

Scene-Men: Where the Devil are these Blockheads?

Scene-Men.

Within

Here, here.

Mar.

Come, one of your finest Scenes, and the very best
that ye know must be, when the Emperour and Empress
appear.

Scene-Men.

How d’ye like this Madam?

Mar.

Aye, aye, that will do.

L. Whim.

’Tis every thing the Stage, can afford in perfection.

Mr. Prais.

And which no Stage in the World can equal.

Mar.

Oh, fie! Mr. PraisallPraiseall, you go often to Lincoln’s-Inn-
Fields
.

Mr. Prais.

I have said it, let t’other House take it how
they will.

L. Whif.

What, are these Men, or Monsters?

Mar.

My Lord, this is very true, I’ll believe the Historian,
for he was there, my Lord. The World in the Moon is as fine
a place as this represents; but the Inhabitants are a little shallow I4v 64
shallow, and go, as you see, upon all four; now I design
Amorous and Isabella shall bring in such a Reformation; then
all the Hero’s of the Moon-world shall fall in love with Isabella,
as, you know, in Aurenzebe they are all in love with
Indamora: Oh! that’s a sweet, a pretty Name; but a Duce
on’t, my Brother Bay’s has scarce left a pretty Name for
his Successors?

Mr. Prais.

Dear Madam, are these crawling things to
speak, or no?

Mar.

Patience is a great Vertue, Mr. PraisallPraiseall.

Mr. Awd.

And your Spectators must exercise it, o’my
Conscience.

Mar.

Pray now, my Lord, be pleas’d to suppose this is
the Emperor’s Wedding-day. Musick and the Dance. Dance upon all Four. Song
What’s the whispering for?

One of the Men.)

Why, Madam, to tell you the truth in
short, we are not able to continue in this Posture any longer,
without we break our Backs; so we have unanimously
resolv’d to stand upright.

All the Men and Women stand up, when they’re come forward.

Mr. Prais.

Hey! heres another Surpize!

Mar.

Oh! the Devil; you have spoilt my Plot! you have
ruin’d my play, ye Blockheads! ye Villains, I’ll kill you all, burn K1r 65
burn the Book, and hang my self! Throws down the Book.,
and stamps upon it.

L. Whiff.

Taking up the Book.)Hold, Madam! Don’t let
Passion provoke you, like the Knight of old, to destroy what
After-ages cannot equal.

Mar.

Why, my Lord Amorous, and Isabella was to come
in, and theirthere wou’d have been such a Scene! Asses! Ideots!
Jolts! But they shall never speak a Line of mine, if it wou’d
save ’em from in evitableinevitable ruine; I’ll carry it to t’other House
this very Moment.

Mr. Awd.

Won’t ye go home to Dinner first?

Mar.

Dinner be damn’d! I’ll never eat more. See too! if
any of their impudent People come to beg my Pardon! or
appease me! Well, I will go, that’s resolv’d.

Mr. Prais.

Madam, consider; cou’d they not stoop agen,
when Isabella’s come in; I’ll try how ’tis. stoops
Oun’s tis Devillish painful.

Mar.

Don’t tell me, ’tis painful; if they’ll do nothing
for their Livings, let ’em starve and be hang’d. My Chair
there.

L. Whiff.

Madam, my Coach is at your Service, it waits
without.

Mar.

To be seen in my Lord’s Coach is some Consolation aside
My Lord, I desire to go directly into Lincoln’s-Inn-Fields.

L. Whiff.

Where you please, Madam.

Mar.

I’ll never set my Foot agen upon this confounded
Stage. My Opera shall be first, and my Catiline next; which
I’d have these to know, shall absolutely break ’em. They
may shut up their Doors; strole or starve, or do what ever
the Devil puts in their heads; no more of Marsilias Works,
I assure ’em. Come, my Lord.

Mr. Awd.

You won’t go, Madam?

K Mar. K1v 66

Mar.

By my Soul, I will; your damn’d ill Humour began my
Misfortunes. Farewel, Momus; farewel, Ideots: Hoarse be
your Voices, rotten your Lungs, want of Wit and Humour
continue upon your damn’d Poets, and Poverty consume
you all.

Exit.

Prais.

What, ner’ene’er a word to me! or did she put me among
the Ideots? Sir, the Lady’s gone.

Awd.

And you may go after; there’s something to help
you forward.

kicks him.

Prais.

I intend, Sir, I intend it.

Exit. Enter Mr. Powell, Mrs. Knight, Mrs. Cross, &c.
Laughing

Awd.

So, what’s the news now?

Mr. Pow.

Oh, my Sides! my Sides! the wrathful Lady
has run over a Chair, shatter’d the Glasses to pieces: The
Chair-Men, to save it, fell pell-mell in with her. She has
lost part of her Tail, broke her Fan, tore her Ruffles, and
pull’d off half my Lord Whiffle’s Wigg, with trying to rise
by it: So they are, with a Shagreen Air, and tatter’d Dress,
gone into the Coach: Mr. Praisall thrust in after ’em, with
the bundle of Fragments, his Care had pick’d up from under
the Fellows Feet. Come, to make some Atonement, Entertain
this Gentleman with the Dance you are practising for
the next new Play.

A 67 A Dance.

Mr. Awd.

Mr. Powell, if you’ll do me the favour to dine
with me. I’ll prevent the Dinner I bespoke going to Marsilia’s
Lodgings, and we’ll eat it here.

Mr. Pow.

With all my heart: I am at your Service.

Awd.

Thus warn’d, I’ll leave the Scribler to her Fops, and Fate;I find she’s neither worth my Love or Hate.

Finis.


Books Printed for, and Sold by William Turner, at the
Angel at Lincolns-Inn Back-Gate.