i


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.

ii iii 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 iv 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 v 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- vi 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 vii 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 viii 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 ix 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- x 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.

01 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. 02 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. 03 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. 04 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 05 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. 06 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, 07 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 08 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 09 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, 10 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 11 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 12 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 13 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. 14 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 15 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. 16 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 17 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 18 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 19 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. 20 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. 21 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 careleſlycareleſs;ly: 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, 22 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 23 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 24 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- 25 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. 26 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 27 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 28 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, 29 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. 30 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.―― 31 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.―― 32 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 33 F1r 33 ding 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. 34 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. 35 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 36 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 37 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 38 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 39 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! 40 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 41 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 42 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 43 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 44 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. 45 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. 46 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 47 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 48 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, 49 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. 50 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. 51 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. 52 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?

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. 53 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 Soldi ers ers 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 54 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 55 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 56 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. 57 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 peaſespleasesme 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. 58 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 59 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 60 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 61 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 62 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. 63 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 64 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 65 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. 66 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 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.

68

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