THE Younger Brother: OR, THE Amorous Jilt

Aphra Behn

• SCENE I.
• SCENE II.

• SCENE I.
• SCENE II.
• SCENE. III.

• SCENE I.
• SCENE II.
• SCENE III.

• SCENE I.
• SCENE II.
• SCENE III.

• SCENE I.
• SCENE II.
• SCENE III.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

SCENE. A Chamber.

Enter George Marteen, in a Rich Riding Habit, with his Valet Britton.

Were you with Mrs. Manage, Britton?

Yes Sir; And she cries as much for her wanting Room for you in her House, as she would have done some Forty Years ago for a Disapointment of her Lover. But she assures me, the Lodging she has taken for you, is the best in all Lincolns-Inn-Fields.

And did you charge her to send Mirtilla's Page to me?

I did Sir; and he'll be with you instantly.

'Tis well—Then shall I hear some News of my Mirtilla.
                                        (aside.
Britton, hast thee, and get my Equipage in order; a handsome Coach, rich Liveries, and more Footmen; for 'tis Appearance only passes in the World.—And de you hear, take care none know me by any other Name than that of Lejere.

I shall Sir.

I came not from Paris into England, as my Old Father thinks to reform into a Dull wretched Life in Wales. No, I'll rather trust my kind Mistress Fortune, that has still kept me like her Darling, than purchase a Younger Brother's narrow Stipend, at the Expence of my Pleasure and Happiness.

Enter Olivia in a Pages Habit. She runs and Embraces George.

My ever charming Brother!

My best, my dear Olivia!

The same lovely man still!

Thy Gallantry and Beauty's are all thy own; Paris could add no Graces to thy Air; nor yet pervert it into Affectation.

Spare me, and tell me how Mirtilla fares.

I think, Brother, I writ you word to Paris, of a Marriage concluded betwixt me, and Welborn?

That Letter I receiv'd, but from the Dear Mirtilla, not one soft word; not one tender. Line has blest my Eyes, has Eas'd my panting Heart this tedious three Months space; and thou with whom I left the weighty Charge of her dear Heart, to watch her lovely Eyes, to give me notice when my Rivals press'd, and when she waver'd in her Faith to me, even thou wert silent to me, cruel Sister.

Thou wilt be like a Lover presently, and tire the Hearer with a Book of words, of heavy Sighs, Dying Languishments, and all that huddle of Nonsense; and not tell me how you like my Marriage.

Welborn's my Friend, and worthy of thy Heart.

I never saw him yet, and to be sold unseen, and unsigh'd for in the Flower of my Youth and Beauty, gives me a strange aversion to the Match.

Oh! you'l like him when you see him—But my Mirtilla.

Like him—no, no, I never shall—what, come a stranger to my Husbands Bed? 'Tis Prostitution in the lewdest manner, without the Satisfaction; the Pleasure of Variety, and the Bait of Profit, may make a lame Excuse for Whores, who change their Cullies, and quit their Nauseous Fools—No, no, my Brother, when Parents grow Arbitrary, 'tis time we look into our Rights and Priviledges; therefore, my dear George, if e're thou hope for Happiness in Love, Assist my Disobedience.

In any worthy Choice besure of me, but canst thou wish happiness in Love, and not inform me something of Mirtilla.

I'll tell you better News—Our hopeful Elder Brother, Sir Merlin , is like to be disinherited, for he is, Heaven bethanked—

Marry'd to some Town Jilt, the common fate of Coxcombs.

Not so, my dear George, but sets up for a Celebrated Rake-hell, as well as Gamester; he cou'd not have found out a more dextrous way to 've made thee Heir to four Thousand Pounds a Year.

What's that without Mirtilla?

Prithee no more of her—Love spoils a fine Gentleman: Gaming, Whoring and Fighting, may qualify a man for Conversation; but Love perverts all ones thoughts, and makes us fit Company for none but ones self, for even a Mistriss can scarce dispence with a sighing, whining Lovers Company long, tho' all he says flatters her Pride.

Why dost thou trifle with me, when thou knowest the Violence of my Love?

I wish I could any way divert your Thoughts from her, I would not have your Joy depend on such a fickle Creature.

Mirtilla False? What my Mirtilla False?

Even your Mirtilla's False, and Married to another.

Married! Mirtilla Married? 'Tis impossible.

Nay Married to that Bawling, Drinking Fool, Sir Morgan Blunder .

Married, and Married to Sir Morgan Blunder, a sot, an ill-bred senceless Fool; almost too great a Fool to make a Country Justice?

No doubt, she had her Aims in't, he's a very Convenient Husband I'll assure you, and that suits her Temper: he has Estate and Folly enough, and she has Youth, and wantonness enough to match 'em.

Her choice gives me some Comfort and some Hopes; for I'll persue her, but for Revenge, not Love.

Forget her rather, for she's not worth Revenge, and that way 'twill be none; Prostitute in Soul as Body, she doats even on me in Breeches.

On thee, her Page; doat on thee, a Youth; she knew thee not as Woman.

No, that Secret I have kept to do you Service.—At first she said she lov'd me for your sake, because you recommended me, and when I Sung, or plaid upon my Flute, wou'd kiss my Cheek, and Sigh, and often, (when alone) wou'd send for me, and Smile, and Talk, and set my Hair in Curles, to make me Saucy and Familiar with her. One Day she said, Endimion, thy Name-sake, was thus Caress'd by Cynthia : A Goddess did not scorn the humble Swain, whom by her Love she equall'd to her Deity; she found that I had Sense to understand her, and paid her Advances back with equal Ardour.

Oh! Curse, where learnt she all this wickedness?

But she being oblig'd to go for Flanders, to see her Sister take the Holy Habit, I feign'd a Sickness to be left behind, hoping that Absence might abate her Flame; yet she return'd more Amorous, and fearing the Thefts of Love might wound her Honour, she thought a Husband would secure that shame; and luckily my Aunt arriv'd from Wales, and brought Sir Morgan with her, who Lodging where we did, at Mrs. Manages; My Aunt (that doats on Quality in either Sex) made up this hasty Match, unknown to me, though for my sake.

What will not Faithless Woman do when she is raging.

And now having so well prepar'd the way, she grows impatient for an Opportunity, and thou art Arriv'd most happily to succour me.

No, for some Days keep this Habit on, it may be useful to us, but I must see this Faithless Perjur'd Woman, which I must contrive with Mrs. Manage.

Yet pray resolve to see my Father first; for now's the Critical Time to make thy Fortune; he came to Town last Night, and lodges here at Mrs. Manages, with my Aunt Blunder.

What in the House with thee, and not know thee?

No more than a Priest Compassion; he thinks me at Hackney, making wax Babies, where he intends to visit me within these three days.—But I forgot to tell you, our Brother, Sir Merlin Lodges in this House with you, and shou'd he know you—

'Tis impossible—I've not seen him, or my Father, these five Years. Absence, my Growth, and this unexpected Equipage, will not be penetrated by his Capacity.

True, he'll never look for his Brother George, in the Galantry and Person of Monsieur Lejere—My good Father Expects you Home, like the Prodigal Son, all Torn and Tatter'd, and as Penitent too,

To Plod on here in a Laborious Cheating all my Youth and Vigour, in hopes of drunken Pleasures when I'm old: Or else go with him into Wales, and there lead a thoughtless Life, Hunt, and Drink, and make Love to none but Chambermaids. No, my Olivia, I'le Use the Sprightly Runnings of my Life, and not hope distant Pleasures from its dregs.

For that, use your Discretion; now Equip your self to your present business, the more simply you are clad and look, the better. I'll home, and Expect you.

Do so, my good Sister, a little formal Hipocrisy may do, 'twill relish after Liberty; for a Pleasure is never so well Tasted, as when it's season'd with some opposition.

Enter Briton.

Sir, I've News to tell you, will surprize you, Prince Predrick is Arriv'd.

Is't Possible? I left him going for Flanders.

Passing by our Door, and seeing your Livery, enquir'd for you, and finding you here, alighted just now. But see, Sir, he's here.

Enter Prince Fredrick; they meet and Embrace.

My Life's preserver, welcome to my Arms, as health to sick men.

And thou to mine, as the kind Mistress to the longing Lover; My Soul's Delight, and Darling of the Fair.

Ah! Prince, you touch my bleeding Wound.

Ha! Lejere, leave to unhappy Lovers, those sighs, those folded Arms, and down cast Eyes.

Then they are fit for me: my Mistress, Sir, that Treasure of my Life, for whom you've heard me sigh, is perjur'd, false, and married to another. Yet what is worse, I find my Prince, my Friend, here in my Native Country, and am not able to pay him what his Greatness merits.

You pain me when you compliment my Friendship.

Perhaps you will not think me worth this Honour when you shall hear my Story.

Thou canst say nothing I can value less.

Perhaps too my way of Living has deceiv'd you, being still receiv'd by Princes, as Companions in all their Riots, Loves, and Divertisements, where ev'n you, did me the Honour to Esteem, and call me Friend.

What e're thou art, I'm sure thy Mind's illustrious.

My Family, I must confess, is Honourable; but, Sir, my Father was the Younger House, of which my unhappy self was destin'd to be last: I'm a Cadet, that out-cast of my Family, and born to that Curse of our Old English Custom: Whereas in other Countries, Younger Brothers are train'd up to the Exercise of Arms, where Honour and Renown attend the Brave: we basely bind our Youngest out to Slavery, to Lazy Trades, idly confin'd to Shops or Merchants Books, debasing of the Spirit to the mean Cunning, how to Cheat and Chaffer.

A Custom insupportable.—

To this, to this low wretchedness of Life, your Servant Sir—was destin'd by his Parents, and am yet this Bound Indentur'd Slave.

Thou hast no cause to quarrel with thy Stars, since Vertue is most Vallu'd when Opprest—Are all your Merchants Apprentices, thus Gay.

Not all—But, Sir, I could not bow my mind to this so necessary Drudgery, and yet however, I assum'd my Native Temper, when out o'th' Trading City; in it, I forc'd my Nature to a dull slovenly Gravity, which well enough deceiv'd the busy Block-heads; my Cloaths and Equipage I lodg'd at this End of the Town, where I still pass'd for something better than I was, when e're I Pleas'd to change the Trader for the Gentleman.

And liv'd thus undiscover'd—

With Ease, still Lov'd and Courted by the Great, ever Play'd high with those durst venture most; and durst make Love where're my fancy lik'd, but sometimes running out my Masters Cash, (which was supply'd still by my Father) they sent me, to Reform my Expensive Life, a Factor, into France—still I Essay'd to be a Plodding Thriver, but found my Parts not form'd for Dirty business.

There's not a Thought, an Action of thy Soul, that does not tend to something far more Glorious.

If yet you think me worthy of your Favour, command that Life, you have so oft preserv'd.

No more;—Thou hast encreast my Value for thee.—Oh! take my Heart, and see how't has been us'd by a Fair Charmer, since I saw thee last—that sullen day we Parted, you for England, you may remember, I design'd for Flanders.

I do with Malancholly, Sir, remember it,

Arriv'd at Ghent, I went to see an English Nun Initiated, where I beheld the pretty Innocent, deliver'd up a Victim to Foolish Chastity; but among the Relations, then attending the Sacrifice, was a Fair Sister of the Young Votress, but so surpassing all I'd seen before, that I neglecting the Dull Holy Business, Pay'd my Devotion to that Kneeling Saint.

That was the nearest way to Heaven, my Lord.

Her Face, that had a thousand Charms of Youth, was height'n'd with an Air of Languishment; a lovely Sorrow, dwelt upon her Eyes, that Taught my New-born-Passion Awe and Reverence.

This Description of her, Fires me.—

Her Dimpl'd Mouth, her Neck, her Hand, her Hair, a Majesty, and Grace in every Motion, compleated my Undoing; I rav'd, I burnt, I languish'd with desire, the Holy Place cou'd scarce contain my madness; with Pain, with Torture, I restrain'd my Passion when she retir'd, led sadly from the Alter; I, mixing with the Crowd, enquir'd her Name, and Country; her Servant told me, that she was of Quality, and liv'd in England, nay, in this very Town, this gave me Anguish not to be conceiv'd, till I resolv'd to follow her, which is the cause you find me here so soon: thy Aid, thy Aid, Lejere, or I am lost.

I wish to live no longer, then to serve your Highness, if she be Sir a Maid of Quality, I shall soon find her out, and then you'l easily Conquer.

You've all the Youth, and Beauty, that can Charm, and what gains most upon a womans heart, you've powerful Title Sir, a sort of Philter, that ne'r fails to win. But you've not told me yet the Ladies name.

I had forgot that;—'Tis in these Tablets write: I'm now in hast, going to receive some Bills: I
                                        Gives him the Tablets.
Lodg at Welborns, who came over with me, being sent for to be Marry'd.

I know the House, 'tis in Southampton-Square. I'll wait upon your Highness—

Let me see—Daughter to a Deceas'd Lord, a Maid,
                                        Opening the tablets, reads.
and no Dowry, but Beauty, Living in Lincolns-Inn-Fields,— Ha!—her Name Mirtilla! Mirtilla.

Prince, thou hast paid thy self, for all the Favours done me. Mirtilla! —

Why yes, Mirtilla! He takes but what she has given away already.—

Oh! Damn her, she has broke her Faith, her Vows, and is no longer mine—And thou'rt my Friend.

Mirtilla's but my Mistriss, and has taken all the Repose of my poor Life away—Yes, let him take her, I'll reisign her to him; and therefore shut my Eyes against her Charms; Fix her inconstancy about my Heart, and scorn whatever she can give me.

SCENE II.

A Chamber.

Enter Sir Morgan Blunder in a Night-Gown and Cap; to him Manage with a Candle.

Your Lady mother has sent you a Candle, Sir.

Good Mrs. Manage, remember my kind Love to my Lady mother, and tell her, I thank her for her Posset, but uever eat in a morning after hard drinking over night.

Ah, Sir, but now you're marry'd to a fine Lady, you ought to make much of your self.

Good Madam, as little of your Matrimony as of your Candle; my stomach is plaguy squemish, and a hair of the Old Dog's worth both of 'em. Oh! sick! sick!

Enter Sir Merlin, singing a Song in praise of a Rake-hell's Life.

Why, how now, Sir Morgan, I see you'l make a Husband of the Right Town Mode: What, married but four days, and at your separate Appartment already?

A Plague of your what de call ums.

Rakhells you would say, Cousin, an honourable Appellation for men of Bravery.

Ay, ay, your Rakehells—I was never so mudl'd with Treason. Tierce Claret, Oaths and Dice all the Days of my Life—Was I in case to do Family duty; S'life you drank down all my Love, all my Prudence too; Gad forgive me for it.

Why, how the Devil cam'st thou to bear thy Liquor so ill? Ods my Life, you Drunk like a French man new come to the University;

Pox, I can bear their Drinking as well as any Man, but your London way of Bousing and Politics does not agree with my Constitution; look ye, Cousen, set quietly to't, and I'll stand my Ground, but to have Screaming Whores, Noisy Bullies, Rattling Dice, Swearing and Cursing Gamsters, Cous. turns the Head of a Country Drinker, more than the Wine.

Oh! Use Cousen, will make an able Man.

Use, Cousen, Use me no Uses, for if ever you catch me at your Damn'd Clubs again, I'll give you my Mother for a Maid; why you talk down right Treason.

Treason, ay—

Ah Cousen, why we talk't enough to—, Hang us all.

My Honest Country Couz. when wilt thou understand the Guelphs , and the Gibelins; and learn to talk Treason o' this side the Law? Bilk a Whore, without Remorse, break Windows, and not pay for 'em; Drink your Bottle without asking Questions; Kill your Man without letting him Draw; Play away your Mony, without fear of your Spouse, and stop her Mouth by Undermining her Nose?

Come, come, look you Cousin, one word of Advice now I'm sober; what the Devil should provoke thee and me to put our selves, on our Twelve Godfathers for a Frolick? We who have Estates, I shou'd be loth to leave the World with a scurvy Song, composed by the Poet Sternold .

Enter at the Door Sir Rowland, hearkning.

Gad, Sir Morgan, thou hast sometimes pretty smart Satyrical Touches with thee; Use but Will's Coffee a little, and with thy Estate, and that Talent, thou maist set up for a Wit.

Mercy upon me, Sir Merlin, thou art stark mad: What, I a Wit! I had rather be one of your Rakehells; for, look ye, a man may swear and stare, or so, break Windows, and Drawers Heads, or so; unrig a Needy Whore, and yet keep ones Estate; but shou'd I turn Wit, 'twere impossible; for a Wit with an Estate, is like a Prisoner among the Canibals.

How so, good Sir Morgan?

Why, the Needy Rogues only feed him with praise, to fatten him for their Palates, and then devour him.

I applaud your Choice, Cousin; for what man of Bravery wou'd not prefer a Rake to a Wit? The one enjoys the pleasures, the other can only Rail at; and that not out of Conscience, but Impotence; for alas! a Wit has no quarrel to Vice in perfection, but what the Fox had to the Grapes; He can't play away his Hundred Pound at sight; his Third Day won't afford it; and therefore he Rails at Gamesters, Whores shun him, as much as Noblemen, and for the same cause, mony; Those care not to sell their Carcasses for a Sonnet, nor these to scatter their Guinea's, to be told an Old Tale of a Trib, they were so well acquainted with before.

What's that, Sir Merlin?

Why, their Praise;—For the Poets Flattery seldom reaches the Patron's Vanity; And what's too strong season'd for the rest of the World, is too weak for their Palates.

Why, look ye, Cousin, you're a shrewd Fellow; Whence learn'd you this Satyr; for I'm sure 'tis none of thy own; for I shou'd as soon suspect thee guilty of Good Nature, as Wit.

I scorn it; and therefore I confess I stole the Observation from a Poet; but the Devil pick his Bones for diverting me from the Noble Theam of Rakehells.

Noble Theam, Sir Merlin! look yee, de see: Don't mistake me; I think 'tis a very scurvy one; and I wou'd not have your Father know that you set up for such a Reprobate; for Sir Rowland would certainly disinherit thee.

O keep your musty morals to your self, good Country Couz; They'll do you service to your Welch Criminals, for stealing an Hen, or breaking up a Wenches inclosure, or so, Sir Morgan; but for me, I despise 'em: I have not been admitted into the Family of the Rakehellorums for this, Sir: Let my Father drink Old Adam, read the Pilgrim's Progress, The Country Justices Calling , or for a Regale, drink the dull manufacture or Malt and Water; I defie him; he can't cut off the Entail, of what is setled on me; aud for the rest, I'le trust Dame Fortune; and pray to the Three Fatal Sisters to cut his Rotten Thread in Two, before he thinks of any such Wickedness.

Enter Sir Rowland in a great Rage.

Will you so, Sir? Why how now Sirrah! get you out of my House, Rogue; get out of my Doors, Rascal.

Enter Lady Blunder.

Upon my Honour now, Brother, what's the matter? Whence this Ungenerous Disturbance?

What's the matter? the Disturbance! Why, sister, this Rogue here—this unintelligible graceless Rascal, here, will needs set up for a Rakehell, when there's scarce such a thing in the Nation, above an Ale-draper's Son, and chuses to be awkerdly out of Fashion, meerly for the sake of Tricking and Poverty; and keeps company with the senseless, profane, lazy, idle, Noisie, Groveling Rascals, purely for the sake of spending his Estate like a Notorious Blockhead: But I'le take care he shall not have what I can dispose of: You'l be a Rake-hell, will you?

How Cousin! Sure you'l not be such a filthy beastly thing, will you?

Lord, Aunt, I only go to the Club sometimes, to improve my self in the Art of Living, and the Accomplishments of a fine Gentleman.

A fine Gentleman, Sot, a fine Coxcomb.

Hold, hold, good Unkle, my Cousin has been only drawn in, a little, or so, de see, being Heir to a good Estate; and that's what his Club wants, to pay off Old Tavern Scores, and buy Utensils for Whores in Fashion.

My Estate sold to pay Tavern Scores, and keep Nasty Whores!

Whores! ay filthy creatures; do they deal in Whores? Pray Cousin. what's a Rake-hell?

A Rake-hell is a man that defies Law and good manners, nay and good sense too; hates both Morality and Religion, and that not for any Reason (for he never thinks), but meerly because he don't understand 'em; He's the Whore's protection and punishment, the Bawds Tool, the Sharpers Bubble, the Vintners Property, the Drawers Terror, the Glasiers Benefactor: in short, a Roaring thoughtless, heedless, ridiculous, universal Coxcomb.

O Lord, Aunt, no more like him than an Attorney's like an honest man. Why a Rake-hell is—

What siraah! what you rebel?

Nay, Good Brother, permit my Nephew to tell us his Notion.

Why, Aunt, I say a Rake-hell is your only Man of Beavery; he slights all the Force of Fortune, and sticks at no Hazard—Plays away his hundred pounds at sight, pays a Ladies Bill at sight, drinks his Bottle without Equivocation, and fights his Man without any provocation.

Nay then Mr. Rogue, I'll be sworn thou art none: Come, Sir, will you fight, Sir? will you fight, Sir? Ha!

Fight, Sir! fight Sir?

Yes, fight, Sir: Come, spare your Prayers to the Three Fatal sisters, and cut my Thread thy self, thou Graceless, Reprobate Rascal— Come, come on, you Man of Bravery.

Oh, good Sir, hold; I recant, Sir, I recant.

Well, I'm satisfied thou'lt make no good Rake-hell, in this Point, whatever you will in the others; And since Nature has made thee a Coward, Iuclination a Coxcomb, I'le take care to make thee a Beggar; and so thou shalt be a Rake-hell but in Will. I'le disinherit thee, I will, Villain.

What, disinherit your Eldest Son, Brother?

Ay, Aunt, his very Heir Apparent? Aunt to show you how the Old Gentleman has mis-represented us. Give me leave to present you a Dance.—I provided to Entertain your Son with, in which is represented all the Beauties of our Lives.

Oh! by all means, Cousen, by all means.

What hoa? Roger bring in the Dancers.

Here the Dance, representing Rake-hells Constable watch, &c.

Enter Phillip.

Sir, who do's your Worship think is arriv'd.

My Son George, I hope, come in the Nick.

Even so, Sir, from Paris—

The Prodigal Return'd, then Kill the Fatted Calf?

Enter George Drest like a Prentice.

—My own dear Boy, thou art welcome to my (Kneels) Arms, as e're thy Mother was; for whose dear sake I pardon all thy Follies.

Ay, Sir, I had a Mother too, or I'm bely'd—(weeping) Pox take him that he should come just in the Nick, as the Old Fellow says—

Yes, you had a Mother.

Whom in my Youth I was compel'd to Marry; and Gad, I think, I got thee with as ill a will, but George and my Olivia? In heat of Love, when my desire was New. But hark ye Boy George, you have cost me a damn'd deal of Mony, Surrah; but you shall Marry, and Redeem all George.

What you please, Sir, to study Virtue, Duty, and Allegience, shall be my future business.

Well said George! Here's a Boy now.

Vertue and Allegiance, Lord, Lord, how came so sneaking a fellow to spend Five Thousand Pounds of his Masters Cash?

She's Rich, George, but something homely.

She'll not be Proud then, Sir.

Not much of her Beauty—she's of a good staid Age too, about some fourscore.

Better still, Sir, I shall not fear Cuckoldom.

For that I cannot Answer; but she has two Thousand a year I mean to settle my Family, and then—Marry my self George.

What to this old Ladies Grand-daughter? Methinks she's more fit for your Son, Sir Merlin, and the Old Lady for you.

No, no, the Young Rogues can help themselves with Mistresses; but 'tis well if an old man can keep his Wife to himself—I've invited 'em to Dinner to day, and see, they are come.

Enter Lady Youthly, led by her Chaplin, and leaning on a Staff, and Teresia.

Where's Sir Rowland Marteen? Oh, your Servant, Sir, I am come.

Your Ladyship is mistaken, this is not Sir Rowland, but a Handsome proper Young Man.

A young man! I cry you mercy heartily—young man, I a lighted in the Sun, and am almost Blind.

With wonderous Old Age.

Good lack, Sir Rowland, that I shou'd mistake a young man so!

Ay, Madam, and such a young man too.

Ay, ay, I see him now.

S'death, what a Sepulcher is here, to bury a Husbnnd in? How came she to escape the Flood? for sure she was not born since.

This is the lusty lad, my Son George, I told your Ladyship of.

Cot so, cot so, is it so Sir, I ask your Pardon, Sir. Mr. Twang , take a survey of him, and give me your Opinion of his Person, and his Parts.

Truly Madam, the young Man is of a comly Personage and Lineaments.

Of what Sir—Lord, I have such a Cold.

Which she got when the Pickts went Naked.

Madam, you have a Power over Sir Rowland; Pray intreat him to take his Son, Sir Merlin, into Grace again.

That, Sir, you must grant me, pray let me know the Quarrel.

By Heaven she's Fair as the first Ruddy Streakes of Opening Day. (Looking on Teresia.) Young as the Budding Rose, soft as a Cupid , but never felt his Dart, she is so full of Life and Gayity. Pray, Madam, who is that Lady.

The Grand-Child of your Mistress, and your Mother that must be.

Then I shall Cuckhold my Father, that's certain.

For your sake, Madam, once again I re-establish him in my Family, but the first fault Cashier's him—Come let's in—here my Lady Youthly, take George by the Hand, but have a care of the young Rogue, if he comes once to touch so Brisk a Widow, he sets her Heart on Fire.

Which will burn like a snuff of a Candle. No Body will be able to endure it.

—So Fortune, I see, provides for me.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enter Sir Rowland, Teresia, and Lady Youthly, &c.

Well, Sir Rowland, if I should be inclin'd to cast away my self on your Son George, what wou'd you settle—

Settle, not a souse Madam, he carries the best Younger Brothers Fortune in Christendom about him.

Why, the Young Man's deserving, I confess. But he's your Sun, Sir Rowland, and something ought to be settled upon the Heirs of our Bodies, Lawfully begotten.

All Hercules his Labours, were a Jigg to his that shall beget 'em.

If you like him upon these terms, to make him Master of your Fortune—

For that, let him trust to me, and his own deservings.

No trusting in these Fickle Times, Madam—Why, I'll let the young sturdy Rogue out to Hire; he'll make a pretty Lively-hood at Journey-work; and shall a Master-Workman, a Husband deserve nothing?

Ay, these Husbands that know their own Strength, as they say, set so high a Value on their Conjugal Vertues—And if he be Disloyal again a t'other side he gives a Wife so ill an Example—for we are all Lyable to Temptations.

Well said, if thou beest so, it must be the Old Tempter himself.

(aside.)

(Alone.) Look ye, Madam, I'll propose a fair Swap, if you'll consent that I shall marry Teresia, I'll consent that you shall Marry George.

How, my Grand-daughter? Why, I design'd her for your Eldest Son, Sir Merlin; and she has a good Fortune of Five Hundred a year that I cannot hinder her of; and is too young for you.

So is George for your Ladiship; and as for his Fortune, 'tis more than likely, I shall make him my Eldest Son.

Say you so, Sir; well, I'll consider, and take Advice of my Friends.

Consider, alas, Madam, my House will be Besieg'd by all the Widows in Town; I shall get more by shewing him, than the Rhinoceros. Gad, I'll sell the young Rogue by Inch of Candle, before he's Debauch't and Spoil'd in this lew'd Town.

Well, suppose—

Nothing under Teresia—Gad, I think some old Dog-Star Reigns to Day, that so many old Heats are burning in their Sockets— I'm in Love with this young Tittymouse here, most damnably—Well what say you Widow? Speak now, or you know the Proverb.

Well, Sir Rowland you are too hard for me.

Exeunt all but Teresia.

Enter Olivia, Runs to her and Embraces her.

'Tis as you said, Olivia, I am destin'd to your Father.

What, the Sentence is past then?

Ay, but the Devil is in us, if we stay till Execution Day: Why this is worse than being mew'd up at Hackney-School—My Fortune's my own, without my Grandmother, and with that Stock, I'll set up for my self, and see what Traffick this wide World affords a young beginner.

That's well resolv'd; I am of the same mind, rather than Marry Mr. Wellborn, whom I never saw.—But prethee let's see what we have in Stock, besides Ready Mony—What Toys and Knick-nacks to invite.

Faith my Inventory is but small—Let me see—First, one Pretty well made Machin, call'd a Body, of a very good Motion, fit for several uses—one Pretty Conceited Head-Peice, that will fit any bodies Coxcomb, —when 'tis Grave and Dull, will fit an Alderman, when Politick and busy, a States-man; turn it to intreigue, will fit a City Wife, and to invention, itwill set up an Evidence.

Very well!

Item, one Tongue that will prattle Love, if you put the Heart in time (for they are Commodities I resolve shall go together) I have Youth enough to Please a Lover, and Wit enough to please my self.

Most Excellent Trifles all! As for my out-side, I leave to the Discretion of the Chafferer; but I have a rare Devise, call'd an Invention, that can do many Feats; a Courage that wou'd stock a Coward; and a pretty Implyment, call'd a Heart, that will strike Fire with any convenient force; I have Eight thousand Pounds to let out on any able Security, but not a Groat, unless I like the Man.

Thus Furnish'd, we shall ruin all the Jews, and undo the Indian Houses—but where shall we show? Where meet with the Love Merchants?

What think you of the Gallery at the Play in Masks?

Shu, a state Trick, first taken up by Women of Quality, and now run into Ridicule, by all the little Common Devils of the Town, and is only a Trap for a Termer, a small new rais'd Officer, or a City Cully, where they Baul out their Eighteen Pence in Bawdy, and Filthy Non-sense, to the Disturbance of the whole House, and the King's Peace, the Men of Quality have forsaken it.

What think you of the Mall?

As too Publick to end an Intreague; our Affairs require a Conquest as suddain as that of Cæsar, who came, saw and overcame.

'Tis true, besides there's so many Cruisers, we shall never Board a Prize. What think you of the Church?

An Hippocritical shift, of all masks I hate that of Religion; and it shou'd be the last place I'de wish to meet a Lover in, unless to Marry him.

And Faith that's the last thing a Lover shou'd do, but we are compell'd to hast, 'tis our last Refuge if we cou'd but see; and like our men, the business were soon dispatcht.—Let me see—Faith e'n put on Breeches too, and thus disguis'd, seek our Fortune—I am within these three days to be fetch'd from Hackney School, where my Father believes me still to be, and thou in that time to be Marry'd to the old Gentleman; Faith resolve— and let's in and Dress thee—away, here's my Lady—

SCENE II.

Enter Mirtilla and Mrs. Manage.

Ah, let me have that Song again.

Not see him, Madam—I protest he's Handsomer, and Handsomer, Paris has giv'n him such an Air:—Lord, he's all over Monsieur—Not see him, Madam,—Why? I hope you do not, like the Foolish sort of Wives, design a strict Obedience to your Husband.

Away, a Husband!—when absence, that sure Remedy of Love, had heal'd the Bleeding Wound Lejere had made, by Heaven I thought I ne're shou'd Love again—but since—Endimion has Inspir'd my Soul, and for that Youth I burn, I pine, I languish.

Enter George richly drest, stands at a distance gazing on Mirtilla.

See, Madam—there's an Object may put out that Flame, and may revive the Old one—

Shame, and confusion,—Lejere. (turns and walks away.

Yonder she is, That Mien and Shape I know, tho the False Face be turn'd with shame away.

—S'death,—I tremble! Yet came well fortified with Pride and Anger! I see thou'st in thy Eyes a little Modesty.
                                        (goes to her nearer.)
That wou'd conceal the Treasons of thy Heart.

Perhaps it is their scorn that you mistake.

It may be so, she that sets up for Jilting, shou'd go on, 'Twere mean to find remorse, so young, and soon; Oh, this gay Town has Gloriously improv'd you amongst the rest; that taught you Perjury.

I was a Lover then, shou'd Heav'n concern its self with Lover's Perjuries, 'twou'd find no leisure to preserve the Universe.

And was the Woman so strong in thee, thou could'st not wait a little? Were you so raving mad for Fool and Husband, you must take up with the next ready Coxcomb? Death, and the Devil, a dull Clumsey Boar!—What was it charm'd you? The Beastly Quantity of Man about him.

Faith a much better thing, five thousand Pounds a Year, his Coach and Six, it shews well in the Park.

Did I want Coach, or Equipage, and shew?

But stil there wanted Fool, and Fortune to't; He does not Play at the Groom Porters for it; Nor do the Drudgery of some worn out Lady.

If I did this, thou had'st the spoils of all my Nation's Conquests; while all the whole World was wond'ring whence it came, for Heav'n had left thee Nothing but thy Beauty, that dear Reward of my Indust'rious Love.

I do confess—

Till time had made me Certain of a Fortune, which now was hasting on.— And is that store of Love and wond'rous Joys I had been hoarding up so many tender Hours, all lavish't on a Brute, who never Lusted 'bove my Ladie's Woman; for Love he understands no more than sense.

Prethee Reproach me on—

'S Death, I cou'd rave! Is this soft tender Bosom to be prest by such a Load of Fool? Damnation on thee—Where got'st thou this Course Appetite? Take back the Powers, those Charms she's sworn Adorn'd me, since a dull, Fat-Fac'd, noisy, Taudry Block-head, can serve her turn as well.

You shall not go away with that Opinion of me.—

Oh, that false Tongue can now no more deceive—Art thou not Marry'd? Tell me that false Charmer.

Yes.—

Curse on that word; wou'd thou had'st never learnt it—it gave thy Heart, and my Repose away.

Dost think I Marry'd with that dull design? Canst thou believe I gave my Heart away, because I gave my Hand?—Fond Ceremony that— A necessary trick, devis'd by wary Age, to Traffic 'twixt a Portion, and a Jointure; him whom I Lov'd is Marry'd to my Soul.

Art thou then mine? And wilt thou make Attonement, by such a Charming way?—Come to my Clasping Arms.

Enter Lady Blunder at the Door. Sees 'em, and offers to go out again.

Oh, Heavens! How rude am I?—Cry Mercy, Madam, I protest I thought you'd been alone.

'S Death! my Aunt Blunder!

Only this Gentleman, Madam.—

Sir, I beg your Pardon—and am really sorry.—

That you find me with your Daughter, Madam.

I hope you take me to be better Breed, Sir: Nor had I interrupted you, but for an Accident that has happen'd to Sir Morgan, coming out of the City in a Beastly Hackney, he was turn'd over in Cheap-side, and Striking the filthy Coach-man, the nasty Mobb came out, and had almost Kill'd him, but for a young Gentleman, a stranger, that came to his Rescue, and whom he has Brought to Kiss your Ladyship's Hands— But I'll Instruct him in his Duty, he shall wait till your Ladyship is more at Leisure—alas! He's already on the Stairs.

Let him wait there—Lejere, 'Tis necessary you dapart, sure of my Heart, you cannot fear the rest; the Night is hast'ing on; Trust me but some few Hours, and then Lejere I'll pay you back with int'rest.

All blessings light on thee. But will your Lady Mother make no Discovery of my being here.

She'd sooner Pump for me, and believe it a part of good Breeding. —away, I hear 'em coming.

Enter Lady Blunder Peeping.

He's gone—Sir Morgan, you may approach.

Enter Sir Morgan, Pulling in the Prince, Sir Merlin, and a Page to the Prince.

Nay, as Gat shall save me, Sir, you shall see my Lady, or so, d'ye see, and receive the Thanks of the House.

As Gat shall save me, Sir, I am sorry for it—another time, Sir, I have earnest business. Now, I am sure nothing worth seeing can belong to this litter of Fools.

My Daughter is a Person of Quality, I assure you, Sir.

I doubt it not Madam—if she be of the same piece—Send me a fair deliverance.
                    (Sir Morgan leads him to Mirtilla he starts.)
—Ha! What bright Vision's that?

Heav'n! 'Tis the lovely Prince I saw in Flanders.

Look how he stares—why, what the Devil ails he?

To her, Sir, or so d'ye see, what a Pox are you afraid of her?

He's in Admiration of her Beauty, Child.

By Heav'n the very Woman I Adore!

How d'ye, see Sir, how de ye, ha, ha, ha?

I cannot be mistaken; For Heav'n made nothing but Young Angels like her!

Lookee Page, is your Master in his right Wits.

Sure he's in Love, and Lov's a devilish thing.

Sa, ho, ho, ho, where are you Sir, where are you?

In Heav'n! (Puts him away.) Oh! do not rouze me from this Charming Slumber, lest I shou'd wake, and find it but a Dream.

A plaguy dull fellow this, that can sleep in so good Company as we are.

Dream—A Fiddle-stick; to her, man, to her, and Kiss her soundly, or so, d'ye see.

I, I, Kiss her, Sir, Kiss her—ha, ha, ha, he's very simple.

Kiss her,—there's universal Ruin in her Lips.

I never knew 'em guilty of such mischiefs.

No, I'll be sworn, I have Kist 'em twenty times, and never did me harm.

Thou Kiss those lips? impossible, and false; they ne're were prest but by soft Southern Winds.

Southern Winds—ha, ha, lookee d'ye see boy, thy Master's mad, or so, d'ye see—why, what a Pox, d'ye think I never Kiss my Wife, or so d' see.

Thy Wife!—

He will betray his Passion to these Fools: Alas, he's mad—and will undo my Hopes.

Thou may'st as well claim Kindred to the Gods; she's mine, a Kingdom shall not buy her from me.

Hay day, my Wife yours! lookee, as d'ye see, what is it Midsummer-moon with you, Sir, or so, d'ye see?

In pitty give him way, he's madder than a Storm.

Thou know'st thou art, and thy dear Eyes confess it—a numerous Train attended our Nuptials, Witness the Priest, witness the Sacred Altar where we kneel'd—when the blest silent Ceremony was perform'd

Alas! he's mad, past all recovery mad.

Mad, say, poor Soul—Friend, how long has your Master been thus Intoxicated?

He's mad indeed to make this Discovery. (aside) Alas, Sir, he's thus as often as he sees a Beautiful Lady, since he lost a Mistress, who Dy'd in Flanders to whom he was Contracted.

Good lack—ay, ay, he's distracted, it seems.

See how he Kneels to her, stand off, and do but mind him.

Rise, Sir,—you'l ruin me—dissemble if you Love—or you can ne'er be happy.

My Transport is too high for a disguise—give me some hope, promise me some Relief, or at your Feet I'll pierce a Wounded Heart.

Rise, and hope for all you wish: Alas, he Faints—

Hold him fast, Madam, between your Arms, and he'll recover presently. Stand all away.—

Oh! tell me, wilt thou bless my Youth and Love? Oh! Swear, lest thou should'st break—for Women won'd be Gods, but for inconstancy.

See, he begins to come to himself again—keep off—

You have a thousand Charms that may secure you—The Ceremony of my Nuptials is e'ry ev'ning Celebrated, the noise of which, draws all the Town together, be here in Masquerade, and I'll tontrive it so, that you shall speak with me this Night alone.

So, now let my Soul take Air—

What pitty 'tis so fine a Gentleman shou'd be thus.

You must be bringing home your Fops to me, and see what comes of it.

Fops, I thought him no more a Fop, than I do my own Natural Cousen here

Where am I?

Why, here, Sir, here, at Sir M. Blun. Lodging in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.

That's well, he has told me—Where have I been this long half hour, and more?

Nay, the Lord Knows?

I fancy'd I saw a lovely Woman.

Fancy'd—why so you did man, my Lady Mirtilla Blunder.

Methought, I slept upon her snowy Bosom, and dream't I was in Heav'n, where I claim'd her.

Good lack aday—why, so you did, Sir, ha, ha, ha.

And rav'd on Love; and talk'd abundance of Non-sence.

Ha, ha, ha, by my Troth, and so you did, Sir.

I ask your Pardon, Sir, 'tis an infirmity I have that ever takes me at the Approach of a Fine Woman, which made me so unwilling to see your Lady.

Lookee, I ask your Pardon heartily, or so, d' ye see—and am sorry you are not in a Condition to Visit her often.

I shall be better when I'm us'd to her; 'tis the first time only affects me.

Pray, Sir, be Pleas'd to use your self to her, or so, d' ye see— she's a civil person, and a Person of Quality before I marry'd her, d' ye see.

My Son tells you Truth, Sir.

Madam, I doubt it not, pray beg her Pardon, and do you give me yours.

A most Accomplisht Person—

SCENE. III.

Enter Olivia and Teresia, in Men's Cloaths.

Well, the Ball do's not begin these three Hours, and we'll divert our selves at my Aunt's Bassett-Table, which you see is Preparing, her Natural Propensity to oblige both Sexes makes her keep a Bank on purpose to bring 'em together. There we shall see the Old and the Young, the Ugly, and the Handsome, Fools that have Mony, and Wits that have none; and if the Table afford us nothing to please the Appetite, we'll abroad for Forage.

Enter Sir Merlin pulling in George, follow'd by Sir Morgan, Page and Footmen to George.

Nay, Sir, I am resolv'd you shall Honour my Aunt's Basset-Table —

My Aunt's Basset-Table; There may be mony Stirring among these Fools, and Fortune may befriend me.

Sir Morgan, Pray know this worthy Gentleman, I have the Honour to lodge in the House with him.

Sir, This is Sir Morgan Blunder, a Person of Quality in Wales, I assure you.

I question it not, Sir, and am proud of the Honour of Kissing your Hands.

Yonder's a handsom Gentleman.

My Brother George, as I live, 'tis as I cou'd wish.

Enter Welborn.

Lejere.

Welborn! Welcome from Paris, I heard of your Arrival from Prince Fredrick.

Yes, I am come to my Destruction, Friend.

Ay, thour't to be Marry'd, I hear to a Welch Fortune.

Tho Matrimony be a sufficient Curse, yet that's not the worst— I am fall'n most damnably in Love, since I arriv'd, with a young Creature I saw in the Mall t'other Night, of Quality she was, I dare swear, by all that was about her, but such a Shape! a Face! a Wit! a Mind, as in a moment quite subdu'd my Heart; she had another Lady with her, whom (dogging her Coach) I found to be a Neighbour of mine, and Grand-Daughter to the Lady Youthly, but who my Conqueror was I never since could learn.

'Slife, Teresia, yonder's the Handsome Fellow that entertain'd us with so much Wit, on Thursday last in the Mall .

What, when you Chang'd your Breeches for Petticoats at my Lodgings.

That Night, and ever since, I have felt a sort of a Tendre for him.

As I do for his Friend—Pray Heav'n he be not Marry'd! I fear he has lay'd an Imbargo on my Heart, before it puts out of the Port.

Are you not for the Basset?

No, I've business at the Ball to Night, besides my Lady Blunder has a Quarrel to me for last Night's Debauch; I'll wait on you in the Morning.

Well, you to your Business, and I to mine.—

Dialogue in the Masque, at the beginning of the third Act.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Enter Olivia as a Man, Teresia in Masquerade; the Scene opens, and discovers Lady Youthly, Lady Blunder, Mirtilla, Manage, Prince Frederick in a Rich Habit, Welborn in one like his, with a Cloak over him, stands aside, and several others of both Sexes.

Oh, my dear Teresia, I'm lost in Love! I've seen a Man,—or rather 'tis Angel! so gay, so soft, so charming, and so witty; so dress'd! so shap'd! and Danc'd with such an Air!

Hey day! Prithee where's this Wonder to be seen?

Why dost thou ask? Hast thou not seen a man of Dress, and Movement of uncommon Fashion?

A great many, very odd, and Fantastick, I'm sure my dear Man is none of 'em.

Thy Heart when fir'd burns easily, and soft, but I am all impatient, darts, and flames, all the effects of Love are panting in my Heart, yet never saw his Face; but see, he comes, and I must find a way to let him know the mischiefs he has done.

Endimion, where's Sir Morgan?

At his usual Diversion, Madam, Drinking.

Do you wait near me to Night, I may perhaps have kinder business for you e'er the morning.

You heap too many Blessings on me, Madam.

Oh, turn thy lovely Eyes upon thy Slave, that waits and watches for a tender look.

Oh, Sir, why do you press a yielding heart too much, undone by what you've said already.

Those soft Addresses must be those of Love.

My Honour was in danger when I promis'd—and yet I blush to tell you I was pleas'd, and blest the dear necessity that forc'd me.

Ha! 'tis the man I love—and Courts Mirtilla, and she receives him with inviting looks. 'Sdeath, she's a common Lover! already I'm arriv'd to Jealousie!

Enter George in Masquerade, with a Paper on his Back and Breast, goes to Mirtilla, sees one Courting her.

What gilded thing is that?—I must disturb 'em— 'Tis I, Mirtilla, languishing for the appointed Happiness, while you, perhaps, are taken up with different thoughts—

Lejere! How very feeble do Old Lovers Charm! Only the New and gay have pow'r to warm—How shall I put him off? For now my Ambitious Love declares for Frederick; 'tis great to enslave a Prince. —Lejere—wait till I give the word—perhaps it may be late—go mix your self i'th' Crowd, you may be else suspected—

I have a shrewd guess that this shou'd be my man by his shape, and mein. (Looking round about George.) Let me see—What's this written on his back?—To be Lett Ready Furnish'd—(Reading it.) A very good hearing, So ho, ho, ho, who's within here?

Who's there?

Love and Fortune.

Two very good Friends of mine, prithee who art thou that bring'st 'em?

A wandring Nymph, that has had a swinging Character of your Person and Parts—if thou be'st the man, prithee dear Stranger, let me see thy Face, and if I'm not mistaken, 'tis ten to one, but we may go near to strike up some odd Bargain or other.

And I am as likely a Fellow, for some odd Bargain or other, as ever you met with—Look ye, am I the man?

Let me see—A very handsome Face, inclining to round, fine wanton Eyes, with a Plaguy Roguish Lear, plump, round, red Lips, not tall, nor low, and extreamly well fashion'd. (Reads all this in her Tablets.)—Ay, ay, you are the man—

I am glad on't, and prithee dear Creature, let me see if thou art not the Woman—

Heav'n! what Woman, Sir?

Why, any Woman that's Pretty, Witty, Young, and Good-natur'd.

I had rather shew any thing almost than my Face.

Faith, and that's kind; but every thing in its due time: I love to arrive at Happiness by degrees, there's as much Pleasure in the Journey of Love, as in the Arrival to't, and the first Stage is a handsom Face.

Where you Bait a while, take a short Survey, and away.

To wit, and good Humour; where a man finds Pleasure enough to engage him a long while.

Then to all the small Villages, call'd little Freedoms, Kissing, Playing, Fooling, Sighing, Dying—and so on to the last Stage, where Whip and Spur laid by, all tir'd and dull, you lazily lye down and sleep.

No, I'm a more vigorous Lover: And since in the Country of True Love, there remains a Terra Incognita, I shall always be making new Discoveries.

True Love! Is there such a thing in the whole Map of Nature?

Yes, I once discover'd it in my Voyage round the World.

Sure 'tis some Enchanted place, and vanishes as soon as 'tis approach'd.

Enter Sir Rowland.

Faith, let's set out for it, and try; if we lose our Labour, we shall, like Searchers for the Philosophers Stone, find something that will recompence our pains.—
                                        [Lady Youthly sees her, and sends her Woman to take her from him.
Ha, gone—I must not part so with you—I'll have you in my Eye.

This Night gives you an Assignation—I tremble at the thought— Ah, why will you pursue me thus to Ruine? Why with resistless Charms invade my Heart, that cannot stand their Force—alone—without my Woman —the Enterprize with you wou'd be too dangerous.

Dangerous to be ador'd! and at your Feet behold your Slave making Eternal Vows?

If I were sure that you wou'd pass no further.—

Let the fond God of Love be my Security—will you not trust a Deity?

Whom should she trust, that dares not trust her self?

That is some Lover, whom I must observe.

Alas, the Foe's within that will betray me, Ambition, and our Sexes Vanity—Sir, you must prevail—

And in return, for ever take my Soul.

Anon I'll feign an illness, and retire to my Apartment, whither this Faithful Friend shall bring you, Sir.

Hum!—that looks like some Love Bargain, and Manage call'd to Witness. By Heav'n, gay Sir, I'll watch you.

But heark ye, my Fellow-Adventurer, are you not marry'd?

Marry'd—that's a Bug word—prithee if thou hast any such Design, keep on thy Mask, lest I be tempted to Wickedness.

Nay, truth is, 'tis a thousand pity's to spoil a handsom man, to make a dull Husband of: I have known an Old Batter'd Bully of Seventy, unmarry'd, more agreeable for a Gallant, than any scurvy, out-of-Humour'd Husband at Eight and Twenty.

Gad, a thousand times.

Know, I have Five Hundred Pounds a Year.

Good.

And the Devil and all of Expectations from an Old Woman.

Very good.

And this Youth, and little Beauty to lay out in love.

Teresia! the lovely Maid design'd for my Mother, now, what a Dog am I? that gives me the greater Gust to her, and wou'd fain Cuckold my Father.

[Mirtilla seems to faint.]

My Lady faints—help, help.

Only the heat Oppresses me—but let it not disturb the Company, I'll take the Air a little, and return.

Is this design'd, or real—perhaps she is retir'd for me—Mis. Manage—

Ha! Monsieur Lejere! what shall I feign to put him off withal.

Why dost thou start? How do's my dear Mirtilla?

Reposing, Sir, a while, but anon I'll wait on her for your admittance.

Ha, she spoke in passing by that gay thing—What means it, but I'll trace the Mystery.

The young People are Lazy, and here's nothing but gaping and peeping in one anothers Vizards; come, Madam, let you and I shame 'em into Action.

After the Dance, enter Olivia with a Letter.

Olivia gives Welborn the Letter.

Ha! what's this, Sir, a Challenge?

A Soft One, Sir.

A Billet—whoe'er the Lady be. (Reads.) She merits something for but believing I am worth her Mirth.

I know not, Sir, how great a Jest you may make of it; but I assure you the Lady is in earnest, and if you be at leisure to hear Reason from her.—

Fair and softly, my Dear Love Messenger, I am for no hasty Bargains; not but I shou'd be glad to hear Reason from any of the Sex— But I have been so damnably Jilted—Is she of Quality?

Yes.

Then I'll not hear any thing from her; they are troublesome, and insolent; and if she have a Husband, to hide her Intriegues she has recourse to all the little Arts and Cunnings of her Sex; and she that jilts her Husband, will her Lover.

She is not troubled with a Husband, Sir.

What, she's parted from the Fool; then she's Expensive, and for want of Alimony, jilts all the believing Block-heads that she meets with.

But this is a Maid, Sir.

Worse still! At every turn she's raving on her Honour; then if she have a Kinsman, or a Brother, I must be Challeng'd.

Sir, you mistake, my Lady is for Matrimony.

How!

You have not forsworn it, I hope.

Not so—but—

If a Lady, Young and Handsom, and Ten Thousand Pounds—

Nay, I am not positive—

Enter Sir Morgan, and Sir Merlin, Drunk, Singing.

Where is my Lady Mirtilla, Rogues?

And my Mistress, Rascals? For we are resolv'd to shew our selves in Triumph to our Wives and Mistresses.

Your Mistress, Sir Merlin? mistake not your Mark.

Ha! Art thou there, old Cathedral? Why thou look'st as magnificently as Old Queen Bess in the Westminster-Cupboard.

Lookee as de see, when Adam wore a Beard, she was in her Prime, or so, de see. (Sings.)

Sir, you are a saucy Jack, and your Father shall correct you.

My Father! my Father's an old Tost, de see; and I hope to see him hang'd.

Here's a Heathen-Christian! see his Father hang'd!

Ay hang'd, and all the old Fathers in Christendom. Why, what-a-Pox shou'd Fathers trouble the World for? When I come to Reign in Parliament, I will enact it Felony, for any Father to have so little Grace to live, that has a Son at Years of Discretion.

A damn'd Rogue, I'll disinherit him immediately.

Is it so great a Crime, Brother, for a Gentleman to be Drunk?

You Lye like a Son of a Whore—I have been drinking Confusion to all the Fathers and Husbands in England.

How, Sir, Confusion to Husbands! Lookee de see, Sir, swallow me that Word, or I'll make you deposite all the conjugal Wine you have drunk.

I deposite all your Wine! Sirrah, you're a Blunderbuss.

Sirrah! you are a diminitive Bully.

Sirrah! you're the Whore of Babylon, and I defie you.

Lookee de see, I scorn to draw upon a drunken Man, or so, I being sober; but I boldly challenge you into the Cellar, where thou shalt drink till thou renounce thy Character, or talk Treason enough to hang thee, and that's fair and civil.

Agreed; and when I'm drunk enough to ravish, I'll Cuckold my old Dad, and fight him for his Mistress.

I have no Patience; I'll kill the Dog, because I'll have the Law on my side—Come on, Sir.

(Sir Merlin draws) George runs in and parts 'em.

Villain! Rascal! What, draw upon thy Father!

Pray, Sir, who are you? that I may thank you for my Life.

One, Sir, whose Duty 'twas.

What, my dear George!—I'll go and cut off the Intail of my Estate presently, and thou shalt have it all, Boy, thou shalt—

Fortune is still my Friend! Had but Mirtilla been so! I wonder that she sends not to me! My Love's impatient, and I cannot wait—while the dull Sot is boozing with his Brother-Fools in the Cellar. I'll softly to the Chamber of my Love—Perhaps she waits me there—

SCENE II.

A Chamber, and Alcove, discovers Mirtilla, and Prince Frederick.

Oh! I am ravish'd with excess of Joy.

Enough, my charming Prince! Oh, you have said enough!

Never, my Mirtilla!

The Sun that views the World, nor the bright Moon, that favours Lovers Stealths, shall ever see that Hour. Vast, as thy Beauties, are my young Desires; and every new Possession kindles new Flames, soft as thy Eyes, soft as thy tender Touches, and, e'er the Pantings of my Heart are laid, new Transports, from new Wishes, dance about it, and still remains in Love's Harmonious Order.

Enter George, softly.

This House I know, and this should be her Bed-Chamber, because the Best; and yet methought I heard another Voice—but I may be mistaken.

I faint with Pleasure of each tender Clasp: I sigh, and languish, gazing on thy Eyes; and dye upon thy Lips, with every Kiss!

Surely I know that Voice! Torments, and Hell!—but 'tis impossible?

Oh! satisfie my Doubt, my trembling Doubt! Am I belov'd? Have I about me ought engaging to Thee, Charmer of my Soul?

It is the Prince.

Ah, Prince! Can you such needless Questions ask, after the Sacrifice which I have made.

Hell take thee for that Falshood.

Think not the mighty Present of your Jewels, enough to purchase Provinces, has bought one single Sigh, or Wish: No, my dear Prince, you owe 'em all to Love, and your own Charms.

Oh damn'd, dissembling Jilt!

No more, no more, my Soul's opprest with Joy: let me unload it in thy tender Arms, and sigh it out into thy ravishing Bosom.

Death, and Damnation!—

I shall forget his Quality, and Virtue, forget he was my Friend, or sav'd this Life; and like a River, swell'd with angry Tydes, o'erflow those Banks that made the Stream so gay.

Who's there?—I heard a Voice—Manage?

Yes.

Approach thou Confident of all my Joys; approach, and be Rewarded —(Prince takes his Jewel from his Hat.)

Yes, for my excellent Bawding—By Heav'n I dare not touch his Princely Person.

Where art thou? take this Jewel, and retire.

Ev'n my Misfortunes have a sort of Luck; but I'll withdraw, for fear this Devil about me, shou'd raise my too rash Hand against his Life.

Come, my eternal Pleasure—each Moment of the happy Lover's Hour, is worth an Age of dull, and common Life.

SCENE III.

A Garden, by Night Still.

Enter George with his Sword in his Hand, as before.

Why do I vainly call for Vengeance down, and have it in my Hand? —By Heav'n, I'll back—Whether? To kill a Woman, a young perjur'd Woman!—Oh, ye false Fair Ones! shou'd we do you Justice, A universal Ruin wou'd ensue; Not One wou'd live to stock the World anew. Who is't among ye All, ye Fair Deceivers, ye Charming Mischiefs to the Noble Race, can swear she's Innocent, without Damnation? No, no, go on—be false—be fickle still: You act but Nature—but my faithless Friend—where I repose the Secrets of my Soul—except this one—Alas! he knew not this:—Why do I blame him then?

Enter Olivia, dress'd as before.

Fire! Fire! Fire!

Olivia's Voice!—Ha! what art thou? Thy Voice shou'd be Olivia's, but thy Shape—And yet a Woman is all o'er Disguise.

Enter Lady Blunder in her Night-Gown.

Fire! Fire! Fire! My Son, my dear Sir Morgan.

Enter Sir Rowland, and Servants.

A Pox on your Son, and mine to boot; they have set all the Sack-Butts a Flaming in the Cellar, thence the Mischief began. Timothy, Roger, Jeffrey, my Money-Trunks, ye Rogues! my Money-Trunks!

My Son, good Roger! my own Sir Moggy!

The Ten thousand Pounds, ye Rascal, in the Iron Trunk, that was to be paid Mr. Welborn for Olivia's Portion.

Oh my Son! my Son!—Run to the Parson, Sam, and let him send the Church-Buckets. Oh, some help! some help!

Enter Manage.

Oh, Heavens! my Lady Mirtilla's Chamber's all on Flame.

Enter Britton.

Ha,—the Prince! I had forgot his Danger.

Ah! look up, and see how it burns!

Britton, a Million for a Ladder!

Blessing on you, Sir, if you dare venture through the House; there lies one in the Fore Garden.

The Passage is on fire, Sir, you cannot go.

Revenge is vanish'd, and Love takes its place: Soft Love, and mightier Friendship seizes all. I'll save him, tho' I perish in the Attempt.

Enter, at another Door, Sir Rowland.

A Thousand Pound for him that saves Sir Morgan.

And, de ye hear, let my Rogue lie; I'd rather he should be burnt, than hang'd on Tyburn Road, for murthering his Father.—But where's Boy George?

Enter Men with Trunks.

Safe, Sir, I hope; he was not in the House.

So, so, away with these Trunks to my Lady Youthly's in Southampton-Square, and tell her we must trouble her to Night. Come, Sister, let's away.

Prince Frederick, and Mirtilla, appear at the Window, the Flame behind 'em.

Help, help, and save Mirtilla! Ask any Price, my Life, my Fortune! All!

Oh, Heav'ns! the Flame pursues us as we fly.

No help! Oh Gods, I shall prevent the Flame, and perish by my Fears to see you dye!

Alas! Sir, you with ease may save your Life! This Window you may leap, but I want Courage.

No, my Mirtilla, if it be thy Fate, I'll grasp thee, ev'n in Flames, and dye with thee.

We dye! we dye! the Flame takes hold of us!

Enter George with a Ladder, and puts it to the Window.

Ha! some pitying God takes Care of us. Hast, hast, my Charmer; Heav'n has sent us Aid.

Lejere! dear Man of Luck—Some happy Star reign'd at thy glorious Birth; every thing is prosperous thou espousest.—How fares my Love, the Treasure of my Soul?

Only fainting with the Fright, but she recovers.

My Chair there, quickly, that waits for me.—

Enter Olivia.

Carry 'em to Mr. Welborn's, to my Lodgings there, and then return to me; for I am wondrous faint, and cannot walk.

Ha! by my Life, my Man!

But if I might impose so much Lejere upon thy Friendship, I beg thou wouldst see her safely carry'd to my Lodgings at Welborn's.

You shall Command me, Sir.

You seem not well, Sir; pray repose upon my Arm a while.

I thank you, Sir, indeed I am not well.

Methinks I find a Pleasure but in touching him—Wou'd I cou'd see his Face by all this fatal Light.

Enter Constable and Watch.

So, so, the Fire abates, the Engines play'd rarely; and we have Ten Guinea's here, Neighbours, to watch about the House; for where there's Fire, there's Rogues—Hum, who have we here?—How now, Mr.—Hum, what have you got under your Arm there, ha? Take away this Box of Jewels.

(Sir Morgan, and Sir Merlin, creeping out of the Cellar Window.)

Ha, who have we here creeping out of the Cellar-Window? more Rogues!

Sirrah! you're a Bawd, Sirrah! and for a Tester will wink at the Vices of the Nation, Sirrah! Call Men of the best Quality, Rogues! that have stood for Knights of the Shire, and made the Mobile drunk Sirrah!

We cry you Mercy, Sir, we did not know your Worships.

Lookee de see, here's a Crown for you; carry us to the next Tavern, and we'll make thee, and all thy Mirmidons, as drunk as a Boat in a Storm.

Sir, I find you have Interest with these Arbitrary Tyrants of the Parish; Pray will you bail me, and this Gentleman?

What, Endimion! my Lady Mirtilla's Page? He lent me Money to Night at the Basset-Table; I'll be bound Hand and Foot for him, Mr. Constable, and gad we'll all to the Tavern, and drink up the Sun, Boys.

Yonder Gentleman too has receiv'd some Hurt by the Fire, and must go Home, Sir; but you must restore him the Box, Mr. Constable.

Ay, ay, lookee de see, return the Gentleman all; they're Gentlemen and our intimate Friends, de see.

Enter a Servant.

Stand: Who goes there?

Philip—Lookee de see, he shall along with us to the Tavern.

Sir Morgan, I came to seek you: Your Lady Mother sent me back on purpose; she has spoil'd her Beauty with crying for you.

And wash'd off all her Paint?—Or so de see! Gad sa' me, Philip , this is ill Luck. Come let us go drink down Sorrow.

Being sent of such an Errand, as your Safety, Sir, I dare not stay and drink now, before I've satisfy'd your Mother.

Not drink! I charge you, in the King's Name, Mr. Constable, bring him along.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Enter Page with Lights.

Enter Mirtilla led by Mrs. Manage.

Ha! where am I, Manage?

Heav'n be thank'd, Madam, at the Prince's Lodgings.

What happy Star conducted us, and sav'd us from the Fury of the Flames?

Those whose Influence are always Gracious to your Ladyship.

But where's the Prince? Where's my Illustrious Lover?

Waiting the Return of the Chair, Madam.

But my Endimion!—Is Endimion safe?

Madam, he is: I saw him in the Garden.

Then perish all the rest—Go send to search him out, and let him instantly be brought to me.—Ha—Lejere!

Enter George.

Bawd stand aside—and do your Office yonder—[Puts away Manage. Why are you frighted, Madam, because I'm not the Lover you expected?

What Lover! be witness Heaven—

That thou art false, false as the insatiate Seas, that smiling tempt the vain Adventurer, whom flattering, far from any saving there, swell their false Waves to a destructive Storm.

Why all this mighty Rage?—Because I disappointed you to Night?

No, by Heaven, I dully cou'd have waited for the Hour; have hop'd, and wish'd, and languish'd out an Age. But, oh Mirtilla! Oh thou perjur'd Fair!—But vanish all the softness of my Soul, I will be satyrial.

And can you think my Flight is Criminal? because I sav'd this worthless Life—for you—

What Innocence adorns her Tongue, and Eyes! While Hell and Furies gives her Heart its motion, you know not where you are?

Perhaps I do not.

Swear, for thou'rt damn'd already, and by what black Degrees I will unfold: When first I saw this gay, this glorious Mischief, tho' Nobly born, 'twas hid in mean Obscurity; the shining Viper lay half dead with Poverty, I took it up, and laid it next my Heart, fed it, and call'd its faded Beauties back.

Confess'd: And what of this?

Confirm'd you mine, by all the Obligations Profuseness cou'd invent, or Love inspire.

And yet at your Return you found me marry'd to another.

Death and Hell! that was not yet the worst: You flatter'd me with some Pretence of Penitence; but on the Night, the dear destructive Night, you rais'd my Hopes to all distracting Love cou'd wish—that very Night—Oh let me rave and dye, and never think that Disappointment o'er!

What, you saw me Courted at the Ball, perhaps?

Perhaps I saw it in your Chamber too. Breathless, and panting with new-acted Joys, the happy Lover lay—Oh Mirtilla!

Nay, if he knows it, I'll deny't no more.

There is no Honesty in all thy kind.

Or if there be, those that deal in't are weary of their Trade. But where's the mighty Crime?

No, I expect thou shou'dst out-face my Eyes, out-swear my Hearing, and out-lye my Senses—The Prince! the Prince! thou faithless dear Destruction.

The Prince! good Heaven! Is all this Heat for him?

Thou own'st the Conquest then?

With as much Vanity as thou wouldst do, if thou hadst won his Sword: Hast thou took care wisely to teach me all the Arts of Life, and dost thou now upbraid my Industry? Look round the World, and thou shalt see, Lejere, Ambition still supplies the Place of Love. The wornout Lady, that can serve your Interest, you swear has Beauties that outcharms Fifteen; and for the Vanity of Quality, you feign and languish, lye, protest, and flatter—All Things in Nature Cheat, or else are Cheated.

Well said; take off thy Veil, and shew the Jilt.

You never knew a Woman thrive so well by real Love, as by Dissimulation: This has a Thousand Arts and Tricks to conquer; appears in any Shape, in any Humour; can laugh or weep, be coy or play, by turns, as suits the Lover best, while simple Love has only one Road of Sighs and Softness; these to Lejere are due: But all my Charms, and Arts of gay Dissembling, are for the credulous Prince.—Ha—he's here!—and with him the dear Youth that has enslav'd me, who triumph's o'er the rest.

Enter Prince Frederick, Olivia following, sees Mirtilla, and withdraws.

Ha! Mirtilla, and my Brother here! Oh how I long to see that Stranger's Face.

Mirtilla, thou Charmer of Life's dull and tedious Hours, how fares thy Heart? Dwells any Pantings there, but those that Love, and his dear Joys create.

Or if there do, you shou'd excuse it now.

How many Devils reign in beauteous Woman!

My dear Lejere congratulate my Joys; take all my Friendship thou—but thou my Soul. Come, come, my Friend, let us retire together, I'll give thee leave to gaze upon my Heaven, and feed on all the Sweets that Friendship may: But all the rest of the vast Store is mine.

Madam Endimion is already here.

Thou hast reviv'd me—Let him wait my Call.

Olivia comes forward.

Spight! Spight, and dire Revenge, seize my fond Soul!—Oh that I were a Man, a loose lewd Man, how easily wou'd I rob him of her Heart, and leave him but the shadow of Enjoyment.

Re-enter George.

Now, my dear Sister, if thou ever lovedst me, revenge thy Brother on this perjur'd Woman, and snatch her from this gallant Rival's Arms. She loves thee—Dissemble thou to love again; meet her Advances with an equal Ardour, and when thou hast wound her up to dalliance, I'll bring the Prince a witness of her Shame.

But what if he shou'd kill me—

I'll take care of that.

Then e'er the morning dawns, you shall behold it: She languishes to see me, and I wait on purpose for her Commands.

As I cou'd wish: Be sure to Act the Lover well.

As well as I can Act it.

Enter Welborn, habited as last.

What have we here? the Spark that rally'd me about a Woman at the Ball to Night? Who is it, Sir, you Curse so heartily?

Ha, how Beautiful he is—how many Charms dwell in that lovely Face—(Aside.) 'Tis you I curse.

Gad, I thank you for that, you were kinder to Night, when you told me of a fine Woman that was in Love with me.

Why, what have you to do with Woman-kind?

A pretty civil Question; has the Lady that sent you, a mind to be inform'd?

Or if she had, you're not at leisure now you are taken up, Sir, with another Beauty. Did not you swear, never to speak to Woman-kind, till I had brought her, I told you, sigh'd for you?

Right, and I have kept my word Religiously.

The Devil you have, witness the Joy Mirtilla gave your Soul: Even now you were all Transport, all Extasie of Love; by Heaven you had forgot you brought me in, and past Triumphant in Mirtilla's Arms, Love in your Heart, and Pleasure in your Eyes.

Ay, sure he mistakes me for the Amorous Prince, and thus, perhaps, has mistook me all the Night: I must not undeceive him.
                                        [Aside.
What e're you saw, I have a heart unwounded, a heart that never soundly loved, a little scratch it got the other day by a