All. Mademoiselle!

Madem. Me ask ten tousand pardon of all de good company.

Sir John. Why, this mystery thickens, instead of clearing up. [To RASOR.] You son of a whore you, put us out of our pain.

Rasor. One moment brings sunshine. [Shewing MADEM.] 'Tis true, this is the woman that tempted me, but this is the serpent that tempted the woman; and if my prayers might be heard, her punishment for so doing should be like the serpent's of old-[Pulls off Lady FANCYFUL'S mask] --she should lie upon her face all the days of her life.

All. Lady Fancyful!
Bel. Impertinent !
L. Brute. Ridiculous!
All Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

Bel. I hope your ladyship will give me leave to wish you joy, since you have owned your marriage yourself.-[To HEART.] I vow 'twas strangely wicked in you to think of another wife, when you have one already so charming as her ladyship.

All. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

L. Fan. [Aside.] Confusion seize 'em, as it seizes me!

Madem. Que le diable etouffe ce maraut de Rasor!

Bel. Your ladyship seems disordered: a breeding qualm, perhaps, Mr Heartfree: your bottle of Hungary water to your lady. Why, madam, he stands as unconcerned as if he were your husband in earnest.

L. Fun. Your mirth's as nauseous as yourself.

Helas! ma pauvre fille. Where'er I am a rival, there's no cause for mirth. No, my poor wretch, 'tis from another principle I have acted. I knew that thing there would make so perverse a husband, and you so impertinent a wife, that lest your mutual plagues should make you both run mad, I charitably would have broke the match. He, he, he, he, he!

[Exit, laughing affectedly, MADEM. following her.

Madem. He, he, he, he, he!

All. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

Sir John. [Aside.] Why now, this woman will be married to somebody too.

Bel. Poor creature! What a passion she is in! but I forgive her.

Heart. Since you have so much goodness for her, I hope you'll pardon my offence too, madam. Bel. There will be no great difficulty in that, since I am guilty of an equal fault.

Heart. So, madam, now had the parson but done his business

Bel. You'd be half weary of your bargain. Heart. No, sure, I might dispense with one night's lodging.

Bel. I am ready to try, sir.

Heart. Then let's to church;

And if it be our chance to disagree

Bel. Take heed-the surly husband's fate you

YE gods! what crime had my poor father done,
That you should make a poet of his son?
Or is't for some great services of his,
Y'are pleased to compliment his boy-with
this? [Shewing his crown of laurel.

The honour, I must needs confess, is great, If, with his crown, you'd tell him where to eat. 'Tis well-But I have more complaints-look here! [Shewing his ragged coat. Hark ye:-D'ye think this suit good winter wear? In a cold morning, whu- -at a lord's gate, How you have let the porter let me wait! You'll say, perhaps, you knew I'd get no harm; You'd given me fire enough to keep me warm. Ah

A world of blessings to that fire we owe;
Without it I'd ne'er made this princely show.
I have a brother too, now in my sight,

[Looking behind the scenes. A busy man amongst us here to-night:

Your fire has made him play a thousand pranks,
For which, no doubt, you've had his daily thanks.
He'as thank'd you first for all his decent plays,
Where he so nick'd it, when he writ for praise;
Next, for his meddling with some folk in black,
And bringing-souse-a priest upon his back;
For building houses here, t'oblige the peers,
And fetching all their house about his ears;
For a new play he'as now thought fit to write,
To soothe the town-which they-will damn to-
night.

These benefits are such, no man can doubt
But he'll go on, and set your fancy out,
Till, for reward of all his noble deeds,
At last, like other sprightly folks, he speeds;
Has this great recompence fixed on his brow
As fam'd Parnassus; has your leave to bow
And walk about the streets-equipp'd-as I am

now.

SCENE I.-Covent-Garden.

Enter Mrs AMLET and Mrs CLOGGIT, meeting. Mrs Am. Good morrow, neighbour, good morrow, neighbour Cloggit. How does all at your house this morning?

Mrs Clog. Thank you kindly, Mrs Amlet, thank you kindly; how do you do, I pray ? Mrs Am. At the old rate, neighbour, poor and honest: These are hard times, good lack.

Mrs Clog. If they are hard with you, what are they with us? You have a good trade going; all the great folks in town help you off with your merchandise.

Mrs Am. Yes, they do help us off with 'em indeed; they buy all.

Mrs Clog. And payMrs Am. For some.

Mrs Clog. Well, 'tis a thousand pities, Mrs Amlet, they are not as ready at one as they are at t'other; for, not to wrong 'em, they give very good rates.

my

Mrs Am. O, for that let us do 'em justice, neighbour; they never make two words about the price; all they haggle about is the day of payment. Mrs Clog. There's all the dispute, as you say. Mrs Am. But that's a wicked one. For part, neighbour, I'm just tired off my legs with trotting after 'em; besides, it eats out all our profit. Would you believe it, Mrs Cloggit, I have worn out four pair of pattens, with following my old lady Youthful, for one set of false teeth, and but three pots of paint.

Mrs Clog. Look you there now.

Mrs Am. If they would but once let me get enough by 'em to keep a coach to carry me a dunning after 'em, there would be some conscience in it.

Mrs Clog. Ay, that were something. But now you talk of conscience, Mrs Amlet-how do you speed amongst your city customers?

Mrs Am. My city customers! Now, by my truth, neighbour, between the city and the court (with reverence be it spoken) there's not a

to choose. My ladies in the city, in times past, were as full of gold as they were of religion, and as punctual in their payments as they were in their prayers; but since they have set their minds upon quality, adieu one, adieu t'other; their money and their consciences are gone, Heaven knows where. There's not a goldsmith's wife to be found in town, but is as hard-hearted as an ancient judge, and as poor as a towering duchess.

Mrs Clog. But what the murrain have they to do with quality? why don't their husbands make 'em mind their shops?

Mrs Am. Their husbands! their husbands, sayest thou, woman? Alack, alack, they mind their husbands, neighbour, no more than they do

a sermon.

Mrs Clog. Good lack-a-day, that women born of sober parents should be prone to follow ill examples! But now we talk of quality-when did you hear of your son Richard, Mrs Amlet? My daughter Flipp says she met him t'other day in a laced coat, with three fine ladies, his footman at his heels, and as gay as a bridegroom.

Mrs Am. Is it possible? Ah, the rogue! Well, neighbour, all's well that ends well; but Dick will be hanged.

Mrs Clog. That were pity.

Mrs Am. Pity indeed; for he's a hopeful young man to look on; but he leads a life-Wellwhere he has it, Heaven knows; but they say he pays his club with the best of 'em. I have seen him but once these three months, neighbour, and then the varlet wanted money; but I bid him march, and march he did to some purpose; for in less than an hour, back comes my gentleman into the house, walks to and fro in the room, with his wig over his shoulder, his hat on one side, whistling a minuet, and tossing a purse of gold from one hand to t'other, with no other respect (Heaven bless us!) than if it had been an orange. Sirrah, says I, where have you got that? He answers me never a word, but sets his arms a kimbo, cocks his hat in my face, turns about upon his saucy ungracious heel, as much as to say, kiss—and I've never set eye on him since.

Mrs Clog. Look you there now; to see what the youth of this age are come to.

Mrs Am. See what they will come to, neighbour. Heaven shield, I say, but Dick's upon the gallop. Well, I must bid you good morrow: I'm going where I doubt I shall meet but a sorry wel

come.

for you.

Dick. As how?

Brass. We must quit this country.

Dick. We'll be hanged first.

Brass. So you will, if you stay.

Dick. Why, what's the matter?
Brass. There's a storm a-coming.
Dick. From whence?

Brass. From the worst point in the compass, -the law.

Dick. The law! Why, what have I to do with the law?

Brass. Nothing; and therefore it has something to do with you.

Dick. Explain.

Brass. You know you cheated a young fellow at piquet, t'other day, of the money he had to raise his company.

Dick. Well, what then?

Brass. Why, he's sorry he lost it.
Dick. Who doubts that?

Brass. Ay, but that is not all; he's such a fool to think of complaining on't.

Dick. Then I must be so wise to stop his mouth. Brass. How?

Dick. Give him a little back; if that won't do, strangle him.

Bruss. You are very quick in your methods. Dick. Men must be so that will dispatch busi

dam Fortune will be playing some of her bitchtricks with me; therefore I'll tell thee what we'll do: we'll pursue this old rogue's daughter heartily; we'll cheat his family to purpose, and they shall atone for the rest of mankind.

Brass. Have at her then, and I'll about your business presently.

Dick. One kiss-and success attend thee.
[Exit DICK.

Brass. A great rogue-Well, I say nothing; but when I have got the thing into a good posture, he shall sign and seal, or I'll have him tumbled out of the house like a cheese. Now for Flippanta. [He knocks.

Brass. Why, then it's time for the mistress of the house to come down, and look after her family.

Flip. Pr'ythee don't be an owl. Those that go to bed at night may rise in the morning; we that go to bed in the morning rise in the afternoon.

Brass. When does she make her visits, then? Flip. By candle light: it helps off a muddy complexion: we women hate inquisitive sunshine. But do you know that my lady is going to turn good housewife?

Brass. What, is she going to die?
Flip. Die!

Brass. Why, that's the only way to save money for her family.

Flip. No; but she has thought of a project to save chair hire.

Brass. As how?

Flip. Why, all the company she used to keep abroad, she now intends shall meet at her own

Dick. That's the way to be starved. Brass. No, she has money enough to buy you a good place, and pay me into the bargain, for helping her to so good a match. You have but this throw left to save you; for you are not ignorant, youngster, that your morals begin to be pretty well known about town: have a care your noble birth and your honourable relations are not discovered too; there needs but that to have you tossed in a blanket, for the entertainment of the first company of ladies you intrude into ; and then, like a dutiful son, you may daggle about with your mother, and sell paint: she's old and weak, and wants somebody to carry her goods after her. How like a dog will you look, with a pair of plod shoes, your hair cropped up to your ears, and a band-box under your arm!

Dick. Why, faith, Brass, I think thou art in the

basset-table.

Brass. Nay, if he advised her to it, it's right; but has she acquainted her husband with it yet? Flip. What to do? When the company meet, he'll see them.

Brass. Nay, that's true; as you say, he'll know it soon enough.

Fup. Well, I must be gone: have you any business with my lady?

Brass. Yes; as ambassador from Araminta, I have a letter for her.