stair-foot, and keep all that ask for me from coming up: suppose you are guarding the scuttle to the powder-room: let none enter here, at your or their peril. 1st Sail. No; for the danger would be the same; you would blow them and us up, if we should. 2d Sail. Must no one come to you, sir? Man. No man, sir. 1st Sail. No man, sir? but a woman, then, an't like your honour Man. No woman neither, you impertinent dog. Would you be pimping? A sea pimp is the strangest monster she has. 2d Sari. Indeed, an't like your honour, 'twill be hard for us to deny a woman any thing, since we are so newly come on shore. 1st Sail. We'll let no old woman come up, though it were our trusting landlady at Wapping. Man. Would you be witty, you brandy cask you? You become a jest as ill as you do a horse. Be gone, you dogs; I hear a noise on the stairs. [Exeunt Sailors. Free. Faith, I am sorry you would let the fop go; I intended to have had some sport with him. Man. Sport with him! A pox, then, why did you not stay? you should have enjoyed your coxcomb, and had him to yourself for me. Free. No, I should not have cared for him without you neither; for the pleasure which fops afford is like that of drinking, only good when 'tis shared; and a fool, like a bottle, which would dull make you merry in company, will make you alone. But how the devil could you turn a man of his quality down stairs? You use a lord with very little ceremony, it seems. Free. But what! will you see nobody? not your friends? Man. Friends! I have but one, and he, I hear, is not in town; nay, can have but one friend; for a true heart admits but of one friendship, as of one love. But in having that friend, I have a thousand; for he has the courage of men in despair, yet the diffidency and caution of cowards; the secrecy of the revengeful, and the constancy of martyrs; one fit to advise, to keep a secret, to fight and die for his friend. Such I think him; for I have trusted him with my mistress in my absence; and the trust of beauty is, sure, the greatest we can shew. Free. Well, but all your good thoughts are not for him alone, I hope? Pray, what d'ye think of me for a friend? Man. Of thee! Why, thou art a latitudinarian in friendship, that is, no friend; thou dost side with all mankind, but wilt suffer for none. Thou art, indeed, like your Lord Plausible,—the pink of courtesy, therefore hast no friendship; for ceremony and great professing renders friendship as much suspected as it does religion. Free. And no professing, no ceremony at all in friendship, were as unnatural and as indecent as in religion; and there is hardly such a thing as an honest hypocrite, who professes himself to be worse than he is, unless it be yourself; for, though I could never get you to say you were my friend, I know you'll prove so. Mun. I must confess, I am so much your friend, I would not deceive you; therefore must tell you, (not only because my heart is taken up, but according to your rules of friendship,) I cannot be your friend. Free. Why, pray? Man. A lord! What, thou art one of those who esteem men only by the marks and value Man. Because he that is, you'll say, a true fortune has set upon 'em, and never consider intrinsic worth? but counterfeit honour will not be friend to a man, is a friend to all his friends: but current with me: I weigh the man, not his title: you must pardon me: I cannot wish well to pimps, 'tis not the king's stamp can make the metal bet-flatterers, detractors, and cowards, stiff-nodding ter, or heavier: your ford is a leaden shilling, knaves, and supple, pliant, kissing fools: now, all which you may bend every way, and debases the these I have seen you use like the dearest friends stamp he bears, instead of being raised by't.-Here in the world. again, you slaves? Enter Sailors. 1st Sail. Only to receive farther instructions, an't like your honour.-What if a man should bring you money; should we turn him back? Man. All men, I say.-Must I be pester'd with you too? You dogs, away. 2d Sail. Nay, I know one man your honour would not have us hinder coming to you, I'm sure. Man. Who's that? speak quickly, slaves. 2d Sait. Why, a man that should bring you a challenge; for though you refuse money, I'm sure you love fighting too well to refuse that. Man. Rogue, rascal, dog! [Kicks the Sailors out. Free. Nay, let the poor rogues have their forecastle jests; they cannot help 'em in a fight. scarce when a ship's sinking. Man. Damn their untimely jests; a servant's jest is more sauciness than his counsel. me, Free. Ha, ha, ha!- -What, you observ'd I warrant, in the galleries at Whitehall, doing the business of the place! Pshaw! court professions, like court promises, go for nothing, man! but, faith, could you think I was a friend to all those I hugg'd, kiss'd, flatter'd, bow'd to? ha, ha! Man. You told 'em so, and swore it too; I heard you. Free. Ay, but when their backs were turn'd, did I not tell you they were rogues, villains, rascals, whom I despis'd and hated? Man. Very fine! But what reason had I to believe you spoke your heart to me, since you profess'd deceiving so many? Free. Why, don't you know, good captain, that telling truth is a quality as prejudicial to a man that would thrive in the world, as square play to a cheat, or true love to a whore? Would you have a man speak truth to his ruin? You are severer than the law, which requires no man to swear against himself: You would have me Free. Well, they understand the world. Man. Which I do not, I confess. Free. But, sir, pray believe the friendship I promise you real, whatsoever I have profess'd to others: try me at least. Man. Why, what would you do for me? Man. That you would do for your own honour, Free. Ay, and have him hang or ruin me, when he should come to be a judge, and I be--but what else? fore him. And you would have me tell the new officer, who bought his employment lately, that he is a coward? Free. And so draw the clergy upon my back, and want a good table to dine at sometimes. And by the same reason, too, I should tell you that the world thinks you a madman, a brutal, and have you cut my throat, or, worse, hate me? What other good success of all my plain dealing could I have, than what I've mentioned? Man. Why, first, your promising courtier would keep his word, out of fear of more reproaches; or, at least, would give you no more vain hopes: your lawyer would serve you more faithfully; for he, having no honour but his interest, is truest still to him he knows suspects him the new officer would provoke thee to make him a coward, and so be cashiered, that thou, or some other honest fellow, who had more courage than money, might get his place: the noble sonneteer would trouble thee no more with his madrigals: the praying lady would leave off railing at wenching before thee, and not turn away her chamber-maid, for her own known frailty with thee: and I, instead of hating thee, should love thee, for thy plain dealing, and, in lieu of being mortified, am proud that the world and I think not well of one another. Free. Well, doctors differ. You are for plain dealing, I find; but against your particular notions, I have the practice of the whole world.Observe but, any morning, what people do, when they get together on the Exchange, in Westminster-hall, or the galleries in Whitehall. Man. I must confess, there they seem to rehearse Bayes's grand dance :-here you see a bishop bowing low to a gaudy atheist; a judge to a doorkeeper; a great lord to a fishmonger or a scrivener, with a jack-chain about his neck; a lawyer to a serjeant-at-arms; a velvet physician to a threadbare chymist; and a supple gentlemanusher to a surly beef-eater; and so tread round in a preposterous huddle of ceremony to each Free. I would lend you money, if I had it. Man. To borrow more of me another time. That were but putting your money to interest: an usurer would be as good a friend. But what other piece of friendship? Free. I would speak well of you to your enemies. Man. To encourage others to be your friends, by a shew of gratitude-but what else? Free. Nay, I would not hear you ill spoken of behind your back, by my friend. Man. Nay, then thou'rt a friend indeed; but it were unreasonable to expect it from thee, as the world goes now, when new friends, like new mistresses, are got by disparaging old ones. Enter FIDELIA. But here comes another, will say as much, at least. Dost not thou love me, devilishly too, my little volunteer, as well as he or any man can? Fid. Better than any man can love you, my dear captain. Mun. Look you there; I told you so. Fid. As well as you do truth or honour, sir; as well. : Man. Nay, good young gentleman, enough :For shame: thou hast been a page, by thy flattering and lying, to one of those praying ladies who love flattery so well, they are jealous of it, and wert turn'd away for saying the same things to the old house-keeper, for sweet-meats, as you did to your lady; for thou flatterest every thing and every body alike. Fid. You, dear sir, should not suspect the truth of what I say of you, though to you: Fame, the old liar, is believ'd when she speaks wonders of you: you cannot be flattered, sir; your merit is unspeakable. Man. Hold, hold, sir, or I shall suspect worse of you, that you have been a cushion-bearer to some state hypocrite, and turn'd away by the chaplains, for out-flattering their probation-sermons for a benefice. Fid. Suspect me for any thing, sir, but the want of love, faith, and duty to you, the bravest, worthiest of mankind: believe me, I could die for you, sir. Man. Nay, there you lie, sir:-Did I not see thee more afraid in the fight than the chaplain of the ship, or the purser, that bought his place? Fid. Can he be said to be afraid that ventures to sea with you? Man. Fie, fie, no more; I shall hate thy flattery worse than thy cowardice, nay, than thy bragging. Free. The widow Blackacre, is it not? that li estate. Fid. Well, I own, then, I was afraid, mightily afraid; yet for you I would be afraid again, an|tigious she petty-fogger, who is at law and diffehundred times afraid: dying is ceasing to be a- rence with all the world; but I wish I could make fraid, and that I could do, sure, for you, and you'll her agree with me in the church: they say she believe me one day. [Weeps. has fifteen hundred pounds a-year jointure, and Free. Poor youth! believe his eyes, if not his the care of her son, that is, the destruction of his tongue: he seems to speak truth with them. Man. What! does he cry? A pox on't! a Man. Her lawyers, attorneys, and solicitors have maudlin flatterer is as nauseously troublesome fifteen hundred pound a-year, whilst she is conas a maudlin drunkard. No more, you little milk-tented to be poor, to make other people so; for sop; do not cry; I'll never make thee afraid again; for of all men, if I had occasion, thou shouldst not be my second; and, when I go to sea again, thou shalt venture thy life no more with me. Fid. Why, will you leave me behind then?would preserve my life, I'm sure you should [Aside. Man. Leave thee behind! Ay, ay, thou art a hopeful youth for the shore only: here thou wilt live to be cherish'd by fortune and the great ones; for thou may'st easily come to out-flatter a dull poet, out-lie a coffee-house or gazette-writer, out-swear a knight of the post, out-watch a pimp, out-fawn a rook, out-promise a lover, out-rail a wit, and out-brag a sea captain: All this thou canst do, because thou'rt a coward, a thing I hate; therefore thou'lt do better with the world than with me; and these are the good courses you must take in the world. There's good advice, at least, at parting: go, and be happy with't. If you not. Fid. Parting, sir! O! let me not hear that dismal word. Man. If my words frighten thee, be gone the sooner; for, to be plain with thee, cowardice and I cannot dwell together. Fid. And cruelty and courage never dwell together, sure, sir. Do not turn me off to shame and misery; for I am helpless and friendless. Man. Friendless! there are half a score friends for thee then; [Offers her gold] I leave myself no more; they'll help thee a little. Be gone; go; I must be cruel to thee, (if thou call'st it so,) out of pity. Fid. If you would be cruelly pitiful, sir, let it be with your sword, and not gold. Enter First Sailor. [Exit. 1st Sail. We have, with much ado, turn'd away two gentlemen, who told us, forty times over, their names were Mr Novel and Major Oldfox. Man. Well, to your post again. [Exit Sailor.] But how come those puppies coupled always together? Free. O, the coxcombs keep each other company, to shew each other, as Novel calls it; or, as Öldfox says, like two knives, to whet one another. Man. And set other people's teeth an edge. 2 Sail. Here is a woman, an't like your honour, scolds and bustles with us, to come in, as much as a scaman's widow at the Navy-Oflice: her name is Mrs Blackacre. Man. That fiend, too! she is as vexatious as her father was, the great Enter Widow BLACKACRE, with a mantle, and a Wid. I never had so much to do with a judge's door-keeper as with yours; but Man. But the incomparable Olivia, how does she since I went? Wid. Since you went, my suit- Wid. My suit, if you had not returned— Wid. My suit, I say, had been quite lost; but Wid. For to-morrow we are to have a hearing. Man. I am no judge, and you talk of nothing but suits; but, pray tell me, when did you see Olivia? Wid. I am no visitor, but a woman of business; or if I ever visit, 'tis only the Chancery-Lane ladies,-ladies towards the law, and not any of your lazy, good-for-nothing flirts, who cannot read law French, though a gallant writ it. But, as I was telling you, my suit Man. Damn these impertinent, vexatious people of business, of all sexes; they are still troubling the world with the tedious recitals of their law-suits; and one can no more stop their mouths, than a wit's, when he talks of himself, or an intelligencer's, when he talks of other people. Wid. And a pox of all vexatious, impertinent lovers; they are still perplexing the world with the tedious narrations of their love suits, and discourses of their mistresses: you are as troublesome to a poor widow of business, as a young, coxcomb, rhyming lover. Man. And thou art as troublesome to me as a rook to a losing gamester, or a young putter of cases to his mistress and semptress, who has love in her head for another. Wid. Nay, since you talk of putting of cases, and will not hear me speak, hear our Jerry a little; let him put our case to you, for the trial's to-morrow; and since you are my chief witness, I would have your memory refresh'd, and your judgment inform'd, that you may not give your evidence improperly. Speak out, child. Jer. Yes, forsooth. Hem! Hem! John-aStiles Man. You may talk, young lawyer, but I shall no more mind you, than a hungry judge does a cause after the clock has struck one. Free. Nay, you'll find him as peevish too. Wid. No matter. Jerry, go on. Do you observe it then, sir; for I think I have seen you in a gown once. Lord, I could hear our Jerry put cases all day long! Mark him, sir. Jer. John-a-Stiles- -No-There are, first, Fitz, Pere, and Ayle-No, no; Ayle, Pere, and Fitz: Ayle is seized in fee of Blackacre; John-a-Stiles disseises Ayle; Ayle makes claim, and the disseisor dies; then the Ayle- -No, the Fitz. Wid. No, the Pere, sirrah. Jer. O, the Pere; ay, the Pere, sir, and the Fitz- -No, the Ayle; no, the Pere and the Fitz, sir, and Man. Damn Pere, Mere, and Fitz, sir. Wid. No, you are out, child.-Hear me, captain, then.-There are Ayle, Pere, and Fitz: Ayle is seized in fee of Blackacre; and being so seized, John-a-Stiles disseises the Ayle; Ayle makes claim, and the disseisor dies; and then the Pere re-enters the Pere, sirrah, the Pere-[To JERRY] and the Fitz enters upon the Pere; and the Ayle brings his writ of disseizen in the Post; and the Pere brings his writ of disseizen in the Pere; and Man. Canst thou bear this stuff, Freeman? I could as soon suffer a whole noise of flatterers, at a great man's levee in the morning; but thou hast servile complacency enough to listen to a quibbling statesman in disgrace, nay, and be before-hand with him, in laughing at his dull nojest; but I[Offering to go out. Wid. Nay, sir, hold. Where's the subpoena, Jerry? I must serve you, sir. You are requir'd, by this, to give your testimony Man. I'll be foresworn to be reveng'd on thee. [Exit MANLEY, throwing away the subpana. Wid. Get you gone, for a lawless companion! Come, Jerry, I had almost forgot we were to meet at the master's at threc: let us mind our business still, child. Jer. Ay, forsooth, e'en so let's. Free. Nay, madam, now I would beg you to hear me a little, a little of my business. Wid. I have business of my own calls me away, sir. Free. My business would prove yours too, dear madam. Wid. Yours would be some sweet business, I warrant :-What, 'tis no Westminster-hall business ? Would you have my advice? Free. No, faith; 'tis a little Westminster-abbey business:-I would have your consent. Wid. O fie, fie, sir; to me such discourse, before my dear minor there! Jer. Ay, ay, mother, he would be taking livery and seizen of your jointure, by digging the turf; but I'll watch your waters, bully, i'fack. Come away, mother. [Exit JERRY, hauling away his mother. Manet FREEMAN: Enter to him FIDELIA. Fid. Dear sir, you have pity; beget but some in your captain for me. Free. Where is he? Fid. A gentlewoman, I suppose, but of as mean a fortune as beauty; but her relations would not suffer her to go with him to the Indies: and his aversion to this side of the world, together with the late opportunity of commanding the convoy, would not let him stay here longer, though to enjoy her. Free. He loves her mightily then. Fid. Yes, so well, that the remainder of his fortune (I hear, about five or six thousand pounds) he has left her, in case he had died by the way, or before she could prevail with her friends to follow him, which he expected she should do; and has left behind him his great bosom-friend, to be her convoy to him. Free. What charms has she for him, if she be not handsome? Fid. He fancies her, I suppose, the only woman of truth and sincerity in the world. Free. No common beauty, I confess. Fid. Or else, sure, he would not have trusted her with so great a share of his fortune in his absence; I suppose, (since his late loss,) all he has. Free. Why, has he left it in her own custody? Free. Then he has shewed love to her indeed, in leaving her like an old husband, that dies as soon as he has made his wife a good jointure: but I'll go in to him, and speak for you, and know more from him of his Olivia. [Exit. Manet FIDELIA, sola. Fid. His Olivia, indeed, his happy Olivia; Yet she was left behind, when I was with him; But she was ne'er out of his mind or heart. She has told him she lov'd him; I have shew'd it, And durst not tell him so, till I had done, Of loving friendship for him, that, through it, [Exit. Enter MANLY and FREEMAN. Free. But what strange charms has she, that could make you love? Man. Strange charms indeed! She has beauty enough to call in question her wit or virtue, and her fcrm would make a starved hermit a ravisher, yet her virtue and conduct would preserve her from the subtle lust of a pampered prelate. She is so perfect a beauty, that art could not better it, nor affectation deform it; yet all this is nothing. Her tongue, as well as face, ne'er knew artifice; nor ever did her words or looks contradict her heart: She is all truth, and hates the lying, masking, daubing world, as I do; for which I love her, and for which I think she dislikes not me; for she has often shut out of her conversation, for mine, the gaudy, fluttering parrots of the town, apes and echoes of men only, and refused their common-place, pert chat, flattery, and submissions, to be entertained with my sullen bluntness and honest love; and, last of all, swore to me, since her parents would not suffer her to go with me, she would stay behind for no other man, but follow me, without their leave, if not to be obtained: Which oathFree. Did you think she would keep? Man. Yes; for she is not, I tell you, like other women, but can keep her promise, though she has sworn to keep it; but, that she might the better keep it, I left her the value of five or six thousand pounds; for women's wants are gene rally their most importunate solicitors to love or marriage. Free. And money summons lovers, more than beauty, and augments but their importunity and their number, so makes it the harder for a woman to deny 'em. For my part, I am for the French maxim; if you would have your female subjects loyal, keep 'em poor; but, in short, that your mistress may not marry, you have given her a portion. Man. She had given me her heart first, and I am satisfied with the security: I can never doubt her truth and constancy. Free. It seems you do, since you are fain to bribe it with money. But how come you to be so diffident of the man that says he loves you, and not doubt the woman that says it? Man. I should, I confess, doubt the love of any other woman but her, as I do the friendship of any other man but him I have trusted; but I have such proofs of their faith as cannot deceive me. Free. Cannot ! Man. Not but I know, that, generally, no man can be a great enemy but under the name of friend; and if you are a cuckold, it is your friend only that makes you so; for your enemy is not admitted to your house: if you are cheated in your fortune, 'tis your friend that does it; for your enemy is not made your trustee : if your honour or good name be injured, 'tis your friend that does it still, because your enemy is not believed against you: therefore, I rather chuse to go where honest, downright barbarity is profess'd, where men devour one another like generous, hungry lions and tigers, not like crocodiles; where they think the devil white, of our complexion, and I am already so far an Indian: but if your weak faith doubts this miracle of a woman, come along with me, and believe, and thou wilt find her so handsome, that thou, who art so much my friend, wilt have a mind to lie with her, and so wilt not fail to discover what her faith and thine is to me. When we're in love, the great adversity, Our friends and mistresses at once we try. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.-OLIVIA's Lodgings. Enter OLIVIA, ELIZA, LETTICE. Oliv. Ah, cousin, what a world 'tis we live in! I am so weary of it. Eliz. Truly, cousin, I can find no fault with it, but that we cannot always live in't; for I can never be weary of it. Oliv. O, hideous! you cannot be in earnest, sure, when you say you like the filthy world. Eliz. You cannot be in earnest, sure, when you say you dislike it. Oliv. You are a very censorious creature, I find. Eliz. I must confess, I think we women as often discover where we love by railing, as men when they lie, by their swearing; and the world is but a constant keeping gallant, whom we fail not to quarrel with, when any thing crosses us, yet cannot part with't for our hearts. Let. A gallant, indeed, madam, whom ladies first make jealous, and then quarrel with it for being so; for if, by her discretion, a lady be talked of for a man, she cries presently, 'Tis a censorious world; if, by her vanity, the intrigue be found out, 'Tis a prying, malicious world; and if, by her |