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she, as they say brother Val went mad for, she's , and daughters enough to put the weekly bills out mad too, I think.

of countenance. For. O my poor niece' my poor niece! is she Scan. Death and hell! where's Valentine? gone too?-Well, I shall run mad next.

[Exit. virs For. Well, but how mad? How d'ye Mrs For. This is so surprisingmean?

Sir S. How! What does my aunt say ? surBen. Nay, I'll give you leave to guess.-—I'll prising, aunt? Not at all, for a young couple to undertake to make a voyage to Antigua-no, I make a match in winter; not at all. It's a plot mayn't say so neither—but I'll sail as far as Leg. to undermine cold weather, and destroy that horn, and back again, before you shall guess at usurper of a bed call'd a warming-pan. the matter, and do nothing else. - Mess! you may Mrs For. I'm glad to hear you have so much take in all the points of the compass, and not hit fire in you, Sir Sampson. the right.

Ben Mess! I fear his fire's little better than Mis for. Your experiment will take up a lit- tinder; mayhap it will only serve to light a match tle too much time.

for somebody else.—The young woman's a handBen. Why, then, I'll tell you—There's a new sonie young woman, I cann't deny it ; but, fawedding upon the stocks; and they two are going ther, if I might be your pilot in this case, you to be married to rights.

should not marry her. It is just the same thing Scun. Who?

as if so be you should sail as far as the Streights Ben. Why, father and the young woman : without provision. I cann't hit her name.

Sir S. Who gave you authority to speak, sirScun. Angelica ?

rah !--To your element, fish! Be mute, fish, and Ben. ly, the same.

to sea. Rule your helm, sirrah; don't direct me. Mrs For. Sir Sampson and Angelica ? Impos- Ben. Well, well, take you care of your own sible!

helm, or you mayn't keep your new vessel steady. Ben. That may be ; but I'm sure it is as I tell Sir s.' Why, you impudent tarpawling! siryou.

rah, do you bring your forecastle jests upon your Scan. 'Sdeath! it is a jest, I cann't believe it. father?-But I shall be even with you; I won't

Ben. Look you, friend ; it is nothing to me give you a groat.-Mr Buckram, is the conveywhether you believe it or no. What I say is true, ance so worded, that nothing can possibly descend d'ye see; they are married, or just going to be to this scoundrel? I would not so much as have married, I know not which.

him have the prospect of an estate, though there For. Well, but they are not mad; that is, not were no way to come to it but by the north-east lunatic ?

passage. Ben. I don't know what you call madness; Buck. Sir, it is drawn according to your direcbut she's mad for a husband, and he's horn-mad, tions; there is not the least cranny of the law un. I think, or they'd never make a match together. stopt. Here they come.

Ben. Lawyer, I believe there's many a cranny Enter Sir SAMPSON, ANGELICA, and BUCKRAM.

and leak unstopt in your conscience. If so be

that one had a pump to your bosom, I believe we Sir S. Where is this old soothsayer ? this uncle should discover a foul hold.—They say a witch of mine elect :—Aha, old Foresight ! uncle Fore. will mail in a sieve ; but I believe the devil would sight! wish me joy, uncle Foresight! double joy, not venture aboard with your conscience. And both as uncle and astrologer! Here's a conjunc

that's for you. tion that was not foretold in all your Ephemeres ! Sir S. Hold your tongue, sirrah.-How now! The brightest star in the blue firmament is slot Who's here? from above in a jelly of love, and so forth; and

Enter TATTLE and Mrs FRAIL, I'm lord of the ascendant.-Odd, you're an old fellow, Foresight-uncle, I mean ; a very old fel- Mrs F. O, sister, the most unlucky accident ! low, uncle Foresight; and yet you shall live to Mrs For. What's the matter? dance at my redding ; faith and troth you shall. Tat. 0, the two most unfortunate poor crea-Odd, we'll have the music of the spheres for tures in the world we are ! thee, old Lilly, that we will; and thou shalt lead For. Bless us ! how so? up a dance in via lactea.

Mirs F. Ah! Mr Tattle and I, poor Mr Tattle For. I'm thunder-struck! You are not mar- and I, are- -I cann't speak it out. ried to my niece?

Tat. Nor I—But poor Mrs Frail and I areSir S. Not absolutely married, uncle ; but very Mrs F. Married. near it; within a kiss of the matter, as you see. For. Married ! How ?

(Kisses ANGELICA. Tut. Suddenly before we knew where we Ang. "Tis very true indeed uncle; I hope you'll —that villain Jeremy, by the help of disbe my father, and give me.

guises, trick'd us into one another. Sir S. That he shall, or I'll burn his globes.- Por Why, you told me just now, you went Body o' me, he shall be thy father ; I'll make hence in haste to be married. him thy father, and thou shalt make me a father, Ang. But I believe Mr Tattle meant the favour and I'll make thee a mother; and we'll beget sons to me--I thank him,

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were

me,

Tat. I did, as I hope to be saved, madam ; my Sir S. Contrivance ! what, to cheat me? to intentions were good. -But this is the most cruel cheat your father? Sirrah, could you hope to thing, to marry one does not know how, nor why, prosper ? nor wherefore! The devil take if ever I was Val. Indeed I thought, sir, when the father es so much concern’d at any thing in my life. deavoured to undo the son, it was a reasonable

Ang. 'Tis very unhappy, if you don't care for return of nature. one another.

Sir S. Very good, sir. Mr Buckram, are you Tat. The least in the world; that is, for my ready ? Come, sir, will you sign and seal? part, I speak for myself.-Gad, I never had the Val. If you please, sir; but first I would ask least thought of serious kindness-I never liked this lady one question. any body less in my life-Poor woman! Gad, I'm Sir S. Sir, you must ask me leave first-That sorry for her too; for I have no reason to hate lady! No, sir; you shall ask that lady no ques her neither; but I believe I shall lead her a damn'd tions, till you have asked her blessing, sir; that sort of a life.

lady is to be

my

wife. Mrs For. He's better than no husband at all, Val. I have heard as much, sir; but I would though he's á coxcomb. [To Mrs FRAIL.

have it from her own mouth. Mrs F. (To her.] Ay, ay, it's well it's no worse. Sir S. That's as much as to say, I lie, sir; and -Nay, for my part, I always despised Mr Tattle you don't believe what I say. of all things; nothing but his being my husband Val. Pardon me, sir.. But I reflect that I very could have made me like him less.

lately counterfeited madness: I don't know but Tat. Look you there! I thought as much. the frolic may go round. Pox on't! I wish we could keep it secret. Why, Sir S. Come, chuck, satisfy him, answer him. I don't believe any of this company would speak -Come, Mr Buckram, the pen and ink, of it.

Buck. Here it is, sir, with the deed; all is Ben. If you suspect me, friend, I'll go out of ready.

(VAL. goes to ANG. the room.

Any. 'Tis true, you have a great while pretendMrs F. But, my dear, that's impossible; the ed love to me; nay, what if you were sincere, parson and that rogue Jeremy will publish it. still you must pardon me, if I think my own inTat. Ay, my dear, so they will, as you say.

clinations have a better right to dispose of my perAng. O you'll agree very well in a little time;

son than yours. custom will make it easy

for
yo
Sir S. Are you answered now,

sir ? Tat. Easy! Pox on't, I don't believe I shall

Val. Yes, sir. sleep to-night.

Sir S. Where's your plot, sir? and your conSir S. Sleep, quoth-a ! No, why you would not trivance now, sir ? 'Will you sign, sir ? Čome, will sleep on your wedding-night? I'm an older fel- you sign and seal? low than you, and don't mean to sleep.

Val. With all my heart, sir. Ben. Why, there's another match now, as thof Scan. 'Sdeath, you are not mad indeed, to ruin a couple of privateers were looking for a prize, yourself? and should fall foul of one another. I'm sorry Vul. I have been disappointed of my only hope, for the young man with all my heart. Look you, and he that loses hope may part with any thing. friend, if I may advise you, when she's going—for I never valued fortune, but as it was subservient that you must expect, I have experience of her to my pleasure; and my only pleasure was to - when she's going, let her go. For no matri- please this lady : I have made many vain attempts

, mony is tough enough to hold her ; and if she and find at last that nothing but my ruin can efcann't drag her anchor along with her, she'll break fect it ; which, for that reason, I will sign to.her cable, I can tell you that. Who's here ? the Give me the paper. madman?

Ang. Generous Valentine !

(Aside

Buck. Here is the deed, sir. Enter VALENTINE, SCANDAL, and Jeremy.

Val. But where is the bond, by which I am Val. No; here's the fool; and, if occasion be, obliged to sign this? I'll give it under my hand.

Buck. Sir Sampson, you have it. Sir S. How now?

Ang. No, I have it; and I'll use it, as I would Val. Sir, I'm come to acknowledge my errors, every thing that is an enemy to Valentine. and ask your pardon.

[Tears the paper. Sir S. What, have you found your senses at Sir S. How now? last then? In good time, sir.

Val. Ha ! Val. You were abused, sir; I never was dis- Ang. Had I the world to give you, it could not tracted.

make me worthy of so generous and faithful a For. How? not mad, Mr Scandal ?

passion. Here's my hand; my heart was always Scan. No, really, sir; I'm his witness, it was yours, and struggled very hard to make this uitall counterfeit.

most trial of your virtue.

[To VAL Val. I thought I had reasons

Val. Between pleasure and amazement I am a poor contrivance : the effect has shewn it lost—but on my knees I take the blessing. such.

Sir S. Oons, what is the meaning of this?

-but it was

Ben. Mess, here's the wind changed again! Ang. I have done dissembling now, Valentine; Father, you and I may make a voyage together and if that coldness which I have always worn benow!

fore
you

should turn to an extreme fondness, you Ang Well, Sir Sampson, since I have played must not suspect it. you a trick, I'll advise you how you may avoid Val. I'll prevent that suspicion-for I intend such another. Learn to be a good father, or you'll to dote to that immoderate degree, that your fondnever get a second wife. I always loved your son, ness shall never distinguish itself enough to be and hated your unforgiving nature. I was re- taken notice of. If ever you seem to love too solved to try him to the utmost; I have tried you much, it must be only when I cann't love entoo, and know you both. You have not more ough. faults than he has virtues ; and it is hardly more Ang. Have a care of promises : you know you pleasure to me, that I can make him and myself are apt to run more in debt than you are able to happy, than that I can punish you.

pay. Val. If my happiness could receive addition, Val. Therefore I yield my body as your prisonthis kind surprise would make it double. er, and make your best on't. Sir S. Oons, you're a crocodile !

Scan. The music stays for you. [A Dance, For. Really, Sir Sampson, this is a sudden (TO ANG.) Well, madam, you have done exemeclipse.

plary justice, in punishing an inhuman father, and Sir S. You're an illiterate old fool; and I'm rewarding a faithful lover: but there is a third another.

good work, which I, in particular, must thank you Tat. If the gentleman is in disorder for want for : I was an infidel to your sex, and you have of a wife, I can spare him mine. Oh, are you converted me for now I am convinced that there, sir? I am indebted to you for my happi all women are not, like fortune, blind in bestow

(TO JEREMY. | ing favours, either on those who do not merit, Jer. Sir, I ask you ten thousand pardons: it or who do not want them. was an arrant mistake. You see, sir, my master Ang. It is an unreasonable accusation, that you was never mad, nor any thing like it.—Then how lay upon our sex. You tax us with injustice, can it be otherwise ?

only to cover your own want of merit. You would Val. Tattle, I thank you; you would have in- all have the reward of love; but few have the terposed between me and heaven; but Providence constancy to stay till it becomes your due. Men laid purgatory in your way. You have but jus- are generally hypocrites and infidels ; they pretice.

tend to worship, but have neither zeal nor faith, Scan. I hear the fiddles that Sir Sampson pro. How few, like Valentine, would persevere, even vided for his own wedding; methinks it is pity to martyrdom, and sacrifice their interest to their they should not be employed when the match is constancy ! In admiring me, you misplace the noso much mended. Valentine, though it be morn- velty. ing, we may have a dance.

The miracle to-day is, that we find Val. Any thing, my friend; every thing that A lover true; not that a woman's kind. looks like joy and transport.

(Ereunt omnes. Scan. Call them, Jeremy.

ness.

EPILOGUE.

SURE Providence at first design’d this place Once of philosophers they told us stories,
To be the player's refuge in distress;

Whom, as I think they called-Py-Pythagories;
For still, in every storm, they all run hither, I'm sure 'tis some such Latin name they give
As to a shed, that shields them from the weather. them,
But, thinking of this change which last befel us, And we, who know no better, must believe them.
It's like what I have heard our poets tell us: Now to these men (say they) such souls were
For when behind our scenes their suits are plead- given,
ing,

That, after death, ne'er went to hell nor heaven, To help their love, sometimes they shew theịr But lived, I know not how, in beasts; and then, reading ;

When many years were pass’d, in men again. And, wanting

ready cash to pay for hearts, Methinks, we players resemble such a soul, They top their learning on us and their parts. That does from bodies, we from houses stroll,

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Thus Aristotle's soul, of old that was,

Strolling from place to place, by circulation; May now be damn’d to animate an ass ; Grant Heav'n, we don't return to our first sta Or in this very house, for aught we know,

tion ! Is doing painful penance in some beau:

I know not what these think; but, for my part, And thus our audience, which did once resort I cann't reflect without an aching heart, To shining theatres, to see our sport,

How we should end in our original--a cart. Now find us toss'd into a tennis court,

But we cann't fear, since you're so good to saveus, These walls but t'other day were fill'd with noise That you have only set us up to leave us. Of roaring gamesters, and your damme boys; Thus, from the past, we hope for future grace, Then bounding balls and rackets they encompast; I beg itAnd now they're fill'd with jests, and fights, and And some here know I have a begging face. bombast!

Then pray continue this your kind behaviour ; I vow, I don't much like this transmigration, For a clear stage won't do, without your favour.

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Of those few fools who with ill stars are curst,

Heowns with toil he wrote the following scenes; Sure scribbling fools, callid poets, fare the worst : But, if they're naught, ne'er spare him for his For they're a set of fools which Fortune makes,

pains. And, after she has made 'ern fools, forsakes. Damn him the more; have no commiseration With Nature's oafs 'tis quite a different case, For dulness on mature deliberation. For Fortune tavours all her idiot-race:

He swears he'll not resent one hiss’d-off scene, In her own nest the cuckoo-eggs we find, Nor, like those peevish wits, his play maintain, O’er which she broods to hatch the changeling- Who, to assert their sense, your taste arraign. kind.

Some plot we think he has, and some new thought: No portion for her own she has to spare, Some humour too, no farce; but that's a fault. So much she dotes on her adopted care.

Satire, he thinks, you ought not to expect;. Poets are bubbles, by the town drawn in, For so reform’d a town, who dares correct? Suffer'd at first some trifling stakes to win: To please, this time, has been his sole pretence, But what unequal hazards do they run !

He'll not instruct, lest it should give offence. Each time they write, they venture all they've won: Should he by chance a knave or fool expose, The squire that's butter'd still, is sure to be undone. That hurts none here, sure here are none of those. This author, heretofore, has found your favour; In short, our play shall (with your leave to shew But pleads no merit from his past behaviour.

it) To build on that might prove a rain presumption, Give you one instance of a passive poet, Should grants, to poets made, admit resumption: Who to your judgments yields all resignation, And in Parnassus he must lose his scat,

To save, or damn, after your own discretion. If that be found a forfeited estate.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Mrs MILLAMANT, a fine Lady, Niece to Lady MEN.

Wishfort, and loves Mirabell. FAINALL, in love with Mrs Marwood.

Mrs MARWOOD, Friend to Mr Fainall, and likes

Mirabell.
MIRABELL, in love with Mrs Millumunt.
WITWOULD,

Mrs FAINALL, Daughter to Lady Wishfort. PETULANT,

Followers of Mrs Millamant. FOIBLE, Woman to Lady Wishfort.
Sir WILFUL WITWOULD, Half-brother to Wit- MINCING, Woman to Mrs Millamant.

would.
WAITWELL, Servant to Mirabell.

Footmen and Attendants.

WOMEN.
Lady WISHFORT, Enemy to Mirabell.

SCENE,— LondonThe Time equal to that of the Representation.

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