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Moth. O, kinswoman, never speak of her more; for she's an odious creature to leave me thus i' th' lurch. I that have given her all her breeding, and instructed her with my own principles of education.

Kins. I protest, madam, I think she's a person that knows as much of all that as

Moth. Knows, kinswoman! there's ne'er a woman in Italy, of thrice her years, knows so much the procedures of a true gallantry, and the infallible principles of an honourable friendship, as she does.

Kins. And, therefore, madam, you ought to

love her.

Moth. No, fie upon her, nothing at all, as I am a Christian. When once a person fails in fundamentals, she's at a period with me. Besides, with all her wit, Constantia is but a fool, and calls all the mignarderies of a bonne mien, affectation.

Kins. Indeed, I must confess, she's given a little too much to the careless way.

Moth. Ay, there you have hit it, kinswoman; the careless way has quite undone her. Will ye believe me, kinswoman? as I am a Christian, I never could make her do this, nor carry her body thus, but just when my eye was upon her; as soon as ever my back was turned, whip, her elbows were quite out again: would not you strange now at this?

Kins. Bless me, sweet goodness! But pray, madam, how came Constantia to fall out with your ladyship? Did she take any thing ill of you? Moth. As I am a christian I can't resolve you, unless it were that I led the dance first; but for that, she must excuse me. I know she dances well, but there are others who perhaps understand the right swim of it as well as she :

Enter Don FREDERICK.

And though I love Constantia-
Fred. How's this? Constantia !

Moth. I know no reason why I should be debarred the privilege of shewing my own parts too, sometimes.

Fred. If I am not mistaken, that other woman is she Don John and I were directed to, when we came first to town, to bring us acquainted with Constantia. I'll try to get some intelligence from her. Pray, lady, have I never seen you before?

Kins. Yes, sir, I think you have, with another stranger, a friend of yours, one day as I was coming out of the church.

Fred. I am right then. And, pray, who were you talking of?

Moth. Why, sir, of an inconsiderate inconsiderable person, that has at once both forfeited the honour of my concern, and the concern of her own honour.

Fred. Very fine indeed! and is all this intended for the beautiful Constantia ?

Moth. O fie upon her, sir! an odious creature, as I'm a christian, no beauty at all.

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Fred. Why, does not your ladyship think her handsome?

Moth. Seriously, sir, I don't think she's ugly; but, as I'm a christian, my position is, that no true beauty can be lodged in that creature, who is not in some measure buoy'd up with a just sense of what is incumbent to the devoir of a person of quality.

Fred. That position, madam, is a little severe; but however she has been incumbent formerly, as your ladyship is pleased to say, now, that she's married, and her husband owns the child, she is sufficiently justified for all she has done.

Moth. Sir, I must blushingly beg leave to say you are there in an error. I know there has been passages of love between 'em, but with a temperament so innocent and so refined, as it did impose a negative upon the very possibility of her being with child.

Fred. Sure, she is not well acquainted with her. Pray, madam, how long have you known Constantia ?

Moth. Long enough, I think, sir; for I had the good fortune, or rather the ill one, to help her first to the light of the world.

Fred. Now cannot I discover, by the fineness of this dialect, whether she be the mother or the midwife! I had better ask t'other woman.

Moth. No, sir, I assure you, my daughter Constantia has never had a child: a child! ha, ha, ha! O goodness save us, a child!

Fred. O, then, she is the mother, and, it seems, is not informed of the matter. Well, madam, Í shall not dispute this with you any further; but give me leave to wait upon your daughter; for her friend, I assure you, is in great impatience to see her.

Moth. Friend, sir? I know none she has. I'm sure she lothes the very sight of him.

Fred. Of whom?

Moth. Why, of Antonio, sir; he that you were pleased to say, had got my daughter with child, sir; ha, ha, ha!

Fred. Still worse and worse. 'Slife! cannot she be content with not letting me understand her; but must also resolve obstinately not to understand me, because I speak plain? Why, madam, I cannot express myself your way, therefore be not offended at me for it. I tell you I do not know Antonio, nor never named him to you; I told you that the duke has owned Constantia for his wife, that her brother and he are friends, and are both now in search after her.

Moth. Then, as I'm a christian, I suspect we have both been equally involved in the misfortune of a mistake. Sir, I am in the dernier confusion to avow, that, though my daughter Constantia has been liable to several addresses, yet she neve has had the honour to be produced to his grace. Fred. So then you put her to bed to~~

Moth. Antonio, sir; one whom my ebb of fortune forced me to enter into a negotiation with, in reference to my daughter's person; but, as I'm a christian, with that candour in the action, as

I was in no kind denied to be a witness of the thing.

Fred. So now the thing is out. This is a dann'd bawd, and I as damn'd a rogue for what I did to Don John; for o' my conscience, this is that Constantia the fellow told me of. F'll make him amends, whate'er it cost me. Lady, you must give me leave not to part with you, till you meet with your daughter, for some reasons I shall tell you hereafter.

Moth. Sir, I am so highly your obligee for the manner of your enquiries, and you have grounded your determinations upon so just a basis, that I shall not be ashamed to own myself a votary to all your commands. [Exeunt.

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2 Con. No, I will never hear you more, after such an injury: what would ye have done, if I had been kind to you, that could use me thus before?

John. By my troth, that's shrewdly urged. 2 Con. Besides, you basely broke your word. John. But will you hear nothing? nor did you hear nothing? I had three men upon me at once, and had I not consented to let that old fellow up, who came to my rescue, they had all broken in, whether I would or no.

2 Con. Faith, it may be it was so, for I remember I heard a noise; but suppose it was not so, what then? Why then I'll love him however. Hark ye, sir, I ought now to use you very scurvily. But I can't find in my heart to do it.

John. Then God's blessing on thy heart for it! 2 Con. But a

John. What?

2 Con. I would fain

John. Ay, so would I come let's go.

2 Con. I would fain know, whether you can be kind to me?

John. That thou shalt presently. Come away. 2 Con. And will you always?

John. Always! I can't say so: but I will as often as I can.

2 Con. Phoo! I mean love me. John. Well I mean that too.

2 Con. Swear then.

John. That I will upon my knees. What shall I say?

2 Con. Nay, use what words you please, so they be hearty, and not those that are spoken by the priest, for that charm seldom proves for

tunate.

John. I swear then by thy fair self, that look'st so like a deity, and art the only thing I now can think of, that I'll adore thee to my dying day.

2 Con. And here I'll vow, the minute thou dost leave me, I'll leave the world; that is, kill myself.

John. O my dear heavenly creature!➡[Kisses her.] That kiss now has almost put me into a swoon. For Heaven's sake, let's quickly out of the streets for fear of another scuffle. I durst encounter a whole army for thy sake, but yet methinks I had better try my courage another way; what think'st thou !

2 Con. Well, well; why don't you then? [As they are going out, enter 1st CONSTANTIA, and just then ANTONIO seizes upon her.

John. Who's this my old new friend has got there?

Ant. O! have I caught you, gentlewoman, at last! Come, give me my gold.

Con. I hope he takes me for another, I won't answer; for I had rather he should take me for any one than who I am.

John. Pray, sir, who is that you have there

by the hand?

Ant. A person of honour, sir, that has broke open my trunks, and run away with all my gold; yet I'll hold ten pounds I'll have it whipped out of her again.

2 Con. Done, I'll hold you ten pounds of that,

now.

Ant. Ha! by my troth you have reason; and, lady, I ask your pardon. But I'll have it whipped out of you, then, gossip.

John. Hold, sir, you must not meddle with my goods.

Ant. Your goods! how came she to be yours? I'm sure I bought her of her mother for five hun dred good pieces of gold, and she was a-bcd with me all night too. Deny that if you dare.

2 Con. Well, and what did you do when I was a-bed with you all night? Confess that if you

dare.

Ant. Umph! say you so?

Con. I'll try if this lady will help me, for I know not whether else to go.

Ant. I shall be ashamed, I see, utterly, except I make her hold her peace. Pray, sir, by your leave, I hope you will allow me the speech of one word with your goods here, as you call ber; 'tis but a small request.

John. Ay, sir, with all my heart. How, Constantia! Madam, now you have seen that lady, I hope you will pardon the haste you met me in a little while ago; if I have committed a fault you must thank her for it.

Con. Sir, if you will for her sake be persuaded to protect me from the violence of my brother, I shall have reason to thank you both.

John. Nay, madam, now that I am in my wits again, and my heart's at ease, it shall go very hard, but I will see yours so too. I was before distracted, and 'tis not strange the love of her should hinder me from remembering what was due to you, since it made me forget myself. Con. Sir, I do know too well the power of love by my own experience, not to pardon all the effects of it in another.

Ant. Well then, I promise you, if you will but help me to my gold again (I mean that which you and your mother stole out of my trunk) that I'll never trouble you more.

2 Con. A match; and 'tis the best that you and I could ever make.

John. Pray, madam, fear nothing; by my love I'll stand by you, and see that your brother shall do you no harm.

2 Con. Hark ye, sir, a word; how dare you talk of love, or standing by any lady but me, sir?

John. By my troth that was a fault; but I did not mean in your way, I meant it only civilly.

2 Con. Ay, but if you are so very civil a gentleman, we shall not be long friends. I scorn to share your love with any one whatsoever: and for my part, I'm resolved either to have all or nothing.

John. Well, my dear little rogue, thou shalt have it all presently, as soon as we can but get rid of this company.

2 Con. Phoo! you are always abusing me.
Enter FREDERICK and Mother.

Fred. Come, now, madam, let us not speak one word more, but go quietly about our business; not but that I think it the greatest pleasure in theworld to hear you talk, but

Moth. Do you indeed, sir? I swear then good wits jump, sir; for I have thought so myself a very great while.

Fred. You've all the reason imaginable. O, Don John, I ask thy pardon, but I hope I shall make thee amends, for I have found out the mother, and she has promised me to help thee to thy mistress again.

John. Sir, you may save your labour, the business is done, and I am fully satisfied.

Fred. And dost thou know who she is? John. No, faith, I never asked her name. Fred. Why, then, I'll make thee yet more satisfied; this lady here is that very Constantia

John. Ha! thou hast not a mind to be knocked o'er the pate too, hast thou?

Fred. No, sir, nor dare you do it neither:

but for certain this is that very self-same Constantia that thou and I so long looked after.

John. I thought she was something more than ordinary; but shall I tell thee now a stranger thing than all this?

Fred. What's that?

John. Why, I will never more touch any other woman for her sake.

Fred. Well, I submit ; that indeed is stranger. 2 Con. Come, mother, deliver your purse; I have delivered up myself to this young fellow, and the bargain's made with that old fellow, so he may have his gold again, that all shall be well.

Moth. As I'm a Christian, sir, I took it away only to have the honour of restoring it again; for my hard fate having not bestowed upon me a fund which might capacitate me to make you presents of my own, I had no way left for the exercise of my generosity but by putting myself into a condition of giving back what was yours.

Ant. A very generous design indeed! So now I'll e'en turn a sober person, and leave off' wenching, and this fighting, for I begin to find it does not agree with me.

Fred. Madam, I'm heartily glad to see your ladyship here; we have been in a very great disorder since we saw you. What's here, our landlady and the child again!

Enter Duke, PETRUCHIO, and Landlady with the Child.

Petr. Yes, we met her going to be whipped, in a drunken constable's hands that took her for another.

John. Why then, pray let her e'en be taken and whipped for herself, for on my word she de

serves it.

Land. Yes, I'm sure of your good word at any time.

Con. Hark ye, dear landlady.

Land. O, sweet goodness! is it you? I have been in such a peck of troubles since I saw you; they took me, and they tumbled me, and they hauled me, and they pulled me, and they called me painted Jezabel, and the poor little babe here did so take on. Come hither, my lord, come hither; here is Constantia.

Con. For Heaven's sake, peace! yonder is my brother, and if he discovers me, I'm certainly ruined.

Duke. No, madam, there is no danger. Con. Were there a thousand dangers in those arms, I would run thus to meet them.

Duke. O, my dear, it were not safe that any should be here at present; for now my heart is so o'erpressed with joy, that I should scarce be able to defend thee.

Petr. Sister, I'm so asham'd of all the faults which my mistake has made me guilty of, that I know not how to ask your pardon for them.

Con. No, brother, the fault was mine in mistaking you so much, as not to impart the whole truth to you at first; but having begun my love

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PERHAPS you, gentlemen, expect to-day,
The author of this fag end of a play,
According to the modern way of wit,
Should strive to be before-hand with the pit ;
Begin to rail at you, and subtly too,
Prevent th' affront, by giving the first blow.
He wants not precedents, which often sway
In matters far more weighty than a play:
But he, no grave admirer of a rule,
Won't by example learn to play the fool.
The end of plays should be to entertain,
And not to keep the auditors in pain.
Giving our price, and for what trash we please,
He thinks, the play being done, you should have

ease.

No wit, no sense, no freedom, and a box, Is much like paying money for the stocks.

Besides the author dreads the strut and mien
Of new-prais'd poets, having often seen
Some of his fellows, who have writ before,
When Nell has danc'd her jig, steal to the door,
Hear the pit clap, and with conceit of that,
Swell, and believe themselves the lord knows
what.

Most writers now-a-days are grown so vain,
That once approv'd, they write, and write again,
Till they have writ away the fame they got.
Our friend this way of writing fancies not,
And hopes you will not tempt him with your
praise,

To rank himself with some that write new plays:
For he knows ways enough to be undone
Without the help of poetry for one.

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GREEDY, a hungry Justice of Peace.

WELLDO, a Parson.

TAPWELL, an Alehouse-keeper.
Three Creditors.

WOMEN.

Lady ALLWORTH, a rich Widow.
MARGARET, Overreach's Daughter.

MARRALL, a Term-driver, a Creature of Sir FROTH, Tapwell's Wife.

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SCENE 1.-The Outside of a Village Alehouse.

WELLBORN, TAPWELL, FROTH.

Well. No bouse? nor no tobacco?
Tap. Not a suck, sir;

Not the remainder of a single can,

Left by a drunken porter; all night palled, too. Froth. Not the dropping of the tap for your morning's draught, sir:

'Tis verity, I assure you.

Well. Verity, you brach!

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structed,

There dwells, and within call, if it please your worship,

The devil turned precisian! Rogue, what am I? A potent monarch called a constable,

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