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The Augustan Reprint Society

Thomas Baker

THE FINE LADY'S AIRS

(1709)

With an Introduction by
John Harrington Smith

Publication Number 25

Los Angeles

William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
University of California
1950

_GENERAL EDITORS_

H. RICHARD ARCHER, _Clark Memorial Library_
RICHARD C. BOYS, _University of Michigan_
EDWARD NILES HOOKER, _University of California, Los Angeles_
JOHN LOFTIS, _University of California, Los Angeles_

_ASSISTANT EDITOR_

W. EARL BRITTON, _University of Michigan_

_ADVISORY EDITORS_

EMMETT L. AVERY, _State College of Washington_
BENJAMIN BOYCE, _Duke University_
LOUIS I. BREDVOLD, _University of Michigan_
CLEANTH BROOKS, _Yale University_
JAMES L. CLIFFORD, _Columbia University_
ARTHUR FRIEDMAN, _University of Chicago_
SAMUEL H. MONK, _University of Minnesota_
ERNEST MOSSNER, _University of Texas_
JAMES SUTHERLAND, _Queen Mary College, London_
H.T. SWEDENBERG, JR., _University of California, Los Angeles_

INTRODUCTION

In the first decade of the eighteenth century, with comedy in train to be
altered out of recognition to please the reformers and the ladies, one of
the two talented writers who attempted to keep the comic muse alive in
something like her "Restoration" form was Thomas Baker.[1] Of Baker's four
plays which reached the stage, none has been reprinted since the
eighteenth century and three exist only as originally published. Of these
three the best is _The Fine Lady's Airs_; hence its selection for the
_Reprints_.

Baker's career in the theatre was as successful as should have been
expected by any young man who after his first play attempted to swim
against rather than with the current of taste. His first effort, entitled
_The Humour of the Age_, was produced at D.L. c. February 1701, and
published March 22,[2] the author having then but reached his "Twenty
First Year" (Dedication). It must have been well received, for Baker
speaks of "the extraordinary Reception this Rough Draught met with."
Indeed, it has in it, despite some "satire," a number of motifs which
would recommend it to the audience. Railton, the antimatrimonialist and
libertine of the piece, is given the wittiest lines, but his attempt to
seduce Tremilia, a grave Quaker-clad beauty, is frowned on by everyone,
including the author; and when the rake attempts to force the lady,
Freeman, a man of sense, intervenes with sword drawn and gives him a stern
lecture. In the end, when Tremilia, giving her hand to Freeman, turns out
to be an heiress who had assumed the Quaker garb to make sure of getting a
disinterested husband, the error of Railton's ways becomes apparent. At
the same time his cast mistress, whom he had succeeded in marrying off to
a ridiculous old Justice, is impressed by Tremilia's "great Example."
"How conspicuous a thing is Virtue!" says she, in an aside; and she
resolves to make the Justice a model wife. Despite much wit the play is
thus, in its main drift, exemplary.

Baker followed with _Tunbridge-Walks: Or, The Yeoman of Kent_, D.L. Jan.
1703, a play good enough to pass into the repertory and to be revived many
times in the course of the century. The variety of company and the holiday
atmosphere of the English watering-place had inspired good comedies of
intrigue, manners, and character eccentricities before this date (e.g.
Shadwell's _Epsom Wells_ and Rawlins' _Tunbridge-Wells_). Baker decorates
his scene with such "humours" as Maiden, "a Nice Fellow that values
himself upon all Effeminacies;" Squib, a bogus captain; Mrs. Goodfellow,
"a Lady that loves her Bottle;" her niece Penelope, "an Heroic Trapes;"
and Woodcock, the Yeoman, a rich, sharp, forthright, crusty old fellow
with a pretty daughter, Belinda, whom he is determined never to marry
but to a substantial farmer of her own class: her suitor, a clever
ne'er-do-well named Reynard, of course tricks the old gentleman by an
intrigue and a disguise. It is Reynard's sister Hillaria, however, "a
Railing, Mimicking Lady" with no money and no admitted scruples, but
enough beauty and wit to match when and with whom she chooses, who
dominates the play; and though Loveworth, whom she finally permits to win
her, is rather substantial than gay, she is gay enough for them both. The
action, though somewhat farcical, has verve throughout, and the dialogue
crackles. And, as regards the nature of comedy, Baker now knows where he
stands. There is no character who could possibly be taken as an "example."
On the contrary, whenever a pathetic or "exemplary" effect seems imminent
Hillaria or Woodcock is always there to knock it on the head. Thus when
Belinda goes into blank verse to lament the paternal tyranny which was
threatening to separate her from Reynard,

What Noise and Discord sordid Interest breeds!
Oh! that I had shar'd a levell'd State of Life,
With quiet humble Maids, exempt from Pride,
And Thoughts of Worldly Dross that marr their Joys,
In Any Sphere, but a Distinguished Heiress,
To raise me Envy, and oppose my Love.
Fortune, Fortune, Why did you give me Wealth to make me wretched!

Hillaria comes in:

Belinda in Tears--Now has that old Rogue been Plaguing her--Poor Soul!...
Come, Child, Let's retire, and take a Chiriping Dram, Sorrow's dry; I'le
divert you with the New Lampoon, 'tis a little Smutty; but what then; we
Women love to read those things in private. _(Exeunt)_

Within a year Baker had another play ready--_An Act at Oxford_, with the
scene laid in the university town and some of the characters Oxford types.
Whether through objections by the University authorities or not (they
would perhaps have thought themselves justified in bringing pressure,
for Baker certainly does not treat his _alma mater_ with great respect)
the play in this form was not acted. Baker published it in 1704, in the
Dedication referring to "the most perfect Enjoyment of Life, I found at
Oxford" and disclaiming any intention to give offence, he then salvaged
most of the play in a revision, _Hampstead Heath_ (D.L. Oct. 1705),
with the scene changed to Hampstead. It is as non-edifying as
_Tunbridge-Walks_. The note is struck on the first page, when Captain
Smart, who has been trying to read a new comedy entitled _Advice to All
Parties_, flings it down with expressions of ennui; shortly thereafter
Deputy Driver, a member of a Reforming Society, appears on the scene to be
twitted because while pretending to reform the whole world he can't keep
his own wife from gadding; and matters proceed with Smart's project to
trick a skittish independence-loving heiress into keeping a compact she
had made to marry him, and his friend Bloom's attempts at the cagey virtue
of Mrs. Driver. The latter project comes to nothing, but both hunter and
hunted find pleasure in the chase while it lasts. When Mrs. D. returns to
the Deputy at the end, her motive for reassuming his yoke is a sound one--
she's out of funds; and her advice to him, "If you'd check my Rambling,
loose my Reins," is sound Wycherleyan sense. It must be admitted that when
one compares the dialogue of _Hampstead Heath_ with that of the _Act_ some
punches are shown to have been pulled in the revision.[4] While keeping
the play comic Baker still did not wish to push the audience too far.

In December, 1708 he made his fourth and (as it proved) final try for fame
and fortune in the theatre with _The fine Lady's Airs,_ He claims that it
was well received (see Dedication) and he had his third night, but
D'Urfey, whose enmity Baker had incurred, says (Pref. to _The Modern
Prophets_) that the play was "hist," and _The British Apollo_, which
carried on a feud with Baker in August and September of 1709, makes the
same assertion in several places.[5] This, to be sure, is testimony from
enemies. But obviously the play was far less liked than _Tunbridge-Walks_
had been, and thus (to compare a small man with a great one) Baker's
experience was something like Congreve's, when, after the great success of
_Love for Love, The Way of the World_ won only a tepid reception. And it
is chiefly Congreve whom he takes for his model; the play is an attempt at
a level of comedy higher than Baker had aimed at before. He does not
always succeed: Congreve's kind of writing was not natural to Baker, and
the lines sometimes labor. Still, the Bleinheim-Lady Rodomont duel has
merit; and Sir Harry Sprightly (though of course he owes something to
Farquhar's Wildair), Mrs. Lovejoy, and Major Bramble are all in Baker's
best manner. On the whole it was a better play than the audience in 1708
deserved. Presumably Baker felt this, for he wrote no more for the stage.

Most of the account of Baker's life pulled together in the DNB article on
him has a decidedly apocryphal ring to it. The statement (first made in
_The Poetical Register_, 1719) that he was "Son of an Eminent Attorney of
the City of London" sounds like something manufactured out of whole cloth
by a compiler who in fact had no idea whose son Baker was. The _Biographia
Dramatica_ had "heard" that the effeminate Maiden in _Tunbridge-Walks_

    was absolutely, and without exaggeration, a portrait of the author's
    own former character, whose understanding having at length pointed
    out to him the folly he had so long been guilty-of, he reformed it
    altogether ... and wrote this character, in order to ... warn others
    from that rock of contempt, which he had himself for some time been
    wrecked on.

Nothing on its face more improbable than this could well be imagined.
And that Baker could have "died ... of that loathsome Distemper the
_Morbus Pediculosus_" (sketch of him in _Scanderbeg,_ 1747) does not sound
likely, either.[6]

A lead to more solid information is furnished by the circumstance of
Baker's having been educated at Oxford. We have seen (above) that he was
barely twenty-one when _The Humour of the Age_ was printed in March of
1701. A Thomas Baker, son of John Baker of Ledbury, Hereford, was entered
at Brasenose College, Oxford, on March 18, 1697, aged seventeen.[7] The
ages falling so pat, this must be our dramatist. Upon taking his B.A. at
Christ Church in 1700 he must immediately have set to scribbling his first
play (the Dedication says that it was "writ in two months last summer").
Perhaps at this time he lived in London in some such boarding-house as
furnishes the scene for the play.

He may have been already studying law, for at least by 1709 (we cannot
tell how much earlier) he was "by trade an Attorney."[8] It seems likely
that various touches in the comedies reflect his training for this
calling. In _The Humour of the Age_, Pun and Quibble, the principal fops,
are a pair of articled law-clerks who detest green-bags and (it comes
out at one point) are collaborating on a play. (Readers of the present
reprint will note, also, that the money which Master Totty brings with him
from the country is to recompense an attorney for training him in law).
Perhaps Baker could never afford to study law as those well off did: there
may be a tinge of sour grapes in the observation in _Tunbridge-Walks_ that
"since the Lawyers are all turn'd Poets, and have taken the Garrets in
Drury Lane, none but Beaus live in the Temple now, who have sold all
their Books, burnt all their Writings, and furnish'd the Rooms with
Looking-glass and China." But this is light-hearted, as becomes a man who
has not yet had a setback as a stage-poet. Two years later, after the
stopping of _An Act at Oxford_ had put him to much trouble, he is souring
somewhat, for the poor Oxford scholar says in _Hampstead Heath_ that no
profession nowadays offers much prospect of success for a man trained
as he, and, as for poetry, one can only expect to be "two years writing
a Play, and sollicit three more to get it acted; and for present
Sustenance one's forc'd to scribble _The Diverting Post, A Dialogue
between Charing-Cross and Bow Steeple_, and Elegies upon People that are
hang'd."

When in December 1708 _The Fine Lady's Airs_ gained only a moderate
success Baker must have thought of a living in the Church as a _pis
aller_, for he enrolled at Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, March 8,
1709, and took an M.A. there the same year. In a final attempt to succeed
with his pen he seems to have tried periodical journalism in the guise of
"Mrs. Crackenthorpe" in _The Female Tatler. The British Apollo_, at least,
pinned this on him. "The author poses as a woman," it says, in effect,
"and some may thus be taken in,"

    But others will swear that this wise Undertaker
    By Trade's an At--ney, by Name is a B--r,
    Who rambles about with a Female Disguise on
    And lives upon Scandal, as Toads do on Poyson.[9]

Perhaps it was this which, taken quite literally, produced the _Biographia
Dramatica's_ canard as to Baker's effeminacy (see above).

After grinding out a greater or less amount of this hack-work,[10] Baker
gave up trying to write. His disappearance from the scene thereafter is
accounted for by his appointment (1711) to a living in Bedfordshire, where
he was Rector of Bolnhurst till his death, and (1716-31) Vicar of
Ravensden. As the Bolnhurst school was founded upon a bequest from him in
1749,[11] he presumably died in that year--but not, I should guess, of
_morbus pediculosus_.

_John Harrington Smith
University of California, Los Angeles_

NOTES TO INTRODUCTION

[Footnote 1: The other was William Burnaby. His plays have been given a
modern editing by F.E. Budd (Scholartis Press, 1931).]

[Footnote 2: Nicoll, _Early Eighteenth Century Drama_, Handlist of Plays.
For all subsequent statements as to dates of production I follow this
source.]

[Footnote 3: It was still too lively, however, to be acted outside London.
The Harvard Theatre Collection has a copy once owned by Joe Haines with
"cuts" designed to soften it for playing in the provinces. Such lines as,
"The Godly never go to Taverns, but get drunk every Night at one another's
Houses," "Citizens are as fond of their Wives, as their Wives are of other
People," and "Virtue's an Impossibility ... every Citizen's Wife pretends
to't," are carefully expunged.]

[Footnote 4: E.g., Bloom to Mrs. Driver, "One moment into that Closet, if
it be but to read the Practice of Piety" becomes "One Moment into that
Closet, Dear, dear Creature; they say it's mighty prettily furnish'd," And
in her aside, "I vow, I've a good mind; but Virtue--the Devil, I ne're was
so put to't i' my Life," for the words "the Devil" are substituted the
words "and Reputation."]

[Footnote 5: No. 50, Sept. 14; No. 61, Oct. 26.]

[Footnote 6: According to the impression I have of this "morbus" it was a
skin-ailment particularly appropriated to beggars, who might contract it
upon long exposure to filth and louse-bites. Even then, though there would
doubtless be a certain amount "of discomfort about it, it would scarcely
prove fatal.]

[Footnote 7: This and subsequent vital statistics as to Baker's university
and clerical career are from the account of him in J. and J.A. Venn,
_Alumni Cantabrigienses_, 1922 _et sq_.]

[Footnote 8: _British Apollo_, No. 49, Sept. 14, 1709.]

[Footnote 9: _Ibid._]

[Footnote 10: Both Paul Bunyan Anderson, "The history and authorship of
Mrs. Crackenthorpe's _Female Tatler_," _MP_, XXVIII (1931), 354-60, and
Walter Graham, "Thomas Baker, Mrs. Manley, and _The Female Tatler_," _MP_,
XXXIV (1937), 267-72, think that some, at least, of the _F.T._ is from
Baker's pen, but they disagree as to what part and how much. I am
considering the matter and may have an opinion to express in future.]

[Footnote 11: _Victoria History of Bedfordshire_, II, 181 n.; III, 128.]

THE
Fine Lady's Airs:
OR, AN
EQUIPAGE of LOVERS.
A
COMEDY.

As it is Acted at the
THEATRE-ROYAL IN _DRURY-LANE._

Written by the Author of the _Yeoman of Kent_.

_LONDON_:

Printed for BERNARD LINTOTT at the _Cross-Keys_, between
the Two _Temple_ Gates in _Fleetstreet_.

Price 1_s._ 6_d_.

TO

Sir _ANDREW FONTAINE_

To Address a Man of your Character, gives me greater Concern than to
finish the most Elaborate Play, and support the various Conflicts which
naturally attend ev'ry Author; how the Town in general will receive it.

To harangue some of the First Quality, whose Titles are the greatest
Illustration we can give 'em, is a sort of Common-Place Oratory; which
Poets may easily vary in copying from one another; but, when I'm speaking
to the most finish'd young Gentleman any Age has produced, whose
distinguish'd Merits exact the nicest Relation, I feel my inability, and
want a Genius barely to touch on those extraordinary Accomplishments,
which You so early, and with so much ease, have made Your self perfect
Master of.

But, when I reflect on the Affability of Your Temper, the generous and
obliging Reception, You always gave me, and the ingaging Sweetness of Your
Conversation, I'm the more incourag'd to pay my Duty to You in this
Nature, fully persuading my self, You'll lay aside the Critick, by
considering, in how many Respects, Your condescending Goodness has shown
You are my Friend.

The vast stock of Learning You acquir'd in Your Non-age, has manifested to
the World, that a Scholar, and a fine Gentleman are not Inconsistent, and
rendered You so matchless an Ornament to the University of _Oxford_,
particularly to _Christ-Church-_College,  where You imbib'd it.

'Tis a Misfortune that attends many of our _English_ Gentlemen to set out
for Travel without any Foundation; and wanting a Tast of Letters, and the
Knowledge of their own Country, the Observations they make Abroad, to
reflect no further, are generally useless and impertinent.

But You so plentifully were furnish'd with all this Kingdom afforded, that
Foreign Languages became Natural to You, and the unparallell'd Perfections
You accumulated Abroad, particularly Your most Judicious and Critical
Collection of Antiquities, made You so eminently Conspicuous, and justly
Admir'd at the Great Court of _Hannover_, and since Your Return, have so
cordially recommended You to the good Graces of the most Discerning
Nobleman in the Kingdom.

Amongst other Degrees of Knowledge, I have heard You express some value
for Poetry; which, cou'd one imitate Your right Tast of those less
profitable Sciences, who permit it but at some Seasons, as a familiar
Companion to relieve more serious Thoughts, and prevent an Anxiety, which,
the constant Application, You have always been inclin'd to give harder
Studies, might probably draw on You, is an Amusement worthy the greatest
Head-piece. But 'tis so deluding a Genius, Dramatick Poetry especially,
that many are insensibly drawn into to it, 'till it becomes a Business. To
avoid that Misfortune, I'm now almost fix'd to throw it intirely by, and
wou'd fain aim at something which may prove more serviceable to the
Publick, and beneficial to my self.

Cou'd I have the Vanity to hope your Approbation of this _Comedy_, 'twou'd
be so current a Stamp to it, that none, who have the Honour to know You,
wou'd pretend to dispute it's Merit; but tho' I'm satisfy'd in Your good
Nature, I must be aw'd with Your Judgment; and am sensible there are
Errors in it infinitely more obvious to Your Eye, than a greater Part of
the Polite World; however, as it had the Fortune to be well receiv'd, and
by some of the best Judges esteem'd much preferable to any of my former,
and as it was highly favour'd the Third Night with as beautiful an
Appearance of Nobility, and other fine Ladies, as ever yet Grac'd a
Theatre. I hope, you'll in some measure Protect it, at least that you'll
pardon this Presumption, since I have long pleas'd my self with the Hopes,
and impatiently waited an Opportunity of publickly declaring how much I
am,

_SIR_,

_Your most Devoted,
and Obedient humble Servant_,

PROLOGUE.

Written by Mr. MOTTEUX.

_So long the solitary Stage has mourn'd,
Sure now you're pleas'd to find our Sports return'd.
When Warriors come triumphant, all will smile,
And Love wirh Conquest crown the Toyls of_ Lille.
_Tho from the Field of Glory you're no Starters,
Few love all Fighting, and no Winter-Quarters.
Chagrin French Generals cry_, Gens temerare
_Dare to take_ Lille! _We only take the Air.
No, bravely, with the Pow'rs of_ Spain _and_ France,
_We will--Entrench; and stand--at a distance:
We'll starve 'em--if they please not to advance.
Long thus, in vain, were the Allies defy'd,
But 'twas ver cold by that damn'd River Side.
So as they came too late, and we were stronger,
Scorn the Poltrons, we cry'd--
March off;_ morbleu, _we'll stay for 'em no longer;
The little Monsieurs their Disgrace may own,
Now ev'n the Grand ones makes their Scandal known.

Mean while, without you half our Season's wasted.
Before 'tis_ Lent _sufficiently we've fasted.
No matter how our Op'ra Folks did fare,
Too full a Stomach do's the Voice impair._
Nay, you your selves lost by't; for saunt'ring hither
You're safe from all but Love, four Hours together.
Some idle Sparks with dear damnd Stuff, call'd Wine,
Got drunk by Eight, and perhaps sows'd by Nine,
O'er Politicks and Smoke some rail'd some writ,
The Wiser yawn'd, or nodded o'er their Wit.
O'er Scandal, Tea, Cards, or dull am'rous Papers,
The Ladies had the Spleen, the Beaux the Vapors.
Some went among the Saints without Devotion;
Nay more, 'tis fear'd went thro' a wicked Motion.
But the kind Female Traders well may boast,
When we're shut up, their Doors are open'd most.

I dare engage, they, by the Vint'ners back'd,
Wou'd raise a Fund, so they alone might act.
With them 'tis ne'er Vacation, tho' we lose,
The Courts shut up, they Chamber Practice use.

Since therefore without Plays, tho' call'd a Curse,
The Good grow bad, the Bad grow worse and worse,
Show misled Zeal what Ills infest the Age,
And truly to reform, support the_ British _Stage_.

    Dramatis Personæ.

MEN.

Sir _Harry Sprightly_.                             Mr._Mills_.

Brigadier _Blenheim_, just return'd from the Army. Mr._Wilks_

Mr. _Nicknack_, a Beau-Merchant.                   Mr._Cibber_.

_Major Bramble_, a factious old Fellow.            Mr._Johnson._

Master _Totty_, a great Boy.                       Mr._Bullock_.

_Knapsack_, an Attendant on the _Collonel_.        Mr._Pinkethman_.

_Shrimp_, Sir Harry's Valet.                       Mr._Norris_.

WOMEN.

Lady _Rodomont_.                                   Mrs._Oldfield_.

Lady _Toss-up_.                                    Mrs._Porter_.

Mrs. _Lovejoy_, Cousin to Lady _Rodomont_.         Mrs._Bradshaw_.

Mrs. _Flimsy_, Lady _Toss-up's_ Woman.             Mrs._Saunders_.

_Orange-Woman._                                    Mr. _Pack_.

_Mercer, Manto-Maker, Sempstress, Toyman, India-Woman,_
and other Attendants.

SCENE LONDON.

In the Month of _December_.

THE
Fine Lady's Airs:
OR, AN
EQUIPAGE of LOVERS.

ACT I. SCENE I.

    _Sir_ Harry _discover'd dressing; and_ Shrimp _attending_.

Sir _Har_. Where had you been last Night, you drunken Dog, that you
cou'dn't take care of me when I was drunk.

_Shr_. I happen'd, Sir, to meet with some very honest Gentlemen, that have
the Honour to wait upon other Gentlemen, where Wit and Humour brighten'd
to that degree, we pass'd about the Glass, 'till we lost our Senses.

Sir _Har_. Wit, you Rascal! Have you Scoundrels the impudence to suppose
your selves reasonable Creatures?

_Shr_. Sir, we are as much below Learning, indeed, as our Masters are
above it; but why mayn't a Servant have as good natural Parts?

Sir _Har_. Mend your Manners, Sirrah; or you shall serve the Queen.

_Shr_. Ev'ry Man ought to mend his Manners, Sir, that pretends to a Place
at Court; but the Queen's mightily oblig'd to some People.--Has a
Gentleman an impudent rakish Footman, not meaning my self, Sir, that wears
his Linen, fingers his Money, and lies with his Mistress;--You Dog, you
shall serve the Queen.--Has a Tradesman a Fop Prentice, that airs out his
Horses, and heats his Wife, or an old Puritan a graceless Son, that runs
to the Play-House instead of the Meeting, they are threathen'd with the
Queen's Service; so that Her Majesty's good Subjects, drink her Health,
wish success to her Arms, and send her all the Scoundrels i'the Nation.

Sir _Har_. Fellows that han't sense to value a Civil Employment are
necessary to front an Army, whose thick Sculls may repulse the first Fury
of the Enemy's Cannon Bullets.

_Shr_. I hope, then, the _English_ are so wise to let the _Dutch_ march
foremost.--But why, Sir, shou'd you Gentlemen ingross all the Pleasures
o'Life, and not allow us poor Dogs to imitate you in our own Sphere;--You
wear lac'd Coats; We lac'd Liv'ries;--You play at Picquet; We at
All-Fours;--You get drunk with Burgundy; We with Geneva;--You pinck Holes
with your Swords; We crack Sculls with our Sticks;--You are Gentlemen; We
are hang'd.

Sir _Har_. A fine Relation; but, methinks, the latter Part of it might
deter you from such Courses.

_Shr_. I'm a Predestinarian, Sir; which is an Argument of a great Soul,
and will no more baulk a drunken Frolick, than I would a pretty Lady that
takes a Fancy to me.

Sir _Har_. No more of your Impertinence; attend, I hear Company (Shrimp
_goes to the Door_) Brigadier _Blenheim_ return'd from the Army!

    _Enter_ Collonel, _and_ Knapsack.

Sir _Har_. My noblest, dearest Collonel, let me imbrace you as a
_Britain_, and as a Friend. _Ajax_ ne'er boasted _English_ Valour;
_Ulysses_ ne'er such Conduct; nor _Alexander_ such Successes. The Queen
rejoices; the Parliament vote you Thanks; and ev'ry honest Loyal Heart
bounds at our General's Name.

_Col_. Ay, Sir _Harry_, to be thus receiv'd, rewards the Soldier's Toils;
and, faith, we have maul'd the fancy _French-men,_ near Twenty Thousand we
left fast asleep, taught the remaining few a new Minuet-step, and sent 'em
home to sing _Te Deum_.

_Knap_. Ay, Sir, and if they are not satisfied, next Campaign the
_English_ shall stand still, and laugh at their Endeavours; the _Dutch_
Snigger-snee 'em; the _Scotch_ Cook them; and the wild _Irish_ eat 'em.

_Col_. Oh! The glorious Din of War; the Energy of a good Cause, and the
Emulation of a brave Confederacy.--To sound the Charge; Make a vigorous
Attack, the Enemy gives ground,--To pour on fresh Vollies of a sure
Destruction, and return deafn'd with shouts o' Victory, and adorn'd with
glitt'ring Standards of the vanquish'd Foe.

_Knap_. To hang up in _Westminster-Hall_, and make the Lawyers stare off
their Briefs;--But the Harmony of sounding a Retreat,--to hug my self with
two Arms, and walk substantially upon both my Pedestals, or the health of
Mind in lying sick at _Amsterdam_.

_Col_. Ay, here's a sorry Rascal, that lags always behind, and is afraid
to look Death i'the Face.

_Knap_. Why, really, Sir, 'tisn't manners to march before the _Colonel_;
and upon a warm Engagement, I have heard you talk musically of good
Conduct. Besides, that Mr._ Death_ is but a Hatchet-face Beau, so lean,
and wither'd like an old Dutchess, or a Doctor o' Physick, I had as live
see the Devil.

Sir _Har_. But when the Lines are forc'd, the Enemy slain, and the Placs
loaded with rich Plunder.--

_Knap_. None so nimble, none so valiant, none so expert as your very
humble Servant _Nehemiah Knapsack_.

_Col_. But, who are the raigning Beauties o'the Age? What Favours will
they grant a Soldier after a hard Campaign, fatiguing Marches, desp'rate
Attempts, and narrow Escapes, to preserve them from Rapine, Violence, and
Slav'ry, that they may laugh away the Day in gay Diversions, and pass the
silent Night in silver Slumbers on their Downy Beds?

Sir _Har_. Just as many Favours as you have Money or _Mechlin_ Lace to
purchase: Women apprehend not the Danger of War, and therefore have no
Notion of Gratitude.

_Coll_. Oh! The thoughts of scatt'ring small Shot among the sparkling
Tribe, to feast my Senses upon dear Variety, have ev'ry Day a new dazling
Beauty, and ev'ry Hour to taste the Joys of Love.

Sir _Har_. Don't fancy, _Collonel_, because you have beat the _French_ you
must conquer all the Ladies; there are Women that dare resist you boldly,
will exact your Courage beyond attacking a Fortress, and maintain a hotter
Engagement.

_Col._ If you mean Women of the Town, some of 'em wou'd give a Man a warm
Reception--Yet I long to be traversing the _Park_, ogling at the Play,
peeping up at Windows, and ferreting the Warren o' _Covent-Garden_, till I
seize on some skittish dapper Doxie, whose pretty black Eyes, dimpling
Cheeks, heaving Breasts, and soft Caresses, wou'd melt a Man--for half a
Guinea.

_Knap_. How I long too, to wheedle in with some Buxom Widow, that keeps a
Victualling-House, to provide me with Meat, Drink, Washing and Lodging--to
find out some delicious Chamber-Maid, that will pawn her best Mohair-Gown,
sell even her Silver-Thimble, and rob her Mistress to shew how truly she
loves me; or intrigue with some Heroick Sempstress, that will call me her
_Artaxerxes_, her _Agamemnon_, and give me six new Shirts.

Sir _Har_. And now the tedious Summer is elaps'd, and Winter ushers in
neglected Joys; Armies march home victorious from the Field, Ladies from
Parks and Plains that mourn'd their absence; a Croud of Pleasures glut the
varying Appetite, and Friends long absent meet with gayest Transports.

_Col_. Ay, Winter is the gay, the happy Season: I hate a Solitary Rural
Life, as if one were at variance with the World; to walk with Arms
a-cross, admire Nature's Works in Woods and Groves, talk to the Streams,
and tell the Trees our Passion, while Eccho's make a Mock at all we say--
Give me the shining Town, the glittering Theatres; there Nature best is
seen in Beauteous Boxes, where Beaus transported with the Heavenly Sight,
the little God sits pleas'd in ev'ry Eye, and Actors dart new Vigour from
the Stage, supported By the Spirit of full Pay--But what great Fortunes
buz about the Town; Red-Coats have carry'd off good store of Heiresses,
and that's the sure, tho' not the sweetest Game; besides, Sir _Harry_,
they talk of Peace, and we that have nothing but the Sword to trust to,
ought to provide against that dreadful Day.

_Knap_. Really, Sir, I have had some Thoughts of Marriage too; there's
nothing like being settl'd, to have a House of one's own, and Attendants
about one; besides, I'm the last Male, of a very ancient Family, and
shou'd I die without Children, the _Knap-sacks_ wou'd be quite extinct.

Sir _Har._ The Talk, the Pride, and Envy of the Town is Lady _Rodomont_,
whose Wit surprizes, whose Beauty ravishes, and a clear Estate of Six
thousand a Year distracts the admiring Train; but the Misfortune is, she
has Travell'd, had Experience, well vers'd in Gallantries of various
Courts; she admits Coquets, and rallies each Pretender, so resolutely fond
of Liberty, she slights the most accomplish'd of Mankind, there _Collonel_
is a Siege to prove a _Roman_ or a _Grecian_ Bravery.

_Col._ A _Roman_ or a _Grecian_, say you, bold _Britains_ laugh at all
their baubling Fights; and had _Achilles_, with his batt'ring Rams, felt
half the Fury of an _English_ General, _Troy_ had ne'er bully'd out a Ten
Years Siege--but Ladies are more craftily subdu'd; you mustn't storm a
Nymph with Sword and Pistol, pursue her as you wou'd a tatter'd
_Frenchman_, push her Attendants into the _Danube_, then seize her, and
clap her into a Coach--I'll baffle her at her own Argument, swear I'd not
wed a _Phoenix_ of her Sex, and laugh at Dress and Beauty, Wit and
Fortune, when purchas'd only at the Price of Liberty--then sweeten her
again with ogling Smiles, look Babies in her Eyes, and vow she's handsome;
and when she thinks each artful Glance has caught me, that now's the time
to Conquer, and to Laugh, and with malicious Cunning mentions Marriage,
I'll start, and change, and beg her not to name it, for 'tis a Thought
that rouses Madness in me, 'till out of Spight and Spleen, and Woman's
Curiosity, the Knot's abruptly ty'd, to prove my feign'd Resolves, and
boast her Power.

Sir _Har._ Tis well design'd, and may the Soldier animate the Lover: For
my part, I'm so devoted to my Pleasures, and so strangely bigotted to a
single Life, I have sold an Estate of Two thousand a Year, to buy an
Annuity of Four: I love to Rake and Rattle thro' the Town, and each
Amusement, as it happens, pleases. The Ladies call me Mad Sir _Harry_, a
Careless, Affable, Obliging Fellow, whom, when they want, they send for. I
wear good Cloaths to 'Squire'em up and down; have Wit enough to Chat, and
make'em Giggle, and Sense enough to keep their Favours secret--But from
Romantick Love, Good Heav'n defend me. A Moment's Joy's not worth an Age's
Courtship; and when the Nymph's Demure, and Dull and Shy, and Foolish and
Freakish, and Fickle, there are Billiards at the _Smyrna_, Bowles at
_Marybone_, and Dice at the _Groom-Porter_'s--Are you for the Noon-Park.

_Col._ With all my Heart.

Sir _Har._ There the _Beau-Monde_ appear in all their Splendour--Here,
_Shrimp_, [_Enters._] entertain the _Collonel_'s Servant--An Hour hence
you'll hear of us at _White_'s.    [_Exeunt._

_Shr._ Mr. _Knapsack_, are you for a Dish of _Bohee_: My Master has been
just drinking, and the Water boils--
[_Goes out, and returns with a Tea-Table._

_Knap._ Not to incommode you about it, Mr. _Shrimp_.

_Shr._ Well, Mr. _Knapsack_, we brave _Britains_ conquer all before us:
Why you have done Wonders this Campaign.

_Knap._ Ay, Mr. _Shrimp_, the Name of an _English_ General Thunder-strikes
the _French_, as much as it invigorates the Allies; for when he comes, he
cuts you off Ten or Twenty thousand, with the same Ease as a Countryman
wou'd mow down an Acre of Corn; tho', after all, I was in some pain for
our Forces, not being able to do 'em any personal Service; for you must
know, Mr. _Shrimp_, I am mightily subject to Convulsions, and just before
ev'ry Engagement I was unluckily seiz'd with so violent a Fit, they were
forc'd to carry me back to the next wall'd Town.

_Shr._ Are you for much Sugar in your Tea, Sir?

_Knap._ As much as you please, Sir.

_Shr._ Have you made many Campaigns, Mr. _Knapsack_?

_Knap._ This was the first, Mr. _Shrimp_, and I'm not positive that I
shall ever make another; for next Summer, I believe, some Business of
moment will confine me to this Kingdom--Pray, Mr. _Shrimp_, why don't you
exert your self in the Service; the Gentlemen of the Army wou'd be glad of
so sprightly an Officer as you among 'em.

_Shr._ O dear, Mr. _Knapsack_, I'm of so unfortunate a Stature, they'd
trample me under their Feet; besides, I have no Genius to Fighting; I
cou'd like a Commission in a Beau-Regiment, that always stays at home,
because a Scarlet-Lac'd-Suit, a Sash and Feather command Respect, keep off
Creditors, and make the Ladies fly into our Arms.

_Knap._ Ay, Mr. _Shrimp_, I don't doubt but you have good store
of Mistresses. Why you look a little thin upon the matter, ha!

_Shr._ No, no, Mr. _Knapsack_, I'm as moderate at that Sport, as any Man;
I must own, when a pretty Lady comes betimes in a Morning to my Master,
and he, poor Gentleman, is in a dead Sleep with hard Drinking, I do now
and then take her into the next Room, play the Fool with her a little till
my Master wakes, then give her a Dram of Surfeit-Water, and put her to Bed
to him, now there's Safety in such an Amour, for my Master hasn't his
Mistresses from a profess'd Baud; I have found him out a conscientious old
Gentlewoman, that's one of the sober Party, and acquainted with most
Citizens Daughters, that have as much Inclination to turn Whores as a
Chamber-Maid out of Place, and the old Lady is so passionately fond of my
Master, because he was once so charitable to do her the Favour, she sends
him the choicest of all her Ware--but to pick up a dirty Drab in the
Eighteen-penny-Gallery, with a rusty black Top-knot, a little Flower in
her Hair, a turn'd Smock, and no Stockings, the Jade wou'd poyson you like
Eighteen-penny-Wine.

_Knap._ I find, Mr. _Shrimp_, you Gentlemens Gentlemen have all your Cues.

_Shr._ Ah! Mr. _Knapsack_, there's more goes to the finishing of a true
Valet, than tying a Wig smartly, or answering a Dun genteely. I have
sometimes such weighty Matters warring in my Brains, and a greater
Conflict with my self how I shall manage 'em, than a Merchant's
Cash-keeper, that's run away with two thousand Pounds, and can't resolve
whether he shall trust the Government with it, or put it into the _East
India_ Company--I only wish it were my Fate to serve some Statesman in
Business; for Pimping often tosses a Man into a Place of three hundred a
Year, when Mony shall be refus'd, Merit repuls'd, and Relations thought
impudent for pretending to't.--But, I believe, Mr. _Knapsack_, our Hour's
elaps'd, for tho' our Masters may n't want us, we that are at Board-wages
love to smell out where they dine.

_Knap._ The Motion, Mr. _Shrimp_, is admirable, for really the Tea begins
to rake my Guts confoundedly.    [_Exeunt._

SCENE _Changes to Lady_ Rodomont's.

    _Enter Lady_ Rodomont, _and Mrs._ Lovejoy, _follow'd by a Servant._

_Ser._ Madam, the Mercer, the Manto-Maker, the Sempstress, the
India-Woman, and the Toy-Man attend your Ladiship without.

L. _Rod._ Admit 'em,--this Grandeur, Cozen, which those o' Quality assume
above the Populace, to have obsequious Mechanicks wait our Levee in a
Morning, is not disagreeable; then they are as constant as our Menials,
and the less Mony one pays 'em, the more constantly they attend.

Mrs. _Lov._ Those Ladies, Madam, that want Mony to pay 'em, wou'd gladly
excuse their Attendance.

L. _Rod._ Cozen, 'tis Ill-breeding to suppose People o' Quality want Mony,
they have Business, Visits, Company, and very often are not in a Humour to
part with it; when we have Mony, we are easie, whether we pay it or no;
and 'tis affronting the Nobility, not to observe their Decorums.

    _The Trades-People Enter._

[_To the Mercer._] Mr. _Farendine_, this Silk has so glaring a Mixture of
preposterous Colours, I shall be taken for a North Country Bride; and so
very substantial, I believe you design'd it for my Heirs and Successours.

_Mer._ Madam, 'tis a very well wrought Silk.

L. _Rod._ So well wrought, it may serve one in a Family for twenty
Generations.--Have you sold any Wedding Suits lately?

_Mer._ Yes, Madam, I sold a yellow and white Damask, lin'd with a Cherry
and blew Sattin, and a Goslin green Petticoat to Mrs. _Winifred Widgeon_
i'the Peak, that marry'd Squire _Hog_ o' _Darby_,--'twas her Grandmother
_Trott_'s Fancy.

L. _Rod._ Nay, those old Governants, that were Dames of Honour to Queen
_Bess_, make their Daughters appear as monstrous in this Age, as they
themselves did in that.--Well, Mr. _Farendine_, when you have any thing
slight and pretty, let me see it. [_To the Manto-Maker_] Mrs. _Flounce_,
this Sleeve is most abominably cut.

_Mant. Mak._ Madam, 'tis exacly the Shape of my Lady _Snipe's_, and she s
allow'd to be the Pink o'the Mode.

L. _Rod._ My Lady _Snipe_, who ever heard of her?

Mrs. _Lov._ Oh! Madam, that's the over-dress'd Lady in _Fuller's Rents_,
the first in _England_, that wore Flow'rs in her Hair; She has 5000_l._
indeed, but they say 'tis in bad Hands, and the Town has neglected her
these ten Years.

L. _Rod._ And wou'd you have me appear like a Turn-stile Creature? why
d'you work for such Trumpery? have you not Business enough from Court.

_Mant. Mak._ Truly, Madam, I'm glad to accept of a Gown from any Body; for
the Ladies, now-a-days, are grown so saving, they make all their
Petticoats themselves.

L. _Rod._ Don't you work into the City too?

_Mant. Mak._ Yes, Madam, I have eleven Gowns to finish against Sunday, for
very good Customers, and very religious People.

L. _Rod._ Religious People! This Creature is so employ'd by the
_Canaille_, I shall have my Cloths cut to pieces, dear Cozen, let _Buda_
make me a Suit with Expedition, I'll present this to the Play-House.

_Semp._ Does your Ladyship like your Head, Madam?

L. _Rod._ The Lace, Mrs. _Taffety_, is so course and so heavy, I'm ready
to sink beneath the weight of it.

_Semp._ Madam, 'tis right _Mechlin_, cost me Six Guineas a Yard, and I
bought it too of a Merchant, that has smuggl'd many a hundred Pounds
worth.

L. _Rod._ There you please me, English People are extremely fond of what's
forbid, we commonly obey our Parents, and the Government much a-like; and
tho' the State prohibits _Flanders_ Lace, French Alamodes, and India
Sattins, we have 'em all by the way of _Holland_.--These Ruffles too are
so furiously starch'd, I shall throw People down as I move along.

_Semp._ The Ladies, Madam, love a stiff Ruffle, for shou'd the Wind blow
it aside, your Ladyship's Elbow might catch cold, but I'll slacken my Hand
i'the next.--Does your Ladyship want a very fine short Apron?

L. _Rod._ Women o' Quality, Mrs. _Taffety_ have left 'em off, and those
Ladies that do wear 'em, generally make 'em of their old Top-knots
[_to the India Woman_] Mrs. _Japan_, you are a Stranger here, I hav'n't
seen you since I paid off your last Bill,

_Ind. Wom._ Oh, Madam! I have been at Death's Door, the Hypocondriacks
have so prey'd upon my Spirits, they have destroy'd my Constitution, such
Rotations i'my Head, such an Oppression at my Stomach--but I ha' brought
you a Pound of Bohee, so purifying, 'twill give your Ladyship a new Mass
of Blood in a Quarter of an Hour.

L. _Rod._ Mrs. _Chince_ has much better.

_Ind. Wom._ Then will I eat Mrs. _Chince_.--Shall I show you some fine
India Pictures?

L. _Rod._ I hate those Shadows o' Men half finish'd.

_Ind Wom._ I must own the Substance of a Man well finish'd is much
better,--but here's a Set o'_Japan_ Cups will ravish your Ladyship, a
Tradesman's Wife long'd, and miscarry'd about 'em.

L. _Rod._ I'm overstock'd with _China_, and they say 'tis grown so common.
I intend to sacrifice mine to my Monkey.

_Ind. Wom._ Nay, pray, my Lady, buy somewhat of me, you know I'm in great
Tribulation, I trusted a couple of Trollops, that were turn'd out of the
Play-House, for having too much Assurance for the Stage, and set up a
little Shop in _Spring Garden_; and the bold Jades are gone a stroling
Fifty Pounds in my Debt. Besides, I have just now a lazy Trull of a
Daughter, that run away with a Foot Soldier, return'd big with the Lord
knows what, and that's no small Charge to me, that am forc'd to pad it
about for a Livelihood.

L. _Rod._ Well, you may leave a Pound of Powder.

_Ind. Wom._ [_Aside._] A Pound of Powder, pox o'your Generosity, these
great Ladies are grown as stingy as if they paid one ready Mony, were it
not for a City-bubble now and then, I might e'en go dance with the Dogs in
_May-Fair_.

L. _Rod._ [_To the Toy-Man._] Mr. _Gimcrack_, what new Fancies have you
brought this Morning?

_Toy-M._ A Pair of nice _Genoa_ Gloves for your Ladyship, curiously  made
up in a gilt Wallnut Shell.

L. _Rod_ A Wallnut Shell! they can't be large enough.

_Toy-M._ Madam, I sold six Pair to my Lady _Strammell_, and her Arm's nine
Inches Diameter.

L. _Rod._ What else have you?

_Toy-M._ A choice Comb for your Eye-brows, Madam, an acute Pair o'
Pinchers for your Hair, and a most ingenious French Knife to slice the
Powder of your Ladyship's Forehead, with Tongs, Shovels, Grates, and
Fenders for your Ladyship's Tea-Table.

L. _Rod._ Well, carry the things in, let your Bills be deliver'd to the
Steward, and I'll order some part of your Mony.

_All._ We humbly thank your Ladyship. [_Exeunt._

L. _Rod._ Now, Cozen, we have dispatch'd these necessary Animals; pray,
tell me how the Town relishes my Appearance.

Mrs. _Lov._ Your Ladyship's inimitable Graces, and our vast Successes
abroad are the Topicks that furnish all Conversation; one Lady cries at
the gilt Chariot, another swoons at the prancing Horses; and my old Lady
_Lack-it_, swears you have so handsom a Set of Foot-men, the dreams of
nothing else; then your Ladyship's Furniture is most surprizing, ev'ry
thing was so admir'd, and handl'd last Visiting-day, the Ladies left
little of it behind 'em.

L. _Rod. Bagatelle_! Ladies steal from one another, not for the Value of
the thing, but to make an Alteration in their Closets.--But what do the
Malitious say, am I envy'd, Cozen, I wou'd n't ha' the Fatigue of an
Estate, unless I cou'd make the World uneasie about it.

Mrs. _Lov._ Oh! Spleen, Spleen, Madam, to the last Degree--my Lady
_Testy_ has tore fifty Fans about you, broke all her China, and beat her
Foot-man's Eye out; she says, 'tis a burning Shame, you monopolize all the
Fellows in the Town; and truly, there's a Statute against ingrossing.--My
Lady _Prudence Maxim_, cries, _A fine Estate is a fine Thing, finely
manag'd, but to overdo at first, to undo at last_. And Mrs. _Indigo_, the
Merchant's Wife, says, _If you knew the getting on't, you wou'd n't spend
it so fast_.

L. _Rod._ I have six thousand a Year, and resolve to live single, and
enjoy it; I have made the Tour of _Italy_ and _France_, have given my self
the Accomplishment of both Sexes, and design to Visit, Game, Revel, dust
the Park, haunt the Theatres, and out-flutter e'er a Fop i'the Nation; and
I know not why a Lady that has the best Estate i'the County shou'd n't
represent 'em in Parliament.

Mrs. _Lov._ But launching out too far, Madam, may draw Reflections on your
Conduct, the English Ladies are more reserv'd than Foreigners.

L. _Rod._ The English Ladies! Shall a Corner of _Europe_ teach me
Decorums, that have travers'd the whole. The French Ladies admire my
Gayety; the Italians are ravish'd with my Grandeur, and if the English
Ladies do blame my Conduct, who values the Censure of a little Island.--
Oh! what Transports do I feel, to provoke the Eyes and Whispers of the
Multitude,--Whose Equipage is that--My Lady _Rodomont_'s?--Whose
Visiting-day is it--My Lady _Rodomont_'s?--Who bespoke the Play to Night--
My Lady _Rodomont_?--But when she's once marry'd--What "Gentlewoman's that
with the great Belly--Sir _Marmaduke Mortgage_'s Wife, that's come to Town
to buy Clouts, her Husband lost his Estate at Roly-poly.--She's mighty Big
indeed, I'm afraid she'll ha' two. Unless one cou'd find out some Plant of
a Husband, with Life and no Soul; a governable, drudging Creature, that
wou'd love, honour and obey his Wife; and know so little of his own
Prerogative, as to change his Name for her.

Mrs. _Lov._ Really, Madam, I'm o' your Opinion, I'd have Petticoat-
Government pass thro' the Nation; the Ladies shou'd possess the Estates,
and make their Husbands a Jointure.

L. _Rod._ While a Woman o' Fortune remains unmarry'd, she's a Petty-Queen;
Lovers innumerable trace her Steps; each Coxcomb thinks to be the happy
Man, and ev'ry were her Presence makes a Court--but when her Reason's once
subdu'd by Love, and the fond, foolish Nymph resigns her Pow'r, she's but
a meer _Appendix_ to a Fellow.

    _No more her darling Liberty can boast,
    Lovers no more her_ quondam _Beauties toast,
    But all her Pleasure, Pride and Charms are lost._

End of the First ACT.

ACT II.

SCENE, _The Park._

    _Sir_ Harry_, and the_ Collonel.

_Col._ Never a loose Lady tripping through the _Park_ to whet one's
Appetite this Morning?

Sir _Har._ Fie, _Collonel_, refine your Tast;----A common Woman! I'd as
soon dine at a common Ordinary: Give me a Woman of Condition, there's
Pride as well as Pleasure in such an Amour.

_Col._ Your Women of Condition, Pox on em, are like Noblemen's Dinners,
all Garniture and no Meat, then, the Ceremony of Approach and Retire,
palls a Man's Inclination, 'till he grows indifferent i' the Matter;--
Wou'd you Charm me, give me a ruddy Country Wench to riffe on the Grass,
with no other resistance than,--What a Dickens, is the Man berwattl'd, you
are an impudent, bold Rogue, and I'll call my Mother: Besides, the fear of
Scandal makes your great Ladies preserve a foolish kind of Virtue, their
Principles wou'd fain get rid of.

Sir _Har._ You are deceiv'd, _Collonel_, Women of Quality are above
Reputation.--Is it my Lady _Tipple-dram_'s Modesty, or the effect of
Ratifia, that gives her a high Colour in the Drawing-room?--Is my Lady
_Sluggard_'s Religion question'd, that has never been at Church since her
Baptism, or my Lady _Gamesom_'s Virtue suspected for admiring Collonel
_Sturdy_'s Regiment; both Sexes of Rank, now, use what Liberty they please
without censuring one another, and consequently despise the tattling of
Inferiours.

_Col._ Ha! what pert Fellow's this, that whisks it along in a Silk-Drugget
Suit, with the empty Air of a Fop Mercer, or a Judge's Train-bearer?

Sir _Har._ Oh! 'Tis young _Nicknack_, a Beau Merchant, his Father dy'd
lately, and left him considerably in Money, he has been bred to business,
with a Liberty of Pleasure, a little vain and affected as most young
Fellows are; but his Foppery is rather pretty and diverting than tiresome
and impertinent. For his Father obliging him still to live in the City,
and follow Business, he has turn'd Commerce into a Jest, and calls
himself, The Ladies Merchant; for he imports nothing but Squirrels,
Lap-dogs and _Guinea piggs_ to insnare the Women.

    _Enter_ Nicknack.

_Nick_. Dear Sir _Harry_, I have been twice round the _Park_, in search of
you.

Sir _Har._ Mr. _Nicknack_ pray know the _Collonel_ here; an intimate
Friend o'mine just arriv'd from _Flanders_.

_Nick_. Sir, I kiss your Hands, I am glad to find for the Ladies sake, as
well as your own, you are not the least disabl'd I wou'd give Ten Guineas,
_Collonel_, to see an Engagement, cou'd one be secure from a Cannon
Bullet.

_Col_. Ten Guineas to see an Engagement; wou'd you make a show of
Desolation, and have Men kill one another to divert your Spleen? What
shou'd any one do i'the Field, that's afraid of a Cannon Bullet?

_Nic_. 'Tis not impossible, Sir, in a whole Army, to find a Person as
little dispos'd to swallow a Cannon Bullet as my self; but I shou'd have
this preference to him, as I wou'd avoid fighting, I wou'd ask no Pay.

_Col_. Ha! Wit out of _Cheapside_, I'm afraid City Credit's at a very low
Ebb.

_Nick_. Your Pardon, _Collonel_.----Sir _Harry_, have you seen Lady
_Rodomont_ this Morning? I have News for her will make her Heart caper,
as mine did at the Death of my Father. The _Bawble_ Friggat, Captain
_Gewgaw_ Commander, is just arriv'd laden with Parrots, Parrotkeits,
Monkeys, Mamosets, Leopards, Lowries, _Muscovy_-Ducks, _German_-Geese,
_Danish_-Dormice, _Portugal_-Pigs, _Hannover_-Hens, and all the Rarities
imaginable.

Sir _Har_. You are a happy Man, Mr. _Nicknack_, that have such new ways to
ingage the Ladies; if you succeed in your Addresses to Lady _Rodomont_,
from your good Fortune, all the Beaus will turn Traders, and instead of
Treats, Balls, and Serenades, we shall have Post Nights, Polices of
Insurance, Factors, Agents, and Correspondents to import Niceties for
their Mistresses.

_Col_. [_aside_] Ridiculous;----And d'you think a Lady of her Birth and
Estate wou'd Marry a City Merchant.

_Nick_. A City Merchant, _Collonel_,----We have Creatures, indeed, that
deal in Herrings from _Holland_, and Cod from _Newfoundland_; but there
are degrees in Merchandizing as well as other Professions. An Officer
o'the Guards is above a Captain o'the Train Bands; and, I hope, there's
difference between a Gentleman that Trades to the _Indies_, and Merchant
_Rag_ that sends old Cloaths to _Jamaica_; but why, _Collonel_, shou'd the
City be so much despis'd, that has so near an affinity to the Court; we
have sense to distinguish Men and Manners, Breeding to pay a Valiant
Prince homage, that ev'ry Year triumphs for his Country, and generosity to
entertain him, where many a hungry Courtier has been glad to sneak in for
a Dinner.

_Col._ [_aside_] The Fellow talks Reason, i'faith;--but prithee, Mr.
_Nicknack_, what Business can a Merchant have at this end o'the Town; for
a Man that's bred up in a Counting-House to pretend to Airs and Graces, is
as monstrously ridiculous, as a Play-House Orange-Wench with a Gold Watch
by her side.

_Nick._ Pardon me there _Collonel_; are Pleasure and Business
inconsistent, must ev'ry Citizen be a Drone, that crawls among Furr Gowns,
or a Cuckold that's preferr'd by the Common-Hall; pray tell me, what
difference is there between a Merchant of a good Education, and a
Gentleman of Two Thousand Pounds a Year, only one has Threescore Thousand
Pounds clear in his Pocket, and t'other an Estate that's mortgag'd to
Threescore People; I have a House in _Billiter-Lane_, the Air's as good as
_Pickadilly_. _Cornish_ makes my Cloaths, _Chevalier_ my Periwigs, I'm
courted ev'ry Day to subscribe for singing Opera's, and have had Fifteen
Actresses at my Levee, with their Benefit-Tickets.

Sir _Har._ But, methinks, Mr. _Nicknack_; you that have so plentiful a
Fortune, shou'd leave off Business, and reside wholly amongst Men of
Figure and Estates.

_Nick._ My Commerce, Sir _Harry_, is but in Impertinences without the
least prospect of Gain; for the old Gentleman, when with great Industry,
he had imported an Estate of Fifty Thousand Pounds, with greater Civility
exported himself into the next World and left me all. Besides, Merchandize
is but a sort of Gaming, and if I like it better than Hazard or Basset,
why should any Man quarrel with my Genius; but, Gentlemen, your Servant.
I must find out Lady _Rodomont_; for I have ingros'd the whole Ship's
Cargo to my self, as my Father us'd to do Raw-Silk, and design her the
first choice of ev'ry Thing.             [_Exit._

_Col._ But what crabbed Don's this with the knavish Look of an old
plodding Conveyancer, whose Face and Profession are enough to raise the
Devil.

Sir _Har._ 'Tis Major _Bramble_, a factious, seditious old Rogue, that's
neither Whig, nor Tory, but an Enemy to his own Country; he hates the
Government, because the Government don't like him; repines at all our
Successes; and his Bosom Friends are Minters, Owlers, Pettifoggers,
Nonjurors that won't swear to the Government, and _Irish_ Evidences that
will swear to any thing.

    _Enter_ Major Bramble.

Heav'n guard the Court!--What cursed Plot's now hatching, that brings the
grumbling _Major_ to the _Park_?

_Bram._ The Government, Sir _Harry_, will ne'er suspect my policy at
plotting, when I have no more sense than to trust a Wit with it; but the
Company I keep, may with wondrous ease form a Plot past your finding out.

Sir _Har._ What, cowardly Bullies, tatter'd Gam'sters, and Fellows that
have been twice transported, poor, unhappy scoundrels that disturb the
Nation to please you rich Male-Contents, and are hang'd for their reward.

_Bram._ Those Gentlemen, Sir _Harry_, you're pleas'd to term scoundrels, I
honour; he that takes sanctuary in the _Fleet_, has an immediate place in
my Heart; the Heroes of the _Mint_ are a formidable Body, magnanimously
sowse ev'ry Fellow in a Ditch that dares to infringe their Liberties; he
that's committed to _Newgate_ is in a fair way to Immortality;--He that
stands in the Pillory is exalted to a very high Station; the Observator is
my very good Friend; and he that writes the Review a Person of a most
incomparable Assurance.

_Col._ But where's the Satisfaction of admiring what's Rascally?

_Bram._ You're mistaken, Sir, Virtue's oppress'd; these are the only Men
of worth i'the Nation, and since the World's compos'd chiefly of Knaves
and Hypocrites, it behoves ev'ry honest Fellow to over-reach the World;
therefore he that runs away from his Creditors is a Man of admirable
Principles, and his Creditors are very great Rogues.

_Col._ But why d'you hate the Government, _Major_, what harm has that done
you.

_Bram._ Why, Sir, I was formerly in a very good Office, was turn'd out for
Bribery, and have had none giv'n me since, therefore while the Government
takes no notice of me, I'll take no notice of the Government.

Sir _Har._ You are a Person, _Major_, the Government ought to take notice
of, I assure you--And d'you think a Man of your Character and Conversation
qualify'd for a publick Post.

_Bram._ Certainly, Sir _Harry_, who makes a better Soldier than a
Midnight-Scourer; who proves a sharper Judge than a Serjeant that takes
Fees on both sides; or who thumps the Cushion better than he that has
thumpt all the Wives i'the Parish; therefore that am acquainted with all
you call Rogues i'the Kingdom, think my self notably qualify'd for a
_Custom-House-Officer_--but whether the Government employs us, or not, my
Companions are the happiest People i'the World; we meet ev'ry Day at a
House within the Rules of the _Fleet_, where we have fat Venison, that's
Stole out of _Windsor-Park_; _French_ Wine, that's Run i'the _Wild o'
Kent_; drink Confusion to our Arms, and talk Treason, till the Vintner
crys, _Huzza, Drawer bring in my Bottle_. And there are of our Club, Four
Broken-Officers, Six Suborning-Attorneys, a Disaffected-Cobler, Two
Highway-Men, and Eleven _Jacobite_, Outlaw'd-Parsons.

Sir _Har._ If you are such an Enemy to your native Country, why don't you
course the World, and please your self.

_Bram._ Thank you, Sir _Harry_, but tho' things don't go as I'd have them,
of all Countries, I like _England_ the best, for 'tis the only Kingdom in
the World that suffers Faction; where one may write Libels, affront the
Ministry, deride the Laws, and set the whole Nation together by the Ears--
but whilst I am idle, mighty Matters are at a stand; in short, my Business
here is to make my Addresses to Lady _Rodomont_, who having lately seen
_Italy_ and _France_, like a true Woman, is return'd with a most horrid
Contempt of her own Country, and may like my Principles better than the
flutt'ring Airs of you Town-Sparks--afterwards, Gentlemen, I shall be
proud of both your Companies to dine in the _Press-Yard_, in _Newgate_,
with sev'ral very ingenious Persons, that coin better than they do i'the
_Tower_.       [_Exit._

_Col_. So, Lady _Rodomont_'s the Cry--How Divine a Creature is a Woman
that has Six thousand a Year; the Town's quite mad after her.

Sir _Har_. And such an Estate's enough to make her mad; Women are too
sanguine for such mighty Fortune; Ten thousand Pounds touches a Lady's
Brain, but when they prove great Heiresses, they're--

_Col_. Oh! stark Staring, Raving! and we ought to have the Custody of em.

Sir _Har_. Let's move towards the Court, _Collonel_, where we shall meet
her sailing down the _Mall_, and the Fops after her, with all the Pride of
a First-Rate Man of War, that's convoying a few petty Merchant-Ships to
the _West-Indies_.

_Enter_ Shrimp _with a Letter_.

Sir _Har_. [reads.] _By the next return of the Waggon you will receive
Master_ Totty, _who was nineteen Years last Grass, with a Box of
_Shrewsbury-Cakes, _and a Simnel: His Grand-Mother desires you will put
him Clerk to some honest Attorney, if it be possible to find one, and the
Child be fit for it, or to what else the Child shall be fit for; but if
you find him fit for nothing, that you'll return him with great Care to
his Grand-Mother again. He is free from ev'ry Vice, having always lain
with his Grand-Mother, gone no where but to visit old Ladies with his
Grand-Mother, and has never been out of his Grand-Mother's sight, since he
was six Weeks old_--What a Pox do the Women send me their Fool to educate,
they may as well send me their Heads to dress; but I shall leave him to my
Servant; a Town Valet's Tutor and Companion good enough for a Country
'Squire--_Shrimp_, go to the _Saracen's-Head-Inn_, enquire for Master
_Totty_, a Man-Child, of nineteen Years of Age, and carry him to my
Lodgings. [_Exeunt_.

    _Enter Lady_ Toss-up, _and Mrs_. Flimsy.

La. _Toss_. Lord, _Flimsy_! was there ever an Assurance like my Lady
_Rodomont_'s, to engross all the Fellows to her self.

_Flim_. For that matter, Madam, I cou'd dispence with 'em all, and as many
more; but a Lady that declares against Marriage, to suffer such a Train of
_Beaus_, shews her self superlatively Vain-glorious.

La. _Toss_. A vertuous Woman, that declares against Marriage, may as well
declare against Eating and Drinking; all Women have Inclinations to Love;
besides, _Flimsy_, Marriage is an Ordinance, and to declare against it, I
take to be a very wicked thing; but if she has made a Vow of Chastity, she
might release her Admirers to those Ladies that are willing the World
shou'd continue peopl'd. My Lady _Love-gang_ swears she'll go live in
_Scotland_ about it; my Lady _Dandler_ lays it so to Heart, I'm afraid
she'll be silly; for my part, I bear it--not so patiently as Folks think.

_Flim_. They say, Madam, she has depriv'd you of some particular Lovers;
I'd arrest her for 'em.

La. _Toss_. Sir _Harry Sprightly_ I have danc'd with; Brigadier _Blenheim_
too has handed me out of the Box, but when Lady _Rodomont_ arriv'd, they
both flew from me like a parcel of Fortune-hunters from a reputed
City-Heiress, when her Father breaks, and can give her nothing.

_Flim_. Here she comes, surrounded with _Beaus_, and I warrant, thinks her
self as good as the Queen; if I were the Queen, I'd have her taken up for
thinking so. Pray Madam affront her.

    _Enter Lady_ Rodomont, _and Mrs_. Lovejoy, _follow'd by Sir_ Harry,
    _Collonel_ Blenheim, _Mr_. Nicknack, _Major_ Bramble, _several Fops
    and Footmen_.

La. _Rod_. Dear _Messieurs_! give me Breath: Not but a Croud of Beaus are
very acceptable; but to press upon one too hard, is like a new Monarch
just seated on the Throne, that's stifl'd with Court Cringes--Don't you
think, Sir _Harry_, the _Italians_ that approach us at more distance, show
greater Veneration and Respect.

Sir _Har_. Ladies in their High-Noon of labour'd Garniture,
Are pleas'd, when we admire 'em like the Sun,
Whom none directly looks at,
But in the Ev'ning, as the Sun goes down,
They're better pleas'd we shou'd approach 'em nearer.

La. _Rod._ O you malicious Creature! That Censure's from the Freedoms of
the _French_: A Traveller shou'd humour Countries, Customs; in _Spain_, a
modest Woman hides her Face; in _France_ we shift our selves before our
Valets; nay, shou'd much greater Freedoms there be practis'd, none but an
_English_ Clown suspects our Vertue--_Collonel_, you're welcome to
_England_; you have distinguish'd your self nobly this Campaign; I hear at
_Audenard_ you acted Wonders.

_Col._ Madam, When Kings command their Subjects to the Field,
The Swords our Calling, and we fight for pay,
And lengthen out a War to raise Estates;
But when a Queen, whose matchless Virtue fires us,
And whose obliging Goodness courts our Valour,
We march with Pride, and unresisted Force,
To spread the Empire of so bright a Mistress.

La. _Rod._ I find, _Collonel_, an _English_ Officer may be perfectly
well-bred, but I attribute it to your success in War; you have taken most
of the _French_ Officers Prisoners, whose Conversation has refin'd your
Manners.

_Col._ 'Tis granted, Madam, their Conversation's wondrous _Degaugée_--
we'll take 'em to refine us ev'ry Year.

La. _Rod._ Sir _Harry_, what Diversions are a-foot; but _England_ is so
phlegmatick a Climate, no Carnivals, nor Midnight-Masquerades, but Two and
fifty Days lost ev'ry Year for want of Balls and Operas on a _Sunday_.

Sir _Har._ Our Nation, Madam's so far gone in Parties,
That Faction's even carry'd to Diversions,
One Party strives for Sense, and t'other Sound;
The _Major_ here, I think opposes both.

_Bram._ So I do--What signifies a Comedy of Fools; han't we the Courts
of _Westminster_ to divert us; and your Tragedies, where Kings and
Emperors are murder'd; in a quarter of an Hour after they are at
_Buxton's_ Coffee-House, playing at _All-Fours_; then your Singing-Op'ras,
I hate your _Italian_ Squaling, like a Woman in Labour; and 'fore-gad,
Madam, 'tis a most miraculous thing to me, that a Lady of your Experience,
who has travers'd the World, and ought to know Nature in a wonderful
Perfection, shou'd admire an Eunuch.

La. _Rod._ You shou'd have liv'd in former Ages, _Major_, when odious
Tilts and Tournaments were in Vogue; our Pleasures are too curious for
your Taste, I fancy the _Bear-Garden_ suits your Genius mightily.

_Bram._ Ay, Madam, there's Celestial Sport and Pastime; the Musick of the
Dogs, the Harmony o' the Butchers, to see, a Mastiff tear a Bull by the
Throat, the Bull once wounded, goring o'er the Ground, cants a fat Woman
higher than the _Monument_--I love Reality in my Diversions; but at a
_Play-House_ I never laugh'd but once, and that was at a most agreeable
Noise the Footmen made in the Upper-Gall'ry.

La. _Rod._ Savage Creature!

_Nick._ Your brutish Temper, _Major_, wou'd make one fancy you were born
in _Greenland_, and suckl'd by a _Wolf_.

_Bram._ Better be suckl'd in _Greenland_ than in _Essex_; a _Wolf's_ a
nobler Creature than a _Calf_; for now young Fellows are so nicely bred,
so fondl'd, and so furbelow'd with Follies, they scarce retain the Species
of a Man; for my part, I have Magick in my Looks, I have frighted a
High-Priest into Quakerism; converted a _Jew_ to no Religion at all, and
possess'd Squire _Lacy_ with a Spirit of Prophetick Lying; I can turn a
Justice of Peace into a _Jack-Daw_, a Citizen into any tame kind of Beast,
and an old fadling Judge into a fidgetting Dry-Nurse--But I find, Madam,
you are got into a Beau-Chat, where my rough Language is as disagreeable,
as martial Musick at _White_'s Chocolate-House; tho', were I a Lady of a
great Estate, I'd show as great Sagacity in despising the Fops, and think
my Fortune prodigiously repaid in the Affections of so renown'd a Person
as _Major-Bramble_. [_Exit._

_All._ Ha, ha, ha.

La. _Rod._ Oh Mr. _Nicknack_! I hear the _Bauble-Frigot_'s in the River,
I'm on Tip-toes to see what's imported: Are the Catalogues out yet?

_Nick._ Your Ladyship is set down for the whole Cargo, to select where you
please, tho' the Ladies teize me as much for new Fancies, as your good for
nothing Actresses do a Poet for Parts, at the disposal of a new Comedy;
and I protest Madam, I find it as difficult to get Goods fast enough, as a
Woman that Lies in ev'ry Year does to get God-fathers.

La. _Rod_. Pray, Mr. _Nicknack,_ what Demands have the Ladies made on you.

_Nick_ My Lady _Swine-love_ has bespoke a Dozen of _Bermudas_ Pigs; my
Lady _Noisy_ a screaming Parrot; my Lady _Squelch_ a _Dutch_ Mastiff; my
Lady _Hoyden-tail_ a Cat o' Mountain; Mrs. _Tireman_ a large Baboon, and
Mrs. _Lick-it_ an _Italian_ Greyhound.

La. _Rod_. You have an infallible Snare for our Sex; but I wonder, Mr.
_Nicknack,_ how so refin'd a Merchant as you, can endure the smoaky
Coffee-Houses, and the dirty _Exchange_.

_Nick_. Madam, I use _Robin's_, as nice a Coffee-House as _Tom's_,
where no Smoaking's allow'd, but a little _Betony_ or _Colt's-foot_ to
a few Hundred thousand Pound Men; as for the _Change_, I must own,
_Dutch_-Shapes, and _Jew_-Faces are not so agreeable to look at, as the
Beauties at _Hampton-Court_; and I wonder the better sort of Merchants
don't walk above Stairs, that in a dead time o' Business, when we have
little to employ our Thoughts, we may divert our Opticks with the pretty
Sempstresses.

Sir _Har_. When Business is at an ebb, what occasion have you to be there.

_Nick_. Only the Hopes of bubling you Beau-Baronets, that come thither to
show your Equipage, and laugh at Men of Business, where we invite you to
Dinner at _Pontack's_, drink heartily about, and then draw you in for a
thousand Guineas on some publick Wager,--Tho' really the greatest
Misfortune that attends a Merchant is an indispensable Necessity of being
ev'ry Day at Change; for shou'd the least Ill-news happen, and a Merchant
absent, whip, they protest his Bills, report he's in _Holland_, when, poor
Soul, he's gone no farther than to the _Saturday's_ Club at _Black-heath_
Bowling-Green.

L. _Rod_. I think you have Travell'd tho', Mr. _Nicknack_.

_Nick_. To _Leghorne_ and _Smirna_, Madam, instead of _France_ and
_Italy_, where I had like to have had a Scimiter in my Guts, by an
impotent old Turk, that spy'd me glancing at his Wife, when he had a
hundred and fifty besides, and was past the use of one of 'em.

_Col._ Were you never at _Virginia_ and _Barbadoes_?

_Nick._ _Virginia_ and _Barbadoes_, Collonel, I never did any thing to
deserve Transportation; perhaps, when the War's over, some of your Livery
that have been us'd to Plundering abroad, and can't leave it off here, may
after a Ride or two to _Finchly Common_ have occasion to visit the
Plantations. I own I have Correspondents at _Barbadoes_, now and then, to
import a little Citron Water for Ladies that have a Coldness at their
Stomach, and a Parcel of _Oroonoko_ Tobacco, to oblige some West Country
Countesses.

L. _Rod._ Is not that my Lady _Toss-up?_ I shou'd hardly have known her,
but by her down-right English Air--why no body minds her--Sir _Harry_,
give the Lady a Pinch of sweet Snuff.--[_Aside_.] She's horridly concern'd
at my Attractions, yet too proud to shew it, and looks as disconsolately
gay, as a Maid of Thirty at the Wedding of her youngest Sister; how I love
to mortify these Creatures.

L. _Toss._ [_Advancing to Lady_ Rodomont] I find, Madam, by your
Ladyship's
Appearance and Conversation you have been a very great Traveller.

L. _Rod_. By your Ladyship's Appearance, I find you're a very great
Stranger both to Conversation, and your own Country.

L. _Toss_. Is Travel, Madam, essential to a Lady's Education, or does it
only serve to heigthen her Assurance?

L. _Rot_. Some Ladies, Madam, are so plentifully stock'd by Nature, they
want neither Art nor Travel to improve it.

L. _Toss_. Tis much then your Ladyship shou'd encourage Art or Travel,
where Nature has bestow'd the largest Share, but I wonder not a Lady
shou'd be so studious to accomplish her self who so fondly permits a Crowd
of Followers.

L. _Rod_. A Lady, Madam, is seldom concern'd at another's Followers, but
when she laments the loss of 'em her self, and if the Fops that flutter
about me, give you any Disorder, I can easily resign 'em to your Ladyship.

L. _Toss_. By no means, Madam, that wou'd be to rob your Ladyship's Cozen,
there, who is equally entitul'd to your Cast off Lovers, and your old
Cloths.

Mrs. _Lov_. Her Ladyship's Cozen, Madam, wou'd no more accept of any
Lady's old Cloths, than of your Ladyship's Face.

L. _Toss_. Nay, Madam, if her Ladyship's a'ground, your Face may put both
Sexes out o'Countenance. [_Exeunt Lady_ Toss-up, _and Mrs._ Flimsy.

L. Rod. _Tho' minor Beauties at a_ Venus _rave,
        Spight her the more, the more her Charms inslave;
        As 'mongst the Stars the Moon maintains her Place,
        She Bridles in her Air, and Triumphs in her Face._

The End of the Second ACT.

ACT III. SCENE I.

    _Enter Mrs_. Lovejoy.

Mrs. _Lov_. Here do I follow and caress my Lady, in hopes to steal a Spark
'mongst her Admirers; I have five hundred Pounds in the fourteen _per
Cent_, a Gentlewoman's Fortune in past Ages, but now 'twon't buy a
Haberdasher of small Ware. Sir _Harry_ offers me a genteel Settlement;
Time was, when a kept Madam elbow'd the whole Drawing-Room; but now we
have a virtuous Court agen, a Lord's Mistress is almost as despicable as a
Citizen's Wife.--Suppose I trick the Collonel into Marriage--To bridle at
a Review in _Hyde-Park_, have rich Plunder brought me from _Flanders_, and
boast in Company how much my Husband ballances the Pow'r of _Europe_; but
then comes Peace, and Half-pay, and the Brigadier's Lady must condescend
to dress Heads, make Mantoes, or vainly feed her Pride, by personating
what she really was on the most renown'd _Drury-Lane Theatre_.--Suppose I
rail at the Government, and so trap the rich Major; but then he's trapt in
a Plot, some poor Lord begs his Estate, and I'm to live upon the mighty
Comfort of having it again when the Pretender comes--Or what if I wheedle
in with Mr. _Nick-nack_--To have a fine House in _Billiter-Lane_,
prodigious great Dinners, and ready Cash for Play. And, faith, now-a-days,
a rich Merchant's Wife keeps as late Hours, Games as high, and makes as
bulky a Figure as e'er a Dutchess in the two united Kingdoms.

    _Enter Sir_ Harry.

Sir _Har_. How kind this was, my dear, pretty Mrs. _Lovejoy_, to leave so
much good Company to meet me here alone.

Mrs. _Lov_. How kind you are to your self Sir _Harry_, in harbouring so
ridiculous a Notion.

Sir _Har_. Are you resolv'd then, Madam, to let this gay, this proper
well-set Person o' mine pine away like a green Sickness Girl, when I have
so generously offer'd you two hundred Pound a Year, only to be a little
whimsical with you.

Mrs. _Lov_. Two hundred a year! wou'd you make a Whore of me Sir _Harry_?

Sir _Har_. A Whore! have a care, Child, who you reflect upon, a Lady of
two hundred a Year, a Whore; Whores are Creatures that wear Pattens and
Straw-hats. I'd fain hear any body call a kept Mistress, Whore, while
there's Law to be had, if I were she, I'd make 'em severely pay for't.

Mrs. _Lov_. But pray, Sir _Harry_, where's the Difference between a common
Woman, and one that's kept; they have equally lost their Reputation, and
no body of any Character will visit 'em.

Sir _Har_. Visit 'em! Ladies of different Orders shou'd converse amongst
themselves, I know a Set of kept Mistresses that visit one another with
all the Ceremony of Countesses, take place of one another according to the
Degree of their Keepers, are call'd to one another's Labours, and live in
perfect Sister-hood like the _Grand Seignor's Seraglio_; two of 'em indeed
had a violent Quarrel t'other day, but 'twas only about State Affairs, one
happening to be a Whig, and t'other a Tory.

Mrs. _Lov_. Good Sir _Harry_, what have you seen so loose in my Behaviour
to attack me at this rate?

Sir _Har_. Why, look you, Child, do'st thee consider what an Income two
hundred a Year is; some Country Gentlemen han't more to make their Elder
Sons Esquires, and raise Portions for eleven awkard Daughters. Besides,
my Dear, thou art but a whiffling sort of a Pinnace, I have been proffer'd
lovely, large, First Rate Ladies for half the Mony. There's _Winny
Wag-tail_ in _Channel Row_, wou'd have left it to my Generosity; Mrs.
_Tippet_ the Furrier's Wife in _Walbrook_ wou'd have taken five hundred
Pound down, and _Sufan Sigh-fort_ the quaking Sempstress had n't the
Assurance to ask me above the rent of her Shop.----I must tell you, Love,
the Nation's over stock'd with Women, I can have a hundred and fifty
Furbuloe Scarf-makers for as many Silver Thimbles; and but last Long
Vacation, a very considerable Pleader offer'd me his two Daughters for Six
and Eight Pence a Night.

Mrs. _Lov_. Sir _Harry_, this Discourse suits not my Genius, I have a
Fortune, tho' not thousands enough to keep me from that odious thing you'd
tempt me to; therefore if you pursue this Humour any farther, I must
acquaint my Lady with it.

Sir _Har_. Why, then, Madam, do I most devoutly pray to _Venus_ there, and
each kind Creature here, that the Men may avoid you, as if you had n't a
Lure about you, that for madness you may turn Gam'ster, lose all your
Fortune at Play, and then grow crooked for want of Mony to buy you a new
Pair of Stayes. [_Exit._

Mrs. _Lov_. Was ever any thing so impudent! he's a charming Fellow tho',
and two hundred a Year is a charming Allowance too.--But Virtue! Virtue!--
Oh! that I had liv'd in good King Some-body's Days.

    _Enter Major_ Bramble.

_Bra_. Madam _Lovejoy_, your most humble Servant, here's a Ring that was
pawn'd to me for twenty Guineas by a Welch Knight, on his being chose High
Sheriff o'the County, and the Mony not being paid in due time, it's become
forfeited; I therefore entreat the Favour of you to wear it.

Mrs. _Lov_. Your very humble Servant, Major, they are delicate Stones
indeed; but what Service must I do you in return of so great a Compliment?

_Bra_. Only that, Madam, of being my Advocate to Lady _Rodomont_, whose
Beauty I have long admir'd, and whose Estate I do profoundly reverence.
[_Aside._] Nor can I on a just survey of my Person and Parts find the
least Obstacle, why her Inclinations shou'd n't mount like mine, that
without much Ceremony or foppish Courtship, we might unite Circumstances,
and astonish the World at the Sight of a couple so prodigiously well
pair'd.

Mrs. _Lov_. Were my Fortune, Major, equal to my Lady's, my Judgment wou'd
be as much admir'd in such a Choice as my Happiness wou'd be envy'd; but
my Lady's of so uncommon a cold Constitution so whimsically gay, and fond
of new Diversions, she laughs at ev'ry serious Thought of Love.

_Bra._ Perhaps, Madam, my Lady never had an Offer worth her serious
Notice, the Fops a course chatter and teaze the Women, but when great
Statesmen condescend to Love, and while they Court, Affairs of State stand
still; a Lady shou'd be proud of such an Offer; what Woman wou'd not think
her self most highly honour'd to have an amorous Judge approach her with
his Tipstaff.

Mrs. _Lov._ Ay, Major, to have the State stand still, as if a Woman were
of mightier Moment wou'd sooth a Lady's Pride, 'twou'd be so pretty to
adjourn the Parliament when their Mistresses send for 'em to Picquet; and
were my Lady sensible how vast an Honour you design her, she certainly
wou'd own an equal Passion.

_Bra._ [_Aside_] I profess a very ingenious Woman, and cou'd I but be
satisfy'd, she were entirely in the French Int'rest, I I wou'd prefer her
to Madam _Maintenon's_ Cabinet Council, to consult about the next
Invasion.

    _Enter_ Nicknack.

_Nic._ Oh! Mrs. _Lovejoy_, I have been hurry'd quite out of my Senses,
three more Ships are sail'd in upon me this Morning; the _Atlas_ Merchant
Man, Captain _Sunburnt_ Commander from the _East Indies_, the _Dighton_
Gally from the musty Islands, and the _Hankerchief_ Frigot from _Smirna_.

Mrs. _Lov._ Pray, Mr. _Nicknack_, when's the Sale?

_Nic._ Now, now, Madam, and the fat India Women from all Parts o'the Town
do croud and scold like a Parcel of Fish-Wives at a Mackrel-Boat--Mrs.
_Trapes_ in _Leadenhall_ Street is hawling away the Umbrellas for the
walking Gentry, Mrs. _Kanister_ in _Hatton Garden_, buys up all the course
Bohee-Tea for the _Holborn_ Ladies Breakfasts, and Mrs. _Furnish_ at St.
_James_'s has order'd Lots of Fans, and China, and India Pictures to be
set by for her, 'till she can borrow Mony to pay for 'em.----But, Madam, I
ha' brought you a couple of the prettiest Parrokeets, and the charming'st
Monkey for my Lady that ever was seen; a Coster-monger's Wife kiss'd it,
burst into Tears, and said, 'Twas so like an only Child she had just
bury'd. I thought the poor Woman wou'd ha' swoon'd away.

Mrs. _Lov_. Thank you good Mr. _Nicknack_.

_Nick_. But, Madam, have you told my Lady, what a violent Inflammation I
have about her?

Mrs. _Lov_. She's now at Cards with the _Collonel_, and next to the new
Monkey you'll be the welcom'st Creature alive to her.--Sweet Major excuse
me, for I must run to my dear Parrokeets.    [_Exit._

_Bra_. Prithee, Friend, what Beau-maggot has thy Pericranium lately bred
to give thee pretensions to Lady _Rodomont_?

_Nick_. And pray, _Major_; what prejudice have the Ladies done you, that
you shou'd revenge it by offering 'em your disagreeable self? For he that
murmus at so good a Queen, must certainly be disaffected to the whole Sex.

_Bra_. Do'st thou imagine a Woman of sense that has seen he great Court of
_France_, and visited Madam _de Trollop_, Madam _de Frippery_, and Madam
_de Twangdillion_, where Ladies are great Politicians, and talk of
Ramparts, Bastions, and Aqueducts will prefer thy Parrots and Jack-daws to
a Man of Politicks, whom the Prince of _Conti_ consulted about the Kingdom
of _Poland_. Monsieur _Chamillard_ about the late Invasion.

_Nick._ I can't suppose, _Major_, a Lady of her Intellects, will fling her
self away on a Grumbletonian, to have her Estate confiscated, receive
Visits in the _Gate-house_, when her Husband's clapt up for Treason, and
afterwards quarrel with the Heralds about the length of her Veil, when her
Spouse made his _Exit_ at _Tyburn_.

_Bra_. Why ha'st thou the assurance to despise Heroes that die in a State
Cause, St. _Charnock_, and St. _Gregg_; these were Men that made a noise
i'the World, whose Names are in ev'ry News Paper, and let the Cause be
what it will, I honour People that make a noise in the World.--But
prithee, Mr. _Nicknack_, what makes you Citizens that spring from a little
Counting-house, up three Steps at the further End of a dark Ware-house,
attempt Women o'Quality?

_Nick_. Why, Sir, I can settle Threescore Thousand Pounds upon her.

_Bra_. Settle Threescore Thousand Pounds upon her;--Wou'd you buy a Wife
as you do Scamony and Cocheneal by Inch of Candle? If I were a Woman, I
shou'd hate the sound of an Inch of Candle. I'll settle _Major Bramble_
upon her, an inestimable Jewel, and if she has no more sense than to
refuse me; for a Chocolate-house, _Jelley Eater_, she has travell'd to as
little improvement, as some other Beau Ladies, that admire the Agility of
the _French_, before the Stability of the _Swiss Cantons_; therefore you
may go tire her with your Monkey tricks, to give her a true relish of my
more weighty Arguments.--In the mean time, I'll step to the Tow'r, to
congratulate the safe Arrival of some very great Persons out of
_Scotland_.    [_Exit._

_Nick_. Now has this old Fellow the vanity to think his Person and
Qualities are as acceptable to a fine Woman as if he had been bred at
Court; but Asses will herd and bray amongst the fair Kine, like a knot of
Stock-jobbing Jews that crowd _Garraways_ Coffee-house, and fright away us
Beau Merchants with the stink of Bread and Cheese Snuff.    [_Exit._

SCENE _Changes to_ Covent-Garden.

    _Enter_ Matter Totty, _and_ Shrimp.

_Tot_. Lord! Lord! What a hugeous Place this _London_ is? I thank you
heartily, Sir, for taking Care of me; for I shou'd ha' quite lost my self,
and then, perhaps, some strange Person might ha' taken me up, and ha' kept
me; but what makes People in such a hurry here, as if at _Lincoln_, the
Mayor and Aldermen were going to a Bull-baiting; at other times Folks in
the Country walk more slowly, as tho' they were going to Church.

_Shr. London_, Master, is the Seat of Business, People do ev'ry thing in a
hurry here, except paying their Debts, and lying with their Wives; but
what Notion had you of the Town before you saw it?

_Tot_. Why, my Grand-mother says, Tis the wicked'st Place under the Copes
of Heav'n, and the Filthinesses she has seen there, have made her frigid
to Mankind; she says, young Fellows are greedy after young Wenches, and
make a scoff at old Folks; Men of Quality have no sense of well-doing, and
Women o'Quality no sense of Self-denial; your highflown Gentry, no sense
of Humility, and the Common People no sense of good Manners; mid-night
Collonels, no sense of Sobriety; Vintners no sense of Honesty; City Wives,
no sense of Chastity, and their Husbands, no sense at all.

_Shr_. You are deceiv'd, Master, People come hither for Education and
Improvement: Ev'ry Merchant's Prentice now assumes an air of Wisdom, talks
of Gaming, Dress, and Poetry; frequents the Hazard-Table at _Lambeth_, the
Bowling-Green at _Islington_, and keeps a Race-Horse for _Hackney-Marsh_;
has a Silver Watch double gilt, Pearl colour Silk Stockings, and a
black Suit for _Lent_, with a couple of Drop-Locks hanging up in the
Counting-house, which are occasionally hook'd on to a Spruce-Bob to Squire
two Chamber-Maids to the _Rival Queens_.

_Tot_. But do People obey their Parents in _London_?

_Shr_. Never, never, Master, this is an Age of Freedom and good Humour;
Fathers tope Claret with their Sons, and Mothers _Rosa Solis_ with their
Daughters; they Rake together, Intreague together, divide Estates, and
persue their Inclinations; Familiarity makes young Fellows easie, and old
Fellows have the happiness to live out all their Days.

_Tot_. O Gemini that's pure! well I always had a mighty mind to see
_London_, because my Grand-mother would never let me; and d'you belong to
Sir _Harry Sprightly_, say you, Sir?

_Shr_. I do my self the Honour to sojourn with him; Sir _Harry_
Compliments me with adjusting some Solecisms in his Dress; we were
Neighbour's Children in the Country, and always very fond of one another,
he begg'd the Favour of me to meet you at the Inn, give you some
refreshment, and conduct you to his Lodgings;--Oh! Here comes a Friend
o'mine lately return'd from _Flanders_, that will be glad to associate
with us; he's a Person of great Worth, I assure you, and might have had
great Preferments in the Army; but his good Manners, like some other
well-bred military Sparks, made him rather retreat than put himself
forward.

    _Enter_ Knapsack.

Mr. _Knapsack_, your most humble Servant, an ingenious young Gentleman
here, just arriv'd from the Fenns in _Lincolnshire,_ desires to be known
to you; he's at present but a rough Diamond wholly ignorant of the Town,
but your Conversation will make him Brillant.

_Knap_. You know my Profession, Mr. _Shrimp_, and think you can't trespass
on my modesty; but your praises are enough to put our whole Regiment out
o'countenance, had we not quarter'd in _Ireland_.--The young Gentleman by
his deportment seems to be the Darling of a Family, and Heir to a good
Estate.

_Tot_. I shall have Five Hundred a Year, Sir, when my Grand-mother gives
up the Ghost; but at present she allows me but Eighteen Pence a Week for
reading the Book of Martyrs to her, copying Receipts, and supporting her
about the House.

_Shr_. Eighteen Pence a Week! Why the Kitchin Wench gets more for her
Coney Skins; but what allowance are you to have now, Master, you should
have handsome Lodgings in _Pall-Mall_ Tutors to embellish you, dress out
for _Whites_, keep a Chair by the Week, and an impudent Footman to knock
down People before you.

_Tot_. Ay, but my Grand-mother charg'd me on her Blessing never to go to
that end o'the Town; she says, they are abominable Spendthrifts there; bid
me remember the Prodigal Son, and has given me only a broad _Jacobus_ to
pay for Post Letters, and a Hundred Pound Bill upon Sir _Francis_ to put
me Clerk to an Attorney.

_Shr_. Clerk to an Attorney! Why the Nation swarms with 'em; so many young
Fellows now are bred to that Profession, Men, and their Wives are forc'd
to go to Law to find bus'ness for their Children.

_Knap_. Hang the Hundred Pounds; we'll spend it, Master, in showing you
the Town, the Lyons, and the Tombs, the Bears, and the Morocco's, the
Jew's Synagogue, and the Gyants at _Guild-hall_, my Lord-Mayor's great
Coach, and my Lady Mayoress's great Tower.

_Tot_. Shan't we go to the Play-house too, and see _Pinkeman, Bullock_,
and _Jubilee Dicky_?

_Knap_. Ay, and behind the Scenes too amongst the pretty Actresses; I must
have you a smart Youth, understand the finish'd Vices o'the Town, learn
to swear like a Gentleman of Ten Thousand a Year, few Men of Estates are
bred to Conversation, game like a desp'rate younger Brother, several
embroider'd Suits are known to live by't, drink abundantly to prevent
dull-thinking, and Whore lustily to encourage the Dispensary that gives
the poor Physick for nothing. Mr. _Shrimp_ here knows the World; and, I
warrant, for cogging a Die, bullying a Coward, bilking a Hackney Coachman,
and storming a Nest of Whores in _Drury-lane_, not a Master of Arts in
either University can come near him.

_Tot_. Fegs, so I will, they shan't think to cow me any longer; one cou'd
never stir out o'the Room, but my Grand-mother was purring after a Body,
and if she heard one got a little merry at _T. Totum_, with the Maids,
she'd quaver out _Totty_, come, and say your Catechism;--_What is the
chief End of Man?_ And upon ev'ry little Fault, she'd lock me up to get
_Quarles's Emblems_ by heart, and threaten I shou'd lie in the great Room
that's haunted, and never let one have any other diversion, than to hear
the Chaplain play _Jumping Joan_ upon the Base Viol.

_Shr_. Shall we adjourn to the _Rose_, the Drawer's my particular Friend,
and will give us _French_ Wine for Eighteen Pence a Bottle.

_Tot_. But lets ha' some Sack, do.

_Knap_. Ay, and Sugar, my brave Boy, thou shall't have any thing; we'll be
merry as mony'd Sailors over a Bowl o'Rum Punch, fluster'd as their
Whores, and frolicksom, 'till we have spent all, drink Confusion to all
Grand-mothers, and if the old Cat pretends to Ptysick it much longer,
we'll get an Act of Parliament to poyson her.

_Tot_. With all my Heart! they say the Parliament can do any thing.
[_Exeunt._

SCENE, _A Drawing-Room._

    _Enter the_ Collonel, _and_ Lady Rodomont _rising from Play_.

L. _Rod_. Fling up the Cards, good _Collonel_, after two Games, the
Pleasure becomes a Business; like my Lady _Shuffler_ that gits her living
at 'em.

_Col_. Your Ladyship's a Chymist in Diversions, extracts the quintessence
of ev'ry Pleasure, and leaves the drossy Part upon the World; Agreements,
when too tedious pall the Fancy, when short they quicken and refine our
Appetites; and the sublimest Joy to Mortals known, evaporates the Moment
that 'tis tasted.

L. _Rod_. Variety alone supports dull Life, the light Amusements that
connect and change, Spur on the creeping Circle of the Year; I love to
humour an unbounded Genius, to give a lose to ev'ry spring of Fancy, to
rove, to range, to sport with different Countries, and share the Revels of
the Universe.

_Col_. My Genius fain wou'd Court superiour Blessings; those Passions are
too hurrying to last; Vapours that start from a Mercurial Brain, whose
wild Chimera's flush the lighter Faculties, which tir'd i'th'vain pursuit
of fancy'd Pleasures; a Passion more substantial Courts our Reason, solid,
persuasive, elegant, sublime, where ev'ry Sense crowds to the luscious
Banquet, and ev'ry nobler Faculty's imploy'd.

L. _Rod_. That Passion you describe's a sleeping Potion, a lazy, stupid,
lethargy of Mind, that nums our Faculties, destroys our Reason, and to our
Sex the bane of all Agreements; shou'd I whom Fortune, lavish of her
store, has given the means to glut insatiate Wishes, out-vie my Sex, and
Lord it o'er Mankind, constrain my rambling Pleasures, check my Liberty
for an insipid Cooing sort of Life, which marry'd Fools think Heav'n, and
cheat each other.

_Col_. Are Love and Pleasure, Madam, so incongruous?--Methinks the very
name of Love exhilerates; meaner delights were meant but to persuade us,
Toys to provoke and heighten our desires, which Love confirms and Crowns
with mightier extasie.

L. _Rod._ Rather all Joys expire, where Love commences; when that deluding
Passion once takes root, we grow insensible, ill-bred, intolerable,
neglecting Dress and Air, and Conversation; to fondle an odd Wretch, that
caus'd our ruin: No, give me the outward Gallantries of Love, the Poetry,
the Balls, the Serenades, where I may Laugh and Toy, and humour Apish
Cringers, with secret Pride to raise my Sexes Envy, and lead pretending
Fops a Faiery Dance.

_Col._ My own Humour to a Hair! How I admire such generous sprightly
Virtue, your Reasoning, Madam, darts amazing brightness, 'where groveling
Souls want courage to think freely, ay, Liberty's the Source of all
Enjoyments, a nourishing Delight, innate and durable. I love the Harmony
of Foreign Courts; your downright _English_ Women are meer Mopes, sit
dumb like Clocks that speak but once an Hour, supinely Grave and
insolently Sullen, nor Smile but on good terms to Laugh, at us for Life:
But other Climates animate more warmly; Sexes alike are free, reciprocally
gay, and Pleasures are persu'd without Reflection, if Principle or Fear
refuse us Love; for I'm the tenderest of a Lady's Honour, the Fair One
still has tantalizing Charms, her tuneful Voice, her graceful, easie
Movement, her lively Converse, happy turn of Thought, Language polite,
keen Wit, fineness of Argument, but Marriage turns the Edge of all
Society.

L. _Rod._ Pray, _Collonel_, how long have you taken up this Resolution?

_Col_. I doat upon the Sex, admire their heav'nly Form, like beauteous
Temples built by sacred Hands, where their bright Souls as Deities
inhabit; but shou'd Love's Queen, Celestial _Citharea_, descend in all her
elegance of Beauty, the study'd Care of the officious Graces, with Wreaths
of Jewels glittering round her Temples, her flowing Locks dispos'd in
artful Circles, losely attir'd, and on a Down of Roses, with laughing
Cupids hov'ring round the Bed.--

L. _Rod_. But _Collonel_.

_Col_ A wondrous lovely Mien, kind melting Airs, soft snowy Breasts that
pant with am'rous Sighs, Eyes lauguishing that steal forth welcome
glances; Cheeks rip'ning, glowing, kindling, ravishing.

    _To be confin'd, wou'd deaden all her Charms,
    And Matrimony fright me from her Arms_.

L. _Rod_. Good _Collonel_ check a while this feign'd Career; for in
describing her you wou'd refuse, you're in a Rapture, and quite out of
Breath; don't depend too much on your fancy'd Prowess, some mortal Dames,
less beauteous than a Goddess, have exercis'd and tam'd the boldest
Heroes.

    _Enter Mrs_. Lovejoy.

Mrs. _Lov_. Madam, the Countess of _Circumference_, my Lady _May-pole_,
and my Lady _Bob-tail_ are just lighting at the Gate.

L. _Rod_. Pray sup with me _Collonel_, and lets finish this Argument, I'm
fond of disputing with a Person that talks well.

_Col_. [_aside _] She's peek'd, and my design must prove successful.

    _Pride keeps me off, but Nature smooths my way;
    For what her Tongue wou'd hide, her Eyes betray_.

[_Exit._

L. _Rod_. Cozen, did you ever hear the like? The _Collonel's_ such an
Enemy to Marriage?

Mrs. _Lov_. An Enemy to Marriage, Madam!

L. _Rod_. As obstinately bent against it, as if he were incapable of Love;
not that his Principles concern me, yet such Heresy in Men shou'd be
subdu'd.

Mrs. _Lov_. Perhaps, Madam, the _Collonel_ may have had some strange
misfortune in the Army, Cannon Bullets fly at such an ugly random rate.

L. _Rod_. Ha, ha, ha, how I laugh at such thin Disguises, as if a ratling
Officer in this fortune-hunting Age, cou'd have Philosophy to slight my
Person and Estate; but I'll applaud his happy choice of Liberty; say, 'tis
a generous Thought, so like my self, I'll settle a Platonick Friendship
with him, then faulter in my Speech, and seem confus'd, as if my Sexes
weakness must discover a Passion which my haughty Soul wou'd hide. The
greedy _Collonel_ catches at the Bait, deep Sighs, and sheepish Looks
confess the Lover; then with what sparkling Pride I'll boast my Power,
bravely assert my wonted Resolutions, rally the blustering Heroe, and
pursue new Conquests.

  _As the Sun's early Beams attract and warm,
  So Ladies with their easie glances Charm;
  Vain Coxcombs cringe with transport and surprize,
  Feel kindling Fire, and feed upon their Eyes;
  'Till like the Sun, the dazling Nymphs display_
  Meridian _heat, and scorch the Fools away_.

_End of the Third_ ACT.

ACT IV.   SCENE _continues_.

    _Lady_ Rodomont, _and Mrs_. Lovejoy.

Mrs. _Lov_. Why, Madam, shou'd your Ladyship keep so many Fellows in
suspence, is it only to mortifie other Women, and maintain the Vanity of
being universally admir'd; you won't marry, and yet love to be courted:
In other matters your Ladiship's gen'rous enough, but as for parting with
your Lovers, you are as stingy as the Widow _Scrape-all_, that lets out
her Mourning-Coach to Funerals.

La. _Rod_. Cozen, we're alone, and I'll discover t' you the Soul of ev'ry
Woman: Vanity is the predominant Passion in our Sex, what Lady that has
Beauty, Wit and Fortune, does not excel in Dress, brighten in Talk, and
dazle in her Equipage; and Lovers are but Servants out o' Liveries: Who
then that has Attractions to command, to sooth, to frown, to manage as we
please, wou'd raise those crawling Wretches that adore us, that fawn and
sigh, and catch at ev'ry Glance, but once embolden'd, as our Courage fails
us, the flatt'ring Knaves exert their Sovereign Sway, and crush the
darling Pow'r we possess.

Mrs. _Lov_. 'Tis their Prerogative to rule at last, our Reign is short,
because 'tis too Tyrannical; we're pleas'd to have Admirers gaze upon us,
they're pleas'd with gazing, 'cause they cannot help it; but yet they
think us strange fantastick Creatures, and curse themselves for loving
such vain Toys; for my part, I'm for ballancing the pow'r of both Sexes,
if a fine Gentleman addresses a fine Lady, his Reception ought to be
suitable to his Merit, and when two fine People get together--

La. _Rod_. What then?

Mrs. _Lov_. They ought to lay aside Affectation and Impertinence, and come
to a right understanding i' th' matter.

La. _Rod._ But prithee, my Dear, what fine Things d'you conceive there are
in Love?

Mrs. _Lov_. I wou'd conceive what fine Things there are in Love; in short,
Madam, you may dissemble like the _French Hugonots,_ that were starving in
their own Country, and pretended to fly hither for Religion: But I that
have the same Circulations with your Ladiship, know that ev'ry Woman feels
a _Je ne sçay quoy_ for an agreeable Fellow; nay more, that Love is
irresistable; how many Fortunes have marry'd Troopers, and Yeomen o'the
Guard? We are all made of the same Mould; nay I heard of a Lady that was
so violently scorcht at the sight of a handsome Waterman, she flung her
self sprawling into the _Thames_, only that he might stretch out his Oar,
and take her up again.

La. _Rod_. There are Women Fools to a strange degree; but have you,
Cousin, seen any Object so amiable to merit that ridiculous Condescension.

Mrs. _Lov_. I have seen a great many young Fellows, Madam, and do ev'ry
Day see more young Fellows that I cou'd like very well to play at _Piquet_
with; and if your Ladiship has sworn to die a Maid, recommend one of your
Admirers to me, and it shan't be my Fault, if in a few Months I don't
produce you a very pretty Bantling to inherit your Estate.

    _Enter Major_ Bramble.

_Bram_. (_Aside_.) Now must I screw my self into more submissive Forms
than a hungry Poet at the lower end of a Lord's Table, when he has more
Wit than all the Company; muster up more Lies than are told behind a
_Cheapside_-Counter, and talk to her of Agues, Agonies and Agitations,
when I have no more Notion of Love, than a Lawyer has of the next World:
Her Estate indeed wou'd put a Man into a Conflagration, but a fine Woman
is to me like a fine Race-Horse, admir'd only by Fools, very costly, very
wanton, and very apt to run away--Madam, your Ladiship's incomparable
Perfections, which are as much talk'd of, as if they had been publish'd in
the _Flying-Post, Post-Boy_, and _Post-Man,_ have stirr'd up all my
Faculties to admire, ev'ry Part about you, and to tell you the Ambition I
have of being your Ladiship's most devoted, humble Servant at Bed and
Board.

La. _Rod_. A Man of your Character, _Major_, is seldom touch'd with a
Lady's Perfections; our trifling Beauties soften weaker Mortals, you Men
that bustle about publick Matters, whose fiery Souls are charm'd with
Broils of State, retain no mighty Transports for our Sex.

_Bram_. True, Madam, Love's but an insipid Business; but I wou'd marry to
keep up that fiery Breed; and your Ladyship having a more sublime Genius
than the rest of your Sex, I thought you the properest Person to apply to,
that with equal Pains-taking we may produce a Race of _Alexanders_, that
shall rattle thro' the World like a Peal of Thunder, wage Wars, destroy
Cities, and send old Women headlong to the Devil.

La. _Rod_. I mould rather chuse a peaceful Race, whose Virtue shou'd
prefer 'em to the State, where Wisdom, like a Goddess, sits triumphant, to
awe, to charm, to punish and reward, and check the Fury of such headstrong
Coursers.

_Bram_. A Race of Side-Box-Beaus, that love soft easie Chairs, Down-Beds,
and taudry Night-Gowns; I admire those renown'd Emperors, that chop
Peoples Heads off for their Diversion, and the glorious King of _France_,
that makes his Family Kings whenever he pleases; that gives People yearly
Pensions to bellow out his praise; whose Edicts fly about like Squibs and
Crackers, and as much laughs at Parliaments and Councils, as a Whore of
Distinction does at the _Reforming-Society._

La. _Rod_. Such Princes are meant Scourges to the Earth; no Mortal's fit
for absolute Command; Men have their Passions; Monarchs are but Men, and
when Love, Jealousie, or Fear possess 'em, the Tyrants spurn, and rack
their guiltless People, who tamely bend, and court their fatal Madness;
our happy Realm knows no Despotick Sway; not only Kingdoms here, but
Hearts unite, the Sov'reign and the Subjects bless each other; a
Constitution so divinely fram'd; such gen'rous Concord, such resistless
Harmony, that Nature wonders at her own Perfections; a Climate and a
People so serene!

_Bram_. Look you, Madam, I'm no more an Enemy to the Government than to
your Ladiship: Your Ladiship has a good Estate, Estate, and your Person is
mightily dish'd out, fine and lovely and plump, therefore if your Ladyship
thinks fit to marry me, and the Government to give me a Place of a
Thousand a Year, I'm an humble Servant to both, otherwise I wou'dn't care
three Whiffs o' Tobacco, if the Government sunk, and your Ladiship were
blown up in the Clouds.

La. _Rod._ Plain-dealing, _Major_, ought to be inestimable, especially in
a Statesman, but you needn't give your self any trouble about me, you're
not a Creature tame enough for a Husband: The Lion that's us'd to range
the Woods, if once ensnar'd, grows ten times more outragious. What think
you, Cousin, shou'd we entangle the _Major_.

Mrs. _Lov._ We must never come near him, Madam, for I'm afraid he'll
devour us all.

_Bram._ Devour you all, Mrs. _Oatcake_, a Man must be damnable hungry to
feed upon your Chitterlings. [_Aside._] Now have I a good mind to hire two
or three honest Fellows to swear her into a Plot, have her Estate
confiscated to the Government, and get a Reward of half of it for so
serviceable a piece of Loyalty and Revenge; but to mortifie her more
compleatly, I'll go make my Addresses to the Divine Lady _Toss-up_.
[_Exit._

    _Enter_ Nicknack.

_Nick._ [_Aside._] Were it not to improve my Int'rest with the Ladies,
I wou'd forswear all manner of Bus'ness, and grow perfectly idle, like a
Dancing-Master's Brains. I have been squeez'd up at the _Custom-House_,
'mongst _Jews_, _Swedes_, _Danes_, and dirty _Dutchmen_, that were
entering Hung-Beef, 'till I'm only fit to tread _Billingsgate-Key_,
and address those shrill Ladies, whose _Italian_ Voices ev'ry Day charm
the Streets with the deaf'ning Harmony of _Place_, _Flounders_, and
_New-Castle-Salmon_--I was afraid, Madam, having not seen your Ladiship
these four Hours, you had quite forgot me.

La. _Rod._ That's impossible, Mr. _Nicknack_, I never see the pretty
_Monkey_ you brought me, but I have the strongest Idea of you imaginable;
but have you imported no greater Curiosities, a _Monkey_ of one sort or
other is what most People have in their Houses. I'd have a Ship range the
World on purpose to find me out some agreeable strange Creature, that was
never heard of before, nor is ever to be met with again.

_Nick._ A Creature, Madam, which some People think unparallell'd, it may
be in my, Pow'r to help your Ladiship to, but 'tis a sort of Creature
that's always sighing for a Mate, if your Ladiship likes it as well as
some other Ladies have done; if I know the Creature, 'twou'd laugh and
toy, and kiss and fawn upon your Ladiship beyond all Womankind.

La. _Rod._ Pray, Mr. _Nicknack_, what Species is it of?

_Nick._ Of Humane Species, Madam, your Ladiship shall examine it, but the
Ladies turn it into what shape they please, an _Ape_, an _Ass_, a
_Lizard_, a _Squirrel_, a _Spaniel_; most People say 'tis a _Man_, but the
Merchant that brought it from the _Cyprian Groves_, calls it a _Desponding
Lover_.

La. _Rod._ A _Desponding Lover_, Mr. _Nicknack_, is indeed a very strange
Creature, but 'tis no Rarity, I'm pester'd with 'em at all Seasons, they
are continually intruding like one's poor Relations, more pragmatically
impertinent than one's Chaplain, and, were it possible, as impudent as
one's Footmen.

_Nick._ But a sincere and constant Lover your Ladiship must allow a
Rarity.

La. _Rod._ [_Aside._] I must humour this Fellow's Vanity; he'll make an
admirable Tool to plague the _Collonel_--I understand you, Mr. _Nicknack_,
you have so pretty a way of discovering your self, 'twou'd charm any
Lady, and truly I see no difference between a Gentleman educated at
_Merchant-Taylor's-School_, and one at _Fobert_'s; only at our end o'the
Town, there's a certain Forwardness in young Fellows, that a Boy of
Fourteen shall pretend to practise before he understands the _Rule of
Three_. But what you tell me is a thing of that weight, it requires mature
Deliberation, a Conflict with one's self of a whole Age's debating:
Marriage, 'mongst the vulgar sort, is a Joke, a meer May-Game; with People
of Rank, a serious and well study'd Solemnity.

_Nick._ Nay, Madam, I'm in no very great haste, I am perfectly of your
Ladyship's Opinion, and can't think there's so mighty a Jest in Matrimony
as some People imagine; like a Country Fellow and a Wench, that will jig
it into Church after a blind Fidler, and are never in a dancing Humour
afterwards. People o' Quality are more apprehensive o' the matter, and
have a world o' business to do, we must first be seen particular together,
to give suspicion, and create Jealousies 'mongst the rest of your
Admirers; then it must be whisper'd to the Countess of _Intelligence_, to
carry about Town, or the Tea-Tables will drop for want of Tittle-tattle;
and afterwards your Ladyship's absolutely denying it, confirms ev'ry body
in the truth of it: As for Cloaths, Equipage and Furniture, they are soon
got ready, and if your Ladiship dislikes living i'the City, we'll take a
House at _Mile-End._

La. _Rod_. The City, Mr. _Nicknack,_ A very considerable Place! I have had
noble Suppers there. Suppers dress'd at _Russel_'s in _Ironmonger-lane_,
and have brought away Fifty Guineas at _Basset,_ when at this end o'the
Town I have lost three times Fifty for a sneaking Dish of _Chocolate_.
People too may talk of their want of Sense, but the suppressing
_Bartl'mew-Fair_ was a thing of that wondrous Consultation, it shews the
Citizens have prodigious Head-pieces.

_Nick_. Your Ladiship has a just Notion of the City. I have read sev'ral
Acts of Common Council, that have really a world of Wit in 'em; but I'm
afraid, Madam, _Collonel Blenheim_ has so far ingratiated himself with
your Ladiship, I shall have a troublesome Rival to deal with.

La. _Rod_. Not in the least, I admitted him only as a Visitant, but at
present I must be more particular with him; he's of late grown a little
irreverent towards our Sex, and I must check an insolent Humour he has got
of despising Matrimony; he'll be with me instantly, I'll dispose you, that
you may over-hear all, how I'll turn and wind him, cross him, humour him,
and confound him; when you think it proper make your Appearance, and we'll
both laugh at him.

_Nick._ If your Ladiship pleases, I had rather laugh in my Sleeve, for
those blustering Officers, that are us'd to destroy whole Batallions, make
no more of murdering one Man, than an Alderman does of eating up a single
_Turkey_.

La. _Rod_. Never fear him, Mr. _Nicknack_.

_Nick._ Nay, Madam, I have been Collonel i'th'_Train-Bands_ these seven
Years, and therefore ought not to want Courage; and tho' I never learnt to
fence, there's an admirable Master teaches three times a Week, at the
_Swan Tavern_ in _Cornhil_.  [_Exeunt_.

Mrs. _Lov_. Now will I be Spitchcockt, if she han't an Inclination for the
_Collonel_, to coquet, and flirt and fleer, and plague half Mankind, only
because they like her, may be what you call a fine Lady, but in my mind
she has more fantastical Airs than a Kettle-Drummer.    [_Exit._

SCENE, _a Room in the_ Rose-Tavern.

_The Bell rings_.

[_Bar-keeper without_.] Where a Pox are you all; must Company wait an Hour
for a Room?

[_A noise of Drawers_.] Coming, coming, coming, Sir.

    _Enter a Drawer with Lights_, Shrimp, Knapsack, and Master _Totty_.

_Draw_. Please to be here, Gentlemen?

_Shr_. What's become of your Beau-Drawer, that wore a long _Spanish_ Wig,
lac'd Linnen, silk Stockings, and a Patch?

_Draw_. He happen'd, Sir, to make bold with a silver _Monteth,_ and is
gone for a Soldier--What Wine are you for Gentlemen?

_Shr._ [_Aside to the Drawer_.] D'you know Sir _Harry Sprightly,_ Friend?

_Draw_. Yes, Sir.

_Shr_. What Wine does he drink?

_Draw_. Three and Six-penny, Sir.

_Shr_. I am his Servant, draw us the same.

_Tot._ Bring me some Sack. [_Exit Drawer._

_Shr._ Well, Master, what think you of _London_ now, is not the rattling
of Coaches, the ringing of Bells, and the joyful Cry of _Great and good
News from Holland_, preferrable to the Country, where you see nothing but
Barns and Cow-houses, hear nothing but the grunting of Swine, and converse
with nothing but the Justice, the Jack-daw, and your old Grand-mother.

_Tot._ Ay, marry is it, and if they ever get me there again, I'll give 'em
leave to pickle and preserve me; here are Drums and Trumpets, Soldiers and
Sempstresses, and fine Sights in ev'ry Street: In the Country we are glad
to go four Miles to see a House o'fire. Nay, wou'd you believe it, we
ha'n't so much as a Tavern in our Town; Gentlemen are forc'd to use Gammer
_Grimes's_ Thatch'd Ale-house, except the Curate be with 'em, and then
they smoke, and drink in the Vestry.

    [_Drawer enters with Wine._

_Knap._ Come, Master, here's my hearty Service t'you.

_Tott._ Your hearty Servant thanks you, Sir--Mr. _Shrimp_, here's the
Respects of a Gudgeon t'you.

_Shr._ Ah! you're an arch Wag.

_Tott._ But, pray, Mr. _Shrimp_, where may a body buy a little Wit, my
Grand-mother charg'd me to get some; and, she says, bought Wit's best;
'tis a mighty scarce Commodity i'the Country; we have above two hundred
Gentlemen near us that never heard on't. Our Chaplain has a little, but
they say 'tis n't the right sort.

_Shr._ Mr. _Knapsack_ can furnish you with five or ten Pounds worth when
you please.

_Knap._ Mr. _Shrimp_, Master, has a much better Stock, but that you may
n't think I engross it to my self, as they say _Bull_ does Coffee, what I
have is at your Service.

_Tott._ Sir, my Service t'you again, [_drinks_] This is much better than
_Lincoln_ Ale, fegs.

_Knap._ What think you now, Master, of a pretty Wench to towze a little?

_Tott_. He, he, he, [_grins_] I don't know what you mean, Sir.

_Knap_. Had you never any pleasant Thoughts o'the Fair Sex.

_Tott_. I never lay with any Body but my Grand-mother; when she was in a
good humour, she'd tickle a Body sometimes, but if she never meddl'd mith
me, I never meddl'd with her.

_Knap_. A sapless old Hen, you might as well have lain with a
Paring-Shovel; but what think you of a young Woman, that's warm, tender
and inviting.

_Shr_. By this Light, here's _Betty_ the Orange Woman from the Play-house.

    _Enter_ Betty.      [_They_ rise

_Bett_. Ah! you Devils are you here, why did n't you come into the Pit to
night, and eat an Orange,--who have you got with you, by my lost
Maidenhead, a meer Country Widgeon, you sly Toads will bubble him finely;
let me go snacks, or I'll discover it. Come, Fellows, drink about;
positively it's very cold, fitting so behind at the Box Doors.

_Shr_. Honest _Betty_, here's Success to thee in ev'ry thing.

_Bett_. Ay, Faith, but there's little to do this Winter yet, now the
Officers are come over, I hope, to have full Trade; I have had but one
poor Shilling giv'n me to Night, and that was for carrying a Note from a
Baronet in the Side Box to a Citizens Wife in the Gall'ry; but there was
no harm in't, 'twas only to treat with her here by and by, about borrowing
a hundred Pound of her Husband upon the Reversion of a Parsonage.
[_To_ Knap.] Red Coat your Inclinations. [_To_ Tott.] Sir, prosperity
t'you, you are got into hopeful Company.

_Tott_. Thank you, Mrs. _Betty._

_Shr_. Prithee _Betty_ give us a Song.

_Bett_. A Song, Pigsneyes, why, I have been roaring all Night with Six
_Temple_ Rakes at the _Dog_ and _Partridge_ Tavern in _Wild-street_, and
am so hoarse I cou'd not sing a Line, were the whole Town to subscribe for
me.

_Knap_. Take t'other Glass, _Betty_.

_Bett_. T'other Glass, Fellow, by the Bishop of _Munster_, these Puppies
have a Design upon me! but give it me, however, for all that know me, know
I never baulk my Glass.

_Shr_. But the Song, the Song, _Betty_.        [_She Sings_

    SONG.

I.

 _How happy are we,
  Who from Virtue are free,
  That curbing Disease of the Mind,
  Can indulge ev'ry Taste,
  Love where we like best,
  Not by dull Reputation confin'd_.

II.

 _When were Young, fit to toy,
  Gay Delights we enjoy,
  And have Crouds of new Lovers wooing;
  When were old and decay'd,
  We procure for the Trade,
  Still in ev'ry Age we are doing_.

III.

 _If a Cully we meet,
  We spend what we get
  Ev'ry Day, for the next never think,
  When we die, where we go,
  We have no Sense to know,
  For a Bawd always dies in drink_.

_Bett_. [_Aside to_ Shrimp.] Hark'e, Satan, where did you pick up this
modest Youth; does he bleed?

_Shr_. Oh! abundantly.

_Bett_. That's well, dress him up, and send him _to Will_'s Coffee-House
and he'll soon grow impudent. [_To_ Tott.] My dear, eat this Orange, and
gi'me Half a Crown.

_Tott_. Half a Crown for an Orange! I can buy one in the Country for two
Pence.

_Bett_. So you may in Town, lovely Swain, but ev'ry Smock I put upon my
Back costs me nine Shillings an Ell.

_Knap_. But tell us, _Betty_, what Intrigues are going forward, your
publick Post brings you into a world of private Business, d'you know ever
an amorous Lady that would present me with a hundred Guineas to oblige
her?

_Bett_. Thee, Child, Lord starve thee, a Foot Soldier! one o'the Infantry,
a Lady that's Fool enough to pay for her Pleasures, may provide her self
better out o' the Guards.--Come, gi'me t'other Bumper, nothing's to be got
here, I find, and I must run.

_Shr_. Why in such hast, _Betty_?

_Bett_. Haste, Creature, why the Fourth Act is just done, and t'other bold
Beast will run away with all the Money.

_Knap_. Hark'e, _Bess_, don't stroddle over Peoples Backs so as you us'd
to do.

_Bett_. Why, how now, Mr. Impudence, I think we do 'em too great an
Honour, and whoever affronts me for it I'll have him kick'd as soon as the
Play's over. [_Exit._

_Shr_. Come, my dear Boy, let's tope it about briskly; what think you of
this Lass? is she not frank and free? If you had her in a Corner, she'd
show you the way to _Lyme-house._

_Tott_. Are all your _London_ Women like her? Our Country Wenches are as
Cross with treading upon Nettles; there's _Margery_ our Dairy-Maid, I only
offer'd to feel her Bubbies, and she hit me a dowse o'the Jaws enough to
beat down a Stack o' Chimneys.

_Shr_. We'll carry you to a Lady, Master, that shall stifle you with
Kindness, as pretty a piece of Wild-fowl as paddles about _Covent Garden_;
but you'll tip her a Guinea, her Lodgings are extremely fine; and you must
know a first Floor comes very dear.

_Knap_. She's a Gentlewoman too, I'll assure you, her Father was hang'd in
_Monmonth_'s Time, wears as rich Cloaths as any Body, and never puts on
the same Suit twice.

_Tot_. O Gemini, I long to see her; pray, Mr. _Knapsack,_ lets go; but
what shall I treat her with, boil'd Fowls and Oysters.

_Knap_. Something that's very nice, she's mighty dainty at Supper; but her
constant Breakfast is a Red-Herring, and a quartern o' Geneva. [_Exeunt._

SCENE _Changes to Lady_ Rodomonts.

    _Lady_ Rodomont _and the Collonel discover'd_.

L. _Rod_. Well, Collonel, now what think you of our Sex? Is there no Nymph
so sovereignly bright, whole matchless Beauty, Virtue, Wit and Fortune
you'd charm your rambling. Thoughts and chain you to her?

_Coll_. The Goddess you describe, you too well know her wond'rous
Brightness, her commanding Excellence, where ev'ry Star seems glitt'ring
in her Person, and ev'ry Science cultivates her Mind; no Swain but kindles
at her vast Perfections, Sighs at her Feet, and trembles to approach her;
but then a baneful Mischief thwarts our Transports, and while we feast us
with luxuriant Gazing, that bug-bear Marriage rises like a Storm, clouds
ev'ery Beauty, blackens with approaching, and frights away the gen'rous
faithful Lover.

L. _Rod_. You talk of Love with an unusual Warmth, you seem to feel it
too, and talk with Pleasure; and yet strange wand'ring Notions teaze your
Fancy, whose vain Allurements tantalize your Reason, and force you from
the Happiness you wish for. He that loves truly, loves without reserve;
the Object is the Centre of his Wishes, but your wild Sex that hurry after
Pleasure, whose headstrong Passions kindle ev'ry moment, admire each
Nymph, and eager to possess, you burn, you rage, and talk in tragick
Strains: But when the easy Maid believes, and blesses, when once you ha'
rifl'd, ravish'd and enjoy'd, ungratefully you slight the yielding
Charmer; your Love boil'd o'er descends to cold Indifference, and a
regardless Look rewards her Favours; were I inclin'd to wave my
Resolutions, and yield my self a Victim to Love's Pow'r, were I to chuse a
Man by Fortune slighted, and raise him to a more than common Affluence;
such is the Temper of your graceless Sex, there's not a Cottage Swain that
proves sincere.

_Coll_. Cou'd you then, Madam, condescend to love, and cou'd a Lover
manifest his Passion, by constant waiting, vigilant Observance, by
sacerdotal Plights, and Faith inviolate, wou'd you prove kind, and take
him to your Arms.

L. _Rod_. Of things impossible we lightly talk; if such a Man were found,
perhaps, I might.

_Coll_. Cherish that Thought; believe there is that Man; believe you see
him now; observe him well.

L. _Rod_. Ha!

_Coll_. Read from his Eyes his passionate Concern, his flattering Hopes,
his anxious killing Fears; examine ev'ry Symptom, feel his Tremblings,
search to his Heart, and there find Truth unblemish'd; approve his Flame,
and nourish it with Favours.

L. _Rod_. Have I caught you, Collonel; is this the Sum of all your
Self-sufficiency, your Matrimonial Hate, and boasted Liberty. [_Aside_.]
His Merits probably may vie with any, but sure he last shou'd hope a
Lady's Graces, who saucily arraigns her Sex's Pow'r.

    _Enter_ Nicknack.

Mr. _Nicknack_, I have a Miracle to tell you, the Collonel from a
blustering, ranting Heroe is dwindl'd to a panting, pining Lover; talks in
blank Verse, and Sighs in mournful postures: He the fam'd _Pyramus_, and I
bright _Thisbe_.

_Nic_. I thought, Madam, the Collonel had been a profess'd Marriage-hater.

L. _Rod_. Mr. _Nicknack_, we'll divert our selves at Picquet. When you
recover, Collonel, from this Lethargy, you'll play a Pool with us; Ladies
admit all sorts to lose their Mony.      [_Exit Lady_ Rod. _and_ Nick.

_Coll_. I have plaid a fine Card truly, now shall I be number'd with
those doating Fools, her Pride encourages, then Jilts, and laughs at.
She's fair, but, oh! the Treachery of her Sex.

    _Enter Sir_ Harry.

Sir _Har_. My dear Collonel, prithee why so pensive? I have had the
pleasantest Adventure this Afternoon, going to the Bank to receive Mony;
in _Pater-Noster-Row_ I saw two of the loveliest Sempstresses the Trade
e'er countenanc'd; I went into the Shop, struck up a Bargain, whipt over
to the _Castle_, where we eat four Crabs, top'd six Bottles, skuttl'd up
and down, kiss'd, towz'd and tumbl'd 'till we broke ev'ry Chair in the
Room. But you are so engag'd with Lady _Rodomont_, your Company's a
Blessing unattainable.

_Coll_. Yes, I have been engag'd, and finely treated. The Syren with her
false deluding Arts, her Force of Words and seeming to comply, has drawn
me to declare my Passion for her; now rallies and despises all I said, and
hugs her self in baffling my Design.

Sir _Har_. 'Tis like her Sex, they will ha' their Jades Tricks, but never
mind 'em; we'll to the Tavern and consult new Measures: Our Perseverance
is beyond their Policy.

   _The started Hare may frisk it o'er the Plain,
    And the staunch Hound long trace her Steps in vain,
    Swiftly she flies, then stops, turns back and views,  }
    Doubles, and quats, and her lost Strength renews,     }
    But tho' unseen, he still the Scent persues,          }
    'Till breathless to a fatal Period brought,
    The Hound o'ertakes her, and poor Puss is caught._

The End of the Fourth ACT.

ACT V.

SCENE, _Continues_.

    _Enter Sir_ Harry, _and Mrs._ Lovejoy.

Mrs. _Lov._ Sir _Harry_, all this Rhet'rick won't prevail; whether you
term it Virtue, or Pride only, I am resolv'd to keep a Fame unspotted, in
spight of all temptations whatsoever.

Sir _Har._ A Woman's obstinacy is no novelty; but where's the difference
'twixt a Mistress and a Wife. Only a Mistress has a much better Air; you
shall appear as gay and fine as any; strut in Brocade, and glitter in your
Jewels, 'till you put all virtuous Women out o'countenance.

Mrs. _Lov._ Impudence, Sir _Harry_, is a lewd Woman's Talent, and yet what
Creature is there so much dash'd as such an one that happens among
virtuous Ladies. If the Passion you profess be real, proceed with Honour,
and you may be heard: Not that I speak this to increase your Vanity;
Ambition only sways my Inclinations, and you must know; I have a mighty
mind to be a Lady.

Sir _Har._ A Lady! why, my Servants shall all call you so; we'll live
together like Man and Wife, and I'll be so Constant, and so full of Love,
that ev'ry body shall believe we're marry'd.

Mrs. _Lov._ Love and Constancy, Sir _Harry_, will plainly tell ev'ry body
we are not marry'd.

Sir _Har._ [_aside_] Have her I must; but how shall I contrive it?--Oh!
a lucky Thought seizes me. Some Ladies after they have refus'd prodigious
Settlements, tell 'em but a Secret, and they'll grant you any thing.
I'll trump up a delicate Lie to tickle her Curiosity and serve the
_Collonel_.----Well, Madam, since you are resolv'd to cross me, I must
apply my self to those more kind tho' less agreeable, tho' had you giv'n
me but the least Encouragement to have shown my opinion of your Parts as
well as Person, I had trusted you with a Story worth your Attention, tho'
'tis a most prodigious Secret.

Mrs. _Lov_. A Secret! Sir _Harry_, positively, I will know it.

Sir _Har_, Then ev'ry body'll know it for a Secret. 'Tis a thing of that
dangerous Consequence, Madam, shou'd it e'er be divulg'd, I may have my
Throat cut about it; and pray, what security have I either for your
Fidelity, or that in return you'll favour my Addresses.

Mrs. _Lov_. 'Tis well known, Sir _Harry_, I can keep a Secret; I have
found Ladies cheat at Cards, seen Ladies steal Tea-Spoons, and have never
spoke on't; nay more, I once caught a Lady making her Husband a Cuckold,
and I never discover'd it.----I'll tell you who it was, my Lady
_Elcebeth_.----

Sir. _Har._ Nay, Madam, you have giv'n me prodigious Proofs of your
Secrecy, and I'll disclose the Matter. _Collonel Blenheim_ having been so
intollerably us'd by Lady _Rodomont_ is just going to be marry'd to my
Lady _Catterwawl_, the rich Widow in the _Mewse_.

Mrs. _Lov_. Indeed!

Sir _Har_. The Lady has regarded him some Years, and her Woman, Mrs.
_Squatt_, has often brought him Presents and Messages which he receiv'd
but coldly, admiring Lady _Rodomont_; but her ill treatment makes him now
resolve gratefully to marry one, who not only will advance his Fortune,
but intirely Loves him.

Mrs. _Lov_. Sir _Harry_, you have oblig'd me infinitely, I wou'd'nt but
have known this Story for the World.

Sir _Har_. But when shall we be happy in each other?

Mr. _Lov_. I'll give you leave to hope; when I have study'd well, what
Virtue is, I'll tell you more; but at present I must leave you, for I have
a hundr'd and fifty Holes to mend in a lac'd Head just going to the Wash.

Sir _Har_. Not a Word o'the Secret.

Mrs. _Lov._ [_angrily_] Sir _Harry_, I'm no tattler, depend upon't; 'tis
lock'd up in this Breast, safe and secure as lodg'd within your own
[_aside_]. I'm ready to burst, 'till I tell it my Lady.

Sir _Har_. So she's brimful of it already.----Now _Exit_, for my Friend to
humour the design.     [_Exit._

_Enter Lady_ Rodomont, _and Mrs_. Lovejoy.

L. _Rod_. Prithee, Cozen, what is't you mean by the _Collonel_'s going to
be marry'd? You credulous Creatures, that are ignorant of the World,
believe all the stuff you hear. Or suppose him going to be marry'd; why do
you trouble me with such idle Stories?

Mrs. _Lov_. Nay, Madam, your Ladiship need'n't be discompos'd about the
Matter, I only told it you as a piece o'news, and if it be no concern
t'you, you may soon forget it.

L. _Rod_. Discompos'd, Creature! Have you had your being in my Family so
long not to know nothing under the Sun's considerable enough to discompose
me? But 'tis a thing impossible; it's not two Hours since he kneel'd to
me, said his sole Happiness depended on my Smiles, with utmost Arguments
enforc'd his Passion, faulter'd, look'd pale, and trembl'd as he spoke it:
Not that I who have had foreign Princes at my Feet, value the conqu'ring
an _English_ Collonel; but I that know my Power infallible, drew him by
policy to that Confession, to have him, as I wou'd have all Mankind, my
Slave.

Mrs. _Lov_. Sir _Harry_, Madam, affirm'd it with that unaffected Air of
Truth, enjoyn'd me so strict a Secrecy in the Matter, saying, if't were
discover'd his Life might be in danger; that you must pardon me, Madam, if
I can't help believing it.

L. _Rod_. Cozen, you that have never been beyond _Tunbridge-Wells_,
must'nt dispute with me that know the Intreagues of ev'ry Court and
Country. Matches an't so easily made up, nor is it probable my slighting
him, shou'd make another Lady value him; if it be true, he must have been
in League with her some time, and, certainly, I shan't care to be
banter'd.----But I'll know that presently;--Where are all my Fellows?
prithee, Cozen, bid one of 'em come, hither.  [_Exit Mrs._ Lov.

    _Enter_ Footman.

Who order'd you, you fat, heavy heel'd Booby; you are two Hours creeping
to the Gate? Call another,--

    _Enter another_ Footman.

Nor you you Sot, you'll loiter at ev'ry Ale-house you come to.
Send in the _Yorkshire_ Footman that's never out o'breath;----

    _Enter a Third_.

This Fellow's an intollerable Fool too; d'you hear Changling, go to _Young
Man's_ Coffee-house, enquire for _Collonel Blenheim_; if he's not there,
run to the _Smyrna, White's, Tom's, Will's, Offendo's_, and the _Gaunt_;
tell him I desire to speak with him presently; search the _Park_, the
_Play house_, and all the Taverns and Gaming-houses you can think on; for,
positively, if you don't find him, I'll immediately turn you off.

    _Re-enter Mrs._ Lovejoy.

Mrs. _Lov_. I hope, Madam, your Ladiship's not displeas'd with me; 'tis my
int'rest to oblige in ev'ry thing, where daily I receive such numerous
Favours. [_Aside_]. She has the Money, and I must submit, tho' 'tis well
known, I'm of a much better Family.

L. _Rod_. Excuse me, dear Cozen, and don't imagine the most finish'd
Cavalier cou'd shake my firm Resolves; but when a Fellow's arrogance shall
dare to proffer his unwelcome worthless Love, then villainously act the
same Part elsewhere; Honour won't let me tamely acquiesce.

Mrs. _Lov._ Madam, Mr. _Nicknack_ desires the favour of kissing your
Hands.

L. _Rod._ Pray admit him, Cozen, he's rich and personable, very good
humour'd, and no Fool: His aspiring at me does indeed show a prodigious
stock of Vanity; but 'tis a failing, People o'the best Sense are liable
to, and I had rather prove a Man too ambitious than to have no spirit at
all.

    _Enter_ Nicknack.

Mr. _Nicknack_, I'm so us'd to you of late, methinks your absence gives me
some Chagrin; where have you been this tedious long half Hour?