[] THE PERJUR'D HUSBAND.

SCENE I.

Nay, Madam, I fancy your Paſſion has little Occaſion for Lenitives; it blazes ſo violently at firſt, 'tis like to be ſoon extinguiſh'd.

Dear Lucy, don't trifle with me; but con⯑trive, imagine, do any thing, to bleſs thy Love-ſick Miſtreſs with the Sight of that dear Man: And as an Earneſt of further Rewards, here, take this—

Madam, I receive your Commands with much Joy, but your Preſent with more—

I'll try what this projecting Brain can do, and if you ſtep into the next Room, I'll ſoon give you an Account of my Proceedings.

Sir, Sir, one Word with you.

Your Buſineſs—

May one ask you a civil Queſtion, and be reſolv'd?

Hum—A civil Queſtion, ſayſt thou? What's it, prithee, a Night's Lodging? If ſo, pull off thy Mask, and I'll reſolve thee inſtantly—But I never ſtrike Bargains in the Dark.

I don't know, Sir, but it may tend to that, by way of Proxy, at the long-run: But at preſent my Com⯑miſſion reaches no further than to know your Lodgings; if any Thing comes on't, I fancy 'twill not diſpleaſe you.

Hum—This is but a Pettifogger in Intrigues, I find—Egad, I'm like to be pretty well employ'd during the Carnival—Well, conſidering I am a Stranger here, this Hit may be a lucky one, and the Lady handſome—Egad, I'll fancy her ſo at leaſt, wer't but for the Pleaſure of Expectation.

What are you ſtudying, Sir? Are you ſo long reſolving whether you ſhall accept a Lady's Favour, or no?

No, faith, Child: I am not over-ſcrupulous in thoſe Matters—Let her be but Woman, and we ſhan't diſagree—And ſo thou mayſt tell her—There's a Direction for thee.

Frank and eaſy, a la mode de Paris—Well, theſe indifferent Sparks charm more than all your cring⯑ing Fops—Now for my Buſineſs—Let me ſee—I'll to my Lady, ſhe'll write; I'll carry the Letter, and the Devil will turn Saint, if I don't bring 'em together, and merit a further Recompence

SCENE II.

SCENE III.

Ha—Alonzo here! I muſt preven [...] Diſcovery.

Florella here! ſhe comes opportunely— [...] may inform me of what I yet but fear—G [...] morrow, Florella: How fares my Love, my dear [...] ⯑relia?

Signior, Good-morrow; you are an early [...] ⯑ſitant.

Not for a Man in Love; but anſwer me, [...] does Aurelia?

Well in Health—Only ſhe's now and [...] in a little Fit of Melancholy, ſuch as uſually pro [...] from timorous Doubts about that dreadful State of [...] ⯑trimony: You know the Time draws nigh that [...] her to your Arms.

By Heaven! 'Tis an Age, there's ſix Day [...] to come.

An Age, indeed, if he knew all.

Signior, my Lady is not dreſt, and I ſhall diſ⯑pleaſe her, in admitting even you, without her Leave.

Oh! Heaven! What ſhall I ſay?

Signior, what do you mean?

SCENE IV.

Who waits?

Did you call, Sir?

Mountaine, run to Signiora Ronquilla, and tell her I have done with her for ever, if ſhe does not ſend this Evening the hundred Ducats ſhe promiſed to lend me—And harkee, as you come back, acquaint Signiora Cornara I ſhall be buſy To-morrow, and de⯑ſire ſhe will put off her Viſit till another Day.

Sir, there's ſomebody at the Door.

See who 'tis.

Sir, a Gentlewoman deſires to ſpeak with you.

This will inform you, Sir.

Hum, hum, a Letter—Tho' it may ſeem improper for one of my Sex to make the firſt Step in an Amour, yet you ought to conſider, that the rigorous Confine⯑ment we are under all the Year round, may, in ſome mea⯑ſure, excuſe the Liberties we take during the Carnival. If you have the Courage to meet me, I ſhall be at four in the Afternoon in the Plazza d' Eſpagna, inviſible to all but yourſelf.—Well, I believe all Women in Venice are wild for Gallants.

Sir, what Anſwer ſhall I return to my Lady?

Egad—I am in doubt whether I ſhall throw my Time away on this Intrigue or no— [25] Harkee Child, ſtep into the next Chamber, and I'll anſwer your Meſſage inſtantly—

Let me ſee—

Monday, at Two in the Afternoon I am to meet Signiora Belleza at her Nurſe's—She's a pretty Rogue, and ſo I'll go—At Three of the Clock, Signiora Dorinda the Senator's Wife, at the Indian Houſe—Pſhaw, ſhe's an old Ac⯑quaintance,—I ſhan't go—At half an Hour paſt Three, the Counteſs Wrinkle, who preſented me with a Gold-hilted Sword—Silly Fool! does ſhe think I'll beſtow one of my Viſits on an old ſhrivelled Piece of Antiquity, for a trifling Preſent, not worth above three-ſcore Piſtoles—At a Quarter paſt Four, my Sem⯑ſtreſs Dorothy Steenkirk, who ſupplies me with Linen,—Oh! this Viſit may be put off for a new Intrigue—And ſo I'll acquaint the Meſſenger.

SCENE I.

DID you deliver my Letter to Ludo⯑vico, Lucy?

Madam, I did; I found him in his Study, reading the Lover's Watch, which he ſwears does not at all agree with his Conſtitution. He hates Injunctions of Love, like thoſe of Penance: For the one, ſays he, is no more pleaſurable to the Body, than the other beneficial to the Soul.

What a fine Gallant I'm like to have with theſe Principles! Well—what did he ſay to a Sum⯑mons from a Woman of my Quality? Did it not make him wiſh the Time of Aſſignation were ſooner than the Appointment in the Letter?

He firſt hum'd over your Billet; and pauſing a while, he deſir'd me to ſtay for an Anſwer in a next Room; then coming to me, he ask'd me what Coun⯑trywoman you were? For, ſaid he, if ſhe ſhould prove an old Acquaintance, I would uſe her damnably—But when I and aſſur'd him you never ſaw the Outſide of theſe Walls, he began to have that Deſire which all Men have to a new Face

Very well; and what then?

He ſtrait enquir'd whether you were black, brown, fair, old, young, Maid, Wife or Widow? I told him you was a wretched Wiſe to an old, impotent, [27] rich, covetous, noble Venetian; beautiful, young, gene⯑rous, and of a fair Complexion. He hugg'd me at theſe Words, ſeem'd tranſported with the News, and ſwore that in Intrigues, a Wife was moſt ſuitable to his Temper; for, ſaid he, there's neither Children to fa⯑ther, nor Honour to repair: and where his Pocket and Liberty are ſafe, he is contented to venture his Body and Soul,

Excellent Maxims!

In ſhort, Madam, he ſays he has had ſeveral Bills of this Nature drawn upon him of late, and how much his Stock may be exhauſted, he knows not; but however he'll meet you, and if he cannot anſwer your Expectation, he'll give you Earneſt.

You talk merrily, Girl; I hope you did not tell my Name. I ſhould be loath to truſt a Man of his Character with my Reputation at firſt Daſh.

No, Madam, I only told your Quality.

That's well: Oh! Reputation, what ſeveral Sorts of Slavery do we undergo to preſerve thee! for to be thought virtuous, we are forced to be conſtantly rail⯑ing againſt Vice, tho' our Tongues and Maxims ſeldom agree.

Alas! Madam, that Pretence is grown too common: For the Men now take it for granted, that a Lady is very near ſurrendring, when once ſhe holds out that Flag of Defiance.

Well—Men uſe us very barbarouſly: They will neither ſuffer us to be honeſt, nor allow us to be thought ſo—Here, take this Key, and ſecure every thing that concerns my Reputation: And if my Husband wakes ere I come back, you may eaſily find ſome Excuſe to prevent his Enquiries; for the Carnival allows us more Liberty, than at other times we dare pretend to—I know thy Honeſty, and will rely upon't.

Yes, indeed, Madam, I am honeſt at the Bot⯑tom.

Well, I'll be gone: 'Tis about the Hour

Good Luck attend you, Madam—Oh! Heavens! here's my Lord—Madam, Madam, Madam—Oh! Lord, what ſhall I ſay, now ſhe's gone?

Hiſt, hiſt, Lucy: Don't, don't, don't call your Lady, for I have a Word or two to ſay to thee in pri⯑vate, and have waited for this lucky Opportunity a great while—

Now Venus be prais'd, I hope he has found ſome Buſineſs of his own, that may give my Lady an Opportunity to mind her's.

Well, Lucy, well,—canſt thou gueſs my Buſineſs now?

No, indeed, Sir—But I'm certain, an old Man's Buſineſs can't be great.

Here, Child, this will tell thee—Look in't, look in't, I ſay—Ah! ah! thou haſt a pretty pouting Lip, a delicate roguiſh Eye; ſuch an Ogle, ſuch a Caſt—Ah! Rogue—Faith, thou'rt very pretty: And, in ſhort, if any one rival thy Lady, it will be thee, Lucy—Egad, I have Fire in me yet.

O' my Conſcience, and little too, I be⯑lieve: Yet I wiſh he has enough to ſerve my Ends. I'll make my Fortune—Lord, Sir, what do you mean? I rival my Lady! Heaven forbid; I would not injure ſo good a Woman for the World—

Pſhaw, pſhaw—Where's the Injury done to her, Child? Adod, I'll give thee a hundred Crowns.

No Injury, ſay you, my Lord? Why, I won⯑der you ſhould be ſo jealous of my Lady, and preach ſuch religious Maxims to her, when your own Principles are quite oppoſite.

Look ye, Child, a Man may do that, which would look abominable in a Wife—A Woman's Reputation is a nice Thing.—

'Tis ſo—and therefore 'tis but Reaſon I ſhould take Care of mine.

Prithee, no more of that: Thy Reputation ſhall be ſafe; I'll marry thee to my Gentleman.

Gentleman—Valet! Faugh—And what Good will a hundred Crowns do me, when my Virginity is gone? Indeed, if you lov'd me as much as you ſay, and would make my Fortune, (for I ſhould love ex⯑treamly to be a Lady) I cannot tell how far you might perſuade me—I know my Reputation would be ſafe in your Hands.

Make thy Fortune! Why, I've known ſome of our Nobles marry a Wife with leſs than a hundred Crowns—But adod, thou'rt a charming Girl, and therefore I'll make it a hundred Piſtoles—What ſay'ſt thou now, Lucy? Ah! adod, I muſt buſs thee;

Ah! Rogue, methinks I'm a young, luſty, vigorous Fellow again—Thou ſhall find I am, Girl.

I believe I ſhall fail you, old Gentleman. Well, my Lord, make it up a thouſand Piſtoles, and I am your's, elſe I'll die a Maid, I'm reſolv'd.

A thouſand Piſtoles, why thour't the moſt uncon⯑ſcionable Wench in Italy: Why, 'tis a Price for a Du⯑tcheſs in ſome Countries▪ Come, come, prithee be rea⯑ſonable, Lucy?

Reaſonable! why you don't ask a reaſonable Thing—Look you, you know my Mind, I'll not bate a Penny—I'll warrant my Lady will give me two hundred at leaſt for my Diſcovery

Udſlife! ſhe won't tell my Wife, ſure, [...]m ruin'd if ſhe does; I'd rather give her two thou⯑ [...]and—Hold, hold, Lucy, ſweet Lucy, prithee [...]ome back—Faith, thou'rt ſo charming, I can de⯑ [...]y thee nothing—Come, it ſhall be what thou wilt—Come now Rogue, let's retire to thy Cham⯑ [...]er—

Nay, nay, no entring the Premiſes, till you [...]ave paid the Purchaſe.—

Adod, thou'rt a Wag—Come in then, and I'll diſcharge the Debt: Thou art a cunning Gipſy.

You ſhall have Reaſon to ſay ſo ere I have done with you, old Gentleman—For I am reſolv'd to ſhow you a Trick, and preſerve my Virtue.

SCENE II.

Nay, nay, Signiora, why this Paſſion?

You ſent me a Challenge, and I, like a Man of Courage am come to anſwer it—Pray don't let a Quarter [...] [31] an Hour break Squares—I own it was a Fault to make a Lady wait; but Friends, Madam, Friends, and good Wine are the Devil—Come I'll make you amends.

Friends and good Wine! I ſuppoſe thoſe Friends were Female ones—

No, Faith: You ſhall judge of that—But ſuppoſe they were—Why ſhould you be angry that I did not fly with the deſir'd Haſte, as long as I am come time enough to give you Satisfaction—Beſides, I han't ſeen your Face yet, and for aught I know, it mayn't reward my Complement in coming now—Prithee, Child, unmask, and then I'll tell thee more of my Mind.

The Devil take this Fellow—and yet me⯑thinks I love him for his Indifferency—

You talk as if you were unskill'd in the Art of Love: Don't you know that Expectation feeds more than twenty taſted Pleaſures?

Hum—ſome Sort of Fops it may: But I'm none of thoſe—I never give my Opinion of a Diſh till I've taſted; neither do I care to dine often on one Sort of Meat without changing the Sauce—But when that Cloud's withdrawn, how long I ſhall keep my Re⯑ſolution I know not.

Say you ſo! Why then the only Way to pre⯑ſerve your Appetite is to feed you ſlenderly; or only let you ſee the Food, but not to taſte.

Faith, Madam, I'm no Camelion, but Fleſh and Blood—Therefore theſe Preſcriptions are of no Uſe—One Sight of that dear charming Face of your's, would be more obliging to your humble Servant.

Well, Sir, what think you? Is there any thing in this Face worth your Regard?

Ah! by Heaven, an Angel—Oh! Madam, now blame yourſelf for my Neglect, for had you ſent the Picture of her, in whom all thoſe Beauties center, I had in this Place waited the coming of my Goddeſs, or ra⯑ther flown on the Wings of eager Love, to meet my Fair, tho' in the Arms of ten thouſand Dangerss— [32] Say, my charming Angel, do you forgive me? But why do I ask? your Eyes aſſure me you do; at leaſt I'll force a Pardon from theſe dear, ſoft, ruby Lips.

Hold, hold! been't ſo laviſh—a ſparing Gameſter is the likelieſt to keep in Stock—whilſt a profuſe Hand at one Caſt throws all he has away.

To fear that, were to doubt your Charms, in which a Lover is ſure to find conſtant Supplies—But we loſe Time—Let's retire to my Lodgings, where I'll give thee the beſt Proofs of my Love I can?

Well! He's a charming Fellow—Oh! how happy are Wives in France and England, where ſuch as he ſwarm!

Come, Madam, come—Why, what do you mean by this Delay? Conſider I'm a Man, a mortal, wiſhing, amorous Man—

And conſider I'm a Woman—

Ay, ay: That I know: At leaſt I hope to find you ſuch—or I would not be in ſuch Haſte—

And have a Reputation to preſerve.

Oh! Lord, what a damn'd Turn's here? Re⯑putation, ſay you? Egad, I find all Women make Pre⯑tence to that myſterious Word.

What! Are not you married, Madam?

Yes, what then?

Why then you have a Reputation to preſerve—that's all.

All, Sir, yes, and all in all to me—Do you conſider what Country you're in, Sir?

Yes, Faith, Madam; and what Conſtitution I am of too. I know Murder is as venial a Sin here, as Adultery is in ſome Countries; And I am too apprehen⯑ſive of my mortal Part not to avoid Danger—There⯑fore, Madam, you have an infallible Security—if I ſhould betray you, I bring myſelf into Jeopardy, and of all Pleaſures, Self-Preſervation is the deareſt.

A very open Speaker, I vow.

Ay, Madam, that's beſt—Hang your creeping, cringing, whining, ſighing, dying, lying Lovers—Pough! Their Flames are not more durable than mine, tho' they make more Noiſe in the Blaze.

The Duce take me if this Fellow has not charm'd me ſtrangely—Well, the Carnival is almoſt over, and then muſt I be ſhut up like a Nun again—Hey! Hoa! This Time will be ſo ſhort—

Let's make the better Uſe on't then, my Dear. We will conſider when we have nothing elſe to do, but at preſent there's a Matter of the greateſt Moment, which I muſt impart to you—Therefore, come dear Rogue, come—

Hold—I have outſtaid my Time, and muſt return home inſtantly, to prevent Diſcoveries.

Faith, Madam, this is not fair—to raiſe a Man's Expectation, and then diſappoint him! Would you be ſerv'd ſo yourſelf now?

I'll endeavour to diſingage myſelf from my jealous Husband, and contrive another Meeting.

But will you be ſure to meet me again?

I give you my Hand as a Pledge—

And I this Kiſs in Return—Adieu, my Charmer.

Signior, farewel.

SCENE I.

SCENE II.

Well, thou'rt an admirable Girl! What would half the Ladies in Venice give for ſuch a Servant?

Truly you have Reaſon to ſay ſo, for 'tis not the firſt Intrigue I have manag'd for you—Oh! dear Madam, your Ladyſhip does me too much Ho⯑nour—But how do you like your new Servant, Madam?

Oh! above all Men living, Lucy: He has the moſt bewitching Converſation I ever met with—Say, is there no way to contrive a ſecond Meeting? For I'm impatient till I ſee the dear Man again—The End of the Carnival draws near, which is indeed the End of Life to me: For then muſt I be coop'd up with Age: Condemn'd to an eternal Coughing, Spitting, Snoring and Ill-nature—Then let me make the beſt of Life—ſince Hell cannot have a worſe Plague in Store than I have felt already.

Indeed, Madam, I pity you: And with 'twere in my Power to free you from this old, wither'd Log, but tho' that's impoſſible, yet I may do you ſome little Servi⯑ces to make Life's tedious Journey pleaſant—Let me ſee, I have it—What would you ſay now, Ma⯑dam, if I ſhould contrive a Way to have your Lover in your own Chamber?

That were worth a King's Revenue—Speak, quickly, how, how, good Lucy?

Why, thus: He ſhall put on my Cloaths, and in my Place attend you.

Rare Contrivance; but my Husband, Lucy?

Oh! let me alone, Madam, to manage him: He is defective in Sight, you know; and not miſtruſting any thing, will not be over curious: But if he ſhould, I [42] have a way to bring you off—My Life on't—This Plot may be of Uſe to my Deſign, I'll manage it with Care.

Oh! the Pleaſure of hearing my Husband lie coughing, and calling me to Bed: And my anſwer⯑ing him, I'm coming, Dear; and while he imagines me in the next Room undreſſing, I'm happy in the Arms of my Ludovico. Certainly there's as much Satisfaction in deceivig a dull jealous Husband, as in getting a new Gal⯑lant; Were it not grown ſo common—each. Tradeſ⯑man's Wife muſt have her Gallant too—and ſome⯑times makes a Journey-man of the Apprentice e'er his Indentures be half out—'Tis an unſufferable Fault, that Quality can have no Pleaſure above the Vulgar, except it be in paying their Debts. Well, dear Lucy, I admire thy Contrivance—About it inſtantly—

About it inſtantly! is that all? I muſt have my t'other Fee firſt.—I will, Madam; and you may expect your Lover inſtantly. But, Madam, what's to be done with your Brocade Night Gown you tore laſt Night? it can ne'er be mended handſomely.

Nothing to be done without a Bribe I find, in Love as well as Law—Well, Lucy, if you manage this Intrigue with Care and Secreſy, the Gown is yours.

Madam, my Lord deſires ſo ſpeak with you.

Madam, I'll go about your Buſineſs: Your La⯑dyſhip's very humble Servant.

Tell him I'm coming—

Now by way of Mortification, muſt I go entertain my old, jealous Husband.

SCENE III.

What Singing, Signior! Well, you're a pleaſant Gentleman—

Ah! my little Female Mercury, what Meſſage bringſt Thou? Ha—will thy Lady bleſs me with ano⯑ther Sight—Ha—How—When? where? I am all in a Flame.

Come along with me, Sir, I'll help you to an Extinguiſher preſently.

If thou meaneſt thy Lady, with all my Heart—But I can tell thee, ſhe'll rather prove Oyl, than what you ſpeak of—But, ſay, where am I to ſee my lovely Charmer?

In her Chamber—

Good! But how the Devil can that be done?

Nay, without the Help of a Conjurer, I aſſure you; If you dare take me for your Pilot, I'll warrant you Succeſs in your Voyage—I'll ſet you ſafe in the Iſland of Love; 'tis your Buſineſs to improve the Soil.

I warrant thee, Girl; do you but bring me there once, and if I play not my Part, may I never more know the Pleaſure of an Intrigue.

Which, if I miſtake not, is the greateſt Curſe can fall on you—Well, you muſt ſuffer a ſmall Metamor⯑phoſis: What think you of perſonating me a little? That is dreſſing in my Cloaths, and waiting on your Mi⯑ſtreſs in her Bed Chamber—Ha—

Egad, I'm afraid I ſhall make but an awkward Chamber-maid, I'm undiſciplin'd in dreſſing a Lady's Head—

Oh! Sir, your Commiſſion won't reach ſo high as the Head: I believe my Lady will excuſe little Mat⯑ters: You can undreſs, I ſuppoſe.

Oh! the beſt and the quickeſt of any Man in Venice. But a Pox on't—Canſt find no other way?—I, I, I,—I like Petticoats in their proper Places, but I don't care to have my Legs in 'em.

And ſo you reſolve againſt it? Ha—

No, not abſolutely reſolve, Child: But—a—

But what, Sir!

Nothing—I will follow thy Directions, what⯑ever comes on't. Now lead the way: For nothing ſutes better with my Humour than a Friend, a Bottle, a new Miſtreſs, and a convenient Place.

SCENE IV.

Well—My Wife's a fine Woman! a very fine Woman! But a Pox ſhe's a Wife ſtill, and this young Jade runs in my Head plaguly: Well—here 'tis under my Hand; a Thouſand Piſtoles—A great Sum for a Maidenhead, as Maidenheads go now-a-days—Ah, had I been young now.

Oh! are you come! Here, here, Lucy: Here's a For⯑tune for thee, worth Twenty Maidenheads, adod! I have not ſo much Money by me at preſent, but there's Secu⯑rity.

Your Lordſhip's Bond's ſufficient—Well, but that I am ſatisfied my Reputation is ſafe with your Lordſhip, or twice the Sum ſhould not have prevail'd—Go to my Chamber, my Lord, I'll but ſtop and ſee if my Lady wants any thing, and I'll be with you inſtant⯑ly.

You won't ſtay, Lucy? Ah Girl, buſs thy Lady's Chucky; now do now—

Oh! Lord! not here, we ſhall be diſcovered.

Well, thou art a cunning Sinner: make haſte, Lucy, doſt hear?

You're in mighty Haſte, old Gentleman! but I ſhall deceive you,

SCENE I.

Sir, Count Baſſino enquires if you are within.

Oh! Heaven! that I were not!

A Letter! and to Aurelia! now Curioſity prompts me to know the Subject—What's here?

I have diſpatch'd Armando to the Court of Sa⯑voy, and found Pretence to ſtay behind—

Falſe treacherous Man!

This Night I give a Mask at my Lodgings, which, I hope, will divert Alonzo, till the Prieſt has joined our Hands; and while all the Company are engaged in Mirth, I'll ſteal to the dear Arms of my divine Aurelia.

SCENE II.

Why, what makes this young Jade ſtay ſo long? Adod, this is to pay before-hand—Ha—methinks I hear a Laughing and Giggling in my Wife's Apart⯑ment; I muſt know whence their Mirth proceeds. Ho! here's Lucy coming—Harkee you, pray, why did you make me wait ſo long? Nay, I'm reſolved you ſhan't 'ſcape me now—

Oh! Be⯑nedicite! What have we here? A Man diſguis'd in my Wife's Chamber! and I unarm'd! Oh! Curſt Mi⯑nute!—Speak, thou wicked Prophet, thou Son of Ini⯑quity, what cameſt thou here for? Ha—Thou Prieſt [54] of Baal, to offer Sacrifices on the Altar of my Wife? Oh! my Head! my Horns weigh it down to the Ground already—Within there, bring me my Sword and Piſtols.

A Pox on all Petticoats—What a Devil ſhall I ſay now? Oh! for a Sword! that would be of more Uſe to me now than my Tongue.

Oh! thou wicked ſalacious Woman!

What ails my dear Chucky? Why doſt thou call for Arms, Deary?

To cut down that vile Creeper which over-runs thy Garden of Virtue—

Now Impudence aſſiſt me.

Ah! Heavens! What's here? A Man in Diſguiſe? A Thief it muſt be—Raiſe the Servants—Oh! Hea⯑ven! we might have had all our Throats cut in our Beds—Now for Lucy, for I am at a Loſs to come off.

No, no, I warrant, you know he is more gentle in Bed

Oh! the Devil, what does ſhe mean? Death, Hell and Furies! if I come off now, catch me at this Sport again, and hang me—

Oh! are you there, Miſtreſs? How came this Man here in your Cloaths? Ha! Gentlewoman—

How confidently ſhe asks the Queſtion, poor Lady! as if ſhe knew nothing of it! Now muſt I bring her off—For Reaſons you muſt not know, Madam.

Ah! Thou wicked Pair of Bellows to blow the Fire of Iniquity! Why, thou art the very Caſement thro' which thy Miſtreſs ſucks the Air of Abomination—Tell me, I ſay, how he came here, and for what—and be ſure it be a ſubſtantial Lie, or 'twill not paſs.

All my Hopes are in her Impudence.

Harkee, Sir, one Word with you—Do you remember our Agreement To-night?

Why, what of that? ha—

Then imagine what I deſign'd that Gentleman for: I'm honeſt, Sir, that's all—

I'm honeſt, Sir, that's all—

Honeſt! with a Pox—What! and ſo you honeſtly provided a Companion for my Wife in my Abſence—ha—

No, Sir, I deſign'd him for your Companion in my Abſence—This is the Buſineſs he was dreſt for: Therefore no more Words, but believe my Lady honeſt, or all ſhall out.

Oh! the Devil! this ſhan't paſs, Huſſy—Do you think I'll be cuckold, jilted, bubbled, and let it paſs for a Chriſtmas Gambol. Adod, give me my Bond again, or—or—

No—hold there, Sir: Women and Lawyers ne'er refund a Fee: But 'tis your beſt Way to be patient now, I'll not take Blows.

Why all this Whiſpering? Why mayn't I know the Buſineſs?

I am miſtaken if you have not known too much Buſineſs already: But I am right enough ſerv'd—I had more Ground before than I could manage; I had no Need of my Neighbour's.

Right, my Lord; Ground that lies fallow will breed Weeds in Time; but your's is clear yet.

Damn your Jeſts: I ſhall expect a better Ac⯑count, do you hear? I'll find a Servant to ſee you out of Door.

Well, this was an admirable Lift at a Pinch—She has brought me off now—And if e'er they catch me at this Muſick again, I'll give 'em Leave to make an Italian Singer of me—No more Intrigues in Diſguiſe—if it had not been for the Waiting-Woman now, I might have been hang'd for a Thief.

What, all amort, Signior, no Courage left?

Faith, not much—I think I have loſt my Manhood with my Breeches—This Tranſ⯑formation may ſuit with Gods, but not with Mortals of my Humour—Come, prithee, good Miſtreſs Lucy, help me to my proper Shape again; for tho' I have a natural Inclination to Petticoats, I hate 'em upon my own Back.

Hark! I hear Count Baſſino's Muſick: He gives a Mask To-night; you are already dreſt for Maſque⯑rade, won't you ſtay and take a Dance?

Egad, I'd rather dance a Jig with thee elſe⯑where: Faith thou'rt a pretty Girl—and haſt a good deal of Wit too—But then, Pox on't, thou'rt ho⯑neſt, thou ſayeſt, thou cannot ſwallow a Pill, except 'tis gilded o'er with Matrimony.

—And that turns your Stomach, I warrant.

Why, Ay: Faith my Stomach is damn'd ſqueem⯑iſh in theſe Matters: Yet, egad, if I could find one with half as much Money as thou haſt Wit and Beauty, I'd marry, and live honeſt.

That is, you'd marry her Money—

One with the other, Child: There's no living upon Love, thou knoweſt—Tho' Faith I could live well enough too.

Well, ſuppoſe I help you to a Lady with a round Sum; you'd keep your Word, and marry her?

I am a Gentleman, I ſcorn to break my Word.

Well, Sir, come to the Mask, and I'll engage you a Miſtreſs, if you are not over-curious.

SCENE I.

Ah! Miſtreſs Lucy! I'm come thou ſeeſt—I expect thou ſhalt be as good as thy Word, Child—is the Lady here?

The Lady is forthcoming, if you are ſtill in the ſame Mind?

My Lover here! Harkee, Lucy.

By and by, Madam, I am catering for myſelf now—Well, Sir, will two thouſand Piſtoles do?

I muſt humour her—

Ay Child.

Why then, I take you at your Word, Sir, and can produce the aforeſaid Sum—

With a lit⯑tle of your Aſſiſtance, my Lord.

Hum—A pretty Wife I am like to have—Catch me there if you can—

Ha—How's that?

How! Miſtreſs Lucy, worth two thouſand Pi⯑ſtoles?

Ay: And I have a very good Pay-maſter for one Half of it two—Do you know this Hand, my Lord?

Confound your jilting Sneer.

Ha, ha, ha—What, a Thouſand Piſtoles a Diſh, my Lord? I hope you don't change often, ha—ha—

Huſſy, I'll be reveng'd—'Tis all falſe, 'tis coun⯑terfeit.

Ha—ha—But it had been current Coin, if I had ſuffer'd you to put your Stamp upon't—in my Bed-Chamber, my Lord—

How Miſtreſs, have you trick'd my Husband out of a thouſand Piſtoles, and never told me of it?

Nay, Madam, don't frown—Remember you have tricked him out of ſomething too, which I ne⯑ver told him of—Don't urge me to more Diſcove⯑ries.

So—Here's Trick upon Trick: But, Faith, you ſhall never trick me out of my Liberty. I'm not ſo fond of a Wiſe to marry a Chamber-maid, tho' with ten Times as much Money: and ſo, ſweet Miſtreſs Abigail, your humble Servant.

The Jade has me upon the Hip—I muſt be ſilent.

Ha—What! my Lover gone I With all my Heart: Better now than after; for whilſt I have my [59] Fortune in my own Hands, I ſhall have no Need to ſue for a ſeparate Maintenance, and get nothing for it nei⯑ther.

Come now, Gentlemen and Ladies, be pleas'd to walk into the next Room, and take a ſmall Colla⯑tion—But where's my Lord Baſſino? Come, Gen⯑tlemen, he's gone before us.

Where we will quickly follow.

Alonzo, a Word with you—

SCENE II.

No, Madam, A young Stranger deſires to ſpeak with you: He ſays you are not acquainted with his Name, but will ſoon with his Buſineſs, which is ſome⯑thing of great Import, that can be told to none but your⯑ſelf.