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 Cornell University Library 
 PR 3432.A17 
 
 The works of Sir George Etheredge:plays 
 
 3 1924 012 961 482 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924012961482 
 
THE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 SIR GEORGE ETHEREDGE 
 TLAYS Q,1ND TOEMS 
 
Publisher's Note. 
 
 Five hundred copies of this book printed for England 
 and America, and each numbered as issued. Type 
 distributed. 
 
 No. 57-0, 
 
THE WORKS 
 
 OP 
 
 SIR GEORGE ETHEREDGE 
 
 TLAYS cAND TOE MS 
 
 EDITED, WITH CRITICAL NOTES AND INTRODUCTION 
 BY 
 
 A. WILSON VERITY, B.A. 
 
 LATE SCHOLAR OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE 
 
 LONDON 
 
 JOHN C. NIMMO 
 14, King William Street, Strand 
 ex MibcccLxxxvni 
 
 TT 
 
An 
 
 
 yf- ' ,' • t 
 
 • "/ ^i 
 
 7"'/ 
 
 CHISWICK TRESS I— C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, 
 CHANCERY LANE, 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction vii 
 
 The Comical Revenge; or, Love in a Tub . . i 
 
 She Would if She Could 119 
 
 The Man of Mode ; or. Sir Fopling Flutter . 237 
 
 Poems 375 
 
 Index 407 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 FROM the Restoration, or thereabout, down 
 to the Revolution Sir George Etheredge 
 seems to have held a conspicuous place among 
 English men of letters. He is very frequently 
 referred to, and generally in terms of praise; 
 he was familiar with most of the well-known 
 writers of the time, especially those who com- 
 bined literary success with social distinction; 
 and as a dramatist his reputation was consider- 
 able. It is strange, therefore, that so little 
 should be known of his personal life. When 
 and where he was born ; when and where he 
 died ; what was his career : on these and other 
 points our information is of the scantiest. Tha-t 
 information, such as it is, was, in the main, 
 brought together by Oldys in his article on the 
 dramatist in the Biographia Britannica (1750) ; 
 it may be given briefly. 
 
 Sir George Etheredge — or Etherege — was 
 probably bop in 1634;^ possibly in 1635. The 
 date is arrived at in a somewhat roundabout 
 
 ' "About the year 1636," says Oldys, 
 
viii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 fashion. Dryden, in the piece of rhymed octo- 
 syllabics which I have placed at the end of this 
 volume, addresses Etheredge thus : — 
 
 To you who live in chill degree, 
 As map informs, of fifty-three. 
 And do not much for cold atone 
 By bringing' thither fifty-one. 
 
 Dryden's letter, it may be ' remembered, was 
 written at the request of the Earl of Middleton 
 as a reply to a similar epistle which Etheredge 
 had addressed to the Secretary of State. Ethe- 
 redge's lines,^ as we find from the Letterbook' in 
 the British Museum, were dated April 29th, 
 1686; Dryden's answer must be assigned to the 
 same year. If, therefore, Etheredge was fifty- 
 
 ' " Bringing " might imply that Etheredge was fifty-one when 
 he was sent to Ratisbon, i.e. in 1685, not at the time when 
 Dryden wrote. 
 
 ^ See the Poems. 
 
 ' This volume, acquired by the British Museum in 1837, and 
 described in the Catalogue of MS. Additions for that year, con- 
 tains the drafts of some hundred letters written by Etheredge 
 during his residence at Ratisbon to his friends in England and 
 France ; also copies of a few letters received by him from Dry- 
 den, Middleton, and others ; several spiteful letters written by 
 his own secretary, in which Etheredge is very sharply criticised ; 
 three or four copies of verse, some accounts, a crude Hudibrastic 
 poem on the dramatist's life and character, and a catalogue of 
 his books. Amongst the latter the number of French transla- 
 tions of the Classics is curious. The Letterbook was evidently 
 known to Macaulay, see History (popular ed.), ii. 405, 487. 
 I need hardly say that Mr. Gosse has made very extensive and 
 effective use of its contents in his essay on Etheredge, Seven- 
 teenth Century Studies. 
 
INTRODUCTION. ix 
 
 three in the spring of 1686 he must have been 
 born in 1634, or early in 1635. 
 
 Beyond this single date we know nothing of 
 Etheredge's origin and early life. Gildon, in- 
 deed, tells us that he came of an old Oxfordshire 
 family — possibly that to which Dr. George Ethe- 
 redge, the Greek scholar, belonged — and that 
 for a time " his applications were to the law ;" 
 Oldys thinks that he was at Cambridge. On 
 none of these points is there any direct evidence 
 whatever. That he entered at Cambridge seems 
 unlikely ; no record of his residence there is 
 preserved, the tone of his plays is decidedly un- 
 academic, and Dennis^ assures us that to his 
 " certain knowledge he understood neither Greek 
 nor Latin." What does appear quite certain is, 
 that previous to the production of The Comical 
 Revenge (1664) the dramatist must have spent 
 
 ■^ In his anonymous Defence of Sir Fopling Flutter, 1722, 
 defending Etheredge from the attacks of "the knight, his 
 brother j" the brother being Steele, who had passed very severe 
 judgments on She Would if She Could and Sir Fopling (" I 
 allow it to be nature, but it is nature In its utmost corruption and 
 degeneracy ") in the Spectator, Nos. 51 and 65. Dennis, by the 
 way, was very fervent in his admiration of Etheredge : " 'Tis 
 my humble opinion that there is no dialogue extant in any lan- 
 guage which has half the. charms of the Terentian dialogue ; 
 what comes nearest to it is that of Etheredge in Sir Fopling." — 
 Letter to Henry Cromwell on "Vis Comica," Oct. nth, 1717. 
 Again, in his criticism on Crown, he speaks of " that grace, that 
 delicacy, that courtly air which make the charm of Etheredge ;" 
 and there are similar allusions in a letter to Prior on the " Roman 
 Satirists." — Familiar Letters, 1721. 
 
X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 some considerable time in France ; no one can 
 read that play, still less Sir FopUng Flutter, 
 without seeing at once that the writer was fami- 
 liar to a very remarkable degree with French 
 life and ways. He displays at every turn a 
 knowledge of the language and a close ac- 
 quaintance with things Parisian that only a 
 long residence in the French capital could have 
 given, 
 
 Etheredge's first work, so far as we know, was 
 the piece just alluded to— r^ Comical Revenge, 
 or Love in a Tub, brought' upon the stage in 
 1664, and published'^ in the same year. It was 
 
 ■ As Mr. Gosse points out, it is important that we should be 
 able to establish the fact that The Comical Revenge preceded all 
 similar pieces ; but this precedence depends on the date of the 
 production of the play, not on the dati of its publication, and 
 the former can very easily be shown. It would have been a 
 strange thing indeed if Samuel Pepys had been silent about the 
 comedy to which all the town thronged, and Samuel Pepys is 
 not silent : "Jan. 4, 1664: Mr. Moore and I to Lave in a 
 Tubb, which is very merry." — Diary, Mynors Bright's ed., iii. 
 98 ; see, too, iv. 138 and v. 263. Pepys, it will be noted, does 
 not imply that he was present at the first representation of the 
 play ; yet he saw it so early in the year as Jan. 4th. Perhaps, 
 therefore, it was really produced the end of 1663. Evelyn found 
 the Revenge " facetious." — Diary, April 27, 1664. That it held 
 the boards for some time is pretty clear from Langbaine's re- 
 mark, "has succeeded admirably on the stage, it having always 
 been acted with general applause." From some lines in Roches-' 
 ter's Tunhridge Wells we may conclude that the character of Sir 
 Nicholas soon became proverbial. 
 
 ' Of this scarce edition the Bodleian possesses two copies : the 
 British Museum not one. The popularity of the piece is attested 
 by the number of editions published — 1664, 1669, 1689 1690 
 etc. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 dedicated to the Earl of Dorset, then Lord 
 Buckhurst, was acted by a very strong cast/ 
 which included Betterton and Harris, the first 
 actors of the day, and achieved a great success. 
 Etheredge indeed found himself famous; so 
 famous that for a time he rested on his laurels, 
 not hazarding another essay until 1668, Tlte 
 Comical Revenge, we should add, was partly 
 written in rhymed couplets, an early use of the 
 metre that afterwards became so popular,* 
 
 Etheredge's second play. She Would if She 
 Could, appeared in 1668 f it marked a decided 
 advance on his first effort. Rhyme has been 
 discarded, and with it the serious, rather melo- 
 dramatic element which in Etheredge's hands 
 had a tendency to become farcical. The cha- 
 racterization is clearer and cleverer, the move- 
 ment and lilt of the piece easier, and all through 
 are bright, quick touches that suggest the ready 
 hand of the practised playwright. Curiously 
 
 ' See Downes' Roscius Anglicanus, ppv 24, 25, Mr. Knight's 
 reprint (1886), where the full list of actors and actresses is given, 
 with the doggerel remark : — 
 
 Sir Nich'las, Sir Frederick, Widow and Dufoy 
 Were not by any so well done, ma foy \i.e. foi). 
 
 The two girls, Graciana and Aurelia, were played by Mrs. Bet- 
 teuton and Mrs. Davies respectively. 
 
 * In his essay on heroic plays prefixed to the Conquest of Gra- 
 nada Dryden rather implies that the merit of the innovation lay 
 with Davenant — the innovation being the employment of the 
 couplet. 
 
 ' Reprinted in quarto 1 67 1 and 1693. 
 
xli INTRODUCTION. 
 
 enough, the success of the comedy does not 
 appear to have been in proportion to its merit : 
 " took well, but inferior to Love in a Tub" is 
 Downes' summary criticism, while Pepys, who 
 assisted at the premiere, more than hints a par- 
 tial failure. His account ^ is graphic : " My wife 
 being gone before, I to the Duke of York's Play- 
 house ; where a new play of Etheredge's called 
 She Would if She Could; and though I was 
 there by two o'clock, there were looo people 
 put back that could not have room in the pit : 
 and I, at last, because my wife was there, made 
 shift to get into the i%d. box, and thus saw; 
 but Lord ! how full was the house." Everybody 
 was present, the King in his box, Buckingham, 
 with "my Lord Buckhurst and Sedley, and 
 Etheredge the poet ; the last of whom I did 
 hear mightily find fault with the actors, that 
 they were out of humour, and had not their 
 parts perfect, and that Harris did do nothing."" 
 
 ' Mynors Bright, vol. v. p. i8o ; also p. 456. ' 
 " Cf. Preface to The Humorists, 1671 : " Imperfect action 
 had like to have destroyed She Would if She Cotdd, which I 
 think, and I have the authority of some of the best judges in 
 England for it, is the best comedy that has been written since 
 the restoration of the stage. And even that, for the imperfect » 
 representation of it at first, received such prejudice, that had, it 
 not been for the favour of the Court, in all probability it had 
 never got up again ; and it suffers for it in a great measure to 
 this very day." Shadwell's wife played the part of Lady Cock- 
 wood ; Han-is, the chief offender, was Sir Joslin Jolley. —Downes 
 pp. 28, 29. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xiii 
 
 From Pepys' remarks, as from those of 
 Shadwell, we may conclude that Etheredge 
 had cause to be dissatisfied with the reception 
 of the play, and this, perhaps, combined with 
 his habitual laziness, was the reason why for 
 . eight years his pen lay idle. This silence was 
 broken in 1676, possibly at the rebuke adminis- 
 tered by his friend Rochester, who, in the Ses- 
 sion of the Poets, 1675 (wrongly assigned some- 
 times to Buckingham), more than hinted that 
 a successor to She Would if She Could ought 
 to be forthcoming : — 
 
 Now Apollo had got gentle George in his eye, 
 And frankly confessed that of all men that writ 
 There's none had more fancy, sense, judgment and wit ; 
 But i' the crying sin, idleness, he was so hardened 
 That his long seven years' silence was not to be pardoned. 
 
 Such an appeal was conclusive, and Etheredge 
 responded with his final and most famous co- 
 medy. The Man of Mode, or Sir Fopling Flutter, 
 produced at the Duke's Theatre in 1676. On 
 this occasion, at any rate, nothing was to be left 
 to chance. Etheredge dedicated his play to the 
 Duchess of York, applied to Sir Car Scroope 
 and Dryden for the prologue and epilogue re- 
 spectively, secured for its representation the 
 best possible company^ — Betterton (Dorimant), 
 
 ^ From Downes' Roscius AngUcanus, p. 36: " This comedy," 
 he says, "being well cloathed and well acted, got a great deal 
 of money." 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Harris (Medley), Mrs. Barry (Mrs. Loveit), and ^ 
 Mfs. Betterton as Belinda— and " met," in Gil- 
 don's words, " with extraordinary success." All 
 London crowded to the Duke's House, the 
 critics showered laurels on the author, and a 
 fresh interest was added when someone (a 
 friend, no doubt) happily discovered that Dori- 
 mant, the libertine of the piece, must be my 
 Lord Rochester,! that Medley was evidently 
 meant for Sir Charles Sedley, and that in the 
 exquisite of exquisites, Sir Fopling himself, the 
 dramatist had sketched to the life the most noto- 
 rious fop of the day, the Beau Hewitt for whom 
 Rochester and Dryden^ have a passing sneer. 
 It is in the main on The Man of Mode that 
 Etheredge's reputation rests; the play illustrates 
 
 ' So Oldys. Compare, too, St. Evremond, a letter on Roches- 
 ter to the Duchess of Mazarin, prefixed to The Works of the 
 Earls of Rochester, Roscommon, Dorset, etc., 1721 : "Sir George 
 Etherege wrote Dorimant in Sir Fopling in compliment to him." 
 Spence in his Anecdotes mentions a different tradition ; he quotes 
 Dean Lockier ; " Sir George Etherege was as thorough a fop 
 as ever I saw ; he was exactly his own Sir Fopling Flutter, and 
 yet he designed Dorimant, the genteel rake of wit, for his own 
 picture." 
 
 ' Essay on Satire: — 
 
 Then o'er his cups this nightbird chirping sits 
 Till he takes Hewit or Jack HaU for wits. 
 
 — Works, vol. XV. p. 213, where Scott quotes from Rochester's 
 
 Farewell : — 
 
 Scarce will their greater grief pierce every heart 
 
 Should Sir George Hewit or Sir Car (i.e. Scroope) depart. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xv 
 
 the merits and defects of that peculiar type of 
 comedy which Etheredge was the first to de- 
 velop, and which for a century afterwards re- 
 mained dominant We shall have a word to say 
 about it later on. 
 
 In this same year, 1676, we catch for the first 
 time a glimpse of the personal life of the dra- 
 matist ; and unfortunately the glimpse is not 
 particularly pleasing. Etheredge, Rochester, 
 and two friends were at Epsom one Sunday 
 night — to be quite Accurate, it was June 17th — 
 and amongst other things they tossed sundry 
 fiddlers in blankets and " skirmisht the watch," 
 so effectually, however, that one of their party 
 got run through with a pike, whereupon the 
 other three had to abscond. How the affair was 
 settled we are not told.* Another scanty item : 
 Gildon informs us rather crudely that Etheredge 
 " for marrying a fortune was knighted," and the 
 marriage and knighthood must be referred to 
 some time between the year 1676, when he was 
 plain " Geo. Etheridge," and the year 1680, 
 
 ^ See the Hatton Correspondence, Camden Society publica- 
 tions, 1879 ; I owe the reference to Mr. Gosse. Apparently the 
 event created rather a stir, as I find it alluded to in a letter in 
 the Vemey V&'pexs-^IIistorical MSS. Commission Reports^ vol. 
 vii. p. 467 — "Mr. Downes, who (with Lord Rochester, Mr. 
 William Jepson and Geo. Etheiidge) skirmisht the watch at 
 Epsom 12 days since, died last Tuesday of his hurts received 
 from the rustics.^' Addison may have heard of the scandal. 
 Spectator, 2. 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 when in the Hatton Correspondence he is re- 
 ferred to as "Sir George." That the marriage 
 was perfunctory would appear from Bucking- 
 ham's lines in A Consolatory Epistle to Captain 
 Julian : — 
 
 E'en gentle George (flux'djboth in tongue and purse) ; 
 Shunning one snare yet fell into a worse. 
 A man may be relieved once in a life. 
 But who can be relieved that has a wife.' 
 
 This almost brings us to the final, and, thanks 
 to his letters, fairly tangible period in Ethe- 
 redge's life. In March, 1685, he was appointed 
 English Envoy — more technically. Resident — at 
 Ratisbon.'' There seems some reason to believe 
 that he had previously held diplomatic posts, 
 and a contemporary pasquil, quoted by Oldys, 
 contains the couplet — 
 
 Ovid to Pontus sent for too much wit ; 
 Etheredge to Turkey for the want of it ; 
 
 from which we might conclude that he had once 
 represented the English Court at Constantinople. 
 However this may have been, he was now sent 
 to Ratisbon, where we can follow his life for the 
 
 • State Poems (1703 collection), ii. 132. 
 
 " Mr. Gosse gives the following warrant from the Privy Signet 
 Book : "Warrant to pay Sir Geo. Etheredge (whom his Maj. 
 has thought fit to employ in his service in Germany) 3/. per 
 diem." This was supplemented by bounties ; cf. the following 
 extract from The Secret Services of Charles II and James II, , 
 published by the Camden Society, 1851 : " To Sir George Ethe- 
 ridge, bounty .... 200/." ; date, Sept. 20th, 1685. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xvii 
 
 next two years with tolerable closeness. Up to 
 this point Etheredge has been the vaguest, most 
 elusive of personalities ; it is pleasant now to turn 
 to the letters (upon which we shall not scruple 
 to draw freely), and to extract from them some 
 idea of what our author really was. 
 
 At first the correspondence is not very pro- 
 mising : the poet-plenipotentiary is on his good 
 behaviour and officialj priding himself a little on 
 the Cato-like firmness with which he had said 
 good-bye to the pleasures of London, and only 
 inveighing against the sheer dulness that drives 
 him to bed at impossibly early hours — " is it not 
 enough to breed an ill habit of body in a man 
 who was used to sit up till morning to be forced, 
 for want of knowing what to do with himself, to 
 go to bed in the evening ? " Obviously Ratis- 
 bon is le monde oil Von ^ennuie, and numerous are 
 his complaints against the consuming dreariness 
 of the place and people. In December-^he had 
 reached Ratisbon, by the way, on August 30th 
 -^he tells a fViend in Paris that sleighing is their 
 great amusement ; in February the Carnival 
 brings a little diversion, and we find him writitig 
 to a certain M. Purpurat of Vienna ' : " Nous 
 avons fest^ employer ici plus que d'ord" le 
 temps de ce Carnaval : autrement je n'avais 
 pas manqu^ devant de vous faire mes recon- 
 
 ' In the French extracts I have retained Etheredge's spelling. 
 b 
 
xviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 naissances. Vous m'avez accabler d'une telle 
 mani^re de compliments et de tabac, que je 
 manque des paroles et des moyens en ce miserable 
 endroit pour faire le retour que vostre generosity 
 mdrite." This M. Purpurat subsequently arrives 
 at Ratisbon and swindles the English Resident 
 out of ten thousand crowns at cards, which the 
 latter has some difficulty in recovering; the 
 secretary tells us the whole story in his pleasant 
 way. During the spring of this year Etheredge's 
 letters are almost entirely official; apparently 
 his friends were lazy about writing. " Pray, my 
 lord," he says to Middleton, " keep me alive in 
 the memory of those you think convenient;" 
 but notwithstanding this appeal, he has to com- 
 plain in June that nothing has reached him for 
 a whole week, " which is a thing that touches me 
 here as nearly as ever a disappointment did in 
 London with the woman I loved most tenderly." 
 If his friends were fickle, the dulness of the Diet 
 was constant : " si ce n'estoit " — he informs a 
 French correspondent — "pour la maison de 
 Monsieur le Comte de Crecy Ratisbonne serait 
 un triste sejour ;" and then a characteristic little 
 touch — "je n'ai pas veu la Dindonelle depuis 
 vostre depart." The Comte de Crecy, we may 
 explain, was the French Ambassador, to whom 
 Barillon had given Etheredge letters of intro- 
 duction. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xix 
 
 At last in November something happens. A 
 troupe of actors comes over from Nuremberg, 
 and Etheredge, sinking the diplomatist in the 
 Restoration courtier, finishes off his weekly de- 
 spatch to Middleton with the assurance that the 
 company includes "a comedian as handsome at 
 least as the Fair Maid of the West, which you 
 have seen at Newmarket, and makes as much 
 noise in this little town, and gives as much jea- 
 lousies to the ladies, as ever Mrs. Wright or Mrs< 
 Johnson did in London." The secretary, always 
 excellent at throwing a side-light on his master's 
 idiosyncrasies, gives us a quaint, acid, little 
 account of the envoy's relations with the co- 
 mMienne ; she appears to have been singularly 
 successful in setting all Ratisbon by the ears. 
 In the same month Etheredge writes a long 
 letter to Buckingham, speaking with unusual 
 favour of his place of banishment. A short ex- 
 tract is worth giving: "Nov. I2, 1686: Ten 
 years ago I as little thought that my stars de- 
 signed to make a politician of me, and that it 
 would come to my share to debate in public 
 assemblies .... as the Grand Signior dreamed 
 of losing Hungary. .... I live in one of the 
 finest and best-mannered cities in Germany, 
 where 'tis true we have not pleasure in that per- 
 fection as we see it in London and Paris, yet, to 
 make amends, we enjoy a noble serene air that 
 
XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 makes us as hungry as hawks ; and though busi- 
 ness, and even the worst sort of business, wicked 
 politics, is the distinguishing commodity of the 
 place, yet I will say that for the Germans, they 
 manage it the best of any people in the world ; 
 they cut off and retrench all those idle prelimi- 
 naries and useless ceremonies that clog the 
 wheels of it everywhere else : and I find to this 
 day they make good the observation that Tacitus 
 made of their ancestors, I mean that their 
 affairs, let them be ever so serious and pressing, 
 never put a stop to good eating and drinking, 
 and that they debate their weightiest negotia- 
 tions over their jCups." The excessive drinking 
 of the Germans is a point to which he frequently 
 recurs. With the new year comes a change of 
 ministry in London, and Etheredge considers it 
 expedient to write and bespeak the good favour 
 of my Lord Godolphin, remarking, however, that 
 he had always been " too lazy and too careless 
 to be ambitious." In February (12th) he thinks 
 that his rumoured appointment to the Swedish 
 Court must be a mistake; later in the month 
 (24th) he is " in great want of assistance," and, a 
 notice having arrived from the Treasury that his 
 expenses must be curtailed, complains to Mid- 
 dleton of hard treatment— " it is natural to 
 think we are a little hardly dealt with when we 
 are retrenched a bounty we have been used to. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxi 
 
 .... You know it is very much for me to be 
 three quarters of a year in arrears in a town 
 where there is no credit." This was in March — 
 the loth. In another letter written at the same 
 time we catch a glimpse of his way of spending 
 his days : " I have good greyhounds, and cours- 
 ing is one of my greatest recreations ; we have 
 such plenty of game that now and then I start 
 a brace ' of hares in a day." If only Charles 
 Boyle were there to play chess with him : at 
 any rate, business has cured his "passion for 
 play." Earlier in the year (Feb. 17th) Dryden 
 had written, and now Etheredge replies, re- 
 proaching the Laureate with his laziness : " I 
 cannot endure you should arrogate a thing to 
 yourself you have not the least pretence to. Is 
 it not enough you should excel in so many emi- 
 nent virtues, but you must be putting in for a 
 vice which all the world knows is properly my 
 province } If you persist in your claim to lazi- 
 ness you will be thought as affected in it as 
 
 .... I (whose every action of my life is a 
 witness of my idleness) little thought that you, 
 who have raised so many immortal monuments 
 of your industry, durst have set up to be my 
 rival." In April (21st) we note a long letter to 
 the Duke of Berwick, and a month later, May 
 22nd, an inquiry after various friends in Eng- 
 
 ' The copyist seems to have made some mistake. 
 
xxii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 land, "particularly my Lord Dunbar, and Ned 
 Lee, whose prosperity I have always wished.' 
 
 Four days later comes one of. the pleasantest 
 letters contained in the correspondence ; it miist 
 be given in full : — 
 
 " To Betterton (the player) : A poor man who 
 has lost the enjoyment of his friends and the 
 pleasures of London ought to have all the means 
 he can to divert his chagrin, ajjd pass away the 
 time as easy as is possible ; in order to [do] this 
 I am often forced to trouble my acquaintance in 
 England, and I do not doubt but you will for- 
 give me my making bold with you among the 
 rest. I have three in my family who now and 
 then give me a little music ; they play very well 
 and at sight, and we have all the operas, and I 
 have a correspondent at Paris who sends me 
 what is new there : if you would do me the 
 favour to procure me some of the best composi- 
 tions with the several parts, and let them be 
 given to Dr. Wynne, at my Lord Middleton's 
 office, he will take care to send them to me. I 
 shall esteem myself much obliged to you for this 
 courtesy, and your kindness will be greater if 
 now and then you give me an account of the 
 stage, and of other matters which (you shall 
 judge) I will be glad to hear of : you will not 
 mistake if you have the same opinion you had 
 of me formerly, for I assure you I am not 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxiii 
 
 changed in my inclination, and can never be 
 
 otherwise than, etc 
 
 " My humble service to Mrs. Betterton." 
 
 June brings us back to Dryden. " Yesterday," 
 writes Etheredge to Wynne, June 23rd, " I re- 
 ceived yours of the 27th of May, together with 
 the part of The Hind and Panther. .... Pray 
 let me know how this poem is approved by the 
 Court." June 30th he receives parts ii. and iii. 
 of the same work from England, but has not 
 quite finished reading them before post time. 
 July 3rd he has a short criticism to offer : " Mr. 
 Wynne has sent me The Hind and Panther, by 
 which I find John Dryden has a noble ambition 
 to restore poetry to its ancient dignity in wrap- 
 ping up the mysteries of religion in verse. What 
 a shame it is to me to see him a saint, and re- 
 main still the same devil {j..e. myself)." The 
 letter (to Middleton) ends with some compli- 
 mentary allusions to Sir Charles Sedley, who 
 " had always more wit than was enough for one 
 man." A fortnight later, the i Sth, he is annoyed 
 to find that his letters don't reach regularly, 
 though he writes twice a week, while about fhe 
 same time a friend in Paris learns — no doubt, 
 with satisfaction — that "la petite Stubenberg 
 devient tous les jours plus joUie et plus meure 
 ii.e. mflre), et je crois que les doux zephyres que 
 
xxiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 soufflent les amants feront bientost ^panouir le 
 petit bouton de rose." This obviously is in the 
 " gentle George" style of Sir Fopling days. The 
 endof the month Etheredge writes for thefirst and 
 last time (so far as the Letterbook is concerned) 
 to Dorset, reviving the memory of " old (but not 
 "unhappy") far-off things ; " of how, in parti- 
 cular, they carried "the two draggle-tailed 
 nymphs one bitter frosty night over the Thames 
 to Lambeth." In the autumn he is ill : it hap- 
 pened in this way. The afternoon of October 
 the 19th was delightfully fine — for Ratisbon, of 
 course — and the Electoral College spent several 
 hours in the pleasant grounds of the English 
 envoy; and — 
 
 Flowing cups went freshly round 
 With no allaying Danube. 
 
 Like Waller, Etheredge had always been but 
 an amateur over his cups, so that next morning 
 finds him suffering for his hospitality. " I write," 
 he says on the 23rd, and the letter contains a 
 pleasant little picture — " to let you see I am in a 
 fair way of living again, though I was dange- 
 rously ill last week Yesterday was the 
 
 first I intended to take a little fresh air, and just 
 as I was stepping into my coach, word was 
 brought me the Duke of Berwick was arrived. 
 I went immediately to see him, and saw him 
 look so fresh and so well after his sickness, that the 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxv 
 
 joy of it, I think, has forwarded much the re- 
 covery of my health. We stayed together till 
 ten at night, and I took my leave of him at five 
 this morning, not being able to prevail with him 
 to stay a day and unweary himself." In a sub- 
 sequent letter he praises the duke highly. 
 
 His correspondence just now is official and 
 uninteresting, except perhaps to the historical 
 student, but a letter written on December 1 9th has 
 several characteristic touches and details of his 
 personal life ; as, for instance : " The women 
 need not rail at our changing ; few of us have 
 the gift to be constant to ourselves. Sir C. S.^ 
 sets up for good hours and sobriety ; my Lord 
 D. has given over variety, and shuts himself up 
 within my lady's arms, as you inform me." And 
 then turning to himself : " I have a very conve- 
 nient garden belonging to my house ; I wish the 
 rent of it may not cost me too dear. I have 
 good horses and often go a hunting. Were I to 
 write to -— — (mentioning two unfamiliar names) 
 this would afford me wherewithal to fill one side 
 of paper. I bungle away now and then a morn- 
 ing at tennis ; here is a pretty carrd court and 
 players so exactly sized to Sir C. (Sedley), that 
 were he here he would live in it." The epistle 
 concludes in very charming fashion : " I wear 
 
 ^ A marginal note in the Letttrhook explains the initials — Sir 
 Charles Sedley and Dorset. 
 
xxvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 flannel, sir; therefore, pray, talk no more to me 
 of poetry." 
 
 One more extract and wA have exhausted the 
 resources of the Letterbook, with regard to which 
 we may take this opportunity of saying that it 
 is official to a most irritating degree. In a letter 
 dated March 8, 1688, we light on some scraps of 
 personal gossip : " Mrs. Barry " — ^he has been 
 mentioning various actresses — " bears up as well 
 as I myself have done ; my poor Lord Roches- 
 ter^ could not weather the Cape, and live under 
 the Line fatal to puling constitutions. Though 
 I have given up writing plays, I should be glad 
 to read a good one, wherefore pray let Will 
 Richards send me Mr. Shadwell's'' as soon as it 
 is printed, that I may know what follies are in 
 
 fashion ; the fops I knew are grown stale 
 
 Our Carnival ends to-morrow, and I am just now 
 going to a ball, where there will be a great many, 
 and some pretty young women, though to tell 
 you the truth I have of late lived as chaste as 
 Lady Etheredge." Three days later comes the 
 last letter contained in the Letterbook. We know, 
 
 1 i.e. Hyde, Earl of Rochester. The more famous Earl, the 
 author, died in 1680. 
 
 ^ The^Sqmre of Alsaiia, as Mr. Gosse notes; it was extra- 
 ordinarily successful-" had an uninterrupted run of 13 days 
 together,'- says Downes, adding in a note : " the poet received for 
 his third day in the house at Drury Lane at single prices /no 
 Which was the greatest receipt they ever 'had at that house al 
 single prices. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxvii 
 
 however, that Etheredge remained at Ratisbon 
 for another year, until indeed the Revolution 
 forced him, in the words of his secretary, "to 
 seek an asylum among the French." Naturally 
 he was much chagrined at the course events took 
 in England : " his Majesty," he writes to Lord 
 Preston, "has been so shamefully betrayed at 
 home that our nation has justly lost the little 
 reputation it had recovered ; honour and honesty 
 are looked upon by foreignei^s to be no more of 
 the growth of our unhappy isle."' The letter in 
 which this passage occurs is dated January 3rd, 
 1689. At the end of the month (28th) we find 
 him complaiping to the same correspondent that 
 his position at the Diet is very uncomfortable, 
 the Elector of Brandenburgh having circulated 
 a libellous paper against James II. which he 
 should do his best to counteract. And then the 
 rest is silence ; we catch no further glimpse of 
 Etheredge. The story that he died. by falling 
 down stairs in a drunken fit is a mere legend, 
 first mentioned by Oldys on the vague authority 
 of a friend of Etheredge's family. The exact 
 date of his death is not quite certain ; " but I 
 have found the following entry in Luttrell's 
 
 ' Historical MSS. Commission Report, vol. vii. p. 428, where 
 extracts from three letters are given. 
 
 * I say not certain because some verses in Southeme's lines to 
 Congreve seem inconsistent with Luttrell's report. The verses 
 are : — 
 
xxviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Diary,^ which may perhaps be accepted as fairly 
 conclusive : " Those from France say that .... 
 Sir George Etherege, the late King James's am- 
 bassador to Vienna, died lately at Paris." This 
 is under date of February, 169 1 ; it would agree 
 with the fact mentioned by Mr. Gosse that 
 Colonel Chester possesses " the record of admi- 
 nistration to the estate of a Dame Mary Ethe- 
 redge, widow, dated Feb. i, 1692." By his wife 
 Etheredge does not seem to have had any chil- 
 dren ; he was connected, however, with Mrs. 
 Barry the actress, and she bore him a daughter 
 who died young. His brother, Colonel Ethe- 
 redge,' was a soldier of some note ; he died in 
 1708, leaving a daughter who married Aaron 
 Hill. Oldys, on the authority of Bowman the 
 actor, who knew Etheredge, says that he was " a 
 fair, slender man .... very affable and cour- 
 teous, of a sprightly and generous temper." To 
 his contemporaries he was always "gentle 
 
 Loose, wand'ring Etherege, in wild pleasures tost, 
 In foreign interests to his hopes long lost. 
 Poor Lee and Otway dead, Congreve appears. 
 The darling and last comfort of his years. 
 
 Lee did not die till 1692, and Congreve's Old Bachelor was pro- 
 duced in 1693. Perhaps the mistake is Southeme's ; people had 
 naturally lost sight of Etheredge. 
 
 ' Vol. ii. p. 171. Vienna may be an error for Ratisbon. It is 
 quite possible, however, that Etheredge was among the envoys 
 sent by James to different European Courts to ask for help. 
 
 2 Luttrell, vi. 254. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxix 
 
 George " or " easy Etheredge," and he is gene- 
 rally coupled with Sir Charles Sedley.' 
 
 We must say a word upon Etheredge's claims 
 to recognition. As a verse-writer he need not 
 detain us ; he rarely rises above mediocrity; care- 
 less and irregular, his lyrics, for the most part, are 
 no whit superior to the reams of rhymed com- 
 mon-place that He entombed in the anthologies 
 of the time. Indeed, his prose seems to We better 
 than his verse ; the former, as shown in his 
 letters," is generally clear and straightforward, 
 with a good deal of balance and rhythm, thus 
 illustrating the development in prose style after 
 the Restoration which Mr. Matthew Arnold has 
 somewhere remarked upon. It is as a dramatist 
 that Etheredge must be known, if known at all ; 
 and here his services to English literature may be 
 summed up in the statement that he initiated the 
 school of prose comedy which reached its highest 
 
 ' As in Fenton's Epistle to Southerne : — 
 
 Etheredge and Sedley joined.him in her cause, 
 And all deserved, and all received applause ; 
 the " him " being Wycherley. 
 
 " Besides the letters we have an amusing pamphlet, entitled, 
 " An Account of the Rejoycing at the Dyet at Ratisbonne, Per- 
 formed by Sir George Etherege, Kt. : Residing there from His 
 Majesty of Great Britain, upon occasiofi of the Birth of The 
 Prince of Wales. In a letter from Himself." A copy of this 
 broadside is in the Bodleian. A fropos of Etheredge's prose 
 style a sentence in Dryden's already alluded-to letter is interest- 
 ing — " for I will never enter the lists in prose vfith the un- 
 doubted best author of it which our nation hils produced," the 
 "best author" being Etheredge. 
 
XXX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 point in Congreve and ended with Sheridajir. 
 With The Man of Mode comedy ceased to be 
 earnest and to point a moral ; it ceased to be 
 mere rough-and-tumble ■ buffoonery. It aimed 
 henceforth at a realistic representation of con- 
 temporary society; appointed dialogue and the 
 verbal pyrotechnics of which the author of The 
 Way of the Wokd is so incomparable a master ; 
 above all, at a /vivid presentment of characters 
 familiar to everyone— the scented exquisite in 
 periwig and lace ruffles, who lounges in the pit, 
 and is rather/loud in his criticism of the play ; 
 the not to/ scrupulous fair (leaning from her 
 box), wliOiKnows the advantages of masks and 
 sedan-chairs ; and so on. It is all very brilliant, 
 very artificial, and, in the favourite epithet of 
 iry critics, very polite ; and if the 
 audience have to put up with a minimum of 
 plot, should they not be content with the feeling 
 that they are moving in unimpeachable society, 
 and seeing life as it is at the Piazza, the Park, 
 the New Exchange, and other approved rendez- 
 vous of fashion and intrigue } This was the 
 type of comedy ' introduced by Etheredge. To 
 some extent he may have profited by what he 
 had seen on the French stage ;° to some extent 
 
 ' " The dawn was in Etheredge, as its latest close was in 
 Sheridan."— Hazlitt. 
 ' Mr. Gosse has a good deal to say on this point ; for instance, 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxxi 
 
 the style of his works was determined by the 
 conditions under which he wrote. Society under 
 Charles II. was unlike anything that had gone 
 before ; and the theatre which held up the mirror 
 to such a society had to undergo a corresponding 
 change. Historically ^ Etheredge is interesting 
 as the first of a long line of writers : intrinsically 
 his plays possess considerable merit. 
 
 "it is certain to me that the movement of She Would if She 
 Could is founded upon a reminiscence of Tartuffe. " 
 
 ' In conneetion with the history of Etheredge's three comedies 
 it may be convenient to give the date of the last recorded per- 
 formance of each. The Comical Kevenge was acted at Drury 
 Lane in 1726, November 26th, the cast including Colley Gibber 
 (as Dufoy) and Mrs. Oldfield ; the revival ran for three nights. 
 She Would if She Could ("not acted ten years") was produced, 
 with Macklin, Ryan, and Ridout, in 1750 (Dec. 21st) at Covent 
 Garden ; and Sir Fopling Flutter— Genest calls him " The Man 
 of the Mode" — last saw the scene on March 15th, 1766. See 
 Genest, iii. 185, iv. 333, and v. 108. 
 
THE 
 
 COMICAL REVENGE: 
 
 OR, 
 
 LOVE IN A TUB. 
 
 ACTED AT HIS HIGHNESS 
 
 THE DUKE OF YORK'S THEATRE 
 
 IN 
 
 LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS. 
 
TO THE HONOURABLE 
 
 CHARLES LORD BUCKHURST.' 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 I COULD not have wished myself more fortunate 
 than I have been in the success pf this poem. 
 The writing of it was a means to make me known to 
 your lordship ; the acting of it has lost me no repu- 
 tation ; and the printing of it has now given me an 
 opportunity to show how much I honour you. 
 
 I here dedicate it, as I have long since dedicated 
 myself, to your lordship ; let the humble love of the 
 giver make you set some value upon the worthless 
 gift. I hope it may have some esteem with others, 
 because the author knows how to esteem you, whose 
 knowledge moves admiration, and goodness love, in 
 all that know you. But I design this a dedication, 
 not a panegyric ; not to proclaim your virtues to the 
 world, but to show your lordship how firmly they 
 have obliged me to be. 
 
 My lord, 
 
 Your most humble and 
 faithful servant, 
 
 Geo. Etheredge. 
 
 ' LordBuckhurst, i.e. Charles Sackville, sixth Earl of Dorset ; 
 best known, perhaps, as author of the famous song, " To all you 
 ladies now at land." "The finest gentleman in the voluptuous 
 court of Charles II.," says Horace Walpole. 
 
THE PROLOGUE. 
 
 TJ7H0 could expect such crowding here to-day. 
 
 Merely on the report of a new play i 
 A man would think you've been so often bit 
 By us of late, you should have learned more wit; 
 And first have sent a forlorn hope to spy 
 The plot and language of our comedy ; 
 Expecting till some desperate critics had 
 Resolved you whether it were good or bad. 
 But yet wehope youHl never grow so wise ; 
 For, if you should, we and our comedies 
 Must trip to Norwich, or for Ireland go ; 
 And never fix, but, like a puppet-show. 
 Remove from town to town, from fair to fair. 
 Seeking fit chapmen to put off our ware. 
 For such our fortune is, this barren age. 
 That faction now, not wit, supports the stage : 
 Wit has, like painting, had her happy flights. 
 And in peculiar ages reached her heights. 
 Though now declined: yet, could some able pen 
 Match Fletcher's nature, or the art of Ben, 
 The old and graver sort would scai-ce allow 
 Those plays were good, because we writ them now. 
 Our author therefore begs you would forget. 
 Most reverend judges, the records of wit ; 
 
THE PROLOGUE. _ 
 
 And only think upon the modern way 
 
 Of writing, whilst you're censuring his play. 
 
 And, gallants, as for you, talk loud i' th' pit ; 
 
 Divert yourselves and friends with your own wit ; 
 Observe the ladies, and neglect^ the play. 
 Or else His fear' d we are undone to-day. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 TAc Lord Bevill, father to Lovis, Graciana, and Aureha. 
 The Lord Beaufort, servant to Graciana. 
 
 Colonel Bruce \ ^ """"''"'• ^'^"^ '" ^°'"^' '" ^'"" '^'"' 
 { Graciana. 
 
 'Lawi, friend to Bruce. 
 
 Sir Frederick Frollick, cottsin to the Lord Beaufort. 
 
 Graciana, a young lady, in lone with the Lord Beaufort. 
 
 Aurelia, her sister, in love with Colonel Bruce. 
 
 Mrs Rich \ ^ wealthy -widow, sister to the Lord Bevill, 
 
 ' ( in love with Sir Frederick. 
 
 Letitia, a girl waiting upon AURELIA. 
 
 Betty, waiting-woman to the widow. 
 
 DuFOY \ ^ ^'^"'y impertinent Frenchman, servant to SlR 
 
 ( Frederick. 
 
 Clark, servant to the Lord Beaufort. 
 
 Sir Nicholas Cully, knighted by Oliver. 
 
 Wheedle and Palmer, gamesters. 
 
 Mrs. Grace, a wench kept by Wheedle. 
 
 Jenny, her maid. 
 
 Mrs. Lucy, a wench kept by Sir Frederick. 
 
 A Coachman belonging to the luidow. 
 
 A Bellman. 
 
 Footmen, Linkioys, Drawers, attd other Attendants. 
 
 Scene : London. 
 
THE COMICAL REVENGE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 LOVE IN A TUB. 
 
 ACT L 
 
 Scene I. — Am Ante-chamber to Sir Frederick 
 Frollick's Bed-chamber. 
 
 jEnfer Dufoy, wt'tA a plaister on his head, walking 
 discontentedly; and Clark immediately after him, 
 
 Clark. 
 
 GOOD-MORROW, monsieur. 
 Duf. Good-mor',- — good-mor'. 
 
 Clark. Is Sir Frederick stirring? 
 
 Duf. Pox sturrd himd 
 
 Clark. My Lord has sent me 
 
 Duf. Begar, me vil havd de revengd ; me vil no stay 
 two day in Englande. 
 
 Clark. Good monsieur, what's the matter ? 
 A Duf. De matrd ! de matrd is easy to be perceive. 
 Dis Bedlamd, madcap^, diable de matr^, vas drunks 
 de last night; and vor no reason, but dat me did 
 advisd him to go to bed, begar, he did strike, breaks 
 my head^, Jernie. -i 
 
 Clark. Have patience, he did it unadvisedly. 
 
8 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Duf. Unadvisd! did^ not me advise him just^ 
 when he did itd ? 
 
 Clark. Yes ; but he was in drink, you say. 
 
 Duf. In drinkd; me vishd he had been over de 
 head and de ear in drinkd Begar, in France de 
 drink dat van man drinks do's not crack de noder 
 
 man's braind Hark! he is avake, [Sir Fred, 
 
 knocks.'] and none of the people a»e to attends himd. 
 Ian villain/ day are all gone, run to the diahle ; 
 {Knocks again.l have de patience, I beseech you. 
 
 \Pointing towards his master's chamber. 
 
 Clark. Acquaint Sir Frederick I am here from my 
 lord. 
 
 Duf. I vil, I vil ; your ver umble serviteur. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Sir Frederick's Bed-chamber. 
 
 Enter Sir Frederick in his nightgown, and after 
 him DuFOY. 
 
 Duf. Good-mor', good-mor' to your vorshippd; 
 me am alvay ready to attends your vorshipp^, and 
 your vorshipp^'s alvay ready to beatd and to abus6 
 md ; you vara drunks de last^ nights, and my head 
 akg to-day morningd See you here, {Showing his 
 head.] if my braind have no ver good raison to coun- 
 sel you, and to mind^ your bus'nessd. 
 
 Sir Fred. Thou hast a notable brain. Set me down 
 a crown for a plaister j but forbear your rebukes. 
 
 ' Meant for " damn villains " ? 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. g 
 
 Duf. 'Tis ver couragious ting to brea^d de head of 
 your serviteur, is it not^ ? Begar, you vil never keepd 
 de good serviteur, had me no love you ver vel 
 
 Sir Fred. I know thou lovest me. 
 
 Duf. Arid darefore you do beatd me, is dat de 
 raison ? 
 
 Sir Fred. Prithee forbear ; I am sorry for't. 
 
 Duf. Ver good satisfaction ! Begar, it is me dat am 
 sorrid for't. 
 
 Sir Fred. Well, well. 
 
 Duf. De serviteur of my lord, your cousin, be comd 
 speak vid youj 
 
 Sir Fred. Bring him in. \_Exit Dufoy. 
 
 I am of opinion that drunkenness is not so damnable 
 a sin to me as 'tis to many ; sorrow and repentance 
 are sure to be my first work the next morning. 'Slid, 
 I have known some so lucky at this recreation, that, 
 whereas 'tis familiar to forget what we do in drink, 
 have even lost the memory, after sleep, of being 
 drunk. Now do I feel more qualms than a young 
 woman in breeding. 
 
 Enter Dufoy and Clark ; Dufoy goes out again. 
 
 Clark ! What news from the god of love ? he's 
 always at your master's elbow, he has justled the 
 devil out of service ; no more ! Mrs. Grace ! Poor 
 girl, Mrs. Graciana has flung a squib into his bosom, 
 where the wild-fire will huzza for a time, and then 
 crack, it flies out at his breeches. 
 
 Clark. Sir, he sent me before with his service ; he'll 
 wait on you himself when he's dressed. 
 
10 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Sir Fred. In very good time ; there never was a girl 
 more humorsome or tedious in the dressing of her 
 baby. {Exit Clark. 
 
 Enter DuroY and Footboy. 
 
 Duf. Hayd ! her^ is de ver vine varkd, begar, de 
 ver vine vark^ ! 
 
 Sir Fred. What's the business ? 
 
 Duf. De business ! de devil tak^ m6 if dare be not 
 de whole regiment army de Hackend cocheman, de 
 linkeboy, de fydler, and de shambermaydd, dat havd 
 beseeg6 de hows^ ; dis is de consequance of de drink 
 vid a pox^. 
 
 Sir Fred. Well, the coachmen and linkboys must 
 be satisfied. I suppose there's money due to 'em; 
 the fiddlers, for broken heads and instruments, must 
 be compounded with ; I leave that to your care. But 
 for the chambermaid, I'll deal with her myself; go, 
 go, fetch her up. 
 
 Duf. De pimp^, begar, I vil be de pimpd to no 
 man in de Christendome ; do you go fetch her up ; 
 de pimpd {Exit Dufoy. 
 
 Sir Fred. Go, sirrah, direct her. 
 
 \To the Footboy ; exit Footboy. 
 Now have I most unmanfuUy fallen foul upon some 
 woman, I'll warrant you, and wounded her reputation 
 shrewdly. Oh drink, drink ! thou art a vile enemy to 
 the civillest sort of courteous ladies. 
 
 Enter Jenny, Wheedie's wench's maid. 
 
 Oh Jenny, next my heart nothing could be more 
 welcome. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. ji 
 
 Maid. Unhand me ; are you a man fit to be trusted 
 with a woman's reputation ? 
 
 Sir Fred. Not when I am in a reeling condition ; 
 men are now and then subject to those infirmities 
 in drink which women have when they're sober. 
 Drunkenness is no good secretary, Jenny; you must 
 not look so angry, good faith ! you must not. 
 
 Maid. Angry ! we always took you for a civil 
 gentleman. 
 
 Sir Fred. So I am, i' troth, I think. 
 
 Maid. A civil gentleman will come to a lady's 
 lodging at two o'clock in the morning, and knock as 
 if it were upon life and death ; a midwife was never 
 knocked up with more fiiry. 
 
 Sir Fred. Well, well, girl ; all's well, I hope, all's well. 
 
 Maid. You have made such an uproar amongst the 
 neighbours, we must be forced to change our lodging. 
 
 Sir Fred. And thou art come to tell me whither 
 
 kind heart ! 
 
 Maid. I'll see you a little better mannered first. 
 Because we would not let you in at that unseasonable 
 hour, you and your rude ranting companions hooped 
 and hoUo'd like madmen, and roared out in the 
 streets, " A whore, a whore, a whore ! " You need not 
 have knocked good people out of their beds; you 
 might have met with them had been good enough for 
 your purpose abroad. 
 
 Sir Fred. Twas ill done, Jenny, indeed it was. 
 
 Maid. 'Twas a mercy Mr. Wheedle was not there, 
 my mistress's friend ; had he been there, she'd been 
 quite undone. There's nothing got by your lewd 
 
12 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 doings. You are but scandals to a civil woman. We 
 had so much the goodwill of the neighbours before, 
 we had credit for what we would j and but this morning 
 the chandler refused to score a quart of scurvy-grass. 
 
 Sir Fred. Jiang reputation among a company of 
 rascals; trust me not if thou art not grown most 
 wondrous pretty. [ Offers to hug hen 
 
 Maid. Stand oiF, or I protest I'll make the people 
 in your lodging know what a manner of man you are. 
 
 Sir Fred. You and I have been intimate acquain- 
 tance ; — why so coy now, Jenny ? 
 
 Maid. Pray forbear. You'll never leave till I 
 
 shriek out; your servants listen. [^Noise within.] 
 
 Hark there's somebody coming. 
 
 Enter Beaufort. 
 My mistress charged me to tell you she will never see 
 your eyes again ; she never deserved this at your 
 
 hands, Poor gentlewoman ! You had a fling at 
 
 me too ; you did not whisper it, I thank you. 'Tis a 
 miserable condition we women bring ourselves to for 
 your sakes. [ Weejis. 
 
 Beauf. How now, cousin ! what, at wars with the 
 women ? 
 
 Sir Fred. I gave a small alarm to their quarters 
 last night, my lord. 
 
 Beauf, Jenny in tears ! what's the occasion, poor girl? 
 
 Maid. I'll tell you, my lord. 
 
 Sir Fred. Buzz ; set not her tongue a going again. 
 ^Clapping his hand before her mouth.'] She has made 
 more noise than half-a-dozen paper-mills : London 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 13 
 
 Bridge at a low water ^ is silence to her. In a ward, 
 rambling last night, we knocked at her mistress's 
 lodging ; they denied us entrance, whereupon a harsh 
 word or two flew out, " Whore," I think, Or something 
 to that purpose. 
 
 Maid. These were not all your heroic actiorvs. 
 
 Enter Dufoy. 
 
 Pray tell the consequence, how you marched bravely 
 at the rear of an army of linkboys; upon the sudden, 
 how you gave defiance, and then waged a bloody war 
 with the constable; and having vanquished that 
 dreadful enemy, how you committed a general mas- 
 sacre on the glass-windows. Are not these most 
 honourable achievements, such as will be registered 
 to your eternal fame by the most learned historians 
 of Hicks's Hall." 
 
 Sir Fred. Good sweet Jenny, let's come to a treaty ; 
 do but hear wha:t articles I'll propose. 
 
 ' Partly explained by a passage whiclx Cunningham quotes 
 from Beaumont and Fletcher's The Woman's Prize. 
 
 Petruchio. What, are they mad ? have we another Bedlam ? 
 They do not talk, I hope ? 
 
 Sophocles. Oh terribly ! . 
 
 Extremely fearfully ! the noise at London Bridge 
 Is nothing near her. 
 
 ' The Sessions House of the County of Middlesex. Built in 
 1612; taken down in 1782. Referred to by Pepys (Mynors 
 Bright's ed., i. 226) ; cf., too, Hiidibras, iii. c. 3 : 
 
 An old dull sot who told the clock 
 For many years at Bridewell dock ; 
 At Westminster and Hicks's Hall, 
 And hiccius-doctius play'd in all. ^ 
 
14 
 
 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Maid. A woman's heart's too tender to be an enemy 
 to peace. ^^hey whisper. 
 
 Duf. Your most humble serviteur, my lord. 
 
 Beauf. Monsieur, I perceive you are much to 
 blame ; you are an excellent governor indeed. 
 
 Duf. Begar, do you tink^ dat I amd de Bedlam6? 
 no tingd but Bedlam^ can govern^ hirad 
 
 Sir Fred. Jenny, here's my hand; I'll come and 
 make amends for all pretty rogue. 
 
 Duf. Ver pret rogu6e, vid a poxe. 
 
 Maid. What rude French rascal have you here? 
 
 Duf. Rascals ! begar, ver it nod vor de reverence of 
 my matrd I vod cut off your occupation. French 
 rascal^ ! whore English. 
 
 Sir Fred. Dufoy, be gone, and leave us. 
 
 Duf. I vil, I vil leave you to your recreation; I 
 vishd you ver good pastime, and de pox^ begar. 
 
 [Exit DuFOY. 
 
 Maid. I never heard a ruder fellow. Sir 
 
 Frederick, you will not fail the time. 
 
 Sir Fred. No, no, Jenny. 
 
 Maid. Your servant, my lord. 
 
 Beauf. Farewell, Jenny. iExii Jenny. 
 
 Sir Fred. Now did all this fury end in a mild 
 invitation to the lady's lodging. 
 
 Beauf. I have known this wench's mistress ever 
 
 since I came from travel, but never was acquainted 
 
 with that fellow that keeps her j prithee, what is he? 
 
 ;i Sir Fred. Why, his name is Wheedle; he's one 
 
 I whose trade is treachery, to make a friend, and then 
 
 ■ deceive him ; he's of a ready wit, pleasant conversa- 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 15 
 
 tion, thoroughly skilled in men; in a word, he knows 
 so much of virtue as makes him well accomplished 
 for all manner of vice. He has lately insinuated 
 himself into Sir Nicholas Cully, one whom Oliver, for 
 the transcendent knavery and disloyalty of his father, 
 has dishonoured with knighthood; a fellow as poor 
 in experience as in parts, and one that has a vain- 
 glorious humour to gain a reputation amongst the 
 gentry, by feigning good nature and an afifection to the 
 king and his party. I made a little debauch th'other 
 day in their company, where I foresaw this fellow's 
 destiny ; his purse must pay for keeping this wench, 
 and all other Wheedle's extravagances. But, pray,j 
 my lord, how thrive you in your more honourable i 
 adventures ? Is harvest near ? When is the sickle to 
 be put i' th' corn ? 
 
 Beauf. I have been hitherto so prosperous, my 
 happiness has still outflown my faith. I 
 
 Nothing remains but ceremonial charms, 1 
 
 Graciana's fix'd i' th' circle of my arms. ' 
 
 Sir Fred. Then you're a happy man for a season. 
 
 Beauf. For ever. 
 
 Sir Fred. I mistrust your mistress's divinity ; you'll / 
 find her attributes but mortal. Women, like jugglers' ; 
 tricks, appear miracles to the ignorant ; but in them- \ 
 selves they're mere cheats. 
 
 Beauf. Well, well, cousin; I have engaged that 
 you this day shall be my guest at my Lord Bevill's 
 table ; pray make me master of my promise once. 
 
 Sir Fred. Faith, I have engaged to dine with my 
 dear Lucy ; poor girl, I have lately given her occasion 
 
I6 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 to suspect my kindness ; yet for your sake I'll venture 
 to break my word, upon condition you'll excuse my 
 errors j you know my conversation has not been 
 among ceremonious ladies. 
 
 Beauf. All modest freedom you will find allowed ; 
 formality is banished thence. 
 
 Sir Fred. This virtue is enough to make me bear 
 with all the inconveniences of honest company. 
 
 Beauf. The freeness of your humotur is your friend ; 
 I have such news to tell thee that I fear thou'lt find 
 thy breast too narrow for thy joy. 
 
 Sir Fred. Gentl^.my lord, lest I find the thing too 
 little for my expe|Bftit)nMj_ 
 
 Bemif. Know that^y iajpess carriage has done more 
 than all the skill and^ligence of love could e'er effect. 
 
 Sir Fred. What,^ the widow some kind thoughts 
 of my body ? 
 
 Beauf. She loves you, and dines on purpose at her 
 brother's house this day, in hopes of seeing you. 
 
 Sir Fred. Some women, like fishes, despise the 
 bait, or else suspect it, whilst still it's bobbing at their 
 mouths; but subtilely waved by the angler's hand, 
 , greedily hang themselves upon the hook. There are 
 many so critically wise, they'll suffer none to deceive 
 them but themselves. 
 
 Beauf. Cousin, 'tis time you were preparing for 
 your mistress. 
 
 Sir Fred. Well, since 'tis my fortune, I'll about it. 
 Widow, thy ruin lie on thy own head. Faith, my 
 lord, you can witness 'twas none of my seeking. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
LOVE ZN A TUB. 17 
 
 Scene III. — Wheedle's Lodging. 
 Enter Wheedle and Palmer. 
 
 Wheed. Come, bear thy losses patiently. 
 
 Palm. A pox confound all ordinaries, if ever I play 
 in an ordinary again^ — \Bites his thumb. 
 
 Wheed. Thou'lt lose thy money. Thou hast no 
 power to forbear ; I will as soon undertake to reclaim 
 a horse from a hitch he has learned in his pace, or 
 an old mastiff from worrying of sheep. 
 
 Palm. Ay, ay, there is nefhin'g can do it but hemp. 
 
 Wheed. Want of money roay do much. 
 
 PaJm. I protest, I had rather^ill be vicious than ■/, 
 owe my virtue to necessity. How commendable is 
 chastity in an eunuch ! I am grown more than half 
 virtuous of late : I have laid the dangerous pad now ') 
 quite aside; I walk within the purlieus of the law. 
 Could I but leave this ordinary, this square, I were 
 the most accomplished man in town. 
 
 Wheed. 'Tis pity, thou art master of thy art ; such 
 a nimble hand, such neat conveyance. 
 
 Palm. Nay, I should have made an excellent 
 juggler, faith. 
 
 Wheed. Come, be cheerful ; I've lodged a deer shall 
 make amends for all ; I lacked, a man to help me set 
 my toils, and thou art come most happily. 
 
 Palm. My dear Wheedle, who is it ? 
 
 Wheed. My new friend and patron, Sir Nicholas 
 Cully. 
 
1 8 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Palm. He's fat, and will say well, I promise you. 
 Well, I'll do his business most dextrously, else let me 
 ever lose the honour of serving a friend in the like 
 nature. 
 
 Wheed. No more words, but haste, prepare for the 
 design; habit yourself like a good thrifty country- 
 man ; get tools, dice and money for the purpose, and 
 meet me at the Devil about three exactly. 
 
 Enter Boy. 
 
 Boy. Sir, Sir Nicholas Cully is without. 
 
 Wheed. Desire him to walk in. Here Palmer, the 
 
 back way, quickly, and be sure 
 
 Palm. Enough, enough, I'll warrant thee. 
 
 \_Exit Palmer. 
 
 Enter Sir Nicholas Cully. 
 
 Wheed. Sir Nicholas, this visit is too great a favour : 
 I intended one to you ; how do you find yourself this 
 morning ? 
 
 Cul. Faith, much the drier for the last night's 
 wetting. 
 
 Wheed. Like thirsty earth which gapes the more 
 for a, small shower; we'll soak you thoroughly to-day. 
 
 Cul. Excuse me, faith, I am engaged. 
 
 Wheed. I am sorry for't ; I meant you a share in 
 my good fortune. But since it cannot be 
 
 Cul. What ? what good fortune ? 
 
 Wheed. Nay, 'twill but vex you to know it, since 
 you have not leisure to pursue it. 
 
ZOPE TN A TUB. 
 
 19 
 
 Cul. Dear Wheedle, prithee tell me. 
 
 Wheed. Now do I want power to keep it from you. 
 Just as you came in at that door, went out at this a 
 waiting-gentlewoman, sent with a civil message from 
 her lady, to desire the happiness of my company this 
 afternoon, where I should have the opportunity of 
 seeing another lovely brisk woman, newly married to 
 a foolish citizen, who will be apt enough to hear» 
 reason from one that can speak it better than her ; 
 husband. I returned my humble thanks for the 
 honour she did me, and that I could not do myself so 
 great an injury to disobey her will. This is the adven- 
 ture ; but since you've business — ^ 
 
 Cul. A pox on business. I'll defer it. 
 
 Wheed. By no means, for a silly woman; our 
 pleasures must be slaves to our affairs. 
 
 Cul. Were it to take possession of an estate, I'd 
 neglect it. Are the ladies Cavaliers ? 
 
 Wheed. Oh, most loyal-hearted ladies. 
 
 Cul. How merry will we be then ! 
 
 Wheed. I say, mind your business. 
 
 Cul. I'll go and put it off immediately. Where 
 shall I meet you in the afternoon ? 
 
 Wheed. You'll find me at the Devil about three 
 o'clock, where I expect a second summons as she 
 passes toward the City. 
 
 Cul. Thither will I come without fail ; be sure you 
 wait for me. {Exit Cully. 
 
 Wheed. AVait for thee, as a cat does for a mouse / 
 she intends to play with and then prey upon. How 
 eagerly did this half-witted fellow chap up the bait ! 
 
20 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 like a ravenous fish that will not give the angler leave 
 to sink his line, but greedily darts up and meets it 
 half-way. [-S^^^'A laughing. 
 
 Scene IV. — The Lord Bevill's House. 
 
 Enter Graciana, and Aurelia immediately after her, 
 with a letter in her hand. 
 
 Grac. The sun's grown lazy ; 'tis a tedious space 
 Since he set forth, and yet's not half his race. 
 I wonder Beaufort does not yet appear; 
 Love never loiters, love sure brings him here. 
 
 Aurel. Brought on the wings of love, here I present 
 
 [Presenting the letter. 
 His soul, whose body prisons yet prevent ; 
 The noble Bruce, whose virtues are his crimes. 
 
 [Graciana rejects the letter. 
 ', ]Are you as false and cruel as the times ? 
 Will you not read the stories of his grief, 
 But wilfully refuse to give relief? 
 
 Grac. Sister, from you this language makes me 
 start : 
 Can you suspect such vices in my heart ? 
 His virtues I, as well as you,-admire ; 
 I never scom'd, but pity much his fire. 
 
 Aurel. If you did pity, you would not reject 
 
 [Graciana rejects the letter again. 
 This messenger of love : this is neglect. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 21 
 
 Grac. 'Tis cruelty to gaze on wounds, I'm sure, 
 When we want balsam to effect their cure. 
 
 Aurel. 'Tis only want of will in you ; you have 
 Beauty to kill, and virtue too to save. 
 
 Grac. We of ourselves can neither love nor hate : j - 
 Heaven does reserve the power to guide our fate. ' 
 
 Aurel. Graciana, 
 
 Enter Lord Bevill, Levis, and the Widow. 
 
 Grac. Sister, forbear; my father's here. 
 ..-Xord Bev. So, girl; what, no news of your lover 
 yet? our dinner's ready, and I am afraid he will go 
 nigh to incur the cook's anger. 
 
 Wid. I believe he has undertook a hard task ; Sir 
 Frederick, they say, is no easy man to be persuaded 
 to come among us women. 
 
 Lov. Sir, [Lovis and Lord Bevill ivhisper. 
 
 Lord Bev. What now ? 
 
 Wid. I am as impatient as thou art, girl. ■ \To 
 Graciana. J I long to see Sir Frederick here. 
 
 Lord Bev. Forbear, I charge you on my blessing. 
 Not one word more of Colonel Bruce. 
 
 Lov. You gave encouragement, sir, to his love ; the 
 honour of our house now lies at stake. 
 
 Lord Bev. You find by your sister's inclinations 
 Heaven has decreed her otherwise. 
 
 Lov. But, sir, 
 
 Lord Bev. Forbear to speak, or else forbear the 
 room. 
 
 Lov. This I can obey, but not the other. 
 
 \Exit Lovis. 
 
J 
 
 22 TIfE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Enter Footboy. 
 
 Footboy. Sir, my Lord Beaufort's come. 
 
 Lord Bev. 'Tis well. 
 
 Wid. D'ye hear, are there not two gentlemen ? 
 
 Footboy. Yes, madam, there is another proper hand- 
 some gentleman. \^Exit Footboy. 
 
 Lord Bev. Come, let's walk in, and give them 
 entertainment. 
 
 Wid. Now, cousin, for Sir Frederick, this man of 
 men ; there's nothing like him. 
 
 \_Exeunt all but Aurelia. 
 
 Aurel. With curious diligence I still have strove 
 
 \Holding the letter in her hand. 
 During your absence, Bruce, to breath your love 
 Into my sister's bosom ; but the fire 
 Wants force ; fate does against my breath conspire : 
 I have obey'd, though I cannot fulfil. 
 Against myself, the dictates of your will ; 
 My love to yours does yield ; since you enjoin'd, 
 I hourly court my rival to be kind ; 
 With passion, too, as great as you can do, 
 Taught by those wounds I have received from you. 
 Small is the difference that's between our grief; 
 Yours finds no cure, and mine seeks no relief. 
 You unsuccessfully your love reveal; 
 And I for ever must my love conceal : 
 Within my bosom I'll your letter wear, 
 
 {Putting the letter in her bosom. 
 It is a tomb that's proper for despair. \Exit. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 23 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 Scene I. — The Lord Bevill's House. 
 Enter Clark and Dufoy. 
 
 Clark. 
 
 METHINKS the wound your master gave you 
 last night makes you look very thin and wan, 
 monsieur. 
 
 Duf. Begar, you are mistakd, it be de wounds dat 
 my metresse did give me long ago. 
 
 Clark. What, some pretty little English lady's crept 
 into your heart ? 
 
 Duf. No, but damned little English whore is creeps 
 into my bone, begar; me could vish dat de diahle 
 vould tak^ her vid all my hart^. 
 
 Clark. You have managed your business ill, mon- 
 sieur. 
 
 Duf. It vas the raskal chirurgien English dat did 
 manage de business ill^ ; me did putt^ my business^ 
 into his haund6. He did stop de tap^, and de liquor 
 did varkd, vark^, varkd, up into de headd, and de 
 shoulder, begar. 
 
 Clark. Like soap clapped under a saddle. 
 
 Duf. Here come my matr^ ; hold^ your peac6. 
 
 \^Exit Clark. 
 
24 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Enter SiR Frederick, Widow, and Maid: 
 
 Sir Fred. Whither, whither do ye draw me, widow ? 
 what's your design ? 
 
 Wid. To walk a turn in the garden, and then re- 
 pose in a cool arbour. 
 
 Sir Fred. Widow, I dare not venture myself in 
 those amorous shades ; you have a mind to be talking 
 of love I perceive, and my heart's too tender to be 
 trusted with such conversation. 
 
 Wid. I did not imagine you were so foolishly con- 
 ceited ; is it your wit or your person, sir, that is so 
 taking ? 
 
 Sir Fred. Truly, you are miich mistaken. I have 
 no such great thoughts of the young man you see. 
 Who ever knew a woman have so much reason to 
 build her love upon merit? Have we not daily ex- 
 perience of great fortunes, that fling themselves into 
 the arms of vain idle fellows ? Can you blame me then 
 for standing upon my guard ? No, let us sit down here ; 
 have each of us a bottle of wine at our elbows ; so 
 prompted, I dare enter into discourse with you. 
 
 Wid. Would you have me sit and drink hand to 
 fist with you, as if we were in the Fleece,' or some 
 other of your beloved taverns ? 
 
 Sir Fred. Faith, I would have thee come as near as 
 possible to something or other I have been used to 
 converse with, that I may the better know how to 
 entertain thee. 
 
 Wid. Pray which of those ladies you use to con- 
 
 ' In Covent Garden. Pepys was often there. Aubrey speaks 
 of the tavern as " very unfortunate for homicides." 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 25 
 
 verse with, could you fancy me to look like? Be 
 merry, and tell me. 
 
 Sir Fred. 'Twere too great a sin to compare thee 
 to any of them ; and yet thou hast so incensed me, I 
 can hardly forbear to wish thee one of them. Ho, 
 Dufoy ! Widow, I stand in awe of this gentleman ; I 
 must have his advice before I dare keep you company 
 
 any further. How do you approve the spending of 
 
 my time with this lady? 
 
 Duf. Ver vel, begar; I could vish I had never 
 spend my time in de vors^ compagnie. 
 
 Wtd. You look but ill, monsieur ; have you been 
 sick lately ? 
 
 Duf. I have de ver great affliction in my minde, 
 madam. 
 
 Wtd. What is it? 
 
 Duf. Truly, I have de ver great passion vor dis 
 jentelwoman, and she have no compassion at all vor 
 me ; she do refuse me all my amour and my adresse. 
 Wid. Indeed, Betty, you are to blame. 
 
 Maid. Out upon him for a French dissembler, he 
 never spake to me in his life, madam. 
 
 Duf. You see, madam, she scorn^ me vor her 
 serviteur. 
 
 Maid. Pray, when did you make any of your 
 French lovd to m^ ? 
 
 Duf. It vil brek^ my hearth to remember de time 
 ven you did refusd me. 
 
 Wid. Will you permit me to serve you in this 
 biisiness, monsieur? 
 
 Duf. Madam, it be d'honour vor de King dd France. 
 
26 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Wid. Betty, whither run you ? 
 
 Maid. I'll not stay to be jeered by a sneaking 
 valet-de-chambre. I'll be revenged if I live, monsieur. ' 
 
 {Exit Betty. 
 
 Wid. I'll take some other time. 
 
 Duf. Van you have de leisurd, madam. 
 
 Sir Fred. By those lips, 
 
 Wid. Nay, pray forbear, sir. 
 
 Sir Fred. Who is conceited now, widow ? Could 
 you imagine I was so fond to kiss them ? 
 
 Wid. You cannot blame me for standing on my 
 guard so near an enemy. 
 
 Sir Fred. If you are so good at that, widow, let's 
 see what guard would you choose to be at, should 
 the trumpet sound a charge to this dreadful foe ? 
 
 Wid. It is an idle question amongst experienced 
 soldiers; but if we ever have a war, we'll never 
 trouble the trumpet ; the bells shall proclaim our quarrel. 
 . Sir Fred. It will be most proper ; they shall be rung 
 backwards. 
 ' Wid. Why so, sir? 
 
 Sir Fred. I'll have all the helps that, may be to 
 allay a dangerous fire. Widows must needs have 
 furious flames ; the bellows have been at work, and 
 blown 'em up. 
 
 Wid. You grow too rude, sir: I will have my 
 humour, a walk i' th' garden; and afterwards we'll 
 take the air in the park. 
 
 Sir Fred. Let us join hands then, widow. 
 
 Wid. Without the dangerous help of a parson, I do 
 not fear it, sir. {Exit Sir Frederick and Widow. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 27 
 
 Duf. Begar, I do no car^ two sous if de shamber- 
 maid ver hangd ; be it not great deal better pretend^ 
 d'affection to her, dan to tell6 de hole varldd I do 
 take de medicine vor de clap^ ? Begar, it be de ver 
 great deal better. [Exit Duroy. 
 
 Scene II. — A Garden belonging to my LorC 
 Bevill's House. 
 
 Enter Beaufort and Graciana. 
 
 Beauf. Graciana, why do you condemn your love ? 
 Your beauty without that, alas ! would prove 
 But my destruction, an unlucky star, 
 Prognosticating ruin and despair. 
 
 Grac. Sir, you mistake ; 'tis not my love I blame, 
 But my discretion ; \J>ointing to her breasf] here the 
 
 active flame 
 Should yet a longer time have been conceal'd, 
 Too soon, too soon I fear it was reveal'd. 
 Our weaker sex glories in a surprise, 
 We boast the sudden conquests of our eyes ; 
 But men esteem a foe that dares contend. 
 One that with noble courage does defend 
 A wounded heart ; the victories they gain 
 They prize by their own hazard, and their pain. 
 
 Beauf. Graciana, can you think we take delight 
 To have our happiness against us fight ; 
 Or that such goodness should us men displease. 
 As does afford us Heaven with greater ease ? 
 
28 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Enter Lovis, walking discontentedly. 
 See where yoiur brother comes ; his carriage has been 
 strange of late to me ; I never gave him cause of dis- 
 content ; he takes no notice of our being here. I will 
 salute him. 
 
 Grac. By no means. Some serious thoughts, you 
 see, employ his mind. 
 
 Beauf. I must be civil. Your servant, sir. 
 
 Lov. You are my sister's servant, sir ; go fawn upon 
 your mistress. Fare you well. {Exit Levis. 
 
 Beauf. Tare you well, if you are no better company. 
 Heavens ! What is the matter ? [Graciana weeps. 
 What saucy sorrow dares approach your heart? 
 Waste not these precious tears. Oh ! weep no more. 
 Should Heaven frown, the world would be too poor, 
 (Robb'd of the sacred treasure of your eyes) 
 To pay for mercy one fit sacrifice. 
 
 Grac. My brother, sir, is growing mad, I fear. 
 
 Beauf. Your brother is a man whose noble mind 
 Was to severest virtue still inclined ; 
 He in the school of honour has been bred, 
 And all her subtle laws with heed has read : 
 There is some hidden cause ; I fain would know 
 From whence these strange disorders in him flow. 
 Graciana, shall I beg you to dispel 
 These mists which round my troubled reason dwell ? 
 
 Grac. It is a story I could wish you'd learn. 
 From one whom it does not so much concern : 
 I am th' unhappy cause of what you've seen ; 
 My brother's passion does proceed from mine. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 29 
 
 Beauf. This does confound me more; it cannot 
 be; 
 You are the joy of all your family : 
 Dares he condemn you for a noble love, 
 Which honour and your duty both approve ? 
 
 Grac. My lord, those errors merit our excuse 
 Which an excess of virtue does produce. 
 
 Beauf. I know that envy is too base a guest 
 To have a lodging in his generous breast ; 
 'Tis some extreme of honour, or of love, 
 Or both, that thus his indignation move. 
 
 Grac. Ere I begin, you my sad story end ; 
 You are a rival to his dearest friend. 
 
 Beauf Graciana, though you have so great a 
 share 
 Of beauty, all that see you rivals are ; 
 Yet during this small space I did proclaim 
 To you and to the world my purer flame, 
 I never saw the man that durst draw near, 
 With his ambitious love t'assault your ear. 
 What Providence has kept us thus asunder? 
 
 Grac. When I have spoke you'll find it is no 
 wonder. 
 He has a mistress more renown'd than me. 
 Whom he does court, his dearer loyalty ; 
 He on his legs does now her favour wear; 
 He is confined by her foul ravisher. 
 You may not know his person ; but his name 
 Is strange to none that have conversed with fame. 
 'Tis Bruce. 
 
 Beauf. The man indeed I ne'er did see. 
 
30 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 But have heard wonders of his gallantry. 
 
 . Grac. This gallant man my brother ever loved ; 
 
 But his heroic virtues so improved 
 
 In time those seeds of love which first were sown, 
 
 That to the highest friendship they are grown. 
 
 This friendship first, and not his love to me, 
 
 Sought an alliance with our family. 
 
 My sister and myself were newly come 
 
 From learning how to live, to live at home : 
 
 When barren of discourse one day, and free 
 
 With's friend, my brother chanced to talk of me. 
 
 Unlucky accident ! his friend replied, 
 
 He long had wish'd their blood might be allied ; 
 
 Then press'd him that they might my father move 
 
 To give an approbation to his love : 
 
 His person and his merits were so great, 
 
 He granted faster than they could entreat ; 
 
 He wish'd the fates that govern hearts would be 
 
 So kind to him to make our hearts agree. 
 
 But told them he had made a sacred vow 
 
 Never to force what love should disallow. 
 
 Enter Sir Frederick and Widow. 
 
 But see. Sir Frederick and my aunt — 
 My lord, some other time I will relate 
 The story of his love and of its fate. 
 
 Sir Fred. How now, my lord ? so grave a counte- 
 nance in the presence of your mistress ? Widow, what 
 would you give your eyes had power to make me such 
 another melancholy gentleman ? 
 
 Wid. I have seen e'en'as merry a man as yourself, 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 31 
 
 Sir Frederick, brought to stand with folded arms, and 
 with a tristful look tell a mournful tale to a lady. 
 
 Enter a Footboy, who whispers Sir Frederick. 
 
 Sir Fred. The devil owes some men a shame ; the 
 coach is ready. Widow, I know you are ambitious to 
 be seen in my company. 
 
 Wid. My lord, and cousin, will you honour me with 
 yours to the park ; that may take off the scandal of 
 his? 
 
 Enter Aurelia and Letitia. 
 
 Beauf. Madam, we'll wait upon you ; but we must 
 not leave this lady behind us. 
 Wid. Cousin Aurelia, 
 
 Aurel. Madam, I beg you will excuse me, and you, 
 my lord; I feel a little indisposition, and dare not 
 venture into so sharp an air. 
 
 Beauf. Your servant, madam. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Aurelia and Letitia. 
 
 Aurel. Retire : I would not have you stay with me, 
 I have too great a train of misery. 
 If virtuous love in none be cause of shame, 
 AVhy should it be a crime to own the flame ? 
 But we by custom, not by nature led, 
 Must in the beaten paths of honour tread : 
 I love thee, Bruce ; but Heaven, what have I done ! 
 Letitia, did I not command you hence ? 
 
 Letit. Madam, I hope my care is no offence : 
 I am afflicted thus to see you take 
 Delight to keep your miseries awake. 
 
32 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Aurel. Since you have heard me, swear you will be 
 true : 
 Letitia, none must know I love but you. 
 
 Letit. If I at any time your love declare, 
 May I of Heaven and serving you despair. 
 Though I am young, yet I have felt this smart ; 
 Love once was busy with my tender heart. 
 
 Aurel. Wert thou in love ? 
 
 Letit, I was. 
 
 Aurel. Prithee, with whom ? 
 
 Letit. With one that like myself did newly bloom : 
 Methought his actions were above his years. 
 
 \She weeps. 
 
 Aurel. Letitia, you confirm me by your tears : 
 Now I believe you loved. Did he love you ? 
 
 Letit. That had been more than to my love was 
 due; 
 He was so much above my humble birth, 
 My passion had been fitter for his mirth. 
 
 Aurel. And does your love continue still the same ? 
 
 Letit. Some sparks remain, but time has quench'd 
 the flame ; 
 I hope 'twill prove as kind to you, and cure 
 These greater griefs which, madam, you endure. 
 
 Aurel. Time to my bleeding heart brings no relief : 
 Death there must heal the fatal wounds of grief. 
 Letitia, come, within this shady bower 
 We'll join our mournful voices, and repeat 
 The saddest tales we ever learn'd of love. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 33 
 
 AuRELiA and Letitia walk into an arbour, and 
 sing this song in farts. 
 
 Song. 
 
 When Phyllis watcKd her harmless sheep 
 
 Not one poor lamb was made a prey ; 
 Yet she had cause enough to weep, 
 Her silly heart did go astray : 
 Then flying to the neighboring grove. 
 She left the tender flock to rove, 
 And to the 'winds did breathe her love. 
 She sought in vain 
 To ease her pain ; 
 The heedless winds did fan her fire ; 
 Venting her grief 
 Gave no relief. 
 But rather did increase desire. 
 Then sitting with her arms across, 
 
 Her sorrows streaming from each eye ; 
 She fix' d her thoughts upon her loss, 
 And in despair resolved to die. 
 
 Aurel. Why should you weep, Letitia, whilst we 
 sing ? [ Walking out of the arbour. 
 
 Tell me from whence those gentle currents spring. 
 A!!an yet your faded love cause such fresh showers ? 
 This water is too good for dying flowers. 
 
 I^tit. Madam, it is such love commands this dew 
 As cannot fade; it is my love to you. 
 
 Aurel. Letitia, I am weary of this place ; and yet I 
 know not whither I should go. 
 
 D 
 
34 THE COMICAL REVENGE; 07?, 
 
 Letit. Will you be pleased to try if you can sleep? 
 that may deceive you of your cares a while. 
 
 Aurel. I will. There's nothing here does give me 
 ease, 
 But in the end will nourish my disease. {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — A Tavern. 
 
 Enter Wheedle, and immediately after him 
 a Footboy. 
 
 Wheed. The hour is come ; where's your master, 
 sirrah ? 
 
 Footboy. He'll be here immediately, sir. 
 If Wheed. Is he neatly dressed ? 
 ' Footboy. In the very suit he won th'other day of the 
 Buckinghamshire grazier. 
 
 Wheed. Take this letter, and give it me when you 
 perceive me talking with Sir Nicholas Cully, with 
 recommendations from a lady ; lurk in some secret 
 place till he's come, that he may not perceive you at 
 his entrance. \0h ! here's Palmer. {Exit Footboy. 
 Thorn, what's the price of a score of fat wethers ? 
 
 r 
 
 ! Enter Palmer. 
 
 ' \ Palm. Do they not well become me, boy ? 
 
 Wheed. Nature doubtless intended thee for a rogue, 
 she has so well contrived thee for disguises. Here 
 comes Sir Nicholas. 
 
 Enter Sir Nicholas. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 35 
 
 Sir Nicholas, come, come; this is an honest friend 
 and countryman of mine. 
 
 Sir Nich. Your servant, sir. Is not the lady come by 
 yet? 
 
 Wheed. I expect her every moment, Oh ! here's 
 
 her boy. Well, what news ? , 
 
 Enter Boy. 
 
 Boy. My lady presents her service to you, sir, and 
 has sent you this. {Delivers a letter ; Wheedle reads, 
 
 and seems much displeased. 
 
 Sir Nich. What is the matter, man ? 
 
 Wheed. Read, read. '^Gives Cully the letter^ I 
 want patience to tell you. Fortune still jades me in 
 all my expectations. 
 
 Sir Nich. {reading the letter). The citizen's wife forced 
 to go to Greenwich with her husband ; will meet some 
 time next week. Come, come. Wheedle, another time 
 will do ; be hot so passionate, man. , 
 
 Wheed. I must abuse my friend upon an idle- 1 V 
 woman's words. 
 
 Sir Nich. Pish, 'tis an accident. Come, let us drink 
 a glass of wine, to put these -women out of our heads. 
 
 Palm. Women ? ho, boys ! women, where are the 
 women ? 
 
 Wheed. Here's your merry countryman. 
 
 Palmer sings. 
 He took her by the apron. 
 
 To bring her to his beck ; 
 But as he wound her to him. 
 
 The apron-strings did break. 
 
36 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Enter Drawer with wine. 
 
 Sir Nich. A merry man, indeed. Sir, my service to 
 you. {^Drinks to Palmer. 
 
 Palm. Thank you, sir. Come, Mr. Wheedle, re- 
 membering my landlord, i' faith; would he were e'en 
 among us now. Come, be merry, man. Lend {To Sir 
 Nicholas.] me your hand, sir; you look like an honest • 
 man ; here's a good health to all that are so. Tope 
 
 here pledge me. 
 
 [Drinks ; gives Sir Nicholas the glass. 
 Sir Nich. Mr. Wheedle, to you. 
 
 [Drinks, and leaves some in the glass. 
 Palm. I'll not abate you an ace. 'Slid, you're not 
 so honest as I took you for. 
 
 [Sir Nicholas drinks up the rest. 
 
 Palmer sings. 
 
 If any man baulk his liquor 
 Let him never baulk the gallows, 
 
 But sing a psalm there wi' tK vicar. 
 Or die in a dirty alehouse. 
 
 Enter Drawer. 
 
 Drawer. There's a countryman below desires to 
 speak with his master Palmer. 
 
 Palm. So, so, thank thee, lad; it is my man. I 
 appointed him to call here ; he's sold the cattle, I'll 
 warrant you. I'll wait upon you again presently, gen- 
 tlemen. [Exit Palmer. 
 
 Wheed. Is not this a very pleasant fellow ? 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 37 
 
 Sir Nick. The pleasantest I ever met with ; what is 
 he? 
 
 WTieed. He's a Buckingham graEier, very rich ; he 
 has the fat oxen and fat acres in the vale. I met 
 him here by chance, and could not avoid drinking a 
 glasis o' wine with him. I believe he's gone down to 
 receive money; it were an excellent design to bubble' 
 him. 
 
 Sir Nich. How 'twould change his merry note ! will ^ 
 you try him? \ 
 
 Wheed. Do you. I cannot appear in it, because he I V 
 takes me for his friend. / 
 
 Sir Nich. How neatly I could tope upon him ! 
 
 Wheed. All things' will pass upon him. I'll go your 
 half; talk of dice, you'll perceive if he's coming. 
 What money have you about you ? 
 
 Sir Nich. Ten pieces. 
 
 Wheed. I have about that quantity too ; here, take 
 it. If he should run us out of our ready money, be 
 sure you set him deep upon tick, if he'll be at you, 
 that we may recover it ; for we'll not pay a farthing of 
 what we lose that way. Hush, here he comes. 
 
 Enter Palmer with a bag of money under his arm, 
 and flings it upon the table. 
 
 Palm. All my fat oxen and sheep are melted to this, 
 gentlemen. 
 
 Wheed. Their grease is "well tried, sir. 
 
 ' i.e. cheat. A slang word, though Mr. Spectator uses it: "he 
 tells me with great passion that she has bubbled him. " — Spectator, 
 No. 89. 
 
38 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Sir Nich. Come, sir, for all your riches you are in 
 arrear here. \_Offers him a glass. 
 
 Palm. I'll be soon out of your debts. My hearty 
 love to you, sir. {Brinks.} Would I had you both 
 in Buckinghamshire, and a pipe of this canary in my 
 cellar ; we'd roast an ox before we parted ; should we 
 not, boy? 
 
 Palmer sings. 
 
 W£d sing, and wid laugh, and we'd drink all the day; 
 Our reason w^d banish, our senses should sway ; 
 And every pleasure our wills should obey. 
 
 Palm. Come, drink to me a brimmer, if you dare 
 now. 
 
 Sir Nick. Nay, if you provoke me you'll find me a 
 bold man. Give me a bigger glass, boy : so, this is fit 
 for men of worship. Hang your retail drinkers ; have 
 at thee, my brave countryman. {Drinks. 
 
 Palm. I'll do all I can for my guts to pledge thee. 
 Ho, brave boys ! that's he, thaf s he, i' faith. How I 
 could hug thee now ! Mr. Wheedle, to you. 
 
 Wheed. I protest, gentlemen, you'll fright me out 
 of your company. Sir Nicholas, shall we have the 
 other round ? 
 
 Sir Nich. Let's pause a while. What say you, gen- 
 tlemen, if to pass away the time and to refresh us, we 
 should have a box and dice, and fling a merry main 
 among ourselves in sport ? 
 
 Wheed. 'Twill spoil good company ; by no means, 
 Sir Nicholas. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. (y) 
 
 Palm. Hang play among friends ; let's have a 
 wench. 
 
 Sings. 
 
 And Jenny was all my joy. 
 
 She had my heart at her will ; 
 But I left her and her toy 
 \ Whefi once I had got my fill. 
 
 What say you, shall we have her? 
 
 Sir Nich. We are not drunk enough for a wench. \ 
 Palm. Let's sing a catch then. 
 
 IVheed., Cull. Agreed, agreed. 
 
 Wheed. Begin, Mr. Palmer. 
 
 Palmer sings, standing in the middle with a glass of 
 wine in his hand. 
 
 Palm, r have no design here, 
 
 But drinking good wine here. 
 V Wheed. Nor I, boy. 
 Sir Nich. Nor I, boy. 
 Wheed. Th' art my boy. 
 Sir Nich. Th' art my boy. 
 All three. Our heads are too airy for plots. 
 Let us hug then all three. 
 Since our virtues agree. 
 We'll hollo and cast up our hats. 
 
 [ They hollo whilst Palmer drinks, and then 
 change till it has gone round. 
 
 Sir Nich. Enough, enough. 
 
 / 
 
40 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Palm. Veiy good boys all, very good boys all. 
 Give me a glass of wine there ; fill a brimmer. Sir 
 Nicholas, your lady. 
 
 Sir Nich. Pray, sir, forbear : I must be forced to 
 leave your company else. Prithee, Wheedle, lefs 
 have a box and dice. 
 
 Wheed. We shall grow dull. Mr. Palmer, what say 
 you to the business ? 
 
 Palm. I do not understand dice. I understand 
 
 good pasture and drink hang the devil's bones. 
 
 [Wheedle whispers Cully to send for dice ;. 
 Cully whispers the Drawer. 
 
 Palmer sings. 
 
 He that leaves his wine for boxes and dice, 
 
 Or his wench for fear of mishaps, 
 , May he beg all his days, cracking of lice. 
 And die in conclusion of claps. 
 
 Enter Drawer with dice. 
 
 Palm. Come, come, gentlemen ; this is the harm- 
 lesser sport of the two ; a merry glass round. 
 
 Sir Nich. Excuse me, sirj I'll pledge you here. 
 [Takes dice.] Come, come, sir, on six; six" is the 
 main. 
 
 Palm. The main ? what's the main ? 
 
 Sir Nich. Do not you understand hazard. 
 
 Palm. I understand dice or haphazard ! 
 
 Sir Nich. Can you play at passage ? 
 
 Palm. You pass my understanding. I can fling 
 most at a throw, for a shot, or a glass of wine. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 41 
 
 Sir Nich. Passage is easily learned : the caster wins 
 if he fling above ten with doublets upon three dice. 
 
 Palm. How doublets ? 
 
 Sir Nich. Two of a sort ; two cinques, two treys, or 
 the like. 
 
 Palm. Ho, ho ! I have you. 
 
 Sir Nich. Come, set then. 
 
 Palm. I set you this bottle. 
 
 Sir Nich. Nay, nay, set money. 
 
 Palm. Is it a fair play, Mr. Wheedle ? I trust to 
 you. 
 
 Wheed. Upon my word, a very fair square play ; but 
 this table is so wet, there's no playing upon it. 
 
 Drawer. Will you be pleased to remove into the 
 next room, gentlemen ? 
 
 Sir Nich. I think 'twiir not be amiss. 
 
 Wheed. Much better. Come, Mr. Palmer. 
 
 Palm. I'll follow, sir. 
 
 Palmer sings. 
 
 If she be not as kind as fair, 
 
 But peevish and unhandy. 
 Leave her, shis only worth the care 
 
 Of some spruce jack-a-dandy. 
 I would not have thee such an ass, 
 
 Hadst thou n£er so much leisure. 
 To sigh and whine for such a lass. 
 
 Whose prides above her pleasure. 
 
 Sir Nich. Ho, brave boy ! 
 Palm. March on, march on. 
 
42 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Sings. 
 Make much of eifry buxom girl, 
 
 Which needs but little courting; 
 Her value is above the pearl. 
 That takes delight in sporting. 
 
 \Exeunt omnes. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 43 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — A Tavern. 
 
 Enter Sir Nicholas Cully, Wheedle, Palmer, 
 and Drawer. 
 
 Palm. 
 
 NAY, Sir Nicholas, for all your haste, I must have 
 a note under your hand for the thousand 
 pounds you owe me. 
 
 Wheed. This must not be among friends, Mr. Pal- 
 mer ; Sir Nicholas shall not pay the money. 
 
 Sir Nich. I had been a madman to play- at such a 
 rate if I had ever intended to pay. 
 
 Palm. Though I am but a poor countryman, I scorn 
 to be choused. I have friends in town. 
 
 Wheed. But hark you, Mr. Palmer. 
 
 Palm. Hark me no harks ; I'll have my money. 
 
 Sir Nich. Drawer, take your reckoning. 
 
 Wheed. (laughing. Farewell, sir; haste into the 
 country to mind your cattle. 
 
 Palm. But hark you, gentlemen; are you in earnest ? 
 
 Wheed. Ay, indeed; fare you well, sir. 
 
 Palm. I took you for my friend, Mr. Wheedle ; 
 but now I perceive what you are. \To Cully.J Your 
 ear, sir. 
 
44 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Wheed. Never fear him ; he dares not go into the 
 field, without it be among his sheep. 
 
 Cul. Agreed; to-morrow, about eight in the morning, 
 near Pancridge.^ 
 
 Wheed. I will have the honour to serv^ you, Sir 
 Nicholas. Provide yourself a second, Mr. Palmer. 
 [Exeunt Sir Nicholas and Wheedle laughing. 
 
 Palm. So, laugh. This is the sheep that I must 
 fleece. {Exit. 
 
 Scene II. — Covent Garden. 
 
 Enter Sir Frederick Frollick, with Fiddlers befqre 
 him, and six or eight Linkboys, dancing and singing. 
 
 Sir Ered. Keie, here, this is the window; range 
 yourselves here. 
 
 Enter the Bellman. 
 
 Bellman. Good morrow, gentlemen. 
 Sir Fred. Honest Bellman, prithee lend me thy 
 bell. 
 Bellman. With all my heart, master. 
 
 [Sir Frederick rings the bell, and then 
 repeats these verses. 
 
 ' i.e. St. Pancras, a part of the town disreputable for many 
 reasons; amongst others, for the weddings celebrated at its 
 church. Cf. The Way of the World, i. i. Tlie favourite 
 duelling grounds were the fields behind Montagu House and 
 Bams £)lms. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 45 
 
 Sir Fred. 
 You, widow, that do sleep dog-sleep, 
 And now for your dead husband weep, \ 
 
 Perceiving well what want you have i 
 
 Of that poor worm has eat in grave ; 
 Rise out of bed and ope the door; 
 Her^s that will all your joys restore. 
 Good morrow, my mistress dear, good morrow. 
 Good morrow, widow. 
 
 {He rings the bell again. 
 
 { 
 
 The Chambermaid comes to the window unlaced, 
 holding her petticoats in her hand. 
 
 Maid. Who's that comes at this unseasonable houf, 
 to disturb my lady's quiet ? 
 
 Sir Fred. An honest bellman to mind her of 'her 
 frailty. 
 
 Maid. Sir Frederick, I wonder you will offer this ; 
 you will lose her favour for ever. 
 
 Sir Fred. You're mistaken; now's the time to creep 
 into her favour. 
 
 Maid. I'm sure you've waked me out of the sweetest 
 sleep. Heigho ! 
 
 Sir Fred. Poor girl ! let me in, I'll rock thee into a 
 sweeter. 
 
 Maid. I hear a stirring in my mistress's chamber; I 
 believe you've frighted her. - \_Exit Maid. 
 
 Sir Fred. Sound, a fresh alarm; the enemy's at 
 hand. \Fiddlers play. 
 
 1 
 
46 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 The Widow comes to the window in her nightgown. 
 
 Wid. Whose insolence is this, that dares affront me 
 thus? 
 
 Sir Fred. ^M£:J^^ii^g tone). If there be insolence 
 in love, 'tis I 
 Have done you this unwilling injury. 
 
 Wid. What pitiful rhyming fellow's that ? He 
 speaks as if he were prompted by the fiddlers. 
 
 Sir Fred. Alas ! what pains I take thus to unclose 
 Those pretty eyelids which lock'd up my foes ! 
 
 Wid. A godly book would become that tone a 
 great deal better. He might get a pretty living by 
 reading Mother Shipton's prophecies, or some pious 
 exhortation at the comer of a street; his mournful 
 voice, I vow, has moved my compassion. 
 
 Sir Fred. Ay, ay, we should have a fellow-feeling of 
 one another indeed, widow. 
 
 Wid. Sir Frederick, is it you ? 
 
 Sir Fred. Yes, truly; and can you be angry, lady? 
 Have not your quarters been beaten up at these most 
 seasonable hours before now ? 
 
 Wid. Yes ; but it has been by one that has had a 
 commission for what he did. I'm afraid, should it 
 once become your duty, you would soon grow weary 
 of the employment. 
 
 Sir Fred. Widow, I hate this distance : 'tis^ not 
 the English fashion ; prithee let's come to it hand to 
 fist. 
 
 Wid. I give no entertainment to such lewd persons. 
 Farewell, sir. {Exit Widm. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. ^.J 
 
 Sir Fred. I'll fetch thee again, or conjure the whole 
 Garden up. Sing the catch I taught you at the Rose.' 
 
 [Fiddlers sing. 
 
 Song. 
 
 He that will win a widow's heart 
 
 Must bear up briskly to her : 
 She loves the lad that s free and smart, 
 
 But hates the formal wooer. 
 
 The Widow runs to the window again, with 
 her Maid. 
 
 Wid. Hold, hold, Sir Frederick; what do you 
 . imagine the neighbours will think ? 
 
 Sir Fred. So ill, I hope, of thee, thou'lt be forced 
 to think the better of me. 
 
 Wid. I am much beholden to you for the care you 
 have of my reputation. 
 
 Sir Fred. Talk no more, but let the door be opened ; 
 or else fiddlers 
 
 Wid. Pray hold ! What security shall I have for 
 your good behaviour ? 
 
 Sir Fred. My word. 
 
 Wid. That's pawned at the tavern from whence 
 you came. 
 
 ' A not inglorious ordinary, in Russell Street, Covent Garden. 
 Pepys "drank some burnt wine" tliere on Christmas Eve, or 
 rather Christmas morning, 3 a.m. (circa) 1667. It was con- 
 veniently near to the theatres ; you could slip out from the King's 
 House during the performance, have " a tankard of cool drink," 
 and be back en mains de rim. Cf. Pepys, May 14th (and i8th), 
 1668. 
 
 J 
 
48 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Sir Fred. Thy own honesty then ; is that engaged ? 
 
 Wid. I think that will go nigh to secure me. Give 
 
 'em entrance, Betty. {Exit Widow and her Maid. 
 
 Enter Palmer, with a link before him. 
 
 Sir Fred. Ha ! who goes there? 
 
 Palm. An humble creature of yours, sir. 
 
 Sir Fred. Palmer in a disguise 1 what roguery hast 
 thou been about ? 
 
 Palm. Out of my loyal inclinations ^oing service to 
 his majesty. 
 
 Sir Fred. What ? a plotting ? 
 
 Palm. How to destroy his enemies ; Mr. Wheedle 
 and I are very vigilant. 
 
 Sir Fred. In bubbling of somebody, on my life. 
 
 Palm. We do not use to boast our services, nor do 
 we seek reward;S; good actions recompense them- 
 selves. 
 
 Sir Fred. Oh ! the door opens ; farewell, sirrah. 
 Gentlemen, wait you without, and be ready when I 
 call. Honest Bellman, drink tjiisi 
 
 {Gives the Bellman money. 
 
 Bellman. Thank you, noble master. {Exdt Bellman. 
 
 Sir Fred, (entering. Here's something to stop thy 
 mouth, too. [ The Maid shrieks-. 
 
 Maid. Out upon you. Sir Frederick ; you'll never 
 leave your old tricks. {Exeunt. 
 
LOy£ IN A TUB. 
 
 49 
 
 Scene III. — The Widow's House. 
 
 Enter Sir Frederick, leading the Widow, followed by 
 her Maid. 
 
 Sir Fred. Little did I think I should have been 
 brought to this pass: love never had the power to 
 rob me of my rest before. 
 
 Wid. Alas, poor gentleman ! he has not been used 
 to these late hours. 
 
 Sir Fred. Widow, do not you be peevish now ; 'tis 
 dangerous jesting with my affection ; 'tis in its infancy, 
 and must be humoured. 
 
 Wid. Pray teach me how, sir. 
 
 Sir Fred. Why, with kisses, and such pretty little 
 dalliances ; thus, thus. [Kisses her. 
 
 Wid. Hold, hold, sir ; if it be so froward, put it out 
 to nurse; I am not so fond of it as you imagine. 
 Pray how have you disposed of your brave camarades ? 
 Have you left thorn to the mercy of the beadle ? 
 
 Sir Fred. No, you must be acquainted with their 
 virtues. Enter, gentlemen. 
 
 Enter the Fiddlers, and a Masque of the Linkboys, who 
 are dancing-masters disguised for the frolic. 
 
 Wid. (After the masque). These are men of skill. 
 
 Sir Fred. I disguised 'em for your entertainment. 
 
 Wid. Well, sir, now I hope you'll leave me to my 
 rest. 
 
50 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Sir Fred. Can you in conscience turn a young man 
 out of doors at this time o' th' night, widow ? Fie, fie, 
 the very thought on't will keep you waking. 
 
 Wid. So pretty, so well-favoured a young man; 
 one that loves me. 
 
 Sir Fred. Ay, one that loves you. 
 
 Wid. Truly 'tis a very hard-hearted thing. 
 
 \She sighs. 
 
 Sir Fred. Come, come, be mollified. You may go, 
 gentlemen, [7b the Masquers,'] and leave me here ; you 
 may go. 
 
 Wid. You may stay, gentlemen ; you may stay, and 
 take your captain along with you. You'll find good 
 quarters in some warm hayloft. 
 
 Sir Fred. Merciless woman ! Do but lend me thy 
 maid ; faith, I'll use her very tenderly and lovingly, 
 even as I'd use thyself, dear widow, if thou would'st 
 but make proof of my aflfection. 
 • Wid. If the constable carry your suspicious person 
 to the Compter,' pray let me have notice of it ; I'll 
 send my tailor to be your bail. 
 
 Sir Fred. Go, go to bed, and be idle, widow ; that's 
 worse than any misfortune I can meet with. Strike 
 up, and give notice of our coming. Farewell, widow; 
 I pity thy solitary condition. 
 
 [Exeunt; Fiddlers playing. 
 
 ' Compter, or Counters ; they were prisons in the Poultry and 
 Wood Street. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB, Ji 
 
 Scene IV. — Sir Frederick's Lodging. 
 Enter Dufoy a??^ Clark. 
 
 Clark, I wonder Sir Frederick stays out so late. 
 
 Duf. Dis is noting; six, seven o'clock in the 
 morning is ver good hour. 
 
 Clark. I hope he does not use these hours often. 
 
 Duf. Some six, seven time a veek ; no oftiner. 
 
 Clark. My lord commanded me to wait his coming. 
 
 Duf. Matrd Clark, to divertise you, I vil tell you 
 how I did get be acquainted vid dis Bedlam matr^. 
 About two, tree year ago me had for my conveniance 
 discharge myself from attending 
 
 I 
 
 Enter a Fooiboy. 
 
 as maitre d'Mtel to a person of condition in Paris ; it 
 hapen after de despatch of my little affaire. 
 
 Footboy. That is, after he'd spent his money, sir. 
 
 Duf. Jan foutr^ de lacque ; me vil have de vip 
 and de belle vor your breeck, rogue. 
 
 Footboy. Sir, in a word, he was Jack-pudding to a 
 mountebank, and turned oif for want of wit. My 
 master picked him up before a puppet-show, mum- 
 bling a halfpenny custard, to send him with a letter to 
 the post. 
 
 Duf. Morbleu, see, see de insolance of de footboy 
 English ; bougre rascale, you lie ; begar, I vil cutt6 your 
 troatd. \Exit Footboy. 
 
 Clark. He's a rogue ; on with your story, monsieur. 
 
S2 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Duf. Matr6 Clark, I am your ver humble serviteur ; 
 but begar, me have no patience to be abusd. As I did 
 say, after de despatch^ of my affaire, van day being 
 idele, vich does product de mellanchoUique, I did 
 valk^ over de New Bridge^ in Paris, and to divertise 
 de time and my more serious toughtd, me did look to 
 see de marionettes and the Jack-puddinge, vich did 
 play hundred pretty trikd, time de collation vas 
 come ; and vor I had no company, I vos unvilling 
 to go to de cabaret, but did buy a dariole, littel 
 custard^, vich did satisfie my apetite ver vel. In dis 
 time young Monsieur de Grandvil (a jentelman of 
 ver great quality, van dat vas my ver good friend^ 
 and has done me ver great and insignal faveur) come 
 by in his caroche, vid dis Sir FroUick, who did pension 
 at the same academy, to learn de language, de bonne 
 mine, de great horse,'' and many oder trikd. Mon- 
 sieur seeing me did make de bow6, and did beken, 
 beken me come to him. He did telld me dat de Englis 
 jentelman had de letrd vor de postd, and did entreat^ 
 me (if I had de oppertunity) to see de letrd deliver. 
 He did telld me too, it void be ver great obligation. 
 De memory of de faveur I had receive from his 
 famely^, beside de inclination I naturally have to servd 
 de stranger^, made me return^ de complemen vid ver 
 great civility, and so I did take de letr^ and see it 
 
 ' The Pont Neuf, begun by Henry III. in 1578 and finished 
 in the next reign : " a stately bridge," according to Evelyn, who 
 describes it at some length, Diary, i. 46, ed. 1879. 
 
 ' Apparently a proverbial expression. Lord Herbert of 
 Cherbury tells us in his Autobiography how riding "the great 
 horse " was one of the accomplishments he acquired at Paris. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 53 
 
 deliver^. Sir Frollick perceiving (by de management 
 of dis affaire) dat I vas man ^esprit, and of vitt^, did 
 entreatd me to be his serviteur; me did take 
 d'affection to his person^, and vas content^ to live 
 vid him, to counsel and to advis6 him. You see 
 now de lie of de bougre de lacque Englishe, morbleu. 
 
 Enter a Footman. 
 
 Footman. Monsieur, the apothecary is without. 
 
 Duf. Dat news be no ver velcome, begar. MatrS 
 Clark, go and sit you down ; I vil but swal my break- 
 face, and be vid you again presant. Morbleu, I'apo- 
 thecare ! [^Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. — A Field. 
 Enter Wheedle ««if Cully. 
 
 Cul. Dear Wheedle, this is too dangerous a testi- 
 mony of thy kindness. 
 
 Wheed. I should be angry with you if you thought 
 so ; what makes you so serious ? 
 
 Cul. I am sorry I did not provide for both our 
 safeties. 
 
 Wheed. How so ? 
 
 Ctd, Colonel Hewson is my neighbour and very 
 good friend. I might have acquainted him with the 
 business, and got him with a file of musketeers to 
 secure us all. 
 
 Wheed. But this would not secure your honour. 
 - What would the world have judged ? 
 
54 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Cul. Let the world have judged what it would. 
 Have we not had many precedents of late, and the 
 world knows not what to judge ? 
 
 Wheed. But you see there was no need to hazard 
 your reputation ; here's no enemy appears. 
 
 Cul. We have done our duty, let's be going then. 
 
 Wheed. We ought to wait a while. 
 
 Cul. The air is so bleak, I vow I can no longer 
 endure it. 
 
 Wheed. Have a little patience, methinks I see two 
 making towards us in the next close. 
 
 Cul. Where, where ? 'Tis them. 
 I " Wheed. Bear up bravely now like a man. 
 
 Cul. I protest I am the worst dissembler in cases 
 i of this nature. 
 
 Wheed. Along ; look like a man of resolution. 
 Whither, whither go you ? 
 
 Cttl. But to the next house to make my will, for 
 fear of the worst. Tell them I'll be here again 
 presently. 
 
 Wheed. By no means ; if you give 'em the least 
 occasion to suspect you, they'll appear like lions. 
 
 Cul. Well, 'tis but giving security for the money ; 
 that will bring me off at last. 
 
 Enter Palmer and his Second. 
 
 Palm. I see you ride the fore-horse, gentlemen. 
 
 \All strip hut Cully, who fumbles 
 with his doublet. 
 Wheed. Good morrow, sir. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 
 
 55 
 
 Sec. Come, sir, let us match the swords, 
 
 \To Wheedle. 
 Wheed. With all my heart. \They match the swords. 
 
 Palmer sings. 
 
 He had and a good right Bilboe blade. 
 Wherewith he used to vapour ; 
 
 Full many a stubborn foe had made 
 To wince and cut a caper. 
 
 Sec. Here's your sword, sir. [7& Palmer. 
 
 Palm. Come, sir, are you ready for this sport ? 
 
 \_To Cully. 
 
 Cul. By-and-by, sir. I will not rend the buttons 
 from my doublet for no man's pleasure. 
 
 Wheed. Death, you've spoiled all ; make haste. 
 
 Cul. Hang 'em, the devil eggs 'em on; they will 
 fight. 
 
 Palm. What, will you never have done fumbling ? 
 
 Sec. This is a shame j fight him with his doublet 
 on ; there's no foul play under it. 
 
 Palm. Come, sir, have at you. \_Making to Cully. 
 
 Sec. Here, here, sir. \To Wheedle. 
 
 Wheed. I am for you, sir. 
 
 [Wheedle and the Second seem to fight. 
 
 Cul. Hold, hold, I beseech you, Mr. Palmer ; hear 
 me, hear me. 
 
 Wheed. What's the matter ? 
 
 Cul. My conscience will not let me fight in a wrong 
 cause ; I will pay the money, I have fairly lost it. 
 
 Wheed. How contemptible is man, overcome by 
 
S6 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 the worst of passions, fear ! it makes him as much 
 below beasts as reason raises him above them ; I will 
 myself fight you both ; come on, if you dare. 
 
 Cul. Prithee, dear Wheedle, do but hear me. 
 
 Wheed. I disown all the kindness I ever had for 
 you. Where are these men of valour, which owe their 
 virtue to this man's vice ? Let me go, I will chastise 
 their insolence myself. [Cully holds him. 
 
 Cul. Dear Wheedle, bear with the frailties of thy 
 friends. 
 
 Wheed. Death ! what would you have me do? 
 Can I serve you with anything more dear than my 
 life? 
 
 Cul. Let us give them security. 
 
 Wheed. Do you know what it is you would do? 
 Have you considered what a thousand pounds is? 
 'Tis a fortune for any one man. 
 
 Cul. I will pay it all, thou shalt be no loser. 
 
 Wheed. Do you hear, shepherd? How do you 
 expect this money ? 
 
 Palm. I expect such security for it as my friend 
 shall advise. 
 
 Sec. A warrant to confess a judgment from you 
 both. 
 
 Wheed. You shall be damned first; you shall 
 have nothing. 
 
 Palm, and Sec. We'll have your bloods. 
 
 {They proffer to fight ; Cully holds Wheedle. 
 
 Wheed. Let me go. 
 
 Cul. Dear Wheedle, let it be so. You shall have a 
 judgment, gentlemen. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 57 
 
 Wheed. I will take care hereafter with whom I 
 engage. [7%« Second pulls papers out of his pocket. 
 
 What ? you have your tacklings about you ? 
 
 Sec. We have articles for peace, as well as weapons 
 for war. 
 
 Wheed. E)espatch, despatch then; put me to no 
 more torment with delays. 
 
 Sec. Come, Sir Nicholas, to the book. You see we 
 
 are favourable, we grant you the benefit of your clergy. 
 
 [Cully subscribes on Palmer's back, 
 
 and then Wheedle. 
 
 Your helping hand, good Mr. Wheedle, to finish the 
 
 work. 
 
 Wheed. Take that into the bargain. \Kicks him. 
 
 Palm. You shall have another, if you please, at 
 the price. 
 
 Sec. We seldom quarrel under a thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 Paim. and Sec. We wish you merry, gentlemen. 
 
 Palmer sings. 
 
 Come, lefs to the tavern 'scape, 
 And drink whilst we can stand; 
 
 We thirst more for the blood 0' th' grape 
 Than for the blood of man. 
 
 {Exeunt Palmer and Second. 
 
 Wheed. Do you see now what men of mighty 
 prowess these are ? 
 
 Cul. I was to blame indeed. 
 
 Wheed. I am in such a passion I know not what to 
 
58 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 do. Let us not stand gazing here ; I would not have 
 this known for a kingdom. 
 
 Cul. No, nor I neither. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene VI. — The Lord Bevill's House. 
 Enter my Lord Bevill and Levis. 
 
 Lov. 'Tis yet within your power, sir, to maintain 
 Our honour, and prevent this threatening stain. 
 
 Z. Bev. Forbear this wicked insolence ; once more 
 1 charge you think on your obedience. 
 
 \_Exit Lord Bevill. 
 
 Lov. Beauty, what art thou we so much admire? 
 Thou art no real, but a seeming fire, 
 Which, like the glowworm, only casts a light 
 To them whose reason passion does benight. 
 Thou art a meteor, which but blazing dies. 
 Made of such vapours as from us arise. 
 Within thy guilty beams lurk cruel fates. 
 To peaceful families and warring states. 
 Unhappy friend, to dote on what we know 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Sir, Colonel Bruce, unexpectedly released' 
 from his imprisonment, is come to wait upon you. 
 
 \_Exit Servant, 
 
 Lov. What shall I do ? Ye powers above be kind, 
 Some counsel give to my distracted mind. 
 
LOVE IN. A TUB. 59 
 
 Friendship and shame within me so contend, 
 I know not how to shun or meet my friend. 
 
 Enter Bruce. 
 
 Bruce. Where is my generous friend ? Oh, noble 
 youth ! 
 How long have I been robb'd of this content ? 
 
 \_They embrace. 
 Though deprivation be the greatest pain. 
 When Heaven restores our happiness again, 
 It makes amends by our increase of joy. 
 Perfecting that which it did once destroy. 
 Dear friend, my love does now exact its due ; 
 Graciana must divide my heart with you. 
 Conduct me to your sister, where I may 
 Make this my morn of joy a glorious day. 
 What means this sad astonishment ? 
 
 Lov. How can we choose but with confusion greet. 
 When I your joys with equal sorrows meet ? 
 
 Bruce. O Heaven ! must my afflictions have no end ? 
 I 'scaped my foe, to perish by my friend. 
 What strange disaster can produce this grief ? 
 Is Graciana dead ? Speak, speak ; be brief. 
 
 ZiJZ'. SheHves^JyjLLcoB^^ ^^^^J?^'^ '^*^'^--. J 
 
 Bruce. Rash man ! why should your envy swell so 
 
 high, 
 
 To wish the world this great calamity ? 
 
 Wish the whole frame of nature were dissolved. 
 
 That all things to a chaos were revolved. 
 
 There is more charity in this desire; 
 
 Since with our loss our sorrows would expire. 
 
6o THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Enter Axs'&ELih. 
 
 Lov. Here comes Aurelia, sent for my relief : 
 Heaven knows her tongue can best express this grief. 
 Examine her, and you shall find e'er long 
 I can revenge, though not relate your wrong, 
 
 Bruce. For pity haste, Aurelia, and declare 
 
 \Kisses her hand. 
 The reasons of your brother's frighting care : 
 My soul is rack'd with doubts until I know. 
 
 \After a pause. 
 Your silence and your looks, Aurelia, show 
 As if your kindness made you bear a part 
 Of those great sorrows that afflict his heart. 
 
 Aurel. His passion is so noble and so just. 
 No generous soul can know it but it must 
 Lay claim unto a portion, as its due : 
 He can be thus concern'd for none but you. 
 
 Bruce. Kind maid, reveal what my misfortunes are ; 
 Friendship must not engross them, though it share. 
 I would not willingly my love suspect ; 
 And yet I fear 'tis answer'd with neglect. 
 
 Aurel. My sister, by unlucky stars misled. 
 From you and from her happiness is fled ; 
 Unskilful in the way, by passion press'd, 
 She has took shelter in another's breast. 
 
 Bruce. Fate, thou hast done thy worst, thy triumph 
 sing; 
 Now thou hast stung so home, thou'st lost thy sting. 
 I have not power, Graciana, to exclaim [A/ier a pause. 
 Against your fault ; indeed you are to blame. 
 
LOV£ IN A TUB. 61 
 
 Lov. Tell me, did she her promise plight, or give ) 
 Your love encouragement enough to live ? ' 
 
 Bruce. It was her pity sure, and not her love, 
 That made her seem my passion to approve. 
 My story was unpleasant to her ear 
 At first ; but time had made her apt to hear 
 My love. She told me that it grew her grief. 
 As much as mine, my pain found no relief; 
 'nien_2romisedjh£d^nd^ decrease 
 
 Ofrt]iat_in her which warr'd against my peace. 
 'Twas in this joyful spring of love that I 
 Was ravish'd from her by our enemy. 
 My hopes grew strong, I banish'd all despair ; 
 These glowing sparks I then left to the care 
 Of this fair maid, thinking she might inspire 
 My passion, and blow up the kindling fire. 
 
 Lov. Alas ! she to my knowledge has been true ; 
 She's spoke and sigh'd all that she could for you. 
 
 Aurel. When you were forced to end, I did proceed. 
 And with success the catching fire did feed ; 
 Till noble Beaufort, one unlucky day, 
 A visit to our family did pay ; 
 Newly arrived from foreign courts, and fraijght 
 With all those virtu es tha t m Cour ts arejaught ; 
 He with his amorous tales so charm'd her ear, 
 That she of love from none but him would hear. 
 
 Bruce. That heart which I so long with toil and 
 pain 
 Besieged and used all stratagems to gain. 
 
 Enter a Servant, who whispers with Lovis. 
 
62 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Is now become within a trice we see 
 The triumph of another's victory. 
 There is a fate in love, as well as war ; 
 Some, though less careful, more successful are. 
 ^ Lov. Do not this opportunity withstand ; 
 These lovers now are walking hand in hand 
 I' th' garden ; fight him there, and sacrifice 
 His heart to that false woman's cruelties. 
 If fate be so unjust to make thee fall, 
 His blood or mine shall wait thy funeral. 
 
 Bruce. Young man, this rashness must have my 
 excuse, 
 Since 'tis your friendship does your fault produce ; 
 If powers above did not this passion sway, 
 But that our love our reason did obey. 
 Your sister I with justice might accuse, 
 Nor would I this occasion then refufee. 
 
 Lov. Does Bruce resolve thus tamely to decline 
 His interest and like foolish women pine? 
 Can that great heart which in your breast does dwell, 
 Let your fond griefs above your courage swell ? 
 
 Bruce. My passions grow unruly, and I find 
 Too soon they'll raise a tempest in my mind. 
 Graciana,,like fond .parentSj yoB^^^^^iSL.felSISiS) 
 You did not in its youth correct my flamej 
 'Tis now so headstrong, an3[ so"wild a fire, 
 I fear to both our ruins 'twill conspire. 
 I grow impatient, friend ; come lead me where 
 I may to her my injured love declare. 
 Graciana, yet your heart shall be my prize, 
 Or else my heart shall be your sacrifice. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 63 
 
 Despair's the issue of ignoble minds, 
 And but with cowards entertainment finds. 
 
 [Exeunt Levis and Bruce. 
 Aurel. Heaven grant some moderation to this rage, 
 That reason their swell'd passions may assuage. 
 Oh, Bruce ! thou little think'st the fates in me 
 Have to the full revenged thy injury. \_Exit. 
 
 Scene VII. — A Garden belonging to my Lord 
 Bevill's House. 
 
 Enter Beaufort and Graciana. 
 
 Beauf. Madam, what you have told so much must 
 move 
 All that have sense of honour or of love, 
 That for my rival I could shed a tear, 
 If grief had any power when jou are near^ 
 
 Grac. Leave this ^scourse ; your mistress you 
 neglect, 
 And to your rival all your thoughts direct. 
 
 Enter Bruce ««^Lovis and stand undiscovered. 
 
 Beauf. Forgive me, dear Graciana, I have been 
 By my coitnpassion sooth'd into a sin : 
 The holiest man that to the altar bows. 
 With wandering thoughts too often stains his vows. 
 
 Bruce. Graciana, you are alter'd much. I find, 
 
 [Surprising her by the hand. 
 
64 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Since I was here you've learn'd how to be kind, 
 The god of love, which subtly let you sway, 
 Has stol'n your heart and taught it to obey. 
 
 Grac. Heavens ! what strange surprise is this ! 
 
 Bruce. Hither I'm come to make my lawful claim; 
 You are my mistress and must own my flame. 
 
 Beauf. Forbear, bold man, and do not tempt thy 
 fate. \Taking her by the other hand. 
 
 Thou hast no right ; her love does right create. 
 Thy claim must to my title hM^e give place : 
 'Tis not who loves, but whom she's plea sed to grace. 
 
 Grac. Hear me"Biitspeak, Bruce. You divide Jiy 
 care; 
 Though not my love, you my compassion share ; 
 My heart does double duty ; it does mourn 
 For you, brave Bruce ; for you, brave Beaufort, burn. 
 
 Bruce. Your pity but destroys ; if you would save, 
 It is your love, Graciana, I must have. 
 
 Beauf. Her love is mine, she did it now declare ; 
 Name it no more, but vanish and despair. 
 
 Bruce. Death, do you think to conjure me away ! 
 I am no devil that am forced t'obey : 
 If you're so good at that, here are such charms 
 
 \Laying his hand on his sword. 
 Can fright y'into the circle of her arms. 
 
 [Graciana takes Beaufort in her arm. 
 
 Beauf. Here is a sword more fit for my defence ; 
 This is not courage, Bruce, but insolence. 
 Graciana, let me go, my heart wants room. 
 
 Grac. My arms till now were ne'er thought trouble- 
 some. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 65 
 
 Bruce. Beaufort, I hope you've courage to appear 
 Where sacred sanctuary is not near. 
 I'll leave you now within that happy state, 
 Which does provoke my fury and my hate. 
 
 {Exeunt Bruce and Levis. 
 
 Grac. You must not meet him in the field, to prove 
 A doubtful combat for my certain love. 
 Beside, your heart is mine ; will you expose 
 The heart you gave me to its raging foes ? 
 Those men want honour who jtake that at^lay 
 WEich to their^riends tiieir kindness M,ve away, 
 
 Beauf. Graciana," why did you confine me so 
 Within your arms ? You should have let me go : 
 We soon had finish'd this our hot debate, 
 Which now must wait a longer time on fate. 
 
 Grac. None in combustions blame such as desire 
 To save their precious goods from raging fire. 
 %ni^jthisjgasaoiL jyjWj^ m^jfird,..^^ 
 You£anger cannot^overcloud yourjove^ 
 
 Beauf. Your glorious presence can this rage control, 
 And make a calm in my tempestuous soul ; 
 But yet there must be time ; the sun does bear 
 Awhile with the fierce tempests of the air. 
 Before he makes those stormy conflicts cease, 
 And with his conquering beams proclaims a peace, 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
66 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Enter Lord Beaufort and Lovis. 
 
 Lovis. 
 
 FAREWELL, my lord, I'll to my friend declare 
 How generous you in your acceptance were. 
 Beauf. My honour is as forward as my love, 
 On equal wings of jealousy they move : 
 I to my rival will in neither yield ; 
 I've won the chamber, and will win the field. 
 Lov. Your emulation, sir, is swoln so high, 
 You may be worthy of his victory : 
 You'll meet with honour blown, not in the bud. 
 Whose root was fed with vast expense of blood. 
 
 {Exit Lovis. 
 
 Enter Sir Frederick. 
 
 Sir Fred. What, my lord, as studious as a country 
 vicar on a Saturday in the afternoon ? I thought you 
 had been ready for the pulpit. 
 
 Beauf. I am not studying of speeches for my 
 mistress; 'tis action that I now am thinking on, 
 wherein there's honour to be gained ; and you, cousin, 
 are come luckily to share it. 
 
 Sir Fred. On my life^ a prize to be played for your 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 67 
 
 mistress. I had notice of your quarrel, which brought 
 me hither so early with my sword to serve you. But 
 dares so zealous a lover as your lordship break the 
 commandment of your mistress? I heard, poor lady, 
 she wept, and charged you to sleep in a whole skin ; 
 but young men never know when they're well. 
 
 Beauf. Cousin, my love to her cannot make me 
 forget my duty to my family. 
 
 Sir Fred. Pray, whose body must I exercise my 
 skill upon ? 
 
 Beauf. You met the man ; Graciana's brother. 
 
 Sir Fred. An expert gentleman, and I have not 
 fenced of late, unless it were with my widow's maids,; 
 and they are e'en too hard for me at my own w^^ra^ 
 
 Beauf. Cousin, 'tis time we were preparing for the 
 field. 
 
 Sir Fred. I wait to serve you, sir. 
 
 Beauf. But yet with grief, Graciana, I must go. 
 Since I your brother there shall meet my foe : 
 My fate too near resembles theirs, where he 
 Did wound himself that hurt his enemy. {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Enter Wheedle, and Palmer dressed like the 
 Lord Bevill. 
 
 Wheed. So, my Proteus, exactly dressed ! Dexterous 
 rogue ! Is Grace ready in her gears, and settled in 
 my Lady Dawbwell's house ? 
 
 y 
 
68 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Palm. Every trap is baited. 
 
 Wheed. I'll warrant thee then we catch our Cully. 
 He's gone to put himself into a fantastic garb, in 
 imitation of Sir Frederick Frollick; he's almost 
 frantic with the very conceit of gaining the rich 
 widow. But, hark! I hear him coming; slip down 
 the back way, and to your charge. \_Exit Palmer. 
 
 Enter Cully. 
 Sir Nich. Wheedle, and what think you of this 
 habit? is it not very modish ? 
 
 Wheed. As any man need wear. How did you 
 furnish yourself so suddenly ? 
 
 Sir Nich. Suddenly ? I protest I was at least at 
 sixteen brokers before I could put myself exactly into 
 the fashion ; but now I defy Sir Frederick ; I am as 
 fine as he, and will be as mad as he, if that will carry 
 the widow, I'll warrant thee. 
 
 Wheed. Is it not better pushing thus for a fortune 
 before your reputation's blasted with the infamous 
 names of coward and gamester, and so become able 
 to pay the thousand pounds without noise, than 
 going into the country, selling your land, making a 
 havoc among your woods, or mortgaging your estate 
 to a scrupulous scrivener that will whisper it into the 
 ears of the whole town by inquiring of your good 
 behaviour ? 
 
 Sir Nich. Excellent Wheedle ! And will my Lord 
 Bevill speak my commendations to his sister ? 
 
 Wheed. She is impatient till she see you, sir; for in 
 my hearing, upon the account I gave him of you, he 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 69 
 
 told her you were the prettiest, wittiest, wildest gentle- 
 man about the -town, and a Cavalier in your heart, 
 the only things that take her. 
 
 Sir Nich. Wheedle, come ; I will go to the tavern 
 and swallow two whole quarts of wine instantly, and 
 when I am drunk ride on a drawer's back to visit her. 
 
 Wheed. Some less frolic to begin with. 
 
 Sir Nich. I wiU cut three drawers over the pate 
 then, and go with a tavern-lantern before me at noon- 
 day. Come away. {Exeunt, Cully singing. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Enter Palmer and Grace. 
 
 Palm. Do not I look like a very reverend lord, 
 Grace ? 
 
 Grace. And I like a very fine lady, Mr. Palmer ? 
 
 Palm. Yes, in good faith, Grace. What a rogue is 
 that Wheedle, to have kept such a treasure to himself, 
 without communicating a little to his friends ! 
 
 \_Offers to kiss her. 
 
 Grace. Forbear; you'll be out in your part, my 
 lord, when Sir Nicholas comes. 
 
 Palm. The truth is, my lady, I am better prepared 
 at this time to act a lover than a relation. 
 
 Grace. That grave dress is very amorous indeed. 
 
 Pc^m. My virtues, like those of plants in the wipter, 
 are retired; your warm spring would fetch 'em out 
 with a vengeance. 
 
70 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Enter Jenny in haste. 
 
 Jenny. Mr. Wheedle and Sir Nicholas are come. 
 Palm. Away, away then ; sister, expect your cue. 
 
 Enter Wheedle, and Sir , Nicholas kicking a tavern- 
 hoy before him, who has three bottles of wine on a 
 rope hanging at his back, 
 
 Cul. {singing). Then march along, boys ; 
 Valiant and strong, boys. 
 So, lay down the bottles here. 
 
 Wheed. My lord, this is the worthy gentleman that 
 I told you was ambitious to be your sister's servant. 
 
 Cul. Hither am I come, my lord, to drink your 
 sister's health, without oflfence, I hope. 
 
 Palm. You are heartjly welcome, sir. 
 
 Cul. Here's a brimmer then to her, and all the 
 fleas about her. 
 
 Palm. Sir, I'll call her to pledge it. 
 
 Cul. Stay, stay, my Wd, that you may be able to 
 tell her you have drunk it. [Palmer ^««Af, and exit. 
 Wheedle, how do you like this ? [Draws his sword. 
 Shall I break the windows ? 
 
 Wheed. Hold, hold j you are not in a house of evil 
 reputation. 
 
 Cul. Well admonished, Sir Frederick FroUick. 
 
 Enter Palmer and Grace. 
 
 Palm. This is Sir Nicholas, sister. 
 Cul. Ay, madam, I am Sir Nicholas, and how do you 
 like me ? 
 
tOVE IN A TUB. 71 
 
 Grace. A pretty gentleman. Pray, sir, are you 
 come a house-warming, that you bring wine with you ? 
 
 Cul. If you ask such pert questions, madam, I can 
 stop your mouth. [Kisses her.] Hither I am come 
 to be drunk, that you may see me drunk; and here's 
 a health to your flannel petticoat. [Drinks. 
 
 Grace. Mr. Wheedle, my service to you; a health 
 to Sir Nicholas's great-grandfather's beard-brush. 
 
 \She drinks part. 
 
 Cul. Nay, pledge me ; ha 
 
 Grace, You are not quarrelsome in your drink, I 
 hope, sir? 
 
 Cul. No, faith ; I am wondrous loving. \IIugs her. 
 
 Grace. You are a very bold lover. 
 
 Cul. Widow, let you and I go upon the ramble to- 
 night. 
 
 Grace. Do you take me for a nightwalker, sir? 
 
 Cul. Thou shalt be witness how many constables' 
 staves I'll break about the watchmen's ears; how 
 many bellmen I'll rob of their verses, to furnish a 
 little apartment in the back side of my lodging. 
 
 Grace. I believe you're an excellent man at quarter- 
 staff, sir? 
 
 Cul. The odds was on my head against any warrener 
 in all our country ; but I have left it off this two year. 
 My lord, what say you? Do you think your sister 
 and I should not furnish a bed-chamber as well as two 
 soberer people ? AVhat think you, my lord ? 
 
 Grace. Ay, and a nursery too, I hope, sir. 
 
 Cul. Well said, widow, i' faith ; I will get upon thy 
 body a generation of wild cats, children that shall 
 
72 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 \}2cv, waw, scratch their nurses, and be drunk with 
 their sucking-bottles. 
 
 Wheed. Brave Sir Nicholas ! 
 
 Cul. Wheedle, give me a brimmer; the widow shall 
 drink it to our progeny. \Exit Grace. 
 
 Where, where is she gone ? 
 
 Palm. You have frighted her hence, sir. 
 
 Cul. I'll fright her worse if I find her in a comer. 
 Ha, widow ! I'll follow you, I'll follow you, ha ! 
 
 \Exit Cully. 
 
 Wheed. The wine makes the rogue witty ; he over- 
 acts the part I gave him ; Sir Frederick is not half so 
 mad. I will keep him thus elevated till he has 
 married Grace, and we have the best part of his estate 
 at our mercy. 
 
 Palm. Most ingenious Wheedle ! 
 
 Wheed. I was not born to ease nor acres ; industry 
 is all my stock of living. {The women shriek within. 
 
 Palm. Hark ! he puts them to the squeak. 
 
 Wheed. We must go anid take ISmi'off; he's as 
 fierce as a bandog that has newly broke his chain. 
 
 \Exeunt, laughing. 
 
 Scene IV. — A Field. 
 Enter Bruce and Lovis, and traverse the stage. 
 
 Then enter four or five Men in disguises. 
 I Man. This way they went ; be sure you kill the 
 villain. Let pity be a stranger to your breasts. 
 
LOVE ZN A TUB. 73 
 
 2 Man. We have been bred, you know, unacquainted 
 with compassion. 
 
 3 Man. But why, colonel, should you so eagerly 
 pursue his life ? He has the report of a gallant man. 
 
 I Man. He murdered my father. 
 
 3 Man. I have heard he killed him fairly in the 
 field at Naseby. 
 
 I Man. He killed him, that's enough ; and I myself 
 was witness. I accused him to the Protector, and 
 suborned witness to have taken away his life by form 
 of law ; but my plot was discovered, and he yesterday 
 released; since which I've watched an opportunity, 
 without the help of seeming justice, for my revenge. 
 Strike home. 
 
 3 Man. We are your hired slaves j and since you'll 
 have it so, we'll shed his blood, and never spare our 
 own. [Exeunt, drawing their swords. 
 
 Enter Beaufort and Sir Frederick, and traverse 
 the stage. 
 
 Enter Bruce and Levis at another door. 
 
 Bruce. Your friendship, noble youth, 's too prodigal ; 
 For one already lost you venture all. 
 Your present happiness, your future joy ; 
 You for the hopeless your great hopes destroy. 
 
 JLov. What can I venture for so brave a friend ? 
 I have no hopes but what on you depend. 
 Should I your fiiendship and my honour rate 
 Below the value of a poor estate, 
 A heap of dirt ? Our family has been 
 To blame ; my blood must here atone the sin. 
 
74 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Enter the five Villains with drawn swords. 
 Heavens ! what, is there an ambuscado laid ! 
 Draw, dearest friend ! I fear we are betray'd. 
 
 I Vil. Bruce, look on me, and then prepare to die. 
 
 \_Pulling off his vizard. 
 
 Bruce. O treacherous villain ! 
 
 I Vil. Fall on, and sacrifice his blood to my 
 revenge. 
 
 Lov. More hearts than one shall bleed if he must 
 die. \They fight. 
 
 Enter Beaufort and'GiR Frederick. 
 
 Beauf. Heavens ! what's this I see ! Sir Frederick, 
 draw ; their blood's too good to grace such villains' 
 swords. Courage, brave men; now we can match 
 their force. 
 
 Lov. We'll make you, slaves, repent this treachery. 
 
 \The Villains run. 
 
 Beauf. So. 
 
 Bruce. They are not worth pursuit ; we'll let them 
 go. 
 Brave men ! this action makes it well appear 
 'Tis honour, and not envy, brings you here. 
 
 Beauf. We come to conquer, Bruce, and not to see 
 Such villains rob us of our victory. 
 Your lives our fatal swords claim as their due j 
 We'd wrong'd ourselves had we not righted you. 
 
 Bruce. Your generous courage has obliged us so. 
 That to your succour we our safety owe. 
 
 Lov. You've done what men of honour ought to do, 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 75 
 
 What in your cause we would have done for you. 
 
 Beauf. You speak the truth, we've but our duty 
 done; 
 Prepare : duty's no obligation. \He strips. 
 
 Bruce. My honour is dissatisfied j I must, 
 
 [Levis and Sir Frederick strip. 
 My lord, consider whether it be just 
 To draw my sword against that life which gave 
 Mine but e'en now protection from the grave. 
 
 Beauf. None come into the field to weigh what's 
 right. 
 This is no place for counsel, but for fight : 
 Despatch. 
 
 Bruce. I am resolved I will not fight. 
 
 Beauf. Did I come hither then only to fright 
 A company of fearful slaves away ? 
 My courage stoops not at so mean a prey. 
 Know, Bruce, I hither come to shed thy blood. 
 
 Bruce. Open this bosom, and let out a flood. 
 
 Beauf. I come to conquer bravely in the field. 
 Not to take poor revenge on such as yield. 
 Has nothing power, too backward man ! to move 
 Thy courage ? Think on thy neglected love : 
 Think on the beauteous Graciana's eyes ; 
 'Tis I have robb'd thee of that glorious prize. 
 
 Bruce. There are such charms in Graciana's name, 
 
 \Strips hastily. 
 My scrupulous honour must obey my flame : 
 My lazy courage I with shame condemn : 
 No thoughts have power streams of blood to stem. 
 
 Sir Fred. Come, sir, out of kindness to our friends. 
 
76 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 you and I must pass a small compliment on each 
 other. {They all fight. 
 
 [Beaufort, after many passes, closes with 
 Bruce ; they fall; Beaufort disarms 
 him. 
 Beauf. Here, live ! [<7/z'/«^ Bruce his sword again. 
 Bruce. My lord, you've gain'd a perfect victory ; 
 You've vanquish'd and obliged your enemy. 
 Beauf Hold, gallant men ! 
 
 [Bruce and Beaufort part Levis and 
 Sir Frederick. 
 Lov. Before we bleed ? Do we here fight a prize. 
 Where handsome proffers may for wounds suffice ? 
 I am amazed ! what means this bloodless field ! 
 
 Bruce. The stoutest heart must to his fortune yield. 
 Brave youth ! here honour did with courage vie, 
 
 \To Beaufort. 
 And both agree to grace your victory. 
 Heaven does with such a conquest favour few : 
 'Tis easier to destroy than to subdue. 
 
 !Our bodies may by brutish force be kill'd ; 
 But noble minds, alone to virtue yield. 
 My lord, I've twice received my life from you ; 
 Much is to both those generous actions due : 
 The noble gi\(er I must highly prize, 
 Though I the gift, Heaven knows ! as much despise. 
 Can I desire to live, when all the joy 
 Of my poor life its ransom does destroy ? 
 No, no, Graciana's loss I'll ne'er survive : 
 I pay too dear for this unsought reprieve. 
 
 \Falls on his sword, and is desperately wounded. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 77 
 
 Beauf. Hold, gallant man ! Honour herself does 
 bleed ; 
 
 [Running to him, takes him in his arms. 
 All generous hearts are wounded by this deed. 
 
 Lov. He does his blood for a lost mistress spend ; 
 And shall not I bleed for so brave a friend ? 
 
 [Lovis offers to fall on his sword, but is hindered 
 by Sir Frederick. 
 Sir Fred. Forbear, sir, the frolic's not to go round, 
 as I take it. 
 
 Beauf. 'Twere greater friendship to assist me here ; 
 
 I hope the wound's not mortal, though I fear 
 
 Bruce. My sword, I doubt, has fail'd in my relief; 
 'T has made a vent for blood, but not for grief. 
 
 [Bruce struggling,T^ovis andSm Frederick 
 
 help to hold him. 
 Let me once more the unkind weapon try : 
 Will ye prolong my pain ? oh, cruelty ! 
 
 Lov. Ah, dearest Bruce, can you thus careless be 
 Of our great friendship and your loyalty ? 
 Look on your friend ; your drooping country view ; 
 And think how much they both expect from you. 
 You for a mistress waste that precious blood 
 Which should be spent but for our master's good. 
 
 Sir Fred. Expense of blood already makes him 
 faint ; let's carry him to the next house, till we can 
 procure a chair to convey him to my Lord Bevill's, 
 the best place for accommodation. 
 
 \They all take him up. 
 
 Beauf. Honour has play'd an after game ; this field 
 
 The conqueror does unto the conquer'd yield. \Exeunt. 
 
78 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Scene V. 
 Enter Graciana weeping, 
 
 Grac. Farewell all thoughts of happiness, farewell ! 
 My fears together with my sorrows swell : 
 While from my eyes there flows this crystal flood 
 From their brave hearts there flow such streams of 
 
 blood. 
 Here I am lost, while both for me contend ; 
 With what success can this strange combat end ? 
 Honour with honour fights for victory, 
 And love is made the common enemy. 
 
 Enter Lord Bevill. 
 
 Z. Bev. Weeping ! Ah, child ! 
 
 Grac. Kill me not with expectation, sir. 
 L. Bev. The generous Bruce has killed himself for 
 you. Being disarmed and at his rival's mercy, his 
 life and sword were given him by the noble youth. 
 He made a brave acknowledgment for both; but 
 then, considering you were lost, he scorned to live ; 
 and, falling on his sword, has given himself a mortal 
 wound. \_Exit Lord Bevill. 
 
 Enter Aurelia weeping. 
 Aurel. Cruel Graciana, go but in and see 
 The fatal triumph of your victory. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 79 
 
 The noble Bruce, to your eternal shame, 
 
 With his own blood has quench'd his raging flame, 
 
 Grac. {weeftng). My carriage shall in these misfor- 
 tunes prove 
 That I have honour too, as well as love. 
 
 Aurel. (aside). Thy sorrows, sad Aurelia, will declare 
 At once, I fear, thy love and thy despair : 
 These streams of grief straight to a flood will rise ; 
 I can command my tongue, but not my eyes. 
 
 \Exit Aurelia. 
 
 Grac. In what a maze, Graciana, dost thou tread ! 
 Which is the path that doth to honour lead ? 
 I in this labyrinth so resolve to move. 
 That none shall judge I am misled by love. 
 
 Enter Beaufort. 
 
 Beauf. Here conquerors must forget their victories, 
 And homage pay to your victorious eyes. 
 Graciana, hither your poor slave is come 
 After his conquest to receive his doom : 
 Smile on his victory ; had he proved untrue 
 To honour, he had then proved false to you. 
 
 Grac. Perfidious man, can you expect from me 
 An approbation of your treachery ? 
 When I, distracted with prophetic fears, 
 Blasted with sighs, and almost drown'd in tears, 
 Begg'd you to moderate your rage last night. 
 Did you not promise me you would not fight ? 
 Go now and triumph in your victory ; 
 Into the field you went my enemy. 
 And are return'd the only man I. hate, 
 
So THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 The wicked' instrument of my sad fate. 
 My love has but dissembled been to thee, 
 To try my generous lover's constancy. {Exit Graciana. 
 Beauf. Oh, Heaven ! how strange and cruel is my 
 fate! 
 Preserved by love, to be destroy'd by hate ! 
 
 \Exit Beaufort. 
 
 Scene VI. — The Widow's House. 
 
 Enter Betty and Letitia {the two chambermaids) 
 severally. 
 
 Betty. Oh, Lettice, we have stayed for you. 
 
 Lettt. What hast thou done to the Frenchman, girl ? 
 He lies yonder neither dead nor drunk; nobody 
 knows what to make of him. 
 
 Betty. I sent for thee to help make sport with him ; 
 he'll come to himself, nevet fear him. Have you not 
 observed how scurvily he's looked of late ? 
 
 Letit. Yes ; and he protests it is for love of you. 
 
 Betty. Out upon him, for a dissembling rascal ! 
 he's got the foul disease ; our coachman discovered it 
 by a bottle of diet-drink he brought and hid behind 
 the stairs, into which I infused a little opium. 
 
 Letit. What dost intend to do with him ? 
 
 Betty. You shall see. 
 
 Enter Coachman with a ttib without a bottom, which 
 should at the top be locked, and a hole to put onis 
 head out at, made easy to be borne on onis shoulders. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 8 J 
 
 Coachman. Here's the tub ; where's the Frenchman? 
 
 £etty. He lies behind the stairs; haste and bring 
 
 him in, that he may take quiet possession of his 
 
 wooden tenement ; for 'tis near his time of waking. 
 
 {The Coachman and another servant bring 
 
 in DuFOY, and put him info the tub. 
 
 Is the fiddler at hand that used to play at the blind 
 
 alehouse ? 
 
 Coachman. He's ready. 
 
 Enter a Fiddler. 
 
 Betty. Well, let's hear now what a horrible noise 
 you can make to wake this gentleman. 
 
 {^Fiddler plays a tune. 
 
 Letit. He wants a helping hand ; his eyelids are 
 sealed up ; see how the wax sticks upon 'em. 
 
 [DUFOY be^ns to wake. 
 Let me help you, monsieur. 
 
 Duf. Vat ard you ? Jernie 1 vat is dis ? Am I Jack 
 in a boxd ? Begar, who did puttd me here ? 
 
 Betty. Good-morrow, monsieur; will you be pleased 
 to take your pills this morning ? 
 
 Duf. Nod ; but I vo'd have de diable take youd ; it 
 vas youd dat did abusd me dus, vas it notd ? Begar, I 
 vil killd ale de shambermaid in England^. 
 
 Letit. Will you be pleased to drink, monsieur? 
 There's a bottle of your diet-drink within. 
 
 Duf. Are youd de littel diable come to torment^ 
 me ? Morbleu I vas ever man afrontd in dis nature ! 
 
 Betty. Methinks he has fort bonne mine, monsieur. 
 
 G 
 
82 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Now, if you please to make your little adresse and 
 your amour, you will not find me so coy. 
 
 Duf. Begar, I vil no mari6 de cousin-germane of 
 de dtable. 
 
 Letit. What should he do with a wife ? He has not 
 house-room for her. 
 
 Betty. Why do you not keep your head within doors, 
 monsieur? 
 
 Letit. Now there's such a storm abroad. 
 
 Duf. Why did not youd keep your maidenheadd 
 vid in door^ ? Begar \ tell^ me datd. 
 
 Coachman. Have, you any fine French commodities 
 to sell — ^gloves and ribbons? You've got a veiy 
 convenient shop, monsieur. 
 
 Duf. I do hope you vil have veri^ convenient 
 halter^, begar. Jemie ! can I not tar^ dis tinge in de 
 pices? 
 
 Betty. You begin to sweat, monsieur; the tub is 
 proper for you. 
 
 Duf. I have no more patienc^ ; I vil breakd dis 
 prison, or I vil breaks my nek^ and ye shall aid be 
 hangd. {Struggles to get out. 
 
 Letit. He begins to rave ; bless the poor man ! 
 
 Betty. Some music quickly to compose his mind ! 
 {The music plays, and they dance about him. 
 How prettily the snail carries his tenement on his back ! 
 {He walks with the tub on his back. 
 I'm sorry I am but his mistress : if I had been your 
 wife, monsieur, I had made you a complete snail ; your 
 horns should have appeared. 
 
 Duf I vil have de patiencd, dere is no oder 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 83 
 
 remedd ; you be al6 de raskald whore ; de diable take 
 you aid ; and I vil say no more, begar. 
 
 Betty. This is a very fine vessel and would swim 
 well J let's to the horse-pond with him. 
 
 Letit. Come, come, he looks as sullenly as a hare in 
 her form ; let's leave him. 
 
 Coachman. Your serviteur tris humble, monsieur. 
 
 \Exeunt all but Dufoy. 
 
 Duf. Bougrel I canno hangd myselfd; begar, I 
 canno drownd myselfd; I vil go hidd myselfd, and 
 starvd to dyd ; I vil no be de laughd for every jacka- 
 napd English^. Morbku t 
 
 Scene VII. 
 
 S ir Fr ederick is brought in upon a bier, with a 
 mourning cloth over him, attended by a Gentleman 
 in a. mourning cloak. Four Fiddlers carry the 
 corpse, with their instruments tucked under their 
 cloaks. 
 
 Enter the Widow weeping. 
 
 Mourner. Madam,^ you must expect a bloody con- 
 sequence 
 When men of such prodigious courage fight. 
 The young Lord Beaufort was the first that fell, 
 After his sword too deeply had engaged 
 His rival not to stay behind him long. 
 Sir Frederick with your nephew bravely fought ; 
 Death long did keep his distance, as if he 
 
 ' The speech, is printed as -verse in the old copies. 
 
34 / THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Had fear'd excess of valour ; but when they, 
 O'erloaded with their wounds, began to faint, 
 He with his terrors did invade their breasts. 
 Fame soon brought many to the tragic place, 
 Where I found my dearest friend, Sir Frederick, 
 Almost as poor in breath as blood : 
 He took me by the hand, and all the stock he'd left 
 He spent, madam, in calling upon you. 
 He first proclaim'd your virtues, then his love ; 
 And having charged me to convey his corpse hither, 
 To wait, on you, his latest breath expired with 
 The command. 
 
 Wid. The world's too poor to recompense this loss. 
 Unhappy woman ! why should I survive 
 The only man in whom my joys did live ? 
 My dreadful grief ! \The Fiddlers prepare. 
 
 Enter Dufoy in his tub. 
 
 Duf. Oh, my matr^, my matr^ ! who has kill my 
 raatrd? Morbleul I vil — — 
 
 \The Widow shrieks and runs out ; all the 
 Fiddlers i~un out in a fright. 
 Oh, de diable, de diable ! 
 
 [Sir Frederick starts up, which frights Dufoy. 
 Sir Fred. What devilish accident is this ? Or has 
 the widow undermined me ? 
 
 Enter the Widow and her Maid laughing. 
 
 I shall be laughed to death now, indeed, by chamber- 
 maids. Why have you no pity, widow ? 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 85 
 
 Wid. None at all for the living; ha, ha, ha ! You 
 see we're provided for your frolic, sir ; ha, ha ! 
 
 Sir Fred. Laugh but one minute longer, I will for- 
 swear thy company, kill thy tabby cat, and make thee 
 weep for ever after. 
 
 Wid. Farewell, sir ; expect at night to see the old 
 man, with his paper lantern and cracked spectacles, 
 singing your woeful tragedy to kitchenmaids and 
 cobblers' 'prentices. 
 
 [ Widow offers to go. Sir Frederick holds 
 her by the arm. 
 
 Sir Fred. Hark you, hark you, widow. By all those 
 devils that have hitherto possessed thy sex 
 
 Wid. No swearing, good Sir Frederick. 
 
 Sir Fred. Set thy face then ; let me not see the 
 remains of one poor smile. So now I will kiss thee 
 and be friends. [ Widow falls out a-laughing. 
 
 Not all thy wealth shall hire me to come within smell of 
 thy breath again. Jealousy and, which will be worse ') 
 for thee, widow, impotence light upon me, if I stay ) 
 one moment longer with thee. {Offers to go. ' 
 
 Wid. Do you hear, sir ; can you be so angry with 
 one that loves you so passionately she cannot survive 
 you? 
 
 Sir Fred. Widow, may the desire of man keep thee 
 waking till thou art as mad as I am. 
 
 {Exit Sir Frederick. 
 
 Wid. How lucky was this accident! How he 
 would have insulted over my weakness else ! 
 Sir Frederick, 'since I've warning, you shall prove 
 More subtile ways, before I own my love. {Exeunt. 
 
 J 
 
86 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene L — ^The Lord Bevili.'s House. 
 
 EnUr LoTis, a Surgeoti, Servanis carrying Bkcce 
 in a dimr. 
 
 Surgeon. 
 
 COURAGE^ brave sir j do not mistmst my ait 
 Brtue. Tdll me, didst then e'er care a voonded 
 heart? 
 Thy skin, fond man ! tboa here anfdoy'st in vain ; 
 Hie ease then giv'st does but increase my pain. 
 
 Lov. Dear Bmce^ my life does on yonr life depaid; 
 Though yoa HisHafn to ^ve, yet save your frioid 
 Bruce. Do what yon please; bat are not those 
 unkind 
 That ease the body to afflict the mind ? 
 
 \The SuT^oH dftsses km. 
 Oh, crael love ! tboa shoot'st iridi such strange skiD, 
 The wonnds thon mak'st will ndther heal nor kill : 
 Thy flaming arrows kindle such a fire 
 As will not waste thy victims, nor expire \ 
 
 Enter AnssuA. 
 Lim. Is the wound mortal? tdl me, [7b the Snr- 
 geen.] or may we choish hopes of his recovery ? 
 
LOVE IN A 7'UB. 87 
 
 Surg. The danger is not imminent. Yet my prog- 
 nostic bodes a sad event] for though there be no 
 great vessel dissected, yet I have cause to fear that 
 the parenchyma of the right lobe of the lungs, near 
 some large branch of the asperia arteria, is perforated. 
 
 Lov. Tell me, in English, will he live or die ? 
 
 Surg. Truly, I despair of his recovery. 
 
 {Exit Surgeon. 
 
 Aurel. {aside). Forgive me, ladies, if excess of love ") 
 Me beyond rules of modesty does move, 
 And, against custom, makes me now reveal 
 Those flames my tortured breast did long conceal ; 
 'Tis some excuse, that I my love declare 
 When there's no medicine left to cure despair. 
 
 [ Weeps by the diair-side. 
 
 Bruce. Oh, Heaven ! can fair Aurelia weep for me ? 
 This is some comfort to my misery. 
 Kind maid, those eyes should only pity take 
 Of such as feel no wounds but what they make : 
 Who for another in your sight does mourn 
 Deserves not your compassion, but your scorn. 
 
 Aurel. I come not here with tears to pity you ; 
 I for your pity with this passion sue. 
 
 Bruce. My pity ! tell me, what can be the grief 
 That from the miserable hopes relief? 
 
 Aurel. Before you know this grief, you feel the pain. 
 
 Bruce. You cannot love, and not be loved again : 
 Where so much beauty does with love conspire. 
 No mortal can resist that double fire. 
 
 Aurel. When proud Graciana wounded your brave 
 heart, 
 
88 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 On poor Aurelia's you revenged the smart : 
 While you in vain did seek those wounds to cure, 
 With patience I their torture did endure. 
 
 Bruce. My happiness has been so long conceal'd, 
 That it becomes my misery reveal'd : 
 That which should prove my joy, now proves my 
 
 grief, 
 And that brings pain, which, known, had brought 
 
 relief. 
 Aurelia, why would you not let me know, 
 , While I had power to pay, the debt I owe ? 
 'Tis now too late ; yet all I can I'll do, 
 I'll sigh away the breath I've left for you. 
 
 Aurel. You yet have power to grant me all I crave ; 
 'Tis not your love I court, I court your grave. 
 I with my flame seek not to warm your breast, 
 But beg my ashes in your urn may rest : 
 For since Graciana's loss you scom'd t'outlive, 
 I am resolved I'll not your death survive. 
 
 Bruce. Hold, you too generous are ; yet I may live : 
 Heaven for your sake may grant me a reprieve. 
 
 Aurel. Oh, no ; Heaven has decreed, alas ! that we 
 Should in our fates, not in our loves agree. 
 
 Bruce. Dear friend, my rashness I too late repent ; 
 I ne'er thought death till now a punishment. 
 
 \To Levis. 
 
 Enter Graciana. 
 Grac. Oh, do not talk of death ! the very sound 
 Once more will give my heart a mortal wound : 
 Here on my knees, I've sinn'd, I must confess, 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. % 
 
 Against your love and my own happiness ; 
 I, like the child, whose folly proves his loss, 
 Refused the gold and did accept the dross. 
 
 Bruce. You have in Beaufort made so good 
 choice, 
 His virtue's such, he has his rival's voice ; 
 Graciana, none but his great soul could prove 
 Worthy to be the centre of your love. 
 
 Grac. You to another would such virtue give, 
 Brave sir, as in yourself does only live. 
 If to the most deserving I am due, 
 He must resign his weaker claim to you. 
 
 Bruce. This is but flattery ; for I'm sure you can 
 Think none so worthy as that generous man : 
 By honour you are his. 
 
 Grac. Yet, sir, I know 
 
 How much I to your generous passion owe ; 
 You bleed for me ; and if for me you die. 
 Your loss I'll mourn with vow'd virginity. 
 
 Bruce. Can you be mindful of so small a debt, 
 And that which you to Beaufort owe forget ? 
 That will not honour but injustice be : 
 Honour with justice always does agree. 
 This generous pity which for me you show. 
 Is more than you to my misfortunes owe : 
 These tears, Graciana, which for me you shed, 
 O'erprize the blood which I for you have bled : 
 
 But now I can no more 
 
 My spirits faint within my wearied breast. 
 
 Lov. Sister, 'tis fit you give him leave to rest. 
 Who waits ? 
 
90 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 With care convey him to his bed. 
 
 Bruce. Hold 
 
 Dearest Aurelia, I will strive to live, 
 If you will but endeavour not to grieve. 
 
 Lov. Brave man ! The wonder of this age thou'lt 
 prove, 
 For matchless gratitude and generous love. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Graciana. 
 Grac. How strangely is my soul perplex'd by fate ! 
 The man I love I must pretend to hate, 
 And with dissembled scorn his presence fly, 
 Whose absence is my greatest misery ! 
 
 Enter Beaufort. 
 Beauf. Hear me, upon my knees I beg you'll hear. 
 She's gone. \Exit Graciana. 
 
 There was no need, false woman ! to increase 
 My misery with hopes of happiness. 
 This scorn at first had to my love and me 
 But justice been ; now it is cruelty. 
 Was there no way his constancy to prove, 
 But by your own inconstancy in love ? 
 To try another's virtue could you be, 
 Graciana, to your own an enemy ? 
 Sure 'tis but passion which she thus does vent, 
 Blown up with anger and with discontent ; 
 Because my honour disobey'd her will. 
 And Bruce for love of her his blood did spill. 
 I once more in her eyes will read my fate ; 
 I need no wound to kill me, if she hate. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 91 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Enter Cully di-unk, with a blind Fellow led before him 
 playing on a cymbal, followed by a number of Boys 
 holloing and persecuting him. 
 
 Cul. Villains, sons of unknown fathers, tempt me 
 no more. \The Boys shout at him, he draws his sword. 
 I will make a young generation of cripples to succeed 
 in Lincoln's Inn Fields ^ and Covent Garden. The 
 barbarous breeding of these London boys ! 
 
 [Frights the Boys away. 
 
 Boy that leads the Cymbfil. Whither do you intend to 
 go, sir? 
 
 Cul. To see the wealthy widow, Mrs, Rich. 
 
 Boy. Where does she dwell, sir ? 
 
 Cul. Hereabouts; inquire; I will serenade her at 
 noonday. - [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter the Widow and her Maid Betty. 
 
 Wid. Where is this poor Frenchman, girl? he's 
 done me good service. 
 Betty. The butler has got him down into the cellar, 
 
 1 "Frequented," says Cunningham, Handbook to London, 
 " from a very early period down to the year 1735, by wrestlers, 
 bowlers, cripples, beggars, and idle boys." Gay wanis his 
 readers : 
 
 Where Lincoln's Inn, wide space, is railed around 
 Cross not with venturous step. 
 
92 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 madam, made him drunk, and laid him to sleep among 
 his empty casks. 
 
 Wid. Pray, when he wakes let him be released of 
 bis imprisonment. Betty, you use your servant too 
 severely. Hark ! what ridiculous noise is that ? 
 
 \The Cymbal plays without. 
 It sets my teeth on edge worse than the scraping of 
 trenchers. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Madame, a rude drunken fellow, with a 
 cymbal before him, and his sword in his hand, is 
 pressed into your house. 
 
 Enter Cully and Cymbal ; the Women shriek. 
 
 Cul. Sirrah, play me a bawdy tune, to please the 
 widow. Have at thee, widow ! 
 
 Betty. 'Tis one of Oliver's knights,^ madam. Sir 
 Nicholas Cully ; his mother was my grandmother's 
 dairymaid. 
 
 Enter Servants ; they lay hands on him, and take away 
 his sword. 
 
 Cul. Let me go; I am not so drunk but I can 
 stand without your help, gentlemen. Widow, here is 
 music ; send for a parson, and we will dance Bamaby 
 within this half-hour. 
 
 Wid. I will send for a constable, sir. 
 
 '■ Compare scene 2 in the first act : " one whom Oliver . . . 
 has dishonoured with knighthood." Fifty years earlier James I.'s 
 knights had been a butt for satire. Etheredge lets us know 
 periodically that he was a Royalist. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 93 
 
 Cul. Hast a mind to see me beat him? How 
 those rogues dread me ! Did not Wheedle tell thee 'j 
 upon what conditions I would condescend to make 
 thee my bedfellow ; widow, speak ! 
 
 Wid. This is some drunken mistake; away with 
 him ; thrust him out of door. 
 
 Enter a Servant; clashing of swords and noise ■without. 
 
 Serv. Help, help, for Sir Frederick ! 
 Wid. What's the matter ? 
 
 Serv. He is fighting, madame, with a company of 
 bailiffs that would arrest him at the door. 
 
 Wid. Haste everyone and rescue him quickly. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Cully. 
 Cul. Widow, come back. I say, widow, I will not 
 stir one foot after thee. Come back, I say, widow. 
 
 [Falls down and sleeps. 
 
 Enter BvvoY. 
 
 Duf. Vat de diable be de matre? here is de ver 
 strange varkd in dis house ; de vemen day do cry, ha, 
 ha, ha ; de men day do run, day do take de baton, 
 de dung-vork^, and de vire-vork^j vat is here, van 
 kille? [Looking on Qv\AN. 
 
 Enter Betty. 
 
 Betty. You are a trusty servant, indeed. Here you 
 are locked up, while your poor master is arrested and 
 dragged away by unmerciful bailiffs. 
 
 Z>«^. Mymatrd? Jernie! Metres Bet, lett^ me go; 
 
94 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 begar, I vil kill all^ de bougres de baili^ and recover 
 my matr^. Bougres de bailid ! 
 
 Betty. So, make all the haste you can. 
 
 {She helps him out of the tub. 
 
 Duf. Morbleu ! bougres de bailid ! I vil go prepare to 
 kill^ a tousand bailie, begar. Bougres de bailid ! {Exit 
 
 Enter the Widow and Servant severally. 
 
 Wid. Well, what news? 
 
 Serv. Madam, they have arrested him upon an 
 execution for two hundred pounds, and carried him 
 to a bailiffs house hard by. 
 
 Wid. If that be all, Betty, take my key and give 
 him the money in gold ; do you content the bailiffs, 
 but let Sir Frederick know nothing of it ; and then 
 let them bring him to my house as their prisoner. 
 Despatch. {Exeunt Betty and Savant. 
 
 Enter a Footboy. 
 
 Footboy. Pray, madam, is there not a stray gentle- 
 man here, misled by drink? 
 
 Wid. There lies the beast you look for; you had 
 best remove him quickly, or I shall cause him to be 
 put into the pound. {Exit Widow. 
 
 Footboy. If I do not get this fool clear off before he 
 comes to himself, our plot is quite spoiled. This 
 summer livery may chance to hover over my shivering 
 limbs next winter. Yonder sits honest Palmer, my 
 poor master, in a coach, quaking for fear j all that see 
 him in that reverend disguise will swear he has got the 
 palsy. Ho, Sir Nicholas ! {Pulls him. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 95 
 
 Cul. I will drink three beer-glasses to the widow's 
 health before I go. 
 
 Footboy. The widow stays for you to wait upon her 
 to the Exchange. 
 
 Cul. Let her go into her bedchamber and meditate ; 
 I am not drunk enough to be seen in her company. 
 
 Footboy. I must carry him away upon my back ; 
 but since things may go ill, 'tis good to make sure of 
 something. I'll examine his pockets first. So, for 
 this I thank my own ingenuity ; inJhis_waj^of_jglain 
 dealing I can live without the help of my master. _ 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Pray, sir, will you help me up with my burden ? 
 
 Serv. I am sure your master has his load already. 
 
 \They lift him up. 
 
 Cul. Carry me to my widow, boy. Where is my 
 music ? 
 
 Enter Sir Frederick with the Bailiffs, who are 
 Fiddlers disguised, with their fiddles under their 
 coats, at one door, and the Widow at another. 
 
 Boy. There is no hopes now ; I'll shift for myself. 
 
 \Exit Boy. 
 
 Sir Fred. Widow, these are old acquaintance of 
 
 mine ; bid them welcome. I was coming to wait 
 
 upon you before ; but meeting them by tlae way, they 
 
 pressed me to drink 
 
 [Cully reels against Sir Frederick. 
 
 Cul. Sir Frederick! Widow, bid him welcome; 
 
 he is a very good friend of mine, and as mad a fellow 
 
96 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 as myself. Kiss, kiss the widow, man ; she has a 
 plump under-lip and kisses smartly. 
 
 Sir Fred. What's here ? Cully drunk, transformed 
 into a gallant, and acquainted with the spring and 
 proportion of the widow's lips ! 
 
 Cul. Ay, I am drunk, sir ; am I not, widow ? I 
 scorn to be soberer than yourself. I will drink with 
 you, swear with you, break windows with you, and so 
 forth. 
 
 Sir Fred. Widow, is this your champion ? 
 
 Wid. You have no exceptions against him, I hope ; 
 he has challenged you at your own weapons. 
 
 Cul. Widow, Sir Frederick shall be one of our 
 bridemen ; I will have none but such mad fellows at 
 our wedding ; but before I marry thee, I will consider 
 upon it. \He sits down and sleeps. 
 
 Sir Fred. Pray, widow, how long have you been 
 acquainted with thisjnirror,of knighthood ? ^ 
 
 Wid. Long enough, you hear, sir, to treat of marriage. 
 
 Sir Fred. What? You intend me for a reserve, then? 
 You will have two strings to your boW, widow. I per- 
 ceive your cunning, and, faith, I think I shall do you 
 the heartier service if thou employest me by the by. 
 
 Wid. You are an excellent gallant indeed. Shake 
 off these lousy companions ; come carry your mistress 
 to the Park, and treat her at the Mulberry Garden ' 
 this glorious evening. 
 
 ' So in The Old. .Bachelor, ii. I : " The mirror of knight- 
 hood and pink of courtesy." The expression, of course, was 
 borrowed from the title of the old romance. 
 
 " Often mentioned. It served as the title of one of Sedley's 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 
 
 97 
 
 Sir Fred. Widow, I am a man of business; that 
 ceremony's to be performed by idle fellows. 
 
 Wid. What would you give to such a friend as 
 should despatch this business now, and make you one 
 of those idle fellows. 
 
 Sir Fred. Faith, pick and choose ; I carry all my 
 wealth about me ; do it, and I am all at thy service, 
 widow. 
 
 Wid. Well, I have done it, sir; you are at liberty, 
 and a leg now will satisfy me. 
 
 Sir Fred. Good faith, thou art too reasonable, dear 
 widow ; modesty will wrong thee. 
 
 Wid. Are you satisfied ? 
 
 Fiddler. Yes, madam. 
 
 Enter Dufoy, with a helmet on his head, and a great 
 siuord in his i}and. 
 
 Duf. Vare are de bougres de bailid? Tete-bleu, 
 bougres rogues. [He falls upon the Fiddlers. 
 
 Fiddlers. Help, help. Sir Frederick; murder, murder ! 
 Alas ! sir, we are not bailiffs ; you may see we are men 
 of an honester vocation. [ They show their instruments. 
 
 Sir Fred. Hold, hold, thou mighty man-at-arms ! 
 
 Duf. Morbleu, de fiddler ! and is my matrd at 
 liberty? Play me de trichat^, or de jegg English^, 
 
 comedies. Pepys found the gardens "a silly place," May 20tli, 
 1 658. Evelyn speaks of them — writing in 1654 — " as the only 
 place of refreshment about the town for persons of the best 
 quality, — Cromwell and his partisans having shut up and seized 
 on Spring Garden." The grounds ceased to be a public resort 
 somewhere about 1673. 
 
 H 
 
98 i THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 quickly, or I will make you all dance vidout your 
 fiddle; quikd! 
 
 Wid. I am overreached, I perceive. 
 
 [DuFOY dances a jig. 
 
 Sir Fred. Kind widow, thank thee for this release. 
 Laugh, widow. \_Shakes his pockets. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha ! where is your counterplot, widow? Ha, 
 ha, ha ! Laugh at her, Dufoy. Come, be not so melan- 
 choly ; we'll to the park. I care not if I spend a piece 
 or two upon thee in tarts and cheesecakes. Pish, 
 widow, why so much out of humour ? 'Tis no shame 
 to love such a likely young fellow. 
 
 Wid. I could almost find in my heart to punish 
 myself to afflict thee, and marry that drunken sot I 
 never saw before. 
 
 Sir Fred. How came he hither? 
 
 Wid. Inquire elsewhere; I will not answer thee one 
 question, nor let thee see me out of a mask any more 
 this fortnight. 
 
 Sir Fred. Go, go into thy closet, look over thy old 
 receipts, and talk wantonly now and then with thy 
 chambermaid ; I shall not trouble thee much till this 
 is spent; and by that time thy foolish vow will be 
 near over. \Shakes his pockets. 
 
 Wid. I want patience to endure this insolence. Is 
 my charity rewarded thus ? 
 
 Sir Fred. Pious widow, call you this charity? 
 'Twill get thee little hereafter; thou must answer for 
 every sin it occasions. Here is wine and women in 
 abundance. \Shakes his pockets, 
 
 Wid. Avoid my house, and never more come near rae. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 
 
 99 
 
 Sir Fred. But hark you, hark you, widow ; do you 
 think this can last always ? 
 
 Wid. Ungrateful man ! {Exit Widow. 
 
 Sir Fred. She's gone; impatience for these two I ^ 
 hours possess her, and then I shall be pretty well j 
 revenged. 
 
 Duf. Begar, matrd, have you not de ver faithful 
 serviteur? you do never take notice of my merit. 
 
 Sir Fred. Dufoy, thou art a man of courage and 
 hast done bravely; I will cast oflF this suit a week 
 sooner than I intended, to reward thy service. 
 
 Duf. Begar, I have several time given you ver 
 dangerous testimoni^ of my affection. 
 
 Enter a Servant, who takes up Cully in his arms. 
 
 Sir Fred. Whither do you carry him ? 
 
 Serv. Sir, there is an old gentleman below in a 
 coach, very like my Lord Bevill, who, hearing what a 
 condition Sir Nicholas was in, desired me to bring 
 him to him in my arms. 
 
 Cul. Let me go; where is the widow? 
 
 Sir Fred. What widow ? 
 
 Cul. Mrs. Rich ; she is to be my wife. 
 
 Sir Fred. But do you hear. Sir Nicholas? how long 
 have you courted this widow ? 
 
 Cul. Mr. Wheedle can tell you. Trouble me not 
 with idle questions, Sir Frederick; you shall be welcome 
 at any time ; she loves men that will roar, and drink, 
 and serenade her. 
 
 ~^ir'~^red. This is some strange mistake; sure 
 Wheedle, intending to chouse him, has showed him 
 
loo THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 some counterfeit widow, and he being drunk has b^en 
 misguided to the true widow's house. The fellow in 
 the coach may discover all ; I will step and see who 
 it is. Hold him here, Dufoy, till I return. Gentle- 
 men, come you with me. 
 
 \Exit Sir Frkderick and. Fiddlers. 
 
 Cul. Where is my mistress ? 
 
 Duf, Vat metres ? 
 
 Cul. The widow. 
 
 Duf. She be de metres of my matre. 
 
 Cul. You lie, sirrah. 
 
 Duf. Begar, you be be jackanape to tell^ me I do 
 lyea. 
 
 Cul. You are a French rascal, and I will blow your 
 nose without a handkerchief. 
 
 [He pulls Dufoy by the nose. 
 
 Duf. Help^, help6 me ! Morbleu/l-nlh&aX.youyid. 
 my fiste and my footd, telld you askd me de pardon. 
 Take dat and dat6 ; ask^ me de pardon. 
 
 \CvLLY falls down, and Dufoy beats him. 
 
 Cul. I ask your pardon, sirrah ? 
 
 Duf. Sirrah! TUe-bleu! {^Offers to strike. 
 
 Enter Sir Frederick and Fiddlers, leading in Palmer 
 trembling. 
 
 Sir Fred. Hold, hold, Dufoy. 
 Duf. Begar, he do merite to be beatd ; he sware he 
 vil marr^ yourd metres. 
 
 Falm. I beseech you, Sir Frederick. 
 
 Cul. My Lord Bevill ! 
 
 Sir Fred. So, he takes him for my Lord Bevill; 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. lo 
 
 now the plot will out. 'Tis_fitjhis_rascal should be ' 
 cheated j but these rogues will deaTtoo unmercifullv 
 withjhim. I'll take compassion upon himT and use 
 hmi^^rejayourabiy myself. '" ' 
 
 Cul. My lord, where is the mad wench your sister? 
 [Sir Frederick /K//f (t^ Palmer's disguise. 
 
 Sir Fred. Look you, Sir Nicholas, where is my Lord 
 Bevill now ? 
 
 Cul. My merry countryman, Mr. Palmer ! I thought 
 you had been in Buckinghamshire. \Sings. 
 
 And he took her by the apron. 
 To bring her to his beck. 
 
 Never a catch now, my merry countryman ? Sir 
 Frederick, I owe this gentleman a thousand pounds. 
 
 Sir Fred. How so ? 
 
 Cul. He won it of me at dice ; Wheedle went my 
 halves, and we have given him a judgment for it. 
 
 Sir Fred. This was the roguery you had been about 
 the other night, when I met you in disguise. Palmer. 
 You'll never leave your cheating and your robbing ; 
 how many robberies do I know of your committing ? 
 
 Palm. The truth is, sir, you know enough to hang 
 me; but you are a worthy gentleman and a lover of 
 ingenuity. 
 
 Sir Fred. This will not pass. Produce the judgment. 
 
 Palm. Alas, sir ! Mr. Wheedle has it. 
 
 Sir Fred. Produce it, or Fetch the constable, boy. 
 
 Palm. Sir Frederick, be merciful to a sorrowful 
 rascal : here is a copy of the judgment, as it is 
 entered. 
 
( 
 
 102 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Sir Fred. Well, who is this counterfeit widow? 
 Confess. 
 
 Falm. Truly, 'twas Wheedle's contrivance ; a pox on 
 him ! Never no good comes on't when men are so 
 unconscionable in their dealings. 
 
 Cul. What, am I cheated, Sir Frederick? Sirrah, 
 I will have you hanged. 
 
 Sir Fred. Speak ; who is this widow? 
 Falm. 'Tis Grace, sir, Wheedle's mistress, whom he 
 has placed in my Lady Dawbwell's house. I am but 
 a poor instrument, abused by that rascal. 
 
 Sir Fred. You see. Sir Nicholas, what villains these 
 are ; they have cheated you of a thousand pounds, and 
 would have married you to a wench, had I not dis- 
 covered their villainy. 
 
 Cul. I am beholding to you. Sir Frederick; they 
 are rogues— villainous rogues. But where is the widow ? 
 Sir Fred. Why, you saw the true widow here a little 
 while ago. 
 
 Cul. The truth is, methought she was something 
 comelier than my mistress j but will not this widow 
 marry me ? "^ 
 
 Sir Fred. She is my mistress. 
 Cul. I will have none of her then. 
 Sir Fred. Well, I have discovered this cheat, kept 
 you from marrying a wench, and will save you the 
 thousand pounds too. Now, if you have a mind to 
 marry, what think you of my sister? She is a plain 
 brown girl, and has a good portion; but not out' 
 
 ' Not more than. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 103 
 
 twenty thousand pounds. This offer proves I have a 
 perfect kindness for you. 
 
 Cul. I have heard she is, a very fine gentlewoman ; 
 I will marry her forthwith and be your brother-in-law. 
 
 Sir Fred. Come then, I'll carry you where you may 
 see her and ask her consent. Palmer, you must go 
 along with us, and by the way assign this judgment, 
 to me. Do you guard him, gentlemen. 
 
 \To the Fiddlers. 
 
 Sir Fred. Come, Sir Nicholas. 
 
 Cul. How came I hither ? 
 
 Sir Fred. You will be satisfied in that hereafter. 
 
 Palm. What cursed accident was this? What 
 mischievous stars have the managing of my fortune ? 
 Here's a turn with all my heart, like an after-game at 
 Irish ! 
 
 Dtif. Allans! marchez J sherxtehata,marchez/ You 
 make de mouths of de honest shentelmen: begar, 
 you vil make de wry mouths ven you be hangd 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — A Garden. 
 
 Enter Graciana and Letitia severally; Letitia with 
 a nosegay in her hand, 
 
 Grac. Letitia, what hast thou been doing here ? 
 
 Zetit. Cropping the beauty of the youthful year. 
 
 Grac. How innocently dost thou spend thy hours, 
 Selecting from the crowd the choicest flowers ! 
 Where is thy mistress ? 
 
I04 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Letit. Madam, she's with the wounded colonel. 
 Grac. Come then into this arbour, girl, and there 
 With thy sweet voice refresh my wearied soul. 
 
 [ They walk into an arbour ; Letitia sings. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Ladies, though to your conquering eyes 
 Love owes his chief est victories, 
 And borrows those bright arms from you 
 With which he does the world subdue. 
 Yet you yourselves are not above 
 The empire nor the griefs of love. 
 
 Then rack not lovers with disdain. 
 Lest Love on you revenge their pain ; 
 You are not free because yoii re fair ; 
 The Boy did not his Mother spare : 
 
 Beauty's but an offensive dart ; 
 
 It is no armour for the heart. 
 
 Grac. Dear girl, thou art my little confidante ; 
 I oft to thee have breathed my discontent ; 
 And thy sweet voice as oft has eased my care : 
 But now thy breath is like infectious air. 
 
 Enter Beaufort. 
 
 It feeds the secret cause of my disease, 
 And does enrage what it did use t'appease. 
 
 Beauf. (starting). Hark! that was Graciana's voice. 
 
 Grac. Oh, Beaufort ! 
 
 Beauf. She calls on me, and does advance this way : 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 105 
 
 I will conceal myself within this bower; she may 
 The secret causes of my grief betray. 
 
 [Beaufort^(?^j into an arbour, and Graciana 
 and Letitia come upon the stage. 
 
 Grac. Too rigidly my honour I pursue ; ] 
 
 Sure something from me to my love is due : ' 
 
 Within these private shades for him I'll mourn, 
 Whom I in public am obliged to scorn. 
 
 JLetit. Why should you, madam, thus indulge your 
 grief? 
 Love never yet in sorrow found relief : 
 These sighs, like northern winds to th'early spring, 
 Destruction to your blooming beauty bring. 
 
 Grac. Letitia, peace ; my beauty I despise : 
 Would you have me preserve these fatal eyes ? 
 
 Letit. Had you less beauteous been, you'd known 
 less care : 
 Ladies are happiest moderately fair : 
 But now should you your beauty waste, which way 
 Could you the debt it has contracted pay ? 
 
 Grac. Beaufort, didst thou but know I weep for thee. 
 Thou wouldst not blame my scorn, but pity me. 
 
 Letit. When honour first made you your love decline, 
 You from the centre drew a crooked line : 
 You were to Beaufort too severe, I fear. 
 Lest to your love you partial might appear. 
 
 Grac. I did what I in honour ought to do : 
 I yet to Beaufort and my love am true : 
 And if his rival live I'll be his bride ; 
 Joy shall unite whom grief does now divide. 
 But if for love of me brave Bruce does die. 
 
io6 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 I am contracted to his memory. 
 Oh, Beaufort ! 
 
 Beauf. Oh, Graciana ! here am I ! 
 
 By what I've heard fix'd in an ecstasy. 
 
 Grac. We are surprised. Unlucky accident ! 
 Fresh sorrow's added to my discontent. 
 
 \Exeunt Graciana and Letitia leisurely. 
 Beaufort enters. 
 
 Beauf. Graciana, stay ; you can no more contend, 
 Since fortune joins with love to be my friend ; 
 There is no fear of Brace's death ; the wound 
 By abler surgeons is not mortal found. 
 She will not stay. 
 
 My joys, like waters swell'd into a flood. 
 Bear down whate'er their usual streams withstood. 
 
 S^Exit Beaufort. 
 
 Scene IV. — My Lady Dawbwell's House. 
 
 Enter Wheedle and Grace, 
 
 Wheed. I wonder we have yet no tidings of our 
 knight nor Palmer. Fortune still crosses the indus- 
 trious, girl ; when we recover him you must begin to 
 lie at a little openerward ; 'tis dangerous keeping the 
 fool too long at bay, lest some old woodman drop in 
 by chance and discover thou art but a rascal deer. I 
 have counterfeited half-a-dozen mortgages, a dozen 
 bonds, and two scriveners to vouch all ; that will 
 satisfy him in thy estate. He has sent into the 
 country for his writings ; but see, here he comes. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 107 
 
 Enter Sir Nicholas. 
 
 Sir Nicholas, I must chide you, indeed I must ; you 
 neglect your duty here. Nay, madam, never blush ; 
 faith, I'll reveal all. You're the happiest, the luckiest 
 man 
 
 Enter Sir Frederick. 
 
 We're betrayed. Death ! what makes him here ? Sir 
 Frederick, your humble servant, you're come in the 
 luckiest time for mirth. \^To Sir Frederick.] Will 
 you but lend me your ear? Do not you see Sir 
 Nicholas and Grace ? Yonder ; look, look ! 
 
 Sir Fred. Yes. 
 
 Wheed. I am persuading him to keep her ; she's a 
 pretty deserving girl. Faith, let us draw off awhile 
 and laugh among ourselves, for fear of spoiling the 
 poor wench's market ; let us, let us. 
 
 Sir Fred. With all my heart. 
 
 [Bailiffs meet Wheedle at the door, and 
 
 arrest him. 
 
 Bailiffs. We arrest you, sir. 
 
 Wheed. Arrest me ? Sir Frederick, Sir Nicholas ! 
 
 Sir Fred. We are not provided for a rescue at 
 present, sir. 
 
 Wheed. At whose suit ? 
 
 Bailiffs. At Sir Frederick FroUick's. 
 
 Wheed. Sir Frederick FroUick's? I owe him never 
 a farthing. 
 
 Sir Fred. You're mistaken, sir; you owe me a 
 thousand pounds. Look you, do you know Mr. 
 
( io8 J THE COMICAL REVENGE; OH, 
 
 Palmer's hand ? He has assigned such a small debt 
 over to me. 
 
 Enter Palmer and Jenny. 
 
 Wheed. How was I bewitched to trust such a villain! 
 Oh ! rogue, dog, coward. Palmer. 
 
 Palm. Oh ! thou unconscionable Wheedle ; a thou- 
 sand pounds was too small a bubble ! 
 
 Sir Fred. Away with him, away with him. 
 
 Wheed. Nay, Sir Frederick, 'tis punishment enough 
 to fall from my expectation : do not ruin a young 
 man. 
 
 Grace. I beseech you, sir. 
 
 Sir Fred. Thou hast moved me, Grace. Do not 
 tremble, chuck; I love thy profession too well to 
 harm thee. Look you, sir, what think you of a rich 
 widow? \Proffering him the whore. 
 
 Was there no lady to abuse. Wheedle, but my mistress ? 
 no man to bubble but your friend and patron. Sir 
 Nicholas ? But let this pass ; Sir Nicholas is satisfied. 
 Take_ Grace: her^jmairy^Jier, we are all satisfied. 
 She's a pretty deserving girl, and a fortune now in 
 earnest j I'll give her a thousand pounds. 
 
 Wheed. Pray, sir, do but consider 
 
 Sir Fred. No consideration ; despatch, or to limbo. 
 
 Wheed. Was there ever such a dilemma ? I shall 
 rot in prison. Come hither, Grace ; I did but make 
 bold, like a young heir with his estate, before it come 
 into his hands. Little did I think, Grace, that this pasty, 
 when we first cut it up, should have been preserved 
 for my wedding feast. [Stroking her belly. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. t09 
 
 Sir Nich. You are the happiest, the luckiest man, 
 Mr. Wheedle. 
 
 Palm. Much joy, Mr. Wheedle, with your rich 
 widow. 
 
 Wheed. Sir Frederick, shall that rogue Palmer 
 laugh at me ? 
 
 Sir Fred. No, no ; Jenny, come hither ; I'll make 
 thee amends, as well as thy mistress, for the injury I 
 did thee th'other night. Here is a husband for thee, 
 too. Mr. Palmer, where are you ? 
 
 Palm. Alas ! Sir Frederick, I am not able to main- 
 tain her. 
 
 Sir Fred. She shall maintain you, sir. Do not you 
 understand the mystery of stiponie, Jenny ? 
 
 Maid. I know how to make democuana, sir. 
 
 Sir Fred. Thou art richly endowed, i' faith. Here, 
 here, Palmer ; no " shall I ? shall I ? " : this or that, 
 which you deserve better. 
 
 Palm. This is but a short reprieve ; the gallows will 
 be my destiny. 
 
 Sir Fred. Sir Nicholas, now we must haste to a 
 better solemnity ; my sister expects us. Gentlemen, 
 meet us at the Rose; I'll bestow a wedding dinner 
 upon you, and there release your judgment, Mr. 
 Wheedle. Bailiffs, wait upon them thither. 
 
 Sir Nich. I wish you much joy with your fair brides, 
 gentlemen. 
 
 Wheed. A pox on your assignment, Palmer. 
 
 Palm. A pox on your rich widow. Wheedle ; come, 
 spouse, come. •■ [Fxeunl. 
 
 
 
THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Scene V. — The Lord Bevill's House. 
 
 Enter Lord Bevill, Bruce led in, Lovis, Beaufort, 
 Graciana, and Aurelia. 
 
 Bruce. Graciana, I have lost my claim to you, 
 And now my heart's become Aurelia's due ; 
 She all this while within her tender breast 
 The flame of love has carefully suppress'd, 
 Courting for me, and striving to destroy 
 Her own contentment to advance my joy. 
 
 Aurel. I did no more than honour press'd me to ; 
 I wish I'd woo'd successfully for you. 
 
 Bruce. You so excel in honour and in love, 
 You both my shame and admiration move. 
 Aurelia, here, accept that life from me. 
 Which Heaven so kindly has preserved for thee. 
 My lord, I hope you will my choice allow, 
 
 [7J> Lord Bevill. 
 And with your approbation seal our vow. 
 
 L. Bev. In generous minds this to the world will 
 prove 
 That gratitude has power to conquer love. 
 It were, brave man ! impiety in me 
 Not to approve that which the heavens decree. 
 
 Bruce. Graciana, on my generous rival you 
 Must now bestow what to his merit's due. 
 
 Grac. Since you recovering, Bruce, your claim 
 decline, 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. m 
 
 To him with honour I my heart resign. 
 
 Beauf. Such honour and such love as you have 
 shown 
 Are not in the records of virtue known. 
 My lord, you must assist us here once more ; 
 
 \To Lord Bevill. 
 The god of love does your consent implore. 
 
 L, Bev, May love in you still feed your mutual fire. 
 
 {Joining their hands. 
 Beauf,. And may that flame but with our breaths 
 
 expire. 
 Lov. My lord, our quarrel now is at an end ; 
 You are not Bruce's rival, but his friend. 
 Beauf. In this brave strife your friendship soar'd 
 above 
 The active flames of our aspiripg love. 
 
 Bruce. Dear friend, thy merits fame cannot express. 
 Lov. They are rewarded in your happiness. 
 Bruce. Come all into my arms before I rest ; 
 Let's breathe our joys into each other's breast : 
 Thus mariners rejoice when winds decrease. 
 And falling waves seem wearied into peace. 
 
 Enter Sir Frederick and Dufoy at one door, and 
 the Widow and Betty at another. 
 
 Sir Fred. Haste, Dufoy, perform what I commanded 
 you. 
 
 Duf. I vil be ver quick, begar ; I am more den half 
 de Mercury. 
 
 Sir Fred. Ho, widow ! the noise of these nuptials 
 brought you hither ; I perceive your mouth waters. 
 
112 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Wid. Were I in a longing condition, I should be apt 
 enough to put myself upon you, sir. 
 
 Sir Fred. Nay, I know thou'rt spiteful, and wouldst 
 fain marry me in revenge ; but so long as I have these 
 guardian angels about me, I defy thee and all thy 
 charms. Do skilful falconers thus reward their hawks 
 before they fly the quarry ? • 
 
 Wid. When your gorge is empty you'll come to the 
 lure again. 
 
 Sir Fred. After I have had a little more experience 
 of the vanity of this world, in a melancholy humour I 
 may be careless of myself. 
 
 Wid. And marry some distressed lady that has had 
 no less experience of that vanity. 
 
 Sir Fred. Widow, I profess the contrary ; I would 
 not have the sin to answer for of debauching any from 
 such worthy principles. Let me see ; if I should be 
 good-natured now and consent to give thee a title to 
 thy own wealth again, you would be stubborn, and not 
 esteem the favour, widow. 
 
 Wid. Is it possible you can have thoughts of grati- 
 tude ? Do you imagine me so foolish as yourself, who 
 often venture all at play to recover one inconsiderable 
 parcel ? 
 
 Sir Fred. I told you how 'twould be, widow. Less 
 providence attend thee, else I shall do no good upon 
 thee. Farewell. 
 
 Wid. Stay, sir ; let us shake hands at parting. 
 
 Sir Fred. Nay, if thou once art acquainted with my 
 constitution, thou'lt never let me go. Widow, here ; 
 examine, examine. {Holding out his hand. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 113 
 
 Z. Bev. Sister, I long have known your inclinations ; 
 give me leave to serve you. Sir Frederick, herci take 
 her ; and may you make each other happy. 
 
 Wid. Now I have received you into my family, 
 I hope yoii will let my maids go quietly about their 
 business, sir. 
 
 Sir Fred. Upon condition there be no twits of the 
 good man departed ; no prescription pleaded for evil 
 customs on the wedding night. Widow, what old 
 doings will be anon ! I have coupled no less than a 
 pair-royal myself. This day, my lord, I hope you'll 
 excuse the liberty I have taken to send for them ; 
 the sight will much increase your mirth this joyful 
 day. 
 
 L. Bev. I should have blamed you, sir, if you had 
 restrained your' humour here. These 'must needs be 
 pleasant matches that are of his making. 
 
 Enter Dufoy. 
 
 Sir Fred. What, are they come ? 
 
 Duf. Day be all at de doore, begar ; every man vid 
 his pret metres, brid, whore. Entrez, jentelmen, vid 
 your lady, entrez vid your great fortune : ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Enter Sir Nicholas and his Bride, Wheedle and 
 his Bride, Palmer and his Bride. 
 
 Sir Nich. Brother, do you see how sneakingly 
 Wheedle looks yonder, with his rich widow ? 
 Wid. Brother ! is this fellow your brother ? 
 Sir Nich. Ay, that I am. 
 I 
 
114 THE COMICAL REVENGE; OR, 
 
 Sir Fred. No, no, Sir Nicholas. 
 
 Sir Nich. Did not I marry your sister, sir ? , 
 
 Sir Fred. Fie, fie, Sir Nicholas ; I thought you'd 
 been a modester man. 
 
 Sir Nich. Is my wife no kin to you, sir ? 
 
 Sir Fred. Not your wife; but your son and heir 
 may, if it prove so. Joy be with thee, \To Lucy.] 
 old acquaintance. Widow, resolving to lead a virtuous 
 life, and keep house altogether with thee, I have dis- 
 posed of my own household stuff, my dear Mrs. Lucy, 
 to this gentleman. 
 
 Wheed. and Palm. We wish you joy with your fair 
 bride. Sir Nicholas. 
 
 Sir Nich. I will go and complain, and have you all 
 clapped up for a plot immediately. 
 
 Sir Fred. Hold, hold, Sir Nicholas ; there are cer- 
 tain coach-poles without. You cannot 'scape, without 
 you've a thousand pounds in your pocket. Carry her 
 into the country. Come, your neighbours' wives will 
 visit her, and vow she's a virtuous well-bred lady ; and, 
 give her her due, faith, she was a very honest wench 
 to me, and I believe will make a very honest wife 
 to you. 
 
 Sir Nich. If I discover this I am lost; I shall 
 be ridiculous even to our own party. 
 
 Sir Fred. You are in the right. Come, take her, 
 make much of her, she shall save you a thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 Sir Nich. Well, Lucy, if thou canst but deceive my 
 old mother and my neighbours in the country, I shall 
 bear my fortune patiently. 
 
LOVE IN A TUB. 115 
 
 Sir Fred. I'll warrant you, sir : women so skilled in 
 vice can dissemble virtue. 
 
 ■Duf. Fie, fie ; makd de much of your lady, shenter- 
 men'j begar, you vil find dem ver civil. 
 
 Sir Fred. Dufoy, I had almost forgot thee. 
 
 Buf. Begar, my merit is ver seldom in your me- 
 morid. 
 
 Sir Fred. Now I will reward thy services; here, 
 enjoy thy mistress. 
 
 Duf. Ver vel, begar; you will give me two tree 
 old^ gown^ vor all my diligence. 
 
 Betty. Marry, come up ! Is that a despicable por- 
 tion for your greasy pantaloons? 
 
 Duf. Peace, peace, Metres Bet ; ve vil be ver good 
 friend upon occasion ; but ve vil no marrid : dat be 
 ver much better, begar. 
 
 Sir Fred. Did you bring the bailiffs with you? 
 
 Duf. Day be vidout. Begar, shentelmen, you have 
 bin made ver sad; and now you shall be made ver 
 mer vid de fidler. 
 
 Wheed. Ha ! cozened with fiddlers for bailiffs ! I 
 durst have sworn false dice might as soon have passed 
 upon me. 
 
 Sir Fred. Bid them strike up ; we will have a dance, 
 widow, to divert these melancholy gentlemen. 
 
 {They dance. 
 
 L, Bev. (after the dance). Sir Frederick, you shall 
 command my house this day ; 
 Make all those welcome that are pleased to stay. 
 
 Sir Fred. Sir Nicholas, and Mr. Wheedle, I release 
 you both of your judgment, and will give it you under 
 
ii6 THE COMICAL REVENGE. 
 
 my hand at any time. Widow, for all these bloody 
 preparations, there will be no .great massacre of maiden- 
 heads among us here. Anon I will make you all laugh 
 with the occasion of these weddings. 
 On what small accidents depends our fate, 
 While chance, not prudence, makes us fortunate ! 
 
THE EPILOGUE. 
 
 Spoken by the Widow. 
 
 C*/Ji FREDERICK, now I am revenged on you ; 
 
 For all your frolic wit, you're cozen' d too : 
 I Jiave made over all my wealth to these 
 Honest gentlemen ; they are my trustees. 
 
 Yet, gentlemen, if you are pleased you may 
 Supply his wants, and not your trust betray. 
 
 Spoken by Wheedle. 
 
 Poor Wheedle hopes h^s given you all content; 
 Here he protests 'tis that he only meant: 
 If you're displeased w^re all cross-bit to-day. 
 And he has wheedled us that writ the play. 
 Like prisoners conscious of tK offended law. 
 When juries after tK evidence withdraw. 
 So waits our author between hope and fear. 
 Until he does your doubtful verdict hear. 
 Men are more civil than informer days ; 
 Few now in public hiss or rail at plays : 
 He bid me therefore mind your looks with care, 
 And told me I should read your sentence there; 
 But I, unskill'd in faces, cannot guess 
 By this first view what is the play's success ; 
 Nor shall I ease the author of his fear. 
 Till twice or thrice, at least, I've seen you here. 
 
 n 
 
SHE WOULD IF, SHE COULD 
 
 A COMEDY. 
 
 ACTED AT HIS HIGHNESS 
 
 THE DUKE OF YORK'S THEATRE. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Sir Oliver Cockwood ^ 
 
 and > Two country knights. 
 
 Sir Joslin Jolley, ) 
 Mr. Courtal ^ 
 
 and > Two honest gentlemen of the town. 
 
 Mr. Freeman, J 
 TA^ Lady Cockwood. 
 Ariana "J 
 
 and > Two young ladies, "kinswomen of^\^ Joslin Jolley. 
 Gatty, J 
 
 Mrs. Sentry, the Lady Cockviooti's gentlewoman. 
 Mrs. Gazette "\ 
 
 and Y Two Exchange women. 
 
 Mrs. Trinket, J 
 
 Mr. Rakehell, a knight of the industry. 
 Thomas, Sir Oliver Cockwood's man. 
 A Servant belonging to Mr. Courtal. 
 
 Waiters, Fiddlers, and other Attendant!. 
 Scene: London. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — A Dining-Room. 
 
 Enter Courtal and Freeman, and a Servant 
 brushing Courtal. 
 
 Court. 
 
 SO, so, 'tis well ; let the coach be made ready. 
 Serv. It shall, sir. \£xit Servant. 
 
 Court. Well, Frank, what is to be done to-day ? 
 
 Free. Faith, I think we must e'en follow the old 
 trade ; eat well, and prepare ourselves with a bottle or 
 two of good Burgundy, that our old acquaintance may 
 look lovely in our eyes. For, for aught as I see, there 
 is no hopes of new. 
 
 Court. Well, this is grown a wicked town ! it was 
 otherwise in my memory; a gentleman should not 
 have gone out of his chamber but some civil officer or 
 other of the game would have been with him, and 
 have given him notice where he might have had a 
 course or two in the afternoon. 
 
 Free. Truly, a good motherly woman of my acquain- 
 tance t'other day, talking of the sins of the times, told 
 
122 SffE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 me, with tears in her eyes, that there are a company 
 of higgling rascals, who partly for themselves, but 
 more especially for some secret friends, daily forestall 
 the markets ; nay, and that many gentlemen who 
 formerly had been persons of great worth and honour, 
 are of late, for some private reasons, become their own 
 purveyors, to the utter decay and disencouragement of 
 trade and industry. 
 
 Court. I know there are some wary merchants who 
 never trust their business to a factor ; but for my part 
 I hate the fatigue, and had rather be bound to back 
 my own colts, and man my own hawks, than endure 
 the impertinences of bringing a young wench to the 
 lure. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Sir, there is a gendewoman below desires 
 to speak with you. 
 
 Court. Ha ! Freeman, this may be some lucky ad- 
 venture. 
 
 Serv. She asked me if you were alone. 
 
 Court. And did not you say. Ay ? 
 
 Serv. I told her I would go see. 
 
 Court, Go, go down quickly, and tell her I am. 
 Frank, prithee let me put thee into this closet awhile. 
 
 Free. Why, may not I see her ? 
 
 Court. On my life, thou shalt have fair play and go 
 halves, if it be a purchase that may with honour be 
 divided ; you may overhear all ; but for decency sake, 
 in, in, man. 
 
 Free. Well, good fortune attend thee ! 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 123 
 
 Enter Mistress Sentry. 
 
 Court. Mistress Sentry, this is a happiness beyond 
 my expectation. 
 
 Sent, Your humble servant, sir. 
 
 Court. I hope your lad/s come to town ? 
 
 Sent, Sir Oliver, my lady, and the whole family. 
 Well, we have had a sad time in the country ! My 
 lad/s so glad she's come to enjoy the freedom of this 
 place again, and I dare say longs to have the happiness 
 of your company. 
 
 Court. Did she send you hither ? 
 
 Sent, Oh, no ! if she should but know that I did 
 such a confident trick, she would think me a good one, 
 i' faith ; the zeal I have to serve you made me venture 
 to call in my way to the Exchange, to tell you the 
 good news, and to let you know our lodgings are in 
 James Street ' at the Black Posts, where we lay the last 
 summer. 
 
 Court. Indeed, it is very obligingly done. 
 
 Sent. But I must needs desire you to tell my lady 
 that you came to the knowledge of this by some lucky 
 chance or other ; for I would not be discovered for a 
 world. 
 
 Court. Let me alone, I warrant thee. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 Sent. Sir Oliver Cockwood, sir, is come to wait on 
 you. 
 
 • The most fashionable street in London at that time. Waller 
 lived there, 1 660- 1687. 
 
124 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Sent. O heaven ! my master ! my lady and myself 
 are both undone, undone 
 
 Court. 'Sdeathl why did you not tell him I was busy? 
 
 Sent. For heaven's sake, Mr. Courtal, what shall I do ? 
 
 Court. Leave, leave trembling, 'and creep into the 
 wood-hole here. [Skegoes into the wood-hole. 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver. 
 
 Court. Sir Oliver Cockwood ! {Embraces him. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Honest Ned Courtal, by my troth I think 
 thou tak'st me for a pretty wench, thou hugg'st me so 
 very close and heartily. 
 
 Court. Only my joy to see you, Sir Oliver, and to 
 welcome you to town. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Methinks, indeed, I have been an age 
 absent, but I intend to redeem the time; and how, 
 and how stand affairs, prithee now ? is the wine good ? 
 are the women kind ? Well, faith, a man had better be 
 a vagabond in this town than a justice of peace in the 
 country. I was e'en grown a sot for want of gentie- 
 manlike recreations; if a man do but rap out an 
 path, the people start as if a gun went off ; and if one 
 .chance but to couple himself with his neighbour's 
 • daughter without the help of the parson of the parish, 
 ' and leave a little testimony of his kindness behind him, 
 there is presently such an uproar that a poor man is 
 fain to fly his country. As for drunkenness, 'tis true, it 
 may be used without scandal, but the drink is so 
 abominable, that a man would forbear it, for fear 
 of being made out of love with the vice. 
 
 Court. I see, Sir Oliver, y<»u continue still your old 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 125 
 
 humour, and are resolved to break your sweet lady's 
 heart. 
 
 Sir Oliv. You do not think me, sure, so barba- 
 rously unkind to let her know all this j no, no, these 
 are secrets fit onlyto.be trusted to such honest fellows 
 as thou art. 
 
 Court. Well may I, poor sinner, be excused, since a ' 
 woman of such rare beauty, such incomparable parts, 
 and of such an unblemished reputation, is not able to y 
 reclaim you from these wild courses. Sir Oliver. 
 
 Sir Oliv. To say the truth, she is a wife that no man ' 
 need be ashamed of, Ned. 
 
 Court. I vow, Sir Oliver, I must needs Wanie you, 
 considering how tenderly she loves you.. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Ay, ay, the more is her misfortune, and 
 mine too, Ned. I would willingly give thee a pair of 
 the best coach-horses in my stable, so thou couldstbut 
 persuade her to love me less. 
 
 Court. Her virtue, and my friendship, sufficiently 
 secure you against that,. Sir Oliver. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I know thou wert never married ; but has I 
 
 Tijirm: hfpn thy m-'if^r^lT'"' to hav^ a. i^i'strpss Invp I 
 
 thee thus entirely ? 
 
 Court. It never has been my good fortune, Sir 
 Oliver. But why do you ask this question ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Because then, perchance, thou mightst 
 have been a little sensible what a dam ned tro uble it is^ 
 
 Court. As how, Sir Oliver ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Why look thee, thus : for a man cannot 1 V 
 be altogether ungrateful, sometimes one is obliged to 
 kiss, and fawn, and toy, and lie fooling an hour or two. 
 
 -3. 
 
J 
 
 126 SffE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 when a man had rather, if it were not for the disgrace 
 sake, stand all that while in the pillory pelted with 
 I rotten eggs and oranges. 
 
 Court. This is a very hard case, indeed, Sir Oliver. 
 
 Sir Oliv. And then the inconvenience of keeping 
 " regular hours; but, above all, that damned fiend 
 j^lougy does so possess these passionate lovers, that I 
 protest, Ned — under the rose be it spoken — ^if I chance 
 to be a little prodigal in my expense on a private 
 friend or so, I am called to so strict an account at night 
 that for quietness sake I am often forced to take a dose 
 of cantharides to make up the sura. 
 
 Court. Indeed, Sir Oliver, everything considered, 
 you are not so much to be envied as one may rashly 
 imagine. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well, a pox of this tying man and woman 
 together, for better, for worse ! Upon my conscience, 
 it was but a trick that the clergy might have a feeling 
 in the cause. 
 
 Court. I do not conceive it to be much for their 
 profit. Sir Oliver, for I dare lay a good wager, let 'em 
 but allow Christian liberty, and they shall get ten 
 times more by christenings than they are likely to 
 lose by marriages. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Faith, thou hast hit it right, Ned ; and 
 now thou talk'st of Christian liberty, prithee let us 
 dine together to-day, and be swingingly merry, but 
 with all secresy. 
 
 Court. I shall be glad of your good company. Sir 
 Oliver. 
 Sir Oliv. I am to call on a very honest fellow, 
 
sirs WOULD IF SHE COULD. 127 
 
 whom I left here hard by making a visit, Sir Joslin 
 Jolley, a kinsman of my wife's, and my neighbour in 
 the country. We call brothers;' he came up to 
 town with me, and lodgeth in the same house ; he has 
 brought up a couple of the prettiest kinswomen, 
 heiresses of a very good fortune : would thou hadst 
 the instructing of them a little. Faith, if I am not 
 very much mistaken, they are very prone to the study 
 of the mathematics. 
 
 ^ Court. I shall be beholding to you for so good an 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Sir Oliv. This Sir Joslin is in great favour with my " 
 lady, one that she has an admirable good opinion of, 
 and will trust me with him anywhere; but to say 
 
 truth, he is as arrant a sinner as the best of us, and' 
 
 wiirBoggje"aFnoSiing'ffiat becomes a man of honour. 
 We will go and getleave oTmy lady ; for it Is not fit 
 I should break out so soon without her approbation, ) 
 Ned. 
 
 Court. By no means. Sir Oliver, 
 
 Sir Oliv. Where shall we meet about an hour 
 hence ? 
 
 Court. At the French house, or the Bear." 
 
 Sir Oliv. At the French house, by all means. 
 
 ' i.e. call each other "brother." 
 
 ' Perhaps the former was the ordinary mentioned by Pepys, 
 Jan. 19th, 1660. The latter was near London Bridge ; Pepys re- 
 cords the distressing fate of the landlady thereof — "which was a 
 most beautiful woman, as most I have seen " — Feb. 24th, 1667. 
 For Etheredge the tavern had pleasant associations. "Remem- 
 ber me," he writes in one of his letters from Ratisbon, "to all 
 my friends at the Rose (cf. ante, p. 47), and do not forget the 
 lily at the Bear." 
 
128 SSE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Court. Agreed, agreed. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Would thou couldst bring a fourth man. 
 
 Court. What think you of Frank Freeman ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. There cannot be a better : well 
 
 Servant, Ned, servant, Ned ! {Exit Sir Oliver. 
 
 Court. Your servant. Sir Oliver. — Mistress Sentry ! 
 
 Sentry (in the hole). Is he gone ? 
 
 Court. Ay, ay ! You may venture to bolt now. 
 
 Sent, (crawling out). Oh, heavens ! I would not 
 endure such another fright. 
 
 Court. Come, come, prithee be composed. 
 
 Sent. I shall not be myself again this fortnight ; I 
 never was in such a taking all the days of my life. To 
 have been found false, and to one who, to say truth, 
 has been always very kind and civil to me ; but, above 
 all, I was concerned for my lady's honour 
 
 Court. Come, come there's no harm done. 
 
 Sent. Ah ! Mr. Courtal, you do not know Sir Oliver 
 
 so well as I do ; he has strange humours sometimes, 
 
 ■ and has it enough in's nature to play the tyrant, 
 
 but that my lady and myself awe him by our 
 
 policy. 
 
 Court. Well, well, all's well ; did you not hear what 
 a tearing blade Sir Oliver is ? 
 
 Sent. Ah ! 'tis a vile dissembling man. How fairly 
 he carries it to my lady's face ! but I dare not discover 
 him, for fear of betraying myself. 
 
 Court. Well, Mistress Sentry, I must dine with 'em, 
 and after I have entered them with a beer-glass or two, 
 if I can I will slip away, and pay my respects to your 
 lady. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 129 
 
 Sent. You need not question your welcome, I assure 
 you, sir. Your servant, sir. 
 
 Court. Your servant. Mistress Sentry. I am very 
 sensible of this favour, I assure you. 
 
 Sent. I am proud it was in my power to oblige you, 
 sir. [Exit Sentry. 
 
 Court. Freeman ! Come, come out of thy hole. 
 How hast thou been able to contain ? 
 
 J^ree. Faith, much ado, the scene was very pleasant ; 
 but, above all, I admire thy impudence. I could 
 never have had the face to have wheedledthejjoor 
 k night so. ~~^ 
 
 Court. Pish, pish ! 'twas both necessary and honest : 
 we o ught to do all we can to con fir m a huaband in the 
 go od opinion " f M" ""*"" — 
 
 Free. Pray how long, if without offence a man may 
 ask you, have you been in good grace with this person 
 of honour ? I never knew you had that commendable 
 quality of secresy before. ■ 
 
 Court. You are mistaken. Freeman ; things go not 
 as you wickedly imagine. 
 
 Free. Why, hast thou lost all sense of modesty? 
 Dost thou think to pass these gross wheedles on me 
 too ? Come, come, this good news should make thee a 
 little merrier. Faith, though she be an old acquain- 
 tance, she has the advantage of four or five months' 
 absence. 'Slid, I know not how proud you are, but I 
 have thought myself very spruce e'er now in an old 
 suit that has been brushed and laid up awhile. 
 
 Court. Freeman, I know in cases of this nature thou 
 art an infidel; but yet methinks the knowledge thou 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 J 
 
 m 
 
 hast of my sincere dealing with my friends should make 
 thee a little more confiding. 
 
 Free. What devilish oath could she invent to fright 
 thee from a discovery ? 
 
 Court. Wilt thou believe me, if I swear the preser- 
 vation of her honour has been my fault, and not hers ? 
 
 Free. This is something. 
 
 Court. Why then, know that I have still been 
 
 J 
 
 ^- as careful to prevent all opportunities as she has been 
 \to contrive 'em; and still have carried it so like a 
 gentleman, that she has not had the least suspicion of 
 unkindness. She is the very spirit of impertine nce, so 
 foolishly fond and troublesome, that no manabove 
 sixteen is able to endure hen 
 
 Free. Why did you engage thus far, then ? 
 
 Court. Some conveniences which I had by my ac- 
 quaintance with the sot her husband made me extra- 
 ordinary civil to her, which presently by her ladyship 
 was interpreted after the manner of the most obliging 
 women. This wench came hither by her commission 
 to-day. 
 
 Free. With what confidence she denied it ! 
 
 Court. Nay, that's never wanting, I assure you. 
 Now is it expected I should lay by all other occasions, 
 and watch every opportunity to wait upon her; she 
 would by her goodwill give her lover no more rest 
 than a young squire that has newly set up a coach 
 does his only pair of horses. 
 
 Free. Faith, if it be as thou say'st, I cannot much 
 blame the hardness of thy heart. But did not the oaf 
 talk of two young ladies ? 
 
SUE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 131 
 
 Court. Well remembered, Frank, and now I think 
 on't, 'twill be very necessary to carry on my business 
 with the old one, that we may the better have an 
 opportunity of being acquainted with them. Come, 
 let us go and bespeak dinner, and by the way consider 
 of these weighty affairs. 
 
 Free. Well, since there is but little ready money 
 stirring, rather than want entertainment, I shall be 
 contented to play awhile upon tick. 
 
 Court. And I, provided they promise fair, and we 
 find there's hopes of payment hereafter. 
 
 Free. Come along, come along. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. — Sir Oliver Cockwodd's Lodging. 
 
 Enter Lady Cockwood. 
 
 Lady Cock. 'Tis too late to repent I sent her, but 
 yet I cannot but be troubled to think she stays so long. 
 Sure, if she has so little gratitude to let him, he has 
 more honour than to attempt anything to the preju- 
 dice of my affection Oh ! ^Sentry, are you 
 
 come? 
 
 Enter Sentry. 
 Sent. Oh, madam ! there has been such an accident ! 
 
 Lady Cock. Prithee do not fright me, wench 
 
 Sent. As I was discoursing with Mr. Courtal, in came 
 Sir Oliver. 
 
 I^dy Cock. Oh ! I'm ruined undone for ever ! 
 
132 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Sent. You'll still be sending me on these desperate 
 errands. 
 
 Lady Cock. I am betrayed, betrayed 'by this 
 
 false What shall I call thee? 
 
 Sent. Nay but, madam have a little patience 
 
 Lady Cock. I havd lost all patience, and will never 
 more have any. — — 
 
 Sent. Do but hear me, all is well. 
 
 Lady Cock. Nothing can be well, unfortunate woman. 
 
 Sent. Mr. Courtal thrust me into the wood-hole. 
 
 Lady Cock. And did not Sir Oliver see thee ? 
 
 Sent. He had not the least glimpse of me.-v— 
 
 Lady Cock. Dear Sentry and what good news ? 
 
 i Sent. He intends to wait upon you in the afternoon, , 
 m^dam. ^ 
 
 y Lady Cock. I hope you did not let him know I sent 
 you. 
 
 Sent. No, no, madam I'll warrant you I did 
 
 everything much to the advantage of your honour. 
 
 Lady Cock. Ah, Sentry ! if we could but think of 
 some lucky plot now to get Sir Oliver out of the way. 
 
 Sent. You need not trouble yourself about that, 
 madam ; he has engaged to dine with Mr. Courtal at 
 the French house, and is bringing Sir Joslin JoUey to 
 get your goodwill : when Mr. Courtal has fixed 'em 
 with a beer-glass or two, he intends to steal away and 
 pay his devotion to your ladyship. 
 
 LMdy Cock. Truly, he is a person of much worth and 
 honour. 
 
 Sent. Had you but been there, madam, to have 
 overheard Sir Oliver's discourse, he 'would have made 
 
SHE WOULD IP Sff£ COULD. 133 
 
 you bless yourself j there is not such another wild man 
 in the town ; all his talk was of wenching, and swear- fl 
 ing, and drinking, and tearing. 
 
 Zady Cock. Ay, ay. Sentry, I know he'll talk of? 
 strange matters behind my back; but if he be not an/ 
 abominable hypocrite at home — and I am not a woman( 
 easily^tobe deceived — he is not able to play the spark^ 
 abroad thus, I assure your^' '""^ "^ ----».---™~-^ 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver and Sir Joslin ; Sir Josun 
 sin^ttg. 
 
 My dearest dear, this is kindly done of thee to ctoe 
 home again thus quickly. 
 
 Sir OUv. Nay, my dear, thou shalt never have any 
 just cause to accuse me of unkindness. 
 
 Lady Cock. Sir Joslin, now you are a good man, 
 and I shall trust you with Sir Oliver again. 
 
 Sir Jos. Nay, if ever I break my word with a lady, ) 
 I will be delivered bound to Mistress Sentry here, and j 
 she shall have leave to carve me for a capon. I 
 
 Sent. Do you think I have a heart cruel enough for 
 such a bloody execution ? 
 
 Sir Jos. Kindly spoke, i' faith, girl ; I'll give thee a 
 buss for that. [Kisses her. 
 
 Lady Cock. Fie, fie, Sir Joslin ; this is not seemly in 
 my presence. 
 
 Sir Jos. We have all our failings, lady, and this is 
 mine. A right bred greyhound can as well forbear 
 running after a hare when he sees her, as I can 
 mumbling a pretty wench when she comes in my 
 way. 
 
134 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Lady Cock. I have heard indeed you are a parlous 
 man, Sir Joslin. 
 
 Sir Jos. I seldom brag, lady, but for a true cock of 
 the game little Joslin dares match with the best of 
 'em. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Sir Joslin's merry, my dear. 
 
 Lady Cock. Ay, ay, if he should be wicked, I know 
 thou art too much a gentleman to oifer an injury to 
 thine own dear lady. 
 
 Sir Jos. Faith, madam, you must give my brother 
 Cockwood leave to dine abroad to-day. 
 
 Lady Cock. I protest, Sir Joslin, you begin to make 
 me hate you too j well, you are e'en grown as bad as 
 the worst of 'em, you are still robbing me of the 
 sweet society of Sir Oliver. 
 
 Sir Jos. Come, come, your discipline is too severe, 
 i' faith, lady. 
 
 Lady Cock. Sir Oliver may do what he pleases, sir ; 
 he knows I have ever been his obedient lady. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Prithee, my dear, be not angry ; Sir Joseph 
 was so earnest in his invitation that none but a clown 
 could have refused him. 
 
 Sir Jos. Ay, ay, we dine at my uncle Sir Joseph 
 J olley's, lady. 
 
 Lady Cock. Will you be sure now to be a good dear, 
 ^ and not drink, nor stay out late ? 
 
 Sir Jos. I'll engage for all, and if there be no harm 
 in a merry catch or a waggish story 
 
 Enter Ariana and Mistress Gatty. 
 Ha, ha ! Sly girl and madcap, are you got up ? I 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 135 
 
 know what you have been meditating on ; but never 
 trouble your heads, let me alone to bring you conso- 
 lation. 
 
 Gat. We have often been beholding to you, sir; 
 for every time he's drunk he brings us home a couple 
 of fresh servants. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well, farewell, my dear; prithee do not 
 sigh thus, but make thee ready, visit, and be merry. 
 
 Lady Cock. I shall receive most satisfaction in my 
 chamber. 
 
 Sir Jos. Come, come along, brother. Farewell, one 
 and all, lady and sly girl, sly girl and madcap, your 
 
 servant, your servant. 
 
 \Exeunt Sir Oliver and Sir Joslin singing. 
 Lady Cock, {to Sentry, aside). Sentry, is the new 
 point ' I bought come home, and is everything in 
 a readiness ? 
 
 Sent. Everything, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. Come, come up quickly then, girl, and 
 dress me. {^Exeunt Lady Cockwood and Sentry. 
 
 Aria. Dost not thou wonder, Gatty, she should be I 
 so strangely fond of this coxcomb? .1 
 
 Gat. Well, if she does not dissemble, may I still be 
 discovered when I do. Didst thou not see how her 
 countenance changed as soon as ever their backs were 
 turned, and how earnestly she whispered with her 
 woman ? There is some weighty affair in hand, I 
 warrant thee. My dear Ariana, how glad am I we 
 are in this town again. 
 Aria. But we have left the benefit of the fresh 
 ' i.e. lace. 
 
136 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 air, and the delight of wandering in the pleasant 
 groves. 
 
 Gat. Very pretty things for a young gentlewoman 
 to bemoan the loss of, indeed, that's newly come to a 
 relish of the good things of this world. 
 
 Aria. Very good, sister ! ' 
 
 Gat. Why, hast not thou promised me a thousand 
 times to leave off this demureness ? 
 
 Aria. But you are so quick. 
 
 Gat. Why, would it not make anyone mad to hear 
 thee bewail the loss of the country ? Speak but one 
 grave word more, and it shall be my daily prayers 
 
 f( thou may'st have a jealous husband j then you'll have 
 ' enough of it, I warrant you. 
 
 I Aria. It may be, if your tongue be not _^alto gether 
 I so nimble, I may be conformable. But I hope you do 
 {not intend we shall play such mad reaks as we did last 
 \ summer? 
 
 Gat. 'Slife, dost thou think we come here to be 
 mewed up, and take only the liberty of going from our 
 chamber to the dining-room, and from the dining- 
 room to our chamber again ? And like a bird in a 
 cage, with two perches only, to hop up and down, up 
 and down ? 
 
 Aria. Well, thou art a mad wench. 
 Gat. Wouldst thou never have us go to a play but 
 with om: grave relations, never take the air but with 
 our grave relations? to feed their pride, and make 
 the world believe it is in their power to afford some 
 gallant or other a good- bargain. 
 Aria. But I am afraid we shall be known again. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. ( 137 
 
 Gat. Pish ! the men were only acquainted with our 
 vizards and our petticoats, and they are wore out long 
 since. How I envy that sex ! Well, we cannot plague 
 'em enough when we have it in our power for those 
 privileges which ^stonQ ias allowed 'em above us. 
 
 Aria. The truth is,- th^ can run and ramble here 
 and there and everjrwhere, and we poor fools rather 
 think the better of 'em. 
 
 Gat. From one playhouse to the other playhouse, 
 and, if they like neither the play nor the women, they 
 seldom stay any longer than the combing of their 
 periwigs or a whisper or two with a friend ; and then 
 they cock their caps and out they strut again. 
 
 Aria. But whatsoever we do, prithee now let us 
 resolve to be mighty honest. 
 
 Gat. There I agree with thee. 
 
 Aria. And if we find the gallants like lawless sub- 
 jects, who the more their princes grant, the more they 
 impudently crave 
 
 Gat. We'll become absolute tyrants and deprive 
 'em of all the privileges we gave 'em. 
 
 Aria. Upon these conditions I am contented to 
 
 trail a pike under thee March along, girl. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 / 
 
138 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — The Mulbkrry Garden. 
 Enter Courtal and Freeman. 
 
 Court. 
 
 WAS there ever a couple of fops better matched 
 than these two knights are ? 
 
 Free. They are harp and violin ; Nature has so tuned 
 'em, as if she intended they should always play the 
 fool in concert. 
 
 Court. Now is Sir Oliver secure, for he dares not 
 go home till he's quite drunk, and then he grows 
 valiant, insults and defies his sweet lady ; for which, 
 with prayers and tears, he's forced to feign a bitter 
 repentance the next morning. 
 
 Free. What do we here idling in the Mulberry 
 Garden ? Why do not we make this visit then ? 
 
 Court. Now art thou as mad upon this trail as if we 
 were upon a hot scent. 
 
 Free. Since we know the bush, why do we not start 
 the game? 
 
 Court. Gently, good Frank. First, know that the 
 laws of honour prescribed in such nice cases will not 
 allow me to carry thee along with me ; and next, hast 
 thou so little wit to think that a discreet lady that has 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 13 9 
 
 had the experience of so much human frailty, can 
 have so good an opinion of the constancy of her ser- 
 vant as to lead him into temptation ? 
 
 Free. Then we must not hope her ladyship should\( 
 make us acquainted with these gentlewomen ? 
 
 Court. Thou ma/st as reasonably expect that an 
 old rook should bring a young snap acquainted with 1 { 
 his bubble ; but advantages may be hereafter made, \ I 
 by my admission into the family. 
 
 Free. What is to be done then ? 
 
 Court. Why, look you, thus I have contrived it : 
 Sir Oliver, when I began to grow restiff, that he might 
 incline me a little more to drunkenness, in my ear 
 discovered to me the humour of his dear friend, Sir 
 Joslin. He assured me that when he was in that 
 good-natured condition, to requite their courtesy, he 
 always carried the good company home with him and 
 recommended them to his kinswomen. 
 
 Free. Very good ! 
 
 Court. Now, after the fresh air has breathed on us 
 awhile, and expelled the vapours of the wine we have 
 drunk, thou shalt return to these two sots whom we 
 left at the French house, according to our promise, 
 and tell 'em I am a little stayed by some unlucky 
 business and will be with 'em presently] thou wilt 
 find 'em tired with long fight, weak and unable to 
 obsei-ve their order ; charge 'em briskly, and in a 
 moment thou shalt rout 'em, and with little or no 
 damage to thyself gain an absolute victory. 
 
 Free. Very well ! • 
 
 Court. In the meantime, I will make my visit to the 
 
 
140 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 longing lady, and order my business so handsomely, 
 that I will be with thee again immediately, to make an 
 experiment of the good-humour of Sir Joslin. 
 . 'Free. Let's about it. 
 
 Court. 'Tis yet too early ; we must drill away a little 
 time here, that my excuses may be more probable, and 
 my persecution more tolerable. 
 
 Enter Ariana and Gatty with vizards, and pass 
 nimbly over the, stage. 
 
 Free. Ha, ha ! how wantonly they trip it ! There 
 
 is temptation enough in their very gait to stir up the 
 courage of an old alderman. Prithee, let us follow 'em. 
 
 Court. I have been so often baulked with these 
 vizard-mask s that I have at least a dozen times for- 
 sworn 'em ; they are a most certain sign of an ill face, 
 [ or, what is worse, an old acquaintance. 
 
 Free. The truth is, nothing but some such weighty 
 reason is able to make women deny themselves the 
 pride they have to be seen. 
 
 Court. The evening's fresh and pleasant, and yet 
 there is but little company. 
 
 Free. Our course will be the better ; these deer can- 
 not herd. Come, come, man, let's follow. 
 
 Court. I find it is a mere folly to swear anything ; 
 it does but make the devil the more earnest in his 
 temptation. {They go after the Women, 
 
 Enter Women again, and cross the stage. 
 
 Aria. Now if these should prove two men-of-war 
 that are cruising here to watch for prizes. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 141 
 
 Gat. Would they had courage enough to set upon 
 us ! Ilongjtobeengaged. 
 
 Aria. Look, look yotader, I protest, they chase us. 
 Gat. Let us bear away then ; if they be truly valiant, 
 they'll quickly make more sail and board us. 
 
 {The Women go outf and go about behind the 
 scenes to the othetf door. 
 
 Enter Courtal and Freeman. 
 
 Free. 'Sdeath, how fleet they are ! whatsoever faults 
 they have, they cannot be broken-winded. 
 
 Court. Sure, by that little mincing step they should 
 be country fillies tlaat have been breathed a course at 
 park and barley-break. We shall never reach 'em. 
 
 Free. I'll follow directly, do thou turn down the 
 cross walk and meet 'em. 
 
 Enter the Women, and after them Courtal at the 
 lower door, and Freeman at the upper on the con- 
 trary side. 
 
 Court. By your leave, ladies. 
 
 Gat. I perceive you can make bold enough with- 
 out it. 
 
 Free. Your servant, ladies. 
 
 Aria. Or any other ladies that will give themselves 
 the trouble to entertain you. 
 
 Free. 'Slife, their tongues are as nimble as their | 
 heels. 
 
 Court. Can you have so little good-nature to dash a 
 couple of bashful young men out of countenance, who 
 came out of pure love to tender you their service ? 
 
J 
 
 142 SBE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Gat. 'Twere pity to baulk 'em, sister. 
 
 Aria. Indeed, methinks they look as if they never 
 , had been slipped before. 
 
 Free. Yes, faith, we have had many a fair course in 
 this paddock, have been very well fleshed, and dare 
 boldly fasten. \They kiss their hands with a little force. 
 
 Aria. Well, I am not the first unfortunate woman 
 that has been forced to give her hand where she never 
 intends to bestow her heart. 
 
 Gat. Now, do you think 'tis a bargain already ? 
 
 Court. Faith, would there were some lusty earnest 
 given, for fear we should unluckily break off again. 
 
 Free. Are you so wild that you must be hooded thus? 
 
 Court. Fie, fie ! put off these scandals to all good 
 faces. 
 
 Gat. For your reputation's sake we shall keep 'em 
 on. 'Slife, we should be taken for your relations if 
 we durst show our faces with you thus publicly. 
 
 Aria. And what a shame that would be to a couple 
 of young gallants ! Methinks, you should blush to 
 think on't. 
 
 Court. These were pretty toys, invented first merely 
 for the good of us poor lovers to deceive the jealous 
 and to bhnd the malicious ; but the proper use is so 
 wickedly perverted, that it makes all honest men hate 
 the fashion mortally. 
 
 Free. A good face is as seldom covered with a 
 vizard-mask as a good hat with an oiled case. And 
 yet, on my conscience, you are both handsome. 
 
 Court. Do but remove 'em a little, to satisfy a 
 foolish scruple. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 143 
 
 Aria, This is a just punishment you have brought 
 upon yourselves by that unpardonable sin of talking. 
 
 Gat. You can only brag now of your acquaintance 
 vdth a Farendon ' gown and a piece of black velvet. 
 
 Court. The truth is, there are some vain fellows 
 whose loose behaviour of late has given great dis- 
 couragement to the honourable proceedings of all 
 virtuous ladies. 
 
 Free. But I hope you have more charity than to 
 believe us of the number of the wicked. 
 
 Aria. There's not a man of you to be trusted. 
 
 Gat. What a shame is it to your whole sex that a 
 woman is more fit to be a privy councillor than a 
 young gallant a lover ! 
 
 Court. This is a pretty kind of fooling, ladies, for 
 men that are idle ; but you must bid a little fairer if 
 you intend to keep us from our serious business. 
 
 Gat. Truly you seem to be men of great employ- 
 ment, that are every moment rattling from the eating- 
 houses to the playhouses, from the playhouses to the 
 Mulberry Garden ; that live in a perpetual hurry and 
 have little leisture for such an idle entertainment. 
 
 Court. Now would not I see thy face for the world ; 
 if it should be but half so good as thy humour thou 
 wouldst dangerously tempt me to dote upon thee, and, 
 forgetting all shame, become constant. 
 
 Free. I perceive by your fooling here that wit and 
 good-humour may make a man in love with a blacka- 
 moor: that the devil should contrive it so that we 
 should have earnest business now ! 
 
 ^ More correctly Farendine. 
 
144 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Court. Would they would but be so kind to meet 
 us here again to-morrow. 
 
 Gat. You are full of business, and 'twould but take 
 you off of your employments. 
 
 Aria. And we are very unwilling to have the sin to 
 answer for, of ruining a couple of such hopeful young 
 men. 
 
 Free. Must we then despair ? 
 
 Aria. The ladies you are going to will not be so 
 hard-hearted. 
 
 Court, {to Freeman). On my conscience they love 
 us and begin to grow jealous already. 
 
 Free. Who knows but this may prove the luckier 
 adventure of the two ? 
 
 Court. Come, come, we know you have a mind to 
 meet us. We cannot see you blush ; speak it out 
 boldly. 
 
 Gat. Will you swear, then, not to visit any other 
 women before that time ? 
 
 Aria. Not that we are jealous, but because we 
 would not have you tired with the impertinent conver- 
 sation of our sex and come to us dull and out of 
 humour. 
 
 Court. Invent an oath, and let it be so horrid 
 'twould make an athdjt start to hear it. 
 
 Free. And I wmswear it readily, that I will not 
 so much as speak to a woman till I speak to you 
 again. 
 
 Gat. But are you troubled with that foolish scruple 
 of keeping an oath ? 
 
 Free. O most religiously ! 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. t^S 
 
 Court. And may we not enlarge our hopes upon a 
 litde better acquaintance ? 
 
 Aria. YOU see all the freedom we allow. 
 
 Gat. It may be we may be entreated to hear a 
 fiddle, or mingle in a country dance, or so. 
 
 Court. Well ! We are in too desperate a condition 
 to stand upon articles, and are resolved to yield on 
 any terms. 
 
 Free. Be sure you be punctual now ! 
 
 Aria. Will you be sure ? 
 
 Court. Or else may we become a couple of credu- 
 lous coxcombs, and be jilted ever after. Your ser- 
 vants, ladies. {^Exeunt Men. 
 
 Aria. I wonder what they think of us ! 
 
 Gat. You may easily imagine ; for they are not of a 
 humour so little in fashion to believe the best. I 
 assure you the most favourable opinion they can have 
 is, that we are still a little wild and stand in need of 
 better rnanning. 
 
 Aria. Prithee, dear girl, what dost think of 'em ? 
 
 Gat. Faith, so well, that I'm ashamed to tell thee. 
 
 Aria. Would I had never seen 'em ! 
 
 Gat. Ha ! is it come to that ahready ? 
 
 Aria. Prithee, let's walk a turn or two more and 
 talk of 'em. 
 
 Gat. Let us take care then we are not too particular 
 in their commendations, lest we should discover we 
 intrench upon one another's inclinations, and so grow 
 quarrelsome. \Exeunt. 
 
146 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Scene II.— Sir Oliver's Lodgings. 
 Enter Lady Cockwood and Sentry. 
 
 Sent. Dear madam, do not afflict yourself thus 
 unreasonably ; I dare lay my life it is not want of de- 
 votion, but opportimity that stays him. 
 
 Lady Cock. Ungrateful man ! to be so insensible of 
 a lady's passion ! 
 
 Sent. If I thought he were so wicked I should hate 
 him strangely But, madam, 
 
 Lady Cock, Do not speak one word in his behalf, I 
 am resolved to forget him ; perfidious mortal, to abuse 
 so sweet an opportunity ! 
 
 Sent. Hark ! here is somebody coming upstairs. 
 
 Lady Cock. Peace, he may yet redeem his honour. 
 
 Enter Courtal. 
 
 Court. Your humble servant, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock, (starting). Mr. Courtal, for heaven's 
 sake, how came you hither ? 
 
 Court. Guided by my good fortune, maxJam 
 
 Your servant, Mistress Sentry. 
 
 Sent. Your humble servant, sir ; I protest you made 
 me start too, to see you come in thus unexpectedly. 
 f Lady Cock. I did not imagine it could be known I 
 was in town yet. 
 
 Court. Sir Oliver did me the favour to make me a 
 visit and dine with me to-day, which brought me to 
 the knowledge of this happiness, madam ; and as soon 
 
 6 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 147 
 
 as I could possibly, I got the freedom to come hither 
 and enjoy it. 
 
 Lady Cock. You have ever been extreme obliging, 
 sir. 
 
 Sent, {aside). 'Tis a worthy gentleman ; how punc- 
 tual he is to my directions ! 
 
 Lady Cock. Will you be pleased to repose, sir? 
 Sentry, set some chairs. {Exit Sentry. 
 
 Court, With much diflSculty, madam, I broke out 
 of my company, and was forced by the importunity of 
 one Sir Joslin JoUey, I think they call him, to engage 
 my honour I would return again immediately. 
 
 Lady Cock. You must not so soon rob me of so 
 sweet a satisfaction. 
 
 Cotirt. No consideration, madam, ctiuld take me 
 from you, but that I know my stay at this time must 
 needs endan^rj^yxjinpanrx. ''"<^ J;ijw nftenjfjhave 
 denied myself^ thegreatest satisfaction in the worldj^, 
 t o keep that unblemished, you yourself can witness. 
 
 Lady Cock. Indeed, iTiave often had great trials of i 
 your generosity, in those many misfortunes that have I 
 attended omJnpQcent_a|fections. ' 
 
 Court. Sir Oliver, madam, before I did perceive it, 
 was got near that pitch of drunkenness which makes 
 him come reeling home and unmanfully insult over 
 your ladyship ; and how subject he is then to injure 
 you with an unjust suspicion, you have often told 
 me ; which makes me careful not to be surprised here. * 
 
 Lady Cock. Repose yourself a little, but a little, 
 dear sir. These virtuous principles make you worthy ^ 
 to be trusted with a lady's honour. Indeed, Sir Oliver 
 
148 SffE WOULD IF SHM COULD. 
 
 has his failings ; yet I protest, Mr. Courtal, I love him 
 dearly, but cannot be altogether insensible of your 
 generous passion > 
 
 Court, (aside). Ay, ay, I am a very passionate lover 1— • 
 Indeed^ this escape has only given me Idsure to look 
 upon my happiness. 
 
 £ady Cotk. Is my woman'retired ? 
 
 Court. Most dutifully, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. Then let me tell you, sir- — ^t we 
 may make very good use of it. 
 
 Court, {aside). Now am I going to be drawn in 
 again. 
 
 Lady Cock. If Sir Oliver be in that indecent Con- 
 dition you speak of, to-morrow he will be very sub- 
 missive, as it is meet for so great a misdemeanour; 
 then can I, feigning a desperate discontent, take my 
 own freedom without the least suspicion. 
 
 Court. This is very luckily and obligingly thought 
 on, madami 
 
 Lady Cock. Now if you will be pleased to make an 
 assignation , sir. 
 
 Court. To-morrow about ten o'clock in the lowfet 
 walk of the New Exchange,* out of which we can 
 
 quickly pop into my coacE 
 
 Lady Cock. But I am still so pestered With my 
 woman, I dare not go without her ; on my consciencej 
 
 ' in the Strand: opened in 1609 and destroyed in I737' M 
 was a kind of bazaar and promenade, and served the dramatists 
 as an excellent scene. Lovers met in the Lower Walk ; ladies 
 from the country, ambitious of being fashionable, lodged in the 
 houses near. Pepys often walked there, sometimes with Mrs, 
 Pepys. 
 
SffE WOULD IF SH£ COULD. 149 
 
 she's very sincere, but it is not good to trust our 
 reputations too much to the frailty of a servant. 
 
 Court. I will bring my chariot, madam, that will 
 hold but two. 
 
 Lady Cock. O most ingeniously imagined, dear sir ! 
 for by that means I shall have a just excuse to give 
 her leave to see a relation, ^nd bid her stay there till 
 I call her. ^ 
 
 Court. It grieves me much to leave you so soon, 
 madam ; but I shall comfort myself with the thoughts 
 of the happiness you have made me hope for. 
 
 I^dy Cock. I wish it were in my power eternally | 
 to oblige you, dear sir. j 
 
 Court. Your humble servant, madani. 
 
 iMdy Cock. Your humble servant, sweet sir. 
 
 {Exit COURTAL. 
 
 Sentry ^why, Sentry — —where are you ? 
 
 Mnter Sentry. 
 
 Sent. Here, madam. 
 
 JUidy Cock. What a strange thing this is ! Will you "j 
 never take warning, but still be leaving me alone ijj J 
 these suspicious occasions ? 
 
 Sent. I was but in, the next rooni, madam- 
 
 Lady Cock. What may Mr. Courtal think of my "^ 
 innocent inte ntions ? I protest, if you serve me so i 
 again I shall be strangely angry. You should have \ 
 more regard to your lady's honour. 
 
 Sent. If I stay in the room, she will not speak ) 
 kindly to me in a week after ; and if I go out, she I 
 always chides me thus. This is a strange inijrmity she ^ 
 
ISO SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 has, but I must bear with it ; for, on my conscience, 
 custom has made it so natural, she cannot help it. 
 
 Lady Cock. Are my cousins come home yet ? 
 
 Sent. Not yet, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. Dost thou know whither they went this 
 evening ? 
 
 Sent. I heard them say they would go take the air, 
 madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. Well, I see it is impossible with virtuous 
 counsel to reclaim them ; truly, they are so careless 
 of their own, I could wish Sir Joslin would remove 
 'em, for fear they should bring an unjust imputation 
 on my honour. 
 
 Sent. Heavens forbid, madam ! 
 
 Enter Ariana and Gatty. 
 
 Lady Cock. Your servant, cousins. 
 
 Amb. Your servant, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. How have you spent the cool of the 
 evening? 
 
 Gat. As the custom is, madam, breathing the fresh 
 air in the Park and Mulberry Garden. 
 
 Lady Cock. Without the company of a relation or 
 
 some discreet body to justify your reputations to the 
 
 world ? You_are YPM"fi' ^"^ '"^^ ^ ^^^ insensible 
 
 of it, bu 6bis is a strange censorious age?^ assure you. 
 
 • [Noise of music without. 
 
 Aria. Hark ! what music's this ? 
 
 Gat. I'll lay my life my uncle's drunk, and hath 
 picked us up a couple of worthy servants, and brought 
 them home with him in triumph. 
 
SITE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 151 
 
 Enter the Music playing. Sir Oliver strutting and 
 swaggering. Sir Joslin singing and dancing with 
 Mr. Courtal and Mr. Freeman on each hand. 
 Gatty and Ariana, seeing Covv.t:A.h and Freeman, 
 shriek and exeunt. 
 
 Sir Jos. Heyday ! I told you they were a couple of 
 skittish fillies, but I never knew 'em boggle at a man 
 before. I'll fetch 'em again, I warrant you, boys. 
 
 \Exit after them. 
 
 Free, (to Courtal). These are the very self-same 
 gowns and petticoats. 
 
 Court. Their surprise confirms us it must be them. 
 
 Free. 'Slife, we have betrayed ourselves very plea- 
 santly. 
 
 Court. Now am I undone to all intents and pur- 
 poses, for they will innocently discover all to my lady, 
 and she will have no mercy. 
 
 Sir Oliv. {strutting), Dan, dan, da ra, dan, &c. 
 Avoid my presence ! the very sight of that face makes 
 me more impotent thah an eunuch ! . 
 
 Lady Cock, Dear Sir Oliver ! ' 
 
 [Offering to embrace him. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Forbear your conjugal clippings ! I will! 
 have a wench; thou shalt fetch me a wench, ] 
 Sentry ! 
 
 Sent. Can you be so inhuman to my dear lady ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Peace, Envy, or I will have thee executed 
 for petty treason; thy skin flayed off, stuffed, and 
 hung up in my hall in the country, as a terror to my 
 whole family. 
 
IS2 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Court. What crime can deserve this horrid punish- 
 ment? 
 
 Sir Oliv. I'll tell thee, Ned. 'Twas my fortune 
 t'other day to have an intrigue with a tinker's wife in 
 the country, and this malicious slut betrayed the veiy 
 ditch where we used to make our assignations to my 
 lady. 
 
 Free. She deserves your anger, indeed, Sir Oliver ; 
 but be not so unkind to your virtuous lady. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Thou dost not know her, Frank ; I have 
 had a design to break her heart ever since the first 
 
 (month that I had her, and 'tis so tough that I have 
 not yet cracked one string on't. 
 
 Court. You are too unmerciful. Sir Oliver. 
 / Sir Oliv. Hang her, Ned ; by wicked policy she 
 ! would usurp my empire, and in her heart is a very 
 j Pharaoh; fcr_g2;fgL nig^ ''^''''' " r"''t'"C I2UIi;2!^ 
 / making -bridcswithout straw. 
 
 \ Court. I cannot see a virtuous lady so afiBicted, 
 I without offermg her some consolation. \Aside to her.'] 
 I Dear madam, is it not as I told you? 
 
 Zady Cock, {to Courtal, aside). The Fates could 
 not have been more propitious, and I shall not be 
 wanting to th^ furthering of our mutual happiness. 
 
 Enter Sir Joslin, with Ariana and Gatty on each 
 hand, dancing and singing. 
 
 Catch. 
 
 This is sly and pretty, 
 And this is wild and witty ; 
 
Sas WOULD IF SHE COULD. 133 
 
 If either stayd 
 Till she died a maid, 
 r faith, 'twould be great fity. 
 
 Sir Jos. Here they are, boys, i'faith, and now little 
 Joslin's a man of his word. Heuk ! sly girl and mad- 
 cap, to 'em, to 'em, to 'em, boys, alou ! 
 
 {Mings them to Courtal and Freeman, 
 who kiss their hands. 
 What's yonder, your lady in tears, brother Cock- 
 wood ? come, come, I'll make up all breaches. 
 
 [He sings. And we'll all be merry and frolic. 
 Fie, fie, though man and wife are seldom in good- 
 humour alone, there are few want the discretion to 
 dissemble it in company. 
 
 [Sm JosLiN, Sir Oliver, and Lady stand 
 talking together. 
 
 Free. I knew we should surprise you, ladies. 
 
 Court. Faith, I thought this conjuring to be but 
 a mere jest till now, and could not believe the astrolo- 
 gical rascal had been so skilful. 
 
 Free. How exactly he described 'em, and how 
 punctual he was in his directions to apprehend 'em ! 
 
 Gat. Then you have been with a conjurer, gentlemen. 
 
 Court. You cannot Hame us, ladies ; the loss of our 
 hearts was so considerable, that it may well excuse the 
 indirect means we took to find out the pretty thieves 
 that stole 'em. 
 
 Aria^ Did not I tell you what men of business these 
 were, sister ? 
 
 Gat. I vow I innocently believed they had some 
 
154 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 pre-engagement to a scrivener or a surgeon, and 
 wished 'em so well, that I am sorry to find 'em so 
 perfidious. 
 
 Free. Why, we have kept our oaths, ladies. 
 
 Aria. You are much beholding to providence. 
 
 Gat. But we are more, sister ; for had we once been 
 deluded into an opinion they had been faithful, who 
 knows into what inconveniences that error might have 
 drawn us ? 
 / Court. Why should you be so unreasonable, ladies, 
 to expect that from us we should scarce have hoped 
 for from you ? Fie, fie, the keeping of one's word 
 is a thing below the honour of a gentleman. . 
 
 Free. A poor shift ! fit only to uphold the reputation 
 of a paltry citizen. 
 
 Sir Jos. Come, come, all will be well again, I war- 
 rant you, lady. 
 
 Lady Cock. These are insupportable injuries, but 
 I will bear 'em with an invincible patience, and to- 
 morrow make him dearly sensible how unworthy he 
 has been. 
 
 Sir Jos. To-morrow my brother Cockwood will be 
 another man. — So, boys, and how do you like the 
 flesh and blood of the Jolleys ? — Heuk, sly girl — and 
 madcap, hey — Come, come, you have heard them 
 exercise their tongues awhile ; now you shall see them 
 ply their feet a little. This is a clean-limbed wench, and 
 has neither spavin, splinter, nor wind-gall ; tune her a 
 jig and play't roundly, you shall see her bounce it 
 away like a nimble frigate before a fresh gale — ^hey, me- 
 thinks I see her under sail already. [Gatty dances a jig. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SffE COULD. 155 
 
 Sir Jos. Hey, my little madcap — here's a girl of the 
 true breed of the JoUeys, i'faith — but hark you, hark 
 you, a consultation, gentlemen — bear up, brother 
 Cockwood, a little. What think you if we pack 
 these idle huswives to bed now, and retire into a 
 room by ourselves, and have a merry catch, and a 
 bottle or two of the best, and perfect the good work 
 we have so unanimously carried on to-day ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. A most admirable intrigue — Tan, dan, da, 
 ra, dan, come, come, march to _your several quarters : 
 go, we have sent for a civil person or two, and_arere- 
 
 solved tf ? fprniratp in priyafp 
 
 Lady Cock. This is a barbarous return of all iny 
 kindness. 
 
 Free^. and Court. Your humble servant, madam. 
 
 {Exeunt Lady Cockwood and Sentry. 
 
 Court. Hark you ! hark you, Jadies ! do not harbour 
 too ill an opinion of us, for, faith, when you have had a 
 little more experience of the world, you'll find we are 
 no such abominable rascals. 
 
 Gat. We shall be so charitable to think no worse of 
 you than we do of all mankind for your sakes, only 
 that you are perjured, perfidious, inconstant, ungrateful. 
 
 Free. Nay, nay, that's enough, in all conscience, 
 ladies; and now you are sensible what a shameful 
 thing it is to break one's word, I hope you'll be more 
 careful to keep yours to-morrow. 
 
 Gat. Invent an oath, and let it be so horrid 
 
 Court. Nay, nay, it is too late for raillery, i'faith, 
 ladies. 
 
 Gat. and Aria. Well, your servant, then. 
 
156 - SJFTM WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Free, and Court. Your servant, ladies. 
 
 \Exetmt Ladies, 
 Sir Oliv. Now the enemy's marched out. - ■ ^ ' 
 Sir f OS. Then the castle's our own, boys— —hey. 
 
 And here and there I had her, 
 . And everywhere I had her, 
 
 A \j^er toy was fuch, that every touch 
 
 V Would make a lover madder. 
 
 Free, and Court. Hey, brave Sir Joslin ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Ah, my dear little witty Joslin, let me hug 
 thee. 
 
 Sir Jos. Strike up, you obstreperous rascals, and 
 march along before us. [Exeunt singing and dandng. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 157 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I.— The New Exchange. 
 
 Mrs. Trinket sitting in a shop: People passing by 
 as in the Exchange. 
 
 Trink. 
 
 WHAT d'ye buy? what d'ye lack, gentletnen? 
 gloves, ribbons, and essences j ribbons, gloves, 
 and essences ? 
 
 Mnfer Mr. CoUfttAL. 
 
 Mr. Courtal ! I thought you had a quarrel to the 
 Change, and were resolved we should never see you 
 here again. 
 
 Court. Your unkindness indeed, Mrs. Trinket, 
 had been enough to make a man banish himself 
 for ever. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Gazette. 
 
 Trink. Look you, yonder comes fine Mrs. Gazette; 
 thither you intend your visit, I am sure. 
 Gaz. Mr. Courtal ! Your servant. 
 Court. Your servant. Mistress Gazette. 
 Gaz. This happiness was only meant to Mistress 
 
IS8 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Trinket; had it not been my good fortune to pass by 
 by chance, I should have lost my share on't 
 
 Court. This is too cruel, Mistress Gazette, when all 
 the unkindness is on your side, to rally your servant thus. 
 
 Gaz. I vow this tedious absence of yours made me 
 believe you intended to try an experiment on my poor 
 heart, to discover that hidden secret, how long a 
 despairing lover may languish without the sight of the 
 party. 
 
 Court. You are always very pleasant on this subject, 
 Mistress Gazette. 
 
 Gaz. And have not you reason to be so ? 
 
 Court. Not that I know of. 
 
 Gaz. Yes, you hear the good news. 
 
 Court. What good news ? 
 
 Gaz. How well this dissembling becomes you ! But 
 now I think better on't, it cannot concern you ; yoo- 
 are more a gentleman than to have an amourTasT 
 longer than an Easter term with a cd^^jTa^wj anct 
 yet there are som^TseeTas well in the country as in 
 the city, that have a pretty way of huswifing a lover, 
 and can spin an intrigue out a great deal farther than 
 others are willing to do. 
 
 Court. What pretty art have they, good Mistress 
 Gazette ? 
 
 Gaz. When tradesmen see themselves in an ill con- 
 dition, and are afraid of breaking, can they do better 
 than to take in a good substantial partner to help 
 carry on their trading ? 
 
 Court. Sure you have been at riddle me, riddle me, 
 lately; you are so wondrous witty. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 159 
 
 Gaz. And yet I believe my Lady Cockwood is so 
 haughty, she had rather give over the vanity of an in- 
 trigue than take in a couple of young handsome kins- 
 women to help to maintain it 
 
 Court. I knew it'would out at last ; indeed, it is the 
 principle of most good women that love gaming, when 
 they begin to grow a little out of play themselves, to 
 make an interest in some young gamester or other, in 
 hopes to rook a favour now and then. But you are 
 quite out in your policy ; my Lady Cockwood is none 
 of these, I assure you. Hark you. Mistress Gazette, 
 you must needs bestir yourself a little for me this 
 morning, or else Heaven have mercy on a poor sinner. 
 
 Gaz. y hope this wicked woman has no design 
 upon your body already. Alas \ I pity your tender 
 conscience. 
 
 Court. I have always made thee my confidante, and 
 now I come to thee as to a faithful counsellor. 
 
 Gaz. State your case. 
 
 Court. Why, this ravenous kite is upon wing already, I 
 is fetching a little compass, and will be here within this J 
 half hour to swoop me away. > 
 
 Gaz. And you would have me your scarecrow? 
 
 Court. Something of that there is in't ; she is still 
 your customer. 
 
 Gaz. I have furnished her and the young ladies 
 with a few^^hionable t03r3 since they came to town, v 
 to keep 'em in countenance at a play or in the Park. 
 
 Court. I would have thee go immediately to the 
 young ladies, and by some device or other entice 'em 
 hither. 
 
i6o SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Gat. I came just now from taking measure of 'em 
 for a couple of handkerchiefs. 
 
 Court, How unlucky's this ! 
 
 Gaz. They are calling for their hoods and scarves, 
 and are coming hither to lay out a little money in 
 ribbons and essences. I have recommended them to 
 Mistress Trinket's shop here. 
 
 Court. This falls out more luckily than what I had 
 contrived myself, or could have done ; for here will 
 they be busy just before the door where we have 
 made our appointment. Bjijjfthislong-wingeddewl 
 should chance to truss me before they come- 
 
 Gaz. I will only step up and give Some directions to 
 my maid about a little business that is in haste, and 
 come down again and watch her ; if you are snapped, 
 I'll be with you presently and rescue you, I warrant 
 you, or at least stay you till more company come. 
 She dares not force you away in my sight ; she knows 
 I am great with Sir Oliver, and as malicious a devil as 
 the best of 'em. Your servant, sir. \Exit Gazette. 
 
 Enter Freeman. 
 
 Court. Freeman ! 'tis well you are come. 
 
 Free. Well ! what counterplot ? what hopes of dis- 
 appointing the old and of seeing the young ladies ? I 
 am ready to receive your orders. 
 
 Court. Faith, things are not so well contrived as I 
 could have wished 'em, and yet I hope, by the help 
 of Mistress Gazette, to keep my word, Frank. 
 
 Free. Nay, now I know what tool thou hast made 
 choice of, I make no question but the business will go 
 
SffE WOULD IF SHE COULD. i6i 
 
 well forward ; but I am afraid this last unlucky busi- 
 ness has so distasted these young trouts, they will not 
 be so easily tickled as they might have been. 
 
 Court. Never fear it ; whatsoever women say, I am - 
 sure they seldom think the worse of a man for running 
 at all ; 'tis a sign of youth and high mettle, and makes 
 them rather pique who shall tame him. That which 
 troubles me most is, we lost the hoges ofvanet y, and a 
 s ingle intripfue in lo^ " '> ns '^"T "■"' gjnglp pint in a play 
 and will tire a lover worse than t'other does an audience. 
 
 Jiree. We cannot be long without some under-plots 
 in this town ; let this be our main design, and if we 
 are anything fortunatejn our contrivance, we shall 
 make it a pleasanjr^medyy 
 
 Court. Leave aH-Wii^ to me, and hope the best. 
 Begone, for I expect tbeir coming immediately ; walk 
 a turn or two above, or fool awhile with pretty Mis- 
 tress Anvil, and scent your eyebrows and periwig with 
 a little essence of oranges ' or jessamine ; and when 
 you see us all together at Mistress Gazette's shop, put 
 in as it were by chance. I protest yonder comes the 
 old haggard;* to your post quickly! 'Sdeath, where's 
 Gazette and these young ladies now ? \_Exit Freeman. 
 
 Enter Lady Cockwood and Sentry. 
 O madam, I have waited here at least an hour, and 
 
 ^ A favourite perfume. Compare T%e Virtuoso (act iii.) : "I 
 have choice good gloves, amber, orangery.'' Steele, in the 
 Tatler (No. 113), gives a list of the "efifects"of a fop, to be 
 sold by auction ; amongst them we find " a quart of orange- 
 flower water." 
 
 * Hawk : the wprd often signifies a loose woman. 
 
 M 
 
i62 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 time seems very tedious when it delays so ■ great 
 a happiness as you bring with you. 
 
 Lady Cock. I vow, sir, I did but stay to give Sir 
 Oliver his due correction for those unseemly injuries 
 he did me last night. Is your coach ready ? 
 
 Court. Yes, madam ; but how will you dispose of 
 your maid ? 
 
 Lady Cock. My maid ! For heaven's sake, what do 
 you mean, sir ? Do I ever use to go abroad without her? 
 
 Court. 'Tis upon no design, madam, I speak it, I 
 assure you ; but my glass coach broke last night, and I 
 was forced to bring my chariot, which can hold but two. 
 
 Lady Cock. O heaven ! you must excuse me, dear 
 sir ; for I shall deny myself the sweetest recreations in 
 the world, rather than yield to anything that may 
 bring a blemish upon in y spo tless honour. 
 
 Enter Gazette. 
 
 Gaz. Your humble servant, madam. Your servant, 
 Mr. Courtal. 
 
 Lady Cock, and Court. Your servant, Mistress 
 Gazette. 
 
 Gaz. I am extreme glad to see your ladyship here. 
 I intended to send my maid to your lodgings this 
 afternoon, madam, to tell you I have a parcel of new 
 lace come in, the prettiest patterns that ever were 
 seen ; for I am very desirous so good a customer as 
 your ladyship should see 'em first, and have your choice. 
 
 Lady Cock. I am much beholding to you. Mistress 
 Gazette ; I was newly come into the Exchange, and 
 intended to call at your shop before I went home. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 163 
 
 Enter Ariana and Gatty ; Gazette goes to them. 
 
 Court. 'Sdeath, here are your cousins, too ! Now 
 there is no hope left for a poor unfortunate lover 
 to comfort himself withal. 
 
 Aria, and Gat. Your servant, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. I am newly come into the Exchange, and 
 by chance met with Master Courtal here, who will 
 needs give himself the trouble to play the gallant and 
 wait upon me. 
 
 Gat. Does your ladyship come to buy ? 
 
 Lady Cock. A few trifles. Mistress Gazette says she 
 has a parcel of very fine new laces ; shall we go 
 look upon 'em ? 
 
 Aria. We will only fancy a suit of knots or two at 
 this shop, and buy a little essence, and wait upon your 
 ladyship immediately. 
 
 Gat. Mistress Gazette, you are skilled in the fashion, 
 pray let our choice have your approbation, 
 
 Gaz. Most gladly, madam. 
 
 \All go to the shop to look upon ware except 
 Courtal and,'LADY Cockwood. 
 
 Court. 'Sdeath, madam, if you had made no cere- 
 mony, but stept into the coach presently, we had 
 escaped this mischief. . 
 
 Lady Cock. My over-tenderness of my honour has 
 blasted all my hopes of happiness. 
 
 Court. To be/fhus unluckily surprised in the height 
 of all our expectation leaves me no patience. 
 
 Lady Cock. Moderate your passion a little, sir; I 
 may yet find out a way. 
 
 ^ 
 y 
 
i64 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Court. Oh! 'tis impossible, madam; never think 
 on't now you have been seen with me ; to leave 'em 
 upon any pretence will be so suspicious, that my con- 
 cern for your honour will make me so feverish and 
 disordered, that I shall lose the taste of all the happi- 
 ness you give me. 
 
 Lady Cock. Methinks you are too scrupulous, heroic 
 sir. 
 
 Court. Besides the concerns I have for you, 
 madam, you know the obligations I have to Sir 
 Oliver, and what professions of friendship there are 
 on both sides; and to be thought perfidious and 
 ungrateful, what an affliction would that be to a 
 generous spirit ! 
 
 Lady Cock. Must we then unfortunately part thus ? 
 
 Court. Now I have better thought on't, that is not 
 absolutely necessary neither. 
 
 Lady Cock. These words revive my dying joys, dear 
 sir; goon, 
 
 Court. I will by-and-by, when I see it most con- 
 venient, beg the favour of your ladyship and your 
 young kinswomen to accept of a treat and a fiddle; 
 you make some little difficulty at first, but upon 
 earnest persuasion comply, and use your interest to 
 make the young ladies do so too. Your company will 
 secure their reputations, and their company take off 
 from you all suspicion. 
 
 Lady Cock. The natural inclination they have to be 
 jigging will make them very ready to comply. But 
 what advantage can this be to our happiness, dear sir ? 
 
 Court. Why, first, madam, if the young ladies or 
 
SffE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 165 
 
 Mistress Gazette have any doubts upon their surprising 
 us together, our joining company will clear 'em all ; 
 next, we shall have some satisfaction in being an after4\ 
 noon together, though we enjoy not that full freedomU 
 we so passionately desire. 
 
 Lady Cock, Very good, sir. 
 
 Court. But then, lastly, madam, we gain an oppor- 
 tunity to contrive another appointment to-morrow, 
 which may restore us unto all those joys we have been 
 so unfortunately disappointed of to-day. 
 
 Lady Cock. This is a very prevailing argument 
 indeed ; but since Sir Oliver believes I have conceived 
 so desperate a sorrow, 'tis fit we should keep this from 
 his knowledge. 
 
 Court. Are the young ladies secret ? 
 
 Ixidy Cock. They have the good principles not to | 
 betray themselves, I assure you. ) 
 
 Court. Then 'tis but going to a house that is not 
 haunted by the company, and we are secure j and 
 now I think on't, the Bear in Drur y Lane^ is the 
 fittest place for our purpose. 
 
 Lady Cock. I know your honour, dear sir, and 
 
 submit to your discretion. 
 
 [^To them Ariana, Gatty, and Gazette, 
 from the shop. 
 
 ' " An excellent ordinary, after the French manner," accord- 
 ing to Pepys, Feb. i8th, 1668. He dined there four days after- 
 wards, " with mighty pleasure, and excellent meat." Gay gives 
 that quarter of the town a bad name : — 
 
 O may thy virtue guard thee through the roads 
 Of Drury's mazy courts and dark abodes. 
 
 Trivia, iii. 259-60, 
 
i66 JSHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Have you gratified your fancies, cousins ? 
 
 Aria. We are ready to wait upon you, madam. 
 
 Gat. I never saw colours better mingled. 
 
 Gaz. How lively they set off one another, and how 
 they add to the complexion ! 
 
 Lady Cock. Mr. Courtal, your most humble servant. 
 
 Court. Pray, madam, let me have the honour to 
 wait upon you and these young ladies, till I see you in 
 your coach. 
 
 Lady Cock. Your friendship to Sir Oliver would 
 engage you in an unnecessary trouble. 
 
 Aria. Let not an idle ceremony take you from your 
 serious business, good sir. 
 
 Gat. I ^hould rather have expected to have seen 
 
 jyou, sir, walking in Westminster Hall, watching to 
 
 -A make a match at tennis, or waiting to dine with a 
 
 IParhament man, than to meet you in such an idle 
 
 j place as the Exchange is. 
 
 Court. Methinks, ladies, you are well acquainted 
 with me upon the first visit. 
 
 Aria. We received your character before, you know, 
 sir, in the Mulberry Garden, upon oath. 
 
 Court, {aside). 'Sdeath, what shall I do ? Now out 
 comes all my roguery. 
 
 Gat. Yet I am apt to believe, sister, that was some 
 malicious fellow that wilfully perjured himself, on 
 purpose to make us have an ill opinion of this worthy 
 gentleman. 
 
 Court. Some rash men would be apt enough to in- 
 quire him out and cut his throat, ladies, but I heartily 
 forgive him whosoever he was ; for, on my conscience, 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 167 
 
 'twas not so much out of malice to me as out of love 
 to you he did it. 
 
 Gaz. He might imagine Mr. Courtal was his rival. 
 
 Court. Very likely, Mistress Gazette. 
 
 Lady. Cock. Whosoever he was, he was an unworthy 
 fellow, I warrant him ; Mr. Courtal is known to be a 
 person of worth and honour. 
 
 Aria. We took him for an idle fellow, madam, and 
 gave but very little credit to what he said. 
 
 Court. 'Twas very obliging, lady, to believe nothing 
 
 to the disadvantage of a stranger. What a couple 
 
 of young devils are these ! 
 
 Lady Cock. Since you are willing to give yourself, 
 this trouble. 
 
 Court. I ought to do my duty, madam. 
 
 [^Exeunt all but Ariana and Gatty. 
 
 Aria. How he blushed and hung down his head ! 
 
 Gat. A little more had put him as much out of 
 countenance as a country clown is when he ventures 
 to compliment his attomey*s daughter. {They follow. 
 
 J 
 
 Scene II. — Sir Oliver's Dining-Room. 
 
 Enter Sir Joslin and Servant severally. 
 
 Sir Jos. How now, old boy ! where's my brother 
 Cockwood to-day? 
 Serv. He desires to be in private, sir. 
 Sir Jos. Why ? what's the matter, man ? 
 
i68 SHE WOULD JF SHE COULD. 
 
 Serv. This is a day of humiliation, sir, with him, for 
 last night's transgression. 
 
 Sir Jos. I have business of consequence to impart 
 
 to him, and must and will speak with him. So, ho ! 
 
 brother Cockwood ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. (itiithouf). Who's that? my brother Jolley ? 
 
 Sir Jos. The same, the same ; come away, boy. 
 
 Sir Oliv. {without). For some secret reasons I desire 
 to be in private, brother. 
 
 Sir Jos. I have such a design on foot as would 
 draw Diogenes out of his tub to follow it ; therefore I 
 say, come away, come away. 
 
 Sir Oliver entering in a nightgown and slippers. 
 
 Sir Oliv. There is such a strange temptation in thy 
 voice, never stir. 
 
 Sir Jos. What, in thy gown and slippers yet ! Why, 
 brother, I have bespoke dinner, and engaged Master 
 i^akehgU, the little smart gentleman I have often pro- 
 mised thee to make thee acquainted withal, to bring a 
 whole bevy of damsels in sky, and pink, and flame- 
 coloured taffetas. Come, come, dress thee quickly; 
 there's to be Madam Rampant, a girl that shines 
 and will drink at such a rate, she's a mistress for 
 Alexander, were he alive again. 
 
 Sir Oliv. How unluckily this falls out ! Thomas, 
 what clothes have I to put on ? 
 
 Serv. None but your penitential suit, sir; all the 
 rest are secured. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Oh, unspeakable misfortune ! that I 
 should be in disgrace with my lady now! 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 169 
 
 Sir Jos. Come, come, never talk of clothes ; put on 
 anything ; thou hast a person and a mien will bear it 
 out bravely. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Nay, I know my behaviour will show I am 
 a gentleman \ but yet the ladies will look scurvily 
 upon me, brother. 
 
 Sir Jos. That's a jest, i'faith ! He that has terra 
 fimia in the country may appear in anything before 
 'em. 
 
 For he that would have a wench kind, 
 N^er smugs up himself like a ninny ; 
 But plainly tells her his mind. 
 And tickles her first with a guinea. 
 
 Ay, boy. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I vow thou hast such a bewitching way 
 with thee t 
 
 Sir Jos. How lovely will the ladies look when they 
 have a beer-glass in their hands I 
 
 Sir Oliv. I now have a huge mind to venture ; but 
 if this should come to my lady's knowledge? 
 
 Sir Jos, I have bespoke dinner at t he pear , the 
 privat'st place in town. There will be no spies to 
 betray us, if Thomas be but secret, I dare warrant 
 thee, brother Cockwood. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I have always found Thomas very faith- 
 ful ; but faith, 'tis too unkind, considering how tenderly 
 my lady loves me. 
 
 Sir Jos. Fie, fie, a man, and kept so much under 
 correction'by a busk and a fan 1 
 
 Sir Oliv. Nay, I am in my nature as valiant as any 
 
170 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 man, when once I set out; but, i'faith, I cannot 
 but thinkhow my dear lady will be concerned when 
 she comes home and misses me. 
 
 Sir Jos. A pox upon these qualms ! »» 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well, thou hast seduced me ; but I shall 
 look so untowardly. 
 
 Sir Jos. Again art thou at it ? In, in, and make all 
 the haste that may be ; Rakehell and the ladies will 
 be there before us else. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well, thou art an arrant devil hey 
 
 for the ladies, brother Jolley. 
 
 Sir Jos. Hey for the ladies, brother Cockwood. 
 
 \_Exeunt singing. For fie that woidd, Ss'c. 
 
 Scene III. — The Bear. 
 
 Without. Ho ! Francis, Humphrey, show a room 
 there. 
 
 Enter Courtal, Freeman, Lady Cockwood, 
 Ariana, Gatty, and Sentry. 
 Court. Pray, madam, be not so full of apprehen- 
 sion; there is no fear that this should come to Sir 
 Oliver's knowledge. 
 
 Lady Cock. I were ruined if it should, sir ! Dear, 
 how I tremble ! I never was in one of these houses 
 before. 
 I Sent, {aside). This is a bait for the young ladies to 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 171 
 
 swallow ; she has been in most of the eating-houses J 
 about town, to my knowledge. 
 Court. Ho, Francis ! 
 
 Enter Waiter. 
 
 Waiter. Your worship's welcome, sir; but I must 
 needs desire you to walk into the next room, for this 
 is bespoke. 
 
 I^dy Cock. Mr. Courtal, did not you say this place 
 was private ? 
 
 Court. I warrant you, madam. What company 
 dines here, Francis ? 
 
 Waiter. A couple of country knights, Sir Joslin*^ j 
 Jolley and Sir Oliver Cockwood, very honest gentle- / / 
 men. ' — ' 
 
 Lady Cock. Combination to undo me ! v 
 
 Court. Peace, madam, or you'll betray yourself to 
 the waiter. 
 
 Lady Cock. I am distracted ! Sentry, did not I 
 command thee to secure all Sir Oliver's clothes, and 
 leave nothing for him to put on but his penitential 
 suit, that I might be sure he could not stir abroad 
 to-day ? 
 
 Sent. I obeyed you in everything, madam ; but 
 I have often told you this Sir Joslin is a wicked 
 seducer. 
 
 Aria. If my uncle sees us, sister, what will he think 
 of us? 
 
 Gat. We come but to wait upon her ladyship. 
 
 Free. You need not fear, you chickens are secure 
 under the wings of that old hen. 
 
172 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Court. Is there to be nobody, Francis, but Sir 
 Oliver and Sir Joslin ? 
 
 Waiter. Faith, sir, I was enjoined secresy ; but you 
 have an absolute power over me. Coming lately out 
 of the country where there is but little variety, they 
 have a design to solace themselves with a fresh girl or 
 t wo, as I understand the bus iness. \_Exit Waiter. 
 
 Lady Cock. Oh, Sentry ! Sir Oliver disloyal ! My 
 misfortunes come too thick upon me. 
 
 Court, (aside). Now is she afraid of being dis- 
 appointed on all hands. 
 
 Lady Cock, I know not what to do, Mr. Courtal ; I 
 would not be surprised here myself, and yet I would 
 prevent Sir Oliver from prosecuting his wicked and 
 perfidious intentions. 
 
 Ai-ia. Now shall we have admirable sport, what 
 with her fear and jealousy. 
 
 Gat. I lay my life she routs the wenches. 
 
 Enter Waiter. 
 
 Waiter. I must needs desire you to step into the 
 next room ; Sir Joslin and Sir Oliver are below already. 
 
 Lady Cock. I have not power to move a foot. 
 
 Free. We will consider what is to be done within, 
 madam. 
 
 Court. Pray, madam, come ; I have a design in my 
 head which shall secure you, surprise Sir Oliver, and 
 free you from all your fears. 
 
 Lady Cock. It cannot be, sir. 
 
 Court. Never fear it. Francis, you inay own Mr. 
 Freeman and I are in the house, if they ask for us ; 
 
I 
 
 SHE WOULD IP SHE COULD. 
 
 but not a word of these ladies, as you tender the 
 wearing of your ears. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Sir Joslin, Sir Oliver, and Waiter. 
 
 Sir Jos. Come, brother Cockwood, prithee be brisk. 
 
 Sir Oliv, I shall disgrace myself for ever, brother. 
 
 Sir Jos. Pox upon care ! never droop like a cock 
 in moulting-time ; thou art spark enough in all 
 conscience. 
 
 Sir Oliv. But my heart begins to fail me when I 
 think of my lady. 
 
 Sir Jos. What, more qualms yet ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well, I will be courageous. But it is not 
 necessary these strangers should know this is myfj 
 penitential suit, brother. 
 
 Sir Jos. They shall not, they shall not. Hark you, 
 old boy, is the meat provided ? Is the wine and ice 
 come? And are the melodious rascals at hand I 
 spoke for ? 
 
 Waiter. Everything will be in readiness, sir. 
 
 Sir Jos. If Master Rakehell, with a coachful or 
 two of vizard-masks and silk petticoats, call at the . 
 door, usher ^gm uiLtg theplace of execution. '^^ 
 
 Waiter. You shall be obeyed, sir. [Exit Waiter. 
 
 Enter Rakehell. 
 
 Sir Jos. Ho, here's my little Rakehell come ! 
 Brother Cockwood, let me commend this ingenious 
 gentleman to your acquaintance ; he is a knight of ^ 
 the industry, has many admirable qualities, I assure 
 you. 
 
174 SHE WOULD IF SBE COU^D. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I am very glad, sir, of this opportunity to 
 know you. 
 
 Rake. I am happy, sir, if you esteem me your ser- 
 vant. Hark you. Sir Joslin, is this Sir Oliver Cock- 
 wood, in earnest ? n 
 
 Sir Jos. In very good earnest, I assure you ; he is a 
 little fantastical now and then, and dresses himself up 
 in an old fashion. But that's all one among friends, 
 my little Rakehell. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Where are the damsels you talked of, 
 brother Jolley? I hope Master Rakehell has not 
 forgot 'em. 
 
 Rake, They are arming for the rencontre. 
 
 Sir Jos. What, tricking and trimming? 
 
 Rake. Even so, and will be here immediately. 
 
 Sir Oliv. They need not make themselves so full of 
 temptation; my brother Jolley and I can be wicked 
 enough without it. 
 
 Sir Jos. The truth is, my little Rakehell, we are 
 both mighty men-at-arms, and thou shall see us charge 
 anon to the terror of the ladies. 
 
 Rake. Methinks that dress. Sir Oliver, is a little too 
 rustical for a man of your capacity. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I have an odd humour, sir, now and then ; 
 but I have wherewithal at home to be as spruce as 
 any man. 
 
 Rake. Your periwig is too scandalous, Sir Oliver ; 
 your black Cap and border is never wore but by a 
 fiddler or a waiter. 
 
 Sir Jos. Prithee, my little Rakehell, do not put my 
 brother Cockwood out of conceit of himself; methinks 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 175 
 
 your calotte ' is a pretty ornament, and makes a man 
 look both polite and politic. 
 
 Rake. I will allow you 'tis a grave wear, and fit for 
 men of business that are every moment bending of 
 their brows and scratching of their heads," [so that] 
 every project would claw out another periwig ; but a 
 lover had better appear before his mistress with a bald 
 pate : 'twill make the ladies apprehend a savour, stop 
 their noses, and avoid you. 'Slife, Love in a Cap is 
 more ridicu lous than T.nve in a Tnh,' or T-nve in a 
 Pipkin. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I must confess your whole head is now 
 in fashion; but there was a time when your calotte 
 was not so despicable. 
 
 Rake. Here's a perruque, sir. 
 
 Sir Oliv. A very good one. 
 
 Rake. A very good one ! 'tis the best in England. 
 Pray, Sir Joslin, take him in your hand, and draw a 
 comb through him ; there is not such another friz in 
 Europe. 
 
 Sir Jos. 'Tis a very fine one, indeed. 
 
 Rake. Pray, Sir Oliver, do me the favour to grace 
 it on your head a httle. 
 
 Sir Oliv. To oblige you, sir. 
 
 Rake. You never wore anything became you half so 
 well in all your life before. 
 
 Sir Jos. Why, you never saw him in your life before. 
 
 ' A clerical cap. 
 
 '' Some words must have fallen out : " so that " carries on the 
 sense fairly well. 
 
 ^ The allusion is obvious. Was Love in a Pipkin the name 
 of some play ? 
 
175 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Rake. That's all one, sir; I know 'tis impossible. 
 Here's a beaver/ Sir Oliver, feel him ; for fineness, 
 substance, and for fashion, the Court of France never 
 saw a better ; I have bred him but a fortnight, and 
 have him at command already. Clap him on boldly; 
 never hat took the fore-cock and the hind-cock at one 
 motion so naturally. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I think you have a mind to make a spark 
 of me before I see the ladies. 
 
 Rake. Now you have the mien of a true ^valjer,. 
 and with one look may make a lady kinU'and a 
 Hector humble ; and since I named a Hector. Ji ere's 
 a sword, sir. Sa, sa, sa ! try him, Sir Joslin, put him 
 to't, cut through the staple, run him through the 
 door, beat him to the hilts ; if he breaks, you shall 
 have liberty to break my pate, and pay me never a 
 groat of the ten for't. 
 
 Sir Jos. 'Tis a very pretty weapon indeed, sir. 
 
 Rake. The hilt is true French-wrought, and dor'e by 
 the best workman in France. This sword and this 
 castor, with an embroidered button and loop which I 
 have to vary him upon occasion, were sent me out of 
 France for a token by my elder brother, that went 
 over with a handsome equipage, to take the pleasure 
 of this campagne. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Have you a mind to sell these things, 
 sir? ""^ 
 
 Rake. That is below a gentleman ; yet if a person of 
 honour, or a particular friend, such as I esteem you, 
 
 ^ " The broker here his spacious beaver wears." — Trivia, \\. 
 277. Allusions, however, are frequent. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 177 
 
 Sir Oliver, take at any time a fancy to a band, a 
 cravat, a velvet coat^_a vest, a ring, a^ flageolet^orj^y 
 otheT^tle^toy^have about me, I am good-natured,' 
 and may be easily persuaded to play the fool upon 
 good terms. 
 
 Enter Freeman. 
 
 Sir Jos. Worthy Master Freeman ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Honest Frank, how cam'st thou to find 
 us out, man ? 
 
 Free. By mere chance, sir. Ned Coiirlal is without, 
 writing a letter, and I came in to know whether you 
 had any particular engagements, gentlemen. 
 
 Sir Oliv. We resolved to be in private ; but you are 
 men without exception. 
 
 Free. Methinks you intended to be in private indeed. 
 Sir Oliver. 'Sdeath, what disguise have you got on ? 
 Are you grown grave since last night, and come to sin 
 incognito ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Hark you in your ear, Frank ; this is my 
 habit of humiliation, which I always put on the next 
 day after I have transgressed, the better to make my 
 pacification with my incensed lady; 
 
 Free. Ha, ha, ha !— — 
 
 Rake. Master Freeman, your most humble servant, 
 sir. 
 
 Free. Oh, my little dapper officer ! are you here? 
 
 Sir Jos. Ah! Master Freeman, we have bespoke all 
 the jovial entertainment that a merry wag can wish 
 for — good meat, good wine, and a wholesome wench 
 or two for the digestion. We shall have Madam , 
 
 N 
 
178 SffJ^ WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Rampant, the glory of the town, the brightest she that 
 shines, or else my little Rakehell is not a man of his 
 word, sir. 
 
 Rake. I warrant you she comes. Sir Joslin. 
 
 Sir Joslin sings. 
 
 And if she comes she shall not 'scape. 
 If twenty pounds will win her ; 
 ^,,-ffer very eye commits a rape, 
 'Tis such a tempting sinner. 
 
 Enter CouRTAL. 
 
 Court. Well said, Sir Joslin ; I see you hold up still, 
 and bate not an ace of your good-humour ! 
 
 Sir Jos. Nobk Master Courtal ! 
 
 Court. Bless me, Sir Oliver ! what, are you going to 
 act a droll ? How the people would throng about you 
 if you were but mounted on a few deal boards in 
 Covent Garden ' now ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Hark you, Ned, this is the badge of my 
 lady's indignation for my last night's offence ; do not 
 insult over a poor sober man in affietion. 
 
 Court. Come, come, send home for your clothes : 
 I hear you are to have ladies, and you are not to learn 
 at these years how absolutely necessary a rich vest and 
 a perruque are to a man that aims at their favours. 
 
 ' Explained by Pepys : "At Whitehall with the King, before 
 whom the puppet-plays I saw this summer in Covent Garden are 
 acted this night."— Mynors Bright's ed., ii. 55 ; cf. the Diary, 
 May 9th and 23rd, 1662. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 179 
 
 Sir Oliv. A pox on't, Ned ! my lady's gone abroad 
 in a damned jealous melancholy humour, and has 
 commanded her woman to secure 'em. 
 
 Court. Under lock and key? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Ay, ay, man, 'tis usual in these cases : out 
 of pure love, in hopes to reclaim me, and to keep me 
 from doing myself an injury by drinking two days 
 together. 
 
 Court. What a loving lady 'tis ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. There are sots that would think themselves 
 happy in such a lady, Ned ; but to a true bred gentle- 
 man all lawful solace is abomination. 
 
 Rake. Mr. Courtal, your most humble Servant, sir. 
 
 Court. Oh ! my little knight of the industry, I am 
 glad to see you in such good company. 
 
 Free. Courtal, hark you, are the masking-habits 
 which you sent to borrow at the playhouse come yet? 
 
 Court. Yes, and the ladies are almost dressed. This 
 design will add much to our mirth, and give us the 
 benefit of their meat, wine, and music for our enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 Free. 'Twas luckily thought o(. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Hark, the music comes. \jMudc. 
 
 Sir Jos. Hey, boys ! let 'em enter, let 'eni enter. 
 
 Enter Waiter, 
 
 Waiter. An't please your worships, there is a mask 
 of ladies without that desire to have the freedom to 
 come in and dance. 
 
 Sir Jos. Hey, boys ! 
 
li 
 
 i8o SffE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Sir OHv. Did you bid 'em come in masquerade, 
 Mr. Rakehell? 
 
 Rake. No ; but Rampant is a mad wench ; she was 
 half-a-dozen times a-mumming in private company last 
 Shrovetide, and I lay my life she has put 'em all upon 
 this frolic. - ; 
 
 Court. They are mettled, girls, I warrant them. Sir 
 Joslin, let 'em be what they will. 
 
 Sir Jos. Let 'em enter, let 'em enter, ha, boys ! 
 
 Enter Music, and the Ladies in an antic, and then they 
 take out: my Lady Cockwood, ' Sir Oliver; 
 the young Ladies, Courtal and Freeman ; and 
 Sentry, Sir Joslin ; and dance a set dance. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Oh, my little rogue!, have I got thee? 
 How I will turn, and wind, and feague thy body ! 
 
 Sir Jos. Mettle on all sides, mettle on all sides, 
 i'faith ! How swimmingly would this pretty little 
 ambling filly carry a man of my body ! 
 
 Sings. 
 Shis so bonny and brisk, 
 How she'd curvet and/risk, 
 -'^^If a man were once mounted upon her! 
 Let me have but a leap, 
 Where 'tis wholesome and c heaA 
 And a fig forfoiirj ^rson rf honour. 
 
 Sir Oliv. 'Tis true, little Joslin, i'faith. 
 Court. They have warmed us. Sir Oliver. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. i8l 
 
 ; Sir Oliv. Now am I as rampant as a lion, Ned, 
 and could love as vigorously as a seaman that is 
 newly landed after an East India voyage. 
 
 Court. Take my advice. Sir Oliver; do not in your 
 rage deprive yourself of your only hope of an accom- 
 modation with your lady. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I had rather have a pe^et ual civil w ar 
 than purchas e peace at such a dishonourable rat e. A 
 poor fiddler, after he has been three days persecuted 
 at a country wedding, takes more delight .in scraping* 
 upon his old squeaking fiddle than I do in fumblin g > , 
 on that domestic instrument of mine. -^ 
 
 Court. Be not so bitter, Sir Oliver, on your own 
 dear lady. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I was married to her when I was young, 
 Ned, with a design to be baulked, as they tie whelps to 
 the bellwether ; where I have been so butted, 'twere 
 enough to fright me, were I not pure mettle, from ever 
 running, at sheep again. ^ 
 
 Court. That's no sure rule. Sir Oliver j for a wife's 
 a dish of which if a man once surfeit he shall have a 
 better stomach to all others ever after. 
 
 Sir Oliv. What a shape is here, Ned ! so exact and 
 tempting, 'twould persuade a man to ie an implicit 
 sinner, and take her face upon credit. 
 
 Sir Jos. Come, brotEeT'Cockwood, let us get 'em 
 to lay aside these masking fopperies, and then we'll 
 %ague 'em in earnest. Give us a bottle, waiter. "^ W 'J^i 
 
 Free. Not before dinner, good Sir Joshn. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Lady, though I have out of drollery put 
 myself into this contemptible dress at present, I am 
 
iSj SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 a gentleman and a man of courage, as you shall find 
 anon by my brisk behaviour. 
 
 Rake. Sir Joslin ! Sir Oliver ! These are none of 
 
 our ladies ; they are just come to the door in a coach, 
 
 and have sent for me down to wait upon 'em up to you. 
 
 ^ Sir Jos. Hey, boy& ! more game, more game ! Fetch 
 
 'em up, fetch 'em up. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Why, what a day of sport will here be, 
 Ned ! {Exit Rakehell. 
 
 I Sir Jos. They shall all have fair play, boys. 
 
 Sir Oliv, And we will match ourselves, and make 
 a prize on't — Ned Courtal and I against Frank 
 Freeman and your brother JoUey; and Rakehell 
 shall be judge for gloves and silk stockings, to be 
 bestowed as the conqueror shall fancy. 
 Sir Jos. Agreed, agreed, agreed. 
 Court, and Free. A match, a match. 
 JSir Oliv. Hey — boys ! 
 
 [Lady Cock wood counterfeits a fit. 
 Sent, {pulling off her mask). O heavens ! my dear 
 I lady! Help, help ! 
 
 J Sir Oliv. What's here? Sentry and my lady! 
 
 'Sdeath, what a condition am I in now, Brother 
 Jolley ? You have brought me into this premunire.'^ 
 For heaven's sake, run down quickly, and send the 
 rogue and whores away. Help, help ! Oh, help ! 
 Dear madam, sweet lady ! 
 
 \Exit Sir Joslin ; Sir Oliver 
 kneels down by her. 
 
 ^ " I'm in such a fright ! the strangest quandary and premunire. " 
 — The Double Dealer, iv. 3. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. iSj 
 
 Sent. Oh, she's gone, she's gone ! 
 
 Free. Give her more air. 
 
 Court. Fetch a glass of cold water, Freeman. 
 
 Sir OKv. Dear madam, speak ; sweet madam, speak. 
 
 Sent. Out upon thee for a vile hypocrite ! thou art 
 the wicked author of all this : who but such a reprobate, 
 such an obdurate sinner as thou art, could go about 
 to abuse so sweet a lady ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Dear Sentry, do not stab me with thy 
 words, but stab me with thy bodkin rather, that I may 
 here die a sacrifice at her feet for all my disloyal 
 actions. 
 
 Sent. No, live ; live to be a reproach and shame "i 
 to all rebellious husbands. Ah, that she had but 
 my heart ! — but thou hast bewitched her affections — 
 thou shouldst then dearly smart for this abominable 
 treason. 
 
 Gat. So, now she begins to come to herself. 
 
 Aria. Set her more upright and bend her a little 
 forward. 
 
 Lady Cock. Unfortunate wcjpian ! let me go ; why 
 do you hold me ? Would I had a dagger at my heart, 
 to punish it for loving that ungrateful man. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Dear madam, were I but worthy of your \ 
 pity and belief. ' 
 
 Lady Cock. Peace, peace, perfidious man ; I am too 
 
 tame and foolish Were I every day at the plays, 
 
 the Park, and Mulberry Garden, with a kind look 
 secretly to indulge the unlawful passion of some young | 
 gallant ; or did I associate myself with the gaming 6 
 madams, and were every afternoon at my Lady 
 
i84 SflE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 / Briefs and my Lady Meanwell's at ombre ' and quebas, 
 / pretending ill luck to borrow money of a friend, and 
 I then pretending good luck to excuse the plenty to a 
 ) husband, my suspicious demeanour had deserved this ; 
 I but I who, out of a scrupulous tenderness to my 
 honour, and to comply with tiiy base jealousy, have 
 ' "3«iTe3'myself all those, blameless recreations which a 
 whiousladxjni^t^enjoji to be thus inhumanly re- 
 viled in my own person, and thus unreasonably robbed 
 \ and abused in thirie too ! 
 
 Court. Sure she will take up anon, or crack her 
 mind, or else the devil's in't. 
 
 Lady Cock. Do not stay and torment me with thy 
 
 sight ; go, graceless wretch ! follow thy treacherous 
 
 resolutions, do, and waste that poor stock of comfort 
 
 \ ■ which I should have at home, upon those your 
 
 I ravenous cormorants belowt I feel my passion begin 
 
 to sweU~agamr \_Ske has a little fit again. 
 
 I j Court. Now will she get an absolute dominion over 
 
 \ \ him, and all this will be my p k gue in the end. 
 
 Sir Oliv. {running ^p and down). Ned Courtal, 
 Frank Freeman, Cousin Ariana, and dear Cousin 
 Gatty, for heaven's sake ! join all, and moderate her 
 passion — r-Ah, Sentry ! forbear thy unjust reproaches, 
 take pity on thy master ! thou hast a great influence 
 over her, and I have always been mindful of thy 
 favours. 
 
 Sent. You do not deserve the least compassion, nor 
 would I speak a good word for you, but that I know 
 
 ' Famous for ever in the third canto of the Rape of the Lock. 
 Quebas is less immortal^ caret quia vaie sacro. 
 
) 
 
 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 185 
 
 for all this 'twill be acceptable to my poor lady. Dear 
 madam, do but look up a little ; Sir Oliver lies at 
 your feet, an humble penitent. 
 
 Aria. How bitterly he weeps ! how sadly he 
 sighs ! 
 
 Gat. I dare say he counterfeited his sin, and is real { 
 in his repentance. ' 
 
 Court. Compose yourself a little, pray, madam ; all \ 
 this was mere raillery, a way of talk which Sir Oliver, 
 being well-bred, has learned among the gay people of j 
 the town. 
 
 Free. If you did but know, madam, what an odious' 
 thing it is to be thought to love a wife in good 
 company, you would easily forgive him. 
 
 Lady Cock. No, no, 'twas the mild correction which 
 I gave him for his insolent behaviour last night that 
 has encouraged him again thus to insult over my 
 affections. 
 
 Court. Come, come. Sir Oliver, out with your 
 bosom-secret, and clear all things to your lady ; is it 
 not as we have said ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Or may I never have the happiness to be 
 in her good grace again ; and as for the harlots, dear 
 madam, here is Ned Courtal and Fraink Freeman, 
 that have often seen me in company of the wicked ; 
 let 'em speak, if they ever knew me tempted to a 
 disloyal action in their lives. 
 
 Court. On my conscience, madam, I may more 
 safely swear that Sir Oliver has been constant to your 
 ladyship than that a girl of twelve years old has her ll 
 maidenhead this warm and ripening age. 
 
i86 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Enter Sir Joslin. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Here's my brother JoUey, too, can witness 
 the loyalty of my heart, and that I did not intend 
 any treasonable practice against your ladyship in the 
 least. 
 
 Sir Jos. Unless feaguing 'em with a beer-glass be 
 included in the statute. Come, Master Courtal, to 
 satisfy my lady and put her in a little good-humour, 
 let us sing the catch I taught you yesterday, that was 
 made by a country vicar on my brother Cockwood 
 and me. 
 
 They sing. 
 
 Love and wenching are ^ys^ 
 I ) Fit to please beardless boys, 
 t)JH I They're sports we hate worse than a leaguer; 
 When we visit a miss. 
 We still brag hmv we kiss. 
 But 'tis with a bottle wefeague her. 
 
 Sir Jos. Come, come, madam, let all things be 
 forgot ; dinner is ready, the cloth is laid in the next 
 room. Let us in and be merry ; there was no harm 
 meant, as I am true little Joslin. 
 
 Lady Cock. Sir Oliver knows I can't be angry with 
 him, though he plays the naughty man thus. But 
 Wwhy, my dear, would y'expose yourself in this 
 I ridiculous habit to the censure of both our honours? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Indeed I was to blame to be over-per- 
 suaded ; I intended dutifully to retire into the pantry, 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 187 
 
 and there civilly to divert myself at backgammon with 
 the butler. 
 
 Sir Jos. Faith, I must even own the fault was mine ; 
 I enticed him hither, lady. 
 
 Sir Oliv. How the devil, Ned, came they to find 
 us out here ? 
 
 Court. No bloodhound draws so sure as a jealous 
 woman. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I am afraid Thomas has been unfaithful. 
 Prithee, Ned, speak to my lady, that there may be a 
 perfect understanding between us, and that Sentry 
 may be sent home for my clothes, that I may no 
 longer wear the marks of her displeasure. 
 
 Court. Let me alone, Sir Oliver. 
 
 \He goes to my Lady Cockwood. 
 How do you find yourself, madam, after this violent 
 passion ? 
 
 Lady Cock. This has been a lucky adventure, 
 Mr. Courtal ; now am I absolute mistress of my own 
 conduct for a time. 
 
 Court. Then shall I be a happy man, madam : I 
 knew this would be the consequence of all, and yet 
 could not I forbear the project. 
 
 Sir Oliv. {to Sir Joslin). How didst thou shuffle 
 away Rakehell and the ladies, brother? 
 
 Sir Jos. I have appointed 'em to meet us at six 
 o'clock at the New Spring Garden. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Then will we yet, in spite of the stars 
 that have crossed us, be in conjunction with Madam 
 Rampant, brother. 
 
 Court. Come, gentlemen, dinner is on the table. 
 
 i«y. 
 
i88 SjBE would if SHE COULD, 
 
 Sir Jos. Ha ! sly girl and madcap, Fll enter you, 
 i'faith ; since you have found the Ttay to the Bear, 
 m feague you. 
 
 Sings. 
 
 W^en u-e visit a miss, 
 Jl'iT stiff brag how ut kiss ; 
 But 'tis writA a bottle wc feague her. 
 
 [£xattit, singing. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 189 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — A Dining-Room. 
 
 Enter Lady Cockwood. 
 
 Lady Cockwood. 
 
 A LADY cannot be too jealous of her servant's 
 love this faithless and inconstant age. His, 
 amorous carriage to that prating girl to-day, though^he 
 pretends it was to blind Sir Oliver, I fear will prove a 
 ^taitt sign of his revolted hearty, the letters I nave 
 counterfeited in these girls' names will clear all ; if he 
 accept of that appointment and refuses mine, I need 
 not any longer doubt. 
 
 Enter Sentry. 
 Sentry, have the letters and message been delivered 
 as I directed ? 
 
 Sent. Punctually, madam ; I knew they were to be 
 found at the latter end of a play. I sent a porter first 
 with the letter to Mr. Courtal, who was at the King's 
 House ; he sent for him out by the doorkeeper, and 
 delivered it into his own hands. 
 
 Lady Cock, Did you keep on your vizard, that the 
 fellow might not know how to describe you ? 
 
190 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Sent. I did, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. And how did he receive it? 
 
 Sent. Like a traitor to all goodness, with all the 
 signs of joy imaginable. 
 
 Lady Cock. Be not angry, Sentry ; 'tis as my heart 
 wished it. What did you do with the letter to Mr. 
 Freeman? For I thought fit to deceive 'em both, to 
 make my policy less suspicious to Courtal. 
 
 Sent. The porter found him at the Duke's House,' 
 madam, and delivered it with like care. 
 
 Lady Cock. Ysrj well. 
 
 Sent. After the letters were delivered, madam, I 
 went myself to the playhouse, and sent in for Mr. 
 Courtal, who came out to me immediately; I told 
 him your ladyship presented your humble service to 
 him, and that Sir Oliver was going into the City with 
 Sir Joslin to visit his brother Cockwood, and that it 
 would add much more to your ladyship's happiness if 
 he would be pleased to meet you in Gray's Inn Walks* 
 this lovely evening. 
 
 ^ Originally a tennis-court (cf. the epilogue to Love fpr Love); 
 it was opened as a theatre in 1662 under Davenant's direction. 
 In 1671 the company removed to Dorset Gardens, where the 
 new house was inaugurated by a performance of Dryden's Sir 
 Martin Mar-all, on November the gth, the prologue for the 
 occasion being written by Etheredge (see the Poems). The 
 King's House, in Drury Lane, was under Killigrew's manage- 
 ment. Built in 1663 and burnt down in 1672, it was reopened 
 in 1674, with a prologue and epilogue by Dryden. In 1682 the 
 rival companies united. 
 
 ^ A favourite promenade. Pepys sometimes strolled there after 
 church ; e.g., on Sunday, June 23rd, 166 r, when "a great store 
 of gallants " were taking the air. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 191 
 
 Lady Cock. And how did he entertain the motion ? 
 
 Sent. Bless me ! I tremble still to think upon it ! 
 I could not have imagined he had been so wicked : 
 he counterfeited the greatest passion, railed at his fate, 
 and swore a thousand horrid oaths, that since he 
 came into the playhouse he had notice of a business 
 tEatcOTcemed both his honour and fortune, and that 
 he was an undone manJfKe^d not go^aboutjt jrg- 
 sently ; prayed me to desire your ladyship to excuse 
 hrni t&is evening, and that to-morrow he>would be 
 wholly at your devotion. 
 
 Lady Cock. Ha, ha, ha ! he little thinks how much 
 he has obliged me. 
 
 Sent. I had much ado to forbear upbraiding him 
 with his ingratitude to your ladyship. 
 
 Lady Cock. Poor Sentry ! be not concerned for me ; 
 I h ave conqu ered my affection, and thou shalt find it 
 is not jealousy has been my counsellor in this. Go, 
 let our hoods and masks be ready, that I may surprise 
 Courtal, and make the best advantage of this lucky 
 opportunity. 
 
 Sent. I obey you, madam. {Exit Sentry. 
 
 Lady Cock. How am I filled with indignation ? To ' 
 find my person and my passion both despised, and 
 what is more, so much precious time fooled away in 
 fruitless expectation. I would^poison my face, so 1, 
 might be revgnged^ this ungratefuljriUain. 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver. 
 Sir Oliv. My dearest ! 
 
192 SBE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Lady Cock. My dearest dear ! prithee do not go 
 into the City to-night. 
 
 Sir Oliv. My brother Jolley is gone before, and I 
 am to call him at Counsellor Trot's chamber in the 
 Temple. 
 
 Lady Cock. Well, if you did but know the fear I 
 have upon me when you are absent, you would not 
 seek occasions to be from me thus. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Let me comfort thee with a kiss ; what 
 shouldst thou be afraid of? 
 
 Lady Cock. I cannot but believe that every woman 
 that sees thee must be in love with thee, as I am. 
 Do not blame my jealousy. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I protest I would refuse a countess rather 
 than abuse thee, poor heart. 
 
 Lady Cock. And then you are so desperate upon 
 the least occasion, I should have acquainted you else 
 with something that concerns your honour. 
 
 Sir Oliv. My honour ! you ought in duty to do it. 
 
 Lady Cock. Nay, I knew how passionate you would 
 be presently ; therefore you shall never know it. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Do not leave me in doubt ; I shall suspect 
 everyone I look upon ; I will kill a common council- 
 man or two before I come back, if you do not 
 tell me. 
 
 iJidy Cock. Dear, how I tremble ! Will you promise 
 me you will not quarrel then ? If you tender my life 
 and happiness, I am sure you will not. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I will bear anything rather than be an 
 enemy to thy quiet, my dear. 
 
 Lady Cock. I could wish Mr. Courtal a man of 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 193 
 
 better principles, because I know you love him, my 
 dear. 
 
 Sir Oliv: Why, what has he done? 
 
 Lady Cock. I always treated him with great respects, 
 out of my regard to your friendship ; but he, like an 
 impudent man as he is, to-day, misconstruing my 
 civility, in most unseemly language made a foul 
 attempt upon my honour. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Death, and hell, and furies, I will have 
 my pumps and long sword ! 
 
 Lady Coek, Oh, I shall faint ! Did not you promise 
 me you would not be so rash ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well, I will not kill him, for fear of mur- 
 dering thee, my dear. 
 
 Lady Cock. You may decline your friendship, and 
 by your coldness give him no encouragement to visit 
 our family. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I think thy advice the best for this once, 
 indeed ; for it is not fit to publish such a business. 
 But if he should be ever tempting or attempting, let 
 me know it, prithee, my dear. 
 
 Lady Cock. If you moderate yourself according to 
 my directions now, I shall never conceal anything 
 from you that may increase your just opinion of my 
 conjugal fidelity. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Was ever man blessed with such a vir- 
 tuous lady ! [Aside.] Yet cannot I forbear going a- 
 ranging. again. Now must I to the Spring Garden to 
 meet my brother Jolley and Madam Rampant. 
 
 Lady Cock. Prithee be so good to think how melan- 
 choly I spend my time here ; for I have joy in no 
 o 
 
194 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 company but thine, and let that bring thee home a 
 little sooner. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Thou hast been so kind in this discovery 
 that I am loth to leave thee. 
 
 Lady Cock. I wish you had not been engaged so 
 far. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Ay, that's it. Farewell, my virtuous dear. 
 ' [Exit Sir Oliver. 
 
 Lady Cock. Farewell, my dearest dear. I know he 
 has not courage enough to question Courtal ; but this 
 will make him hate him, increase his confidence of 
 me, and justify my banishing that false fellow our 
 L- house : it is not fit a man that has abused my love 
 should come hither and pry into my actions; be- 
 sides, this will make his access more difficult to that 
 wanton baggage. 
 
 Enter Ariana and Gatty with their hoods and masks. 
 
 Whither are you going, cousins. 
 
 Gat. To take the air upon the water, madam. 
 
 Aria. And for variety, to walk a turn or two in the 
 New Spring Garden. 
 
 Lady Coch I heard you were gone abroad with Mr. 
 Courtal and Mr. Freeman. 
 
 Gai. For heaven's sake, why should your ladyship 
 have such an ill opinion of us ? 
 
 Lady Cock. The truth is, before I saw you, I be- 
 lieved it merely the vanity of that prating man ; Mr. 
 Courtal told Mistress Gazette this morning that you 
 were so well acquainted already that you would meet 
 him and Mr. Freeman anywhere, and that you had 
 
SHE WOULD IF SBE COULD. 19S 
 
 promised 'em to receive and make appointment by 
 letters. 
 
 Gat. Oh, impudent man ! 
 
 Aria. Now you see the consequence, sister, of our 
 rambling ; they have raised this false story from our 
 innocent fooling with 'em in the Mulberry Garden 
 last night. 
 
 Gat. I could almost forswear ever speaking to a 
 man again. 
 
 Lady Cock. Was Mr. Courtal in the Mulberry Garden 
 last night ? 
 
 Aria. Yes, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. And did he speak to you ? 
 
 Gat. There passed a little harmless raillery betwixt 
 us ; but you amaze me, madam. 
 
 Aria. I could not imagine any man could be thus 
 unworthy. 
 
 Lady Cock. He has quite lost my good opinion too. 
 In duty to Sir Oliver, I have hitherto showed him 
 some countenance ; but I shall hate him hereafter for 
 your sakes. But I detain you from your recreations, 
 cousins. 
 
 Gat. We are very much obliged to your ladyship 
 for this timely notice. 
 
 Aria, and Gat. Your servant, madam. 
 
 [Exeunt Ariana and Gatty. 
 
 Lady Cock. Your servant, cousins. In the Mul- 
 berry Garden last night ! when I sat languishing and 
 vainly expecting him at home. This has incensed me 
 so, that I could kill him. I am glad these girls are 
 gone to the Spring Garden, it helps my design ; the 
 
igS SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 letters I have counterfeited have appointed Courtal 
 and Freeman to meet them there, they will produce 'em, 
 and confirm all I have said. I will daily poison these 
 
 I girls with such lies as shall make their quarrel to 
 Courtal irreconcilable, and render Freeman only sus- 
 
 1 pected ; for I would not have him thought equally 
 guilty. He secretly began to make an address to me 
 
 '< at the Bear, and this breach shall give him an oppor- 
 tunity to pursue it. 
 
 Enter Sentry. 
 
 Sent. Here are your things, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. That's well. Oh, Sentry, I shall once 
 more be happy; for now Mr. Courtal has given me 
 an occasion that I may without ingratitude check his 
 unlawful passion, and free myself from the trouble of 
 an intrigue that gives me every day such fearful 
 apprehensions of my honour. 
 
 [Exeunt Lady Cockwood and Sentry. 
 
 Scene II. — New Spring Garden. 
 
 Enter Sir Joslin, Rakehell, and Waiter. 
 
 Waiter. Will you be pleased to walk into an arbour, 
 gentlemen ? 
 
 Sir Jos. By-and-by, good sir. 
 
 Rake. I wonder Sir Oliver is not come yet. 
 
 Sir Jos. Nay, he will not fail, I warrant thee, boy ; 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 197 
 
 but what's the matter with thy nose, my little Rake- 
 hell? 
 
 Rake. A foolish accident j jesting at the Fleece 
 this afternoon, I mistook my man a little; a dull 
 rogue that could not understand raillery, made a 
 sudden repartee with a quart pot, Sir Joslin. 
 
 Sir Jos. Why didst not thou stick him to the wall, 
 my little Rakehell? 
 
 Rake. The truth is, Sir Joslin, he deserved it ; but 
 look you, in case of a doubtful wound, I am unwilling 
 to give my friends too often the trouble to bail me ; 
 and if it should be mortal, you know a younger brother "^ / 
 has not wherewithal to rebate the edge of a witness S ^ 
 and mollify the hearts of a jury. — ^ 
 
 Sir Jos. This is very prudently considered indeed. 
 
 Rake. 'Tis time to be wise, sir ; my courage has 
 almost run me out of a considerable annuity. When 
 I lived first about this town, I agreed with a surgeon "^ 
 for twenty pounds a quarter to cure me of all the 
 knocks, bruises, and green wounds I should receive, 
 and in one half-year the poor fellow begged me to be 
 released of his bargain, and swore I would undo him 
 else in lint and balsam. 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver, 
 
 Sir Jos. Ho ! here's my brother Cockwood come. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Ay, brother JoUey, I have kept my word, 
 you see ; but 'tis a barbarous thing to abuse my lady; 
 I have had such a proof of her virtue, I will tell thee 
 all anon. But where's Madam Rampant, and the 
 rest of the ladies, Mr. Rakehell ? 
 
igS SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Hake. Faith, sir, being disappointed at noon, they 
 were unwilling any more to set a certainty at hazard. 
 'Tis term time, and they have severally betook them- 
 selves, some to their chamber practice, and others to 
 the places of public pleading. 
 
 Sir OHv. Faith, brother Jolley, let us even go into 
 an arbour, and thei(1^^^Mr. Rakehell. 
 
 Sir Jos. With all my heart ; would we had Madam 
 Rampant. 
 
 Sings. 
 
 Shis as frolic and free 
 
 As her lovers dare be. 
 Never awed by a foolish punctilio ; 
 
 Skill not start from her place. 
 
 Though thou nam'st a black ace. 
 And will drink a beer-glass to Spudijio. 
 
 Hey, boys ! Come, come, come ! let's in, and delay 
 our sport no longer, 
 
 \Exeunt singing, Shill not start from her, Gfc. 
 
 Enter Courtal and Freeman severally. 
 
 Court. Freeman ! 
 
 Free. Courtal, what the devil's the matter with 
 thee ? I have observed thee prying up and down the 
 walks like a citizen's wife that has dropped her holiday 
 pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 Court. What unlucky devil has brought thee 
 hither ? 
 
 Free. I believe a better natured devil than yours, 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 199 
 
 Courtal, if_a leveret be better meat than an old puss 
 that has been courseSTBymost of the young feUOTrs 
 ofner country I am not working my brain for a 
 qpunterplot ; a disappointment is not my business. 
 
 Court. You are mistaken, Freeman. Prithee be 
 gone and leave me the garden to myself, or I shall 
 grow as testy as an old fowler that is put by his shoot 
 after he has crept half a mile upon his belly. 
 
 Free. Prithee be thou gone, or I shall take it as un- 
 kindly as a chemist would, if thou shouldst kick down 
 his limbec in the very minute that he looked for 
 projection. 
 
 Court. Come, come, you must yield, Freeman ; 
 your business cannot be of such consequence as mine. 
 
 Free. If ever thou hadst a business of such conse- 
 quence in thy life as mine is, I will condescend to be 
 made incapable of affairs presently. 
 
 Court. Why, I have an appointment made me, man, 
 without my seeking, by a woman for whom I would 
 have mortgaged my whole estate to have had her 
 abroad but to break a cheese-cake. 
 
 Free. And I have an appointment made me without 
 my seeking too, by such a she, that I will break the 
 whole ten commandnients rather than disappoint her 
 of her breaking one. 
 
 Court. Come, you do but jest, Freeman ; a forsaken 
 mistress could not be more malicious than thou art. 
 Prithee be gone. 
 
 Free. Prithee do thou be gone. 
 
 Court. 'Sdeath ! the sight of thee will scare my 
 woman for ever. 
 
20O SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Free. 'Sdeath ! the sight of thee will make my 
 woman believe me the falsest villain breathing. 
 
 Court. We shall stand fooling till we are both un- 
 done, and I know not how to help it. , 
 Free. Let us proceed honestly like friends, discover 
 the truth «f things to one another, and if we cannot 
 reconcile our business, we will draw cuts and part 
 fairly. 
 
 Court. I do not like that way ; for talk is only allow- 
 able at the latter end of an intrigue, and should never 
 be used at the beginning of an amour, for fear of 
 
 frighting a young lady from her good intentions 
 
 Yet I care not, though I read the letter ; but I will 
 conceal the name. 
 
 Free. I have a letter too, and am content to do the 
 same. 
 
 Court, {reads). Sir, in sending you this letter, I pro- 
 ceed against the modesty of our sex 
 
 Free. 'Sdeath ! this begins just like my letter. 
 Court. Do you read on then. 
 Free, (reads). But let not the good opinion I have 
 conceived of you, make you too severe in your censuring 
 
 of me 
 
 Court. Word for word. 
 Free. Now do you read again. 
 Court, {reads). If you ^ve yourself the trouble to be 
 walking in the New Spring Garden this evening, I will 
 meet you there and tell you a secret, which I have reason 
 to fear, because it comes to your knowledge by my means, 
 will make you hate your humble servant. 
 Free. Verbatim my letter, heyday ! 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. /20J 
 
 Court. Prithee let's compare the hands. 
 
 \They compare them. 
 
 Free. 'Sdeath ! the hand's the same. 
 
 Court. I hope the name is not the same too. 
 
 Free. IfTrBe7 we arelTBiely jilted, faith. 
 
 Court. I long to be undeceived ; prithee do thou 
 show first, Freeman. 
 
 Free. No but both together, if you will. 
 
 Court. Agreed. 
 
 Free. Ariana. 
 
 Court. Gatty Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Free. The little rogues are masculine in their pro- 
 ceedings, and have made one another confidantes in 
 their love. 
 
 Court. But I do not like this altogether so well, 
 Frank; I wish they had appointed us several places; 
 for though 'tis evident they have trusted one another 
 with the bargam, no woman ever seals before witness. 
 "l^ieftPrithee, how didst thou escape the snares of 
 the old devil this afternoon ? 
 
 Court. With much ado : Sentry had set me ; if her " 
 ladyship had got me into her clutches, there had been 
 no getting off without a rescue, or paying down the 
 money ; for she always arrests upon execution. ^ 
 
 Free. You made a handsome lie to her woman. 
 
 Court. For all this, I know she's angry ; for she 
 thinks nothing a just excuse in these cases, though it 
 were to save the forfeit of a man's estate, or reprieve 
 the life of her own natural brother. 
 
 Free. Faith, thou hast not done altogether like a 
 gentleman with her ; thou shouldst fast thyself up to a 
 
 y 
 
202 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Stomach now and then, to oblige her ; if there were 
 nothing in it but the hearty welcome, methinks 'twere 
 enough to make thee bear sometimes with the home- 
 liness of the fare. 
 
 Court. I know not what I might do in a camp, 
 where there was m> other woman ; but I shall hardly 
 in this town, where there is such plenty, forbear good 
 meat, to ^et myself an appetite to horseflesh. 
 
 Free. This is rather an aversion in 'thee, than any 
 real fault in the woman ; if this lucky business had 
 not fallen out, I intended with your good leave to 
 have outbid you for her ladyship's favour. 
 
 Court. I should never have consented to that, 
 
 Frank ; though I am a little restiff at present, I am 
 
 not such a jade but I should strain if another rode 
 
 against me; I have e'er now liked nothing in a woman 
 
 I that I have loved at last in spite only because another 
 
 I had a mind to her. 
 
 Free. Yonder are a couple of vizards tripping to- 
 wards us. 
 
 Court. 'Tis they, i'faith. 
 
 Free. We need not divide, since they come to- 
 gether. 
 
 Court. I was a little afraid, when we compared 
 letters, they had put a trick upon us ; but now I am 
 confirmed they are mighty honest. 
 
 Enter Ariana and Gattv. 
 
 Aria. We cannot avoid 'em. 
 
 Gat. Let us dissemble our knowledge of their busi- 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 203 
 
 ness a little, and then take 'em down in the height of 
 their assurance. 
 
 Court, and Free. Your servant, ladies. 
 
 Aria. I perceive it is as impossible, gentlemen, to 
 walk without you as without our shadows : never were 
 poor women so haunted by the ghosts of their self- 
 murdered lovers. 
 
 Gat. If it should be our good fortunes to have you 
 in love with us, we will take care you shall not grow 
 desperate and leave the world in an ill-humour. 
 
 Aria. If you should, certainly your ghosts would 
 be very malicious. 
 
 Court. 'Twere pity you should have your curtains 
 drawn in the dead of the night, and your pleasing 
 slumbers interrupted by anything but iflesh and blood, 
 ladies. 
 
 Free. Shall we walk a turn ? 
 
 Aria. By yourselves, if you please. 
 
 Gat. Our company may put a constraint upon you ; 
 for I find you daily hover about these gardens, as a 
 kite does about a backside, watching an opportunity 
 to catch up the poultry. 
 
 Aria. Woe be to the daughter or wife of some 
 merchant tailor or poor feltmaker now ! for you seldom 
 row to Foxhall ^ without some such plot against the 
 City. 
 
 ' i.e. Vauxhall, fained for its gardens, which were called the 
 " New Spring- Gardens." They were laid out in l66l, or there- 
 about. Allusions to them in Pepys (who complained of their 
 being dear) and the dramatists are endless. Sir Roger and Mr. 
 Spectator went there by water ; the former deplored the com- 
 parative scarcity of nightingales in the grounds. — Spectator, No. 
 
204/ SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Free. You wrong us, ladies ; our business has hap- 
 pily succeeded, since we have the honour to wait upon 
 you. 
 
 Gat. You could not expect to see us here. 
 
 Court. Your true lover, madam, when he misses his 
 mistress, is as restless as a spaniel that has lost his 
 master ; he ranges up and down the plays, the Park, 
 and all the gardens, and 'never stays long but where 
 he has the happiness to see her. 
 
 Gat. I suppose-your mistress, Mr. Courtal, is always 
 the last woman you are acquainted with. 
 
 Court. Do not think, madam, I have that false 
 measure of my acquaintance which poets have of 
 their verses, always to think the last best — though I 
 esteem you so, in justice to your merit. 
 
 Gat. Or if you do not love her best, you always 
 love to talk of her most ; as a barren coxcomb that 
 wants discourse is ever entertaining company out of 
 the last book he read in. 
 
 Court. Now you accuse me most unjustly, madam ; 
 who the devil that has common sense will go a-bird- 
 ing with a clack in his cap ? 
 
 Aria. Nay, we do not blame you, gentlemen ; every 
 one in their way : a huntsman talks of his dogs, a 
 falconer of his hawks, a jockey of his horse, and a 
 gallant of his mistress. 
 
 Gat. Without the allowance of this vanity, an amour 
 would soon grow as dull as matrimony. 
 
 383. After 1702 the fame of the gardens declined ; in 1732 they 
 were reopened with gi-eat success, and continued popular down 
 to the days of Becky Sharp. 
 
SffE WOULD IF SHE COULD. / 205 
 
 Court. Whatsoever you say, ladies, I cannot be- 
 lieve you think us men of such abominable prin- 
 ciples. 
 
 Free. For my part, I have ever held it as ungrateful 
 to boast of the favours of a mistress as to deny the 
 courtesies of a friend. 
 
 Court. A friend that bravely ventures his life in the 
 field to serve me, deserves but equally with a mistress 
 that kindly exposes her honour to oblige me, espe- 
 cially when she does it as generously too, and with as 
 little ceremony. 
 
 Free. And I would no more betray the honour of 
 such a woman, than I would the life of a man that 
 should rob on purpose to supply me. 
 
 Gat. We believe you men of honour, and know it 
 is below you to talk of any woman that deserves it. 
 
 Aria, You are so generous, you seldom insult after 
 a victory. 
 
 Gat. And so vain, that you always triumph be- 
 fore it. 
 
 Court. 'Sdeath ! what's the meaning of all this ? 
 
 Gat, Though you find us so kind, Mr. Courtal, 
 pray do not tell Mistress Gazette to-morrow that we 
 came hither on purpose this evening to meet you. 
 
 Court. I would as soon print it, and fee a fellow to 
 post it up with the playbills. 
 
 Gat, You have reposed a great deal of confidence 
 in her, for all you pretend this ill opinion of her secresy 
 now. 
 
 Court. I never trusted her with the name of a 
 mistress that I should be jealous of if I saw her 
 
v^ 
 
 r" 
 
 206 SHE WOULD IP SHE COULD. 
 
 receive fruit and go out of the playhouse with a 
 stranger. 
 
 Gat. For aught as I see, we are infinitely obliged to 
 you, sir. 
 
 Court. 'Tis impossible to be insensible of so much 
 goodness, madam? 
 
 Gat. What goodness, pray, sir ? 
 
 Court. Come, come, give over this raillery. 
 
 Gat. You are so ridiculously unworthy, that 'twere 
 a folly to reprove you with a serious look. 
 
 Court. On my conscience, your heart begins to fail 
 you, now we are coming to the point, as a young 
 fellow's that was never in the field before. 
 
 Gat. You begin to amaze me. 
 
 Court. Since you yourself sent the challenge, you 
 must not in honour fly off now. , 
 
 Gat. Challenge ! Oh, heavens ! this confirms all. 
 Were I a man, I would kill thee for the injuries thou 
 hast already done me. 
 
 Free, {to Ariana). Let not your suspicion of my 
 unkindness make you thus scrupulous ; was ever city 
 ill treated that surrendered without assault or sum- 
 mons? 
 
 Aria. Dear sister, wha.t ill spirit brought us hither? 
 I never met with so much impudence in my life. 
 
 Court, {aside). Hey, jilts ! they are as good at it 
 already as the old one, i'faith. 
 / Free. Come, ladies, you have exercised your wit 
 enough: you would not Venture letters of such con- 
 sequence for a jest only. 
 'GoK' LeTters f Ble^me, what will this come to ? 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 207 
 
 Court. To that none of us shall have cause to re- 
 pent, I hope, madam. 
 
 Aria. Let us fly 'em, sister; they are devils, and 
 not men ; they could never be so malicious else. 
 
 Enter Lady Cockwood and Sentry. 
 
 Lady Cock. Your servant, cousins. 
 
 Court, {starting). Ho, my Lady Cockwood ! My 
 ears are grown an inch already. 
 
 Arid. My lady ! She'll think this an appointment, 
 sister. 
 
 Free. This is Madam Macchiavel^I susgectj^ourtal. ' 
 
 Court. Nay, 'tis her plot doubtless. Now am I as 
 much out of countenance as I should be if Sir Oliver 
 should take me making bold with her ladyship 
 
 Lady Cock. Do not let me discompose you ; I can 
 walk alohe, cousins. 
 
 Gat. Are you so uncharitable, madam, to think we 
 have any business with 'em ? 
 
 Aria. It has been our ill fortune to meet 'em here, 
 and nothing could be so lucky as your coming, madam, 
 to free us from 'em. 
 
 Gat. They have abused us in the grossest manner. 
 
 Aria. Counterfeited letters under our hands. 
 
 Lady Cock. Never trouble yourselves, cousins; I 
 have heard this is a common practice with such un- 
 worthy men. Did they not threaten to divulge them, 
 and defame you to the world? 
 
 Gat. We cannot believe they intend anything less, 
 madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. Doubtless they had such a mean opinion j 
 
2o8 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 of your wit and honour, that they thought to fright 
 you to a base compliance with their wicked pur- 
 poses. 
 
 Aria. I hate the very sight of 'em. 
 Gat. I could almost wish myself a disease, to 
 breathe infection upon 'em. 
 
 Court. Very pretty ! we have carried on our designs 
 very luckily against these young ladies. 
 
 Free. We have lost their good opinion for ever. 
 Lady Cock. I know not whether their folly or their 
 impudence be greater ; they are not worth your anger, 
 they are only fit to be laughed at and despised. 
 Court. A very fine old devil this ! 
 Lady Cock. Mr. Freeman, this is not like a gentle- 
 man, to affront a couple of young ladies thus ; but I 
 cannot blame you so much, you are in a manner a 
 stranger to our family. But I wonder how that base 
 man can look me in the face, considering how civilly 
 he has been treated at our house. 
 
 i Court. The truth is, madam, I am a rascal ; but I 
 fear you have contributed to the making me so. Be 
 not as unmerciful as the devil is to a poor sinner. 
 
 Sent. Did you ever see the like ? Never trust me, 
 if he has not the confidence to make my virtuous lady 
 accessory to his wickedness. 
 
 Lady Cock. Ay, Sentry ! 'tis a miracle if my honour 
 escapes, considering the access which his gre£tness 
 with Sir Oliver has given him daily to me. 
 
 Free. Faith, ladies, we did not counterfeit these 
 letters ; we are abused as well as you. 
 
 Court. I received mine from a porter at the King's 
 
SffE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 209 
 
 Playhouse, and I will show it you, that you may see 
 if you know the hand. 
 
 Lady Cock. Sentry,- are you sure they never saw any 
 of your writing? 
 
 Court. 'Sdeath ! I am so discomposed, I know not 
 where I have put it. 
 
 Sent. Oh, madam 1 now I remember myself, Mis- 
 tress Gatty helped me once to indite a letter to my 
 sweetheart. 
 Lady Cock. Forgetful wench ! then I am undone. 
 
 Court, Oh ! here it is Hey, who's here ? 
 
 \As he has the letter in his hand, enter Sir 
 JosLiN, Sir Oliver, and Rakehell, 
 all drunk, with music. 
 
 They sing. 
 
 She's no mistress of mine 
 
 That drinks not her wine, 
 Or frowns at myfriend^s drinking motions ; 
 
 If my heart thou wouldst gain, 
 
 Drink thy bottle of champagne. 
 ' Twill serve thee for paint and love-potions. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Who's here ? Courtal, in my lad/s com- I 
 pany ! I'll despatch. him presently; help me, brother j 
 Jolley. {He draws. 
 
 Lady Cock. For heaven's sake, Sir Oliver ! 
 
 Court, (drawing). What do you mean, sir ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Ill teach you more manners than to make 
 your attempts on my lady, sif. 
 p 
 
210 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Lady Cock, and Sent. Oh ! murder, murder ! 
 
 XThef shriek. 
 Lady Cock. Save my dear Sir Oliver '. Oh, my dear 
 Sir Oliver ! 
 
 \The young ladies shriek and run out ; they 
 all draw to part them ; they fight off 
 the stage; Lady Cockwood shrieks 
 and runs out. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — Sir Oliver's Dining-Room. 
 Enter Lady Cockwood. Tcd>h and carpet. 
 
 Lady Cockwood. 
 
 I DID not think he had been so desperate in his ) / 
 drink ; i^they^had killed one anothei^I hadthen J ^ 
 been revenged and freed from aU^nw fears. 
 
 Enter Sentry. 
 
 Sentry, your carelessness and forgetfulness some time 
 or other will undo me. Had not Sir Oliver and Sir 
 Joslin come so luckily into the garden, the letters had 
 been discovered, and my honour left to the mercy of 
 a false man and two young fleering girls. Did you 
 speak to Mr. Freeman unperceived in the hurry ? 
 
 Sent. I did, madam, and he promised me to dis- 
 engage himself as soon as possibly he could, and wait 
 upon your ladyship with all secresy. 
 
 Lady Cock. I have some reason to believe him a 
 man of boaedr. 
 
 Sent. Methinks indeed his very look, madam, speaks 
 him to be much more a gentleman than Mr. Courtal ; 
 
212 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 but I was unwilling before now to let your ladyship 
 know my opinion, for fear of offending your incli- 
 nations. 
 I Lady Cock. I hope by his means to get these letters 
 / into my own hands, and so prevent the inconveniences 
 I they may bring upon my honour. 
 
 Sent. I wonder, madam, what should be Sir Oliver's 
 quarrel to Mr. Courtal. 
 
 Lady Cock. You know how apt he is to be suspicious 
 ift his drink ; 'tis very likely he thought Mr. Courtal 
 betrayed him at the Bear to-day. 
 
 Sent. Pray heaven he be not jealous of your lady- 
 ship, finding you abroad so unexpectedly ; if he be, 
 we shall have a sad hand of him when he comes home, 
 madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. I should have apprehended it much 
 myself. Sentry, if his drunkenness had not unadvisedly 
 engaged him in his quarrel; as soon as he grows a 
 little sober, I am sure his fear will bring him home, and 
 make him apply himself to me with all humility and 
 kindness; for he is ever underhand fain to use my 
 interest and discretion to make friends to compound 
 these businesses, or to get an order for the securing 
 his person and his honour. 
 
 I Sent. I believe verily Mr. Courtal would have been 
 so rude to have killed him, if Mr. Freeman and the 
 rest had not civilly interposed their weapons. 
 
 Lady Cock. Heavens forbid ! though he be a wicked 
 man, I am obliged in duty to love him. Whither did 
 my cousins go after we came home, Sentry ? 
 
 Seitt. They are at the next door, madam, laughing 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 313 
 
 and playing at lanterloo* with my old Lady Love- 
 youth and her daughters. 
 
 Lady Cock. I hope they will not come home then 
 to interrupt my affairs with Mr. Freeman. 
 
 \Knocking without. 
 Hark ! somebody knocks, it may be him ; run down 
 quickly. 
 
 Sent. I fly, madam. \Exit Sentry. 
 
 Lady Cock. Now if he has a real inclination for my 
 person, I'll give him a handsome opportunity to re- 
 veal it. 
 
 Enter Sentry and Freeman. 
 
 Free. Your servant, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. Oh, Mr. Freeman ! this unlucky acci- 
 dent has robbed me of all my quiet ; I am almost dis- 
 tracted with thinking of the danger Sir Oliver's dear 
 life is in. 
 
 Free. You need not fear, madam, all things will be 
 reconciled again to-morrow. 
 
 Sent. You would not blame my lady's apprehen- 
 sions, did you but know the tenderness of her affec- 
 tions. 
 
 Lady Cock. Mr. Courtal is a false and merciless 
 man. 
 
 Free. He has always owned a great respect for your 
 ladyship, and I never heard him mention you with the 
 least, dishonour. 
 
 Lady Cock. He cannot without injuring the truth; 
 
 ' Or lantrillou ; also lanctre loo. From the French /aniurelu ! 
 The game is often referred to. 
 
214 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 heaven knows my innocence. I hope you did not let 
 him know, sir, of your coming hither. 
 
 Free. I should never merit the happiness to wait 
 upon you again, had I so abused this ' extraordinary 
 favour, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. If I have done anything unbeseeming 
 my honour, I hope you will be just, sir, and impute it 
 to my fear. I know no man so proper to compose this 
 unfortunate difference as yourself, and if a lady's tears 
 and prayers have power to move you to compassion, I 
 know you will employ your utmost endeavour to pre- 
 serve me my dear Sir Oliver. 
 
 Free. Do not, madam, afflict yourself so much ; I 
 dare engage my life, his life and honour shall be both 
 secure. 
 
 Lady Cock. You are truly noble, sirj I was so dis- 
 tracted with my fears that I cannot well remember 
 how we parted at the Spring Garden. 
 
 Free. We all divided, madam ; after your ladyship 
 and the young ladies were gone together, Sir Oliver, 
 Sir Joslin, and the company with them, took one boat, 
 and Mr. Courtal and I another. 
 
 Lady Cock. Then I need not apprehend their meet- 
 ing again to-night. 
 
 Free. You need not, madam ; I left Mr. Courtal in 
 his chamber wondering what should make Sir Oliver 
 draw upon him, and fretting and fuming about the 
 trick that was put upon us with the letters to-day. 
 
 Lady Cock. Oh ! I had almost forgot myself; I 
 assure you, sir, those letters were sent by one that has 
 no inclination to be any enemy of yours. 
 
 \_Kmcking beloiv. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 215 
 
 Somebody knocks. \_Exit Sentry. 
 
 If it be Sir Oliver, I am undone ; he will hate me 
 mortally if he does but suspect I use any secret means 
 to hinder him from justifying his reputation honourably 
 to the world. 
 
 Enter Sentry. 
 
 Sent. Oh, madam! here is Mr. Courtal below in 
 the entry, discharging a coachman ; I told him your 
 ladyship was busy, but he would not hear me, and I 
 find, do what I can, he will come up. 
 
 Lady Cock. I would not willingly suspect you, sir. 
 
 Free. I have deceived him, madam, in my coming 
 hither, and am as unwilling he should find me here as 
 you can be. 
 
 Lady Cock. He will not believe my innocent business 
 with you, but will raise a new scandal on my honour, 
 and publish it to the whole town. 
 
 Sent. Let him step into the closet, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. Quick, sir, quick, I beseech you ; I will 
 send him away again immediately. \_Exit Sentry. 
 
 Enter Courtal. 
 
 Lady Cock. Mr. Courtal! Have you no sense of 
 honour nor modesty left ? After so many injuries, to 
 come into our house, and without my approbation 
 rudely press upon my retirement thus? 
 
 Court. Pray, madam, hear my business. 
 
 Lady Cock. Thy business is maliciously to pursue 
 my ruin ; thou com'st with a base design to have Sir 
 
2i6 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Oliver catch thee here and destroy the only happiness 
 I have. 
 
 Court. I come, madam, to beg your pardon for the 
 fault I did unwillingly commit, and-to know of you 
 the reason of Sir Oliver's quarrel to me. 
 
 Lady Cock. Thy guilty conscience is able to tell 
 thee that, vain and ungrateful man ! 
 
 Court. I am innocent, madam, of all things that 
 may offend him ; and I am sure, if you would but 
 hear me, I should remove the justice of your quarrel 
 too. 
 
 Lady Cock. You are mistaken, sir, if you think \ am 
 concerned for your going to the Spring Garden this 
 evening ; my quarrel is the same with Sir Oliver, and 
 is so just, that thou deserv'st to be poisoned for what 
 thou hast done. 
 
 Court. Pray, madam, let me know my fault. 
 
 Lady Cock. I blush to think upon't. Sir Oliver 
 since we came from the B^ar has heard something 
 thou hast said concerning me ; but what it is I could 
 not get him to discover. He told mfe 'twas enough 
 for me to know he was satisfied of my innocence. 
 
 Court. This is mere passion, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. This is the usual revenge of such base 
 men as thou art, when they cannot compass their ends, 
 with their venomous tongues to blast the honour of a 
 lady. 
 
 Court. This is a sudden alteration, madam ; within 
 these few hours you had a kinder opinion of me. 
 
 Lady Cock. 'Tis no wonder you brag of favours 
 behind my back, that have the impudence to upbraid 
 
SHE WOULD ZF SHE COULD. 217 
 
 me with kindness to my face. Dost thou think I 
 could ever have a good thought of thee, whom I have 
 always found so treacherous in thy friendship to Sir 
 Oliver ? {Knock at the door. 
 
 :Enter Sentry. 
 
 Sent. Oh, madam ! here is Sir Oliver come home. 
 
 Lady Cock. Oh, heavens ! I shall be believed guilty 
 now, and he will kill us both. \_ffe draws. 
 
 Court. I warrant you, madam, I'll defend your life. 
 
 Lady Cock. Oh ! there will be murder, murder ; for 
 heaven's sake, sir, hide yourself in some corner or 
 other. 
 
 Court. I'll step into that closet, madam. 
 
 Sent. Hold, hold, sir, by no means ; his pipes and 
 his tobacco-box lie there, and he always goes in to 
 fetch 'em. 
 
 Lady Cock. Your malice will soon be at an end: 
 heaven knows what wll be the fatal consequence of 
 your being found here. 
 
 Sent. Madam, let him creep under the table^ the 
 carpet is long enough to hide him. 
 
 Lady Cock. Have you good-nature enough to save 
 the life' and reputation of a lady ? 
 
 Court. Anything to oblige you, madam. 
 
 [Ife goes under the table. 
 
 Lady Cock, (running to the closet). Be sure you do 
 not stir, sir, whatsoever happens. 
 
 Court. Not unless he pulls me out by the ears. 
 
 Sent. Good ! he thinks my lady speaks to him. 
 
 •1 
 
2i8 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver. 
 
 Lady Cock. My dear Sir Oliver.- 
 
 Sir Ohv. I am unworthy of this kindness, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. Nay, I intend to chide you for your 
 naughtiness anon ; but I cannot choose but hug thee 
 and kiss thee a little first j I was afraid I should never 
 have had thee alive within these arms again. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Your goodness does so increase my shame, 
 I know not what to say, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. Well, I am glad I have thee safe at 
 home. I will lock thee up above in my chamber, and 
 will not so much as trust thee downstairs till there be 
 an end of this quarrel. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I was so little myself, I knew not what I 
 did, else I had not exposed my person to so much 
 danger before thy face. 
 
 Sent. 'Twas cruelly done, sir, knowing the killing 
 \ concerns my lady has for you. 
 
 Lady Cock. If Mr. Courtal had killed thee I was 
 resolved not to survive thee j but before I had died I 
 would have dearly revenged thy inurder. 
 
 Sir Oliv. As soon as I had recollected myself a 
 little, I could not rest till I came home to give thee 
 this satisfaction, that I will do nothing without thy 
 advice and approbation, my dear. I know .thjjovg 
 makes thy life depend upon mine, and it is unreason- 
 aBlei should upon my own rasTii liea3'liazS3 that, 
 tli^Kjt^beJorj^jusdfira^^^ 
 nie ! I have let fall a China orange * that was recom- 
 
 ^ " A great rarity," says Pepys, "none to be had."— March 
 6th, 1666. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 219 
 
 mended to me for one of the best that came over this 
 year. 'Slife, light the candle, Sentry ; 'tis run under 
 the table. \Kmcking. 
 
 Lady Cock. Oh, I am not well ! 
 
 Sent. Oh, heaven ! who's that that knocks so hastily ? 
 [Sentry takes up the candle ; there is a great 
 knocking at the door; she runs away with 
 the candle^ 
 
 Sir Oliv. Why, Sentry ! bring back the candle. Are 
 you mad to leave us in the dark, and your lady not 
 well ? How is it, my dear ! 
 
 Lady Cock. For heaven's sake run after her. Sir 
 Oliver, snatch the candle out of her hand, and teach 
 her more manners. 
 
 Sir Oliv. I will, my dear. \Exit Sir Oliver. 
 
 Lady Cock. What shall I do ? Was ever woman so 
 unfortunate in the management of affairs ! 
 
 Court. What will become of me now ? 
 
 Lady Cock. It must be so ; I had better trust my 
 honour to the raercy_ofjthem_two than be betrayed 
 to my husband. Mr, Courtal, give me your hand 
 quickly, I beseech you. 
 
 Court. Here, here, madam ; what's to be done now ? 
 
 LMdy Cock. I will put you into the closet, sir. 
 
 Court. He'll be coming in for his tobacco-box and 
 pipes. 
 
 Lady Cock. Never fear that, sir. 
 
 Free, (put of the closet door). Now shall I be dis- 
 covered ; pox on your honourable intrigue, would I 
 were safe at Gifford's ! 
 
 Lady Cock. Here, here, sir, this is the door ; what- 
 
220 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 soever you feel^ be not frighted ; for should you make 
 the least disturbance, you will destroy the life, and, 
 what is more, the honour of an unfortunate lady.^ 
 
 Court. So, so, if you have occasion to remove again, 
 make no ceremony, madam. 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver, Sentry, Ariana, and Gatty. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Here is the candle; how dost thou, my 
 dear? 
 
 Lady Cock. I could not imagine, Sentry, you had 
 been so ill-bred to run away and leave your master 
 and me in the dark. 
 
 Sent. I thought there had been another candle 
 upon the table, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. Good ! you thought ! you are always 
 excusing of your carelessness ; such another misde- 
 meanour r- 
 
 Sir Oliv. Prithee, my dear, forgive her. 
 
 Ijidy Cock. The truth is, I ought not to be very 
 angry with her at present, 'tis a good-natured creature ; 
 she was so frighted, for fear of thy being mischiefed 
 in the Spring Garden, that I verily believe she scarce 
 knows what she does yet. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Light the candle. Sentry, that I may look 
 for my orange. 
 
 Lady Cock. You have been at my Lady Love- 
 youth's, cousins, I hear. 
 
 Aria. We have, madam. 
 
 Gat. She charged us to remember her service to you. 
 
 Sir Oliv. So, here it is, my dear; I brought it home 
 on purpose for thee. 
 
SSS WOULD IF SHE COULD. 221 
 
 Lady Cock. 'Tis a lovely orange, indeed ! Thank 
 you, my dear ; I am so discomposed with the fright 
 I have had, that I would fain be at rest. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Get a candle. Sentry. Will you go to 
 bed, my dear ? 
 
 Lady Cock. With all my heart. Sir Oliver. 'Tis late, 
 cousins, you had best retire to your chamber, too. 
 
 Gat. We shall not stay long here, madam. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Come, my dear. 
 
 Lady Cock. Good night, cousins. 
 
 Gat. and Aria. Your servant, madam. 
 
 lExeunf Sir Oliver, Lady Cockwood, 
 
 and Sentry. 
 
 Aria. I cannot but think of those letters, sister. 
 
 Gat. That is, you cannot but think of Mr. Freeman, 
 sister ; I perceive he runs in thy head as much as a 
 new gown uses to do in the country the night before 
 'tis expected from London. 
 
 Aria. You need not talk, for I am sure the losses 
 of an unlucky gamestery ^re not more his meditation 
 than Mr. Courtal is yours. 
 
 Gat. He has made some slight impression on my 
 memory, I confess ; but I hope a night will wear him 
 out again, as it does the noise of a fiddle after 
 dancing. 
 
 Aria. . Love, like some stains, will wear out of 
 itself, I know, but not in such a little time as you 
 talk of, sister. 
 
 Gat. It cannot last longer than the stain of a mul- 
 berry at most ; the next season out that goes, and my 
 heart cannot be long unfruitful, sure. 
 
222 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Aria. Well, I cannot believe they forged these 
 letters. What should be their end ? 
 
 Gat. That you may easily guess at ; but methinks 
 j they took a very improper way to compass it. 
 ) Aria. It looks more like the malice or jealousy of 
 [ a woman than the design of two witty men. 
 
 Gat. If this should prove a fetch of her ladyship's, 
 now, that is a-playing the loving hypocrite above with 
 her dear Sir Oliver. 
 
 Aria. How unluckily we were interrupted when 
 they were going to show us the hand ! 
 
 Gat. That might have discovered all : I have a 
 I'l small suspicion that there has been a little familiarity 
 I between her ladyship and Mr. Courtal. 
 
 Aria. Our finding of 'em together in the Exchange, 
 and several passages I observed at the Bear, have 
 almost made me of the same opinion. 
 
 Gat. Yet I would fain believe the continuance of it 
 is more her desire than his inclination. That which 
 makes me mistrust him most is her knowing we made 
 'em an appointment. 
 
 Aria. If she were jealous of Mr. Courtal she would 
 not be jealous of Mr. Freeman too j they both pretend 
 to have received letters. 
 
 IGat. There is something in it more than we are 
 able to imagine ; time will make it out, I hope, to the 
 advantage of the gentlemen. 
 
 Aria. I would gladly have it so; for I believe, 
 should they give us a just cause, we should find it a 
 hard task to hate them. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 223 
 
 Gat. How I love the song I learnt t'other day, since 
 I saw them in the Mulberry Garden ! 
 
 She sings. 
 
 To little or no purpose I spent many days 
 
 In ranging the Park, th' Exchange, and the plays; 
 
 For n^er in my rambles, till now, did I prove 
 
 So lucky to meet with the man I could love. 
 
 Oh I how I am pleased when I think on this man. 
 
 That I find I must love, let me do what I can I 
 
 How long I shall love him I can no more tell 
 Than, had I a fever, when I should be well. 
 My passion shall kill me before I will show it. 
 And yet I would give all the world he did know it : 
 But oh I how I sigh when I think, should he woo me, { 
 
 Aria. Fie, sister ! thou art so wanton. 
 
 Gat. I hate to dissemble when I need iiot ; 'twould 
 look as affected in us to be reserved now we're alone, 
 arToFlTpteyeFlo^aintSrffiie olKacter she acts in 
 the tinng-room. 
 "^«a. Prithee sing a good song. 
 
 Gat. Now art thou for a melancholy madrigal, N 
 composed by some amorous coxcomb who swears in ) 
 all companies he loves his mistress so well, that he 
 would not do her the injury were she willing to grant 
 him the favour, and it maybe is sot endugh to believe 
 he would oblige her in keeping his oath, too. 
 
 Aria. Well, I will reach thee thy guitar out of the\ 
 closet, to take thee off of this subject. / 
 
 ■J 
 
224 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Gat. I'd rather be a nun than a lover at thy rate : 
 devotion is not able to make me half so serious as 
 love has made thee already. 
 
 [Ariana opens the closet, Courtal and 
 Freeman come out. 
 Court. Ha, Freeman 1 Is thiS your business with a 
 lawyer ? Here's a new discovery, i'faith ! 
 
 [The ladies shriek and run out. 
 Free. Peace, man, I will satisfy your jealousy here- 
 after ; since we have made this lucky discovery, let us 
 mind the present businesses. 
 
 [Courtal and Freeman catch the ladies and 
 
 bring them back. 
 
 Court. Nay, ladies, now we have caught you, there 
 
 is no escaping till we're cpme to a right understanding. 
 
 Enter^'LxDx Cockwood, Sir Oliver, ««i? Sentry. 
 
 Free. Come, never blush, we are as loving as you 
 can be for your hearts, I assure you. 
 
 Court. Had it riot been our goodTfdrtunes to have 
 been concealed here, you would have had illrnature 
 enough to dissemble with us at least a fortnight longer. 
 
 Lady Cock. What's the matter with you here ? Are 
 you mad, cousins ? Bless me, Mr. Courtal and Mr. 
 Freeman ! in our house at these unseasonable hours ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Fetch me down my long swordj Sentry ; 
 I lay my life Courtal has been tempting the honour 
 of the young ladies.- 
 
 Lady Cock. Oh, my dear ! \_She holds him. 
 
 ' Obviously they are not immediately seen by the characters 
 already on the stage. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 225 
 
 Gat. We are almost scared out of our wits ; my 
 sister went to reach my guitar out of the closet, and 
 found 'em both shut up there. 
 
 Lady Cock. Come, come, this will not serve your 
 turn ; I am afraid you had a design secretly to convey t/ 
 'em into your chamber. Well, I will have no more 
 of these doings in my family, my dear; Sir Joslin 
 shall remove these girls to-morrow. 
 
 Free. You injure the yqung ladies, madam; their 
 surprise shows their innocence. 
 
 Court. If anybody be to blame, it is Mistress Sentry. 
 
 Sent. What mean you, sir ? Heaven knows, I know 
 no more of their being here 
 
 Court. IJay, nay, Mistress Sentry, you need not be 
 ashamed to own the doing of a cquple of young 
 gentlemen such a good office. 
 
 Sent. Do not think • to put your tricks upon 
 me, sir. 
 
 Court. Understanding by Mistress Sentry, madam, 
 that these young ladies would very likely sit and talk 
 in the dining-room an hour before they went to bed 
 of the accidents of the day, and being impatient to 
 know whether that unlucky business which happened 
 in the Spring Garden about the letters had quite 
 destroyed our hopes of gaining their esteem ; for a 
 small sum of money Mr. Freeman and I obtained thp 
 favour of her to shut us up where we might overhear 
 'em. ■ 
 
 Lady Cock. Is this the truth, Sentry ? 
 
 Sent. I humbly beg your pardon, madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. A lady's honour is not safe that keeps 
 Q 
 
226 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 a servant so subject to corruption ; I will turn her out 
 of my service for this. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Good ! I was suspicious their businesses 
 had been with my lady at first. 
 
 Lady Cock, {aside). Now will I be in charity with 
 him again, for putting this oif so handsomely. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Hark you, my dear, shall I forbid Mr. 
 Courtal my house ? 
 
 Lady Cock. Oh ! by no means, my dear ; I had 
 forgot to tell thee, since I acquainted thee with that 
 business, I have been discoursing with my Lady Love- 
 youth, and she blamed me infinitely for letting thee 
 know it, and laughed exceedingly at me, believing 
 Mr. Courtal intended thee no injury, and told me 
 'twas only a hataless gallantry which his French 
 breeding has used him to. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Faith, I am apt enough to believe it ; for, 
 on my conscience, he is a very honest fellow. Ned 
 Courtal ! -How the devil came it about that thee and 
 I fell to sa, sa, in the Spring Garden ? 
 
 Court. You are best able to resolve yourself that, 
 Sir Oliver. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well, the devil take me, if I had the least 
 unkindness for thee. Prithee, let us embrace and 
 kiss, and be as good friends as ever we were, dear 
 rogue. 
 
 Court. I am so reasonable. Sir Oliver, that I will 
 ask no other satisfaction for the injury you have done 
 me. 
 
 Free. Here's the letter, madam. 
 
 Aria. Sister, look here, do you know this hand ? 
 
SITE WOULD IF SUE COULD. 227 
 
 Gat. 'Tis Sentry's. 
 
 Lady Cock. Oh, heavens ! I shall be ruined yet. 
 
 Gat. She has been the contriver of all this mis- 
 chief. 
 
 Court. Nay^ now you lay too much to her charge J 
 in this ; she was but my lady's secretary, I assure you ; 
 she has discovered the whole plot to us. 
 
 Sent. What does he mean ? 
 
 Lady Cock. Will he betray me at last? 
 
 Court. My lady being in her nature severely vir* 
 tuous, IS, It seems, offended at the mnocent freedom 
 you take in rambling up and down by yourselves; 
 which made her, outofatend^ne^toyourreputa-( 
 tionSj counterfeit these letters, in hopes to fright you 1 
 to that reservedness which she approves of. 
 
 Lady Cock, (aside). This has almost redeemed my 
 opinion of his honour . Cousins, the little regard you 
 had to the good counsel I gave you, puts me upon 
 this business. 
 
 Gat. Pray, madam, what was it Mistress Gazette 
 told you concerning us ? 
 
 Lady Cock. Nothing, nothing, cousins. What I told 
 you of Mr. Courtal was mere invention, the better to 
 carry on my design for your good. 
 
 Court. Freeman ! Pray, what brought you hither ? 
 
 Free. A kind summons from her ladyship. 
 
 Court. Why did you conceal it from me ? 
 
 Free. I was afraid thy peevish jealousy might have 
 destroyed the design I had of getting an opportunity 
 to clear ourselves to the young ladies. 
 
 Court. Fortune has been our friend in that beyond 
 
228 Sffn WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 expectation. \_To the Ladtes-I I hope, ladies, you are 
 satisfied of our innocence now. 
 
 Gat. Well, had you been found guilty of the letters, 
 we were resolved to have counterfeited two contracts 
 under your hands, and have suborned witnesses to 
 swear 'em. 
 ' Aria. That had been a full revenge; for I know 
 you would think it as great a scandal to be thought 
 to have an inclination for marriage, as we should, to 
 be believed willing to take our freedom without it. 
 
 Court. The more probable thing, ladies, had been 
 only to pretend a promise; we have now and then 
 courage enough to venture so far for a valuable con- 
 sideration. 
 
 Gat. The truth is, such experienced gentlemen as 
 you are seldom mortgage your persons without it be 
 to redeem your estates. 
 
 Court. 'Tis a mercy we have 'scaped the mischief 
 so long and are like to do penance only for our own 
 sins ; most families are a wedding behindhand in the 
 world, which makes so inSny^oung men fooled into 
 wives, to^ay their fathers' debts^ _ All the^hagpmess 
 a gentleman can 3esire is^ to live at liberty till he be 
 forced that way to pay his gwriji, 
 ~~Free, LadiesTyou know we are hot ignorant of the 
 good intentions you have towards us; pray let us 
 treat a little. 
 
 Gat. I hope you are not in -so desperate a condition 
 as to have a good opinion of marriage, are you ? 
 
 Aria. 'Tis to as little purpose to treat with us of 
 anything under that, as it is for those kind ladies that 
 
SHE WOULD IF SITE COULD. 229 
 
 have obliged you with a valuable consideration to 
 challenge the performance of your promise. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Well, and how, and how, my dear Ned, 
 goes the business between you and these ladies ? Are 
 you like to drive a bargain ? 
 
 Court. Faith, Sir Oliver, we are about it. 
 
 Sir Oliv. And caiinot agree, I warrant you; they" 
 are for having you take a lease for life, and you are 
 for being tenants at will, Ned j is it not so? 
 
 Gat. These gentlemen have found it so convenient 
 lying in lodgings, they'll hardly venture on the trouble 
 of taking a house of their own. 
 
 Court. A pretty country seat, madam, with a hand- 
 some parcel of land, and other necessaries belonging 
 to't, may tempt us ; but for a town tenement that has 
 but one poor conveniency, we are resolved we'll never 
 deal. \A noise of music without. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Hark ! my brother JoUey's come home. 
 
 Aria. Now, gentlemen, you had best look to your- 
 , selves, and come to an agreement with us quickly ; 
 for I'll lay my life my uncle has brought home a 
 couple of fresh chapmen that will outbid you. 
 
 Enter Sir Joslin, with music. 
 Sir Jos. Hey, boys ! [Dance. 
 
 Sings. 
 
 A catch and a glass, 
 Afiddlf and a lass. 
 What more would an honest tnan have f 
 
230 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 Hang your temperate sot, 
 Who would seem what h£s not ; 
 'Tis Jam wise, h^s but grave. 
 
 Sir Jos. What's here? Mr. Courtal and Mr. 
 Freeman ! 
 
 Sir Oliv. Oh, man ! here has been the prettiest, 
 the luckiest discovery on all sides !■ We are all good 
 friends again. 
 
 Sir Jos. Hark you, brother Cockwood, I have got 
 Madam Rampant ; Rakehell and she are without. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Oh, heavens ! Dear brother Jolley, send 
 her away immediately ; my lady has such an aversion 
 to a naughty woman that she will swoon if she does 
 but see her. 
 
 Sir Jos. Faith, I was hard put to't; I wanted a lover, 
 and rather than I would break my old wont I dressed 
 up Rampant in a suit I bought of Rakehell ; but since 
 this good company's here, 
 
 Enter Rakehell. 
 
 I'll send her away. My little Rakehell, come hither ; 
 you see here are two powerful rivals ; therefore, for 
 fear of kicking, or a worse disaster, take Rampant 
 with you, and be going quickly. 
 
 Rake. Your humble servant, sir. 
 
 \_Exit Rakehell. 
 
 Court. You may hereafter spare yourself this labour. 
 Sir Joslin ; Mr. Freeman and I have vowed ourselves 
 humble servants to these ladies. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 231 
 
 Free. I, hope we shall have your approbation, sir. 
 
 Sir Jos. Nay, if you have a mind to commit matri- 
 mony, I'll send for a canonical sir shall despatch you 
 presently. 
 
 Free. You cannot do better. 
 
 Court. What think you of taking us in the "humour ? 
 Consideration may be your foe, ladies. 
 
 Aria. Come, gentlemen, I'll make you a fair pro- 
 position; since you have made a discovery of ourl/ 
 inclinations, my sister and I will be content to admitl 
 you in the quality of servants. 
 
 Gat. And if, after a month's experience of youi^ 
 good behaviour, upon serious thoughts, you have^ 
 courage enough to engage further, we will accept of 
 the challenge and believe you men of honour. . 
 
 Sir Jos. Well spoke, i'faith, girls ; and is it a match, 
 boys? 
 
 Court. If the heart of man be not very deceitful, 
 'tis very likely it may be so. 
 
 Free. A month is a tedious time, and will be a 
 dangerous trial of our resolutions; but I hope we 
 shall not repent before marriage, whate'er we do 
 after. 
 
 Sir Jos. How stand matters between you and your 
 lady, brother Cockwood? Is there peace on all 
 sides ? 
 
 Sir Oliv. Perfect concord, man ; I will tell thee all 
 that has happened since I parted from thee when we 
 are alone ; 'twill make thee laugh heartily. Never man 
 was so happy in a virtuous and a loving lady ! 
 
 Sir Jos. Though I have led Sir Oliver astray this 
 
232 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 day or two, I hope you will not exclude me the Act of 
 Oblivion/ madam. 
 
 Lady Cock. The nigh relation I have to you, and 
 the respect I know Sir Oliver has for you, makes me 
 forget all that has passed, sir; but pray be not the 
 occasion of any new transgressions. 
 
 Sent. I hopC) Mr. Courtalj since my endeavours to 
 serve you have ruined me in the opinion of my lady, 
 you will intercede for a reconciliation. 
 
 Court. Most ■ willingly. Mistress Sentry Faith, 
 
 madam, since things have fallen out so luckily, you 
 must needs receive your woman into favour again. 
 
 Lady Cock. Her crime is unpardonable, sir. 
 
 Sent. Upon some solemn protestations, madam, 
 that the gentlemen's intentions were honourable, and 
 having reason to believe the young ladies had no 
 aversion to their inclinations, I was of opinion I 
 should have been ill-natured if I had not assisted 'em 
 in the removing those difficulties that delayed their 
 happiness. 
 
 Sir Oliv. Come, come, girl, confess how many 
 guineas prevail upon your easy nature. 
 
 Sent. Ten, an't please you, sir. 
 
 Sir Oliv. 'Slife, a sum able to corrupt an honest 
 man in office ! Faith, you must forgive her, my dear. 
 
 Lady Cock. If it be your pleasure, Sir Oliver, I 
 cannot but be obedient. 
 
 Sent. If Sir Oliver, madam, should ask me to see 
 this gold, all may be discovered yet. 
 
 * A covert reference, perhaps, to the Act of Indemnity passed 
 at the Restoration. 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 233 
 
 Lady Cock. If he does, I will give thee ten guineas 
 out of my cabinet 
 
 Sent, (aside). I shall take care to put him upon't ; 
 'tis fit that I who have borne all the blame should have 
 some reasonable reward for't. 
 
 Court. I hope, madam, you will not envy me the 
 happiness I am to enjoy with your fair relation. 
 
 Lady Cock. Your ingenuity and goodness, sir, have 
 made a perfect atonement for you. 
 
 Court. Pray, madam, what was your business with 
 Mr. Freeman ? 
 
 Lc^y Cock. Only to oblige him to endeavour a 
 reconciliation between you and Sir Oliver ; for though 
 I was resolved never to see your face again, it was 
 death to me to think your life was in danger. 
 
 Sent. What a miraculous come off is this, madam ! 
 
 Letdy Cock. ItJiasjiadg__me__so_Jnitysensibk 
 those dangers to which an aspiring lady must daily 
 expose her honour, that I am resolved to ^ve over 
 the great busmess of thisJown^d^hereaftaMnodgstly 
 confine mjsdf Jo the^ humble j^air53t,jiiy;^JKji | 
 faim^. 
 
 Court. 'Tis a very pious resolution, madam, and 
 the better to confirm you in it, pray entertain an able 
 chaplain. 
 
 Lcuiy Cock. Certainly fortune was never before so 
 unkind to the ambition of a lady. 
 
 Sir Jos. Come, boys, faith, we will have a dance 
 
 before we go to bed Sly girl and madcap, give me 
 
 your hands that I may give 'em to these gentlemen ; 
 a parson shall join you ere long, and then you will 
 
\ 
 
 234 SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 
 
 have authority to dance to some purpose. Brother 
 Cockwood, take out your lady, I am for Mistress 
 Sentry. 
 
 W^ II foot it, and side, it, my prdty little miss. 
 And when we are weary, will lie down and kiss. 
 
 Play away, boys. \_They dance. 
 
 Court, {to Gatty). Now sh all I sleep as little without 
 you as I should do with you. Madam, expectation 
 makes me almost as restless as jealousy. 
 ^ Free. Faith, let us despatch this business. Yet I 
 never could find the pleasure of waiting for a dish of 
 meat when a man was heartily hungry. 
 
 Gat. Marrying in this heat would look as ill as 
 fighting in your drink. 
 
 Aria. And be no more a proof of love than 'tother 
 is of valour. 
 
 Sir Jos. Never trouble your heads further ; since I 
 perceive you are all agreed on the matter, let me 
 alone to hasten the ceremony. Come, gentlemen, 
 lead 'em to their, chambers ; brother Cockwood, do 
 you show the way with your lady. Ha, Mistress 
 Sentry ! 
 
 Sings. 
 
 I gave my love a green gown 
 
 rth' merry month of May, 
 And down she fell as wantonly 
 
 As a tumbler does at play. 
 
 Hey, boys 1 lead away, boys ! 
 
SHE WOULD IF SHE COULD. 235 
 
 Sir Oliv. Give me thy hand, my virtuous, my dear : 
 Henceforwards may our mutual loves increase, 
 And when we are a-bed, we'll sign the peace. 
 
 \Exeunt omnes. 
 
THE MAN OF MODE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 SIR FOPLING FLUTTER. 
 
 A COMEDY. ;^;u;!., . 
 ACTED AT THE DUKE'S THEATRE. 
 
 
TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS 
 
 THE DUCHESS. 
 
 Madam, 
 
 POETS, however they may be modest otherwise, 
 have always too good an opinion of what they 
 write. The world, when it sees this play dedicated to 
 your Royal Highness, will conclude I have more than 
 my share of that vanity. But I hope the honour I 
 have of belonging to you will excuse my presumption. 
 'Tis the first thing I have produced in your service, 
 and my duty obliges me to what my choice durst not 
 else have aspired. 
 
 I am very sensible, madam, how much it is behold- 
 ing to your indulgence for the success it had in the 
 acting, and your protection will be no less fortunate 
 to it in the printing ; for all are so ambitious of making 
 their court to you, that none can be severe to what 
 you are pleased to favour. 
 
 This universal submission and respect is due to 
 the greatness of your rank and birth; but you have 
 other illustrious qualities which are much more en-' 
 gaging. Those would but dazzle, did not these really 
 charm the eyes and understandings of all who have 
 the happiness to approach you. 
 
THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY. 239 
 
 Authors, on these occasions, are never wanting to 
 publish a particular of their patron's virtues and per- 
 fections ; but your Royal Highness's are so eminently 
 known, that, did I follow their examples, I should but 
 paint those wonders here of which everyone already 
 has the idea in his mind. Besides, I do not think it 
 proper to aim at that in prose which is so glorious a 
 subject for verse; in which hereafter if I show more 
 zeal than skill, it will not grieve me much, since I less 
 passionately desire to be esteemed a poet, than to be 
 thought, 
 
 Madam, 
 
 Your Royal Highness's 
 
 most humble, most obedient, 
 and most faithful servant, 
 
 George Etheredge. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 By Sir Car Scroope, Baronet. 
 
 T IKE dancers on the ropes poor poets fare, 
 ■^^ Most perish young, the rest in danger are ; 
 This, one would think, should make our authors wary, 
 But, gamester like, the giddy fools Miscarry. 
 A lucky hand or two so tempts ''em on. 
 They cannot leave off play till they're undone. 
 With modest fears a muse does first begin. 
 Like a young wenih newly enticed to sin; 
 But tickled once with praise, by her good will. 
 The wanton fool would never more lie still. 
 'Tis an old mistress yoi£ II meet here to-night, 
 
 Whose charms you once have looUd on with delight ; 
 But now of late such dirty drabs have known ye, 
 A muse o'tfC better sorfs ashamed to own ye. 
 Nature well drawn, and wit, must now give place 
 To gaudy nonsense and to dull grimace : 
 Nor is it strange that you should like so much 
 That kind of wit, for most of yours is such. 
 But I'm afraid that while to France we go. 
 To bring you home fine dresses, dance, and show. 
 The stage, like you, will but more foppish gi-ow. 
 
 I 
 
THE PROLOGUE. 241 
 
 foreign wares why should we fetch the scum 
 
 hen we can he so richly served at home ? 
 
 <; heaven be thanKd, 'tis not so wise an age 
 
 t your own follies may supply the stage. 
 
 ough often plough' d, therms no great fear the soil 
 
 mid barren grow by the too frequent toil, 
 
 hile at your doors are to he daily found 
 
 :h loads of dunghill to manure the ground. 
 
 s by your follies that we players thrive, 
 
 the physicians by diseases live; 
 
 d as each year some new distemper reigns, 
 
 "kose friendly poison helps f increase their gains, 
 
 among you there staris up every day 
 
 ne new unheard-of fool for tts to play. 
 
 en for your own sokes he not too severe, 
 
 r what you all admire at home, damn here: 
 
 ice each is fond of his own ugly face, 
 
 hy should you, when we hold it, break the glass f 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Mr. Dorimant, 
 
 Mr. Medley, 
 
 Old Bellair, }■ Gentlemen. 
 
 Young Bellair, 
 
 Sir FoPLiNG Flutter.. 
 
 Lady Townley, 
 
 Emilia, 
 
 Mrs. Loveit, . „ 
 
 Belinda, > Gentlewomen. 
 
 Lady Woodvil, 
 
 Harriet, her daughter. 
 p Pert and Busy, ■waiting-women. 
 
 A Shoimaker. 
 ^ An Orange-Woman. 
 
 Three Slovenly Bullies. 
 
 Two Chairmen. 
 
 Mr. Smirk, aparson. 
 
 Handy, a valet-de-chambre. 
 
 Pages, Footmen, &'c. 
 Scene: London. 
 
THE MAN OF MODE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 SIR FOPLING FLUTTER. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I.— A Dressing-Room. A table covered with 
 a toilet ; clothes laid ready. 
 
 Enter Dorimant in his gown and slippers, with a note 
 in his hand made up, repeating verses, 
 
 Dorimant. 
 \T0 Wfor some ages had the pride of Spain 
 
 Made the sun shine on half the world in vain. 
 
 [Then looking on the note. 
 For Mrs. Loveit.- ' 
 
 What a dull insipid thing is a billet-doux written in 
 cold blood, after the heat of the business is over ! It 
 is a tax upon good-nature which I have here been 
 labouring to pay, and have done it, but with as much 
 regret as ever fanatic paid the Royal Aid or Church 
 Duties. 'Twill have the same fate, I know, that all 
 my notes to her have had of late, 'twill not be thought 
 kind enough. Faith, women are i' the right when 
 they jealously examine our letters, for in them we 
 
244 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 always first discover our decay of passion.— —Hey ! 
 Who waits? 
 
 Enter Handy, 
 
 Handy. Sir 
 
 Dor. Call a footman. 
 
 Handy. None of 'em are come yet 
 
 Dor. Dogs ! Will they ever lie snoring a-bed till 
 noon? 
 
 Handy. 'Tis all one, sir: if they're up, you in- 
 dulge 'em so they're ever poaching after whores all 
 the morning. 
 
 Dor. Take notice henceforward, who's wanting in 
 his duty, the next clap he gets, he shall rot for an 
 example. What vermin are those chattering without ? 
 
 Handy. Foggy Nan the orange-woman and swearing 
 Tom the shoemaker. 
 
 Dor. Go; caU in that overgrown jade with the 
 flasket of guts before her; fruit is refreshing in a 
 morning. \Exit Handy. 
 
 '^ // is not that I love you less 
 
 Than when before your feet I lay. 
 
 Enter Orange- Woman with Handy. 
 
 How now, Double Tripe ! what news do you bring ? 
 
 Or. Worn. News! Here's the best fruit has come 
 to town t'year ; gad, I was up before four o'clock this 
 morning, and bought all the choice i' the market. 
 
 Dor. The nasty refuse of your shop. 
 
 Or. Worn. You need not make mouths at it; I 
 assure you 'tis all culled ware. 
 
SIJl FOPLING FLUTTER. 245 
 
 Dor. The citizens buy better on a holiday in their 
 walk to Totnam.' 
 
 Or. Worn. Good or bad, 'tis all one ; I never knew 
 you commend anything. Lord ! would the ladies had 
 heard you talk of 'em as I have done. Here, bid your 
 man give me an angel. {Sets down the fruit. 
 
 Dor. Give the bawd her fruit again. 
 
 Or. Worn. Well, on my conscience, there never was 
 the like of you. God's my life, I had almost forgot 
 to tell you there is a young gentlewoman lately come 
 to town with her mother, that is so taken with you. 
 
 Dor. Is she handsome? 
 
 Or. Worn. Nay, gad, there are few finer women, I 
 tell you but so, and a hugeous fortune, they say. 
 Here, eat this peach, it comes from the stone ; 'tis 
 better than any Newington y'have tasted. 
 
 Dor. This fine woman, I'll lay my life, 
 
 [ Taking the peach. 
 is some awkward, ill-fashioned, country toad, who, 
 not having above four dozen of black hairs on her 
 head, has adorned her baldness with a large white 
 fruz, that she may look sparkishly in the forefront of 
 the King's box at an old play. 
 
 Or. Worn. Gad, you'd change your note quickly if 
 you did but see her. 
 
 Dor. How came she to know me ? 
 
 ' Cf. The Virtuoso (v.) : "The suburb fools trudge to Lamb's 
 Conduit or Totnam." Later on the walk became more modish : 
 When the sweet breathing spring unfolds the buds 
 
 Then Totenham fields with roving beauty swarms. 
 
 Gay, Epistle to Pulteney. 
 
246 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Or. Worn. She saw you yesterday at the Change; 
 she told me you came and fooled with the woman at 
 the next shop. 
 
 Dor. I remember there was a mask observed me 
 indeed. Fooled, did she say ? 
 
 Or. Worn. Ay, I vow she told me twenty things 
 you said too ; and acted with her head and with her 
 body so you 
 
 Enter Medley. 
 
 Med. Dorimant, my life, my joy, my darling sin, 
 how dost thou ? 
 
 Or. Worn. Lord! what a filthy trick these men have 
 got of kissing one another ! {She spits. 
 
 Med. Why do you suffer this cartload of scandal to 
 come near you and make your neighbours think you 
 so improvident to need a bawd ? 
 
 Or. Worn. Good, now we shall have it ! you did but 
 want him to help you ; come, pay me for my fruit. 
 
 Med. Make us thankful for it, huswife; bawds 
 are as much out of fashion as gentlemen-ushers : 
 none but old formal ladies use the one, and none but 
 foppish old strangers employ the other — go, you are 
 an insignificant brandy bottle. 
 
 Dor. Nay, there you wrong her, three quarts of 
 canary is her business. 
 
 Or. Worn. What you please, gentlemen. 
 
 Dor. To him ! give him as good as he brings. 
 Or. Worn. Hang him, there is not such another 
 heathen in the town again, except it be the shoemaker 
 without. 
 
S/S FOPLING FLUTTER. 247 
 
 Med. I shall see you hold up your hand at the bar 
 next sessions for murder, huswife ; that shoemaker can 
 take his oath you are in fee with the doctors to sell 
 green fruit to the gentry, that the crudities may breed 
 diseases. 
 
 Or. Worn. Pray give me my money. 
 
 Dor. Not a penny; when you bring the gentlewoman 
 hither you spoke of, you shall be paid. 
 
 Or. Worn. The gentlewoman ! the gentlewoman 
 may be as honest as your sister, for aught as I know. 
 Pray pay me, Mr. Dorimant, and do not abuse me so ; 
 I have an honester way of living, you know if. 
 
 Med. Was there ever such a restiiF bawd ? 
 
 Dor. Some jade's tricks she has, but she makes 
 amends when she's in good-humour. Come, tell me 
 the lady's name, and Handy shall pay you. 
 
 Or. Worn. I must not, she forbid me. 
 
 Dor. That's a sure sign she would have you. 
 
 Med. Where does she live ? 
 
 Or. Worn. They lodge at my house. 
 
 Med. Nay, then she's in a hopeful way. 
 
 Or. Worn. Good Mr. Medley, say your pleasure of 
 me, but take heed how you affront my house. God's 
 my life, in a hopeful way ! 
 
 Dor. Prithee, peace ! what kind of woman's the 
 mother ? 
 
 Or. Worn. A goodly grave gentlewoman. Lord ! 
 how she talks against the wild young men o' the 
 town ! As for your part, she thinks you an arrant devil ; 
 should she see you, on my conscience she would look 
 if you had not a cloven foot. 
 
248 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Dor. Does she know me ? 
 
 Or. Worn. Only by hearsay; a thousand horrid stories 
 have been told her of you, and she beheves 'em all. 
 
 Med. By the character, this should be the famous 
 Lady Woodvil and her daughter Harriet. 
 
 Or. Worn. The devil's in him for guessing, I think. 
 
 Dor. Do you know 'em ? 
 
 Med. Both very well ; the mother's a great admirer 
 of the forms and civility of the last age. 
 
 Dor. An antiquated beauty may be allowed to be out 
 of humour at the freedoms of the present. This is a 
 good account of the mother; pray, what is the daughter? 
 
 Med. Why, first she's an heiress, vastly rich. 
 
 Dor. And handsome ? 
 
 Med. What alteration a twelvemonth may have bred 
 in her I know not, but a year ago she was the beauti- 
 fullest creature I ever saw; a fine, easy, clean shape; 
 light brown hair in abundance ; her features regular ; 
 her complexion clear and lively ; large wanton eyes ; 
 but above all, a mouth that has made me kiss it a 
 thousand times in imagination, teeth white and even, 
 and pretty pouting lips, with a little moisture ever 
 hanging on them, that look like the Provence rose 
 fresh on the bush, ere the morning sun has quite 
 •drawn up the dew. 
 
 Dor. Rapture, mere rapture ! 
 
 Or. Worn. Nay, gad, he tells you true ; she's a deli- 
 cate creature. 
 
 Dor. Has she wit ? 
 
 Med. More than is usual in her sex, and as much 
 malice. Then she's as wild as you would wish her, 
 
S/H FOPLING FLUTTER. 249 
 
 and has a demureness in her looks that makes it so 
 surprising. 
 
 Dor. Flesh and blood cannot hear this, and not 
 long to know her. 
 
 Med. I wonder what makes her mother bring her 
 up to town ; an old doting keeper cannot be more 
 jealous of his mistress. 
 
 Or. Worn. She made me laugh yesterday; there 
 was a judge came to visit 'em, and the old man, she 
 told me, did so stare upon her, and when he saluted 
 her smacked so heartily ; who would think it of 'em ? 
 
 Med. God a mercy, a judge ! ' 
 
 Dor. Do 'em right, the gentlemen of the long robe 
 have not been wanting by their good examples to 
 countenance the crying sin o' the nation. 
 
 Med. Come, on with your trappings ; 'tis later than 
 you imagine. 
 
 Dor. Call in the shoemaker. Handy. 
 
 Or. Worn. Good Mr. Dorimant, pay me ; gad, I had 
 rather give you my fruit than stay to be abused by 
 that foul-mouthed rogue ; what you gentlemen say, it 
 matters not much, but such a dirty fellow does one 
 more disgrace. 
 
 Dor. Give her ten shillings, and be sure you tell 
 the young gentlewoman I must be acquainted with her. 
 
 Or. Worn. Now do you long to be tempting this 
 pretty creature. Well, heavens mend you ! 
 
 Med. Farewell. 
 
 \Exeunt OratigC' Woman and Handy. 
 
 ' The first edition (1676) has " God-a-mercy, Judge": the 
 correction seems to me necessary. 
 
250 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Dorimant, when did you see yovx pis-aller, as you call 
 her, Mrs. Loveit? 
 
 Dor, Not these two days. 
 
 Med. And how stand affairs between you ? 
 
 Dor. There has been great patching of late, much 
 ado ; we make a shift to hang together. 
 
 Med. I wonder how her mighty spirit bears it. 
 
 Dor. Ill enough, on all conscience ; I never knew 
 so violent a creature. 
 
 Med. She's the most passionate in her love, and the 
 most extravagant in her jealousy, of any woman I ever 
 heard of. What note is that ? 
 
 Dor. An excuse I am going to send her for the 
 neglect I am guilty of. 
 
 Med. Prithee read it. 
 
 Dor. No, but if you will take the pains you may. 
 
 Med. (reads). I never was a lover of business, but now 
 I have a just reason to hate it, since it has kept me these 
 two days from seeing you. I intend to wait upon you in 
 the afternoon, and in the pleasure of your conversation 
 forget all I have suffered during this tedious absence. 
 This-business of yours, Dorimant, has been with a 
 vizard ^t the playhouse ; I have had an eye on you. If 
 some malicious body should betray you, this kind note 
 would hardly make your peace with her. 
 
 Dor. I desire no better. 
 
 Med. Why, would her knowledge of it oblige you ? 
 
 Dor. Most infinitely ; next to the coming to a good 
 
 understanding with a new mistress, I love a quarrel 
 
 with an old one ; but the devil's in't, there has been 
 
 ^ such a calm in my affairs of late, I have not had the 
 
SIJ! FOPUNG FLUTTER. 251 
 
 pleasure of making a woman so much as break her 
 fan, to be sullen, or forswear herself these three days. 
 
 Med. A very great misfortune. Let me see, I love 
 mischief well enough to forward this business myself; 
 I'll about it presently, and though I know the truth 
 of what you've done will set her a-raving, I'll heighten 
 it a little with invention, leave her in a fit o' the 
 mother, and be here again before you're ready. 
 
 Dor. Pray^ay ; you may spare yourself the labour ; 
 the business is undertaken already by one who will 
 manage it with as much address, and I think with a 
 little more malice than you can. 
 
 Med. Who i' the devil's name can this be ? 
 
 Dor. Why the vizard — that very vizard you saw me 
 with. 
 
 Med. Does she love mischief so well as to betray 
 herself to spite another? 
 
 Dor. Not so neither, Medley. I will make you 
 comprehend the mystery: this mask, for a farther 
 confirmation of what I have been these two days 
 swearing to her, made me yesterday at the playhouse 
 make her a promise before her face utterly to break 
 off with Loveit ; and because she tenders my reputa- 
 tion, and would not have me do a barbarous thing, 
 has contrived a way to give me a handsome occasion. 
 
 Med. Very good. 
 
 Dor. She intends, about an hour before me, this 
 afternoon to make Loveit a visit, and (having the 
 privilege, by reason of a professed friendship between 
 'em) to talk of her concerns. 
 
 Med. Is she a friend ? 
 
252 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Dor, Oh, an intimate friend ! 
 
 Med. Better and better ; pray proceed. 
 
 Dor. She means insensibly to insinuate a discourse 
 of me, and artificially raise her jealousy to such a 
 height, that transported with the first motions of her 
 passion, she shall fly upon me with all the fury ima- 
 ginable as soon as ever I enter; the quarrel being 
 thus happily begun, I am to play my part, confess 
 and justify all my roguery, swear her impertinence and 
 ill-humour makes her intolerable, tax her with the 
 next fop that comes into my head, and in a huff 
 march away ; slight her, and leave her to be taken by 
 whosoever thinks it worth his time to lie down before 
 her. 
 
 Med. This vizard is a spark, and has a genius that 
 makes her worthy of yourself, Dorimant. 
 
 Enter Handy, Shoemaker, and Footman. 
 
 Dor. You rogue there, who sneak like a dog that 
 has flung down a dish, if you do not mend your wait- 
 ing I'll uncase you, and turn you loose to the wheel 
 of fortune. Handy, seal this, and let him run with it 
 presently. {^Exeunt Handy ' and Footman. 
 
 Med. Since you're resolved on a quarrel, why do you 
 send her this kind note ? 
 
 Dor. To keep her at home in order to the business. 
 \To the Shoemaker.'] How- now, you drunken sot ? 
 
 Shoem. 'Zbud, you have no reason to talk ; I have 
 not had a bottle of sack of yours in my belly this 
 fortnight. 
 
 ' Who presently returns, though the entry is not marked. 
 
S/Ji FOPLING FLUTTER. 253 
 
 Med. The orange-woman says your neighbours 
 take notice what a heathen you are, and design to 
 inform the bishop and have you burned for an 
 atheist. 
 
 Shoem. Damn her, dunghill ! if her husband does 
 not remove her, she stinks so the parish intend to 
 indict him for a nuisance. 
 
 Med. I advise you like a friend, reform your life ; 
 you have brought the envy of the world upon you by 
 living above yourself. Whoringjuid-sweariijg are vices 
 too genteel fps a shoemakerr 
 
 Shoem. 'Zbud, I think you men of quality will grow 
 as unreasonable as the women ; you would engross 
 the sins o' the nation ; poor folks can no sooner be 
 wicked, but they're railed at by their betters. 
 
 Dor. Sirrah, I'll have you stand i' the pillory for 
 this libel. 
 
 Shoem. Some of you deserve it, I'm sure ; there are 
 so many of 'em, that our journeymen now-a-days, 
 instead of harmless ballads, sing nothing but your 
 damned lampoons. 
 
 Dor. Our lampoons, you rogue ? 
 
 Shoem. Nay, good master, why should not you 
 Write yoar own commentaries as well as Caesar ? 
 
 Med. The rascal's read,- 1 perceive. 
 
 Shoem. You know the old proverb — ale and history. 
 
 Dor. Draw on my shoes, sirrah. 
 
 Shoem. Here's a shoe ! 
 
 Dor. Sits with more wrinkles than there are in an 
 angry bully's forehead. 
 
 Shoem. 'Zbud, as smooth as your mistress's skin 
 
254 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 does upon her ; so, strike your foot in home. 'Zbud, 
 if e'er a monsieur of 'em all make more fashionable 
 wear, I'll be content to have my ears whipped off with 
 my own paring-knife. 
 
 Med. And served up in a ragoUt instead of cox- 
 combs to a company of French shoemakers for a 
 collation. 
 
 Shoem. Hold, hold ! damn 'em, caterpillars ! let 'em 
 feed upon cabbage. Come, master, your health this 
 morning next my heart now. 
 
 Dor. Go, get you home, and govern your family 
 better; do not let your wife follow you to the ale- 
 house, beat your whore, and lead you home in 
 triumph. 
 
 Shoem. 'Zbud, there's never a man i' the town lives 
 more like a gentleman with his wife than I do. I 
 never mind her motions, she never inquires into mine ; 
 we speak to one another civilly, hate one another 
 heartily, and because 'tis vulgar to lie and soak to- 
 gether, we have each of us our several settle-bed. 
 
 Dor. Give him half-a-crown. 
 
 Med. Not without he will promise to be bloody 
 drunk. 
 
 Shoem. Tope's the word i' the eye of the world, for 
 my master's honour, Robin. 
 
 Dor. Do not debauch my servants, sirrah. 
 
 Shoem. I only tip him the wink ; he knows an ale- 
 house from a hovel. \Exit Shoemaker. 
 
 Dor. My clothes, quickly. 
 
 Med. Where shall we dine to-day ? 
 
S/H FOPLING FLUTTER. 255 
 
 Enter Bellair. 
 
 Dor. Where you will; here comes a good third man. 
 
 Bell. Your servant, gentlemen. 
 
 Med. Gentle sir, how will you answer this visit to 
 your honourable mistress ? 'Tis not her interest you 
 should keep company with men of sense, who will be 
 talking reason. 
 
 Bell. I do not fear her pardon, do you but grant 
 me yours for my neglect of late. 
 
 Med. Though you've made us miserable by the want 
 of your good company, to show you I am free from 
 all resentment, may the beautiful cause of our misfor- 
 tune give you all the joys happy lovers have shared ever 
 since the world began. 
 
 Bell. You wish me in heaven, but you believe me 
 on my journey to hell. 
 
 Med. You have a good strong faith, and that may 
 contribute much towards your salvation. I confess I 
 am but of an untoward constitution, apt to have 
 doubts and scruples, and in love they are no less dis- 
 tracting than in religion; were I So near marriage, 
 I should cry out by fits as I ride in my coach. Cuckold, 
 Cuckold, with no less fury than the mad fanatic does 
 Glory in Bedlam. 
 
 Bell. Because religion makes some run mad, must 
 I live an atheist? 
 
 Med. Is it not great indiscretion for a man of credit, 
 who may have money enough on his word, to go and 
 deal with Jews, who for little sums make men enter 
 into bonds and give judgments ? 
 
256 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Bell. Preach no more on this text, I am determined, 
 and there is no hope of my conversion. 
 
 Dor. (to Handy, who is fiddling about him). Leave 
 your unnecessary fiddling j a wasp that's buzzing about 
 a man's nose at dinner is not more troublesome than 
 thou art. 
 
 Handy. You love to have your clothes hang just, 
 sir. 
 
 Dor. I love to be well dressed, sir ; and think it no 
 scandal to my understanding. 
 
 Handy. Will you use the essence, or orange-flower 
 water? 
 
 Dor. I will smell as I do to-day, no offence to the 
 ladies' noses. 
 
 Handy. Your pleasure, sir. 
 
 Dor. That a man's excellency should lie in neatly 
 tying of a ribbon or a cravat ! How careful's nature 
 in furnishing the world with necessary coxcombs ? 
 
 Bell. That's a mighty pretty suit of yours, Dorimant. 
 
 Dor. I am glad 't has your approbation. 
 
 Bell. No man in town has a better fancy in his 
 clothes than you have. 
 
 Dor. You will make me have an opinion of my 
 genius. 
 
 Med. There is a great critic, I hear, in these matters 
 lately arrived piping hot from Paris. 
 
 Bell. Sir Fopling Flutter, you mean. 
 
 Med. The same. 
 
 Bell. He thinks himself the pattern of modem 
 gallantry. 
 
 Dor. He is indeed the pattern of modem foppery. 
 
S/H FOPLING FLUTTER. 257 
 
 Med. He was yesterday at the play, with a pair of 
 gloves up to his elbows and a periwig more exactly 
 curled than a lady's head newly dressed for a ball. 
 
 Bell. What a pretty lisp he has ! 
 
 Dor.' Ho ! that he affects in imitation of the people 
 of quality in France. 
 
 Med. His head stands for the most part on one 
 side, and his looks are more languishing than a lady's 
 when she lolls at stretch in her coach or leans her 
 head carelessly against the side of a box i' the play- 
 house. 
 
 Dor. He is a person indeed of great acquired 
 follies. 
 
 Med. He is like many others, beholding to his 
 education for making him so eminent a coxcomb; 
 many a fool had been lost to the world had their in- 
 dulgent parents wisely bestowed neither learning nor 
 good breeding on 'em. 
 
 Bell. He ha^ been, as the sparkish word is, brisk 
 upon the ladies already; he was yesterday at my 
 Aunt Townley's, and gave Mrs. Loveit a catalogue 
 of his good qualities under the character of a com- 
 plete gentleman, who, according to Sir Fopling, ought 
 to dress well, dance well, fence well, have a genius 
 for love-letters, an agreeable voice for a chamber, be 
 very amorous, something discreet, but not over-con- 
 stant. 
 
 Med. Pretty ingredients to make an accomplished 
 person. 
 
 Dor. I am glad he pitched upon Loveit. 
 
 Bell. How so ? 
 
 s 
 
258 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Dor. I wanted a fop to lay to her charge, and this 
 is as pat as may be. 
 
 Bell. I am confident she loves no man but you. 
 
 Dor. The good fortune were enough to make me 
 vain, but that I am in my nature modest. 
 
 Bell. Hark you, Dorimant; with your leave, Mr. 
 Medley, 'tis only a secret concerning a fair lady. , 
 
 Med. Your good breeding, sir, gives you too much 
 trouble ; you might have whispered without all this 
 ceremony. 
 
 Bell, (to Dorimant). How stand your afiairs with 
 Belinda of late ? 
 
 Dor. She's a little jilting baggage. 
 
 Bell. Nay, I believe her false enough, but she's 
 ne'er the worse for your purpose ; she was with you 
 yesterday in a disguise at the play. 
 
 Dor. There we fell out, and resolved never to speak 
 to one another more. 
 
 Bell. The occasion ? 
 
 Dor. Want of courage to meet me at the place ap- 
 pointed. These young women apprehend loving as 
 much as the young men do fighting at first ; but once 
 entered, like them too, they all turn bullies straight. 
 
 Enter Handy.' 
 Handy (to Bellair). Sir, your man without desires 
 to speak with you. 
 Bell. Gentlemen, I'll return immediately. 
 
 XJExit Bellair. 
 Med. A very pretty fellow this. 
 
 ' Whose previous exit had not been noticed. 
 
SfX FOPLING FLUTTER. 259 
 
 Dor. He's handsome, well-bred, and by much the 
 most tolerable of all the young men that do not abound 
 in wit. 
 
 Med, Ever well-dressed, always complaisant, and 
 seldom impertinent ; you and he are grown very inti- 
 mate, I see. 
 
 Dor. It is our mutual interest to be so : it makes 
 the women think the better of his understanding and 
 judge more favourably of my reputation ; it makes 
 him pass upon some for a man of very good sense 
 and I upon others for a very civil person. 
 
 Med. What was that whisper? 
 
 Dor. A thing which he would fain have known, but I 
 did not think it fit to tell him ; it might have frighted 
 him from his honourable intentions of marrying. 
 
 Med. Emilia, give her her due, has the best repu- 
 tation of any young woman about the town who has 
 beauty enough to provoke detraction ; her carriage is 
 unaffected, her discourse modest, not at all censorious 
 nor pretending, like the counterfeits of the age. ' 
 
 Dor. She's a discreet maid, and I believe nothing 
 can corrupt her but a husband. 
 
 Med. A husband ? 
 
 Dor. Yes, a husband; I have known many women 
 make a difficulty of losing a maidenhead who have 
 afterwards made none of a cuckold. 
 
 Med. This prudent consideration, I am apt to 
 think, has made you confirm poor Bellair in the des- 
 perate resolution he has taken. 
 
 Dor. Indeed, the little hope I found there was of 
 her, in the state she was in, has made him by my 
 
 iX 
 
 (/ 
 
26o THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 advice contribute something towards the changing of 
 her condition. 
 
 Enter Bellair. 
 
 Dear Bellair, by heavens I thought we had lost thee ; 
 men in love are never to be reckoned on when we 
 would form a company. 
 
 Bell. Dorimant, I am undone; my man has brought 
 the most surprising news i' the world. 
 
 Dor. Some strange misfortune is befallen your love. 
 
 Bell. My father came to town last night, and lodges 
 i' the very house where Emilia lies. 
 
 Med. Does he know it is with her you are in love? 
 
 Bell. He knows I love, but knows not whom, with- 
 out some officious sot has betrayed me. 
 
 Dor. Your Aunt Townley is your confidante and 
 favours the business. 
 
 Bell. I do not apprehend any ill office from her ; I 
 have received a letter, in which I am commanded by 
 my father to meet him at my aunt's this afternoon ; 
 he tells me farther he has made a match for me, and 
 bids me resolve to be obedient to his will or expect to 
 be disinherited. 
 
 Med. Mow's your time, Bellair; never had lover 
 such an opportunity of giving a generous proof of his 
 passion. 
 
 Bell. As how, I pray ? 
 
 Med. Why, hang an estate, marry Emilia out of 
 hand, and provoke your father to do what he threatens ; 
 'tis but despising a coach, humbling yourself to a pair 
 of goloshes, being out of countenance when you meet 
 
SIR FOPLING FLUTTER. 261 
 
 your friends, pointed at and pitied wherever you go 
 by all the amorous fops that know you, and your fame 
 will be immortal. 
 
 Bell, I could find in my heart to resolve not to 
 marry at all. 
 
 Dor. Fie, fie ! that would spoil a good jest and 
 disappoint the well-natured town of an occasion of 
 laughing at you. 
 
 Bell. The storm I have so long expected hangs o'er 
 my head and begins to pour down upon me ; I am 
 on the rack, and can have no rest till I'm satisfied in 
 what I fear ; where do you dine ? 
 
 Dor. At Long's or Locket's.' 
 
 Med. At Long's let it be. 
 
 Bell. I'll run and see Emilia, and inform myself 
 how matters stand ; if my misfortunes are not so great 
 as to make me unfit for company, I'll be with you. 
 
 \Exit Bellair. 
 
 Enter a Footman with a. letter. 
 
 Foot, (to Dorimant). Here's a letter, sir. 
 
 Dor. The superscription's right : For Mr. Dorimant. 
 
 Med. Let's see : the very scrawl and spelling of a 
 true-bred whore. 
 
 Dor, I know the hand j the style is admirable, I 
 assure you. 
 
 Med. Prithee read it. 
 
 ^ Famous ordinaries ; the former in the Haymarket, the latter 
 near Charing Cross. "I'll marry a drawer," says Lady Wish- 
 fort in The Way of the World, iii. i, "to have him poisoned in 
 his wine. I'll send for Robin from Locket's immediately." 
 Compare, too. Love for Love, iii. 3. 
 
262 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Dor, {reads). I told a you you dud not love me, if 
 you dud, you would have seen me again ier now; T 
 have no many, and am very mallicoUy ; pray send me a 
 guynie to see the aperies. Your servant to command, 
 Molly. 
 
 Med. Pray let the whore have ^ favourable answer, 
 that she may spark it in a box and do honour to her 
 profession. 
 
 Dor. She shall, and perk up i' the face of quality. 
 Is the coach at door ? 
 
 Handy. You did not bid me send for it. 
 
 Dor. Eternal blockhead ! [Handy offers to go out. 
 Hey, sot. 
 
 Handy. Did you call me, sir ? 
 
 Dor. I hope you have no just exception to the 
 name, sir? 
 
 Handy. I have sense, sir. 
 
 Dor. Not so much as a fly in winter. How did 
 
 you come. Medley? 
 
 Med. In a chair. 
 
 Footman. You may have a hackney coach if you 
 please, sir. 
 
 Dor. I may ride the elephant if I please, sir ; call 
 another chair, and let my coach follow to Long's. 
 
 [Exeunt singing, Be calm, ye great 
 parents, dfc. 
 
S/S POPLING FLUTTER. 263 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Enter my Lady Townley and Emilia. 
 
 Lady Townley, 
 
 I WAS afraid, Emilia, all had been discovered. 
 Emil. I tremble with the apprehension still. 
 
 Lady Town. That my brother should take lodgings 
 i' the very house where you lie ! 
 
 Emil. 'Twas lucky we had timely notice to warn 
 the people to be secret ; he seems to be a mighty good- 
 humoured old man. 
 
 Lady Town. He ever had a notable smirking way 
 with him. 
 
 Emil, He calls me rogue, tells me he can't abide 
 me, and does so bepat me. 
 
 Lady Town, On my word you are much in his 
 favour then. 
 
 Emil. He has been very inquisitive, I am told, 
 about my family, my reputation, and my fortune. 
 
 Lady Town, I am confident he does not i' the least 
 suspect you are the woman his son's in love with. 
 
 Emil. What should make him then inform himself 
 so particularly of me ? 
 
 Lady Town. He was always of a very loving temper 
 
264 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 himself; it may be he has a doting fit upon him j who 
 knows ? 
 
 Emit, It cannot be. 
 
 Enter Young Bellair. 
 
 Lady Town. Here comes my nephew. Where did 
 you leave your father ? 
 
 Y. Bell. Writing a note within. Emilia, this early 
 visit looks as if some kind jealousy would not let you 
 rest at home. 
 
 Emil. The knowledge I have of my rival gives me 
 a little cause to fear your constancy. 
 
 Y. Bell. My constancy ! I vow 
 
 Emil. Do not vow Our love is frail as is our 
 
 life, and full as little in our power; and are you sure 
 you shall outlive this day? 
 
 Y. Bell. I am not, but when we are in perfect 
 health 'twere an idle thing to fright ourselves with the 
 thoughts of sudden death. 
 
 Lady Town. Pray what has passed between you and 
 your father i' the garden ? 
 
 Y. Bell. He's firm in his resolution, tells me I must 
 marry Mrs. Harriet, or swears he'll marry himself and 
 disinherit me ; when I saw I could not prevail with 
 him to be more indulgent, I dissembled an obedience 
 to his will which has composed his passion, and will 
 give us time, and I hope opportunity, to deceive him. 
 
 Enter Old Bellair with a note in his hand. 
 Lady Town. Peace, here he comes. 
 O. Bell. Harry, take this, and let your man carry 
 
S/H FOPLING FLUTTER. 265 
 
 it for me to Mr. Fourbes's chamber, my lawyer, i' the 
 Temple. \Exit Young Bellair. 
 
 [71; Emilia.] Neighbour, adod, I am glad to see thee 
 here ; make much of her, sister, she's one of the best 
 of your acquaintance ; I like her countenance and her 
 behaviour well, she has a modesty that is not common 
 i' this age, adod, she has. 
 
 Lady Town. I know her value, brother, and esteem 
 her accordingly. 
 
 O. Bell. Advise her to wear a little more mirth in 
 her face, adod, she's too serious. 
 
 Lady Town. The fault is very excusable in a young 
 woman. 
 
 O. Bell. Nay, adod, I like her ne'er the worse, a 
 melancholy beauty has her charms; I love a pretty 
 sadness in a face which varies now and then, like 
 changeable colours, into a smile. 
 
 Lady Town. Methinks you speak very feelingly, 
 brother. 
 
 0. Bell: I am but five-and-fifty, sister, you know, 
 an age not altogether insensible ! \To Emilia.] 
 Cheer up, sweetheart, I have a secret to tell thee 
 may chance to make thee merry ; we three will make 
 collation together anon ; i' the meantime mum, I 
 can't abide you ; go, I can't abide you. 
 
 Enter Young Bellair. 
 
 Harry, come, you must along with me to my Lady 
 WoodViFs. I am going to slip the- boy at a mistress. 
 
 Y. Bell. At a wife, sir, you would say. 
 
 0. Bell. You need not look so grum, sir ; a wife is 
 no curse when she brings the blessing of a good estate 
 
266 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 with her; but an idle town flirt, with a painted face, a 
 rotten reputation, and a crazy fortune, adod, is the devil 
 and all ; and such a one I hear you are in league with. 
 
 Y. Beli, I cannot help detraction, sir. 
 
 O. Bell. Out, a pise o' their breeches, there are 
 keeping fools enough for such flaunting baggages, and 
 they are e'en too good for 'em. [To Emilia.] Re- 
 member night, go, you're a rogue, you're a rogue ; fare 
 you well, fare you well ; come, come, come along, sir. 
 \_Exeunt Old and Young Bellair. 
 
 Lady Town, On my word the old man comes on 
 apace ; I'll lay my life he's smitten. 
 
 Emil. This is nothing but the pleasantness of his 
 humour. 
 
 Lady Town. I know him better than you; let it 
 work, it may prove lucky. 
 
 Enter a Page. 
 
 Page. Madam, Mr. Medley has sent to know whether 
 a visit will not be troublesome this afternoon ? 
 
 Lady Town. Send him word his visits never are so. 
 
 \JExit Page. 
 
 Emil. He's a very pleasant man. 
 
 Lady Town. He's a very necessary man among us 
 women; he's not scandalous i' the least, perpetually 
 contriving to bring good company together, and always 
 ready to stop up a gap at ombre ; then ha knows all 
 the little news o' the town. 
 
 Emil. I love to hear him talk o' the intrigues ; let 
 'em be never so dull in themselves, he'll make 'em 
 pleasant i' the relation. 
 
SIR FOPUNG FLUTTER. 267 
 
 Lady Town. But he improves things so much one 
 can take no measure of the truth from him. Mr. Dori- 
 mant swears a flea or a maggot is not made more 
 monstrous by a magnifying glass than a story is by his 
 telling it. 
 
 Emil. Hold, here he comes. 
 
 Enter Medley. 
 
 Lady Town. Mr. Medley. 
 
 Med. Your servant, madam. 
 
 Lady Town. You have made yourself a stranger of 
 late. 
 
 Emil. I believe you took a surfeit of ombre last 
 time you were here. 
 
 Med. Indeed I had my bellyful of that termagant 
 lady-dealer; there never was so insatiable a carder, 
 an old gleeker never loved to sit to't like her ; I have 
 played with her now at least a dozen times till she's 
 worn out all her fine complexion, and her tour ' would 
 keep in curl no longer. 
 
 Lady Town. Blame her not, poor woman; she loves 
 nothing so well as a black ace. 
 
 Med. The pleasure I have seen her in when she has 
 had hope in drawing for a matadore V 
 
 Emil. 'Tis as pretty sport to her as persuading 
 masks off is to you to make discoveries. 
 
 Lady Town. Pray, where's your friend Mr. Dorimant? 
 
 Med. Soliciting his affairs ; he's a man of great em- 
 ployment, has mofe mistresses now depending than 
 the most eminent lawyer in England has causes. 
 
 ' Headdress. ' A game at cards. 
 
268 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Emil. Here has been Mrs. Loveit, so uneasy and 
 out of humour these two days. 
 
 Lady Town. How strangely love and jealousy rage 
 in that poor woman ! 
 
 Med. She could not have picked out a devil upon 
 earth so proper to torment her; he has made her 
 break a dozen or two of fans ahready, tear half a score 
 points in pieces, and destroy hoods and knots without 
 number. 
 
 Lady Town. We heard of a pleasant serenade he 
 gave her t'other night. 
 
 Med. A Danish serenade, with kettledrums and 
 trumpets. 
 
 Emil. Oh, barbarous ! 
 
 Med. What, you are of the number of the ladies 
 whose ears are grown so delicate since our operas,' 
 you can be charmed with nothing hut^Hies douces' 
 and French hautboys. 
 
 Emi7. Leave your raillery, and tell us is there any 
 new wit come forth, songs or novels ? 
 
 Med. A very pretty piece of gallantry by an emi- 
 nent author, called TAe Diversions of Brussels ;^ very 
 
 ■ " I saw an Italian opera in music, the first that had been in 
 England of the kind."— Evelyn, Jan. S, 1674. 
 
 ^ Here, and later on (iv. l), variously spelt ^ierf« doux and 
 flutes deux. It has been suggested to me [Notes and Queries, yih 
 S. V. 13s) that flutes dotues is the right reading, and X have 
 adopted it. ThsflAte douce may have been something like the 
 flUte d'amour, or Liebesftoie, " an old*form of flute with a narrow 
 bore, supposed to have a smooth and fascinating quality.'' 
 
 ' Possibly one of the romances which Pepys read surrepti- 
 tiously. I have not been able to trace the book : was it by any 
 
SIR FOPLING FLUTTER. 269 
 
 necessary to be read by all old ladies who are de- 
 sirous to improve themselves at questions and com- 
 mands, blindman's buff, and the like fashionable 
 recreations. 
 
 Emil. Oh, ridiculous ! 
 
 Med. Then there is The Art of Affectation^ written 
 by a late beauty of quality, teaching you how to draw 
 up your breasts, stretch up your neck, to thrust out 
 your breech, to play with your head, to toss up your 
 nose, to bite your lips, to turn up your eyes, to speak 
 in a silly sofb tone of a voice, and use all the foolish 
 French words that will infallibly make your person 
 and conversation charming, with a short apology at 
 the latter end, in the behalf of young ladies who 
 notoriously wash and paint, though they have natu- 
 rally good complexions. 
 
 Emil. What a deal of stuif you tell us ? 
 
 Med. Such as the town affords, madam. The Rus- 
 sians hearing the great respect we have for foreign 
 dancing have lately sent over some of their best bal- 
 ladines, who are now practising a famous ballet, which 
 will be suddenly danced at the Bear Garden. 
 
 Lady Town. Pray forbear your idle stories, and give 
 us an account of the state of love as it now stands. 
 
 Med. Truly there has been some revolutions in those 
 aifairs, great chopping and changing among the old, 
 and some new lovers, whom malice, indiscretion, and 
 misfortune have luckily brought into play. 
 
 chance the basis of D'Urfey's play, The Campaigners, or Pleasant 
 Adventures at Brussels, 1698, in which, by the way, we have a 
 footman called Mascarillo ? 
 
270 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Lady Town. What think you of walking into the 
 next room, and sitting down before you engage in this 
 business ? 
 
 Med. I wait upon you, and I hope (though women 
 are commonly unreasonable) by the plenty of scandal 
 I shall discover to give you very good content, ladies. 
 
 \_Eocmnt. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Loveit and Pert. Mrs. "LxyrEir putting 
 up a letter, then pulling out her pocket-glass, and look- 
 ing in it. 
 
 Lov. Pert. 
 
 Pert. Madam. 
 
 Lov. I hate myself, I look so ill to-day. 
 
 Pert. Hate the wicked cause on't, that base man 
 Mr. Dorimant, who makes you torment and vex your- 
 self continually. 
 
 Lov. He is to blame, indeed. 
 
 Pert. To blame to be two days without sending, 
 writing, or coming near you, contrary to his oath and 
 covenant ! 'twas to much purpose to make him swear : 
 I'll lay my life there's not an article but he has broken 
 — talked to the vizards i' the pit; waited upon the 
 ladies from the boxes to their coaches ; gone behind 
 the scenes and fawned upon those little insignificant 
 creatures the players; 'tis impossible for a man of 
 his inconstant temper to forbear, I'm sure. 
 
SIR FOPLING FLUTTER. 271 
 
 Lov. I know he is a devil, but he has something of 
 the angel yet undefaced in him, which makes him so 
 charming and agreeable that I must love him be he 
 never so wicked 
 
 Pert. I little thought, madam, to see your spirit 
 tamed to this degree, who banished poor Mr. Lack- 
 wit but for taking up another lady's fan in your pre- 
 sence. 
 
 Lov. My knowing of such odious fools contributes 
 to the making of me love Dorimant the better. 
 
 Pert. Your knowing of Mr. Dorimant, in my mind, 
 should rather make you hate all mankind. 
 Lov. So it does, besides himself. 
 Pert. Pray, what excuse does he make in his 
 letter? 
 Lov. He has had business. 
 
 Pert. Business in general terms would not have 
 been a current excuse for another ; a modish man is 
 always very busy when he is in pursuit of a new mis- 
 tress. 
 
 Lav. Some fop has bribed you to rail at him ; he 
 had business, I will believe it, and will forgive him. 
 
 Pert. You may forgive him anything, but I shall 
 never forgive him his turning me into ridicule,^ as 
 I hear he does. 
 
 Lov. I perceive you are of the number of those 
 fools his wit has made his enemies. 
 
 Pert. I am of the number of those he's pleased to 
 rally, madam ; and if we may believe Mr. Wagfan and 
 Mr. Caperwell, he sometimes makes merry with your- 
 self too among his laughing companions. 
 
272 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Lov. Blockheads are as malicious to witty men as 
 ugly women are to the handsome ; 'tis their interest, 
 and they make it their business to defame 'em. 
 
 Pert. I wish Mr. Dorimant would not make it his 
 business to defame you. 
 
 Lov. Should he, I had rather be made infamous by 
 him than owe my reputation to the dull discretion of 
 those fops you talk of. 
 
 Enter Belinda. 
 Belinda ! [Running to her. 
 
 Bel. My dear. 
 
 Lov. You have been unkind of late. 
 
 Bel. Do not say unkind, say unhappy ! 
 
 Lov. I could chide you j where have you been these 
 two days ? 
 
 Bel. Pity me rather, my dear, where I have been so 
 tired with two or three country gentlewomen, whose 
 conversation has been more insufferable than a country 
 fiddle. 
 
 Lov. Are they relations ? 
 
 Bel. No, Welsh acquaintance I made when I was 
 last year at St. Winifred's; they have asked me a 
 thousand questions of the modes and intrigues of the 
 town, and I have told 'em almost as many things for 
 news that hardly werS. so when their gowns were in 
 fashion. 
 
 I^v. Provoking creatures, how could you endure 
 'em? 
 
 Bel. {aside). Now to carry on my plot; nothing but 
 love could make me capable of so much falsehood ; 
 
S//i FOPLING FLUTTER. 273 
 
 'tis time to begin, lest Dorimant should come before 
 her jealousy has stung her. 
 
 \Lcmghs, and then sjieaks on. 
 I was yesterday at a play with 'em, where I was fain 
 to show 'em the living, as the matt at Westminster 
 does the dead ; that is Mrs. Such-a-one, admired for 
 her beauty ; this is Mr. Such-a-one, cried up for a wit ; 
 that is sparkish Mr. Such-a-one, who keeps reverend 
 Mrs. Such-a-one, and there sits fine Mrs. Such-a-one, 
 who was lately cast off by my Lord Such-a-one. 
 
 Lov. Did you see Dorimant there ? 
 
 Bel. I did, and imagine you were there with him 
 and have no mind to own it. 
 
 Lov. What should make you think so ? 
 
 Bel. A lady masked in a pretty d'eshahillk, whom 
 Dorimant entertained with more respect than the gal- 
 lants do a common vizard. 
 
 Lov. (aside). Dorimant at the play entertaining a 
 mask, oh heavens ! 
 
 Bel. {aside). Good. 
 ^ Lov. Did he stay all the while? 
 
 Bel. Till the play was done, and then led her out, 
 which confirms me it was you. 
 
 Lov. Traitor ! 
 
 Pert. Now you may believe he had business, and 
 you may forgive him too. 
 
 Lov. Ungrateful, perjured man ! 
 
 Bel. You seem so much concemeid, my dear, I fear 
 I have told you unawares what I had better have con- 
 cealed for your quiet. 
 
 Lov. What manner of shape had she ? 
 
 T 
 
274 1'HE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Bel. Tall and slender, her motions very genteel; 
 certainly she must be some person of condition. 
 
 Lov. Shame and confusion be ever in her face when 
 she shows it ! 
 
 Bel. I should blame your discretion for loving that 
 wild man, my dear; but they say he has a way so 
 bewitching that few can defend their hearts who know 
 him. 
 
 Lov. I will tear him from mine, or die i' the 
 attempt. 
 
 Bel. Be more moderate. 
 
 Lov. Would I had daggers, darts, or poisoned arrows 
 in my breast, so I could but remove the thoughts of 
 him from thence ! 
 
 Bel. Fie, fie ! your transports are too violent, my 
 dear. This may be but an accidental gallantry, and 
 'tis likely ended at her coach. 
 
 Fert. Should it proceed farther, let your comfort 
 be, the conduct Mr. Dorimant affects will quickly 
 make you know your rival, ten to one let you see her 
 ruined, her reputation exposed to the town ; a happi- 
 ness none will envy her but yourself, madam. 
 
 Lov. Whoe'er she be, all the harm I wish her is, 
 may she love him as well as I do, and may he give her 
 as much cause to hate him ! 
 
 Fert. Never doubt the latter end of your curse, 
 madam. 
 
 Lov. May all the passions that are raised by neg- 
 lected love, jealousy, indignation, spite, and thirst of 
 revenge, eternally rage in her soul as they do now in 
 mine ! [ Walks up and down with a distracted air. 
 
S/H FOPLING FLUTTER. 275 
 
 Enter a Page, 
 Page. Madam, Mr. Dorimant. 
 Lov. I will not see him. 
 Page. I told him you were within, madam. 
 Imd. Say you lied, say I'm busy, shut the door; say 
 anything. 
 Page. He's here, madam. 
 
 Enter Dorimant. 
 
 Dor. They taste of death who do at Heaven arrive. 
 But we this paradise approach alive. 
 
 [To LovEiT.] What, dancing the galloping,nag without 
 a fiddle ? {^O^ers to catch her by the hand ; she flings 
 
 away and walks on. 
 I fear this restlessness of the body, madam, {Pursuing 
 her."] proceeds from an unquietness of the mind. 
 What unlucky accident puts you out of humour ; a 
 point ill washed, knots spoiled i' the making up, hair 
 shaded awry, or some other little mistake in setting 
 you in order? 
 
 Pert. A trifle, in my opinion, sir, more inconsider- 
 able than any you mention. 
 
 Dor. Oh, Mrs. Pert, I never knew you sullen 
 enough to be silent; come, let me know the busi- 
 ness. 
 
 Pert. The business, sir, is the business that has 
 taken you up these two days ; how have I seen you 
 laugh at men of business, and now to become a man 
 of business yourself ! 
 
276 THE MAN OF MODE ; OR, 
 
 Dor, We are not masters of our own affections, our 
 inclinations daily alter; now we love pleasure, and 
 anon we shall dote on business : human frailty will 
 have it so, and who can help it ? 
 
 Lov. Faithless, inhuman, barbarous man ! 
 
 Dor. Good, now the alarm strikes. 
 
 Lov. Without sense of love, of honour, or of grati- 
 tude, tell me — for I will know — ^what devil, masked 
 she were you with at the play yesterday ? 
 
 Dor. Faith, I resolved as much as you, but the 
 devil was obstinate and would not tell me. 
 
 Lov. False in this as in your vows to me ! you do 
 know. 
 
 Dor. The truth is, I did all I could to know. 
 
 Lov. And dare you own it to my face ? Hell and 
 furies ! \Tears her fan in pieces. 
 
 Dor. Spare your fan, madam; you are growing hot, 
 and will want it to cool you. 
 
 Lov. Horror and distraction seize you, sorrow and 
 remorse gnaw your soul, and punish all your perjuries 
 to me ! [ Weeps. 
 
 Dor. So thunder breaks the cloud in twain. 
 And makes a passage for the rain. 
 
 {Turning to Belinda. 
 Belinda, you are the devil that have raised this storm ; 
 you were at the play yesterday, and have been making 
 discoveries to your dear. 
 
 Bel. You're the most mistalcen man i' the world. 
 
 1 Dor. It must be so, and here I vow revenge,* resolve 
 
 I to pursue and persecute you more impertinently than 
 
 ever any loving fop did his mistress, hunt you i' the 
 
SIR FOPLING FLUTTER. 277 
 
 Park, trace you i' the Mall, dog you in every visit you 
 make, haunt you at the plays and i' the Drawing-room, 
 hang my nose in your neck, and talk to you whether 
 you will or no, and ever look upon you with such 
 dying eyes, till your friends grow jealous of me, send 
 you out of town, and make the world suspect your 
 reputation. [/« a lower voice. 
 
 At my Lady Townley's when we go from hence. 
 
 {He looks kindly on Belinda. 
 
 Bel. I'll meet you there. 
 
 Dor. Enough. 
 
 Lov. Stand off, you shall not stare upon her so. 
 
 \Pushing DoRiMANT away. 
 
 Dor. Good ! There's one made jealous already. 
 
 Lov. Is this the constancy you vowed ? 
 
 Dor. Constancy at my years! 'tis not a virtue in 
 season ; you might as well expect the fruit the autumn 
 ripens i' the spring. 
 
 Lov. Monstrous principle ! 
 
 Dor. Youth has a long journey to go, madam : 
 should I have' set up my rest at the first inn I lodged 
 at, I should never have arrived at the happiness I 
 now enjoy. 
 
 Lov. Dissembler, damned dissembler ! 
 
 Dor. I am so, I confess ; good nature and good 
 manners corrupt me. I am honest in my inclinations, 
 and would not, were't not to avoid offence, make a 
 lady a little in years believe I think her young, 
 wilfully mistake art for nature, and seem as fond 
 of a thing I am weary of as when I doted on't in 
 earnest. 
 
278 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Lov. False man ! 
 Dor. True woman ! 
 Lov. Now you begin to show yourself ! 
 Dor. Love gilds us over and makes us show fine 
 things to one another for a time, but soon the 
 gold wears off, and then again the native brass 
 appears. 
 
 Lov. Think on your oaths, your vows and protesta- 
 tions, perjured man. 
 
 Dor. I made 'em when I was in love. 
 Lov. And therefore ought they not to bind ? Oh, 
 I impious ! 
 
 [ Dor. What we swear at such a time may be a 
 certain proof of a present passion ; but, to say truth, 
 in love there is no security to be given for the 
 future. 
 
 Lov. Horrid and ungrateful, begone, and never see 
 me more. 
 
 Dor. I am not one of those troublesome coxcombs, 
 who because they were once well received, take the 
 privilege to plague a woman with their love ever after ; 
 I shall obey you, madam, though I do myself some 
 violence. \_He offers to go, and LovEiT/«/Zf him hack. 
 Lov. Come back, you shall not go. Could you have 
 the ill-nature to offer it ? 
 
 Dor. When love grows diseased, the best thing 
 we can do is to put it to a violent death ; I cannot 
 endure the torture of a lingering and consumptive 
 passion. 
 
 Lov. Can you think mine sickly ? 
 
 Dor. Oh, 'tis desperately ill ! What worse symptoms 
 
S/Ji FOPLING FLUTTER. 279 
 
 are there than your being always uneasy when I 
 visit you, your picking quarrels with me on slight 
 occasions, and in my absence kindly listening to the 
 impertinencies of every fashionable fool that talks 
 to you ? 
 
 Lov. What fashionable fool can you lay to my 
 charge ? 
 
 Dor. Why, the very cock-fool of all those fools, Sir 
 Fopling Flutter. 
 
 Lov. I never saw him in my life but once. 
 
 Dor. The worse woman you, at first sight to put on 
 all your charms, to entertain him with that softness 
 in your voice and all that wanton kindness in your 
 eyes you so notoriously affect when you design a 
 conquest. 
 
 Lov. So damned a lie did never malice yet invent. 
 Who told you this ? 
 
 Dor. No matter ; that ever I should love a woman 
 that can dote on a senseless caper, a tawdry French 
 ribbon, and a formal cravat. 
 
 Lov. You make me mad. 
 
 Dor. A guilty conscience may do much ; go on, be 
 the game-mistress o' the town, and enter all our young 
 fops as fast as they come from travel. 
 
 Lov. Base and scurrilous ! 
 
 Dor. A fine mortifying reputation 'twill be for a 
 woman of your pride, wit, and quiajity ! 
 
 Lov. This jealousy's a mere pretence, a cursed 
 trick of your own devising ; I know you. 
 
 Dor. Believe it, and all the ill of me you can : I 
 would not have a woman have the least good thought 
 
28o THE MAN OF MODE; OK, 
 
 of me that can think well of Fopling ; farewell ; fall 
 to, and much good may [it] do you with your coxcomb. 
 
 Lov. Stay, oh ! stay, and I will tell you all. 
 
 Dor. I have been told too much ahready. 
 
 \Exit DORIMANT. 
 
 Lov. Call him again. 
 
 Pert. E'en let him go, a fair riddance. 
 
 Lov. Run, I say J call him again — I will have him 
 called. 
 
 Pert. The devil should carry him away first, were 
 it my concern. {Exit Pert. 
 
 Bel. He's frighted me from the very thoughts of 
 loving men ; for heaven's sake, my dear, do not dis- 
 cover what I told you ; I dread his tongue as much 
 as you ought to have done his friendship. 
 
 Enter Pert. 
 
 Pert. He's gone, madam. 
 
 Lov. Lightning blast him ! 
 
 Pert. When I told him you desired him to come 
 back, he smiled, made a mouth at me, flung into his 
 coach, and said 
 
 Lov. What did he say ? 
 
 Pert. " Drive away ; " and then repeated verses. 
 
 Lov. Would I had made a contract to be a witch, 
 when first I entertained this great devil, monster, 
 barbarian ; I could tear myself in pieces. Revenge, 
 nothing but revenge can ease me : plague, war, 
 famine, fire, all that can bring universal ruin and 
 misery on mankind; with joy I'd perish to have you 
 in my power but this moment. \_Exit Loveit. 
 
S/H FOPLING FLUTTER. 281 
 
 Pert. Follow, madam J leave, her not in this out- 
 rageous passion. [Pert gathers up the things. 
 Bel. He's given me the proof which I desired of 
 
 his love : 
 
 ♦ 
 
 But 'tis a proof of his ill-nature too ; 
 
 I wish I had not seen him use her so. 
 
 I sigh to think that Dorimant may be 
 
 One day as faithless and unkind to me. \Exeuni. 
 
28a THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 ScKNE I. — Lady Woodvil's Lodgings. 
 Enter Harriet and Busy her woman. 
 
 Busy. 
 
 DEAR madam ! Let me set that curl in order. 
 Har. Let me alone, I will shake 'em all out 
 of order. 
 
 Busy. Will you never leave this wildness ? 
 
 Har. Torment me not. 
 
 Busy. Look ! there's a knot falling off. 
 
 Har. Let it drop. 
 
 Busy. But one pin, dear madam. 
 
 Har. How do I daily suffer under thy officious 
 fingers ! 
 
 Busy. Ah, the difference that is between you and 
 1 my Lady Dapper ! How uneasy she is if the least 
 thing be amiss about her ! 
 
 Har. She is indeed most exact; nothing is ever 
 wanting to make her ugliness remarkable. 
 
 Busy. Jeering people say so. i 
 
 Har. Her powdering, painting, and her patching- 
 never fail in public to draw the tongues and eyes of 
 all the men upon her. 
 
 Busy. She is indeed a little too pretending. 
 
SIX FOPLING FLUTTER. 28 j 
 
 Har. That women should set up for beauty as 
 much in spite of nature as some men have done for 
 wit! 
 
 Busy. I hope, without offence, one may endeavour 
 to make oneself agreeable. 
 
 Har. Not when 'tis impossible. Women then ought 
 to be no more fond of dressing than fools should 
 be talking. Hoods and modesty, masks and silence, 
 things that shadow and conceal : they should think 
 of nothing else. 
 
 Busy. Jesu ! madam, what will your mother think 
 is become of you ? For heaven's sake, go in again. 
 
 Har. I won't. 
 
 Busy. This is the extravagant'st thing that ever 
 you did in your life, to leave her and a gentleman 
 who is to be your husband. 
 
 Har. My husband ! Hast thou so little wit to 
 think I spoke what I meant when I overjoyed her in 
 the country with a low curtsey and What you please, 
 madam, I shall ever be obedient} 
 
 Busy. Nay, I know not, you have so many fetches. 
 
 Har. And this was one to get her up to London ; 
 nothing else, I assure thee. 
 
 Busy. Well, the man, in my mind, is a fine man. 
 
 Har. The man indeed wears his clothes fashionably, 
 and has a pretty negligent way with him, very^courtly 
 "and much affected ; he bows, and talks, and smiles so 
 agreeably as he thinks. 
 
 Busy. I never saw anything so genteel. 
 
 Har. Varnished over with good breeding many a 
 blockhead makes a tolerable show. 
 
284 THE MAN OF MODE; OK, 
 
 Busy. I wonder you do not like him. 
 
 Har. I think I might be brought to endure him, 
 and that is all a reasonable woman should expect in a 
 husband ; but there is duty i' the case — and like the 
 haughty Merab, 
 
 I find- much aversion in my stubborn mind. 
 Which is bred by being promised and design' d. 
 
 Busy. I wish you do not design your own ruin ! I 
 
 partly guess your inclinations, madam, that Mr. 
 
 Dorimant 
 
 Har. Leave your prating, and sing some foolish 
 song or other. 
 
 Busy. I will ; the song you love so well ever since 
 you saw Mr. Dorimant. 
 
 Song. 
 
 When first Amintas charmed my heart, 
 My heedless sheep began to stray ; 
 
 The wolves soon stole the greatest part, 
 And all will now be Tnade a prey. 
 
 Ah ! let not love your thoughts possess, 
 'Tis fatal to a shepherdess ; 
 The dangerous passion you must shun, 
 Or else, like me, be quite undone. 
 
 Har. Shall I be paid down by a covetous parent 
 for a purchase ? I need no land ; no, I'll lay myself 
 out all in love. It is decreed 
 
SlJf FOPLING FLUTTER. 285 
 
 Enter Young Bellair. 
 
 Y. Bell. What generous resolution are you making, 
 madam ? 
 
 Har. Only to be disobedient, sir. 
 
 Y. Bell. Let me join hands with you in that. 
 
 Har, With all my heart ; I never thought I should 
 have given you mine so willingly. Here I,;Harriet: 
 
 Y. Bell. And I, Harry 
 
 Har. Do solemnly protest 
 
 K Bell. And vow 
 
 Har. That I with you 
 
 Y. Bell. And I with you 
 
 Both. Will never marry. 
 
 Har. A match! 
 
 Y. Bell. And no match ! How do you like this 
 indifference now ? 
 
 Har. You expect I should take it iU, I see. 
 
 Y. Bell. 'Tis not unnatural for you women to be a 
 little angry [if] you miss a conquest, though you 
 would slight the poor man were he, in your power. 
 
 Har, There are some, it may be, have an eye like 
 Bartholomew, big':enough for the whole fair, but I am 
 not of the number, and you liiay keep ydur .ginger- 
 bread ; 'twill be more acceptable to the lady whose 
 dear image it wears, sir. 
 
 ^ Y. Bell. I must . confess^ madam, you came a day 
 after the fair. 
 
 Har, You own then you are in love. 
 
 Y.Bell. I d6. ■'"- 
 
 Har. The confidence is generous, and in return I 
 
286 THE MAN OF MODE ; OR, 
 
 could almost find in my heart to let you know my 
 inclinations. 
 
 Y. Bell. Are you in love ? 
 
 Har. Yes, with this dear town, to that degree I 
 can scarce endure the country in landscapes and in 
 hangings. 
 
 Y. Bell. What a dreadful thing 'twould be to be 
 hurried back to Hampshire ? 
 
 Har. Ah ! name it not ! 
 
 K Bell. As for us, I find we shall agree well 
 enough ! Would we could do something to deceive 
 the grave people ! 
 
 Har. Could we delay their proceeding, 'twere well; a 
 reprieve is a good step towards the getting of a pardon. 
 
 Y. Bell. If we give over the game we are undone ; 
 what think you of playing it on booty ? 
 
 Har. What do you mean ? 
 
 Y. Bell. Pretend to be in love with one another; 
 'twill make some dilatory excuses we may feign pass 
 the better. 
 
 Har. Let us do't, if it be but for the dear pleasure 
 of dissembling. 
 
 Y. Bell. Can you play your part ? 
 
 Har. I know not what 'tis to love, but I have made 
 pretty remarks by being now and then where lovers 
 meet. Where did you leave their gravities ? 
 
 Y. Bell. V th' next room ; your mother was censuring 
 our modern gallant. 
 
 Enter Old Bellair and Lady Woodvil. 
 Har. Peace ! Here they come, I will lean against 
 
S//1 FOPLING FLUTTER. , 287 
 
 this wall and look bashfully down upon my fan, while 
 you like an amorous spark modishly entertain me. 
 
 Lady Wood. Never go about to excuse 'em ; come, 
 come, it was not so when I was a young woman. 
 
 O. Bell. Adod, they're something disrespectful. 
 
 Lady Wood. Quality was then considered, and not 
 rallied by every fleering fellow. 
 
 O. Bell. Youtli will have its jest, adod it will. 
 
 Lady Wood. 'Tis good breeding now to be civil to 
 none but players and Exchange women; they are 
 treated by 'em as much above their condition as others 
 are below theirs. 
 
 O. Bell. Out, a pise on 'em ! talk no more ; the 
 rogues ha' got an ill habit of preferring beauty, no 
 matter where they find it. 
 
 Lady Wood. See your son and my daughter, they have 
 improved their acquaintance since they were within. 
 
 O. Bell. Adod, methinks they have; let's keep 
 back and observe. 
 
 Y. Bell. Now for a look and gestures that may 
 persuade 'era I am saying all the passionate things 
 imaginable. 
 
 Har. Your head a little more on one side, ease your- 
 self on your left leg, and play with your rijght hand. 
 
 y. Bell. Thus,.isit not? 
 
 ILar. Now set your right leg firm on the ground, 
 adjust your belt, then look about you. 
 
 Y. Bell. A little exercising will make me perfect. 
 
 JIar. Smile, and turn to me again very sparkish. 
 
 Y. Bell. Will you take your turn and be instructed? 
 
 Har. With all my heart. 
 
288 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Y. Bell. At one motion play your fan, roll your 
 eyes, and then settle a kind look upon me. 
 
 Har. So. 
 
 Y. Bell. Now spread your fan, look down upon it, 
 and tell the sticks with a finger. 
 
 Har. Very modish ! 
 
 Y. Bell. Clap your hand up to your bosom, hold 
 down your gown ; shrug a little, draw up your breasts, 
 and let 'em fall again gently, with a sigh or two, &c. 
 
 Har. By the good instructions you give, I suspect 
 you for one of those malicious observers who watch 
 people's eyes and from innocent looks make scanda- 
 lous conclusions. 
 
 Y. Bell. I know some, indeed, who, out of mere 
 love to mischief, are as vigilant as jealousy itself, and 
 will give you an account of every glance that passes 
 at a play and i' th' circle.' 
 
 Har. 'Twill not be amiss now to seem a little 
 pleasant. 
 
 Y. Bell. Clap your fan then in both your hands, 
 snatch it to your mouth, smile, and with a lively 
 
 motion fling your body a little forwards. So, now 
 
 spread it ; fall back on the sudden, cover your face 
 
 with it, and break out into a loud laughter take 
 
 up ! look grave, and fall a-fanning of yourself 
 
 admirably well acted. 
 
 Har. I think I am pretty apt at these matters. 
 
 O. Bell. Adod, I like this well. 
 
 Lady Wood. This promises something. 
 
 ' In Hyde Park. 
 
STR FOPLING FLUTTER. 289 
 
 O. Bell. Come ! there is love i' th' case, adod there 
 is, or will be ; what say you, young lady ? 
 
 Hear. All in good timet sir ; you expect we should 
 fall to and love, as gamecocks fight, as soon as we 
 are set together; adod, you're unreasonable ! 
 
 O. Bell. Adod, sirrah, I like thy wit well. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. The coach is at the door, madam, 
 
 O. Bell. Go, get you and take the air together. 
 
 Lady. Wood. Will not you go with us? 
 
 O. Bell, Out a pise. Adod, I ha' business and 
 cannot. We shall meet at night at my sister 
 Townley's. 
 
 Y. Bell, {aside). He's going to Emilia. I overheard 
 him talk of a collation. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. 
 Enter Lady Townley, Emilia, and Mr. Medley. 
 
 JLady Town. I pity the young lovers we last talked 
 of] though, to say truth, their conduct has been so 
 indiscreet they deserve to be unfortunate. 
 
 Med. You've had an exact account, from the great 
 lady i' th' box down to the little orange-wench. 
 
 Emil. You're a living libel, a breathing lampoon ; I 
 wonder you are not torn in pieces, 
 
 Med. What think you of setting up an office of 
 u 
 
290 THE MAN OF MODE; OR. 
 
 intelligence for these matters ? The project may get 
 money. 
 
 Lady Town. You would have great dealings with 
 country ladies. 
 
 Med. . More than Muddiman ^ has with their 
 husbands.. 
 
 £nier Belinda. 
 
 Zady Town. Belinda, what has been become of 
 you? we have not seen you here of late with your 
 friend Mrs. Loveit. 
 
 Bel. Dear creature, I left [her] but now so sadly 
 afflicted. 
 
 Lady Town. With her old distemper, jealousy ? 
 
 Med. Dorimant has played her some new prank. 
 
 Bel. Well, that Dorimant is certainly the worst man 
 breathing. 
 
 Emil. I once thought so. 
 
 Bel. And do you not think so still ? 
 
 Emil. No, indeed ! 
 
 Bel Oh, Jesu ! 
 
 Emil. The town does him a great deal of injury, and 
 I. will never believe what it says of a man I do not 
 know again, for his sake. 
 
 Bel. You make me wonder ! 
 
 Lady Town. He's a very well-bred man. 
 
 Bel. But strangely ill-natured 
 
 Emil. Then he's a very witty man. 
 
 Bel. But a man of no principles. 
 
 * Was this the gentleman whom Pepys found "a good 
 scholar, an arch rogue"?— Z)M>y, January loth, i66o. Men- 
 tioned also in the Letterbook, January 23rd, 1688. 
 
SIX FOPLING FLUTTER. 291 
 
 Med. Your man of principles is a very fine thing 
 indeed ! 
 
 Bel. To be preferred to men of parts by women who 
 have regard to their reputation and quiet. Well, were 
 I minded to play the fool, he should be the last man 
 I'd think of. 
 
 Med. He has been the first in many lady's favours, 
 though you are so severe, madam. 
 
 Lady Town. What he may be for a lover I know 
 not, but he's a very pleasant acquaintance, I am sure. 
 
 Bel. Had you seen him use Mrs. Loveit as I have 
 done, you would never endure him more. 
 
 Emil. What, he has quarrelled with her again? 
 
 Bel. Upon the slightest occasion; he's jealous of 
 Sir Fopling. 
 
 Lady Town. She never saw him in her life but 
 yesterday, and that was here. 
 
 Emil. On my conscience, he's the only man in 
 town that's her aversion ; how horribly out of humour 
 she was all the while he talked tO her ! 
 
 Bel. And somebody has wickedly told him^ 
 
 Emil. Here he comes. 
 
 Enter Dorimant. 
 
 Med. Dorimant ! you are luckily, come to justify 
 yourself here's a lady 
 
 Bel. Has a word or two to say to you from a dis- 
 consolate person. 
 
 Dor. You tender your reputation too much, I 
 know, madam, to whisper with me before this good 
 company. 
 
292 THE MAN OP MODE; OR, 
 
 Bel. To serve Mrs. Loveit, I'll make a bold venture. 
 
 Dor. Here's Medley, the very spirit of scandal 
 
 Bel. No matter ! 
 
 Emil. 'Tis something you are unwilling to hear, 
 Mr. Dorimant. 
 
 iMdy Town. Tell him, Belinda, whether he will or no, 
 
 Bel. (aloud). Mrs. Loveit 
 
 Dor. Softly, these are laughers, you do not know 'em, 
 
 Bel. {to Dorimant, apart). In a word, you've made 
 me hate you, which I thought you never could have 
 done. 
 
 Dor. In obeying your commands. 
 
 Bel. 'Twas a cruel part you played ! how could you 
 act it ? 
 
 Dor. Nothing is cruel to a man who could kill 
 himself to please you; remember, five o'clock to- 
 morrow morning. 
 
 Bel. I tremble when you name it. 
 
 Dor. Be sure you come. 
 
 Bel. I shall not. 
 
 Dor. Swear you will. 
 
 Bel. I dare not. 
 
 Dor. Swear, I say. 
 
 Bel. By my life 1 by all the happiness I hope for 
 
 Dor. You will. 
 
 Bel. I will. 
 
 Dor. Kind. 
 
 Bel. I am glad I've sworn, I vow I think I should 
 ha' failed you else ! 
 
 Dor. Surprisingly kind ! In what temper did you 
 leave Loveit ? 
 
S/S FOPUNG FLUTTER. 293 
 
 Bel. Her raving was prettily over, and she began 
 to be in a brave way of defying you and all your 
 works. Where have you been since you went from 
 thence ? 
 
 Dor. I looked in at the play. 
 
 Bel. I have promised, and must return to her 
 again. 
 
 Dor. Persuade her to walk in the MalP this 
 evening. 
 
 Bel. She hates the place, and will not come. 
 
 Dor. Do all you can to prevail with her. 
 
 Bel. For what purpose ? 
 
 Dor. Sir Fopling will be here anon ; I'll prepare him 
 to set upon her there before me. 
 
 Bel. You persecute her too much ; but I'll do all 
 you'll ha' me. 
 
 Dor. {aloud). Tell her plainly, 'tis grown so dull a 
 business I can drudge on no longer. 
 
 Emil. There are afflictions in love, Mr. Dorimant. 
 
 Dor. You women make 'em, who are commonly as 
 unreasonable in that as you are at play ; without the 
 advantage be on your side a man can never quietly 
 give over when he's weary. 
 
 Med. If you would play without being obliged to 
 complaisance, Dorimant, you should play in public 
 places. 
 
 Dor. Ordinaries were a very good thing for that, 
 
 ' i.e. Pall Mall, which roused the enthusiasm of even the 
 fastidious Gay : 
 
 O bear me to the paths of fair Fell Mell. 
 
 Trivia, ii. 237. 
 
294 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 but gentlemen do not of late frequent 'em ; the deep 
 play is now in private houses. 
 
 [Belinda offering to steal away. 
 
 Lady Town. Belinda, are you leaving us so soon? 
 
 Bel. I am to go to the Park with Mrs. Loveit, 
 madam. \Exit Belinda. 
 
 Lady Town. This confidence will go nigh to spoil this; 
 young creature., 
 
 Med. 'Twill do her good, madam. Young men 
 who are brought up under practising lawyers prove the 
 abler counsel when they come to be called to the Bar 
 themselves. 
 
 Dor. The town has been very favourable to you 
 this afternoon, my Lady Townley; you use to have 
 an embarras of chairs and coaches at your door, an 
 uproar of footmen in your hall, and a noise of fools 
 above here. 
 
 Lady Town. Indeed my house is the general ren- 
 dezvous, and, next to the playhouse, is the common 
 refuge of all the young idle people. 
 
 Emil. Company is a very good thing, madam, but 
 I wonder you do not love it a little more chosen. 
 
 iMdy Town. 'Tis good to have an universal taste ; 
 we should love wit, but for variety be able to divert 
 ourselves with the extravagancies of those who 
 want it. 
 
 Med. Fools will make you laugh. 
 
 Emtl. For once or twice; but the repetition of 
 their folly after a visit or two grows tedious and un- 
 sufferable. 
 
 Lady Town. You are a little too delicate, Emilia. 
 
Sm FOPLING FLUTTER. 295 
 
 ^ Enter a Page, 
 
 Page. Sir Fopling Flutter, madam, desires to know 
 if you are to be seen. 
 
 Lady Town. Here's the freshest fool in town, and 
 one who has not cloyed you yet. Page ! 
 
 Page. Madam ! \Exit Page. 
 
 Lady Town. Desire him to walk up. 
 
 Dor. Do riot you fall on him. Medley, and snub 
 him. Sooth him up in his extravagance \ he will 
 show the better. 
 
 Med. You know I have a natural indulgence for 
 fools, and need not this caution, sir. 
 
 Enter Sir Fopling Flutter, with his Page after him.. 
 
 Sir Fop. Page, wait without. Madam, {To Lady 
 TowNLEY.] I kiss your hands. I see yesterday was 
 nothing of chance; the belles assewilies form themselves 
 here every day. Lady, \To Emilia.] your servant. 
 Dorimant, let me embrace thee ; without lying, I have 
 not met with any of my acquaintance who retain so 
 much of Paris as thou dost — the very air thou hadst 
 when the marquis mistook thee i' th' Tuileries, and 
 cried, ZTi/ Chevalier 1 and then begged thy pardon. 
 
 Dor. I would fain wear in fashion as long as I can, 
 sir ; 'tis a thing to be valued in men as well as baubles. 
 
 Sir Fop. Thou art a rrian of wit, and understandest 
 the town ; prithee let thee and I be intimate, there is 
 no living without making some good man the confidant 
 of our pleasures. 
 
 Dor. 'Tis true ! but there is no man so improper 
 for such a business as I am. 
 
296 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Sir Fop. Prithee, why hast thou so modest an 
 opinion of thyself? 
 
 Dor. Why, first, I could never keep a secret in my 
 life, and then there is no charm so infallibly makes 
 me fall in love with a woman as my knowing a friend 
 loves her. I deal honestly with you. 
 ) Sir Fop. Thy humour's very gallant, or let me 
 perish ; I knew a French count so like thee. 
 
 Lady Town. Wit, I perceive, has more power over 
 you than beauty, Sir Fopling, else you would not have 
 let this lady stand so long neglected. 
 
 Sir Fop. (Jo Emilia). A thousand pardons, madam; 
 some civilities due, of course, upon the meeting a long 
 absent friend. The 'eclat of so much beauty, I confess, 
 ought to have charmed me sooner. 
 
 Emil. The brilliant of so much good language, sir, 
 has much more, power than the little beauty I can 
 boast. 
 
 Sir Fop. I never saw anything prettier than this 
 high work on yowi point d'Espagne. 
 
 Emil. 'Tis not so rich a.s point de Venise. 
 
 Sir Fop. Not altogether, but looks cooler, and is 
 more proper for the season. Dorimant, is not that 
 Medley? 
 
 Dor. The same, sir. 
 
 Sir Fop. Forgive me, sir ; in this embarras of civili- 
 ties I could not come to have you in my arms sooner. 
 You understand an equipage the best of any man in 
 town, I hear. 
 
 Med. By my own you would not guess it. 
 
 Sir Fop, There are critics who do not write, sir. 
 
SIJi FOPLING FLUTTER. 297 
 
 Med. Our peevish poets will scarce allow it. 
 
 Sir Fop. Damn 'em, they'll allow no man wit who 
 does not play the fool like themselves, and show it ! 
 Have you taken notice of the calhhe I brought over? 
 
 Med. Oh, yes 1 It has quite another air than the 
 English makes. 
 
 Sir Fop. 'Tis as easily known from an English 
 tumbril as an Inns of Court man is from one of us. 
 
 Dor. Truly, there is a bel-air in caliches as well as men. 
 
 Med. But there are few so delicate to observe it. 
 
 Sir Fop. The world is generally very grassier here, 
 indeed. 
 
 Lady Town. He's very fine. 
 
 Emil. Extreme proper. 
 
 Sir Fop. A slight suit I made to appear in at my 
 first arrival, not worthy your consideration, ladies. 
 
 Dor. The pantaloon is very well mounted. 
 
 Sir Fop. The tassels are new and pretty. 
 
 Med. I never saw a coat better cut. 
 
 Sir Fop. It makes me show long-waisted, and, I 
 think, slender. 
 
 Dor. That's the shape our ladies dote on. 
 
 Med. Your breech, though, is a handful too high in 
 my eye. Sir Fopling. 
 
 Sir Fop. Peace, Medley ; I have wished it lower a 
 thousand times, but a pox on't, 'twill not be. 
 
 Lady Town. His gloves are well fringed, large and 
 graceful. 
 
 Sir Fop. I was always eminent for being hien-gantk. 
 
 Emil. He wears nothing but what are originals of 
 the most' famous hands in Paris. 
 
298 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Sir Fop. You are in the right, madam. 
 
 Lady Town. The suit ? 
 
 Sir Fop. Barroy.' 
 
 Emil. The garniture ? 
 
 Sir Fop. Le Gras. 
 
 Med. The shoes? 
 
 Sir Fop. Piccat. 
 
 Dor. The periwig ? 
 
 Sir Fop. Chedreux.* 
 
 Lady Town, and Emil. The gloves ? 
 
 Sir Fop. Orangerie : you know the smell, ladies. 
 Dorimant, I could find in my heart for an amusement 
 to have a gallantry with some of our English ladies. 
 
 Dor. 'Tis a thing no less necessary to confirm the 
 reputation of your wit than a duel will be to satisfy 
 the town of your courage. 
 
 Sir Fop. Here was a woman yesterday- 
 
 Dor. Mistress Loveit. 
 
 Sir Fop. You have named her. 
 
 Dor. You cannot pitch on a better for your purpose. 
 
 Sir Fop. Prithee, what is she ? 
 
 Dor. A person of quality, and one who has a rest of 
 reputation enough to make the conquest considerable. 
 Besides, I hear she likes you too. 
 
 ' Perhaps this should be Barri. The "drap du Bairri" was 
 later on extremely fashionable, 
 
 ' A species of perruque, so called from the name of its in- 
 ventor. Dryden wore a chedreux and a sword when he ate tarts 
 with Mrs. Reeve at the Mulberry Garden, and Oldham, in his 
 imitation of the Third Satire of Juvenal, has : 
 
 Their tawdry clothes, pulvilios, essences ;, 
 Their chedreux perruques and their vanities. 
 
Sm FOPLING FLUTTER. 299 
 
 Sir Fop. Methought she seemed, though, very re- 
 served and uneasy all the time I entertained her. 
 
 Dor. Grimace and affection. You will see her i' 
 th' Mall to-night. 
 
 Sir Fop. Prithee let thee and I take the air to- 
 gether. 
 
 Dor. I am engaged to Medley, but I'll meet you 
 at St. James's and give you some information upon 
 the which you may regulate your proceedings. 
 
 Sir Fop. All the world will be in the Park to-night : 
 ladies, 'twere pity to keep so much beauty longer 
 within doors and rob the Ring of all those charms 
 that should adorn it. Hey, page ! 
 
 Enter Page, and goes out again. 
 
 See that all my people be ready. Dorimant, au 
 revoir I \Exit Sir Fopling. 
 
 Med. A fine mettled coxcomb. 
 
 Dor. Brisk and insipid. 
 
 Med. Pert and dull. 
 
 Emit. However you despise him, gentlemen, I'll lay 
 my life he passes for a wit with many. 
 
 Dor. That may very well be ; nature has her cheats, 
 stums a brain, and puts sophisticate dulness often on 
 the tasteless multitude for true wit and good-humour. 
 Medley, come. 
 
 Med. I must go a little way, I will meet you i' the 
 Mall. 
 
 Dor. I'll walk through the garden thither. \To the 
 Women.] We shall meet anon and bow. 
 
 Lady Town. Not to-night ; we are engaged about a 
 
30O THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 business the knowledge of which may make you laugh 
 hereafter. 
 
 Med. Your servant, ladies. 
 \ Dor. Au revoir! as Sir Fopling says. 
 ' \Exeunt Medley and Dorimant. 
 
 iiady Town. The old man will be here immediately. 
 
 Emit. Let's expect him i' th' garden. 
 
 Lady Town. Go, you are a rogue. 
 
 Emil. I can't abide you.* [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. — The Mall. 
 Enfer Harriet and Young Bellair, she pulling him. 
 
 Har. Come along. 
 
 Y. Bell. And leave your mother ? 
 
 Har. Busy will be sent with a hue and cry after us ; 
 but that's no matter. 
 
 Y. Bell. 'Twill look strangely in me. 
 
 Har. She'll believe it a freak of mine and never 
 blame your manners. 
 
 Y. Bell. What reverend acquaintance is that she 
 , has met ? 
 
 Har. A fellow-beauty of the last King's time, 
 though by the ruins you would hardly guess it. 
 
 [Exeuni. 
 
 Enter Dorimant, who crosses the stage. 
 
 Enter Young Bellair and Harriet. 
 
 Y. Bell. By this time your mother is in a fine 
 taking. 
 
SIR FOPLING FLUTTER. 301 
 
 Har. If your friend Mr. Dorimant were but here 
 now, that she might find me talking with him. 
 
 Y. Bell. She does not know him, but dreads him, I 
 hear, of all mankind. 
 
 Har. She concludes if he does but speak to a 
 woman she's undone; is on her knees every day to 
 pray heaven defend me from him. 
 
 Y. Bell. You do not apprehend him so much as 
 she does. * 
 
 Har. I never saw anything in him that was 
 frightful. 
 
 Y. Bell. On the contrary, have you not observed 
 something extreme delightful in his wit and person ? 
 
 Har. He's agreeable and pleasant I must own, 
 but he does so 'much affect being so, he displeases 
 me. 
 
 Y. Bell. Lord, madam, all he does and says is so 
 easy and so natural 
 
 Harr^axat men's verses seem so to the unskilful, 
 but labour i' the one and affectation in the other to 
 the judicious plainly appear. 
 
 Y. Bell. I never Jieard him accused of affectation 
 before. 
 
 Enter Dorimant, who stares upon her. 
 
 Har. It passes on the easy town, who are favourably 
 pleased in him to call it humour. 
 
 [Exeunt Young Bellair and Harriet. 
 
 Dor, 'Tis she ! it must be she, that lovely hair, 
 that easy shape, those wanton eyes, and all those 
 melting charms about her mouth which Medley spoke 
 
302 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 of; I'll follow the lottery, and put in for a prize with 
 my friend Bellair. \Exit Dorimant repeating— 
 
 In love the victors from the vanquished fly ; 
 
 Th^fly that wound, and they pursue that die. 
 
 Enter Young Bellair and Harriet, and after them 
 Dorimant, standing at a distance, 
 
 Y. Bell. Most people prefer High Park ' to this place. 
 
 Har. It has the better reputation, I confess; but I 
 abominate the dull diversions there, the formal bows, 
 the affected smiles, the silly by-words, and amorous 
 tweers in passing ; here one meets with a little con- 
 versation now and then. 
 
 Y. Bell. These conversations have been fatal to 
 some of your sex, madam. 
 
 Har. It may be so ; because some who want temper 
 have been undone by gaming, must others who have 
 it wholly deny themselves the pleasure of play ? 
 
 Dor. Trust me, it were unreasonable, madam. 
 
 [Coming up gently, and bowing to her. 
 
 Har. Lord ! who's this ? 
 
 [^,^1? starts, and looks grave. 
 
 Y. Bell. Dorimant. 
 
 Dor. Is this the woman your father would have you 
 marry?" 
 
 Y. Bell. It is. 
 
 Dor. Her name ? 
 
 Y. Bell Harriet. 
 
 ^ i.e. Hyde Park, the park par excellence; references to it are 
 endless. The great resort there was the so-called Ring. The 
 name Sigh Park seems unusual. 
 
S/X FOPLING FLUTTER. 303 
 
 Dor. I am not mistaken, she's handsome. 
 
 Y. Bell. Talk to her, her wit is better than her face ; 
 we were wishing for you but now. 
 ■ Dor. {io Harriet). Overcast with seriousness o' 
 the sudden ! A thousand smiles were shining in that 
 face but now; I never saw so quick a change of 
 weather. 
 
 ffar. {aside). I feel as great a change within ; but 
 he shall never know it. 
 
 Dor. You were talking of play, madam \ pray what 
 may be your stint ? 
 
 Har. A little harmless discourse in public walks, or 
 at most an appointment in a box barefaced at the 
 playhouse ; you are for masks and private meetings 
 where women engage for all they are worth, I hear. 
 
 Dor. I have been used to deep play, but I can make 
 one at small game when I like my gamester well. 
 
 Ifar. And be so unconcerned you'll ha' no pleasure 
 in it. 
 
 Dor. Where there is a considerable sum to be won 
 the hope of drawing people in makes every trifle con- 
 siderable. 
 
 JIar. The sordidness of men's natures, I know, 
 makes 'em willing to flatter and comply with, the rich, 
 though they are sure never to be the better for 'em. 
 
 Dor. 'Tis in their power to do us good, and we 
 despair not but at some time or other they may be 
 willing. 
 
 Ifar, To men who have fared on this town like you, 
 'twould be a great mortification to live on hope ; could 
 you keep a Lent for a mistress ? 
 
304 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Bar, In expectation of a happy Easter, and though 
 time be very precious, think forty days well lost to 
 gain your favour. 
 
 Bar. Mr. Bellair! let us walk, 'tis time to leave 
 him J men grow dull when they begin to be particular. 
 
 Dor. You're mistaken, flattery will not ensue, 
 though I know you're greedy of the praises of the 
 whole Mall. 
 
 Har. You do me wrong. 
 
 Dor. I do not ; as I followed you I observed how 
 you were pleased when the fops cried. She's handsome, 
 very handsome. By God she is, and whispered aloud 
 your name, the thousand several forms you put your 
 face into ; then, to make yourself more agreeable, how 
 wantonly you played with your head, flung back your 
 locks, and looked smilingly over your shoulder at 'em. 
 
 Har. I do not go begging the men's, as you do the 
 ladies' good liking, with a sly softness in your looks 
 and a gentle slowness in your bows as you pass by 
 
 'em as thus, sir ; \Acts him. 
 
 Is not this like you ? 
 
 Enter Lady Woodvil and Busy. 
 
 Y. Bell. Your mother, madam. 
 
 \Pulls Harriet ; she composes herself. 
 
 Lady Wood. Ah, my dear child Harriet ! 
 
 Busy. Now is she so pleased with finding her again 
 she cannot chide her. 
 
 Lady Wood. Come away ! 
 
 Dor. 'Tis now but high Mall, madam, the most 
 entertaining time of all the evening. 
 
Sm FOPLING FLUTTER. 305 
 
 Har. I would fain see that Dorimant, mother, you 
 so cry out for a monster ; he's in the Mall, I hear. 
 
 Lady Wood. Come away then ! the plague is here, 
 and you should dread the infection. 
 
 Y. Bell. You may be misinformed of the gentle- 
 man. 
 
 Lady Wood. Oh, no! I hope you do not know 
 him ! He is the prince of all the devils in the town, 
 delights in nothing but in rapes and riots. 
 
 Dor. If you did but hear him speak, madam ! 
 
 Lady Wood. Oh ! he has a tongue, they say, would 
 tempt the angels to a second fall. 
 
 Enter Sir Foplikg with Ms Equipage, six Footmen and 
 a Page. 
 
 Sir Fop. Hey, Champagne, Norman, La Rose, La 
 
 Fleur, La Tour, La Verdue. Dorimant 1 
 
 Lady Wood. Here, here he is among this rout, he 
 names him ; come away, Harriet, come away. 
 
 [Exeunt Lady Woodvil, Harriet, Busy, 
 
 and Young Bellair. 
 
 L>or. This fool's coming has spoiled all ; she's gone, 
 
 but she has left a pleasing image of herself behind 
 
 that wanders in my soul It must not setde there. 
 
 Sir Fop. What reverie is this ? Speak, man. 
 Dor. ' Snatch'dfrom myself, how far behind 
 Already I behold the shore! 
 
 Enter Medley. 
 Med. Dorimant, a discovery 1 I met with Bellair. 
 Dor. You can tell me no news, sir ; I know all. 
 
 X 
 
3o6 THE MAN OF MODE; OS, 
 
 Med. How do you like the daughter ? 
 
 Dor. You never came so near truth in your life as 
 you did in her description. 
 
 Med. What think you of the mother ? 
 
 Dor. Whatever I think of her, she thinks very well 
 of me, I find. 
 
 Med. Did she know you ? 
 
 Dor. She did not ; whether she does now or no, I 
 know not. Here was a pleasant scene towards, when 
 in came Sir Fopling, mustering up his equipage, and 
 at the latter end named me and frighted her away. 
 
 Med. Loveit and Belinda are not far off, I saw 'em 
 alight at St. James's. 
 
 Dor. {whispers). Sir Fopling, hark you, a word or 
 two. Look you do not want assurance. 
 
 Sir Fop. I never do on these occasions. 
 
 Dor. Walk on, we must not be seen together, make 
 your advantage of what I have told you ; the next 
 turn you will meet the lady. 
 
 Sir Fop. Hey Follow me all. 
 
 \^Edceunt Sir Fopling and his Equipage. 
 
 Dor. Medley, you shall see good sport anon between 
 Loveit and this Fopling. 
 
 Med. I thought there was something toward by that 
 whisper. 
 
 Dor. You know a worthy principle of hers ? 
 
 Med. Not to be so much as civil to a man who 
 speaks to her in the presence of him she professes to 
 love. 
 
 Dor. I have encouraged Fopling to talk to her to- 
 night. 
 
STR FOPLING FLUTTER. 307 
 
 Med. Now you are here she will go nigh to beat 
 him. 
 
 Dor. In the humour she's in, her love will make 
 her do some very extravagant thing, doubtless. 
 
 Med. What was Belinda's business with you at my 
 Lady Townley's ? 
 
 Dor. To get me to meet Loveit here in order to an 
 klaircissement. I made some difficulty of it, and have 
 prepared this rencontre to make good my jealousy. 
 
 Med. Here they come ! 
 
 Enter Loveit, Belinda, and Pert. 
 
 Dor. I'll meet her and provoke her with a deal of 
 dumb civility in passing by, then turn short and be 
 behind her when Sir Fopling sets upon her 
 
 See how unregarded now 
 That piece of beauty passes. 
 
 {^Exeunt Dorimant and Medley. 
 
 Bel. How wonderful respectfully he bowed ! 
 
 Pert. He's always over-mannerly when he has done 
 a mischief. 
 
 Bel. Methought indeed at the same time he had a 
 strange despising countenance. 
 
 Pert. The unlucky look, he thinks, becomes him. 
 
 Bel. I was afraid you would have spoke to him, my 
 dear. 
 
 Lov. I would have died first ; he shall no more find 
 me the loving fool he has done. 
 
 Bel. You love him still ! 
 
 Lov, No. 
 
3d8 the man of MODE; OR, 
 
 Pert. I wish you did not. 
 
 Lov. I do not, and I will have you think so. What 
 made you hale me to this odious place, Belinda ? 
 
 Bel. I hate to be hulched up in a coach ; walkbg 
 is much better. 
 
 Lov. Would we could meet Sir Foiling now ! 
 
 Bel. Lord ! would you not avoid him ? 
 !' Lov. I would make him all the advances that may 
 \ be. 
 
 ^ Bel. That would confirm Dorimant's suspicion, my 
 dear. 
 
 Lov. He is not jealous, but I will make him so, and 
 be revenged a way he little thinks on. 
 
 Bel. {aside). If she should make him jealous, that 
 may make him fond of her again : I must dissuade 
 her from it. Lord ! my dear, this will certainly make 
 him hate you. 
 
 Lov. 'Twill make him uneasy, though he does not 
 care for me ; I know the effects of jealousy on men of 
 his proud tanper. 
 
 Bel. 'Tis a fantastic remedy, its operations are 
 dangerous and uncertain. 
 
 Lov. 'Tis the strongest cordial we can give to dying 
 love, it often brings it back When there's mo Sign of 
 life remaining. But I design not so much the reviving 
 hisj as my revenge. 
 
 Enter Sir Fopling and his Equipage. 
 
 Sir Fop. Hey ! bid the coachman send home fdur 
 of his horses, and bring the coach to Whitehall ; I'll 
 walk over the Park Madam, the honour of kissing 
 
SIR FO FLING FLUTTER. 309 
 
 your fair hands is a happiness I missed this afternoon 
 at my Lady Townley's. 
 
 Lov. You were very obliging, Sir Fopling, the last 
 time I saw you there. 
 
 Sir Fop. The preference was due to your wit and 
 beauty. Madam, your servant; there never was so 
 sweet an evening. 
 
 Bel. 'T has drawn all the rabble of the town hither. 
 
 Sir Fop. 'Tis pity there's not an order made that 
 none but the beau monde should walk here. 
 
 Lov. 'Twould add much to the beauty of the place. 
 See what a sort of nasty fellows are coming. 
 
 Enter three ill-fashioned Fellows, singings 
 'Tis not for kisses alone, <2^»<:. 
 Lov. Fo ! Their periwigs are scented with tobacco 
 
 so strong 
 
 Sir Fop. It overcomes our pulvilio^ Methinks 
 
 I smell the coifee-hpuse they came from. 
 
 1 Man. Dorimatit's convenient, Madam Loveit, 
 
 2 Man. I like the oily buttock with her. 
 
 3 Man, What spruce prig is that ? 
 
 1 Man. A caravan lately come front P^ris. 
 
 2 Man. Peace, they smoke." 
 
 Therms something dse to be done, &=€. 
 
 \All of them coughing ; exeunt, singing. 
 
 ^ A favourite essence. 
 
 The patch, the powder-box, pulville-perfumes. 
 
 Gay, The Fan, \. 129. 
 "Have you pulvilled the coachman?"— T'/if Way of the 
 World, iv. I. 
 * i.e. suspect that we are talking about them. 
 
310 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Enter Dorimant and Medley. 
 
 Dor. They're engaged. 
 
 Med. She entertains him as if she liked him. 
 
 Dor. Let us go forward ; seem earnest in dis- 
 course, and show ourselves. Then you shall see how 
 she'll use him. 
 
 Bel. Yonder's Dorimant, my dear. 
 
 Lov. {aside). I see him, he comes insulting ; but I 
 will disappoint him in his expectation. {^To Sir Fop- 
 ling.] I like this pretty nice humour of yours, Sir 
 Fopling. With what a loathing e^fe he looked upon 
 those fellows ! 
 
 Sir Fop. I sat near one of 'em at a play to-day, and 
 was almost poisoned with a pair of cordovan gloves 
 he wears. 
 
 Lov. Oh ! filthy cordovan, how I hate the smell ! 
 [Laughs in a loud affected way. 
 
 Sir Fop. Did you observe, madam, how their 
 cravats hung loose an inch from their neck, and what 
 a frightful air it gave 'em ? 
 
 Lov. Oh ! I took particular notice of one that is always 
 spruced up with a deal of dirty sky-coloured ribbon. 
 
 Bel. That's one of the walking flageolets who haunt 
 the Mall o' nights. 
 
 Lov. Oh ! I remember him; he's a hollow tooth 
 enough to spoil the sweetness of an evening. 
 
 Sir Fop. I have seen the tallest walk the streets 
 with a dainty pair of boxes neatly buckled on. 
 
 Lov. And a little footboy at his heels pocket-high, 
 with a flat cap a dirty face. 
 
S/Ji FOPUNG FLUTTER. 311 
 
 Sir Fop. And a snotty nose. 
 
 Lov. Oh odious ! there's many of my own sex 
 
 with that Holborn equipage trip to Gray's Inn Walks, 
 and now and then travel hither on a Sunday. 
 
 Med. She takes no notice of you. 
 
 Dor. Damn her ! I am jealous of a counterplot ! 
 
 Lov. Your liveries are the finest, Sir Fopling.-; — 
 
 Oh, that page ! that page is the prettily'st dressed 
 
 They are all Frenchmen ? 
 
 Sir Fop. There's one damned English blockhead 
 among 'em, you may know him by his mien. 
 
 Lov. Oh ! that's he, that's he ! what do you call 
 him? 
 
 Sir Fop. Hey 1 know not what to call him. 
 
 Lov. What's your name ? 
 
 Footman. John Trott, madam ! 
 
 Sir Fop. Oh, unsufferable ! Trott, Trott, Trott ! 
 there's nothing so barbarous as the names of our EngUsh 
 servants. What countryman, are you, sirrah ? 
 
 Footman. Hampshire, sir. 
 
 5«> Fop. Then Hampshire be your name. Hey, 
 Hampshire ! 
 
 Lov. Oh, that sound! that sound becomes the 
 mouth of a man of quaUty ! 
 
 Med. Dorimant, you look a little bashful on the 
 matter. 
 
 Dor. She dissembles better than I thought she 
 could have done. 
 
 Med. You have tempted her with too luscious a 
 bait : she bites at the coxcomb. 
 
 Dor. She cannot fall from loving ine to that ?! 
 
312 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Med, You begin to be jealous in earnest 
 
 Dor. Of one I do not love ? 
 
 Med. You did love her. 
 
 Dor. The fit has long been over. 
 
 Med. But I have known men fall into dangerous 
 relapses when they have found a woman inclining to 
 another. 
 
 Dor. {to himself). He guesses the secret of my 
 heart ! I am concerned, but dare not show it lest 
 Belinda should mistrust all I have done to gain her. 
 
 Bel, (aside).- 1 have watched his look, and find no 
 alteration there : did he love her, some signs of 
 jealousy would have appeared. 
 
 Dor. I hope this happy evening, madam, has re- 
 conciled you to the scandalous Mall; we shall have 
 you now hankering here again. 
 
 Lov. Sir Fopling, will you walk ? 
 
 Sir Fop, I am all obedience, madam. 
 
 Lov. Come along then, and let's agree to be mali- 
 cious on all the ill-fashioned things we meet. 
 
 Sir Fop. We'll make a critique on the whole Mall, 
 madam. 
 
 Lov. Belinda, you shall engage 
 
 Bel. To the reserve of our friends, my dear. 
 
 Lov. No, no exceptions 
 
 Sir Fop. We'll sacrifice all to our diversion. 
 
 Lov. All all 
 
 Sir Fop. All. 
 
 Bel. All? Then let it be. 
 
 \_Exeunt Sir Fopling, Loveit, Belinda, 
 and Pert, laughing. 
 
SIR FOPLING FLUTTER, 313 
 
 Med. Would you had brought some more of your 
 friends, Dorimant, to have been witnesses of Sir Fop' 
 ling's disgrace and your triumph. 
 
 Dor. 'Twere unreasonable to desire you not to 
 laugh at me ; but pray do not expose me to the town 
 this day or two. 
 
 Med. By that time you hope to have regained your 
 credit ? 
 
 Dor. I know she hates Fopling, and only makes 
 use of him in hope to work me on again ; had it not 
 been for some powerful considerations which will be 
 removed to-morrow morning, I had made her pluck 
 ofiF this mask and show the passion that lies panting 
 under. 
 
 Enter a Footman. 
 
 Med. Here comes a man from Bellair, with news of 
 your last adventure. 
 
 Dor. I am glad he sent him. I long to know the 
 consequence of our parting. 
 
 Footman. Sir, my master desires you to come to 
 my Lady Townley's presently, and bring Mr. Medley 
 with you. My Lady Woodvil and her daughter are 
 there. 
 
 Med. Then all's well, Dorimant. 
 
 Footman. They have sent for the fiddles and mean 
 to dance ! He bid me tell you, sir, the old lady does 
 not know you, and would have you own yourself to 
 be Mr. Courtage. They are all prepared to receive 
 you by that name. 
 
 Dor. That foppish admirer of quality who flatters 
 
314 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 the very meat at honourable tables, and never offers 
 love to a woman below a lady-grandmother. 
 
 Med. You know the character you are to act, I see. 
 
 Dor. This is Harriet's contrivance wild, witty, 
 
 lovesome, beautiful and young come along. Medley. 
 
 Med. This new woman would well supply the loss 
 of Loveit. 
 
 Dor. That business must not end so; before to- 
 morrow's sun is set I will revenge and clear it : 
 And you and Loveit to her cost shall find, 
 I fathom all the depths of womankind. [Exeunt. 
 
Sm FOPUNG FLUTTER. 315 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 ScKNE I. — The scene of ens with the fiddles playing a 
 country dance. 
 
 Enter Dorimant, Lady Woodvil, Young Bellair, 
 and Mrs. Harriet, Old Bellair andYjmiAP,., 
 Mr. Medley and Lady Townley, as having just 
 ' ended the dance. 
 
 Old Bellair. 
 
 SO, so, so, a smart bout, a very smart bout, adod ! 
 Lady Town. How do you like Emilia's dancing, . 
 brother? 
 
 O. Bell. Not at all, not at all. 
 
 Lady Town. You speak not what you think, I am 
 sure. 
 
 0. Bell. No matter for that ; go, bid her dance no 
 more, it don't become her, it don't become her, tell 
 her I say so. {Aside.^ Adod, I love her. 
 
 Dor. (to Lady Woodvil). All people mingle now- 
 a-days, madam, and in public places women of quality 
 have the least respect showed 'em. ^ 
 
 Lady Wood. I protest you say the truth, Mr. 
 Courtage. 
 
 Dor. Forms and ceremonies, the only things that 
 uphold quality and greatness, are now shamefully laid 
 aside and neglected. 
 
3i6 THE MAN OF MODE ; OR, 
 
 '\ Lady Wood. Well ! this is not the women's age, let 
 1 'em think what they will; lewdness is the business 
 1 now, love was the business in my time. 
 
 Dor. The women indeed are little beholding to the 
 young men of this age ; they're generally only dull 
 admirers of themselves, and make their court to 
 nothing but their periwigs and their cravats, and would 
 be more concerned for the disordering of 'em, though 
 on a good occasion, than a young maid would be for 
 the tumbling of her head or handkerchief. 
 ' Lady Wood. I protest you hit 'em. 
 
 Dor. They are very assiduous to show themselves 
 at Court well dressed to the women of quality, but 
 their business is with the stale mistresses of the town, 
 who are prepared to receive their lazy addresses by 
 industrious old lovers who have cast 'em off and made 
 'em easy. 
 
 Har. He fits my mother's humour so well, a little 
 more and she'll dance a kissing dance with him anon. 
 
 Med. Dutifully observed, madam. 
 
 Dor. They pretend to be great critics in beauty; 
 by their talk you would think they liked no face, and 
 yet can dote on an ill one if it belong to a laundress 
 or a tailor's daughter ; they cry a woman's past her 
 prime at twenty, decayed at four-and-twenty, old and 
 unsufferable at thirty. 
 
 Lady Wood. Unsufferable at thirty ! That they are 
 in the wrong, Mr. Courtage, at five-and-thirty there are 
 living proofs enough to convince 'em. 
 
 Dor. Ay, madam, there's Mrs. Setlooks, Mrs. Drop, 
 lip, and my Lady Lowd; show me ai;nong all our 
 
S//! FOPLING FLUTTER. %\^ 
 
 Opening buds a face that promises so much beauty as 
 the remains of theirs. 
 
 Lady Wood. The depraved appetite 6f this vicious 
 age tastes nothing but green fruit, and loathes it when 
 'tis kindly ripened. 
 
 Dor. Else so many deserving Womfenj madam, would 
 not be so untimely neglected. 
 
 Lady Wodd. I protest, Mr. Courtage, a dozen such 
 good men as you would bb enough to atone for that 
 wicked Dorimant and all the tinder-debauchees of the 
 town. [Harriet, Emilia, Young Bellair, Medley, 
 and Lady TownleV break out into iaugfiter. 
 What's the matter there ? 
 
 Med. A pleasant mistake, madam, that a lady has 
 made, occasions a' little laughter. 
 
 O. Bdl. Come, come, you keep 'em idle, they are 
 impatient till the fiddles play again. 
 
 Dor. You are not weary, madam ? 
 
 Lady Wood. One dance more ; I cannot refuse you, 
 Mr. Courtage. {They dance. 
 
 Emil. You are very active, sir. 
 
 \After the dance Old BELLair singing and 
 dancing up to Emilia. 
 
 O, Bell. Adod, sirrah, When I was a young fellow I 
 could ha' capered up to my woman's gorget. 
 
 Dor. Ybu are willing to rest yourself, madam ? 
 
 Lady Town. We'll walk into my chamber and sit 
 down. 
 
 Med. Leave us Mr. Courtage, he's a dancer, and 
 the young ladies are not weary yet> 
 
 Lady Wood. We'll send him out again. 
 
3i8 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Har. If you do not quickly, I know where to send 
 for Mr. Dorimant. 
 
 Lady Wood. This .girl's head, Mr. Courtage, is ever 
 running on that wild fellow. 
 
 Dor. 'Tis well you have got her a good husband, 
 madam ; that will settle it. 
 
 \Exmnt Lady Townley, Lady Woodvil, 
 ««^ Dorimant., 
 
 O. Bell, {to Emilia). Adod, sweetheart, be advised, 
 and do not throw thyself away on a young idle fellow. 
 
 Emil. I have no such intention, sir. 
 
 O. Bell. Have a little patience, thou shalt have the 
 man I spake of. Adod, he loves thee, and will make 
 a good husband, but no words. 
 
 Emil. But, sir. 
 
 O. Bell. No answer out a pise ! peace ! and 
 
 think on't. 
 
 Enter Dorimant. 
 
 Dor. Your company is desired within, sir. 
 
 O. Bell. I go, I go, good Mr. Courtage [To 
 
 Emilia.] Fare you well ; go, I'll see you no more. 
 
 Emil- What have I done, sir? 
 
 O. Bell, You are ugly, you are ugly ; is she not, Mr. 
 Courtage? 
 
 Emil. Better words, or I shan't abide you. 
 
 O.Bell. Out a pise adod, what does she say? 
 
 Hit her a pat for me there. [^Exit Old Bellair. 
 
 Med. You have charms for the whole family. 
 
 Dor. You'll spoil all with some unseasonable jest. 
 Medley. 
 
S/S FOPLING FLUTTER. 319 
 
 Med. You see I confine my tongue and am con- 
 tent to be a bare spectator, much contrary to my 
 nature. 
 
 Etnil. Methinks, Mr. Dorimant, my Lady Woodvil 
 is a little fond of you. 
 
 Dor. Would her daughter were ! 
 
 Med. It may be you may find her so ; try her, you 
 have an opportunity. 
 
 Dor. And I will not lose it. Bellair, here's a lady 
 has something to say to you. 
 
 Y. Bell. I wait upon her. Mr. Medley, we have 
 both business with you. 
 
 Dor. Get you all together then. \To Harriet.] 
 That demure curtsey is not amiss in jest, but do not 
 think in earnest it becomes you. 
 
 Har. Affectation is catching, I find ; from your grave 
 bow I got it. 
 
 Dor, Where had you all that scorn and coldness in 
 your look ? 
 
 Har. From nature, sir ; pardon my want of art : I 
 have not learnt those softnesses and languishings 
 which now in faces are so much in fashion. 
 
 Dor. You need 'em not ; you have a sweetness of 
 your own, if you would but calm your frowns and let 
 it settle. 
 
 Har. My eyes are wild and wandering like my 
 passions, and cannot yet be tied to rules of charm- 
 ing. 
 
 Dor. Women, indeed, have commonly a method of 
 managing those messengers of love; now they will 
 look as if they would kill, and anon they will look as 
 
320 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 if they were dying. They point and rebate ' their 
 glances the better to invite us. 
 
 Har. I like this variety well enough, but hate the 
 set face that always looks as it would say, Cotm,, love 
 me — a woman who at plays makes the doux yeux to 
 a whole audience and at home cannot forbear 'em to 
 her monkey. 
 
 Dor. Put on a gentle smile, and let me see how 
 well it will become you. 
 
 ITar. I am sorry my face does not please you as it 
 is, but I shall not be complaisant and change it. 
 
 Dor. Though you are obstinate, I know 'tis capable 
 of improvemeiit, and shall do yoU justice, madam, if 
 I chance to be at Court when the critics of the circle 
 pass their judgment; for thither you must come. 
 
 Har. And expect to be taken in pieces, have all my 
 features examined, every motion censured, and on the 
 whole be condemned to be but pretty, or a beauty of 
 the lowest rate. What think you ? 
 
 Dor. The women, flay, the very lovers who belong 
 to the Drawing-room, will maliciously allow you more 
 than that; they always grant what is apparent that 
 they may the better be believed when they name con- 
 cealed faults they cannot easily be disproved in. 
 J JIar. Beauty runs as great a risk exposed at Court 
 I as wit does on the stage, where the ugly and the 
 I foolish all are free to censure. 
 
 Dor. {aside). I love her, and dare not let her know 
 ti ; I fear she has an ascendant O'er me, and may revenge 
 
 ' A fencing term. 
 
S/Ji FOPLING FLUTTER. 321 
 
 he wrongs I have done her sex. \To her.'l Think of 
 naking a party, madam, love will engage. 
 
 Har. You make me start ! I did not think to have 
 leard of love from you. 
 
 Dor. I never knew what 'twas to have a settled 
 igue yet, but now and then have had irregular fits. 
 
 Har. Take heed ! sickness after long health is coe 
 nonly more violent and dangerousj 
 
 Dor. (aside). I have took the infection from her, 
 
 ind feel the disease now spreading in me \To 
 
 ier.] Is the name of love so frightful that you dare 
 lot stand it? 
 
 Har. 'Twill do little execution out of your mouth 
 )n me, I am sure. 
 
 Dor. It has been fatal 
 
 Har. To some easy women, but we are not all 
 )orn to one destiny; I was informed you use to 
 augh at love, and not make it. 
 
 Dor. The time has been, but now I must speak 
 
 Har. If it be on that idle subject, I will put on my 
 erious look, turn my head carelessly from you, drop 
 ny lip, let my eyelids' fall and hang half o'er my 
 lyes — thus— while you biizz a speech of an hour long 
 n my ear, and I answer never a word ; why do you 
 lot begin ? 
 
 Dor. That the company may take notice how pas- 
 ionately I make advances of love, and how disdain- 
 uUy you receive 'em. 
 
 Har. When your love's grown strong enough to / 
 nake you bear being laughed at, I'll give you leave 
 3 trouble me with it : till when, pray forbear, sir. 
 y 
 
322 TSE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Enter Sir Fopling and otJiers in masks. 
 
 Dor. Whafs here, masquerades? 
 
 Har. I thought that foppery had been left ofif and 
 people might have been in private with a fiddle. 
 
 Dor. 'Tis endeavoured to be kept on foot still by 
 some who find themselves the more acceptable the 
 less they are known. 
 
 Y. BdL This must be Sir Fopling. 
 
 Med. That extraordinary habit shows it 
 
 Y. BdL What are the rest ? 
 
 Med. A company of French rascals whom he picked 
 up in Paris and has brought over to be his dancing 
 equipage on these occasions. Make him own himself; 
 a fool is very troublesome when he presiunes he is 
 incognito. 
 
 Sir Fop. (to Harriet). Do you know me ? 
 
 Har. Ten to one but I guess at you. 
 
 Sir Fop. Are you women as fond of a vizard as we 
 men are ? 
 
 Har. I am very fond of a vizard that covers a face 
 I do not like, sir. 
 
 Y. Bdl. Here are no masks, you see, sir, but those 
 which came with you; this was intended a private 
 meeting, but because you look Uke a gentleman, if 
 you discover yourself, and we know you to be such, 
 you shall be welcome. 
 
 Sir Fop. (pulling off his mask). Dear Bellair. 
 
 Mai. Sir Fopling ! how came you hither? 
 
 Sir Fop. Faith, I was coming late firom Whitehall, 
 after the King's coucJiee, one pf my people told 
 
S//i FOPLING FLUTTER. 323 
 
 me he had heard fiddles at my Lady Townley's, 
 and 
 
 Dor. You need not say any more, sir. 
 
 Sir Fop. Dorimant, let me kiss thee. 
 
 Dor. {whispers). Hark you, Sir Fopling. 
 
 Sir Fop. Enough, enough — Courtage. A pretty kind 
 of young woman that, Medley ; I observed her in the 
 Mail; more fo«V/^f^ than our English women commonly 
 are j prithee, what is she ? 
 
 Med. Themostnoted<:(»^«*//'^intown; beware of her. 
 
 Sir Fop. Let her be what she will, I know how to 
 take my measures ; in Paris the mode is to flatter the 
 prude, laugh at ^t faux-prude, make serious love to the 
 demi-prude, and only rally with the coquette. Medley, 
 what think you ? 
 
 Med. That for all this smattering of the mathe- 
 matics, you may be out in your judgment at tennis. 
 
 Sir Fop. What a coq-cL-rd,ne is this ! I talk of 
 women, and thou answer'st tennis. 
 
 Med. Mistakes will be for want of apprehension. 
 
 Sir Fop. I am very glad of the acquaintance I have 
 with this family. 
 
 Med. My lady truly is a good woman. 
 
 Sir Fop. Ah ! Dorimant — Courtage I would say — 
 would thou hadst spent the last winter in Paris with me. 
 When thou wert there La Corneus and Sallyes ' were 
 
 ' Cf. the Spectator, No. 45, on the "Invasion of French 
 Manners " : " The whole behaviour of the French is to make the 
 sex (women) more fantastical, or (as they are pleased to call it) 
 more awakened. " 
 
 ' So the old editions. Possibly Etheredge wrote Comttel a.-a.6. 
 Selles. Readers of Madame de Sevignd will remember allusions to 
 
324 THE MAN OF MODE ; OR, 
 
 the only liabiti)4es we had; a comedian would have 
 been a bonne fortune. No stranger ever passed his 
 time so well as I did some months before Icame over. 
 I was well received in a dozen families where all the 
 women of quality used to visit; I have intrigues to tell 
 thee more pleasant than ever thou read'st in a novel. 
 
 JIar. Write 'em, sir, and oblige us women; our 
 language wants such little stories,. 
 
 Sir Fop. Writing, madam, is a mechanic part of wit ; 
 a gentleman should never go beyond a song or a billet. 
 
 Har. Bussy was a gentleman. 
 
 Sir Fop. Who, d'Ambois ? » 
 
 Med. Was there ever such a brisk blockhead ? 
 
 Har. Not d'Ambois, sir, but Rabutin^ — he who 
 writ The Loves of France. 
 
 Sir Fop. That may be, madam: many gentlemen 
 
 a Madame Cornuel whose epigrams were deservedly admired. 
 She is mentioned in Bussy's letters, plays some part in the His- 
 toire Amoureuse (MJmoires, vol. ii. pp. 350-358), and altogether 
 seems to have been a distinguished figure in French society. 
 Very probably Etheredge knew her, at least by fame, and may 
 be referring to her here. Madame Selles is less tangible. 
 Bussy, however, mentions a lady of that name who had attracted 
 some attention by " une petite histoire de ses amours." This 
 histoire is spoken of several times in the Correspondance. (vol. ii. 
 pp. 134-7), and its authoi: may have presided over one of the 
 fashionable salons of the time. At any rate, it should be noticed 
 that all the names which occur im the play — Candale, Merille, 
 Lambert, &c. — are those of contemporaries, and all through 
 Etheredge is bent on showing hisi close familiarity with the great 
 world of Paris. 
 
 ' To whom is Etheredge referring ?— the great French cardinal 
 and minister, or the nobleman whose adventures are chronicled 
 in Dumas' La Dame de Monsoreau ? 
 
 " Bussy-Rabutin, Roger, Comte de; born 1618, died 1693; 
 
S//i FOPLING FLUTTER. 325 
 
 do things that are below 'em. Damn your authors, 
 Courtage ; women are the prettiest tilings we can fool 
 away our time with. 
 
 Har. I hope ye have wearied yourself to-night at 
 Court, sir, and will not think of fooling with anybody 
 here. 
 
 Sir Fop. I cannot complain of my fortune there, 
 madam Dorimant' — — 
 
 Dor. Again ! 
 
 Sir Fop. Courtage, a pox on't ! I have something to 
 tell thee. When I had; made my court within, I came 
 out and flung myself upon the mat, under the State 
 i' th' outward room, i' th' midst of half-a-dozen beauties 
 who were withdrawn to jeeramong themselves, as they 
 called it. 
 
 Dor. Did you know 'em ? 
 
 Sir Fop. Not one of 'em, by heavens ! not I. But 
 they were all your friends. 
 
 Dor. How are you sure of that ? 
 
 Sir Fop. Why, we laughed at all the town ; spared 
 nobody but yourself j they found me a man for their 
 purpose. 
 
 a cousin of Madame de Sevign^, with whom he corresponded. 
 A complete edition of his Mimoires and Correspondance was 
 published at Paris, 1857-59. Efheredge speaks so familiarly of 
 him that one is tempted to think he knew the author of the 
 Histoire Anumreuse, and I hoped — vainly, however — to find 
 some reference in the letters to the English dramatist. Of Bussy's 
 numerous works the fame of the Histoire Amoureuse des Gaules 
 alone has survived. It appears to have been dxtremely popular, 
 possessing "a thousand irresistible graces," according to the 
 dictum of that politest of eighteenth century critics, the ingenious 
 and courtly Major Pack (Works, ed. 1729). 
 
326 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Dot- I know you are malicious to your power. 
 
 Sir Fop. And, faith, I had occasion to show it, 
 for I never saw more gaping fools at a ball or on a 
 Birthday. 
 
 I>or. You learned who the women were ? 
 
 Sir Fop. No matter; they frequent the Drawingr 
 room. 
 
 Dor. And entertain themselves pleasantly at the 
 expense of all the fops who come there. 
 
 Sir Fop. That's their business; faith, I sifted 'em, 
 
 and find they have a sort of wit among them Ah ! 
 
 filthy. \^Pinches a tallow candle. 
 
 Dor. Look, he has been pinching the tallow candle. 
 
 Sir Fop. How can you breathe in a room where 
 there's grease frying? Dorimant, thou art intimate 
 with my lady, advise her for her own sake, and the 
 good company that comes hither, to burn wax lights, 
 
 Har. What are these masquerades who stand so 
 obsequiously at a distance ? 
 
 Sir Fop. A set of balladins whom I picked out of 
 the best in France, and brought over with & flUtes 
 domes or two, my servants ; they shall entertain you. 
 
 Har. I had rather see you dance yourself, Sir 
 Fopling. 
 
 Sir Fop. And I had rather do it-- — all the company 
 knows it— but, madam 
 
 Med. Come, come, no excuses, Sir Fopling. 
 
 Sir Fop. By heavens. Medley ! 
 ! , Med. Like a woman, I find you must be struggled 
 [|with before one brings you to what you desire. 
 
 Har. {aside). Can he dance? 
 
■ SIR FOPLING FLUTTER. 327 
 
 Emil. And fence and sing too, if you'll believe 
 im. 
 
 Dor. He has no more excellence in his heels than / 
 , his head. He went to Paris a plain bashful English (/f 
 ockhead, and is returned a fine undertaking French 
 ip. 
 
 Med. I cannot prevail. 
 
 Sir Fop. Do not think it want of complaisance, 
 ladam. 
 
 Har. You are too well bred, to want that, Sir ! ] 
 opling. I believe it want of power. ' 
 
 Sir Fop. By heavens ! and so it is. I have sat up , 
 ) damned late and drunk so cursed hard since I j. ! i 
 ime to this lewd town, that I am fit for nothing but I \ \ 
 )w dancing now, a corant, a bour'ee^ or a menuet ; but! [' ; 
 t. Andrd tells me, if I will but be regular, in onq 
 lonth I shall rise again. Pox on this debauchery ! j, 
 
 [Endeavours at a caper? 
 
 Emil. I have heard your dancing much commended. 
 
 Sir Fop. It had the good fortune to please in Paris : 
 
 was judged to rise within an inch as high as the 
 tsque, in an entry I danced there. 
 
 Har. I am mightily taken with this fool, let us sit. 
 lere's a seat, Sir Fopling. 
 
 Sir Fop. At your feet, madam ; I can be nowhere 
 3 much at ease : by your leave, gown. 
 
 Har. and Emil. Ah ! you'll spoil it. 
 
 ' For the former, cf. Henry V., iii. S, 33 : 
 
 And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos. 
 or a note on the bourse Mr. Ashton's Social Life in the Reign 
 ' Queen Anne (i. 100) may be consulted. 
 
328 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Sir Fop. No matter, my clothes are my creatures ; 
 
 I make 'em to make my court to you ladies, hey 
 
 \Dance, 
 Qu'on commence— io an English dancer English motions. 
 I was forced to entertain this fellow, one of my set 
 
 miscarrying Oh, horrid ! leaveyour daranedmanner 
 
 of dancing, and put on the French air; have you not 
 
 a pattern before you pretty well ! Imitation in 
 
 time may bring him to something. 
 
 After the dance enter Old Bellair, Lady Woodvil, 
 ^ and Lady Townley. 
 
 O. Bell. Hey, adod ! what have we here, a mum- 
 ming? 
 
 Lady Wood. Where's my daughter Harriet? 
 
 Dor. Here, here, madam. I know not but under 
 these disguises there may be dangerous sparks; I 
 gave the young lady warning. 
 
 Lady. Wood. Lord! I am so obliged, to you, Mr. 
 Courtage. 
 
 Har. Lord ! how you admire this man. 
 
 Lady Wood. What have you to except against him ? 
 
 Har. He's a fop. 
 
 Lady Wood. He's not a Dorimant, a wild extrava- 
 gant fellow of the times. 
 
 Har. He's a man made up of forms and common- 
 places sucked out of the remaining lees of the last 
 age. 
 
 Lady Wood. He's so good a man, that were you 
 not engaged 
 
SIX FOPLING FLUTTER. 329 
 
 Lady Town. You'll have but little night to sleep in. 
 
 Lady Wood. Lord ! 'tis perfect day 
 
 Dor. {aside). The hour is almost come I .appointed 
 Belinda, and I am not so foppishly in love here to 
 forget : I am flesh and blood yet. 
 
 Lady Town. I am very sensible, madam. 
 
 Lady Wood. Lord, madam ! 
 
 Jlar. Ij3ok, in what struggle is my poor mother 
 yonder? 
 
 Y. Bell. She has much ado to bring out the com- 
 pliment. 
 
 Dor. She strains hard for it. 
 
 Ifar. See, see ! her head tottering, her eyes staring, 
 and her under lip trembling 
 
 Dor. {aside). ' Now, now she's in the very convulsions 
 of her civility. 'Sdeath, I shall lose Belinda. I 
 must fright her hence ; she'll be an hour in this fit of 
 good manners else. [To Lady Wgodvil.J Do you 
 not Icnow Sir Fopling, madam ? 
 
 LMdy Wood. I have seen that face Oh, h^ven ! 
 
 'tis the same we met in the Mall ; how came he here ? 
 
 Dor. A fiddle in this town is a kind of fop-call ; no 
 sooner it strikes up but the house is besieged with an 
 army of masquerades straight. 
 
 Lady Wood. Lord! I tremble, Mr. Courtage; for 
 certain Dorimant is in the company. 
 
 Dor. I cannot confidently say he is not ; you had 
 best begone. I will wait upon you ; your daughter is 
 in the hands of Mr. Bellair. 
 
 Lady Wood. I'll see her before me. Harriet, come 
 away. 
 
330 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Y. Bell. Lights ! lights ! 
 Lady Town. Light down there. 
 O. Bell. Adod, it needs not 
 
 • Dor. Call my Lady Woodvil's coach to the door 
 quickly. 
 
 \Exeunt Dorimant and Young Bellair, 
 
 with the Ladies. 
 
 . O. Bell. Stay, Mr. Medley, let the young fellows do 
 
 that duty ; we will drink a glass of wine together. 'Tis 
 
 good after dancing ; what mumming spark is that ? 
 
 Med. He is not to be comprehended in few words. 
 
 Sir Fop. Hey ! La Tour. 
 
 Med. Whither away, Sir Fopiling ? 
 
 Sir Fop. I have business with Courtage 
 
 Med. He'll but put the ladies into their coach, and 
 come up again. 
 
 O. Bell. In the meantime I'll call for a bottle. 
 
 \_Exit Old Bellair. 
 
 Enter Young Bellair. 
 
 Med. Where's Dorimant ? 
 
 Y. Bell. Stolen home ; he has had business waiting 
 for him there all this night, I believe, by an impatience 
 I observed in him. 
 
 Med. Very likely; 'tis but dissembling drunkenness, 
 railing at his friends, and the kind soul will embrace 
 the blessing and forget the tedious expeptation. 
 
 Sir Fop. I must speak with him before I sleep. 
 
 Y. Bell. Emilia and I are resolved on that business. 
 
 Med. Peace, here's your father. 
 
S/Ji FOPLING FLUTTER. 331 
 
 Enter Old Bellair and Butler/ with a bottle of wine. 
 
 O. Bell. , The women are all gone to bed. Fill, boy j 
 Mr. Medley, begin a health. 
 
 Med. {whispers). To Emilia. 
 
 O. Bell. Out, a pise ! she's a rogue, and I'll not 
 pledge you. 
 
 Med. I know you will. 
 
 O. Bell. Adod, drink it then. 
 
 Sir Fop. Let us have the new bachique. 
 
 O. Bell. Adod, that is a hard word ; what does it 
 mean, sir? , 
 
 Med. A catch or drinking song. 
 
 O. Bell. Let us have it then. 
 
 Sir Fop. Fill the glasses round, and draw iip in a 
 body. Hey! music! 
 
 They sing. 
 
 The pleasures of love and the joys of good wine 
 
 To perfect our happiness wisely we join. 
 
 We to beauty all day 
 
 Give the sovereign sway. 
 
 And her favourite nymphs devoutly obey. 
 
 At the plays we are constantly making our court, 
 
 And when they are ended we follow the sport, 
 
 To the Mall and the Park, 
 
 Where we love till 'tis dark; 
 
 Then sparkling champagne 
 
 Puts an end to their reign ; 
 
 It quickly recovers 
 
 Poor languishing lovers, 
 
332 THE MAN aF MODE; OR, 
 
 Makes us frolic and gay, and drowns all our sorrow ; 
 But, alas i we relapse again on the morrow. 
 Let 67/ ry man stand 
 
 With his glass in his hfind. 
 And briskly discharge at the w,ord of (ommand. 
 Here's a health to all those 
 
 Wlwm to-night we depose : 
 
 Wine and beauty by turns great, souls, sfiould. inspire. 
 Present altogether, and now, bqys, give fire ! 
 
 O. Bell. Adod, a pretty business, and very merry. 
 
 Sir Fop. Hark you, Medley, let you and I take the 
 fiddles, and go waken Dorimant. 
 
 Med. We shall do him a courtesy, if it be as I 
 guess. For after the fatigue of this night, he'll quickly 
 have his bellyful, and be glad of an occasion to cry, 
 Take away. Handy. 
 
 Y. Bell. I'll go with you, and there we'll consult 
 about affairs. Medley. 
 
 O. Bell, {looks. at. his watch), Adod, 'tis six o'clock. 
 , Sir Fop. Let's away then. 
 
 O. Bell. Mr. Medley, my sister tells me you are an 
 / honest man, and, adod, I love you. Few words and 
 
 hearty-r-^that's the way with old Harry, old Harry. 
 ;' Sir Fop. Light yonxjlambeaux. Hey ! 
 
 O. Bell. What does the man mean ? 
 
 Med. 'Tis day, Sir Fppling. 
 
 Sir Fop. No matter. Our serenade will look the 
 greater. \_Exeunt omnes. 
 
SIS FOPLING PLU^TES. 333 
 
 Scene II.— Dorimant's Lodging. A table, a candle, 
 a toilet, dfc. Handy tying up linen. 
 
 Enter Dorimant in kis gown, and Belinda. 
 
 Dor. Why will you be gone so soon ? 
 
 Bel. Why did you stay out so late ? 
 
 Dor. Call a chair, Handy. \Exit Handy. 
 
 What makes you tremble so ? 
 
 Bel. I have a_thousand fears about rne. Have I 
 not been seen, think you ? 
 
 Dor. By nobody but myself and trusty Handy. 
 
 Bel. Where are all your people? 
 
 Dor. I have dispersed 'em on sleeveless ' errands. 
 What does that sigh mean ? 
 
 Bel. Can you be so unkind to ask me? — ^Well — 
 [Sighs.] .^exe it to do again 
 
 Dor. We should do it, should we not? 
 
 Bel. I think we should ; the wickeder man you to 
 ijiake me love so well. Will you be discreet now ? 
 
 Dor. I will. 
 
 Bel. You cannot. 
 
 Dor. Never doubt it. 
 
 Bel. I will not expect it. 
 
 Dor. You do me wrong. 
 
 Bel. You have no more power to keep the secret 
 than I had not to trust you with it. 
 
 ' i.e. fruitless: "on u sleeveless errand." — Troilus and 
 CressUia, v. 4. 
 
334 I'HE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Dor. By all the joys I have had, and those you 
 keep in store 
 
 Bel. You'll do for my sake what you never did 
 before 
 
 Dor. By that truth thou hast spoken, a wife shall 
 sooner betray herself to her husband 
 
 Bel. Yet I had rather you should be false in this, 
 than in any other thing you promised me. 
 
 Dor. What's that? 
 
 Bel. That you would never see Loveit more but in 
 public places, in the Park, at Court, and plays. 
 
 Dor. 'Tis not likely a man should, be fond of seeing 
 a damned old play when there is a new one acted. 
 
 Bel. I dare not trust your promise. 
 
 Dor. You may. 
 
 Bel. This does not satisfy me. You shall swear you 
 never will see her more. 
 
 Dor. I will ! a thousand oaths By all 
 
 Bel. Hold- — You shall not, now I think on't 
 better. 
 
 Dor. I will swear. 
 
 Bel. I shall grow jealous of the oath, and think I 
 owe your truth to that, not to your love. 
 
 Dor. Then, by my love, no other oath I'll swear. 
 
 Enter Handy. 
 
 Handy. Here's a chair. 
 
 Bel. Let me go. 
 
 Dor. I cannot. 
 
 Bel. Too willingly, I fear. 
 
Sm FOPLING FLUTTER. 335 
 
 Dor. Too unkindly feared. When will you promise 
 me again ? 
 
 Bel. Not this fortnight. 
 
 Dor. You will be better than your word. 
 
 Bd. I think I shall. Will it not ipaike you love me 
 less? \Starting^^ Hark ! ^what fiddles are these ? 
 
 •■ ; ■■ .:■ i. ; [Fiddles without: 
 
 Dor. Look out, Handy. ' 
 
 ■7[i£'«?j? Handy, and returns. 
 
 Handy. Mr. Medley, Mr. Bellair, and Sir Fopling ; 
 they are coming up. 
 
 Dor. How got they inf. 
 
 Handy. The door was open for the chair. 
 
 Bel. Lord ! let me fly 
 
 Dor. Here, here, down the back stairs. I'll see you 
 into your chair. 
 
 Bel. No, no, stay and receive 'em, and be sure you 
 keep your word and never see Loveit more : let it 
 be a proof of your kindness. 
 
 Dor. It shall Handy, direct her. Everlasting. 
 
 love go along with thee. {^Kissing her hand. 
 
 [Exeunt Belinda and Handy. 
 
 Enter Young Bellair, Medley, and Sir Fopling. 
 
 Y. Bell. Not a-bed yet ! 
 
 Med. You have had an irregular fit, Dorimant ? 
 
 Dor. I have. 
 
 Y. Bell. And is it off already? 
 
 Dor. Nature has done her part, gentlemen ; when 
 she falls kindly to work, great cures are effected in 
 little time, you know. 
 
336 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Sir Fop. We thought there was a wench in the case 
 by the chair that waited. Prithee make us a confi- 
 dence. 
 
 Dor. Excuse me. 
 
 Sir Fop. Le sage Dorimant ! was she pretty ? 
 
 Dor. So pretty she may come to keep her coach 
 and pay parish duties if the good humour of the age 
 continue. 
 
 Med. And be of the number of the ladies kept by 
 public-spirited men for the good of the whole town. 
 
 Sir Fop. Well said, Medley. 
 
 [Sir Fopling dancing by himself. 
 
 Y. Bell. See, Sir Fopling dancing. 
 
 Dor. You are practising and have a mind to recover, 
 I see. 
 
 Sir Fop. Prithee, Dorimant, why hast hot thou a 
 glass hung up here?' A room is the dullest thing 
 without one. 
 
 Y. Bell. Here is company to entertain you. 
 
 Sir Fop, But I mean in case of being alone. In a 
 glass a man may entertain himself — — 
 Dor. The shadow of himself indeed. 
 
 Sir Fop. Correct the errors of his motions and his 
 dress. 
 
 Med. I find. Sir Fopling, in your solitude you re- 
 member the saying of the wise man, and study your- 
 self. 
 
 Sir Fop. 'Tis the best diversion in our retirements. 
 Dorimant, thou art a pretty fellow, and wearJst thy 
 clothes well, but I never saw thee have a handsome 
 cravat. Were they made up like mine, they'd give 
 
SIR FOPLING FLUTTER. 337 
 
 another, air to. thy face. Prithee let me send my man 
 to dress thee but one day. Byheavens ! an English- 
 man cannot tie a ribbon. 
 
 Dor. They are something clumsy-fisted 
 
 Sir Fop. I have brought over the prettiest fellow 
 that ever spread a toilet j he served some time under 
 Merille,\the greatest gknie in the; world for a vafet-de- 
 chatnbre. 
 
 Dor. What, he who formerly belonged to the Duke 
 ofCandale?" 
 
 Sir Fop. The same, and got him his immortal repu- 
 tation. 
 
 Z><?n. You've a very fine brandetiburgh on, Sir 
 Fopling. 
 
 Sir Fop. It serves to wrap me up after the fatigue 
 of a ball. 
 
 Med. I see you often in it, with your periwig tied 
 up. 
 
 ' Mentioned in the Histoire Amoureuse as "le principal confi- 
 dent du due" (j.«. Candale). — ^Bussy's Mhnoires, vol. ii. p. 322. 
 Subsequently he passed into the service of the Duke Of Orleans ; 
 cf. the Correspondance, vol. ii. p. 313 (" valet de chambre de M, 
 le due d'Orl^ans"), and vol. iii. p. 240, where he has risen 
 to the dignity of "premier valet de chambre de Monsieur." 
 
 ° Often referred to in Bussy's Mhnoires. The allusion to his 
 " immortal reputation " is explained by a passage in the Histoire 
 Amoureuse: "Le due de Candale avait las yeux bleus, le nez 
 bien fait, les traits irreguliers, la bouche grande et des^r^able 
 mais de fort belles dents, les cheveux blonds-dor^s, en la plus 
 grande quantite du monde. Sa taille etait admirable et s'habillait 
 bien, et les plus propres tSchaient de I'imiter. II avait I'air d'un 
 homme de grande quality, il tenait un des premiers rangs en 
 France." Doubtless the duke's-love-afifair with Madame Olonne 
 served as a title to distinction. 
 
338. THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Sir Fop. We should not always be in a set dress; 
 'tis more en cavalier to appear now and then in a 
 dishabillL 
 
 Med. Pray how goes your business with Loveit ? 
 
 Sir Fop. You might have answered yourself in the 
 Mall last night. Dorimant ! did you not see the 
 advances she made me ? I have been endeavouring 
 at a song. 
 
 Dor. Already! 
 
 Sir Fop. 'Tis my coup d'essai in English ; I would 
 fain have thy opinion of it. 
 
 Dor. Let's see it. 
 
 Sir Fop. Hey, Page ! give me my song Bellair, 
 
 here, thou hast a pretty voice, sing it. 
 
 Y. Bell. Sing it yourself, Sir Fopling. 
 
 Sir Fop. Excuse me. 
 
 Y. Bell. You learnt to sing in Paris. 
 
 Sir Fop. I did, of Lambert,' the greatest master in 
 the world ; but I have his own fault, a weak voice, 
 and care not to sing out of a ruelle? 
 
 Dor. A ruelle is a pretty cage for a singing fop, 
 indeed. 
 
 ' Michel Lambert, "maJtre de la musique de la chambre du 
 roi ; " born 1610, died July, 1696. 
 
 " Properly the ruelle was the space in a bedroom between the 
 bed and the wall : "Se disait particuliirement des chambres Jk 
 coucher sous Louis XIV., des alc6ves de certaines dames de 
 qualite, servant de salon de conversation et oil regnait souvent le 
 ton pr^cieux." — Littr^. Turning to Les Prlcieuses (scene ix.), 
 we find Mascarille saying, " Kt vous verrez courir de ma fa^on, 
 dans les belles ruelles de Paris, deux cents chansons, autant de 
 sonnets." The use of the word here is one of those intimate 
 touches in which Etheredge delights. 
 
S/H FOPJJNG FLUTTER. 339 
 
 Young Bellair reads the song. 
 
 How charming Phyllis is / how fair/ 
 
 ■4-h, that she were as willing 
 To ease my wounded heart ofcare^ 
 '^ And make her eyes less killing t 
 I sigh / I sigh! I languish now, 
 
 And love will not let me rest ; 
 I drive about the Park, and -bow 
 
 Still as I meet my dearest. 
 
 Sir Fop. Sing it, sing it, man ; it goes to a pretty 
 new tune, which I am confident was made by Baptiste.' 
 
 Med. Sing it yourself, Sir Fopling ; he does not know 
 the tune. 
 
 Sir Ivp. I'll venture. [Sir Fopling sings. 
 
 Dor. Ay, marry, now 'tis something. I shall not 
 flatter you, Sir Fopling; there is not much thought 
 in't, but 'tis passionate, and well turned. 
 
 Med. After the French way. 
 
 Sir Fop. That I aimed at. Does it not give you 
 a lively image of the thing ? Slap down ^oes the 
 glass, and thus we are at it. 
 O ■^''''' I* *^°^^ indeed. I perceive. Sir Fopling, you'll 
 be the very head of the sparks who are lucky in com- 
 positions of this nature. 
 
 ■' "The present great composer," says PepySjJiuie i8th, 1666. 
 Saptiste-r-his real nanie was Baptiste Anet — was a pupil of 
 Corelli ; as a violinist he had a great reputation. He settled in 
 Paris, but being badly received by Louis XIV. eventually retired 
 into Poland, where he died. 
 
340 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Enter Sir Fopling's Footman. 
 
 Sir Fop. La Tour, is the bath ready ? 
 
 Footman. Yes, sir. 
 
 Sir Fop. Adieu done, mes chers. \_Exit Sir Fopling. 
 
 Med. When have you your revenge on Loveit, 
 Dorimant ? 
 
 Dor. I will but change my linen, and about it. 
 
 Med. The powerful considerations which hindered 
 have been removed then ? 
 
 Dor. Most luckily this morning; you must along 
 with me, my reputation lies at stake there. 
 
 Med. I am engaged to Bellair. 
 
 Dor. What's your business ? , 
 
 Med. Ma-tri-mony, an't like you. 
 
 Dor. It does not, sir. 
 
 Y. BelL It may in time, Dorimant ; what think you 
 of Mrs. Harriet ? 
 
 Dor. What does she think of me ? 
 
 Y. Bell. I am confident she loves you. 
 
 Dor. How does it appear ? 
 Y. Bell. Why, she's never well but when she's 
 talking of you ; but then she finds all the faults in you 
 she can. She laugh^ at all who commend you ; but 
 then she speaks ill of all who do not. 
 
 Dor. Women of her temper betray themselves by 
 their over-cunning. I had once a growing love with 
 a lady who would always quarrel with me when I 
 came to see her, and yet wasiie\^r quiet if I stayed a 
 day from her. 
 
 Y. Bell. My father is in love with Emilia, 
 
SIJi FOPLING FLUTTER. 341 
 
 Dor. That is a good warrant for your proceedings : 
 go on and prosper ; I must to Loveit. Medley, I am 
 sorry you cannot be a witness. 
 
 Med. Make her meet Sir Fopling again in the same 
 place, and use him ill before me. 
 
 i?^r. That may be brought about, I think. I'll be 
 at your aunt's anon, and give you joy, Mr. Bellair. 
 
 Y. Bell. You had not best think of Mrs. Harriet 
 too much ; withont church security there's no taking 
 up there. 
 
 Dor. I may fall into the snare too. But 
 
 The wise will find a difference in our fate \ 
 
 You wed a woman, I a good estate. {Exeunt. 
 
 ♦ Scene III. 
 
 Enter the Chair with Belinda ; the Men set it down 
 and open it. Belinda starting. 
 
 Bel. {surprised). Lord! where am I? in the Mall? 
 Whither have you brought me ? 
 1^1 Chairman. You gave us no directions, madam. 
 
 Bel. {aside). The fright I was in made me forget it. 
 
 I Chairman. We use to carry a 'lady from the 
 squire's hither. 
 
 Bel. {aside). This is Loveit; I am undone if she 
 sees me. Quickl^ferry me away. 
 
 I Chairman. Whither, an't like your honour ? 
 
 Bel. Ask no questions. 
 
342 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Enter Loveit's Footman. 
 
 Footman. Have you seen my lady, madam ? 
 
 Bel. I am just come to wait upon her. 
 
 Footman. She will be glad to see you, madam. She 
 sent me to you this morning to desire your company, 
 and I was told you went out by five o'clock. 
 
 Bel. {aside). More and more unlucky ! 
 
 Footman. Will you walk in, madam ? 
 
 Bel. I'll discharge my chair and follow. Teir your 
 mistress I am here. {Exit Footman. 
 
 \Gives the Chairmen money. 
 Take this, and if ever you should be examined, be 
 sure you say you took me up in the Strand, over 
 against the Exchange, as you will answer it to Mr. 
 Dorimant. 
 
 Chairmen. We will, an't like your honour. 
 
 \Exeunt Chairmen. 
 
 Bel. Now to come off, I mu^t on 
 
 In confidence and lies some hope is left ; 
 
 'Twere hard to be found out in the first theft. [_Exit. 
 
Sm FOPLING FLUTTER. 343 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. 
 £«fer Mistress Loveit and Pert, her woman. 
 
 Pert. 
 
 WELL, in my eyes Sir Fopling is no such de- 
 spicable person. 
 Lov. You are an excellent judge ! 
 Pert. He's as handsome, a tikn as Mr. Dorimant, 
 and as great a gallant. 
 
 Ia>v. Intolerable! is't not enough I submit to his 
 impertinences, but I must be plagued with yours too ? 
 
 Pert, Indeed, madanv_ 
 
 Lov. 'Tis false, mercenary malice-^- — 
 
 Enter her Footman. 
 
 Footman. Mrs, Belinda, madam — ■— "^ 
 
 Lov. What of her ? 
 
 Footman. She'3 below.. 
 
 Lov. How came she? 
 
 Footman. In a chair; ambling Harry tffought her. 
 
 Lov. He bring her ! His chair stands near Dori- 
 
 mant's door, and always brings me from thence 
 
 Run and ask him where he took her up ; go, there is 
 
344 THE MAN OF MODE ; OR, 
 
 no truth in friendship neither. Women as well as 
 men — all are false, or all are so to me at least. 
 
 Pert. You are jealous of her too. 
 
 Lov. You had best tell her I am.- 'Twill become 
 the liberty you take of late. This fellow's bringing of 
 
 her, her going out by five o'clock 1 know not what 
 
 to think. 
 
 Enter Belinda. 
 
 Belinda, you are grown an early riser, I hear. 
 
 Bel. Do you not wonder, my dear, what made me 
 abroad so soon? 
 
 Lov. You do not use to be so. 
 
 Bel. The country gentlewomen I told you of 
 (Lord ! they have the oddest diversions !) would 
 never let me rest till I promised to go with them 
 to the markets this morning to eat fruit and buy 
 nosegays. 
 
 Lov. Are they so fond of a filthy nosegay? 
 
 Bel. They complain of the stinks of the town, and 
 are never well but when they have their noses in one. 
 
 Lov. There are essences and sweet waters. 
 
 Bel. Oh ! they cry out upon perfumes they are un- 
 wholesome ; oiie of 'em was falling into a fit with the 
 smell of these narolii. < 
 
 Lov. Methinks, in complaisance you should have 
 had a nosegay too. 
 
 Bel. Do you think, my dear, I could be so loath- 
 some to trick myself up with carnations and stock 
 gillyflowers? I begged their pardon, and told them I 
 never wore anything but orange flowers and tuberose. 
 
S/Jt FOPLING PLVTTER. 345 
 
 That which made me willing to go was a strange de- 
 sire I had to eat some fresh nectarines. 
 
 Lov. And had you any ? 
 
 Bel. The best I ever tasted. 
 
 Lov. Whence came you now? 
 
 Bel. From their lodgings, where I crowded out of 
 a coach, and took a chair to come and see you, my 
 dear. 
 
 Lov, Whither did you send for that chair ? 
 
 Bel. 'Twas going by empty. 
 
 Lov. Where do these country gentlewomen lodge, 
 I pray ? 
 
 Bel. In the Strand, over against the Exchange. 
 
 Pert. That place is never without a nest of 'em ; 
 they are always as one goes by fleering in balconies 
 or staring out of windows. 
 
 Enter Footman. 
 
 Lov. {whispers to the Footman). Come hither. 
 
 Bel. {aside). This fellow by her order has been 
 questioning the chairmen — I threatened 'em with the 
 name of Dorimant ; if they should have told truth I 
 am lost for ever. 
 
 Lov. In the Strand, said you ? 
 
 Footman. Yes, madam, over against the Exchange. 
 
 {Exit Footman. 
 
 Lov, She's innocent, and I am much to blame. 
 
 Bel. {aside), I am so frighted my countenance will 
 betray me. 
 
 Lov. Belinda ! what makes you look so pale ? 
 
346 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Bel. Want of my usual rest, and jolting up and down 
 so long in an odious hackney. 
 
 Enter Footman. 
 
 Footman. Madam, Mr. Dorimant 1 
 
 Lov. What makes him here ? 
 
 Bel. {aside). Then I am betrayed indeed; he's 
 broke his word, and I love a man that does not care 
 for me. 
 
 Ia)v. Lord ! you faint, Belinda. 
 
 Bel. I think I shall ; such an oppression here on 
 the sudden. 
 
 Perf. She has eaten too much fruit, I warrant you. 
 
 Lov. Not unlikely I 
 
 Pert. 'Tis that lies heavy on her stomach. 
 
 Lov. Have her into my chamber, give her some 
 surfeit water, and let her lie down a little. 
 
 Fert. Come, madam, I was a strange devourer of 
 
 fruit when I was young, so ravenous 
 
 [Exit Belinda, Pert leading her off. 
 
 Lov. Oh, that my love would be but calm awhile ! 
 that I might receive this man with all the scorn and 
 indignation he deserves. 
 
 Enter Dorimant. 
 Dor. Now for a touch of Sir Fopling to begin with. 
 
 Hey page give positive order that none of my 
 
 people stir let the canaille wait as they should 
 
 do: since noise and nonsense have such powerful 
 charms, 
 
S/H FOPLING FLUTTER. 347 
 
 /, that I may successful prove, 
 Transform myself to what you love. 
 
 Lav. If that would do, you need not change from 
 
 lat you are ; you can be vain and loud enough. 
 
 Dor. But not with so good a grace as Sir Fopling. 
 
 ey, Hampshire 1 Oh ! that sound ! that sound 
 
 comes the mouth of a man of quality. 
 
 Lov. Is there a thing so hateful as a senseless 
 
 imic ? 
 
 Dor. He's a great grievance indeed to all who like 
 
 urself, madam, love to play the fool in quiet. 
 
 Lov. A ridiculous animal who has more of the ape 
 
 an the ape has of the man in him. 
 
 Dor. I have as mean an opinion of a sheer mimic 
 yourself J yet were he all ape I should prefer him 
 the gay, the giddy, brisk, insipid, noisy fool you 
 
 )te on. 
 
 Lov. Those noisy fools, however you despise 'em, 
 
 ive good qualities, which weigh more (or ought at 
 
 1st) with us women than all the pernicious wit you 
 
 ive to boast of. 
 
 Dor. That I may hereafter have a just value for 
 
 eir merit, pray do me the favour to name 'em. 
 
 Lov. You'll despise 'em as the dull effects of igno- 
 
 nce and vanity, yet I care not if I mention some. 
 
 rst, they really admire us, while you at best but 
 
 itter us well. 
 
 Dor. Take heed ! fools can dissemble too 
 
 Lov. They mayj but not so artificially as you : 
 
 ere is no fear they should deceive us. Then they 
 
348 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 are assiduous, sir ; tHey are ever oflfering us their ser- 
 vice, and always waiting on our will. 
 
 Dor. You owe that to their excessive idleness; 
 they know not how to entertain themselves at home, 
 and find so little welcome abroad, they are fain to fly 
 to you who countenance 'em as a refiige against the 
 solitude they would be otherwise condemned to. 
 
 Lov. Their conversation too diverts us better. 
 
 Dor. Playing with y^ur fan, smelling to your gloves, 
 commending your hair, and taking notice how 'tis cut 
 and shaded after the new way. 
 \ Lov. Were it sillier than yoh can make it, you must 
 / allow 'tis pleasanter to laiigh at others than to be 
 / laughed at ourselves, though never so wittily. Then 
 though they want skill to flatter us, they flatter them- 
 selves so well they save us the labour ; we need not 
 take that care and pains to satisfy, 'em of our love, 
 which we so often lose on you. 
 
 Dor. They commonly indeed believe too well of 
 themselves, and always better of you than you deserve. 
 
 Lov. You are in the right ; they halve an implicit 
 faith in us which keeps 'em from prying narrowly into 
 our secrets, and saves us the vexatious trouble of 
 clearing doubts which your subtle and causeless jea- 
 lousies every moment raise. 
 
 Dor. Thiere is an inbred falsehood in women which 
 inclines 'era still to them whom they ma^ most easily 
 deceive. 
 
 Lov. The man who loves above his quality does not 
 suffer more from the insolent impertinience of his mis- 
 tress than the woman who loves above her under- 
 
SIX FOPLING FL UTTER. 349 
 
 Standing does frorti the arrogant presumptions of her 
 friend. 
 
 Dar. You mistake the use of fools: they are designed 
 for properties, and not for friends. You have an in- 
 different stoclc of reputation left yet. Lose it all like 
 a frank gamester on the square ; 'twill then be time 
 enough to turn rook and cheat it up again on a good 
 substantial bubble. 
 
 Lov. The old and the ill-faivoured are only fit for 
 properties indeed, but young and handsome fools have 
 met with kinder fortunes. 
 
 Dor. They have,, to the shame of your sex be it 
 spoken; 'twas this, the thought of this, made me, by 
 a timely jealousy, endeavour to prevent the good for- 
 tune you are providing for SirFopling — -but against 
 a woman's frailty all our care is vain. 
 
 Lao. Had I not with a dear experience bpugbt the 
 knowledge of your falsehood, you might have fooled 
 me yet. This is not the first jealousy you have feigned 
 to make a quarrel with me and get a week to. throw 
 away on some such unknown inconsiderable slut as 
 you have been lately lurking with at plays. 
 
 Dor. Wometi, when they would break off with a 
 man, never want th' .address to turn the fdult on himi 
 
 Lov. You take a pride of late in using of me ill, 
 that the town may know the power you have over me, 
 which now (as unreasonably as yourself) fcxpects that 
 I (do me all the injuries you can) must love you still. 
 
 Dor. I am so far from expecting that you should, 
 I begin to think you never did love me. 
 
 Lov. Would the memory of it were so wholly worn 
 
350 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 out in me that I did doubt it too ! What made you 
 come to disturb my growing quiet ? 
 
 Dor. To give you joy of your growing infamy. 
 
 Lov. Insupportable ! insulting devil ! this from you, 
 the only author of my shame ! This from another had 
 been but justice, but from you 'tis a hellish and in- 
 human outrage. What have I done ? 
 
 Dor. A thing that puts you below my scorn and 
 makes my anger as ridiculous as you have made my 
 love. 
 
 Lov. I walked last night with Sir Fopling. 
 
 Dor. You did, madam, and you talked and laughed 
 
 aloud, ha, ha, ha ! Oh ! that laugh ! that laugh 
 
 becomes the confidence of a woman of quality. 
 
 Lov. You, who have more pleasure in the ruin 
 of a woman's reputation than in the endearments 
 of her love, reproach me not with yourself, and I 
 defy you to name the man can lay a blemish on my 
 fame. 
 
 Dor. To be seen publicly so transported with the 
 vain follies of that notorious fop, to me is an infamy 
 below the sin of prostitution with another man. 
 
 Lov. Rail on, I am satisfied in the justice of what 
 I did ; you had provoked me to't. 
 
 Dor. What I did was the effect of a passion whose 
 extravagances you have been willing to forgive. 
 
 Lov. And what;! did was the effect of a passion 
 you may forgive if you think fit. 
 
 Dor. Are you so indifferent grown ? 
 
 Lov. I am. 
 
 Dor. Nay ! then 'tis time to part. I'll send you 
 
SIR FOPLING 'FLUTTER, 351 
 
 back your letters you have so often asked for, I have 
 two or three of 'em about me. 
 
 Lov. Give 'em me. 
 
 Dor. You snatch as if you thought I would not 
 
 there ^and may the perjuries in 'em be mine if e'ef 
 
 I see you more. {Offers to go, she catches him. 
 
 Lov. Stay ! 
 
 Dor. I will not. 
 
 Lov. You shall 
 
 Dor. What have you to say ? 
 
 Lov. I cannot speak it yet. 
 
 Dor. Something more in commendation of the fool. 
 Death ! I want patience, let me go. 
 
 Lov. {aside). I cannot. I can sooner part with the 
 limbs that hold him. — I hate that nauseous fool, you 
 know I do. 
 
 Dor. Was it the scandal you were fond of then? 
 
 Lov. You'd raised my anger equal to my love, a 
 thing you ne'er could do before, and in revenge I did 
 
 1 know not what I did. ^Woiild you would 
 
 not think on't any more ! 
 
 Dor. Should I be willing to forget it, I shall be daily 
 minded of it, 'twill be a commonplace for all the to\m 
 to laugh at me ; and Medley, when he is rhetorically 
 drunk, will ever be declaiming on it in my ears. 
 
 Lov. 'Twill be believed a jealous spite ! Come, 
 forget it. 
 
 Dor. Let me consult my reputation ; you are too 
 careless of it. \_Pauses.'\ You shall meet Sir Fopling 
 in the Mall again to-night. 
 
 Lov. What mean you ? 
 
3S2 THE MAN. OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Dor. I have thought oa't, and you must; 'tis 
 necessary to justify my love to the world; you can 
 handle a coxcomb as he deserves when you are not 
 out of hurnour, madam. 
 
 Lov. Public satisfaction for the wrong I have done 
 you ! This is some new device to make me more 
 ridiculous. 
 
 Dor. Hear me. 
 
 Lov. I will not. 
 
 Dor. You will be persuaded. 
 
 Lov. Never. 
 
 Dor. Are yoil so obstinate ? 
 
 Lov. Are you so, base ? 
 
 Dor. You will not satisfy my love? 
 
 Lov. I would die to satisfy that, but I will not to 
 save you from a thousand racks do a shameless thing, 
 to please your vanity. 
 
 Dor. Farewell, false woman ! 
 
 Lov. Do ! go ! 
 ..Dor. You. will call me back again. 
 
 Ij)v. Exquisite fiend ! I kdew you came but to tor- 
 merit me. 
 
 Enter Belinda and Pert. 
 
 Dor. {surprised).^ Belinda here 1 
 
 Bel. (aside). He starts and looks pale; the sight of 
 me has touched his guilty soul. 
 
 Pert. 'Twas but a qualm, as I said> a little indiges- 
 tion; the surfeit water did it,, madam, ipixed.with a 
 little mirdbilis. 
 
 Dor. I am confounded, and cannot guess how she 
 came hither ! 
 
SIR FOPLING FLUTTER. 353 
 
 Lov. 'Tis your fortune, Belinda, ever to be here 
 when I am abused by this prodigy of ill-nature. 
 
 Bel. I am amazed to find him here ! How has he 
 the face to come near you ? 
 
 Dor. {aside). Here is fine work towards ! I never 
 was at such a loss before. 
 
 Bd. One who makes a public profession of breach 
 of faith and ingratitude ; I loathe the sight of him. 
 
 Dor. (aside). There is no remedy ; I must submit 
 to their tongues now, and some other time bring 
 myself off as well as I can. 
 
 Bel. Other men are wicked, but then they have 
 some sense of shame : he is never well but when he 
 triumphs, nay, glories to a woman's face in his villainies. 
 
 Lov. You are in the right," Belinda ; but methinks 
 your kindness for me makes you concern yourself too 
 much with him. ' 
 
 Bel. It does indeed, my dear; his barbarous car- 
 riage to you yesterday made me hope you ne'er would 
 see him more, and the very next day to find him here 
 again provokes me strangely; but, because I know 
 you love him, I haye done. 
 
 Dor. You have reproached me handsomely, and I 
 deserve it for coming hither, but 
 
 Bert. You must expect it, sir ; all women will hate 
 you for my lady's sake. 
 
 Dor. (aside to Belinda). Nay, if she begins too, 'tis 
 time to fly ; I shall be scolded to death else. — I am 
 to blame in some circumstances, I confess ; but as to 
 the main, I am not so guilty as you imagine. I shall 
 seek a more convenient time to clear myself. 
 
 A A 
 
354 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Lov. Do it now ! what impediments are here ? 
 
 Dor. I want time, and you want temper. 
 
 Lov. These are weak pretences ! 
 
 Dor. You were never more mistaken in your life, 
 and so farewell. [Dorimant//«^j off. 
 
 Lov. Call a footman. Pert, quickly ; I will have him 
 dogged. 
 
 Pert. I wish you would not for my quiet and your 
 own. 
 
 Lcm. I'll find out the infamous cause of all our 
 quarrels, pluck her mask off, and expose her barefaced 
 to the world. , 
 
 Bel. {aside). Let me but escape this time I'll never 
 venture more. 
 
 Lov. Belinda ! you shall go with me. 
 
 Bel. I have such a heaviness hangs on me with what 
 I did this morning, I would fain go home and sleep, 
 my dear. 
 
 Lov. Death and eternal darkness ! I shall never 
 sleep again. Raging fevers seize the world, and make 
 mankind as restless all as I am ! \^Exit Loveit. 
 
 Bel. I knew him false, and helped to make him so. 
 Was not her ruin enough to fright me from the danger ? 
 It should have been, but love can take no warning. , 
 
 {^Exit Belinda. 
 
Sm FOPLING FLUTTER. 355 
 
 Scene II. — Lady Townley's House. 
 
 Enter Medley, Young Bella{r, Lady Townley, 
 Emilia, and Chaplain. 
 
 Med. Bear up, Bellair, and do not let us see that 
 repentance in thine we daily do in married faces. 
 
 Lady Town. This wedding will strangely surprise 
 my brother when he knows it. 
 
 Med. Your nephew ought to conceal it for a time,\ 
 madam, since marriage has lost its good name ; pru- i 
 dent men seldom expose their own reputations till 'tis/ 
 convenient to justify their wives. "^ 
 
 O. Bell, (without). Where are you all there? Out, 
 adod, will nobody hear ? 
 
 Lady Town. My brother ! quickly, Mr. Smirk, into 
 this closet ; you must not be seen yet. 
 
 \He goes into the closet. 
 
 Enter Old Bellair and Lady Townley's Page. 
 
 O..BelL Desire Mr. Fourbes to walk into the lower 
 parlour, I will be with him presently. \_To Young 
 Bellair.] Where have you been, sir, you could not 
 wait on me to-day ? 
 
 Y. Bell. About a business. 
 
 0. Bell. Are you so good at business ? Adod, I 
 have a business too you shall despatch out of hand, 
 sir. Send for a parson, sister ; my Lady Woodvil and 
 her daughter are coming. 
 
356 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 LadyTozvn. What need you huddle up things 
 thus ? 
 
 O. Bell. Out a pise ! youth is apt to play the fool, 
 and 'tis not good it should be in their power. 
 
 Lady Town. You need not fear your son. 
 
 O. Bell. He's been idling this morning, and, adod, 
 I do not like him. \To Emilia.] How dost thou do, 
 sweetheart ? 
 
 Emil. You are very severe, sir; married in such 
 haste. 
 
 O. Bell. Go to, thou'rt a rogue, and I will talk 
 with thee anon. Here's my Lady Woodvil come. 
 
 Enter Lady Woodvil, Harriet, and Busy. 
 
 Welcome, madam ; Mr. Fourbes is below with the 
 writings. 
 
 Lady Wood. Let us down, and make an end then. 
 
 O. Bell. Sister, show the way. \To Young Bellair, 
 who is talking to Harriet.] Harry, your business lies 
 not there yet ; excuse him till we have done, lady, and 
 then, adod, he shall be for thee. Mr. Medley, we must 
 trouble you to be a witness. 
 
 Med. I luckily came for that purpose, sir. 
 
 [Exeunt Old Bellair, Medley, Young 
 Bellair, Lady Townley, and Lady 
 Woodvil. 
 
 Busy. What will you do, madam ? 
 
 JIar. Be carried back and mewed up in the country 
 again, run away here, anything rather than be married 
 
 to a man I do not care for Dear Emilia, do thou 
 
 advise me. 
 
S/Ji FOPLING FLUTTER. 357 
 
 Etnil. Mr. Bellair is engaged, you know. 
 
 Har. I do ; but know not what the fear of losing an 
 estate may fright him to. 
 
 Emil. In the desperate condition you are in you 
 should consult with some judicious man ; what think 
 you of Mr. Dorimant ? 
 
 Har. I do not think of him at all. 
 
 Busy. She thinks of nothing else, I am sure. 
 
 Emil. How fond your mother was of Mr. Court- 
 age ! 
 
 Har. Because I contrived the mistake to make a 
 little mirth you believe I like the man. 
 
 Emil. Mr. Bellair believes you love him. 
 
 Har.. Men are seldom in the right when they guess 
 at a woman's mind ; would she whom he loves loved 
 him no better ! 
 
 Busy {aside). That's e'en well enough, on all con- 
 science. 
 
 Emil. Mr. Dorimant has a great deal of wit. 
 
 Har. And takes a great deal of pains to show it. 
 
 Emil. He's extremely well-fashioned. 
 
 Har. Affectedly grave or ridiculously wild and 
 apish. 
 
 Busy. You defend him still against your mother. 
 
 Har. I would not were he justly rallied, but I can- 
 not hear anyone undeservedly railed at. 
 
 Emil. Has your woman learnt the song you were 
 so taken with ? 
 
 Har. I was fond of a new thing; 'tis dull at second 
 hearing. 
 
 Emil. Mr. Dorimant made it. 
 
3S8 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Busy. She knows it, madam, and has made me sing 
 it at least a dozen times this morning. 
 
 Har. Thy tongue is as impertinent as thy fingers. 
 
 Emil. You have provoked her. 
 
 Busy. 'Tis but singing the song,' and I shall appease 
 her. 
 
 Emil. Prithee do. 
 
 Har. She has a voice will grate your ears worse 
 than a cat-call, and dresses so ill she's scarce fit to 
 trick up a yeoman's daughter on a hoUday. 
 
 Busy sings. 
 
 As Amoret with Phyllis sat 
 
 One evening on the plain. 
 And saw the charming Strephon wait 
 
 To tell the nymph his pain, 
 
 The threatening danger to remove 
 
 She whisper'd in hetf ear. 
 Ah, Phyllis ! if you would not love. 
 
 This shepherd do not hear. 
 
 None ever had so strange an art 
 
 His passion to convey 
 Into a listening virgin's heart. 
 
 And steal her soul away. 
 
 ' "A translation," says Coxeter (MS. note in his copy of 
 Gildon's Lives), "from the French of Madame la Comtesse de 
 la Suze in Le Recueil des Pikes Gallantes." The version was 
 by Sir Car Scroope ; indeed all the old editions prefix to the 
 verses a note — " Song by Sir C. S." 
 
S/Jl FOPLING FLUTTER. 359 
 
 Fly, fly betimes, for fear you give 
 
 Occasion for your fate. 
 In vain, said she, in vain I strive, 
 
 Alas ! 'tis now too late. 
 
 Enter Dorimant. 
 
 Dor. Music so softens and disarms the mind 
 
 Har. That not one arrow does resistance find. 
 
 Dor. Let us make use of the lucky minute then. 
 
 Har. (aside, turning from Dorimant). My love 
 springs with my blood into my face, I dare not look 
 upon him yet. 
 
 Dor. What have we here, the picture of celebrated 
 beauty giving audience in public to a declared lover ? 
 
 Har. Play the dying fop and make the piece com- 
 plete, sir. 
 
 Dor. What think you if the hint were w-ell im- 
 proved — the whole mystery of making love plea- 
 santly designed and wrought in a suit of hangings ? 
 
 Har. 'Twere needless to execute fools in eflfigy who 
 suffer daily in their own persons. 
 
 Dor. (aside to Emilia). Mrs. Bride, for such I know 
 this happy day has made you. 
 
 Emil. Defer the formal joy you are to give me and 
 mind your business with her. \Aloud.'\ Here are 
 dreadful preparations, Mr. Dorimant, writings sealing, 
 and a parson sent for. 
 
 Dor. To marry this lady? 
 
 Busy. Condemned she is, and what will become of 
 her I know not, without you generously engage in a 
 rescue. 
 
36o THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Dor. In this sad condition, madam, I can do no 
 less than offer you my service. 
 
 Har. The obligation is not great ; you are the com- 
 mon sanctuary for all young women who run from 
 their relations. 
 
 Dor. I have always my arms open to receive the 
 distressed. But I will open my heart, and receive 
 you where none yet did ever enter : you have filled 
 it with a secret, might I but let you know it 
 
 Har. Do not speak it if you would have me be- 
 lieve it ; your tongue is so famed for falsehood 'twill 
 do the truth an injury. [Turns away her head. 
 
 Dor, Turn not away then ; but look on me and 
 guess it. 
 
 Har, Did you not tell- me there was no credit to 
 be given to faces ? that women now-a-d«ys have their 
 passions as much at will as they have their com- 
 plexions, and put on joy and sadness, scorn and kind- 
 \ ness, with the J same ease they do their paint and 
 ' patches' Are they the only counterfeits? 
 
 Dor. You wrong your own while you suspect my 
 eyes ; by all the hope I have in you, the inimitable 
 colour in your cheeks is not more free from art than 
 are the sighs I offer. 
 
 Har. In men who have been long hardened in sin 
 we have reason to mistrust the first signs of repentance. 
 
 ' When the custom of patching (to which the Spectator ob- 
 jected so wrongly, No. 8i) first became fashionable is not quite 
 clear. Shadwell, however, in The Virtuoso, writes : "They 
 have so many tricks to disguise themselves, washing, painting, 
 patching." 
 
SIS FOPLING FLUTTER. 361 
 
 Dor. The prospect of such a heaven will make me 
 persevere and give you marks that are infallible. 
 
 Har. What are those ? 
 
 Dor. I will renounce all the joys I have in friend- 
 ship and in wine, sacrifice to you all the interest I 
 have in other women 
 
 Har. Hold ! — though I wish you devout I would 
 not have you turn fanatic — Could you neglect these 
 awhile and make a journey into the country ? 
 
 Dor. To be with you I could live there and never 
 send one thought to London. 
 
 Har. Whate'er you say, I know all beyond High 
 Park's a desert to you, and that no gallantry can draw 
 you farther. 
 
 Dor. That has been the utmost limit of my love, 
 but now my passion knows no bounds, and there's 
 no measure to be taken of what I'll do for you from 
 anything I ever did before. 
 
 Har. When I hear you talk thus in Hampshire I 
 shall begin to think there may be some truth enlarged 
 upon. 
 
 Dor. Is this all ? will you not promise me ? 
 
 Har. I hate to promise ! what we do :then is ex- 
 pected from us, and wants much of the welcome it 
 finds when it surprises. 
 
 Dor. May I not hope ? 
 
 Har. That depends on you and not on me, and 
 'tis to no purpose to forbid it. \Tums to Busy. 
 
 Busy. Faith, madam, now I perceive the gentleman 
 loves you too ; e'en let him know your mind, and tor- 
 ment yourselves no longer. 
 
362 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Har. Dost think I have no sense of modesty? 
 
 Busy. Think, if you lose this you may never have 
 another opportunity. 
 
 Har. May he hate me — a curse that frights me when 
 I speak it — if ever I do a thing against the rules of 
 decency and honour ! 
 
 Dor. (to Emilia). I am beholding to you for your 
 good intentions, madam. 
 
 Emil. I thought the concealing of our marriage 
 from her might have done you better service. 
 
 Dor. Try her again. 
 
 Emil. What have you resolved, madam ? The time 
 draws near. 
 
 Har. To be obstinate, and protest against this mar- 
 riage. 
 
 Enter Lady Tovi^nley in haste. 
 
 Lady Town, (to Emilia). Quickly, quickly, let Mr. 
 Smirk out of the closet. [Smirk comes out of the closet. 
 
 Har. A parson ! had you laid him in here ? 
 
 Dor. I knew nothing of him. 
 
 Har. Should it appear you did, your opinion of my 
 easiness may cost you dear. 
 
 Enter Old Bellair, Young Bellair, Medley, and 
 Lady Woodvil. 
 
 O. Bell. Out a pise ! the canonical hour is almost 
 past. Sister, is the man of God come ? 
 
 Lady Town. He waits your leisure. 
 
 O. Bell. By your favour, sir. Adod, a pretty spruce 
 fellow ! what may we call him ? 
 
S/H FOPLING FLUTTER. 363 
 
 Lady Town. Mr. Smirk, my Lady Biggot's chaplain. 
 
 O. Bell. A wise woman ! adod, she is. The man 
 will serve for the flesh as well as the spirit. Please - 
 you, sir, to commission a young couple to go to bed 
 together i' God's name ? — Harry. 
 
 Y.Bell. Here, sir. 
 
 O. Bell. Out a pise ! without your mistress in your 
 hand! 
 
 Smirk. Is this the gentleman? 
 
 O. Bell. Yes, sir. 
 
 Smirk. Are you not mistaken, sir? 
 
 0. Bell. Adod, I think not, sir. 
 
 Smirk. Sure you are, sir. 
 
 O. Bell. You look as if you would forbid the banes ; 
 Mr. Smirk, I hope you have no pretension to the 
 lady? 
 
 Smirk. Wish him joy, sir ! I have done him the 
 good office to-day already. 
 
 O. Bell. Out a pise ! what do I hear ? 
 
 Lady Town. Never storm, brother, the truth is out. 
 
 0. Bell. How say you, sir? is this your wedding- 
 day? 
 
 Y. Bell. It is, sir. 
 
 O. Bell. And, adod, it shall be mine too ; give me 
 thy hand, sweetheart. [_To Emilia.] What dost thou 
 mean ? give me thy hand, I say. 
 
 [Emilia kneels, and Young Bellair. 
 
 Lady Town. Come, come, give her your blessing ; 
 this is the woman your son loved and is married to. 
 
 O. Bell. Ha ! cheated ! cozened ! and by your con- 
 trivance, sister ! 
 
364 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Lady Town. What would you do with her ? She's 
 a rogue, and you can't abide her. 
 
 Med. Shall I hit her a pat for you, sir? 
 
 O. Bell. Adod, you are all rogues, and I never will 
 forgive you. 
 
 Lady Town. Whither ! whither away ? 
 
 Med. Let him go and cool awhile. 
 
 Lady Wood, {to Dorimant). Here's a business broke 
 out now ; Mr. Courtage, I am made a fine fool of. 
 
 Dor. You see the old gentleman knows nothing 
 of it. 
 
 Lady Wood. I find he did not. I shall have some 
 trick put upon me if I stay in this wicked town any 
 longer. Harriet ! dear child ! where art thou ? I'll 
 into the country straight. 
 
 O. Bell. Adod, madam, you shall hear me 
 first. 
 
 Enter Loveit and Belinda. 
 
 Lov. Hither my man dogged him. 
 
 Bel. Yonder he stands, my dear. 
 
 Lov. I see him. [Aside.] And with the face that 
 has undone me ! Oh, that I were but where I might 
 throw out the anguish of my heart 1 here it must rage 
 within and break it. 
 
 Lady Town. Mrs. Loveit, are you afraid to come 
 forward? 
 
 Lov. I was amazed to see so much company here in 
 a morning, the occasion sure is extraordinary. 
 
 Dor. (aside). Loveit and Belinda ! the devil owes 
 
S//1 FOPLING FLUTTER. ' 365 
 
 me a shame to-day, and I think never will have done 
 paying it. 
 
 Lov. Married ! dear Emilia ! how am I transported 
 with the news ? 
 
 Har. (to Dorimant). I little thought Emilia was the 
 woman Mr. Bellair was in love with; I'll chide her 
 for not trusting me with the secret. 
 
 Dor. How do you like Mrs. Loveit ? 
 
 Har. She's a famed mistress of yours, I hear. 
 
 Dor. She has been on occasion. 
 
 O. Bell, (to Lady Woodvil). Adod, madam, I 
 cannot help it. 
 
 Lady Wood. You need make no more apologies, sir. 
 
 Emil. (to Loveit). The old gentleman's excusing 
 himself to my Lady Woodvil. 
 
 Lov. Ha, ha, ha ! I never heard of anything so 
 pleasant. 
 
 Har. (to Dorimant), She's extremely overjoyed at 
 something. 
 
 Dor. At nothing; she is one of those hoiting 
 ladies wh6 gaily fling themselves about and force a 
 laugh when their aching hearts are full of discontent 
 and malice. 
 
 Lov. Oh, heaven ! I was never so near killing my- 
 self with laughing. — Mr. Dorimant, are you a brideman? 
 
 Lady Wood. Mr. Dorimant ! is this Mr. Dorimant, 
 madam ? 
 
 Lov. If you doubt it, your daughter can resolve you, 
 I suppose. 
 
 Lady Wood. I am cheated too, basely cheated. 
 
 0. Bell. Out a pise! what's here? more knavery yet? 
 
366 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Lady Wood. Harriet ! on my blessing, come away, 
 I charge you. 
 
 Har. Dear mother, do but stay and hear me. 
 Lady Wood. I am betrayed, and thou art undone, I 
 fear. 
 
 Har. Do not fear it. I have not, nor never will 
 do anything against my duty; believe me, dear 
 mother, do. 
 
 Dor. (to Loveit). I had trusted you with this secret, 
 but that I knew the violence of your nature would ruin 
 my fortune, as now unluckily it has. I thank you, 
 madam. 
 
 Lav. She's an heiress, I know, and very rich. 
 
 Dor. To satisfy you I must give, up my interest 
 wholly to my lOve ; had you been a reasonable 
 woman, I might have secured .'em both and been 
 happy. 
 
 Ljw. You might have trusted me with anything of 
 this kind, you know you might. Why did you go 
 under a wrong name ? 
 
 Dor. The story is too long to tell you now — be 
 satisfied, this is the business, this is the mask has 
 kept me from you. 
 
 Bel. (aside). He's tender of my honour, though he's 
 cruel to my love. 
 
 Lov. Was it no idle mistress then ? 
 
 Dor. Believe me, a wife, to repair the ruins of my 
 estate that needs it. 
 
 Lov. The knowledge of this makes my grief hang 
 lighter on my soul ; but I shall never more be happy. 
 
 Dor. Belinda ! 
 
SIR FOPLING FLUTTER. 367 
 
 Bel. Do not think of clearing yourself with me, 
 it is impossible. Do all men break their words thus ? 
 
 Dor. Th' extravagant words they speak in love ; 'tis 
 as unreasonable to expect we should perform all we 
 promise then, as do all we threaten when we are angry. 
 When I see you next 
 
 Bel. Take no notice of me, and I shall not hate you. 
 
 Dor. How came you to Mrs. Loveit ? 
 
 Bel. By a mistake the chairmen made for want of 
 my giving them directions. 
 
 Dor. 'Twas a pleasant one. We must meet again. 
 
 Bel. Never. 
 
 Dor. Never? 
 
 Bel. When we do, may I be as infamous as you are 
 false. 
 
 Lady Town. Men of Mr. Dorimant's character 
 always suffer in the general opinion of the world. 
 
 Med. Yo^ can make no judgment of a witty man 
 from common fame, considering the prevailing faction, 
 madam. 
 
 0. Bell. Adod, he's in the right. 
 
 Med. Besides, 'tis a common error among women 
 to believe too well of them they know and too ill of 
 them they don't. 
 
 O. Bell. Adod, he observes well. 
 
 Lady Town. Believe me, madam, you will find Mr. 
 Dorimant as civil a gentleman as you thought Mr. 
 Courtage. 
 
 Har. If you would but know him better 
 
 Lady Wood. You have a mind to know him better ; 
 come away ! You shall never see him more. 
 
368 THE -MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Har. Dear mother, stay ! 
 
 Lady Wood. I won't be consenting to your ruin. 
 
 Har. Were my fortune in your power 
 
 Lady Wood. Your person is. 
 
 Har. Could I be disobedient I might take it out of 
 yours, and put it into his. 
 
 Lady Wood. 'Tis that you would be at ; you would 
 marry this Dorimant? 
 
 Har. I cannot deny it; I would, and never will 
 marry any other man. 
 
 Lady Wood. Is this the duty that you promised ? 
 
 Har. But I will never marry him against your 
 will 
 
 Lady Wood, {aside). She knows the way to melt my 
 heart. \To Harriet.] Upon yourself light your un- 
 doing. 
 
 Med. {to Old Bellair). Come, sir, you have not 
 the heart any longer to refuse your blessing. 
 
 O. Bell. Adod, I ha' not Rise, and God bless 
 
 you both ! Make much of her, Harry, she deserves 
 thy kindness. [71) Emilia.] Adod, sirrah, I did not 
 think it had been in thee. 
 
 Enter Sir Fopling and his Page. 
 
 Sir Fop. 'Tis a damned windy day ; hey, page ? Is 
 my periwig right ? 
 
 Fage. A little out of order, sir. 
 
 Sir Fop. Pox o' this apartment ! it wants an ante- 
 chamber to adjust oneself in. \^To Loveit.] Madam, 
 I came from your house, and your servants directed 
 me hither. 
 
SIR FOPLING FLUTTER. 369 
 
 L(m. I will give order hereafter they shall .direct 
 you better. / 
 
 Sir Fop. The great satisfaction I had in the Mall 
 last night has given me much disquiet since. 
 
 Lov. 'Tis likely to give me more than 1 desire. | 
 
 Sir Fop. What the devil makes her so reserved ? 
 Am I guilty of an indiscretion, madam ? \ 
 
 Lov. You wiU be of a great one if you continue 
 your mistake, sir. j 
 
 Sir Fop. Something puts you out of humour. \ 
 
 Lov. The most foolish < inconsiderable thing thVt 
 ever did. 
 
 Sir Fop. Is it in my power ? 
 
 Lov. To hang or drown itj do one of -ern, and^ 
 trouble me no more. 
 
 Sir Fcp. ^o filrel Seroiteur, -madame: Medley, 
 where*s Doritnant? ' 
 
 Med. Methinks the lady has not made you those 
 advances to-day she did last night. Sir Fopling; 
 
 Sir Fop. Prithee do not talk of her. 
 • Med. She would be a bonne fortune. 
 
 Sir Fop. Not to me, at present. 
 
 Med. How so ? 
 
 Sir Fop. An intrigue now would be but a tempta- 
 tion to me to throw away that vigour on one which I 
 mean shall shortly make my court to the whole sex 
 in a bailei. 
 
 Med. Wisely considered, Sir Fopling. 
 
 Sir Fop. No one woman is worth the loss of a cut 
 in a caper. 
 
 Med. Not when 'tis so universally designed. 
 
370 THE MAN OF MODE; OR, 
 
 Lady Wood. Mr. Dorimant, everyone has spoke so 
 much in your behalf that I can no longer doubt but 
 I was in the wrong. ■ 
 
 Lov. There's nothing but falsehood and imperti- 
 nence in this world, all men are villains or fools; 
 take example from my misfortunes, Belinda ; if thou 
 wouldst be happy, give thyself wholly up to good-, 
 ness. 
 
 Har. {to Loveit). Mr. Dorimant has been your God 
 Almighty long enough; 'tis time to think of another. 
 
 I^v. Jeered by her ! I will lock myself up in my 
 house, and never see the world again. 
 
 Har. A nunnery is the more fashionable place for 
 such a retreat, and has been the fatal consequence of 
 many a belle passion. 
 
 Lov. Hold, heart ! till I get home ; should I answer 
 'twould make her triumph greater. [Is going out. 
 
 Dor. Your hand. Sir Fopling 
 
 Sir Fop. Shall I wait upon you, madam ? 
 
 LoiK Legion of fools, as many devils take thee ! 
 
 [Exit Loveit. 
 
 Med. Dorimant ! I pronounce thy reputation clepx, 
 and henceforward when I would know anything of 
 woman, I, will consult no other oracle. ; 
 i Sir Fpp. Stark mad, by all that handsome ! Dori- 
 I mant, thou hast engaged me in a pretty business. 
 
 Dor. I have not leisure now to talk about it. 
 
 O. Bell. Out a pise ! what does this Man of Mode 
 do here again? 
 
 Lady Town. He'll be an excellent entertainment 
 within, brother, and is luckily come to raise the mirth 
 of the company. 
 
SJ/l FOPLING FLUTTER. 3^1 
 
 Lady Wood. Madam, I take my leave of you. 
 
 Lady Town. What do you mean, madam ? 
 
 Lady Wood. To go this afternoon part of my way 
 to Hartley. 
 
 0. Bell. Adod, you shall stay and dine first; come, 
 we will all be good^ friends, and you shall give Mr. 
 Dorimant leave to wait upon you and your daughter 
 in the country. 
 
 Lady Wood. If his occasions bring him that way, I 
 have now so good an opinion of him he shall be wel- 
 come. 
 
 Har. To a great rambling lone house that looks as 
 it were not inhabited, the family's so small; there 
 you'll find my mother, an old lame aunt, and myself, 
 sir, perched up on chairs* at a distance in a large par- 
 lour, sitting moping like three or four melancholy 
 birds in a spacious volery. Does not this stagger 
 your resolution ? 
 
 Dor. Not at all, madam. The first time I saw you 
 you left me with the pangs of love upon me, and this 
 day my soul has quite given up her liberty. 
 
 Har. This is more dismal than the country, Emilia ; 
 pity me who am going to that sad place. Methinks I 
 hear the hateful noise of rooks already — knaw, knaw, 
 knaw. There's music in the worst cry in London, 
 My dill and cucumbers tojiickle.^ 
 
 ^ Addison thought differently : " I am always pleased with 
 that particular time of the year which is proper for the pickling 
 of diU and cucumbers ; but, alas ! this cry, like the song of the 
 nightingale, is not heard above two months. It would there- 
 fore be worth while to consider whether the same air might not 
 in some cases be adapted to other words." — In the classic dis- 
 sertation on London " Cries," Spectator, No. 251, 
 
372 THE MAN OF MODE. 
 
 O. Bell. Sister, knowing of this matter, I hope you 
 have provided us some good cheer. 
 
 Lady ToTvn. I have, brother, and the fiddles too. 
 
 O. Bell. Let 'em strike up then ; the young lady 
 shall have a dance before she departs. \Dance. 
 
 {After the dance.'] So, now we'll in and make this an 
 
 arrant wedding-day 
 
 {To the pit.'] And if these honest gentlemen rejoice, 
 Adod, the boy has made a happy choice. 
 {Exeunt omnes. 
 
THE EPILOGUE. 
 
 By Mr. Dryden. 
 
 Jl^OST modern wits such monstrous fools havi 
 
 shown, 
 Tkey stem'd not ofheaveris making, but their own. 
 Those nauseous harlequins in farce may pass, 
 But there goes more to a substantial ass ; 
 Something of man must be exposed to view. 
 That, gallants, they may more resemble you : 
 Sir Fopling is a fool so nicely writ, 
 The ladies would mistake him for a wit. 
 And when he sings, talks loud, and cocks, would cry, 
 I vow, methinks he's pretty company ! 
 So brisk, so gay, so traioeird, so refined. 
 As he took pains to graft upon his kind. 
 True fops help natures work, and go to school 
 To file and finish God Almighty's fool. 
 
 Yet none Sir Fopling Mm, or him, can call ;^ 
 
 ' This, with what follows, is not unsuggestive of Shadwell's 
 prologue to The Virtuoso : — 
 
 Yet no one coxcomb in this play is shown. 
 No one man's humour makes a part alone, 
 But scatter'd follies gather'd into one. 
 
374 THE EPILOGUE. 
 
 H^s knight d tK shire, and represents ye all. 
 
 From each he meets he culls what^er he can. 
 
 Lemon's his name, a people in a man : 
 
 His bulky folly gathers as it goes. 
 
 And, rolling der you, like a snowball grows. 
 
 His various modes from various fathers follow ; 
 
 One taught the toss, and one the new French wallow. 
 
 His sword-knot this, his cravat this designed. 
 
 And this the yard-long snake he twirls behind. 
 
 From one the sacred periwig he gained. 
 
 Which wind n^er blew, nor touch of hat profaned. 
 
 Another's diving bow he did adore, 
 
 Which with a shog casts all the hair before; 
 
 Till he, with full decorum, brings it back, 
 
 And rises with a water-spaniel shake. 
 
 As for his songs (the ladies' dear delight) 
 
 Those sure he took from most of you who write. 
 
 Yet every man is safe from what hefear'd. 
 
 For no one fool is hunted from the herd. 
 
POEMS. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 A LETTER TO THE EARL OF 
 MIDDLETON.' 
 
 SINCE love and verse, as well as wine. 
 Are brisker where the sun does shine, 
 'Tis something to lose two degrees. 
 Now age itself begins to freeze : 
 Yet this I patiently could bear, 
 If the rough Danube's beauties were 
 But only two degrees l,ess fair 
 Than the bright nymphs of gentle Thames, 
 Who warm me hither with their beams : 
 Such power they have, they can dispense 
 Five hundred miles their, influence. 
 But hunger forces men to eat, 
 Though no temptation's in the meat. 
 How would the ogling sparks- despise 
 The darling damsel of my eyes, 
 Should they behold her at a play 
 As she's trick'd up on holiday, 
 
 ' A man of letters of some little note. Like Etheredge, he 
 had served as representative of the English Court in Germany. 
 
378 POEMS. 
 
 When the whole family combine 
 For public pride to make her shine ! 
 Her locks, which long before lay matted, 
 Are on this day comb'd out and plaited ; 
 A diamond bodkin in each tress, 
 The badges of her nobleness ; 
 For every stone, as well as she, 
 Can boast an ancient pedigree. 
 These form'd the jewel erst did grace 
 The cap of the first Graf d th' race, 
 Preferr'd by Grdfin Marian 
 T'adom the handle of her fan, 
 And, as by old record appears. 
 Worn since in Renigunda's years, 
 Now sparkling in the Fraulein's hair ; 
 No rocket breaking in the air 
 Can with her starry head compare. 
 Such ropes of pearl her arms encumber 
 She scarce can deal the cards at ombre ; 
 So many rings each finger freight 
 They tremble with the mighty weight ; 
 . The like in England ne'er was seen 
 Since Holbein drew Hal and his Queen. 
 But after these fantastic flights 
 The lustre's meaner than the lights ; 
 The thing that bears this glittering pomp 
 Is but a tawdry ill-bred ramp, 
 Whose brawny limbs and martial face 
 Proclaim her of the Gothic race, 
 More than the mangled pageantry 
 Of all the father's heraldry. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 But there's another sort of creatures, 
 Whose ruddy look and grotesque features 
 Are so much out of nature's way, 
 You'd think 'em stamp'd on other clay : 
 No lawful daughters of old Adam. 
 'Mongst these behold a city madam, 
 , With arms in mittens, head in muff, 
 A dapper cloak and reverend ruff : 
 No farce so pleasant as this malkin, 
 And the soft sound of High-Dutch talking. 
 Here unattended by the Graces, 
 The Queen of Love in a sad case is. 
 Nature, her active minister, 
 Neglects affairs, and will not stir ; 
 Thinks it not worth the while to please. 
 But when she does it for her ease. 
 Even I, her most devout adorer, 
 With wandering thoughts appear before her ; 
 And when I'm making an oblation. 
 Am fain to spur imagination 
 With some sham London inclination. 
 The bow is bent at German dame. 
 The arrow flies at English game. 
 Kindness, that can indifference warm, 
 And blow that calm into a storm. 
 Has in the very tenderest hour 
 Over my gentleness a power : 
 True to my countrywomen's charms 
 When kiss'd and press'd in foreign arms. 
 
 379 
 
38i3 POEMS. 
 
 A SECOND LETTER TO THE LORD 
 MIDDLETON. 
 
 FROM hunting whores, and haunting play, 
 And minding nothing else all day. 
 And all the night too, you will say ; 
 To make grave legs in formal fetters. 
 Converse with fools, and write dull letters ; 
 To go to bed 'twixt eight and nine, 
 And sleep away my precious time 
 In such a snea;king idle place. 
 Where vice and folly hide their face, 
 And in a troublesome disguise 
 The wife seems honest, husband wise. 
 For pleasure here has the same fate 
 Which does attend affairs of state. 
 The plague of ceremony infects. 
 Even in love, the softer sex ; 
 Who an essential will neglect 
 Rather than lose the least respect. 
 In regular approach we storm. 
 And never visit but in form. 
 That is, sending to know before 
 At what o'clock she'll play the whore. 
 The nymphs are constant, gallants private. 
 One scarce can guess what 'tis they drive at. 
 This seems to me a scurvy fashion, 
 Which have been bred in a free nation 
 
POEMS. 381 
 
 With liberty of speech and passion. 
 
 Yet I cannot forbear to spark it, 
 
 And make the best of a bad market. 
 
 Meeting with one, by chance, kind-hearted, 
 
 Who no preliminaries started, 
 
 I enter'd, beyond expectation. 
 
 Into a close negotiation : 
 
 Of which hereafter a relation. 
 
 Humble to fortune, not her slave, 
 
 I still was pleased with what she gave ; 
 
 And, with a firm and cheerful mind, 
 
 I steer ray course with every wind. 
 
 To all the ports she has design'd. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 YE happy swains, whose hearts are free 
 From love's imperial chain. 
 Take warning and be taught by me, 
 
 T'avoid th' eiichanting pain. 
 Fatal the wolves to trembling flocks, 
 
 Fierce winds to blossoms psove, 
 To careless seamen hidden rocks, 
 To human quiet love. 
 
 Fly the fair sex, if bliss you prize ; 
 
 The snake's beneath the flower : 
 Who ever gazed on beauteous eyes 
 
 That tasted quiet more ? 
 
382 POEMS. 
 
 How faithless is the lover's joy ! 
 
 How constant is their care, 
 The kind with falsehood to destroy, 
 
 The cruel with despair ! 
 
 THE FORSAKEN MISTRESS. 
 A Dialogue between Phyllis and Strephon. 
 
 Phyllis. 
 
 TELL me, gentle Strephon, why 
 You from my embraces fly ? 
 Does my love thy love destroy ? 
 Tell me, I will yet be Coy. 
 Stay, oh, stay ! and I will feign 
 (Though I break my heart) disdain ; 
 But, lest I too unkind appear, 
 For every frown I'll shed a tear. 
 And if in vain I court thy love. 
 Let mine at least thy pity move : 
 Ah ! while I scorn vouchsafe to woo ; 
 Methinks you may dissemble too. 
 
 Strephon. 
 Ah, Phyllis ! that you would contrive 
 A way to keep my love alive ! 
 But all your other charms must fail, 
 When kindness ceases to prevail. 
 Alas ! no less than you I grieve. 
 My dying flame has no reprieve ; 
 
POEMS. 3S3 
 
 For I can never hope to find, 
 Should all the nymphs I court be kind, 
 One beauty able to renew 
 Those pleasures I enjoy'd in you, 
 When love and youth did both conspire 
 To fill our breasts and veins with fire. 
 'Tis true some other nymph may gain 
 That heart which merits your disdain ; 
 But second love has still allay, 
 The joys grow aged and decay. 
 Then blame me not for losing more 
 Than love and beauty can restore ; 
 And let this truth thy comfort prove, 
 I would, but can no longer love. 
 
 SONG OF BASSET.' 
 
 LET equipage and dress despair, , 
 Since Basset is come in ; 
 For nothing can oblige the fair 
 Like money and moreen. 
 
 Is any countess in distress, 
 She flies not to the beau; 
 
 ' A popular game. In the " Diaiy of a Lady of Quality " 
 [Sfectator, No. 383), we find : "From six to eleven, at basset. 
 Mem. Never set i^ain upon the ace of diamonds." Apparently 
 the amusement was equally affected in France ; a friend writes to 
 Bussy-Rabutin, in December, 1678 : " On ne parle k Versailles 
 que de bassette, et le roi qui taille mine tout le monde." — 
 Bussy's Correspofidance, iv. 255. The Basset Table provided the 
 prolific Mrs. Centlivre with the title of a comedy. 
 
384 POEMS. 
 
 'Tis only coney can redress 
 Her grief, with a rouleau. 
 
 By this bewitching game betray'd, 
 Poor love is bought and sold ; 
 
 And that which should be a free trade, 
 Is now engross'd by gold. 
 
 Even sense is brought into disgrace 
 
 Where company is met, 
 Or silent stands, or leaves the place, 
 
 While all the talk's Basset. 
 
 Why, ladies, will you stake your hearts, 
 Where a plain cheat is found ? 
 
 You first are rook'd out of those darts 
 That gave yourselves the wound. 
 
 The time, which should be kindly lent 
 
 To plays and witty men, 
 In waiting for a knave is spent, 
 
 Or wishing for a ten. 
 
 Stand in defence of your own charms. 
 Throw down this favourite, 
 
 That threatens, with his dazzling arms. 
 Your beauty and your wit. 
 
 What pity 'tis, those conquering eyes. 
 Which all the world subdue, 
 
 Should, while the lover gazing dies, 
 Be only on Alpue ! 
 
POEMS. 385 
 
 CEASE, anxious world, your fruitless pain 
 To grasp forbidden store ; 
 Your studied labours shall prove vain. 
 
 Your alchemy unblest ; 
 Whilst" seeds of far more precious ore 
 Are ripen'd in my breast. 
 
 My breast the forge of happier love, 
 
 Where my Lucinda lives, 
 And the rich stock does so improve, 
 
 As she her art employs, 
 That every smile and touch she gives 
 Turfls all to golden joys. 
 
 Since then we can such treasures raise, 
 
 Let's no expense refuse ; 
 In love let's lay out all our days ; 
 
 How can we e'er be poor, 
 When every blessing that we use 
 
 Begets a thousand more ? 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 IN some kind dream upon her, slumber, steal, 
 And to Lucinda all, I beg, reveal ; 
 Breathe gentlest words into her ears, 
 Words full of love, but full of fears, 
 c c 
 
386 POEMS. 
 
 Such words as may prevail, like prayers 
 
 From a poor dying martyr's tongue, 
 
 By the sweet voice of pity sung. 
 
 Touch with the voice the more enchanting lute 
 
 To make the charms strike all repulses mute. 
 
 These may insensibly impart 
 
 My tender wishes to her heart. 
 
 And by a sympathetic force 
 
 So tune its strings to love's discourse, 
 
 That when my griefs compel a groan, 
 
 Her sighs may echo to my moan. 
 
 GARDE le secret de ton ame, 
 Et ne te laisse pas flatter, 
 Qu'Iris espargnera ta flamme, 
 Si tu luy permets d'dclater ;^ 
 Son humeur, k I'amour rebelle, 
 
 Exile tous ses doux desirs, 
 Et la tendresse est criminelle 
 Qui veut luy parler en soupirs. 
 
 Puis que tu vis sous son empire, 
 
 II faut luy cacher ton destin. 
 Si tu ne veux le rendre pire 
 
 Percd du trait de son d^dain ; 
 D'une rigeur si delicate 
 
 Ton coeur ne pent rien esperer, 
 Derobe done h. cette ingrate 
 
 La vanity d'en trionfer. 
 
POEMS. 387 
 
 T TPON the downs when shall I breathe at ease, 
 vJ Have nothing else to do but what I please ? 
 In a fresh cooling shade upon the brink 
 Of Arden's spring have time to read and think, 
 And stretch, and sleep, when all my care shall be 
 For health, and pleasure my philosophy ? 
 When shall I rest from business, noise, and strife, 
 Lay down the soldier's and the courtier's life, 
 And in a little melancholy seat 
 Begin at last to live and to forget 
 The nonsense and the farce of what the fools call 
 great ? 
 
 TO MR. J. N., ON HIS TRANSLATIONS 
 OUT OF FRENCH AND ITALIAN. 
 
 WHILE others toil our country to supply 
 With what we need only for luxury. 
 Spices and silk in the rich East provide, 
 To glut our avarice and feed our pride ; 
 You foreign learning prosperously transmit. 
 To raise our virtue and provoke our wit : 
 Such brave designs your generous soul inflame 
 To be a bold adventurer for fame. 
 How much obliged are Italy and France 
 While with your voice their music you advance ! 
 
388 POEMS, 
 
 Your growing fame with envy can oppose, 
 
 Who sing with no less art than they compose. 
 
 In these attempts so few have had success, 
 
 Their beauties suffer in our English dress ; 
 
 By artless hands spoil'd of their native air. 
 
 They seldom pass from moderately fair. 
 
 As if you meant these injuries to atone, 
 
 You give them charms more conquering than their 
 
 own; 
 Not like the dull laborious flatterer, 
 With secret art those graces you confer ; 
 The skilful painters with sligiit strokes impart 
 That subtle beauty which affects the heart. 
 There are who publicly profess they hate 
 Translations, and yet all they write translate : 
 So proud, they scorn to drive a lawful trade, 
 Yet by their wants are shameless pirates made. 
 These you incense, while you their thefts reveal, 
 Or else prevent in what they meant to steal. 
 From all besides you are secure of praise ; 
 But you so high our expectation raise, 
 A general discontent we shall declare 
 If such a workman only should repair ; 
 You to the dead your piety have shown, 
 Adorn'd their monuments ; now build your own. 
 Drawn in the East, we in your lines may trace 
 That genius which of old inspired the place ; 
 The banished Muses back to Greece you bring, 
 Where their best airs you so divinely sing. 
 The world must own they are by you restored 
 To sacred shades where they were first adored. 
 
POEMS. 389 
 
 VOITURE'S URANIA. 
 
 HOPELESS I languish out my days 
 Struck with Urania's conquering eyes j 
 The wretch at whom she darts these rays 
 Must feel the wound until he dies. 
 
 Though endless be her cruelty, 
 Calling her beauties to my mind, 
 I bow beneath her tyranny, 
 And dare not murmur she's unkind. 
 
 Reason this tameness does upbraid, 
 Proffering to arm in my defence ; 
 But when I call her to my aid 
 She's more a traitor than my sense. 
 
 No sooner I the war declare. 
 But straight her functions she denies, 
 And joining forces with the fair 
 Confirms the conquest of her eyes. 
 
 SILVIA. 
 
 THE nymph that undoes me is fair and unkind, 
 No less than a wonder by nature design'd ; 
 She's the grief of my heart, the joy of my eye, 
 And the cause of a flame that never can die. 
 
390 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Her mouth from whence wit still obligingly flows, 
 Has the beautiful blush and the smell of the rose ; 
 Love and destiny both attend on her will, 
 She wounds with a look, with a frown she can kill. 
 
 The desperate lover can hope no redress. 
 
 When beauty and rigour are both in excess ; 
 
 In Silvia they meet, so unhappy am I, 
 
 Who sees her must love, and who loves her must die. 
 
 TO A LADY WHO FLED THE SIGHT 
 OF HIM. 
 
 IF I my Celia could persuade 
 To see those wounds her eyes have made. 
 And hear whilst I that passion tell: 
 Which, like herself, does so excel, 
 How soon we might be freed from care ! 
 She need not fear, nor I despair. 
 Such beauty does the nymph protect 
 That all approach her with respect ; 
 And can I offer' violence 
 Where love does join in her defence ? 
 This guard might all her fears disperse. 
 Did she with savages converse. 
 Then my Celia would surprise 
 With what's produced by her own eyes ; 
 
POEMS. 391 
 
 Those matchless flames which they inspire 
 In her own breast should raise a fire. 
 For love, but with more subtle art, 
 As well as beauty charms the heart. 
 
 TO A LADY, ASKING HIM HOW LONG 
 HE WOULD LOVE HER. 
 
 IT is not, Celia, in our power L^^ 
 
 To say how long our love will last ; 
 It may be we within this hour 
 May lose those joys we now do taste j 
 The blessed, that immortal be. 
 From change in love are only free. 
 Then, since we mortal lovers are. 
 Ask not how long our love will last ; 
 But while it does, let us take care 
 Each minute be with pleasure pass'd : 
 Were it not madness to deny 
 To live because we're sure to die ? 
 
 SONG. 
 
 TELL me no more you love ; in vain, 
 Fair Celia, you this passion feign. 
 Can they pretend to love who do 
 Refuse what love persuades them to ? 
 
392 POEMS. 
 
 Who once hath felt his active flame, 
 Dull laws of honour will disclaim ; 
 You would be thought his slave, and yet 
 You will not to his power submit, 
 More cruel than those beauties are 
 Whose coyness wounds us to despair ; 
 For all the kindness which you show, 
 Each smile and kiss which you bestow. 
 Are like those cordials which we give 
 To dying men to make them live, 
 And languish out an hour in pain. 
 Be kinder, Celia, or disdain. 
 
 TO A VERY YOUNG LADY. 
 
 SWEETEST bud of beauty, may 
 No untimely frost decay 
 Th' early glories which we trace 
 Blooming in thy matchless face ! 
 But kindly opening like the rose 
 Fresh beauties every day disclose. 
 Such as by nature are not shown 
 In all the blossoms she has blown. 
 And then what conquests shall you make 
 Who hearts already daily take ! 
 Scorch'd in the morning with thy beams, 
 How shall we bear those sad extremes. 
 Which must attend thy threatening eyes 
 When thou shalt to thy noon arise ! 
 
POEMS. 393 
 
 THE DIVIDED HEART. 
 
 AH, Celia ! that I were but sure 
 Thy love, like mine, could still endure ; 
 That time and absence, which destroy 
 The. cares of lovers and their joy. 
 Could never rob me of that part 
 Which you have given me of your heart : 
 Others unenvied might possess 
 Whole hearts, and boast that happiness. 
 'Twas nobler fortune to divide 
 The Roman empire in her pride. 
 Than on some low and barbarous throne 
 Obscurely placed to rule alone. 
 Love only from thy heart exacts 
 The several debts thy face contracts, 
 And by that new and juster way 
 Secures thy empire and his sway : 
 Favouring but one he migl\t compel 
 The hopeless lover to rebel. 
 But should he other hearts thus share 
 That in the whole so worthless are, 
 Should into several squadrons draw 
 That strength which, kept entire, could awe. 
 Men would his scatter'd powers deride, 
 And conquering him those spoils divide. 
 
394 POEMS. 
 
 To Her Excellency 
 
 THE MARCHIONESS OF NEWCASTLE,' 
 
 After the Reading of her Incom- 
 parable Poems. 
 
 MADAM, with so much wonder we are struck 
 When we begin to read your matchless book ; 
 Awhile your own excess of merit stays 
 Our forward pens, and does suspend your praise, 
 Till time our minds does gently recompose, 
 Allays this wonder, and our duty shows, 
 Instructs us how your virtues to proclaim. 
 And what we ought to pay to your great fame ; 
 Your fame which in your country has no bounds. 
 But wheresoever learning's known resounds. 
 Those graces nature did till now divide. 
 Your sex's glory and our sex's pride. 
 Are join'd in you, and all to you submit, 
 The brightest beauty and the sharpest wit. 
 No faction here or fiery envy sways, 
 They give you myrtle while we offer bays. 
 
 ' The very famous authoress. Her Life of the duke (which 
 Pepys disliked so_ much, March i8th, 1668) was published in 
 1667. She died in December, 1673 ; he, in December, 1676. 
 She wrote in every possible style, plays, poems, essays on natural 
 philosophy, and what not ; he was responsible for four plays and 
 an adaptation of VEtaurdi. 
 
POEMS. 39S 
 
 What mortal dares dispute those wreaths with you, 
 Arm'd thus with lightning, and with thunder too ? 
 This made the great Newcastle's heart your prize ; 
 Your charming soul and your victorious eyes 
 Had only power his martial mind to tame 
 And raise in his heroic breast a flame : 
 A flame which with his courage still aspires, 
 As if immortal fuel fed those fires. 
 This mighty chief and your great self made one 
 Together the same race of glory run ; 
 Together in the wings of fame you move, 
 Like yours his virtue, and like yours his love. 
 While we your praise endeavouring to rehearse 
 Pay that great duty in our humble verse. 
 Such as may justly move your anger, you. 
 Like heaven, forgive tliem and accept them too. 
 But what we cannot, your brave hero pays. 
 He builds those monuments we strive to raise; 
 Such as to after-ages shall make known. 
 While he records your deathless fame, his own. 
 So when an artist some rare beauty draws, 
 Botlj in our wonder share and our applause : 
 His skill from time secures the glorious dame. 
 And makes himself immortal in her fame. 
 
396 POEMS. 
 
 A PROLOGUE^' 
 
 Spoken at the Opening of the Duke's 
 New Playhouse. 
 
 "TT^IS not in this as in the former age, 
 
 X When wit alone sufficed t'adorn the stage ; 
 When things well said an audience could invite, 
 Without the hope of such a gaudy sight. 
 What with your fathers took would take with you. 
 If wit had still the charm of being new ; 
 Had not enjoyment duU'd your appetite. 
 She in her homely dress would yet delight ; 
 Such stately theatres we nee'd not raise, 
 Our old house would put off our dullest plays. 
 You gallants know a fresh wench of sixteen 
 May drive the trade in honest bombasine. 
 And never want good custom should she lie 
 In a back room, two or three storeys high. 
 But such a beauty as has long been known, 
 Though not decay'd, but to perfection grown, 
 Must, if she mean to thrive in this lewd town. 
 Wear points, laced petticoats, and a rich gown ; 
 Her lodgings, too, must with her dress agree, 
 Be hung with damask or with tapestry, 
 
 ^ For this prologue, and the probable occasion of its being 
 spoken, see note on the "Duke's House," SAe Would if She 
 Could, iv. I. 
 
POEMS. 397 
 
 Have china, cabinets, and a great glass, 
 
 To strike respect into an amorous ass. 
 
 Without the help of stratagems and arts 
 
 An old acquaintance cannot touch your hearts. 
 
 Methinks 'tis hard our authors should submit 
 
 So tamely to their predecessors' wit, 
 
 Since, I am sure, among you there are few 
 
 Would grant your grandfathers had more than you. 
 
 But hold ! I in this business may proceed too far. 
 
 And raise a storm against our theatre, 
 
 And then what would the wise adventurers say 
 
 Who are in a much greater fright to-day 
 
 Than ever poet was about his play ? 
 
 Our apprehensions none can justly blame. 
 
 Money is dearer much to us than fame. 
 
 Thisthought on, let our poets justify 
 
 The reputation of their poetry ; 
 
 We are resolved we will not have to do 
 
 With what's between those gentlemen and you. 
 
 Be kind, and let our house have but your praise, 
 
 You're welcome every day to damn their plays. 
 
 THE IMPERFECT ENJOYMENT. 
 
 AFTER a pretty amorous discourse, 
 She does resist my love with pleasing force ; 
 Moved not with anger, but with modesty, 
 Against her will she is my enemy. 
 
398 POEMS. 
 
 Her eyes the rudeness of her arms excuse, 
 
 Whilst those accept what these seem to refuse ; 
 
 To ease my passion and to make me blest 
 
 The obliging smock falls from her whiter breast. 
 
 Then with her lovely hands she does conceal 
 
 Those wonders chance so kindly did reveal. 
 
 In vain, alas ! her nimble fingers strove 
 
 To shield her beauties from my greedy love : 
 
 Guarding her breasts, her lips she did expose, 
 
 To save a lily she must lose a rose. 
 
 So many charms she has in every place, 
 
 A hundred hands cannot defend each grace. 
 
 Sighing at length her force she does recall, 
 
 For since I must have part she'll give rne all. 
 
 Her arms the joyful conqueror embrace. 
 
 And seem to guide me to the sought-for place : 
 
 Her love is in her sparkling eyes express'd, 
 
 She falls o' the bed for pleasure more than rest. 
 
 But oh, strange passion ! oh, abortive joy ! 
 
 My zeal does my devotion quite destroy : 
 
 Come to the temple where I should adore 
 
 My saint, I worship at the sacred door ; 
 
 Oh, cruel chance ! the town which did oppose 
 
 My strength so long, now yields to my dispose ; 
 
 When overjoy'd with victory I fall 
 
 Dead at the foot of the surrender'd wall. 
 
 Without the usual ceremony, we 
 
 Have both fulfiU'd the amorous mystery ; 
 
 The action which we should have jointly done, 
 
 Each has unluckily perform'd alone ; 
 
 The union which our bodies should enjoy, 
 
POEMS. 399 
 
 The union of our eager souls destroy.. 
 Our flames are punish'd by their own excess, 
 We'd had more pleasure had our loves been less. 
 She blush'd and frown'd, perceiving we had done 
 The sport she thought we scarce had yet begun. 
 Alas ! said I, condemn yourself, not me. 
 This is th' effect of too much modesty. 
 Hence with that peevish virtue, the delight 
 Of both our victories was lost i' the fight ; 
 Yet from my shame your glory does arise, 
 My weakness proves the vigour of your eyes : 
 They did consume the victim ere it came 
 Unto the altar, with a purer flame : 
 Phyllis, let then this comfort ease your care, 
 You'd been more happy had you been less fair. 
 
 THE LIBERTINE. 
 
 SINCE death on all lays his impartial hand. 
 And all resign at his command. 
 The Stoic too, as well as I, 
 With all his gravity must die : 
 Let's wisely manage the last span. 
 The momentary life of man. 
 And still in pleasure's circle move, 
 Giving four friends the days, and all our nights to 
 love. 
 
400 POEMS. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Thus, thus, whilst we are here, let's perfectly live, 
 And taste all the pleasures that nature can give ; 
 Fresh heat when life's fading our wine will inspire. 
 And fill all our veins with a noble desire. 
 
 When we are sapless, old and impotent. 
 
 Then we shall grieve for youth misspent : 
 
 Wine and woman ^idy can 
 
 Cherish the drooping heart of man. 
 
 Let's drink until our blood o'erflows 
 
 Its channels and luxurious grows ; 
 
 Then when our whores have drain'd each vein. 
 
 And the thin mass fresh spirits crave, let's drink again. 
 
 Chorus— ^\i\)s, thus, &c. 
 
 III. 
 
 The happy king, whom heaven itself call'd wise, 
 Saw all was vanity but dice ; 
 His active mind, ever in quest of bliss, 
 Survey'd all things, and stuck to this. 
 Myriads of harlots round him strove. 
 Some sung, whilst others acted love. 
 Who shall our frailty then condemn, 
 Since one by heaven inspired left heaven to follow 
 them? 
 
 Chorus — Thus, thus, &c. 
 
POEMS. 401 
 
 FAIR Iris, all our time is spent 
 In trifling, whilst we dally ; 
 The lovers who're indifferent 
 Commit the greatest folly. 
 Ah ! stint not then the flowing pleasure 
 To such a wretched scanty measure ; 
 Since boundless passion boundless joys will prove, 
 Excess can only justify our love. 
 
 EPHELIA'S LAMENTATION.' 
 
 HOW far are they deceived, who hope in vain 
 A lasting lease of joys from love t'obtain ! 
 All the dear sweets we promise or expect, 
 After enjoyment turn to cold neglect. 
 Could love a constant happiness have known, 
 The mighty wonder had in me been shown ; 
 Our passions are so favoured by fate. 
 As if she meant them an eternal date. 
 So kind you look'd, such tender words you spoke, 
 'Twas past belief such vows should e'er be broke. 
 
 ^ Attributed to Etheredge by Mr. Ebsworth (Roxburghe 
 Ballads, voL iv. pp. 573-4), on the authority, doubtless, of 
 Buckingham's couplet : 
 
 Poor George grows old, his Muse is worn out of fashion ; 
 Hoarsely he sung Ephelia's Lamentation. 
 
 Epistle to Mr, Julian. 
 
 D D 
 
402 POEMS. 
 
 Fix'd on my eyes, how often did you say 
 
 You could with pleasure gaze an age away ? 
 
 When thoughts too great for words had made you mute, 
 
 In kisses you would tell my hand your suit. 
 
 So great your passions were, so far above 
 
 The common gallantries that pass for love, 
 
 At worst, I thought, if you unkind should prove, 
 
 Your ebbing passion would be kinder far 
 
 Than the first transports of all others are. 
 
 Nor was my love or fondness less than yours, 
 
 In you I centred all my hopes of cures ; 
 
 For you my duty to my friends forgot, 
 
 For you I lost — alas 1 what lost I not ? 
 
 Fame, all the valuable things of life, 
 
 To meet your love by a less name than wife ; 
 
 How happy was I then, how dearly blest, 
 
 When you lay panting on my tender breast, 
 
 Acting such things as ne'er can be express'd ! 
 
 Thousand fresh looks you gave me every hour, 
 
 Whilst greedily I did those looks devour; 
 
 Till quite o'ercome with charms I trembling lay. 
 
 At every look you gave, melted away. 
 
 I was so highly happy in your love, 
 
 Methought I pitied them that dwelt above. 
 
 Think then, thou greatest, loveliest, falsest man ! 
 
 How you have vow'd, how I have loved, and then, 
 
 My faithless dear ! be cruel if you can. 
 
 How I have loved I cannot, need not tell ; 
 
 For every act has shown I loved too well. 
 
 Since first I saw you I ne'er had a thought 
 
 Was not entirely yours ; to you I brought 
 
POEMS. 403 
 
 My virgin innocence and fteely made 
 
 My love an offering to your noble bed. 
 
 Since when you've been the star by which I steer'd, 
 
 And nothing else but you I loved or fear'd. 
 
 Your smiles I only live by; and I must, 
 
 Whene'er you frown, be shattefd into dust. 
 
 Oh 1 can the coldness which you show me now. 
 
 Suit with the generous heat you once did show ? 
 
 I cannot live on pity or respect : 
 
 A thought so mean would my whole love infect ; 
 
 Less than your love I scorn, sir, to expect. 
 
 Let me not live in dull indifferency, 
 
 But give me rage enough to make me die : 
 
 For if from you I needs must meet my fate, 
 
 Before your pity I would choose your hate. 
 
 DRYDEN TO ETHEREDGE. 
 
 TO you, who live in chill degree, 
 As map informs, of fifty-three,' 
 And do not much for cold atone. 
 By bringing thither fifty-one, 
 Methinks all climes should be alike. 
 From tropic even to pole artique ; 
 Since you have such a constitution 
 As nowhere suffers diminution. 
 
 ' Not quite correct. Dryden probably wanted a rhyme to 
 "degree;" or perhaps "fifty-three" was meant as a mild anti- 
 thesis to "fifty-one." 
 
404 POEMS. 
 
 You can be old in grave debate, 
 
 And young in love-aflFairs of state ; 
 
 And both to wives and husbands show 
 
 The vigour of a plenipo :• 
 
 Like mighty missioner you come 
 
 Ad partes Infidelium. 
 
 A work of wondrous merit sure, 
 
 So far to go, so much t'endure ; 
 
 And all to preach to German dame. 
 
 Where sound of Cupid never came. 
 
 Less had you done, had you been sent 
 
 As far as Drake or Pinto went. 
 
 For cloves or nutmegs to the line a, 
 
 Or even for oranges to China. 
 
 That had indeed been charity, 
 
 Where lovesick ladies helpless lie, 
 
 Chapt, and, for want of liquor, dry ; 
 
 But you have made your zeal appear 
 
 Within the circle of the Bear. 
 
 What region of the earth's so dull. 
 
 That is not of your labours full ? 
 
 Triptolemus (so sung the Nine) 
 
 Strew'd plenty from his cart divine ; 
 
 But spite of all these fable-makers. 
 
 He never sow'd an Almain acres. 
 
 No, that was left by fate's decree 
 
 To be perform'd and sung by thee. 
 
 Thou break'st through forms with as much ease 
 
 As the French king through articles. 
 
 In grand affairs thy days are spent, 
 
 In waging weighty compliment 
 
POEMS. 405 
 
 With such as monarchs represent. 
 They whom such vast fatigues attend 
 Want some soft minutes to unbend, 
 To show the world that, now and then. 
 Great ministers are mortal men. 
 Then Rhenish rummers walk the round ; 
 In bumpers every king is crown'd ; 
 Besides three holy mitred Hectors, 
 And the whole college of Electors. 
 No health of potentate is sunk, 
 That pays to make his envoy drunk. 
 These Dutch delights I mention'd last 
 Suit not, I know, your English taste. 
 For wine, to leave a whore or play, 
 Was ne'er your Excellency's way. 
 Nor need this title give offence, 
 For here you were your Excellence ; 
 For gaming, writing, speaking, keeping, 
 His Excellence for all — but sleeping. 
 Now if you tope in form, and treat, 
 'Tis the sour sauce to the sweetmeat. 
 The fine you pay for being great. 
 Nay, here's a harder imposition, 
 Which is indeed the Court's petition. 
 That, setting worldly pomp aside, 
 Which poet has at font denied. 
 You would be pleased in humble way 
 To write a trifle call'd a Play. 
 This truly is a degradation. 
 But would oblige the crown and nation 
 Next to your wise negotiation. 
 
406 POEMS. 
 
 If you pretend, as well you may, 
 Your high degree, your friepds will say 
 The Duke St.. Aignion made a play. 
 If Gallic wit convince you scarce, i , 
 His Grace of Bucks has made a farQe, 
 And you, whose comic wit is terse all, 
 Can hardly fall below Rehearsal. 
 Then finish what you have began, 
 But scribble faster if you can ; , 
 For yet no George, io our discerning. 
 Has writ without a ten years' warning. 
 
INDEX TO NOTES. 
 
 Baptiste, 339. 
 
 Barroy, 298. 
 
 Basset, 383. 
 
 Bear tavern, 127, 165. 
 
 Beaver, 176. 
 
 Bouree, 327. 
 
 Brussels, Diversions of, 268. 
 
 Bubble, 37. 
 
 Bussy-Rabutin, 324-5. 
 
 Calotte, 175. ' 
 Candale, Duke of, 337. 
 Chedreux, 298. 
 China orange, 218. 
 Compter, 50. 
 Coranto, 327. 
 Comuel, Madame, 323. 
 Covent Garden shows, 178. 
 
 D'Ambois, 324. 
 Dill and ducamiers, 371. 
 Dorset, Earl of, 3. 
 Drury Lane, 165. 
 Duke's House, 190, 396. 
 
 Eveillfe, 323. 
 
 Farendon, 143. 
 Fleece tavern, 24. 
 FMtes douces, 268. 
 
 Foxhall, 203. 
 French House, 127. 
 
 Gray's Inn Walks, igo. 
 " Great horse," 52. 
 
 Haggard, 161. 
 Hicks' Hall, 13. 
 High Park, 302. 
 
 King's House, 190. 
 
 Lambert, Michel, 338. 
 Lantrillou, 213.' 
 Lincoln's Inn Fields, 91. 
 Locket's, 261. 
 London Bridge, 13. 
 Long's, 261. 
 
 Matadore, 267. 
 Merille, 337. 
 Middleton, Earl of, 377. 
 Mirror of knighthood, 96. 
 Mulberry Garden, 96. 
 
 Newcastle, Duchess of, 394. 
 New Exchange, 143. 
 
 Oblivion, Act of, 232. 
 Oliver's knights, 92. 
 
408 
 
 Ombre, 184. 
 Orange essence, 161. 
 
 Pall Mall, 293. 
 Fancridge, 44, 
 Patches, 360. 
 Point, 135. 
 Pont Neuf, 52. 
 Premunire, 182. 
 Pulvilio, 309. 
 
 INDEX TO NOTES. 
 
 Rebate, 320. 
 Rose tavern, 47. 
 Ruelle, 338. 
 
 St. James's Street, 123. 
 Scroope, Sir Car, 358. 
 Sleeveless, 333. 
 
 Totnam, 245. 
 
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 Annals of the English Stage 
 
 FROM 
 
 THOMAS BETTEB.TON TO EDMUXD KEAN. 
 
 By DR. DORAN. F.S.A. 
 
 Edited and Revised by R. W. Lowe, from Author's Annotated Copy. 
 With Fifty Copperplate Portraits and Eighty Wood Engravings. 
 
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 Daily News. 
 
 *' It is not a mere bibliography, but rather what is known as a ' catalogue raisonn^, 
 since a large number of the titles are accompanied by serviceable explanatory notes, 
 together with mention of prices tor which scarce works have been sold at more or less 
 recent sales. It is a gracious task to render homage to the industry and the painstaking 
 care displayed on every page of this volume." 
 
 Scotsman. 
 
 "The entries go as far back in point ot time as the * Coventry Mysteries,' and come 
 down so near the present day as to include reference to the paniphlet containing the 
 articles from the Saturday Review on the state of the London theatres which appeared 
 last month, and the new edition of Dr. Doran's * Annals of the Stage,' which was 
 published last week. The work will be heartily welcomed by librarians and bookmen as 
 a valua|>le product of bibliographical skill and industry. It is printed in a very elegant 
 fashion, and published in a limited issue, and will probably soon become as scarce and 
 high>pnced as many of the books to which its pages give reference." 
 Glasgrow Herald. 
 
 " It consists of about two thousand titles, the great majority of which are ^ken 
 directly from the works described. These are arranged alphabetically^ with exhaustive 
 cross-references. Notes regarding each actor and actress are given, with an account of 
 the occurrences to which particular works refer, special attention being paid to the less 
 known and more curious pamphlets." 
 
 PaU Mall Gazette. , 
 
 " Mr. Lowe's notes are, as a rule, eminently to the point, and add greatly to the value 
 of his work. It is difficult to estimate the amount of patient labour that goes to the 
 compilation of such a book as this, especially when it is the first of its kind; and Mr, 
 Lowe's diligence, accuracy, and enthusiasm for his subject deserve the warmest lecog- 
 lution. The book is excellently printed and got up, the English edition being limited 
 to 350 numbered copies, while 150 have been printed for America." 
 Manchester Examiner. 
 
 "This is a book the leaves of which can be turned over with considerable interest and 
 no small amount of instruction by that miscellaneous-minded person, the general reader, 
 and to the student of the special class of literature with which it deals it will be very 
 valuable." 
 
 14 King William Street, Strand, London, W.C. 
 
Publications of John C. Nimmo. 
 
 Post 8vo, hand-made paper, 750 copies, each numbered, price 10s. 6d. net. 
 Also 250 large-paper copies, in half German calf, each numbered. 
 
 More Lyrics from the Song-Books 
 of the Elizabethan Age. 
 
 Edited by A. H. BULL EN, B.A. 
 
 SOME PRESS NOTICES. 
 Scotsman. 
 "Mr. A. H. Bullen has found a happy hunting-ground for songs in the, 
 anthologies of the Elizabethan period. His first collection of lyrics rapidly 
 iVon the favour of lovers of literature, and brought to the light of print many 
 gems of excellent lustre that had lain hidden in the manuscripts hoarded by 
 collectors. His reprint of ' England's Helicon ' virhetted the wholesome appetite 
 for such good songs, and his new volume, ' More Lyrics from the Song-Books 
 of the Elizabethan Age,' will go far to satisfy the demand for more of the same. 
 This collection is issued in the same elegant form as the others — a form which 
 reflects the highest credit upon the publisher of the book, and will make the 
 volume prized by collectors of beautiful books." 
 
 Manchester Examiner. 
 " Mr. A. H. Bullen's new book, ' More Lyrics from the Song-Books of the 
 Elizabethan Age,' is a worthy companion of the volume issued some months 
 ago. Whilst that volume was still in the press the compiler was again gleaning 
 where he had reaped, confident in the success of his first venture. The result 
 is a rich store of lyrics which were absolutely unknown to the public, and of 
 many of which even specialists were ignorant. Mr. Bullen has unearthed a large 
 number of the poems from unique books in the British Museum, the Bodleian 
 Library, the Royal College of Music, Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps' Library at 
 Hollingbury Copse, and unpubhshed manuscripts." 
 
 Notes and Queries. 
 
 "From the same rich sources that have supplied him with theprevfous 
 volume of ' Lyrics ' Mr. Bullen has dug out yet further treasures. His earlier 
 volume is already prized by the bibliophile and by the lover of poetry. The 
 second forms a worthy companion. All but inexhaustible seems the supply of 
 poetry of the Elizabethan era. Poem after poem that we come upon in these 
 second gleanings is good enough in a later age to have won the writer a place 
 among poets. Men such as Carew, for instance, have obtained a name as 
 poets without writing anything equal to the best of Thomas Campion, whom 
 Mr. Bullen has permanently rescued from practical oblivion." 
 
 Daily News. 
 ■' They are beautiful tunable pieces ; they have the accent of that old day, 
 a music like the jargoning of birds, artless trills that our later art ' never can 
 recapture.' Such were our fathers' songs, and why are our modern songs, as a 
 rule, such trash ? " 
 
 14 King William Street, Strand, London, W. C.