Mons. Well, a pinmaker in

Don. But he was a gentleman for all that, fop, for he was a sergeant to a company of the trainbands; and my great-great-grandfather wasMons. Was his son, what then? won't you let me clear this gentleman?

Don. He was, he was

Mons. He was a felt-maker, his son a wineCooper, your father a vintner, and so you came to be a Canary merchant.

Don. But we were still gentlemen, for our coat , as the heralds say--was

Mons. Was! your sign was the Three Tuns, and the field Canary; now let me tell you, this Latest gentleman

Don. Now, that you should dare to dishonour this family!-by the graves of my ancestors in Great St. Ellen's church

Mons. Yard.

Don. Thou shalt die for't, ladron!

[Runs at GERRARD. Mons. Hold, hold, uncle, are you mad? Hip. Oh! oh!

Mons. Nay then, by your own Spanish rules of bour (though he be my rival), I must help him ; [Draws his sword.] since I brought him into dan-Aside.] Sure he will not show his valour upon his nephew and son-in-law, otherwise I should be afraid of showing mine.-Here, Mr. Gerrard, go in bere, nay, you shall go in, Mr. Gerrard, I'll serure you all; and, parson, do you go in too with em, for I see you are afraid of a sword and the other world, though you talk of it so familiarly, and make it so fine a place.

[Opens a door, and thrusts GERRARD, Hippolita, Parson, and PRUE in, then shuts it, and guards it

with his sword.

Don. Tu quoque, Brute!

Mrs. Caut. They are relations, they say, of my cousin's, who pressed in when I let in the parson; they say my cousin invited 'em to his wedding.

Mons. Nay, now, uncle, you must understand reason.-What, you are not only a Don, but you are a Don Quixote too, I vow and swear!

Don. Thou spot, sploach of my family and blood!

I vil have his blood, look

parience to hear me.

you.

Mons. Two of my relations !-[Aside.] Ha! they are my cousins indeed of the other night; a pox take 'em!-but that's no curse for 'em; a plague take 'em then!—but how came they here?

Don. Aside.] Now must I have witnesses too of the dishonour of my family; it were Spanish prudence to despatch 'em away out of the house, before I begin my revenge. [To FLIRT and

Mons. Pray, good Spanish uncle, have but had done, done, done the feat to your daughter. Suppose I say, suppose he Dea. How! done the feat! done the feat! done

te feat! en hora mala !

Mons. I say, suppose, suppose―

Don. Suppose!

Mons. I say, suppose he had, for I do but supready to marry her, however.

pose it; well, I am

Now

FLOUNCE.] What are you? what make you here? who would you speak with?

Flirt. With Monsieur.

Don. Here he is.

Mons. Now will these jades discredit me, and spoil my match just in the coupling minute. [Aside. Don. Do you know 'em?

Mons. Yes, sir, sure, I know 'em.-[Aside to 'em.] Pray, ladies, say as I say, or you will spoil my wedding, for I am just going to be married; and if my uncle or mistress should know who you are, it might break off the match.

Flou. We come on purpose to break the match. Mons. How !

Flirt. Why, d'ye think to marry, and leave us so in the lurch?

marriage is as good a solder for cracked female Lanour as blood; and can't you suffer the shame But for a quarter of an hour, till the parson has arned us? and then if there be any shame, it becomes mine; for here in England, the father has nothing to do with the daughter's business, bonour, what d'ye call't, when once she's married,

'ye see.

Ta be a Spaniard still, voto a me hora! and I will Don. England! what d'ye tell me of England? revenged.-Pedro! Juan! Sanchez !

[Calls at the door.

Enter Mrs. CAUTION, followed by FLIRT and FLOUNCE,

in vizard masks.

Mons. They won't trouble you, sir; they are going again.-Ladies, you hear what my uncle says; I know you won't trouble him.-[Aside.] I wish I were well rid of 'em.

Flou. You shall not think to put us off so.

[Aside.

Don. Who are they? what are their names?
Flirt. We are, sir-

Mons. Nay, for heaven's sake don't tell who you are, for you will undo me, and spoil my match infallibly. [Aside to 'em. Flou. We care not, 'tis our business to spoil matches.

Mrs. Caut. What's the matter, brother? hese, sister? are they not men in women's clothes? Don Pedro! Sanchez ! Juan !-but who are

What make they here?

Mons. You need not, for I believe married men are your best customers, for greedy bachelors take up with their wives.

Don. Come, pray ladies, if you have no business here, be pleased to retire; for few of us are in humour to be so civil to you as you may deserve. Mons. Ay, prithee, dear jades, get you gone. Flirt. We will not stir.

Don. Who are they, I say, fool? and why don't they go?

Flou. We are, sir

Mons. Hold hold !-They are persons of honour and quality, and

Flirt. We are no persons of honour and quality, sir, we are

Mons. They are modest ladies, and being in a kind of disguise, will not own their quality. Flou. We modest ladies!

Mons. Why, sometimes you are in the humour to pass for women of honour and quality; prithee, dear jades, let your modesty and greatness come upon you now. [Aside to 'em.

Flirt. Come, sir, not to delude you, as he would have us, we are

Mons. Hold, I say!-'Tis even true as Gerrard says, the women will tell, I see.

Flou. If you would have her silent, stop her mouth with that ring.

Mons. Will that do't? here, here-'Tis worth one hundred and fifty pounds.-[Takes off his ring and gives it her.] But I must not lose my match, I must not lose a trout for a fly.-That men should live to hire women to silence!

Re-enter GERRARD, HippolitA, Parson, and PRUE.

Don. Oh, are you come again!

[Draws his sword and runs at 'em, MONSIEUR holds him. Mons. Oh! hold! hold! uncle !-What, are you mad, Gerrard, to expose yourself to a new danger? why would you come out yet?

Ger. Because our danger now is over, I thank the parson there. And now we must beg― [GERRARD and HIPPOLITA kneel. Mons. Nay, faith, uncle, forgive him now, since he asks you forgiveness upon his knees, and my poor cousin too.

Hip. You are mistaken, cousin; we ask him blessing, and you forgiveness.

Mons. How, how, how! what do you talk of blessing? what do you ask your father blessing, and he ask me forgiveness? but why should he ask me forgiveness?

Hip. Because he asks my father's blessing. Mons. Pish! pish! I don't understand you, I vow and swear.

Hip. The parson will expound it to you, cousin.
Mons. Hey! what say you to it, parson?
Par. They are married, sir.

Mons. Married!

Mrs. Caut. Married! so, I told you what twould come to.

Don. You told us !

Mons. Nay, she is setting up for the reputation of a witch.

Don. Married!-Juan, Sanchez, Pedro, arm! arm! arm!

Mrs. Caut. A witch! a witch!

Hip. Nay, indeed, father, now we are married, you had better call the fiddlers.-Call 'em, Prue, quickly. [Exit PRUE. Mons. Who do you say, married, man? Par. Was I not sent for on purpose to marry 'em? why should you wonder at it?

Mons. No, no, you were to marry me, man, to her; I knew there was a mistake in't somehow ; you were merely mistaken, therefore you must do your business over again for me now. The parson was mistaken, uncle, it seems, ha! ha! ha!

Mrs. Caut. I suppose five or six guineas made him make the mistake, which will not be rectified now, nephew. They'll marry all that come near 'em, and, for a guinea or two, care not what mischief they do, nephew.

Don. Married!-Pedro! Sanchez !

Mons. How! and must she be his wife then for ever and ever? have I held the door then for this, like a fool as I was?

Mrs. Caut. Yes, indeed!

Mons. Have I worn golilia here for this? little breeches for this?

Mrs. Caut. Yes, truly.

Mons. And put on the Spanish honour with the habit, in defending my rival? nay then, I'll have another turn of honour in revenge. Come, uncle,

I'm of your side now, sa! sa! sa! but let's stay for our force; Sanchez, Juan, Pedro, arm! arm arm!

Enter two Blacks and a Spaniard, followed by PRUE, MARTIN, and five other gentlemen-like fiddlers. Don. Murder the villain! kill him!

[Running all upon GERRARD

Mar. Hold! hold! sir!
Don. How now! who sent for you, friends?
Mar. We fiddlers, sir, often come unsent for.
Don. And you are often kicked down stairs for'

too.

Mar. No, sir, our company was never kicked I think.

Don. Fiddlers, and not kicked! then to preserv your virgin honour, get you down stairs quickly for we are not at present disposed much for mirth voto !

Mons. [Peeping.] A pox! is it you, is it you Martin?-Nay, uncle, then 'tis in vain; for the won't be kicked down stairs, to my knowledge They are gentlemen fiddlers, forsooth! A pox on ail gentlemen fiddlers and gentlemen dancing-masters say I.

Don. How! ha!

[Pausin

Mons. Well, Flirt, now I am a match for thee now I may keep you. And there's little differ ence betwixt keeping a wench and marriage; onl marriage is a little the cheaper; but the other i the more honourable now, vert and bleu! Nay now I may swear a French oath too. Come, com I am thine; let us strike up the bargain: thine according to the honourable institution of keeping -Come.

Flirt. Nay, hold, sir; two words to the bargain first, I have ne'er a lawyer here to draw article and settlements.

Mons. How is the world come to that? man cannot keep a wench without articles and set tlements! Nay, then 'tis e'en as bad as marriage indeed, and there's no difference betwixt a wife an a wench.

Flirt. Only in cohabitation; for the first articl shall be against cohabitation :-we mistresses suffe no cohabitation.

Mons. Nor wives neither now.

Flirt. Then separate maintenance, in case you should take a wife, or I a new friend.

Mons. How! that too! then you are every whi as bad as a wife.

Flirt. Then my house in town and yours in the country, if you will.

Morts. A mere wife!

Flirt. Then my coach apart, as well as my apart.

Mons. As bad as a wife still!

be

Flirt. But take notice, I will have no little dirty, second-hand chariot new furbished, but a large, sociable, well-painted coach; nor will I keep it till it be as well known as myself, and it come to be called Flirt-coach; nor will I have such pitifu horses as cannot carry me every night to the Park: for I will not miss a night in the Park, I'd have you to know.

Mons. 'Tis very well: you must have your great, gilt, fine painted coaches. I'm sure they are grown so common already amongst you, that ladies of quality begin to take up with hackneys again, jarnie !-But what else?

Flirt. Then, that you do not think I will be served by a little dirty boy in a bonnet, but a couple of handsome, lusty, cleanly footmen, fit to serve ladies of quality, and do their business as they should do.

Mons. What then?

Flirt. Then, that you never grow jealous of them.

Mons. Why, will you make so much of them?
Flirt. I delight to be kind to my servants.
Mons. Well, is this all?

Firt. No.-Then, that when you come to my bose, you never presume to touch a key, lift up a latch, or thrust a door, without knocking beforehand: and that you ask no questions, if you see a stray piece of plate, cabinet, or looking-glass, in my house.

Mons. Just a wife in everything.-But what else? Flirt. Then, that you take no acquaintance with me abroad, nor bring me home any when you are drunk, whom you will not be willing to see there When you are sober.

Mons. But what allowance? let's come to the main business; the money.

Flirt. Stay, let me think: first for advancemoney, five hundred pounds for pins.

Mons. A very wife!

Flirt. Then you must take the lease of my house, and furnish it as becomes one of my quality; for don't you think we'll take up with your old Queen Elizabeth furniture, as your wives do.

Mons. Indeed there she is least like a wife, as

she says.

Flirt. Then for house-keeping, servants' wages, clothes, and the rest, I'll be contented with a thousand pounds a year present maintenance, and but three hundred pounds a year separate maintenance for my life, when your love grows cold. But I am contented with a thousand pounds a year, because for pendants, neck-laces, and all sorts of jewels, and such trifles, nay, and some plate, I will shift myself as I can; make shifts, which you shall not take any notice of.

Mons. A thousand pounds a year! what will wenching come to? Time was a man might have fared as well at a much cheaper rate, and a lady of one's affections, instead of a house, would have been contented with a little chamber, three pair of stairs backward, with a little closet or ladder to't; and instead of variety of new gowns and rich petticoats, with her dishabillie, or flame-colour gown called Indian, and slippers of the same, would have been contented for a twelvemonth; and instead of visits and gadding to plays, would have entertained herself at home with St. George for England, The Knight of the Sun, or, The Practice of Piety; and instead of sending her wine and meat from the French-houses, would have been contented, if you bad given her, poor wretch, but credit at the next handler's and chequered cellar; and then, instead of a coach, would have been well satisfied to have e out and taken the air for three or four bours in the evening in the balcony, poor soul. Well, Flirt, however, we'll agree:-'tis but three dred pounds a year separate maintenance, you say, when I am weary of thee and the

charge.

had not Spanish policy enough to keep my daughter from being debauched from me. But methinks my Spanish policy might help me yet. I have it-so

I will cheat 'em all; for I will declare I understood the whole plot and contrivance, and connived at it, finding my cousin a fool, and not answering my expectation. Well, but then if I approve of the match, I must give this mock-dancing-master my estate, especially since half he would have in right of my daughter, and in spite of me. Well, I am resolved to turn the cheat upon themselves, and give them my consent and estate.

Mons. Come, come, ne'er be troubled, uncle : 'twas a combination, you see, of all these heads and your daughter's, you know what I mean, uncle, not to be thwarted or governed by all the Spanish policy in Christendom. I'm sure my French policy would not have governed her: so since I have 'scaped her, I am glad I have 'scaped her, jarnie!

Mrs. Caut. Come, brother, you are wiser than I, you see: ay, ay.

Don. No, you think you are wiser than I now, in earnest but know, while I was thought a gull, I gulled you all, and made them and you think I knew nothing of the contrivance. Confess, did not you think verily that I knew nothing of it, and that I was a gull?

Mrs. Caut. Yes indeed, brother, I did think verily you were a gull. Hip. How's this?

[Listening.

Don. Alas, alas! all the sputter I made was but to make this young man, my cousin, believe, when the thing should be effected, that it was not with my connivance or consent: but since he is so well satisfied, I own it. For do you think I would ever have suffered her to marry a monsieur, a monsieur ? guarda!-besides, it had been but a beastly incestuous kind of a match, voto !—

Mrs. Caut. Nay, then I see, brother, you are wiser than I indeed.

Mons. How, uncle! what was't you said? Nay, if I had your Spanish policy against me, it was no wonder I missed of my aim, mon foy!

Don. I was resolved too my daughter should not marry a coward, therefore made the more ado to try you, sir. But I find you are a brisk man of honour, firm stiff Spanish honour; and that you may see I deceived you all along, and you not me, ay, and am able to deceive you still, for I know now you think that I will give you little or nothing with my daughter, like other fathers, since you have married her without my consent-but, I say, I'll deceive you now; for you shall have the most part of my estate in present, and the rest at my death. There's for you: I think I have deceived you now, look you.

Ger. No, indeed, sir, you have not deceived me; for I never suspected your love to your daughter, nor your generosity.

Don. How, sir! have a care of saying I have not

guarda!-Pray, gentlemen, do not think any man could deceive me, look you; that any man could steal my daughter, look you, without my connivance :

The less we speak, the more we think ;
And he sees most, that seems to wink.

Hip. So, so, now I could give you my blessing, father; now you are a good complaisant father, indeed :

When children marry, parents should obey, Since love claims more obedience far than they. [Exeunt omnes.

THE ladies first I am to compliment,
Whom (if he could) the poet would content,
But to their pleasure then they must consent.
Most spoil their sport still by their modesty,
And when they should be pleased, cry out, O
fy!

And the least smutty jest will ne'er pass by.
But city damsel ne'er had confidence
At smutty play to take the least offence,
But mercy shows, to show her innocence.
Yet lest the merchants' daughters should to-day
Be scandalised, not at our harmless play
But our Hippolita, since she's like one
Of us bold flirts of t'other end o'th' town;
Our poet sending to you (though unknown)
His best respects by me, does frankly own
The character to be unnatural;

Hippolita is not like you at all:

You, while your lovers court you, still look grum,
And far from wooing, when they woo, cry mum ;
And if some of you e'er were stolen away,
Your portion's fault 'twas only, I dare say.

Thus much for him the poet bid me speak;
Now to the men I my own mind will break.
You good men o'th' Exchange, on whom alone
We must depend, when sparks to sea are gone;
Into the pit already you are come,

'Tis but a step more to our tiring room;
Where none of us but will be wondrous sweet
Upon an able love of Lombard-street.
You we had rather see between our scenes,
Than spendthrift fops with better clothes and miens;
Instead of laced coats, belts, and pantaloons,
Your velvet jumps, gold chains, and grave fur gowns;
Instead of periwigs, and broad cock'd hats,
Your satin caps, small cuffs, and vast cravats.
For you are fair and square in all your dealings,
You never cheat your doxies with gilt shillings;
You ne'er will break our windows; then you are
Fit to make love, while our huzzas make war;
And since all gentlemen must pack to sea,
Our gallants and our judges you must be:
We, therefore, and our poet, do submit,
To all the camlet cloaks now i'the pit.

POETS, like cudgell'd bullies, never do
At first or second blow submit to you;
But will provoke you still, and ne'er have done,
Tell you are weary first with laying on.
The late so baffled scribbler of this day,
Though he stands trembling, bids me boldly say,
What we before most plays are used to do,
For poets out of fear first draw on you;
In a fierce prologue the still pit defy,
And, ere you speak, like Castril give the lie.
but though our Bays's battles oft I've fought,
And with bruised knuckles their dear conquests
bought;

Nay, never yet fear'd odds upon the stage,
In prologue dare not hector with the age;

But would take quarter from your saving hands,
Though Bays within all yielding countermands,
Says, you confederate wits no quarter give,
Therefore his play shan't ask your leave to live.
Well, let the vain rash fop, by huffing so,
Think to obtain the better terms of you;
But we, the actors, humbly will submit,
Now, and at any time, to a full pit;
Nay, often we anticipate your rage,
And murder poets for you on our stage:
We set no guards upon our tiring-room,
But when with flying colours there you come,
We patiently, you see, give up to you
Our poets, virgins, nay, our matrons too.

SCENE I.-HORNER'S Lodging.' Enter HORNER, and Quack following him at a distance.

Horn. [Aside.] A quack is as fit for a pimp, as midwife for a bawd; they are still but in their way, both helpers of nature.-[Aloud.] Well, my dear doctor, hast thou done what I desired?

Quack. I have undone you for ever with the women, and reported you throughout the whole town as bad as a eunuch, with as much trouble as if I had made you one in earnest.

Horn. But have you told all the midwives you know, the orange wenches at the playhouses, the city husbands, and old fumbling keepers of this end of the town? for they'll be the readiest to report it.

Quack. I have told all the chambermaids, waiting-women, tire-women, and old women of my acquaintance; nay, and whispered it as a secret to 'em, and to the whisperers of Whitehall; so that you need not doubt 'twill spread, and you will be as odious to the handsome young women, as—