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Lucy. So 'tis I that am to die a maid—But the devil was a liar from the beginning; he can’t make me

die a maid—I’ve put it out of his power already. (iii.

Mel. I do but jest. I would have passed for you, and called myself Lucy; but he presently told me my name, my quality, my fortune, and gave me the whole joy life. He told me of a loveri had in this country, and described Worthy exactly, but in nothing so well as in his present indifference—I fled to him for refuge here to-day ; he never so much as encouraged me in my fright, but coldly told me that he was sorry for the accident, because it might give the town cause to censure my conduct; excused his not waiting on me home, made me a careless bow, and walked off—'Sdeath! I could have stabbed him or myself, 'twas the same thing—Yonder he comes—I will so use him

Lucy, Don't exasperate him; consider what the fortune-teller told you. Men are scarce, and as times go it is not impossible for a woman to die a maid.

Enter WoRTHY.

Mel. No matter. Wor. I find she's warmed; I must strike while the iron is hot—You’ve a great deal of courage, madam, to venture into the walks where you were so lately frightened. TMel. And you have a quantity of impudence, to appear before me, that you so lately have affronted. Wor. I had no design to affront you, nor appear before you either, madam; I left you here because I had business in another place, and came hither thinking to meet another person. Mel. Since you find yourself disappointed, I hope you'll withdraw to another part of the walk.

Wor. The walk is broad enough for us both. [They walk by one another, he with his Hat cocked, she fretting, and tearing her Fan; he offers her his Box, she strikes it out of his Hand; while he is gathering it up, BRAzEN enters, and takes her round the #. she cuffs him.] Brazen. What, here before me, my dear ! : Mel. What means this insolence 2 Lucy. Are you mad? don't you see Mr Worthy: , [To BRAzen. Brazen. No, no; I'm struck blind—Worthy! odso well turned—My mistress has wit at her fingers' ends —Madam, I ask your pardon; 'tis our way abroad— . Mr Worthy, you’re the happy man. Wor. I don’t envy your happiness very much, if , the lady can afford no other sort of favours but what she has bestowed upon you. Mel. I’m sorry the favour miscarried, for it was designed for you, Mr Worthy; and be assured 'tis the last and only favour you must expect at my hands Captain, I ask your pardon. [Exit with Lucy. Brâzen, I grant it You see, Mr Worthy, ’twas only a random-shot; it might have taken off your head as well as mine. Courage, my dear! 'tis the fortune of war; but the enemy has thought fit to withdraw, I think. * Wor. Withdraw Oons ! sir, what d'ye mean by withdraw Brazen. I’ll shew you. [Erit. Wor. She's lost, irrecoverably lost, and Plume's advice has ruined me. 'Sdeath! why should I, that knew her haughty spirit, be ruled by a man that’s a stranger to her pride

Enter PLUME.

Plume. Ha! ha has a battle royal Don't frown so, man; she’s your own, I’ll tell you: I saw the fury of her love in the extremity of her passion. The wild

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ness of her anger is a certain sign that she loves you to madness. That rogue, Kite, began the battle with abundance of conduct, and will bring you off victorious, my life on’t: he plays his part admirably. Wor. But what could be the meaning of Brazen's familiarity with her? Plume. You are no logician, if you pretend to draw consequences from the actions of fools—Whim, unaccountable whim, hurries them on, like a man drunk with brandy before ten o’clock in the morning But we lose our sport; Kite has opened above an hour ago: let's away. [Ereunt.


A Chamber, a Table with Books and Globes.

KITE, disguised in a strange Habit, sitting at a Table.

Kite, [Rising.] By the position of the heavens, gained from my observation upon these celestial globes. I find that Luna was a tide-waiter, Sol a surveyor, Mercury a thief, Venus a whore, Saturn an alderman, Jupiter a rake, and Mars a serjeant of grenadiers— and this is the system of Kite the conjurer.

Enter PLUME and Worthy.

Plume. Well, what success 2

Kite. I have sent away a shoemaker and a tailor already; one's to be a captain of marines, and the other a major of dragoons—I am to manage them at might—Have you seen the lady, Mr Worthy

Wor, Ay, but it won’t do—Have you shewed her honame, that I tore off from the bottom of the letter f

Kite. No, sir, I reserve that for the last stroke.

Plume. What letter

Wor. One that I would not let you see, for fear that you should break windows in good earnest. Here, captain, put it into your pocket-book, and have it ready upon occasion. [Knocking at the Door. , Kite. Officers, to your posts. Tycho, mind the

door. [Ereunt PLUME and Worthy.—SERVANT opens

the Door.

Enter MELINDA and Lucy.

Kite. Tycho, chairs for the ladies.

Mel. Don’t trouble yourself; we sha’n’t stay, doctor.

Kite. Your ladyship is to stay much longer than you magine.

Mel. For what 2

Kite. For a husband—For your part, madam, you

won't stay for a husband. [To Lucy. Lucy. Pray, doctor, do you converse with the stars, or the devil? w

Kite. With both; when I have the destinies of men in search, I consult the stars; when the affairs of women come under my hands, I advise with my toother friend. Mel. And have you raised, the devil upon my account 2 Kite. Yes, madam, and he's now under the table. Lucy. Oh, Heavens protect us ! Dear madam, let's be gone. Rite. If you be afraid of him, why do ye come to consult him Mel. Don't fear, fool.—Do you think, sir, that because I'm a woman I’m to be fooled out of my reason, or frighted out of my senses : Come, shew me this devil. Kite. He's a little busy at present, but when he has done he shall wait on you. - G

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Mel. What is he doing : Kite. Writing your name in his pocket-book. Mel Ha! has my name! Pray, what have you or he to do with my name Kite. Lookye, fair lady the devil is a very modest person, he seeks nobody unless they seek him first; . he's chained up, like a mastiff, and can’t stir unless he be let loose—You come to me to have your fortune told—do you think, madam, that I can answer you of my own head No, madam; the affairs of women are so irregular, that nothing less than the devil can give any account of them. Now to convince you of your incredulity, I’ll shew you a trial of my skill.— Here you Cacodemo del Plumo, exert your power, draw me this lady's name, the word Melinda, in proper letters and characters of her own hand-writing— do it at three motions—one—two—three—’tis done —Now, madam, will you please to send your maid to fetch it Lucy. I fetch it ! the devil fetch me if I do. Mel. My name, in my own hand-writing! that would be convincing indeed Kite. Seeing is believing. [Goes to the Table, and !ifts up the Carpet.] Here, Tre, Tre, poor Tre, give me R the bone, sirrah-There's your name upon that square piece of paper. Behold— Mel. 'Tis wonderful! my very letters to a tittle to Lucy. 'Tis like your hand, madam; but not so like your hand neither; and now I look nearer, 'tis not like your hand at all. Kite. Here's a chambermaid now will outlie the devil - | Lucy, Lookye, madam, they sha’n’t impose upon us; people can't remember their hands no more than they can their faces—Come, madam, let us be certain; write your name upon this paper, then we’ll compare the two hands. [Takes out a Paper, and folds it.

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