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Enter FAINALL and MRS MARWOOD.

Fain. Your debate of deliberation, madam, is expired. Here is the instrument; are you prepared to sign?

Lady Wish. If I were prepared, I am not empowered. My niece exerts a lawful claim, having matched herself, by my direction, to sir Wilfull.

Fain. That sham is too gross to pass on me— though 'tis imposed on you, madam.

Mill. Sir, I have given my consent. Mira. And, sir, I have resigned my pretensions.

Sir Wil. And, sir, I assert my right; and will maintain it, in defiance of you, sir, and of your instrument. 'Sheart, an' you talk of an instrument, sir, I have an old fox by my thigh, shall hack your instrument of ram vellum to shreds, sir. It shall not be sufficient for a mittimus, or a tailor's measure; therefore, withdraw your instrument, or by'r lady, I shall draw mine.

Lady Wish. Hold, nephew, hold!

Mill. Good sir Wilfull, respite your valour. Fain. Indeed? Are you provided of your guard, with your single beef-eater there? But I am prepared for you; and insist upon my first proposal. You shall submit your own estate to my management, and absolutely make over my wife's to my sole use, as pursuant to the purport and tenor of this other covenant. I suppose, madam, your consent is not requisite in this case; nor, Mr Mirabell, your resignation; nor, sir Wilfull, your right-you may draw your fox, if please, sir, and make a bear-garden flourish somewhere else; for, here, it will not avail. This, my lady Wishfort, must be subscribed, or your darling daughter's turned adrift, like a leaky hulk, to sink or swim, as she and the current of this town can agree.

you

Lady Wish. Is there no means, no remedy, to stop my ruin? Ungrateful wretch! dost thou not owe thy being, thy subsistence, to my daughter's fortune?

Fain. I'll answer you, when I have the rest of it in my possession.

Mira. But that you would not accept of a remedy from my hands---I own I have not deserved you should owe any obligation to me; or else, perhaps, I could advise

Lady Wish. O what! what! to save me and my child from ruin, from want, I'll forgive all

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that's past; nay, I'll consent to any thing to come, to be delivered from this tyranny.

Mira. Ay, madam; but that is too late; my reward is intercepted. You have disposed of her, who only could have made me a compensation for all my services: but be it as it may, I am resolved I'll serve you; you shall not be wronged in this savage manner.

Lady Wish. How! dear Mr Mirabell, can you be so generous at last! but it is not possible. Harkee, I'll break my nephew's match; you shall have my niece yet, and all her fortune, if you can but save me from this imminent danger.

Mira. Will you? I take you at your word. I ask no more. I must have leave for two criminals to appear.

Lady Wish. Aye, aye; any body, any body.
Mira. Foible is one, and a penitent.

Enter Mrs FAINALL, FOIBLE, and MINCING.

Mrs Mar. O, my shame! [MIRABELL and LADY WISHFORT go to Mrs FAINALL and FoIBLE.] these corrupt things are brought hither to [TO FAINALL.

expose me.

Fain. If it must all come out, why let them know it; 'tis but the Way of the World. That shall not urge me to relinquish or abate one tittle of my terms; no, I will insist the more. Foi. Yes, indeed, madam; I'll take my bible

oath of it.

Min. And so will I, mem.

Lady Wish. O Marwood, Marwood, art thou false! My friend deceive me! Hast thou been a wicked accomplice with that profligate man?

Mrs Mar. Have you so much ingratitude and injustice, to give credit, against your friend, to the aspersions of two such mercenary trulls?

Min. Mercenary, mem! I scorn your words. Tis true, we found you and Mr Fainall in the blue garret; by the same token, you swore us to secrecy upon Messalina's poems. Mercenary ! No, if we would have been mercenary, we should have held our tongues; you would have bribed us sufficiently.

Fain. Go, you are an insignificant thing.Well, what are you the better for this? Is this Mr Mirabell's expedient? I'll be put off no longer-You, thing, that was a wife, shall smart for this. I will not leave thee wherewithal to hide thy shame: Your person shall be naked as your reputation.

Mrs Fain. I despise you, and defy your malice--You have aspersed nie wrongfully-I have proved your falsehood-Go, you and your treacherous I will not name it, but starve together--Perish!

Fain. Not while you are worth a groat, indeed, my dear-madam, I'll be fooled no longer. Lady Wish. Ah, Mr Mirabell, this is small comfort, the detection of this affair.

Mira. O, in good time-Your leave for the other offender and penitent to appear, madai.

Enter WAITWELL, with a box of writings. Lady Wish. O sir Rowland-Well, rascal? Wait. What your ladyship pleases-I have brought the black box at last, madam.

Mira. Give it me. Madam, you remember your promise.

Lady Wish. Aye, dear sir.

Mira. Where are the gentlemen?

Wait. At hand, sir, rubbing their eyes-just risen from sleep.

Fain. 'Sdeath! what's this to me? I'll not wait your private concerns.

Enter PETULANT and WITWOULD.

Pet. How now? what is the matter? whose hand's out?

Wit. Heyday! what, are you all together, like players at the end of the last act?

Mira. You may remember, gentlemen, I once requested your hands as witnesses to a certain parchment.

Wit. Aye I do, my hand I remember-Petulant set his mark.

Mira. You wrong him; his name is fairly written, as shall appear. You do not remember, gentlemen, any thing of what that parchment contained?

Wit. No.

[Undoing the box.

Pet. Not I. I writ, I read nothing. Mira. Very well, now you shall know-madam, your promise.

Lady Wish. Aye, aye, sir, upon my honour. Mira. Mr Fainall, it is now time that you should know, that your lady, while she was at her own disposal, and before you had, by your insinuations, wheedled her out of a pretended settlement of the greatest part of her fortune

Fuin. Sir! pretended!

Mira. Yes, sir, I say, that this lady while a widow, having, it seems, received some cautions respecting your inconstancy and tyranny of temper, which, from her own partial opinion and fondness of you, she could never have suspectedShe did, I say, by the wholesome advice of friends, and of sages learned in the laws of this land, deliver this same, as her act and deed, to me, in trust, and to the uses within mentioned. You may read if you please [Holding the parchment]; though, perhaps, what is written on the back may serve your occasions.

Fain. Very likely, sir. What's here? Damnation!

[Reads.] A deed of conveyance of the whole estate real of Arabella Languish, widow, in C trust, to Edward Mirabell.'

Confusion!

Mir. Even so, sir; 'tis The Way of the World,

sir; of the widows of the world. I suppose this deed may bear an elder date than what you have obtained from your lady.

Fain. Perfidious fiend! then thus I'll be revenged

[Offers to run at Mrs FAINALL. Sir Wil. Hold, sir! now you may make your Bear-garden flourish somewhere else, sir. Fain. Mirabell, you shall hear of this, sir; be sure you shall-Let me pass, oaf. [Exit. Mrs Fain. Madam, you seem to stifle your resentment; you had better give it vent.

Mrs Mar. Yes, it shall have vent-and to your confusion, or I'll perish in the attempt.

Erit.

Lady Wish. O daughter, daughter! 'tis plain thou hast inherited thy mother's prudence.

Mrs Fain. Thank Mr Mirabell, a cautious friend, to whose advice all is owing.

Lady Wish. Well, Mr Mirabell, you have kept your promise; and I must perform mine. First, I pardou, for your sake, sir Rowland there and Foible. The next thing is to break the matter to my nephew-and how to do that——

Mira. For that, madam, give yourself no trouble-let me have your consent-Sir Wilfull is my friend; he has had compassion upon lovers, and generously engaged a volunteer in this action, for our service; and now designs to prosecute his travels.

Sir Wil. 'Sheart, aunt, I have no mind to marry. My cousin's a fine lady, and the gentleman loves her, and she loves him, and they deserve one another; my resolution is to see foreign parts-I have set on it-and when I'm set on't, I must do it. And if these two gentlemen would travel, too, I think they may be spared.

Pet. For my part, I say little-I think things are best; off or on.

Wait. Egad, I understand nothing of the matter -I'm in a maze yet, like a dog in a dancingschool.

Lady Wish. Well, sir, take her, and with her all the joy I can give you.

Mill. Why does the man not take me? Would you have me give myself to you over again?

Mira. Aye, and over and over again! [Kisses her hand.] I would have you as often as possibly I can. Well, Heaven grant I love you not too well; that's all my fear.

Sir Wil. 'Sheart, you'll have time enough to toy after you're married; or, if you will toy now, let us have a dance in the mean time; that we, who are not lovers, may have some other employment, besides looking on.

Mira. With all my heart, dear sir Wilfull,— What shall we do for music?

Foi. O, sir, some that were provided for sir Rowland's entertainment are yet within call. [A dance. Lady Wish. As I am a person, I can hold out

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SCENE I.

ACT I.

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Val. Here, take away; I'll walk a turn, and digest what I have read.

Jer. You'll grow devilish fat upon this paper diet!

[Aside, and taking away the books. Val. And d'ye hear? go you to breakfastThere's a page doubled down in Epictetus, that is a feast for an emperor.

Jer. Was Epictetus a real cook, or did he only write receipts?

Val. Read, read, sirrah, and refine your appetite; learn to live upon instruction; feast your mind, and mortify your flesh. Read, and take `your nourishment in at your eyes; shut up your mouth, and chew the cud of understanding. So Epictetus advises.

Jer. O lord! I have heard much of him, when what was that Epictetus? I waited upon a gentleman at Cambridge. Pray,

Val. A very rich man-not worth a groat! Jer. Humph! and so he has made a very fine feast, where there is nothing to be eaten ! Val. Yes.

Jer. Sir, you're a gentleman, and probably understand this fine feeding; but, if you please, I had rather be at board-wages. Does your Epictetus, or your Seneca here, or any of these poor rich rogues, teach you how to pay your debtswithout money? Will they shut up the mouths of your creditors? Will Plato be bail for you? or Diogenes, because he understands confinement, and lived in a tub, go to prison for you? 'Slife, sir, what do you mean, to mew yourself up here with three or four musty books, in commendation of starving and poverty?

Val. Why, sirrah, I have no money, you know it; and therefore resolve to rail at all that have : and in that I but follow the examples of the wi

sest and wittiest men in all ages-these poets and | philosophers, whom you naturally hate, for just such another reason; because they abound in sense, and you are a fool.

Jer. Ay, sir, I am a fool, I know it; and yet, Heaven help me! I'm poor enough to be a wit. But I was always a fool, when I told you what your expences would bring you to; your coaches and your liveries; your treats and your balls; your being in love with a lady that did not care a farthing for you in your prosperity; and keeping company with wits, that cared for nothing but your prosperity, and now, when you are poor, hate you as much as they do one another.

Val. Well! and now I am poor, I have an opportunity to be revenged on them all; I'll pursue Angelica with more love than ever, and appear more notoriously her admirer in this restraint, than when I openly rivalled the rich fops, that made court to her. So shall my poverty be a mortification to her pride, and perhaps make her compassionate the love, which has principally reduced me to this lowness of fortune. And for the wits, I'm sure I am in a condition to be even with them.

Jer. Nay, your condition is pretty even with theirs, that's the truth on't.

Val. I'll take some of their trade out of their hands.

Jer. Now, Heaven of mercy continue the tax upon paper!-You don't mean to write?

Val. Yes, I do; I'll write a play.

tery! Nothing thrives that belongs to it. The man of the house would have been an alderman by this time, with half the trade, if he had set up in the city. For my part, I never sit at the door, that I don't get double the stomach that I do at a horse-race. The air upon Banstead Downs iş nothing to it for a whetter; yet I never see it, but the spirit of famine appears to me-sometimes like a decayed porter, worn out with pimping, and carrying billet-doux and songs; not like other porters for hire, but for the jest's sake. Now, like a thin chairman, melted down to half his proportion, with carrying a poet upon tick, to visit some great fortune; and his fare to be paid | him, like the wages of sin, either at the day of marriage, or the day of death.

Enter SCANDAL.

Scand. What! Jeremy holding forth? Val. The rogue has (with all the wit he could muster up) been declaiming against wit.

Scand. Ay? Why, then, I'm afraid Jeremy has wit for wherever it is, it's always contriving its own ruin.

Jer. Why, so I have been telling my master, sir. Mr Scandal, for Heaven's sake, sir, try if you can dissuade him from turning poet.

Scand. Poet! He shall turn soldier first, and rather depend upon the outside of his head, than the lining! Why, what the devil! has not your poverty made you enemies enough? must you needs shew your wit to get more?

Jer. Ay, more indeed: for who cares for any body that has more wit than himself?

Jer. Hem!-Sir, if you please to give me a small certificate of three lines-only to certify those whom it may concern, that the bearer hereof, Jeremy Fetch by name, has, for the space Scand. Jeremy speaks like an oracle. Don't of seven years, truly and faithfully served Valen- you see how worthless great men and dull rich tine Legend, esquire; and that he is not now turn-rogues avoid a witty man of small fortune? Why, ed away for any misdemeanour, but does voluntarily dismiss his master from any future authority over him—

Val. No, sirrah; you shall live with me still. Jer. Sir, it's impossible-I may die with you, starve with you, or be damned with your works: but to live, even three days, the life of a play, I no more expect it, than to be canonized for a muse after my decease.

Val. You are witty, you rogue, I shall want your help-I'll have you learn to make couplets, to tag the end of acts. D'ye hear? get the maids to crambo in an evening, and learn the knack of rhyming; you may arrive at the height of a song sent by an unknown hand, or a chocolate-house lampoon.

Jer. But, sir, is this the way to recover your father's favour? Why, sir Sampson will be irreconcileable. If your younger brother should come from sea, he'd never look upon you again. You're undone, sir; you're ruined; you won't have a friend left in the world, if you turn poet. Ah, pox confound that Will's coffee-house! it has ruined more young men than the Royal Oak lot

he looks like a writ of inquiry into their titles and estates; and seems commissioned by Heaven to

seize the better half.

Val. Therefore, I would rail in my writings, and be revenged.

Scand. Rail! at whom? the whole world? Impotent and vain! Who would die a martyr to sense, in a country where the religion is folly? You may stand at bay for a while; but, when the full cry is against you, you shan't have fair play for your life. If you can't be fairly run down by the hounds, you will be treacherously shot by the huntsmen. No; turn pimp, flatterer, quack, lawyer; any thing but poet. A modern poet is worse, more servile, timorous, and fawning, than any I have named: without you could retrieve the ancient honours of the name, recal the stage of Athens, and be allowed the force of open honest satire.

Val. You are as inveterate against our pocts, as if your character had been lately exposed upon the stage. Nay, I am not violently bent upon the trade.-[One knocks.] Jeremy, see who's there. [JEREMY goes to the door.]-But tell me

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