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believe, there is something mysterious in his discourse, and sometimes rather think him inspired than mad.

have I set my heart upon! O, I am happy to have discovered the shelves and quicksands, that lurk beneath that smiling faithless face?

Ben. Hey-toss! what's the matter now? why,

Mrs Frail. O see me no more-for thou wert born among rocks, suckled by whales, cradled in a tempest, and whistled to by winds; and thou art come forth with fins and scales, and three rows of teeth, a most outrageous fish of prey.

Fore. You speak with singular good judgment, Mr Scandal, truly. I am inclining to your Turk-you be'nt angry, be you? ish opinion in this matter, and do reverence a man, whom the vulgar think mad. Let us go to him. Mrs Frail. Sister, do you go with them; I'll find out my lover, and give him his discharge, and come to you. [Exeunt SCANDAL, MR and MRS FORESIGHT.] On my conscience, here he comes !

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Ben. Why, father came, and found me squabbling with yon chitty-faced thing, as he would have me marry-so he asked, what was the matter. He asked in a surly sort of a way. It seems brother Val is gone mad, and so that put'n into a passion; but what did I know that? what's that to me? So he asked in a surly sort of manner— and, Gad, I answered 'en as surlily. What, thof he be my father, I an't bound prentice to 'en: so, faith, I told'n, in plain terms, if I were minded to marry, I'd marry to please myself, not him; and, for the young woman that he provided for me, I thought it more fitting for her to learn her sampler, and make dirt-pies, than to look after a husband; for my part, I was none of her manI had another voyage to make, let him take it as he will.

Mrs Frail. So, then, you intend to go to sea again?

Ben. Nay, nay, my mind ran upon you-but I would not tell him so much. So he said, he'd make my heart ache; and if so be, that he could get a woman to his mind, he'd marry himself. Gad, says I, an you play the fool, and marry at these years, there's more danger of your head's aching than my heart! He was woundy angry, when I giv❜n that wipe-he hadn't a word to say; and so I left'n, and the green girl together; mayhap the bee may bite, and he'll marry her himself-with all my heart!

Mrs Frail. And were you this undutiful and graceless wretch to your father?

Ben. Then, why was he graceless first? If I am undutiful and graceless, why did he beget me so? I did not beget myself.

Mrs Frail. O impiety! how have I been mistaken! What an inhuman merciless creature

Ben. O Lord! O Lord! she's mad, poor young woman! Love has turned her senses; her brain is quite overset. Well-a-day! how shall I do to set her to rights?

Mrs Frail. No, no, I am not mad, monster! I am wise enough to find you out. Hadst thou the impudence to aspire at being a husband, with that stubborn and disobedient temper? You, that know not how to submit to a father, presume to have a sufficient stock of duty to undergo a wife? I should have been finely fobbed, indeed! very finely fobbed!

Ben. Harkee, forsooth; if so be, that you are in your right senses, d'ye see, for aught as I perceive, I'm like to be finely fobbed-if I have got anger here upon your account, and you are tacked about already! What d'ye mean, after all your fair speeches, and stroking my cheeks, and kissing and hugging, what, would you sheer off so? would you, and leave me aground?

Mrs Frail. No, I'll leave you adrift, and go which way you will.

Ben. What, are you false-hearted, then ?
Mrs Frail. Only the wind's changed.

Ben. More shame for you!The wind's changed? It is an ill wind blows nobody good. Mayhap I have a good riddance on you, if these be your tricks. What, did you mean all this while to make a fool of me?

Mrs Frail. Any fool, but a husband.

Ben. Husband! Gad, I would not be your husband, if you would have me, now I know your mind; thof you had your weight in gold and jewels, and thof I loved you never so well.

Mrs Frail. Why, canst thou love, porpus? Ben. No matter what I can do; don't call names. I don't love you so well as to bear that, whatever I did. I'm glad you shew yourself, mistress: let them marry you as don't know you. Gad, I know you too well, by sad experience; I believe he that marries you will go to sea in a hen-pecked frigate. I believe that, young woman! and mayhap may come to an anchor at Cuckold's Point; so there's a dash for you, take it as you will; mayhap you may hollow after me, when I won't come to. [Exit.

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Mrs Frail. Ha, ha, ha! no doubt on't. [Sings.] My true love is gone to sea! [Enter MRS FORESIGHT.] O sister, had you come a minute sooner, you would have seen the resolution of a lover. Honest Tar and I are parted, and with the same indifference that we met.

Mrs Fore. What, then, he bore it most heroi- | morning, may, ten to one, dirty his sheets before cally?

Mrs Frail. Most tyrannically. But I'll tell you a hint that he has given me. Sir Sampson is enraged, and talks desperately of committing matrimony himself. If he has a mind to throw himself away, he can't do it more effectually than upon me, if we could bring it about.

Mrs Fore. O hang him, old fox! he's too cunning; besides, he hates both you and me. But I have a project in my head for you, and I have gone a good way towards it. I have almost made a bargain with Jeremy, Valentine's man, to sell his master to us.

Mrs Frail. Sell him? how?

Mrs Fore. Valentine raves upon Angelica, and took me for her, and Jeremy says, will take any body for her that he imposes on him. Now, I have promised him mountains, it, in one of his mad fits, he will bring you to him in her stead, and get you married together, and put to bed together and after consummation, girl, there's no revoking. And if he should recover his senses, he'll be glad at least to make you a good settlement. Here they come; stand aside a little, and tell me how you like the design.

Enter VALENTINE, SCANDAL, FORESIGHT, and JEREMY.

Scand. And have you given your master a hint of their plot upon him? [TO JEREMY. Jer. Yes, sir; he says he'll favour it, and mistake her for Angelica.

Scand. It may make us sport.
Fore. Mercy on us!

Val. Husht-interrupt me not-I'll whisper prediction to thee, and thou shalt prophesy. I am Honesty, and can teach thy tongue a new trick. I have told thee what's past-Now, I'll tell what's to come! Dost thou know what will happen to-morrow? Answer me not; for I will tell thee. To-morrow, knaves will thrive through craft, and fools through fortune; and Honesty will go, as it did, frost-nipt in a summer-suit. Ask me questions concerning to-morrow. Scand. Ask him, Mr Foresight. Fore. Pray, what will be done at court?

night. But there are two things that you will see very strange; which are, wanton wives with their legs at liberty, and tame cuckolds with chains about their necks. But hold, I must examine you before I go further; you look suspiciously. Are you a husband? Fore. I am married.

Val. Poor creature! Is your wife of Coventgarden parish?

Fore. No: St Martin in the Fields.

Val. Alas, poor man! his eyes are sunk, and his hands shrivelled; his legs dwindled, and his back bowed. Pray, pray for a metamorphosis-Change thy shape, and shake off age; get thee Medea's kettle, and be boiled anew; come forth, with labouring, callous hands, a chine of steel, and Atlas' shoulders. Let Taliacotius trim the calves of twenty chairmen, and make thee pedestals to stand erect upon; and look matrimony in the face. Ha, ha, ha! that a man should have a stomach to a wedding supper, when the pigeons ought rather to be laid to his feet! ha, ha, ha!

Fore. His frenzy is very high, now, Mr Scandal. Scand. I believe it is a spring tide.

Fore. Very likely truly; you understand these matters. Mr Scandal, I shall be very glad to confer with you, about these things, which he has uttered. His sayings are very mysterious and hieroglyphical.

Val. Oh, why would Angelica be absent from my eyes so long?

Jer. She's here, sir.

Mrs Fare. Now, sister.

Mrs Frail. O Lord, what must I say?
Scand. Humour him, madam, by all means.

Val. Where is she? Oh, I see her! She comes like riches, health, and liberty, at once, to a des-. pairing, starving, and abandoned wretch. O welcome, welcome!

Mrs Frail. How d'ye, sir? can I serve you? Val. Harkee- I have a secret to tell you--Endymion and the moon shall meet us upon Mount Patmos, and we'll be married in the dead of night. But say not a word. Hymen shall put his torch into a dark lantern, that it may be secret; and Juno shall give her peacock

Val. Scandal will tell you-I am Honesty; I poppy water, that he may fold his ogling tail, never come there.

Fore. In the city?

Val. Oh, prayers will be said in empty churches, at the usual hours. Yet you will see such zealous faces behind counters, as if religion were to be sold in every shop. Oh! things will go methodically in the city. The clocks will strike twelve at noon, and the horned herd buz in the Exchange at two. Husbands and wives will drive distinct trades; and care and pleasure separately occupy the family. Coffee-houses will be full of smoke and stratagem. And the cropt 'prentice that sweeps his master's shop in the VOL. II.

and Argus's hundred eyes be shut, ha? Nobody shall know but Jeremy.

Mrs Frail. No, no, we'll keep it secret; it shall be done presently.

Val. The sooner the better-Jeremy, come hither closer that none may overhear us.Jeremy, I can tell you news. Angelica is turned nun, and I am turned friar: and yet we'll marry one another in spite of the pope. Get me a cowl and beads, that I may play my part-for she'll meet me two hours hence in black and white, and a long veil to cover the project; and we won't see one another's faces, till we have

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done something to be ashamed of-and then we'll blush once for all.

Enter TATTLE and ANGELICA.

Jer. I'll take care, and

Val. Whisper.

Ang. Nay, Mr Tattle, if you make love to me, you spoil my design; for I intend to make you my confident.

Scand. How's this! Tattle making love to Angelica!

Tatt. But, madam, to throw away your person-such a person! and such a fortune, on a madman!

Ang. I never loved him till he was mad; but, don't tell any body so.

Tatt. Tell, madam? alas, you don't know me. I have much ado to tell your ladyship how long I have been in love with you-but, encouraged by the impossibility of Valentine's making any more addresses to you, I have ventured to declare the very inmost passion of my heart. Oh, madam, look upon us both. There, you see the ruins of a poor decayed creature! Here, a complete lively figure, with youth and health, and all his five senses in perfection, madam; and to all this, the most passionate lover

Ang. O, fie for shame! hold your tongue. A passionate lover, and five senses in perfection! When you are as mad as Valentine, I'll believe you love me; and the maddest shall take me. Val. It is enough. Ha! who's there; Mrs Frail. O Lord, her coming will spoil all. [To JEREMY. Jer. No, no, madam; he won't know her; if he should, I can persuade him.

Val. Scandal, who are these? Foreigners? If they are, I'll tell you what I think. Get away all the company but Angelica, that I may discover my design to her. [Whispers. Scand. I will. I have discovered something of Tattle, that is of a piece with Mrs Frail. He courts Angelica; if we could contrive to couple them together-Harkee [Whispers.

Mrs Fore. He won't know you, cousin; he knows nobody.

Fore. But he knows more than any body.Oh, niece, he knows things past, and things to come, and all the profound secrets of time.

Tatt. Look you, Mr Foresight; it is not my way to make many words of matters, and so I shan't say much. But, in short, d'ye see, I will hold you a hundred pounds now, that I know more secrets than he.

Fore. How? I cannot read that knowledge in your face, Mr Tattle. Pray, what do you know?

Tatt. Why, d'ye think I'll tell you, sir? Read it in my face! No, sir, it is written in my heart; and safer there, sir, than letters written in juice of lemon, for no fire can fetch it out. I am no blab, sir.

Val. Acquaint Jeremy with it; he may easily bring it about. They are welcome, and I'll tell them so myself. [To SCANDAL.] What, do you look strange upon me! Then I must be plain.[Coming up to them.] I am Honesty, and hate an old acquaintance with a new face.

[SCANDAL goes aside with JEREMY. Tatt. Do you know me, Valentine? Val. You! who are you? I hope not. Tatt. I am Jack Tattle, your friend.

Val. My friend! What to do? I'm no married man, and thou canst not lie with my wife. I am very poor, and thou canst not borrow money of me. Then what employment have I for a friend?

Tatt. Ha! a good open speaker, and not to be trusted with a secret.

Ang. Do you know me, Valentine?
Val. Oh, very well.

Ang. Who am I?

Val. You're a woman-one, to whom Heaven gave beauty, when it grafted roses on a briar.— You are the reflection of heaven in a pond; and he, that leaps at you, is sunk. You are all white, a sheet of lovely spotless paper, when you were first born; but you are to be scrawled and blotted by every goose's quill. I know you; for I loved a woman, and loved her so long, that I found out a strange thing; I found out what a woman was good for.

Tatt. Ay, prithee, what's that?
Val. Why, to keep a secret.
Tatt. O Lord!

Val. O, exceeding good to keep a secret; for, though she should tell, yet she is not believed. Tatt. Ha! good again, faith.

Jer. [JEREMY and SCANDAL whisper.] I'll do it, sir.

Scand. Mr Foresight, we had best leave him. He may grow outrageous, and do mischief. Fore. I will be directed by you.

Jer. [To Mrs FRAIL.] You'll meet, madam.— I'll take care every thing shall be ready. Mrs Frail. Thou shalt do what thou wilt; in short, I will deny thee nothing.

Tatt. Madam, shall I wait upon you? [TO ANGELICA. Ang. No, I'll stay with him. Mr Scandal will protect me. Aunt, Mr Tattle desires you would give him leave to wait upon you.

Tatt. Pox on't, there's no coming off, now she has said that-Madam, will you do me the honour?

Mrs Fore. Mr Tattle might have used less

ceremony.

[Exeunt MRS FRAIL, MR and MRS FOR ESIGHT and TATTLE.]

Scand. Jeremy, follow Tattle. [Exit JEREMY. Ang. Mr Scandal, I only stay till my maid comes, and because I have a mind to be rid of Mr Tattle.

Scand. Madam, I am very glad that I overheard

a better reason which you gave to Mr Tattle; for his impertinence forced you to acknowledge a kindness for Valentine, which you denied to all his sufferings and my solicitations. So I'll leave him to make use of the discovery, and your ladyship to the free confession of your inclinations.

Ang. Oh Heavens! you won't leave me alone with a madman ?

Scand. No, madam; I only leave a madman to his remedy. [Erit. Val. Madam, you need not be very much afraid, for I fancy I begin to come to myself. Ang. Ay, but if I don't fit you, I'll be hanged. [Aside. Val. You see what disguises love makes us put on. Gods have been in counterfeited shapes for the same reason; and the divine part of me, my mind, has worn this masque of madness, and this motly livery, only as the slave of love, and menial creature of your beauty.

Ang. Mercy on me, how he talks!-Poor Valentine!

to be as absolutely and substantially mad, as any freeholder in Bedlam. Nay, he's as mad as any projector, fanatic, chemist, lover, or poet, in Europe.

Val. Sirrah, you lie; I'm not mad. Ang. Ha, ha, ha! you see he denies it. Jer. O Lord, madam! did you ever know any madman mad enough to own it?

Val. Sot, can't you apprehend?

Ang. Why, he talked very sensibly just now. Jer. Yes, madam; he has intervals: but you see he begins to look wild again now.

Val. Why, you thick-skulled rascal, I tell you the farce is done, and I'll be mad no longer. [Beats him.

Ang. Ha, ha, ha! is he mad or no, Jeremy? Jer. Partly, I think-for he does not know his own mind two hours. I'm sure I left him just now in the humour to be mad: and I think I have not found him very quiet at the present. [One knocks.] Who's there?

Val. Go see, you sot. I'm very glad that I can move your mirth, though not your compas

sion.

Ang. I did not think you had apprehension enough to be exceptions: but madmen shew themselves most by over-pretending to a sound understanding, as drunken men do by over-acting

Val. Nay, faith, now let us understand one another, hypocrisy apart. The comedy draws towards an end; and let us think of leaving acting, and be ourselves; and, since you have loved me, you must own, I have at length deserv-sobriety. I was half inclining to believe you, ed you should confess it. till I accidentally touched upon your tender part. But now you have restored me to my former opinion and compassion. Jer. Sir, your father has sent to know if you are any better yet.-Will you please to be mad, sir, or how?

Ang. [Sighs.] I would I had loved you!-for, Heaven knows, I pity you; and, could I have foreseen the bad effects, I would have striven; but that's too late!

Val. What bad effects? what's too late? My seeming madness has deceived my father, and Val. Stupidity! you know the penalty of all procured me time to think of means to reconcile I'm worth must pay for the confession of my me to him, and preserve the right of my inheri-senses.-I'm mad, and will be mad, to every tance to his estate; which otherwise, by articles, I body but this lady. must this morning have resigned. And this I had informed you of to-day, but you were gone before I knew you had been here.

Ang. How! I thought your love of me had caused this transport in your soul, which, it seems, you only counterfeited for mercenary ends and sordid interest.

Val. Nay, now you do me wrong; for, if any interest was considered, it was yours; since I thought I wanted more than love to make me worthy of you.

Ang. Then you thought me mercenary-But how am I deluded, hy this interval of sense, to reason with a madman?

Val. Oh, 'tis barbarous to misunderstand me longer.

Enter JEREMY.

Ang. Oh, here's a reasonable creature!-sure he will not have the impudence to persevere! -Come, Jeremy, acknowledge your trick, and confess your master's madness counterfeit. Jer. Counterfeit, madam! I'll maintain him

Jer. So just the very back-side of truth. But lying is a figure in speech, that interlards the greatest part of my conversation.-Madam, your ladyship's woman."

Enter JENNY.

Ang. Well, have you been there?

-Come

hither. Jenny. Yes, madam! sir Sampson will wait upon you presently. [Aside to ANGELICA. Val. You are not leaving me in this uncertainty?

Ang. Would any thing but a madman complain of uncertainty? Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing; and the overtaking and possessing of a wish discovers the folly of the chase. Never let us know one another better; for the pleasure of a masquerade is done, when we come to shew our faces. But I'll tell you two things before I leave you; I am not the fool you take me for; and you are mad, and don't know it.

[Exeunt ANGELICA and JENNY.

Val. From a riddle you can expect nothing but a riddle. There's my instruction, and the moral of my lesson.

Jer. What, is the lady gone again, sir? I hope you understood one another before she went?

Val. Understood! she is harder to be understood than a piece of Egyptian antiquity, or an Irish manuscript; you may pore till you spoil your eyes, and not improve your knowledge.

Jer. I have heard them say, sir, they read hard

Hebrew books backwards. May be you begin to read at the wrong end.

Val. They say so of a witch's prayer; and dreams and Dutch almanacks are to be understood by contraries. Yet, while she does not scem to hate me, I will pursue her, and know her, if it be possible, in spite of the opinion of my satirical friend, who says

That women are like tricks by slight of hand; Which, to admire, we should not understand. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I-A room in FORESIGHT's house.

Enter ANGELICA and JENNY. Ang. WHERE is sir Sampson? did you not tell me he would be here before me?

Jenny. He's at the great glass in the diningroom, madam, setting his cravat and wig.

Ang. How! I'm glad on't. If he has a mind I should like him, it's a sign he likes me; and that's more than half my design.

Jenny. I hear him, madam.

Ang. Leave me; and, d'ye hear, if Valentine should come, or send, I'm not to be spoken with. [Exit JENNY.

Enter SIR SAMPSON.

Sir Sam. I have not been honoured with the commands of a fair lady a great while. Odd, madam, you have revived me-not since I was five and thirty.

Ang. Why, you have no great reason to complain, sir Sampson; that's not long ago.

Sir Sam. Zooks, but it is, madam, a very great while; to a man that admires a fine woman as much as I do.

son.

Ang. You're an absolute courtier, sir Samp

Sir Sam. Not at all, madam. Od's-bud, you wrong me: I am not so old, neither, to be a bare courtier, only a man of words. Odd, I have warm blood about me yet, and can serve a lady any way. Come, come, let me tell you, you women think a man old too soon; faith and troth you do. Come, don't despise fifty; Odd, fifty, in a hale constitution, is no such contemptible age!

Ang. Fifty a contemptible age! not at all: a very fashionable age, I think-I assure you, I know very considerable beaux, that set a good face upon fifty. Fifty! I have seen fifty in a side-box, by candle-light, out-blossom five-andtwenty.

Sir Sam. Outsides, outsides! a pize take them, mere outsides. Hang your side-box beaux; no, I'm none of those, none of your forced trees, that pretend to blossom in the fall, and bud when

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they should bring forth fruit. I am of a longlived race, and inherit vigour. None of my ancestors married till fifty; yet they begot sons and daughters till fourscore. I am of your patriarchs, I, a branch of one of your antediluvian families, fellows that the flood could not wash away. Well, madam, what are your commands? Has any young rogue affronted you, and shall I cut his throat? or

Ang. No, sir Sampson, I have no quarrel upon my hands--I have more occasion for your conduct, than your courage, at this time. To tell you the truth, I'm weary of living single, and want a husband.

Sir Sam. Od's-bud, and it is pity you should! Odd, would she would like me! then I should hamper my young rogues: odd, would she would! faith and troth, she's devilish handsome!

[Aside.]-Madam, you deserve a good husband; and 'twere pity you should be thrown away upon any of these young idle rogues about the town. Odd, there's ne'er a young fellow worth hanging-that is, a very young fellowPize on them, they never think beforehand of any thing-and if they commit matrimony, 'tis as they cominit murder; out of a frolic; and are ready to hang themselves, or to be hanged by the law, the next morning. Odso, have a care, madam.

Ang. Therefore, I ask your advice, sir Sampson. I have fortune enough to make any man easy that I can like; if there were such a thing as a young agreeable man, with a reasonable stock of good-nature and sense-for I would neither have an absolute wit, nor a fool.

Sir Sam. Odd, you are hard to please, madam: to find a young fellow that is neither a wit in his own eye, nor a fool in the eye of the world, is a very hard task. But, faith and troth, you speak very discreetly. I hate a wit; I had a son that was spoilt among them; a good, hopeful lad, till he learnt to be a wit-and might have risen in the state. But, a pox on't, his wit ran him out of his money, and now his poverty has run him out of his wits.

Ang. Sir Sampson, as your friend, I must tell

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