Lady Dar. How, sir, come to affront us !— D'ye know who we are, sir? Wild. Know who you are! Why, your daughter there, is Mr Vizard's-cousin, I suppose.And for you, madam-Now, to call her procuress à-la-mode de France.-[Aside.]-J'estime votre occupation Lady Dar. Pray, sir, speak English. Wild. Then, to define her office á-la-mode de Londres. [Aside.] I suppose your ladyship to he one of those civil, obliging, discreet old gentle women, who keep their visiting days for the entertainment of their presenting friends, whom they treat with imperial tea, a private room, and a pack of cards. Now I suppose you do understand me? Lady Dar. This is beyond sufferance! But say, thou abusive man, what injury have you ever received from me, or mine, thus to engage you in this scandalous aspersion? Ang. Yes, sir, what cause, what motives could induce you thus to debase yourself below your rank? Wild. Hey-day! Now, dear Roxana, and you, my fair Statira, be not so very heroic in your style: Vizard's letter may resolve you, and answer all the impertinent questions you have made me. Lady Dar. & Ang. We appeal to that. Wild. And I'll stand to it; he read it to me, and the contents were pretty plain, I thought. Ang. Here, sir, peruse it, and see how much we are injured, and you deceived. Wild. [Opening the letter.] But, hold, madam, [To DARLING.] before I read I'll make some conditions: Mr Vizard says here, that I won't scruple thirty or forty pieces. Now, madam, if you have clapt in another cypher to the account, and made it three or four hundred, 'egad I'll not stand to it. Ang. Now, I cannot tell whether disdain or anger be the most just resentment for this injury. Lady Dart. The letter, sir, shall answer you. Wild. Well, then-[Reads.]— Out of my earnest inclination to serve your ladyship, and my cousin Angelica'-Aye, aye, the very words, I can say it by heart- I have sent sir Harry Wildair to- What the devil's this? Sent sir Harry Wildair to court my cousin'-He read to me quite a different thing- He's a gentleman of great parts and fortune'-He's a son of a whore and a rascal- And would make your daughter very happy [Whistles.] in a husband.'--[Looks | foolish and hums a song] Oh! poor sir Harry, what have thy angry stars designed ! Ang. Now, sir, I hope you need no instigation to redress our wrongs, since even the injury points the way. Lady Dar. Think, sir, that our blood for many generations has run in the purest chaunel of unsullied honour. Wild. Ay, madam. [Bows to her. Ang. Consider what a tender flower is wo man's reputation, which the least air of foul detraction blasts. [Bows to the other. Lady Dar. Call, then, to mind your rude and scandalous behaviour. me. Wild. Yes, madam. Wild. Right, madam: [Bows again. Ang. Remember the base price you offered [Erit. Wild. Very true, madam. Was ever man so catechized? Lady Dar. Then, think, that Vizard—the villain Vizard-caused all this, yet lives: that's all: farewell. Wild. Stay, madam, [To DARLING.] one word; is there no other way to redress your wrongs, but by fighting? Lady Dar. Only one, sir; which, if you can think of, you may do; you know the business I entertained you for. Wild. I understand you, madam. [Exit DARLING.] Here am I brought to a very pretty dilemma. I must commit murder, or commit matrimony; which is the best now? a licence from Doctors Commons, or a sentence from the Old Bailey?If I kill my man, the law hangs me; if I marry my woman, I shall hang myselfBut, damn it-cowards dare fight:-I'll marry ; that's the most daring action of the two-So, my dear cousin Angelica, have at you. SCENE II.-Newgate. CLINCHER Senior, solus. [Exit. Clin. sen. How severe and melancholy are Newgate reflections! Last week my father died; yesterday I turned beau; to-day I am laid by the heels; and to-morrow shall be hung by the neck—I was agreeing with a bookseller about printing an account of my journey through France and Italy: but now the history of my travels must be through Holborn to Tyburn The last dying speech of beau Clincher, that was going to the Jubilee Come, a halfpenny apiece'-A sad sound, a sad sound, faith! 'Tis one way to have a man's death make a great noise in the world. Enter SMUGGLER and Gaoler. Smug Well, friend, I have told you who I am: so, send these letters into Thames Street, as directed: they are to gentlemen that will bail me. [Exit Gaoler.] Eh! this Newgate is a very populous place! here's robbery and repentance in every corner- -Well, friend, what are you? a cut-throat or a bum-bailiff! Clin. sen. What are you, mistress, a bawd or a witch? Hark'e, if you are a witch, d'ye see, I'll give you a hundred pounds to mount me on a broom-staff, and whip me away to the Jubilee. Smug. The Jubilee! O, you young rake-hell, what brought you here? Clin. sen. Ah, you old rogue, what brought | SCENE III.-Changes to LADY DARLING'S you here, if you go to that? Smug. I knew, sir, what your powdering, your prinking, your dancing, and your frisking, would come to. Clin. sen. And I knew what your cozening, your extortion, and your smuggling would come to. Smug. Ay, sir, you must break your indentures, and run to the devil in a full-bottom wig, must you? Clin. sen. Ay, sir, and you must put off your gravity, and run to the devil in petticoatsYou design to swing in masquerade, master, d'ye? Smug. Ay, you must go to the plays, too, sirrah: Lord, lord! what business has a 'prentice at a play-house, unless it be to hear his master made a cuckold, and his mistress a whore? It is ten to one now, but some malicious poet has my character upon the stage within this month: 'tis a hard matter, now, that an honest sober man cannot sin in private for this plaguy stage. I gave an honest gentleman five guineas myself towards writing a book against it; and it has done no good, we see. Clin. sen. Well, well, master, take courage! Our comfort is, we have lived together, and shall die together; only with this difference, that I have lived like a fool, and shall die like a knave, and you have lived like a knave, and shall die like a fool. Smug. No, sirrah! I have sent a messenger for my clothes, and shall get out immediately, and shall be upon your jury by and by—Go to prayers, you rogue, to prayers. [Exit. Clin. sen. Prayers! it is a hard taking when a man must say grace to the gallows-Ah, this cursed intriguing! Had I swung handsomely in a silken garter now, I had died in my duty; but to hang in hemp, like the vulgar, it is very ungenteel. Err. A gentleman! Ha, ha, ha!-d'ye know where you are, sir? We're all gentlemen here. I stand up for liberty and property. Newgate's a commonwealth. No courtier has business among us. Come, sir. Clin. sen. Well, but stay; stay till I send for my own clothes: I shall get out presently. house. Enter WILDAIR, with letters; Servants following. Wild. Here, fly all around, and bear these as directed; you to Westminster, you to St. James's, and you into the city. Tell all my friends, a bridegroom's joy invites their presence. Look all of ye like bridegrooms also: all appear with hospitable looks, and bear a welcome in your faces. Tell them I am married. If any ask to whom, make no reply; but tell them, that I'm married; that joy shall crown the day, and love the night. Begone, fly! Enter STANDARD. A thousand welcomes, friend; my pleasure's now complete, since I can share it with my friend: brisk joy shall bound from me to you: then back again; and, like the sun, grow warmer by reflection. Stand. You're always pleasant, sir Harry; but this transcends yourself: whence proceeds it? Wild. Canst thou not guess, my friend? Whence flows all earthly joy? What is the life of man, and soul of pleasure? Woman.———— What fires the heart with transport, and the soul with raptures?-Lovely woman.-What is the master-stroke and smile of the creation, but charming, virtuous woman?-When nature, in the general composition, first brought woman forth, like a flushed poet, ravished with his fancy, with ecstasy it blest the fair production!Methinks, my friend, you relish not my joy. What is the cause? Stund. Canst thou not guess?-What is the bane of man, and scourge of life, but woman?— What is the heathenish idol man sets up, and is damned for worshipping? Treacherous woman.— What are those, whose eyes, like basilisks, shine beautiful for sure destruction, whose smiles are dangerous as the grin of fiends, but false, deluding woman?-Woman, whose composition inverts humanity; their bodies heavenly, but their souls are clay. Wild. Come, come, colonel, this is too much : I know your wrongs received from Lurewell may excuse your resentment against her. But it is unpardonable to charge the failings of a single woman upon the whole sex. I have found one, whose virtues Stand. So have I, sir Harry; I have found one whose pride's above yielding to a prince. And if lying, dissembling, perjury and falsehood, Err. No, no, sir, I'll ha' you into the dun-be no breaches in a woman's honour, she is as geon, and uncase you. Clin. sen. Sir, you cannot master me, am twenty thousand strong. for I [Exeunt, struggling. innocent as infancy. Wild. Well, colonel, I find your opinion grows stronger by opposition; I shall now, therefore, wave the argument, and only beg you, for this day, to make a shew of complaisance at least. | brother, or devil, I will go to the Jubilee, by Here comes my charming bride. Jupiter Ammon. Lady Dar. What's the matter, cousin? Clin. The matter! ha, ha, ha! Why an honest porter, ha, ha, ha! has knocked out my brother's brains, ha, ha, ha! Wild. A very good jest, i'faith, ha, ha, ha! Clin. Ay, sir, but the jest of all is, he knocked out his brains with a hammer, and so he is as dead as a door-nail, ha, ha, ha! Lady Dar. And do you laugh, wretch? Clin. Laugh! ha, ha, ha! let me see e'er a younger brother in England that won't laugh at such a jest. Ang. You appeared a very sober, pious gentleman some hours ago. Clin. Pshaw! I was a fool then: but now, madam, I'm a wit; I can rake now. As for your part, madam, you might have had me once; but now, madam, if you should fall to eating chalk, or gnawing the sheets, it is none of my fault. Now, madam-I have got an estate, and I must go to the Jubilee. Enter CLINCHER senior in a blanket. Clin. sen. Must you so, rogue, must ye? You will go to the Jubilee, will you? Clin. jun. A ghost! a ghost! Send for the dean and chapter presently. Clin. sen. A ghost! No, no, sirrah, I'm an elder brother, rogue. Clin. jun. I don't care a farthing for that; I'm sure you're dead in law. Clin. sen. Why so, sirrah, why so? Clin. jun. Because, sir, I can get a fellow to swear he knocked out your brains. Wild. An odd way of swearing a man out his life! of Clin. jun. Smell him, gentlemen; he has a deadly scent about him. Clin. sen. Truly the apprehensions of death may have made me savour a little. O, lord! the colonel! The apprehension of him may make the savour worse, I'm afraid. Clin. jun. In short, sir, were you a ghost, or Stand. Go to the jubilee! go to the bear-garden. The travel of such fools as you doubly injures our country: you expose our native follies, which ridicule us among strangers, and return fraught only with their vices, which you vend here for fashionable gallantry: a travelling fool is as dangerous as a home-bred villain. Get you to your native plough and cart, converse with animals like yourselves, sheep and oxen : men are creatures you don't understand. Wild. Let them alone, colonel, their folly will be now diverting. Come, gentlemen, we'll dispute this point some other time; I hear some fiddles tuning; let's hear how they can entertain us. [A servant enters, and whispers WILDAIR. Wild. Madam, shall I beg you to entertain the company in the next room for a moment? [To LADY DARLING. Lady Dar. With all my heart-Come, gentle[Exeunt all but WILDAIR. Wild. A lady to inquire for me! Who can this be? men. Lure. How he upbraids me with my shame! Can you deny your binding vows, when this appears a witness against your falsehood? [Shews a ring.] Methinks the motto of this sacred pledge should flash confusion in your guilty face-Read, read here, the binding words of Love and Honour !— words not unknown to your perfidious tongue, though utter strangers to your treacherous heart. Wild. The woman's stark staring mad, that's certain. Lure. Was it maliciously designed to let me find my misery when past redress; to let me know you, only to know you false? Had not cursed chance shewed me the surprising motto, I had been happy—The first knowledge I had of you was fatal to me, and this second worse. Wild. What the devil is all this! Madam, I'm not at leisure for raillery at present, I have weighty affairs upon my hands; the business of pleasure, madam: any other time Stand. Stay, madam, you need not shan my sight; for, if you are perfect woman, you have confidence to outface a crime, and bear the charge of guilt without a blush. Lure. The charge of guilt! What, making a fool of you? I've done it, and glory in the act : the height of female justice were to make you all hang or drown: dissembling to the prejudice of men is virtue; and every look, or sign, or smile, or tear, that can deceive, is meritorious. Stand. Very pretty principles, truly! If there be truth in woman, 'tis now in thee. Come, madam, you know that you're discovered, and, being sensible that you cannot escape, you would now turn to bay. That ring, madam, proclaims you guilty. Lure. O, monster, villain! perfidious villain! Has he told you? Stand. I'll tell it you, and loudly, too. Lure. O, name it not!-Yet, speak it out; 'tis so just a punishment for putting faith in man, that I will bear it all; and let credulous maids, that trust their honour to the tongues of men, thus hear the shame proclaimed. Speak now, what his busy scandal, and your improving malice, both dare utter. Stand. Your falsehood can't be reached by malice nor by satire; your actions are the justest libel on your fame; your words, your looks, your tears, I did believe in spite of common fame. Nay, 'gainst mine own eyes, I still maintained your truth. I imagined Wildair's boasting of your favours to be the pure result of his own vanity at last he urged your taking presents of him; as a convincing proof of which, you yesterday, from him, received that ring,which ring, that I might be sure he gave it, I lent him for that purpose. : Lure. Ha! you lent it him for that purpose! Stand. Yes, yes, madam, I lent it him for that purpose- -No denying it-I know it well, for I have worn it long, and desire you now, madam, to restore it to the just owner. Lure. The just owner! Think, sir, think but of what importance 'tis to own it: if you have love and honour in your soul, 'tis then most justly yours, if not, you are a robber, and have stolen it basely. Stand. Ha!-your words, like meeting flints, have struck a light to shew me something strange -But tell me instantly, is not your real name Manly? Lure. And were not you about that time entertained two nights at the house of sir Oliver Manly, in Oxfordshire? Stand. I was, I was. [Runs to her, and embraces her.] The blest remembrance fires my soul with transport-I know the rest—you are the charming she, and I the happy man. Lure. How has blind fortune stumbled on the right! But, where have you wandered since?— 'Twas cruel to forsake me. Stand. The particulars of my fortune are too tedious now: but, to discharge myself from the stain of dishonour, I must tell you, that immediately upon my return to the university, my elder brother and I quarrelled: my father, to prevent farther mischief, posts me away to travel: I wrote to you from London, but fear the letter came not to your hands. Lure. I never had the least account of you by letter or otherwise. Stand. Three years I lived abroad, and at my return found you were gone out of the kingdom, though none could tell me whither: missing you thus, I went to Flanders, served my king till the peace commenced; then, fortunately going on board at Amsterdam, one ship transported us both to England. At the first sight I loved, though ignorant of the hidden cause-You may remember, madam, that, talking once of marriage, I told you I was engaged; to your dear self I meant. Lure. Then, men are still most generous and brave and, to reward your truth, an estate of three thousand pounds a-year waits your acceptance; and, if I can satisfy you in my past conduct, and the reasons that engaged me to deceive all men, I shall expect the honourable performance of your promise, and that you will stay with me in England. Stand. Stay! Nor fame nor glory e'er shall part us more. My honour can be nowhere more concerned than here. Enter WILDAIR, ANGELICA, and both CLIN Wild. Sir, he dares not shew his face among such honourable company; for your gracious nephew is Smug. What, sir? Have a care what you say. Smug. With all my heart. I'll pardon you the beating me for that very word. And pray, sir Harry, when you see him next, tell him this news from me, that I have disinherited himthat I will leave him as poor as a disbanded quarter-master. And this is the positive and stiff resolution of threescore and ten; an age that sticks as obstinately to its purpose, as to the old fashion of its cloak. Wild. You see, madam, [To ANGEL.] how industriously fortune has punished his offence to you. Ang. I can scarcely, sir, reckon it an offence, considering the happy consequence of it. Smug. Oh, sir Harry, he is as hypocriticalLure. As yourself, Mr Alderman. How fares my good old nurse, pray, sir? Smug. O, madam, I shall be even with you before I part with your writings and money, that I have in my hands. Stand. A word with you, Mr Alderinan; do you know this pocket-book? Smug. O lord, it contains an account of all my secret practices in trading. [Aside.] How came you by it, sir? Stand. Sir Harry, here, dusted it out of your pocket at this lady's house yesterday. It conains an account of some secret practices in your merchandising; among the rest, the counterpart of an agreement with a correspondent at Bourdeaux, about transporting French wine in Spanish casks. First, return this lady all her writings; then I shall consider whether I shall lay your proceedings before the parliament or not, whose justice will never suffer your smuggling to go unpunished. Smug. Oh, my poor ship and cargo! Clin. sen. Hark'e, master, you had as good come along with me to the Jubilee now. Ang. Come, Mr Alderman, for once let a woman advise: Would you be thought an honest man, banish covetousness, that worst gout of age:. avarice is a poor, pilfering quality of the soul, and will as certainly cheat, as a thief would steal. Would you be thought a reformer of the times, be less severe in your censures, less rigid in your precepts, and more strict in your example. Wild. Right, madam; virtue flows freer from Charming woman can true converts make, |