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Prithee fill me the glass,
Till it laugh in my face,

With ale that is potent and mellow;

He that whines for a lass

Is an ignorant ass,

For a bumper has not its fellow.

But if you would have me marry my cousin-say the word, and I'll do 't-Wilfull will do 't, that's the word-Wilfull will do 't, that's my crest-my motto I have forgot.

Lady Wishfort. My nephew's a little overtaken, cousin but 'tis with drinking your health. -O' my word, you are obliged to him.

Sir Wilfull. In vino veritas, aunt.-If I drunk your health to-day, cousin-I am a Borachio. But if you have a mind to be married, say the word and send for the piper; Wilfull will do 't. If not, dust it away, and let's have t'other round.-Tony !-Odds heart, where's Tony !-Tony 's an honest fellow, but he spits after a bumper, and that's a fault. Sings.

We'll drink and we'll never ha' done, boys,
Put the glass then around with the sun, boys,
Let Apollo's example invite us;

For he's drunk every night,

And that makes him so bright,

That he's able next morning to light us.

The sun's a good pimple, an honest soaker; he has a

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cellar at your Antipodes. If I travel, aunt, I touch at your Antipodes.-Your Antipodes are a good, rascally sort of topsy-turvy fellows: if I had a bumper, I'd stand upon my head and drink a health to 'em.-A match or no match, cousin, with the hard name?—Aunt, Wilfull will do 't. . . . .

Millamant. Your pardon, madam, I can stay no longer-sir Wilfull grows very powerful. Eh! how he smells! I shall be overcome if I stay.-Come, cousin. Exit.

Lady Wishfort. Smells! he would poison a tallowchandler and his family! Beastly creature, I know not what to do with him!-Travel, quotha! ay, travel, travel, get thee gone, get thee gone, get thee but far enough, to the Saracens, or the Tartars, or the Turks!— for thou art not fit to live in a Christian commonwealth, thou beastly Pagan!

Sir Wilfull. Turks, no; no Turks, aunt : your Turks are infidels and believe not in the grape. Your Mahometan, your Mussulman is a dry stinkard-no offence, aunt. My map says that your Turk is not so honest a man as your Christian. I cannot find by the map that your Mufti is orthodox-whereby it is a plain case that orthodox is a hard word, aunt, and (Hiccups.) Greek for claret.Sings.

To drink is a Christian diversion,
Unknown to the Turk or the Persian:

Let Mahometan fools

Live by heathenish rules

And be damn'd over tea-cups and coffee,

But let British lads sing,

Crown a health to the king,

And a fig for your sultan and sophy!

Ah Tony!... lead on, little Tony-I'll follow thee, my Anthony, my Tantony, sirrah, thou shalt be my Tantony, and I'll be thy pig. Sings.

And a fig for your sultan and sophy!

Exeunt Sir WILFULL and WITWOUD. Lady Wishfort. This will never do. It will never make a match-at least before he has been abroad.

A Room in Lady WISHFORT'S House.
Lady WISHFORT and FOIBLE.

Lady Wishfort. Out of my house, out of my house, thou viper! thou serpent, that I have fostered! thou bosom traitress that I raised from nothing!-Begone! begone! begone !-go! go!-That I took from washing of old gauze and weaving of dead hair, with a bleak, blue nose over a chafing-dish of starved embers, and dining behind a traverse rag, in a shop no bigger than a birdcage !-go, go! starve again, do, do!

Foible. Dear madam, I'll beg pardon on my knees. Lady Wishfort. Away! out! out !-Go, set up for yourself again!-Do, drive a trade, do, with your

three-pennyworth of small ware, flaunting upon a packthread, under a brandy-seller's bulk, or against a dead wall by a ballad-monger! Go, hang out an old Frisoneer gorget, with a yard of yellow colbertine again! Do; an old gnawed mask, two rows of pins and a child's fiddle; a glass necklace with the beads broken, and a quilted nightcap with one ear! go, go, drive a trade!-These were your commodities, you treacherous trull! this was the merchandise you dealt in when I took you into my house, placed you next myself, and made you governante of my whole family! You have forgot this, have you, now you have feathered your nest?

Foible. No, no, dear madam. Do but hear me, have but a moment's patience, I 'll confess all. Mr. Mirabell seduced me; I am not the first that he has wheedled with his dissembling tongue; your ladyship's own wisdom has been deluded by him; then how should I, a poor ignorant, defend myself? O madam, if you knew but what he promised me, and how he assured me your ladyship should come to no damage !-Or else the wealth of the Indies should not have bribed me to conspire against so good, so sweet, so kind a lady as you have been to me.

Lady Wishfort. No damage! What, to betray me, and marry me to a cast-servingman! No damage! O thou frontless impudence!

Foible. Pray do but hear me, madam; he could not marry your ladyship, madam.-No, indeed, his mar

riage was to have been void in law, for he was married to me first, to secure your ladyship. Yes, indeed, I inquired of the law before I would meddle or make.

Lady Wishfort. What then, I have been your property, have I? I have been convenient to you, it seems! This exceeds all precedent; I am brought to fine uses, to become a botcher of second-hand marriages between Abigails and Andrews !-you and your Philander!-I'll Duke's-place you, as I am a person! Your turtle is in custody already: you shall coo in the same cage, if there be a constable or warrant in the parish. Exit.

Foible. Oh that ever I was born! Oh that I was ever married !—A bride !-ay, I shall be a Bridewellbride.-Oh!

THE DOUBLE DEALER.

THE HE plot of this play is made up of intrigues and counter-intrigues of great complexity, relieved by the humours and affectations of Lord and Lady Froth and Mr. Brisk. The scene is laid at the house of Lord Touchwood, uncle to Mellefont, who is engaged to marry Cynthia, daughter of Sir Paul Plyant. Lord Froth is a man of fashion and a solemn coxcomb; Mr. Brisk is a pert one. Lady Froth is a great coquette and pretender to poetry, wit, and learning.' Careless is Mellefont's friend and confidant, of a blunt, downright temper.

L

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