[Exit. Doc. You had better not have touched her,

you surly rogue.

Job. Out of my house, you villain. Doc. Farewell, you paltry slave.

Job. Get out, you rogue.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-An open Country.

Enter DOCTOR.

AIR.

Doc. My little spirits, now appear,
Nadir and Abishog, draw near;
The time is short, make no delay;
Then quickly haste and come away:
Nor moon, nor stars afford their light,
But all is wrapped in gloomy night :
Both men and beast to rest incline,
And all things favour my design.
Spir. [Within.] Say, master, what is to be done?
Doc. My strict commands be sure attend,

For, ere this night shall have an end,
You must this cobbler's wife transform,
And to the knight's the like perform:
With all your most specific charms,
Convey each wife to diffrent arms;
Let the delusion be so strong,
That none may know the right from wrong.
Spir. All this we will with care perform

In thunder, lightning, and in storm. [Thunder. Exit DOCTOR. SCENE V.-JOBSON'S House.-The bed in view. JOBSON discovered at work.

Job. What devil has been abroad to-night? I never heard such claps of thunder in my life; I thought my little hovel would have flown away; but now all is clear again, and a fine star-light morning it is. I'll settle myself to work. They say, winter's thunder is summer's wonder.

In Bath a wanton wife did dwell,
As Chaucer he did write,
Who wantonly did spend her time
In many a fond delight.

All on a time so sick she was,
And she at length did die;
And then her soul at Paradise

Did knock most mightily.

Lady L. Why, villain, rascal, screech-owl, who makest a worse noise than a dog hung in the pales, or a hog in a high wind,-where are all my servants? Somebody come and hamstring this rogue. [Knocks. Job. Why, how now, you brazen quean! you must get drunk with the conjurer, must

Lady L. Monstrous! I can find no bell to ring. Where are my servants? they shall toss him in a blanket.

Job. Ay, the jade's asleep still: the conjurer told her she should keep her coach, and she is dreaming of her equipage. [Sings.

I will come in, in spite she said,
Of all such churls as thee;
Thou art the cause of all our pain,
Our grief and misery.

Thou first broke the commandment,

In honour of thy wife:

When Adam heard her say these words,
He ran away for life.

Lady L. Why, husband! Sir John! will you suffer me to be thus insulted?

Job. Husband! Sir John! what a plague, has she knighted me? and my name's Zekel too; a good jest, faith.

Lady L. Ha! he's gone, he's not in the bed. Heaven! where am I? Foh! what loathsome smells are here? Canvass sheets, and a filthy ragged curtain; a beastly rug, and a flock bed. Am I awake, or is it all a dream? what rogue is that! Sirrah! where am I? who brought me hither? what rascal are you?

Job. This is amazing-I never heard such words from her before? if I take my strap_to teach you better manners, you saucy drab. you, I'll make you know your husband, I'll

Lady L. Oh, astonishing impudence! you my husband, Sírrah? I'll have you hanged, you given me a sleeping draught, and conveyed me rogue; I'm a lady. Let me know who has hither, you dirty varlet?

Job. A sleeping draught! yes, you drunken jade, you had a sleeping draught, with a plague working yet? to ye. What, has not your lamb's wool done

Lady L. Where am I? where has my villanous husband put me? Lucy! Lettice! where are my queans?

Job. Ha ha, ha! what! does she call her maids too? the conjurer has made her mad as well as drunk.

Lady L. He talks of conjurers; sure I am bewitched! ha! what clothes are here? a linsey-woolsey gown, a calico hood, a red baize petticoat; I am removed from my own house by witchcraft. What must I do? What will become of me? [Horns wind without.

Job. Hark! the hunters and the merry horns are abroad. Why, Nell, you lazy jade, 'tis break of day; to work, to work; come, and spin, you drab, or I'll tan your hide for you. What a plague, must I be at work two hours before you in the morning?

Lady L. Why, Sirrah, thou impudent villain, dost thou not know me, you rogue?

Job. Know you, yes I know you well enough, and I'll make you know me before I have done with you.

Lady L. I am Sir John Loverule's lady; how came I here?.

Job. Sir John Loverule's lady! no, Nell, not quite so bad neither; she plagues every one that comes near her the whole country curses her.

Lady L. Nay, then I'll hold no longeryou rogue, you insolent villain, I'll teach you better manners.

I

[Flings the bedstaff and other things at him. Job. This is more than ever I saw by her. never had an ill word from her before.

Come, strap, I'll try your mettle; I'll sober you, I warrant you, quean.

[He straps her; she flies at him, Lady L. I'll pull your throat out; I'll tear out eyes; I am a lady, Sirrah. O murder! murder! Sir John Loverule will hang Your you for this. Murder! murder!

Job. Come, hussy, leave fooling, and come to your spinning, or else I'll lamb you, you never were so lambed since you were an inch long. Take it up, you jade.

[She flings it down. He straps her. Lady L. Hold, hold! I'll do any thing. Job. Oh! I thought I should bring you to yourself again.

Lady L. What shall I do? I can't spin.

Aside. Joh. I'll into my stall; 'tis broad day now. [Works and sings.] Hey-day, I think the jade's brain is turned. What, have you forgot to spin, hussy?

Lady L. But I have not forgot to run. I'll e'en try my feet. I shall find somebody in the town, sure, that will succour me. [She runs out. Job. What! does she run for it ?—I'll after her. [He runs out.

SCENE VI.-SIR JOHN LOVERULE'S House.

NELL discovered in Bed.

Nell. What pleasant dreams I have had tonight! Methought I was in Paradise, upon a bed of violets and roses, and the sweetest husband by my side! Ha, bless me! where am I now? What sweets are these? No garden in the spring can equal them.-Am I on a bed?—

The sheets are sarcenet, sure; no linen ever was so fine. What a gay silken robe have I got-O heaven! I dream!-Yet, if this be a dream, I would not wish to wake again. Sure I died last night and went to heaven,

and this is it.

Enter LUCY.

Lucy. Now, must I awake an alarum that will not lie still again till midnight at soonest; the first greeting I suppose will be jade, or slut. [Aside.]-Madam! madam!

Nell. O gemini! who's this? What dost say, sweetheart?

Lucy. Sweetheart! O lud, sweetheart! The best names I have had these three months from her, have been slut or jade. [Aside.]— What gown and ruffles will your ladyship wear to-day?

Nell. What does she mean? Ladyship! gown and ruffles !-Sure I am awake!-Oh! I remember the cunning man, now.

Lucy. Did your ladyship speak?

Nell. Ay, child; I'll wear the same I did yesterday.

Lucy. Mercy upon me!-Child !-Here's a miracle! [Aside.

Let. What work will your ladyship please to have done to-day?

Nell. Work, child! 'tis holiday; no work to-day.

Let. Oh, mercy! Am I, or thee, awake? or do we both dream?-Here's a blessed change? [Apart to LUCY.

Lucy. If it continues, we shall be a happy family. [Apart to LETTICE. Let. Your ladyship's chocolate is ready. Nell. Mercy on me! what's that? Some garment, I suppose. [Aside.] Put it on then, sweetheart.

Let. Put it on, Madam? I have taken it off; 'tis ready to drink.

Nell. I mean, put it by; I don't care for drinking now.

Enter COOK.

Cook. Now I go, like a bear to the stake, to know her scurvy ladyship's commands about dinner. How many rascally names must I be called? [Aside. Let. Oh, John Cook! you'll be out of your wits to find my lady in so sweet a temper.

[Apart to Cook.

Cook. What a devil, are they all mad?

[Apart to LETtice. Lucy. Madam, here's the cook come about dinner.

Nell. Oh! there's a fine cook! He looks

like one of your gentlefolks. [Aside.]—Indeed, honest man, I'm very hungry now, pray get me a rasher upon the coals, a piece of milk cheese, and some white bread.

Cook. Hey! what's to do here? my head turns round. Honest man! I looked for

rogue and rascal, at least. She's strangely changed in her diet, as well as her humour. [Aside.]—I'm afraid, Madam, cheese and bastomach in a morning. If you please, Madam, con will sit very heavy on your ladyship's I'll toss you up a white fricassee of chickens, in a trice, Madam; or what does your ladyship think of a veal sweetbread?

Nell. Even what you will, good cook. Cook. Good cook! good cook! Ah! 'tis a sweet lady. [Apart.

Enter BUTLER.

Oh! kiss me, chip, I am out of my wits-We have the kindest, sweetest lady.

[Apart to BUTLER. But. You shamming rogue, I think you are out of your wits, all of ye; the maids look merrily too. [Apart to Cook. Lucy. Here's the butler, Madam, to know your ladyship's orders.

Nell. Oh! pray, Mr. Butler, let me have some small beer when my breakfast comes in.

But. Mr. Butler! Mr. Butler! I shall be turned into stone with amazement. [Aside.] Would not your ladyship rather have a glass of Frontiniac, or Montepulchiano.

Nell. O dear! what hard names are there; but I must not betray myself. [Aside.]—Well, which you please, Mr. Butler."

Eater SIR JOHN LOVERULE, meeting his
SERVANTS.

But. Oh, Sir! here's the rarest news! Lucy. There never was the like, Sir! You'll be over-joyed and amazed!

Sir J. What, are ye mad?-What's the matter with ye?-How now? here's a new face in my family!-What's the meaning of all this? But. Oh, Sir! the family's turned upsidedown! We are almost distracted; the happiest people!

Lucy. Ay, my lady, Sir; my lady. Sir J. What, is she dead? But. Dead! heaven forbid!-O! she's the best woman; the sweetest lady!

Sir J. This is astonishing !-I must go and inquire into this wonder. If this be true, I shall rejoice indeed.

But. 'Tis true, Sir, upon my honour. Long live Sir John and my lady! Huzza! [Exeunt. Re-enter NELL.

Nell. I well remember the cunning man warned me to bear all out with confidence, or worse, he said, would follow. I am ashamed, and know not what to do with all this ceremony! I am amazed, and out of my senses!I looked in the glass, and saw a gay fine thing I knew not!-Methought, my face was not at all like that I have seen at home in a piece of looking-glass fastened upon the cupboard. But great ladies, they say, have flattering glasses, that show them far unlike themselves, whilst poor folks' glasses represent them e'en just as they are.

Re-enter Lucy.

I row and protest
I ne'er was so kiss'd.
Again, Sir!

Sir J. Again, and again, my dearest ;
O may it last for life!

Sir J.

What joy thus to enfold thee!
What pleasure to behold thee!
Inclin'd again to kiss!

How ravishing the bliss!

Nell. I little thought this morning

'Twould ever come to this. [Exeunt.

Enter LADY LOVERULE.

Lady L. Here's a fine rout and rioting! You, Sirrah, butler, you rogue!

But. Why, how now? Who are you? Lady L. Impudent varlet! don't you know your lady?

But. Lady!-Here, turn this mad woman out of doors.

Lady L. You rascal-take that, Sirrah. [Flings a glass at him. Foot. Have a care, hussy; there's a good pump without; we shall cool your courage for you."

Lady L. You, Lucy, have you forgot me too, you minx?

Lucy. Forgot you, woman! Why, I never remembered you; I never saw you before in my life.

Lady L. Oh, the wicked slut! I'll give you cause to remember me, I will, hussy. [Pulls her head-dress off. Lucy. Murder! murder! help!

Re-enter SIR JOHN LOVERULE and NELL. Sir J. How now? What uproar's this? Lady L. You, Lettice, you slut! won't you know me neither? [Strikes her.

Let. Help! help!

Sir J. What's to do there?

But. Why, Sir, here's a mad woman calls herself my lady, and is beating and cuffing us

Sir J. Thou my wife? poor creature, I pity thee. I never saw thee before.

[TO LADY LOVerule, Lady L. Then it is in vain to expect redress from thee, thou wicked contriver of all my misery.

Nell. How am I amazed? Can that be I there, in my clothes, that have made all this disturbance? And yet I am here, to my thinking, in these fine clothes. How can this be? I am so confounded and affrighted, that I begin to wish I was with Zekel Jobson again.

[Aside.

Lady L. To whom shall I apply myself, or whither can I fly ?-Heaven! what do I see?

Is not that I yonder, in my gown and petticoat I wore yesterday? How can it be? I cannot be in two places at once.

Sir J. Poor wretch! She's stark mad. Lady L. What, in the devil's name, was I here before I came? Let me look in the glass. -Oh, heavens! I am astonished! I don't know myself!-If this be I that the glass shows me, I never saw myself before.

Sir J. What incoherent madness is this?
Enter JOBSON.

Lady L. There, that's the devil in my likeness, who has robbed me of my countenance. -He here too?

Job. Ay, hussy, and here's my strap, you quean!

Nell. O dear! I'm afraid my husband will beat me; that man on t'other side the room there.

Job. I hope your honours will pardon her; she was drinking with a conjurer last night, and has been mad ever since, and calls herself my Lady Loverule.

Sir J. Poor woman! take care of her; do not hurt her; she may be cured of this.

Job. Yes, and please your worship, you shall see me cure her presently.-Hussy, do you see

this?

Nell. O! pray, Zekel, don't beat me!
Sir J. What says my love? Does she infect

thee with madness too?

Nell. I am not well; pray lead me in. [Exeunt NELL and MAIDS. Job. I beseech your worship don't take it ill of me; she shall never trouble you more. Sir J. Take her home, and use her kindly. Lady L. What will become of me?

[Exeunt JOBSON and LADY LOverule. Enter FOOTMAN.

Foot. Sir, the Doctor who called here last night, desires you will give him leave to speak a word or two with you, upon very earnest

business.

J

Sir J. What can this mean? Bring him in. Enter DOCTOR.

Doc. Lo! on my knees, Sir, I beg forgiveness for what I have done, and put my life into your hands.

Sir J. What mean you?

Doc. I have exercised my magic art upon your lady; I know you have too much honour to take away my life, since I might still have concealed it, had I pleased.

Sr J. You have now, brought me to a glimpse of misery too great to bear. Is all my happiness then turned into vision only?

Doc. Sir, I beg you, fear not; if any harm comes on it, I freely give you leave to hang

me.

Sir J. Inform me what you have done. Doc. I have transformed your lady's face so that she seems the cobbler's wife, and have charmed her face into the likeness of my lady's and last night, when the storm arose, my spirits conveyed them to each other's bed. Sir J. Oh, wretch, thou hast undone me! I am fallen from the height of all my hopes, and must still be cursed with a tempestuous wife, a fury whom I never knew quiet since I had her.

Doc. If that be all, I can continue the charm for both their lives.

Sir J. Let the event be what it will, I'll hang you, if you do not end the charm this instant.

Doc. I will, this minute, Sir: and perhaps you'll find it the luckiest of your life: I can assure you, your lady will prove the better for it.

Sir J. Hold there's one material circumstance I'd know.

Doc. Your pleasure, Sir?

Sir J. Perhaps the cobbler has—you understand me?

Doc. I do assure you, no; for ere she was conveyed to his bed, the cobbler was got up to work, and he has done nought but beat her ever since; and you are like to reap the fruits of his labour. He'll be with you in a minute. -Here he comes.

Re-enter JOBSON.

Sir J. So, Jobson, where's your wife? Job. An't please your worship, she's here at the door; but indeed I thought I had lost her just now; for as she came into the hall, she fell into such a swoon, that I thought she would never come out on't again; but a tweak or two by the nose, and half a dozen straps, did the business at last.-Here, where are you, hussy?

Re-enter LADY LOVERULE.

But. [Holds up the candle, but lets it fall when he sees her.] O heaven and earth! is this my lady?

Job. What does he say? My wife changed to my lady?

Cook. Ay, I thought the other was too good for our lady.

Lady L. Sir, you are the person I have most offended, and here confess I have been the worst of wives in every thing, but that I always kept myself chaste. If you can vouchsafe once more to take me to your bosom, the remainder of my days shall joyfully be spent in duty and observance of your will.

if you are sincere in what you say, you'll make Sir J. Rise, Madam; 1 do forgive you; and

me happier than all the enjoyments in the world without you could do.

Job. What a plague! am I to lose my wife thus?

Re-enter LUCY and LETTICE.

Lucy. Oh, Sir, the strangest accident has happened-it has amazed us!-My lady was in so great a swoon, we thought she had been dead.

Let. And when she came to herself, she proved another woman.

Job. Ha, ha, ha! a bull, a bull!

Re-enter NELL.

Nell. My head turns round; I must go home. O, Zekel, are you there?

Job. O lud! is that fine lady my wife? Egad, I'm afraid to come near her. What can be the meaning of this?

Sir J. This is a happy change, and I'll have it celebrated with all the joy I proclaimed for my late short-lived vision.

Lady L. To me 'tis the happiest day I ever knew.

Sir J. Here, Jobson, take thy fine wife. Job. But one word, Sir.Did not your worship make a buck of me, under the rose?

Sir J. No, upon my honour, nor ever kissed her lips till I came from hunting; but since she has been a means of bringing about this happy change, I'll give thee five hundred

pounds home with her, to buy a stock of leather.

Job. Brave boys! I'm a prince.-The prince of cobblers! Come hither and kiss me, Nell; I'll never strap thee more.

Nell. Indeed, Zekel, I have been in such a

dream that I'm quite weary of it. Forsooth, Madam, will you please to take your clothes, and let me have mine again. [TO LADY LOverule. Job. Hold your tongue, you fool, they'll serve you to go to church. [Apart to NELL, Lady L. No; thou shalt keep them, and I'll preserve thine as relics.

Job. And can your ladyship forgive my strapping your honour so very much? Lady L. Most freely. The joy of this blessed change sets all things right again.

Sir J. Let us forget every thing that is past, and think of nothing now but joy and plea

sure.

PROLOGUE.

SPOKEN BY MR. THEOPHILUS CIBBER.

IN ancient Greece the comic muse appear'd,
Sworn foe to vice, by virtue's friends rever'd;
Impartial she indulg'd her noble rage,
No reigning ill was from her censure free,
And satire was the business of the stage.
No sex, no age of man, and no degree;
The laurell'd chief, or sacerdotal head,
Whoe'er by passion was, or folly, led,
The pedant sophist, or imperious dame,
She fash'd the evil, nor conceal'd the name.
How hard the fate of wives in those sad
times,

When each cornuting mate, each rampant jilt,
When saucy poets would chastise their crimes!
Had her name branded, on the stage, with
Each fair may now the comic muse endure,
guilt!
And join the laugh, though at herself, secure.
Link'd to a patient lord, this night behold
A wilful headstrong termagant, and scold:
Whom, though her husband did what man
could do,

The devil only could reclaim like you:
Like you, whose virtues bright embellish life,
And add a blessing to the name of wife.

A merry wag, to mend vexatious brides, These scenes begun, which shook your father's sides:

And we obsequious to your taste, prolong
Your mirth, by courting the supplies of song:
And by your pleasures shall compute our
If you approve, we our desires obtain,
gain.