Mir. O ho! is it so? Thou dear seven hundred pounds, thou'rt welcome home again with all my heart.-Ads my life, madam, you have got the finest built watch there! Tompion's, I presume.

Lam. Sir, you may wear it.

Mir. Oh, madam, by no means, 'tis too much -rob you of all! [Taking it from her.] Good dear time, thou'rt a precious thing; I'm glad I have retrieved thee. [Putting it up.] What, my friends neglected all this while! Gentlemen, you'll pardon my complaisance to the lady. How now? is it civil to be so out of humour at my entertainment, and I so pleased with yours?-Captain, you are surprised at all this! but we're in our frolics, you must know—Some wine here.—

Enter Servants with wine.

he

Come, captain, this worthy gentleman's health. -Tweaks the first Bravo by the nose; roars.]-But now, where's my dear deliverer, my boy, my charming boy!

1st Bra. I hope some of our crew below stairs have dispatched him.

Mir. Villain, what sayest thou? Dispatched! I'll have you all tortured, racked, torn to pieces alive, if you have touched my boy.-Here, page! page! page! [Runs out. Dur. Here, gentlemen, be sure you secure those fellows.

1st Bra. Yes, sir, we know you and your guard will be very civil to us.

Dur. Now for you, madam- -he, he, he! I'm so pleased to think that I shall be revenged of one woman before I die-Well, Mistress Snap-Dragon, which of these honourable gentlemen is so happy to call you wife?

1st Bra. Sir, she should have been mine tonight, because Sampre here had her last night. Sir, she's very true to us all four.

Dur. Take them to justice.

[The guards carry off the Bravoes. Enter Old MIRABEL, DUGARD, and BISARRE. Old Mir. Robin, Robin; where's Bob? Where's my boy?-What, is this the lady? A pretty whore, faith? Hark'e, child, because my son was so civil as to oblige you with a coach, I'll treat you with a cart, indeed I will.

Dug. Ay, madam, and you shall have a swinging equipage,—three or four thousand footmen at your heels, at least.

Dur. No less becomes her quality.

Bis. Faugh! the monster!

Dur. Monster! ay, you're all a little monstrous, let me tell you.

Enter MIRABEL.

Old Mir. Ah, my dear Bob, art thou safe, man? Mir. No, no, sir, I'm ruin'd; the saviour of my life is lost.

Old Mir. No, he came and brought us the

news.

Mir. But where is he?

Enter ORIANA.

Ha! [Runs and embraces her.] My dear preserver, what shall I do o recompence your trust ?-Father, friends, gentlemen, behold the youth that has relieved me from the most ignominious death, from the scandalous poniards of these bloody ruffians, where to have fallen would have defamed my memory with vile reproach-My life, estate, my all, is due to such a favour. Command me, child: before you all, before my late so kind indulgent stars, I swear to grant whate'er you ask. Öri. To the same stars, indulgent now to me, I will appeal as to the justice of my claim: I shall demand but what was mine before- -the just performance of your contract to Oriana.

Omnes. Oriana!

[Discovering herself.

Ori. In this disguise I resolved to follow you abroad, counterfeited that letter that got me into your service, and so, by this strange turn of fate, I became the instrument of your preservation:-few common servants would have had such cunning: my love inspired me with the meaning of your message, because my concern for your safety made me suspect your company.

Dur. Mirabel, you're caught.

Mir. Caught! I scorn the thought of imposition; the tricks and artful cunning of the sex I have despised, and broke through all contrivance. Caught! No, 'tis my voluntary act; this was no human stratagem, but by my providential stars design'd, to shew the dangers wandering youth incurs by the pursuit of an unlawful love, to plunge me headlong in the snares of vice, and then to free me by the hands of virtue.-Here, on my knees, I humbly beg my fair preserver's pardon: my thanks are needless, for myself I owe-and now for ever do protest me yours.

Old Mir. Tall, all, di, dall. [Sings.] Kiss me, daughter-No, you shall kiss me first, [To LAMORCE] for you're the cause on't. Well, Bisarre, what say you to the captain?

Bis. I like the beast well enough, but don't understand his paces so well as to venture him in a strange road.

Old Mir. But marriage is so beaten a path that you cann't go wrong.

ed.

Bis. Ay, 'tis so beaten, that the way is spoil

Dur. There is but one thing should make me thy husband-I could marry thee to-day for the privilege of beating thee to-morrow.

Old Mir. Come, come, you may agree, for all Mr Dugard, are not you pleased with

this.

this?

Dug. So pleased, that if I thought it might secure your son's affection to my sister, I would double her fortune.

Mir. Fortune! has she not given me mine,— my life, estate, my all, and what is more, her virtuous self?-Virtue, in this so advantageous

BY

In ancient times, when Helen's fatal charms
Rous'd the contending universe to arms,
The Grecian council happily deputes
The sly Ulysses forth to raise recruits :
The artful captain found, without delay,
Where great Achilles, a deserter, lay;
Him Fate had warn'd to shun the Trojan blows,
Him Greece requir'd—against the Trojan

foes.

All their recruiting arts were needful here,
To raise this great, this tim'rous volunteer.
Ulysses well could talk―he stirs, he warms,
The warlike youth-He listens to the charms
Of plunders, fine lac'd coats, and glitt❜ring arms:

Ulysses caught the young aspiring boy,
And listed him who wrought the fate of Troy.
Thus by recruiting was bold Hector slain ;
Recruiting thus fair Helen did regain,
If for one Helen such prodigious things
Were acted, that they even listed kings;
If for one Helen's artful vicious charms
Half the transported world was found in arms,—
What for so many Helens may we dare,
Whose minds as well as faces are so fair?
If by one Helen's eyes old Greece could find
Its Homer fir'd to write, ev'n Homer blind,
Then Britons, sure, beyond compare may write,
That view so many Helens ev'ry night.

Kite. One that you beat up for the last time you were in the country. You remember your old friend Molly at the Castle?

Plume. She's not with child, I hope. Kite. She was brought to-bed yesterday. Plume. Kite, you must father the child. Kite. And so her friends will oblige me to marry the mother.

Plume. If they should, we'll take her with us; she can wash, you know, and make a bed upon occasion.

Kite. Ay, or unmake it upon occasion. But your honour knows that I am married already. Plume. To how many?

Kite. I cann't tell readily-I have set them down here upon the back of the muster-roll. [Draws it out.] Let me see-Imprimis, Mrs Shely Snikereyes; she sells potatoes upon Ormond key in Dublin-Peggy Guzzle, the brandy woman, at the Horse-Guards at Whitehall-Dolly Waggon, the carrier's daughter, at Hull-Madamoiselle Van Bottomflat, at the Buss-then Jenny Oakum, the ship carpenter's widow at Portsmouth; but I don't reckon upon her, for she was married at the same time to two lieutenants of marines and a man of war's boatswain.

Plume. A full company-you have named fivecome, make them half-a-dozen-Kite, is the child a boy or a girl?

Kite. A chopping boy.

Plume. Then set the mother down in your list, and the boy in mine; enter him a grenadier, by the name of Francis Kite, absent upon furlough I'll allow you a man's pay for his subsistence; and now, go comfort the wench in the straw. Kite. I shall, sir.

Plume. But hold, have you made any use of your German doctor's habit since you arriv'd?

Kite. Yes, yes, sir, and my fame's all about the country, for the most faithful fortune-teller that ever told a lie-I was obliged to let my landlord into the secret, for the convenience of keeping it so; but he is an honest fellow, and will be faithful to any roguery that is trusted to him. This device, sir, will get you men and me money, which, I think, is all we want at presentBut yonder comes your friend, Mr Worthy.Has your honour any farther commands?

Plume. None at present. [Exit KITE.] 'Tis indeed the picture of Worthy, but the life's departed.

should hold them open when a friend's so nearThe man has got the vapours in his ears, I believe. I must expel this melancholy spirit. Spleen, thou worst of fiends below, Fly, I conjure thee, by this magic blow. [Staps WORTHY on the shoulder. Wor. Plume! my dear captain! welcome. Safe and sound return'd!

Plume. I escaped safe from Germany, and sound, I hope, from London: you see I have lost neither leg, arm, nor nose. Then, for my inside, 'tis neither troubled with sympathies nor antipathies; and I have an excellent stomach for roast beef.

Wor. Thou art a happy fellow: once I was so. Plume. What ails thee, man? no inundations nor earthquakes in Wales I hope? Has your father rose from the dead, and reassumed his estate?

Wor. No.

Plume. Then you are married, surely?
Wor. No.

Plume. Then you are mad, or turning quaker? Wor. Come, I must out with it-Your once gay, roving friend is dwindled into an obsequious, thoughtful, romantic, constant coxcomb.

Plume. And pray what is all this for?
Wor. For a woman.

Plume. Shake hands, brother. If thou go to that, behold me as obsequious, as thoughtful, and as constant a coxcomb as your worship. Wor. For whom?

Plume. For a regiment!-but for a woman! 'Sdeath! I have been constant to fifteen at a time, but never melancholy for one: and can the love of one bring you into this condition? Pray, who is this wonderful Helen?

Wor. A Helen indeed! not to be won under ten years siege; as great a beauty, and as great a jilt.

Plume. A jilt! pho! is she as great a whore? Wor. No, no.

Plume. 'Tis ten thousand pities! But who is she? do I know her?

Wor. Very well.

Plume. That's impossible---I know no woman that will hold out a ten years siege.

Wor. What think you of Melinda?

Plume. Melinda! why, she began to capitulate this time twelvemonth, and offered to surrender upon honourable terms; and I advised you to propose a settlement of five hundred pounds ayear to her, before I went last abroad.

Wor. I did, and she hearken'd to it, desiring only one week to consider when, beyond her hopes, the town was reliev'd, and I forc'd to turn my siege into a blockade.

Plume. Explain, explain.

Wor. My lady Richly, her aunt, in Flintshire, dies, and leaves her, at this critical time, twenty thousand pounds.

Enter WORTHY.