parting from the door, yet he would not speak to me, would hardly see me, but away he drove, and smiling mocked my sorrows.

Vict. Alas! her ladyship is passionate, as I live very passionate.

Lady Squ. So Theseus left the wretched Ariadne on the shore; so fled the false Æneas from his Dido.

Vict. What could you expect less of him, madam ? Falshood is his province; your ladyship should have made choice of a civil, sober, discreet person; but Goodvile you know is a spark, a very spark.

Lady Squ. That has been my ruin; it was therefore I adored him: what woman would doat on a dull melancholy ass, because she might be sure of him? No, a spark is my life, my darling, the joy of my soul. Oh how I doat on a spark! I could live and die with a spark. Victoria, I make you a confident, and you must pardon me for robbing you of Mr. Goodvile: come, come, I know all.

Vict. Your ladyship knows more than all the world besides.

Lady Squ. And, as I was saying, a spark is the dearest thing to me in the world; I have had acquaintance I think with all the sparks. Well, one of 'em that you know was a sweet person: oh he danced, and sung, and drest to a miracle; and then he spoke French as if he had been bred all his life-time at Paris, and admired every thing that was French; besides, he would look so languishingly, and lisp so prettily when he talked; and then never wanted discourse: I'll swear he has entertained me two hours together with the description of an equipage.

Vict. That must needs be very charming.

Lady Squ. But Mr. Goodvile was a wit too: oh Į never had a wit before, for to speak the truth, now I think on't better, all my lovers have been a little foolish I'll swear, ha, ha, ha!

[Sir Noble and Mal. at the door, drunk, Mal, Scour, scour, scour,

Clum. Down goes the main-mast, down, down, down. (They enter.) Malagene, roar, roar, and ravish, here are punks in beaten sattin, sirrah; termagant, triumphant, first-rate punks, you rogue.

Vict. How came these ruffians here?

Clum. Ruffians! do you know who you talk to, madam? I am a civil, sober, discreet person, and come particularly to embrace thy lovely body.

Mal. Look you, madam, make no noise about this matter; this is a person of quality, and a friend of mine, therefore pray be civil.

Lady Squ. Has Mr. Goodvile left no footmen at home to cudgel such fops? Fogh-how like drunken journeymen tailors they look?

Mal. Journeymen, madam! hold there! none of your ladyship's journeymen, that's one comfort! Woe to the poor devil that is, I say.

Lady Squ. Were Mr. Goodvile at home, you durst not talk thus, you scandalous fellow.

Mul. Goodvile, say you-hark you, my dear, were he here in person, I would first of all decently kick him out of doors, then turn up thy keel, and discover here to thy kinsman what a leaky vessel thou art.

Clum. Why, what is that Goodvile? will he wrestle? or will he box for fifty pound? Look you, this fellow is my pimp. 'Tis true, his countenance is none of the best: but he's a neat lad, and keeps good company.

Take no

Mal. Hark you, knight: you'll bear me out of this business, knight: for, under the rose, I have apprehension that this carcass of mine may suffer else. Clum. No more of that, rogue! no more. tice, good people, this civil person shall marry my sister; she is a pretty hopeful lady-truly she is not full thirteen --but she has had two children already, odd's heart. Lady Squ. Ridiculous oaf.

Clum. Come, let us talk bawdy.

Vict. I'll call those shall talk with you presently.

Clum. Wheugh-she's gone.

[Exit Victoria.

Lady Squ. Beast! Brute! Barbarian! Sot!

Clum. Oh law! my aunt! what have I done now? Madam, as I hope to be

[Runs against her, and almost beats her backward. Lady Squ. Oh help! I am murdered! Oh my head! Clum. Nay, lady, that was no fault of mine: you shall see I'll keep my distance; and (as I was saying) if I have offended

[Reels against a table, and throws down a

China jar, and several little China dishes. Lady Squ. Oh insufferable! quickly, quickly, a porter and basket, to carry out this swine to a dunghill.

Clum. Look you, madam, no harm! no harm! you shall see me behave myself notably yet-as for example-suppose now-suppose this the door. (Goes to the door) Very well; thus then I move-(Steps forward, and leaves his peruke on one of the hinges). Hab, who was that? Rogues! Dogs! Sons of Whores!

Enter Servants.

1 Ser. Such as we are, sir, you shall find us at your service.

Clum. Murder, murder, murder!

Mal. Where there is such odds, a man may with honour retire and steal off.

Enter CAPER and SAUNTER.

[Exit Mal.

Cap. Where is this rascal? this coxcomb? this fop? how dare you come hither, sir, to affront ladies and persons of quality?

Clum. Sir, your humble servant: did you see my perriwig?

Cap. Sir, you are an ass; and never wore a perriwig in your life: Jernié, what a bush of briars and thorns is here! The mane of my lady Squeamish's shock is a chedreux to it.

Clum. Why, sir, I know who made it. He was an honest fellow, and a barber, and one that loved music and poetry.

Saunt. How, sir!

Cap. But, sir, come close to the business: how durst you treat ladies so rudely as we saw you but now? Answer to that, and tell not us of music and poetry.

Clum. Why, he had all Westminster drollery, and Oxford jests at his fingers' ends. And for the cittern*, if ever Troy town were a tune, he mastered it upon that instrument, when he was our butler in the country! an old maid of my grandmother's took great delight in him for it.

Saunt. But, sir, this is nothing to our business.

Clum. Business! hang business! I hate a man of business if you'll drink or whore, break windows or commit murder, I am for you.

Cap. Sir, will you fight?

Clum. Fight! with whom? for what?
Cap. With me.

Saunt. With me.

Clum. Ay, sir, with all my heart; I love fighting, sir, Cap. But will you, sir? dare you?

Saunt. Ay, sir, will you fight? do you think you dare fight?

Clum. Why, you sweet-perfumed jessamine knaves! you rogues in buckram! were there a dozen of you, I'd beat you out of your artificial sweetness into your own natural rankness. You stinkards! shall I draw my cerberus and cut you off, you gaudy popinjays?

Cap. This fellow's mad, Saunter! stark mad, by Jerico: dear knight, how long hast thou been in this pickle? this condition, knight, ha?

Clum. What pickle? what condition? you worms! Saunt. Ay, ay, 'tis so, the poor devil must to Bedlam: Bedlami, knight, the madman's hospital.

Clum. What will become of you then, you vermin; there's never an hospital for fools yet; mercy on me if there were! how many handsome fellows in this town might be provided for? [Fiddles play within.

Cap. Hey-day, fiddles!

Cittern, an old instrument of the harp kind,

Saunt. Madam Goodvile, hearing we were here, hath sent for 'em on purpose to regale us.

Enter Mrs. GOODVILE, Lady SQUEAMISH with the Fiddles playing, SAUNTER falls to sing the Tune with them, and CAPER dances to it: LETTICE.

Mrs. Good. Let my servants take care that all the doors stand open; I'll have entrance denied to no one fool in town. Mr. Caper and Mr. Saunter here? then we can never want company. Come, madam, let us begin the revels of the day; I long to enjoy the freedom I am mistress of. Lettice, try your voice.

me.

Lady Squ. Oh madam! this gallant spirit ravishes Dear Mr. Caper, you and Mr. Saunter were born to be happy! madam Goodvile has resolved to sacrifice this day to pleasure-what shall we do with ourselves? Cap. Do, madam! we'll dance for ever.

Lady Squ. Oh, ay, dance.

Saunt. And sing.

Lady Squ. And sing.

Both. And love.

Lady Squ. Oh ay, love! but madam Goodvile, have you resolved to wear the willow, and be very melancholy-ha, ha, ha!-Fiddles! where are you? I cannot endure you out of my sight.

Mrs. Good. Willow! hang it, give it to country-girls that sigh for clowns; and melancholy is a disease for bankrupt beauty: I have yet a stock of youth and charms, unsullied by the hands of age or care;

And whilst that lasts, what woman would despair?

Clum. In the mean time I'll scout out for a doxy of my acquaintance hard by, return in triumph, and let Victoria go hang and despair.

Sings.

To love is a pleasure divine,

Yet I'll never sigh or be sad;

They are coxcombs that languish and pine,

So long as whores are to be had.-To daroll, darolda.