your recruiting airs, put on the man of honour, and tell me plainly what usage I must expect when I am under your command?

Plume. You must know, in the first place, then, I hate to have gentlemen in my company; they are always troublesome and expensive, sometimes dangerous and 'tis a constant maxim amongst us, that those who know the least obey the best. Notwithstanding all this, I find something so agreeable about you that engages me to court your company; and I cann't tell how it is, but I should be uneasy to see you under the command of any body else. Your usage will chiefly depend upon your behaviour; only this you must expect, that if you commit a small fault I will excuse it, if a great one I'll discharge you; for something tells me I shall not be able to punish you.

Syl. And something tells me that if you do discharge me 'twill be the greatest punishment you can inflict; for were we this moment to go upon the greatest dangers in your profession, they would be less terrible to me than to stay behind you-And now, your hand; this lists me--and now you are my captain.

Plume. Your friend. [Kisses her.] 'Sdeath! there's something in this fellow that charms me. Syl. One favour I must beg-this affair will make some noise, and I have some friends that would censure my conduct, if I threw myself into the circumstance of a private centinel of my own head-I must therefore take care to be imprest by the act of parliament; you shall leave that to

me.

Plume. What you please as to that-Will you lodge at my quarters in the mean time? you shall have part of my bed.

Syl. Oh fie! lie with a common soldier! would not you rather lie with a common woman?

Plume. No, faith, I'm not that rake that the world imagines. I've got an air of freedom which people mistake for lewdness in me, as they mistake formality in others for religion.-The world is all a cheat, only I take mine, which is undesign'd, to be more excusable than theirs, which is hypocritical. I hurt nobody but myself; they abuse all mankind-Will you lie with me?

Syl. No, no, captain; you forget Rose: she's to be my bed-fellow, you know.

Plume. I had forgot: pray be kind to her.
[Exeunt severally.

Enter MELINDA and LUCY. Mel. 'Tis the greatest misfortune in nature for a woman to want a confidant: we are so weak that we can do nothing without assistance, and then a secret racks us worse than the cholicI am at this minute so sick of a secret, that I'm ready to faint away- -Help me, Lucy!

Lucy. Bless me! Madam, what's the matter? Mel. Vapours only; I begin to recover.—If Sylvia were in town, I could heartily forgive her faults, for the ease of discovering my own.

Lucy. You are thoughtful, madam; am not I worthy to know the cause?

Mel. You are a servant, and a secret may make you saucy.

Lucy. Not unless you should find fault without a cause.

Mel. Cause or not cause, I must not lose the pleasure of chiding when I please. Women must discharge their vapours somewhere; and before we get husbands our servants must expect to bear with 'em.

Lucy. Then, madam, you had better raise me to a degree above a servant : you know my family; and that five hundred pounds would set me upon the foot of a gentlewoman, and make me worthy the confidence of any lady in the land; besides, madam, 'twill extremely encourage me in the great design I now have in hand.

Mel. I don't find that your design can be of any great advantage to you; 'twill please me indeed in the humour I have of being reveng'd on the fool, for his vanity of making love to me; so I don't much care if I do promise you five hundred pounds upon my day of marriage.

Lucy. That is the way, madam, to make me diligent in the vocation of a confidant, which I think is generally to bring people together.

Mel. Oh, Lucy! I can hold my secret no longer. You must know, that hearing of a famous fortune-teller in town, I went disguis'd, to satisfy a curiosity which has cost me dear. The fellow is certainly the devil, or one of his bosom-favourites: he has told me the most surprising things of my past life.

Lucy. Things past, madam, can hardly be reckon'd surprising, because we know them already. Did he tell you any thing surprising that was to come ?

Mel. One thing very surprising:-he said I should die a maid!

Lucy. Die a maid! come into the world for nothing!-Dear madam! if you should believe him, it might come to pass; for the bare thought on't might kill one in four-and-twenty hoursAnd did you ask him any questions about me?

Mel. You! why I pass'd for you.

Lucy. So 'tis I that am to die a maid-But the devil was a liar from the beginning; he cann't make me die a maid-I've put it out of his power already. [Aside.

Mel. I do but jest. I would have pass'd for you, and call myself Lucy; but he presently told me my name, my quality, my fortune, and gave me the whole history of my life. He told me of a lover I had in this country, and described Worthy exactly, but in nothing so well as in his present indifference-I fled to him for refuge here to-day; he never so much as encouraged me in my fright, but coldly told me that he was sorry for the accident, because it might give the town cause to censure my conduct; excus'd his not waiting on me home; made me a careless bow; and walk'd off —'Sdeath! I could have stabb'd him or myself; 'twas the same thing-Yonder he comes-I will so use him!

Lucy. Don't exasperate him; consider what the fortune-teller told you. Men are scarce; and

as times go, it is not impossible for a woman to E die a maid.

Enter WORTHY.

Mel. No matter.

Wor. I find she's warm'd; I must strike while the iron is hot.-You've a great deal of courage, madam, to venture into the walks where you were so lately frightened.

Mel. And you have a quantity of impudence, to appear before me, that you so lately have affronted.

Wor. I had no design to affront you, nor appear before you either, madam: I left you here because I had business in another place, and came hither thinking to meet another person.

Mel. Since you find yourself disappointed, I hope you'll withdraw to another part of the walk. Wor. The walk is broad enough for us both. [They walk by one another, he with his hat cock'd, she fretting and tearing her fan.] Will you please to take snuff, madam? [He offers her his box, she strikes it out of his hand; while he is gathering it up, BRAZEN enters, and takes her round the waist; she cuffs him.

Braz. What, here before me, my dear!
Mel. What means this insolence?

you

Lucy. Are mad?-Don't you see Mr Worthy? [TO BRAZEN. Braz. No, no; I'm struck blind-Worthy! odso! well turn'd-My mistress has wit at her finger's ends-Madam, I ask your pardon; 'tis our way abroad-Mr Worthy, you're the happy

man.

Wor. I don't envy your happiness very much, if the lady can afford no other sort of favours but what she has bestowed upon you.

Mel. I'm sorry the favour miscarry'd, for it was design'd for you, Mr Worthy; and be assur'd 'tis the last and only favour you must expect at my hands-Captain, I ask your pardon. [Exit with LUCY. Braz. I grant it- -You see, Mr Worthy, 'twas only a random-shot; it might have taken off your head as well as mine. Courage, my dear! 'tis the fortune of war: but the enemy has thought fit to withdraw, I think.

Wor. Withdraw! Oons! sir, what d'ye mean by withdraw?

Braz. I'll shew you.

[Exit.

Wor. She's lost, irrecoverably lost, and Plume's advice has ruined me. 'Sdeath! why should I, that knew her haughty spirit, be ruled by a man that's a stranger to her pride?

Enter PLUME.

Plume. Ha, ha, ha! a battle royal! Don't frown so, man; she's your own, I'll tell you: I saw the fury of her love in the extremity of her passion. The wildness of her anger is a certain sign that she loves you to madness. That rogue Kite began the battle with abundance of conduct, and will bring you off victorious; my life

on't he plays his part admirably: she's to be with him again presently.

Wor. But what could be the meaning of Brazen's familiarity with her!

Plume. You are no logician, if you pretend to draw consequences from the actions of foolsThere's no arguing by the rule of reason upon a science without principles; and such is their conduct-Whim, unaccountable whim, hurries 'em on, like a man drunk with brandy before ten o'clock in the morning-But we lose our sport: Kite has opened above an hour ago: let's away. [Exeunt.

SCENE II-A Chamber; a Table with Books and Globes. KITE, disguised in a strange Habit, sitting at the Table.

Kite. [Rising.] By the position of the heavens, gained from my observation upon these celestial globes, I find that Luna was a tide-waiter, Sol a surveyor, Mercury a thief, Venus a whore, Saturn an alderman, Jupiter a rake, and Mars a serjeant, of grenadiers-and this is the system of Kite the conjurer.

Enter PLUME and WORTHY.
Plume. Well, what success ?

Kite. I have sent away a shoemaker and a tailor already: one's to be a captain of marines, and the other a major of dragoons-I am to manage them at night-Have you seen the lady, Mr Worthy?

Wor. Ay, but it won't do-Have you shewed her her name, that I tore off from the bottom of the letter?

Kite. No, sir, I reserve that for the last stroke.

Kite. I am the learned Copernicus. Smith. Well, master, I'm but a poor man, and I cann't afford above a shilling for my fortune. Kite. Perhaps that is more than 'tis worth. Smith. Look ye, doctor, let me have something that's good for my shilling, or I'll have my money again.

Kite. If there be faith in the stars, you shall have your shilling forty-fold-Your hand, countryman-You're by trade a smith.

Smith. How the devil should you know that?

Kite. Because the devil and you are brother tradesmen-You were born under Forceps. Smith. Forceps, what's that?

Kite. One of the signs:-there's Leo, Sagittarius, Forceps, Furns, Dixmude, Namur, Brussels, Charleroy, and so forth-twelve of 'em-Let me see-did you ever make any bombs or cannonbullets?

Smith. Not I.

Kite. You either have or will-The stars have decreed that you shall be-I must have more money, sir your fortune's great.

Smith. Faith, doctor, I have no more.

Smith. Arrears! what arrears?

Kite. The five hundred pound that is owing to you from the government.

Smith. Owing me!

Kite. Owing you, sir-Let me see your t'other hand-I beg your pardon; it will be owing to you, and the rogue of an agent will demand fifty per cent. for a fortnight's advance.

Smith. I'm in the clouds, doctor, all this while.

Kite. Sir, I am above 'em, among the starsIn two years three months and two hours you will be made captain of the forges to the grand train of artillery, and will have ten shillings a-day, and two servants- 'Tis the decree of the stars, and of the fixed stars, that are as immoveable as your anvil-Strike, sir, while the iron is hotFly, sir, be gone.

Smith. What would you have me do, doctor? I wish the stars would put me in a way for this fine place.

Kite. The stars do-Let me see-ay, about an hour hence walk carelessly into the market-place, and you will see a tall slender gentleman cheapening a pennyworth of apples, with a cane hanging upon his button: this gentleman will ask you what's o'clock-he's your man, and the maker of your fortune; follow him, follow him—And now go home, and take leave of your wife and children-An hour hence exactly is your time.

Smith. A tall slender gentleman, you say, with a cane: pray, what sort of a head has the cane?

Kite. An amber head, with a black riband. Smith. And pray, of what employment is the gentleman ?

Kite. Let me see; he's either a collector of the excise, or a plenipotentiary, or a captain of grenadiers-I cann't tell exactly which-but he'll call you honest- -Your name isSmith. Thomas.

Kite. He'll call you honest Tom.

Smith. But how the devil should he know my name?

Kite. Oh, there are several sorts of TomsTom o' Lincoln, Tom Tit, Tom Telltruth, Tom a Beldam, and Tom Fool-Be gone-An hour hence precisely. [Knocking at the door. Smith. You say he'll ask me what's o'clock? Kite. Most certainly and you'll answer you

Kite. Hold, friend, I know your business before-hand-

But. You're devilish cunning then, for I don't well know it myself.

Kite. I know more than you, friend-You have a foolish saying, that such a one knows no more than the man in the moon: I tell you the man in the moon knows more than all the men under the sun. Don't the moon see all the world?

But. All the world see the moon, I must confess.

Kite. Then she must see all the world, that's certain-Give me your hand-You're by trade either a butcher or a surgeon.

But. True, I am a butcher.

Kite. And a surgeon you will be; the employments differ only in the name-He that can cut up an ox may dissect a man; and the same dexterity that cracks a marrow-bone will cut off a leg or an arm.

But. What d'ye mean, doctor? what d'ye mean?

Kite. Patience, patience, Mr Surgeon-general; the stars are great bodies, and move slowly. But. But what d'ye mean by surgeon-general, doctor?

Kite. Nay, sir, if your worship won't have patience, I must beg the favour of your worship's

absence.

But. My worship! my worship! but why my worship?

Kite. Nay, then I have done.
But. Pray, doctor-

[Sits.

Kite. Fire and fury, sir! [Rises in a passion.] Do you think the stars will be hurried? Do the stars owe you any money, sir, that you dare to dun their lordships at this rate?-Sir, I am porter to the stars, and I am ordered to let no dun come near their doors.

But. Dear doctor! I never had any dealing with the stars; they don't owe me a penny-but since you are their porter, please to accept of this half-crown to drink their healths, and don't be angry

Kite. Let me see your hand then once moreHere has been gold-five guineas, my friend, in this very hand this morning.

But. Nay, then he is the devil-Pray, doctor, were you born of a woman, or did you come into the world of your own head?

Kite. That's a secret-This gold was offered

But. Kite, you mean. Kite. Ay, ay, Kite.

But. As arrant a rogue as ever carried a halberd: the impudent rascal would have decoyed me for a soldier.

Kite. A soldier! a man of your substance for a soldier! your mother has an hundred pound, in hard money, lying, at this minute, in the hands of a mercer, not forty yards from this place. But. Oons! and so she has, but very few know so much.

Kite. I know it, and that rogue, what's his name? Kite, knew it, and offered you five guineas to list, because he knew your poor mother would give the hundred for your discharge.

But. There's a dog, now-'Sflesh! doctor, I'll give you t'other half-crown, and tell me that this same Kite will be hang'd.

Kite. He's in as much danger as any man in the county of Salop.

But. There's your fee-But you have forgot the surgeon-general all this while.

Kite. You put the stars in a passion; [Looks on his books] but now they are pacified againLet me see, did you never cut off a man's leg? But. No.

Kite. Recollect, pray. But. I say, no.

Kite. That's strange, wonderful strange! but nothing is strange to me; such wonderful changes have I seen-The second or third, ay, the third campaign that you make in Flanders, the leg of a great officer will be shattered by a great shot; you will be there accidentally, and with your cleaver chop off the limb at a blow. In short, the operation will be performed with so much dexterity, that, with general applause, you will be made surgeon-general of the whole army.

But. Nay, for the matter of cutting off a limb, I'll do't with any surgeon in Europe; but I have no thoughts of making a campaign.

Kite. You have no thoughts! what's matter for your thoughts? the stars have decreed it, and you must go.

But. The stars decree it! Oons! sir, the justices cann't press me.

Kite. Nay, friend, 'tis none of my business; I have done; only mind this,-you'll know more an hour and half hence; that's all. Farewell.

But. Hold, hold, doctor- -Surgeon-general! what is the place worth, pray?

Kite. Five hundred pounds a-year, besides guineas for claps.

But. Five hundred pounds a-year!-An hour and a half hence, you say.

Kite. Pr'ythee, friend, be quiet, don't be troublesome; here's such a work to make a booby butcher accept of five hundred pounds a-yearBut if you must hear it-I'll tell you in short: you'll be standing in your stall an hour and half hence, and a gentleman will come by with a snuff box in his hand, and the tip of his handkerchief hanging out of his right pocket; he'll ask you the

your great dog upon the head, and call him Chopper.

But. Mercy on us!-Chopper is the dog's

name.

Kite. Look'e there—what I say is true-things that are to come must come to pass-Get you home, sell off your stock, don't mind the whining and the snivelling of your mother and your sister; women always hinder preferment-make what money you can, and follow that gentleman; his name begins with a P.-mind that.-There will be the barber's daughter too, that you promised marriage to-she will be pulling and hauling you to pieces.

But. What, know Sally too!-he's the devil, and he needs must go that the devil drives. [Going.] -The tip of his handkerchief out of his left pocket?

Kite. No, no, his right pocket; if it be the left, 'tis none of the man.

But. Well, well, I'll mind him.
Plume. The right pocket, you say.

[Exit.

[Behind, with his pocket-book. Kite. I hear the rustling of silks. [Knocking.] Fly, sir, 'tis Madam Melinda.

Enter MELINDA and LUCY. Kite. Tycho, chairs for the ladies.

Mel. Don't trouble yourself; we sha'n't stay, doctor.

Kite. Your ladyship is to stay much longer than you imagine.

Mel. For what?

Kite. For a husband-For your part, madam, you won't stay for a husband. [To LUCY. Lucy. Pray, doctor, do you converse with the stars or the devil?

Kite. With both: when I have the destinies of men in search, I consult the stars; when the affairs of women come under my hands, I advise with my t'other friend.

Mel. And have you raised the devil upon my account?

Kite. Yes, madam, and he's now under the table.

Lucy. Oh, Heavens protect us! Dear madam! let's be gone.

Kite. If you be afraid of him, why do ye come to consult him?

Mel. Don't fear, fool: do you think, sir, that because I'm a woman I'm to be fool'd out of my reason, or frightened out of my senses? Come, shew me this devil.

Kite. He's a little busy at present, but when he has done he shall wait on you.

Mel. What is he doing?

Kite. Writing your name in his pocket-book. Mel. Ha, ha! my name! pray what have you or he to do with my name?

Kite. Look'e, fair lady! the devil is a very modest person; he seeks nobody unless they seek him first; he's chain'd up like a mastiff, and cann't stir unless he be let loose.-You come to me to have your fortune told-do you think, madam,