liberty to tell you, you carry things too far, and go from one extreme to another.-What! because a worthless wretch has imposed upon you, under the fallacious shew of austere grimace, will you needs have it every body is like him? confound the good with the bad, and conclude there are no truly religious in the world? Leave, my dear sir, such rash consequences to

fools and libertines.-Let us be careful to distinguish between virtue and the appearance of it. Guard, if possible, against doing honour to hypocrisy.-But, at the same time, let us allow there is no character in life greater or more valuable than that of the truly devout-nor any thing more noble, or more beautiful, than the fervour of a sincere piety. [Exeunt omnes.

POETS will think nothing so checks their fury As wits, cits, beaux, and women for their jury. Our spark's half dead to think what medley's

come,,

With blended judgments, to pronounce his doom.
'Tis all false fear; for in a mingled pit,
Why, what your grave Don thinks but dully writ,
His neighbour i' th' great wig may take for wit.
Some authors court the few, the wise, if any;
Our youth's content, if he can reach the many,
Who go with much like ends to church and play,
Not to observe what priests or poets say;
No! no! your thoughts, like theirs, lie quite
another way.

The ladies safe may smile, for here's no slander, No smut, no lewd-tongu'd beau, no double entendre.

'Tis true, he has a spark just come from France, But then so far from beau-why, he talks sense! Like coin oft carry'd out, but-seldom brought from thence.

There's yet a gang to whom our spark submits, Your elbow-shaking fool, that lives by's wits, That's only witty though, just as he lives, by fits. Who, lion-like, through bailiffs scours away, Hunts, in the face, a dinner all the day,

At night with empty bowels grumbles o'er the play.

And now the modish 'prentice he implores,
Who, with his master's cash, stol'n out of doors,
Employs it on a brace of-honourable whores :
While their good bulky mother pleas'd, sits by,
Bawd regent of the bubble gallery.
Next to our mounted friends we humbly move,
Who all your side-box tricks are much above,
And never fail to pay us with your love.
Ah, friends! poor Dorset garden-house is gone;
Our merry meetings there are all undone :
Quite lost to us, sure for some strange misdeeds,
That strong dog Sampson's pull'd it o'er our
heads,

Snaps rope like thread; but when his fortune's told him,

He'll hear, perhaps, of rope will one day hold him:

At least, I hope, that our good-natur'd town
Will find a way to pull his prices down.

Well, that's all! Now, gentlemen, for the play,
On second thoughts, I've but two words to say,
Such as it is, for your delight design'd,

Hear it, read, try, judge, and speak as you find.

SCENE I.-The Park.

Enter VIZARD with a Letter, his Servant following.

Viz. Angelica send it back unopened! say you?
Serv. As you see, sir.

Viz. The pride of these virtuous women is more insufferable than the immodesty of prostitutes-After all my encouragement, to slight me thus?

Sero. She said, sir, that imagining your morals sincere, she gave you access to her conversation; but that your late behaviour in her company has convinced her that your love and religion are both hypocrisy, and that she believes your letter like yourself, fair on the outside, and foul within: so sent it back unopened.

Viz. May obstinacy guard her beauty till wrinkles bury it; then may desire prevail to make her curse that untimely pride her disappointed age repents !-I'll be revenged the very first opportunity.-Saw you the old Lady Darling, her mother?

Serv. Yes, sir, and she was pleased to say much in your commendation.

Viz. That's my cue-An esteem grafted in old age is hardly rooted out; years stiffen their opinions with their bodies, and old zeal is only to be cozened by young hypocrisy. [Aside.] Run to the Lady Lurewell's, and know of her maid whether her ladyship will be at home this evening. Her beauty is sufficient cure for Angelica's scorn.

[Exit Servant. VIZARD pulls out a book, reads, and walks about.

Enter SMUGGLER.

Smug. Ay, there's a pattern for the young men o' th' times; at his meditation so early; some book of pious ejaculations, I'm sure.

Viz. This Hobbes is an excellent fellow! [Aside.] Oh, uncle Smuggler! To find you at this end o th' town is a miracle.

Smug. I have seen a miracle this morning indeed, cousin Vizard.

Viz. What is it, pray, sir?

Smug. A man at his devotion so near the court-I'm very glad, boy, that you keep your sanctity untainted in this infectious place; the very air of this park is heathenish, and every man's breath I meet scents of atheism.

Viz. Surely, sir, some great concern must bring you to this unsanctified end of the town.

sin.

Stand. May be not, sir.

Viz. Why so?

Stand. Because- -I'm disbanded.
Viz. How! Broke?

Stand. This very morning, in Hyde-Park, my brave regiment, a thousand men, that looked like lions yesterday, were scattered, and looked as poor and simple as the herd of deer that grazed beside them.

Smug. Tal, al, deral. [Singing.] I'll have à bonfire this night as high as the monument.

Stand. A bonfire! Thou dry, withered, illnature; had not those brave fellows' swords defended you, your house had been a bonfire ere this about your ears.-Did we not venture our lives, sir?

Smug. And did we not pay for your lives, sir? Venture your lives! I'm sure we ventured our money, and that's life and soul to me.-—Sir, we'll maintain you no longer.

Stand. Then your wives shall, old Actæon.There are five-and-thirty strapping officers gone this morning to live upon free quarter in the city.

Smug. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Ishall have a son within these nine months, born with a leading-staff in his hand.--Sir, you are

Stand. What, sir?

Smug. Sir, I say that you are
Stand. What, sir?

Smug. Disbanded, sir, that's all—I see my lawyer yonder.

[Exit. Viz. Sir, I'm very sorry for your misfortune. Stand. Why so? I don't come to borrow mo. ney of you; if you're my friend, meet me this evening at the Rummer; I'll pay my foy, drink a health to my king, prosperity to my country, and away for Hungary to-morrow morning.

Viz. What! you won't leave us?

Stand. What! a soldier stay here, to look like an old pair of colours in Westminster-Hall, rag

Viz. What is it?

Smug. A law-suit, boy-Shall I tell you? My ship, the Swan, is newly arrived from St Se

lieutenant; he was ashamed to own that he wanted a dinner, but begged eighteen-pence of me to buy a new scabbard for his sword.

Viz. Oh, but you have good friends, colonel!

Stand. Oh, very good friends! My father's a lord, and my elder brother a beau; mighty good friends indeed!

Viz. But your country may perhaps want your sword again.

Stand. Nay, for that matter, let but a single drum beat up for volunteers between Ludgate and Charing Cross, and I shall undoubtedly hear it at the walls of Buda.

Viz. Come, come, colonel, there are ways of making your fortune at home-Make your addresses to the fair; you're a man of honour and courage.

Stand. Ay, my courage is like to do me wondrous service with the fair. This pretty cross cut over my eye will attract a duchess-I warrant 'twill be a mighty grace to my ogling-Had I used the certain stratagem of a brother colonel of mine, I might succeed.

Viz. What was it, pray?

Stand. Why, to save his pretty face for the women, he always turned his back upon the enemy. He was a man of honour for the ladies.

Viz. Come, come, the loves of Mars and Venus will never fail; you must get a mistress.

Stand. Pr'ythee, no more on't-You have awakened a thought, from which, and the kingdom, I would have stolen away at once.--To be plain, I have a mistress.

Viz. And she's cruel?
Stand. No.

Viz. Her parents prevent your happiness?
Stand. Not that.

Viz. Then she has no fortune?

Stand. A large one. Beauty to tempt all mankind, and virtue to beat off their assaults. Oh, Vizard! such a creature!

Enter Sir HARRY WILDAIR, crosses the Stage singing, with Footmen after him. Hey-day! Who the devil have we here?

Viz. The joy of the play-house, and life of the Park; Sir Harry Wildair, newly come from Paris,

Stand. Sir Harry Wildair! Did not he make a campaign in Flanders some three or four years ago?

Viz. The same.

Stand. Why, he behaved himself very bravely. Viz. Why not? Dost think bravery and gaiety are inconsistent? He's a gentleman of most happy circumstances, born to a plentiful estate; has had a genteel and easy education, free from the rigidness of teachers, and pedantry of schools. His florid constitution being never ruffled by misfortune, nor stinted in its pleasures, has rendered him entertaining to others, and easy to himself; turning all passion into gaiety of humour, by which he chooses rather to rejoice with his friends, than be hated by any; as you shall see.

Re-enter WILdair.

Wild. Ha, Vizard! Fiz. Sir Harry!

Wild. Who thought to find you out of the Rubric so long? I thought thy hypocrisy had been wedded to a pulpit-cushion long ago.-Sir, if I mistake not your face, your name is Standard?

Stand. Sir Harry, I'm your humble servant. Wild. Come, gentlemen, the news, the news o' th' town, for I'm just arrived.

Viz. Why, in the city-end o' th' town we're playing the knave, to get estates.

Stand. And in the court-end playing the fool, in spending them.

Wild. Just so in Paris. I'm glad we're grown so modish.

Viz. We are so reformed, that gallantry is taken for vice.

Stand. And hypocrisy for religion.
Wild. A-la-mode de Paris again.

Viz. Not one whore between Ludgate and Aldgate.

Stand. But ten times more cuckolds than

ever.

Viz. Nothing like an oath in the city. Stund. That's a mistake; for my major swore a hundred and fifty last night to a merchant's wife in her bed-chamber,

Wild. Pshaw! this is trifling; tell me news, gentlemen. What lord has lately broke his fortune at the Groom-Porter's? or his heart at Newmarket, for the loss of a race? What wife has been lately suing in Doctor's-Commons for alimony; or what daughter run away with her father's valet? What beau gave the noblest ball at the Bath, or had the finest coach in the ring? I want news, gentlemen.

Stand. Faith, sir, there are no news at all. Viz. But pray, Sir Harry, tell us some news of your travels.

then, I went over to Amsterdam in a Dutch ship: Wild. With all my heart.-You must know I there had a Dutch whore for five stivers. I went from thence to Landen, where I was heartily drubbed in the battle with the butt-end of a Swiss musket. I thence went to Paris, where I had half a dozen intrigues, bought half a dozen new suits, fought a couple of duels, and here I am again in statu quo.

Viz. But we heard that you designed to make the tour of Italy; what brought you back so soon?

Wild. That which brought you into the world, and may perhaps carry you out of it,—a woman, Stand. What! quit the pleasures of travel for

a woman!

Wild. Ay, colonel, for such a woman! I had rather see her ruelle than the palace of Lewis le Grand, There's more glory in her smile, than in the jubilee at Rome; and I would rather kiss her hand, than the pope's toe.

Viz. You, colonel, have been very lavish in the beauty and virtue of your mistress; and Sir Harry here has been no less eloquent in the praise of his. Now will I lay you both ten guineas a-piece, that neither of 'em is so pretty, so witty, or so virtuous, as mine.

Stand. 'Tis done.

Wild. I'll double the stakes-But, gentlemen, now I think on't, how shall we be resolved? For I know not where my mistress may be found; she left Paris about a month before me, and I had an account

Stand. How, sir! left Paris about a month before you?

Wild. Yes, sir, and I had an account that she lodged somewhere in St James's.

Viz. How! somewhere in St James's, say you?

Wild. Ay, sir, but I know not where, and perhaps mayn't find her this fortnight.

Stand. Her name, pray, Sir Harry.

Viz. Ay, ay, her name; perhaps we know her. Wild. Her name! Ay,-she has the softest, whitest hand that e'er was made of flesh and blood; her lips so balmy sweet

Stand. But her name, sir.

Wild. Then her neck and breast ;breasts do so heave, so heave.

Viz. But her name, sir; her quality.

-her

[Singing.

Wild. Then her shape, colonel! Stand. But her name I want, sir. Wild. Then her eyes, Vizard! Stand. Pshaw, Sir Harry! her name, or nothing.

Wild. Then, if you must have it, she's called the Lady--But then her foot, gentlemen; she dances to a miracle. Vizard, you have certainly lost your wager.

Viz. Why, you have certainly lost your senses; we shall never discover the picture, unless you subscribe the name.

man, if ladies were to be gained by sword and pistol only, what the devil should all we beaus do?

Viz. I'll try him farther. [Aside.] But would not you, Sir Harry, fight for this woman you so much admire?

Wild. Fight! Let me consider. I love herthat's true;--but then I love honest Sir Harry Wildair better. The Lady Lurewell is divinely charming--right-but then a thrust i' th' guts, or a Middlesex jury, is as ugly as the devil.

Viz. Ay, Sir Harry, 'twere a dangerous cast for a beau-baronet to be tried by a parcel of greasy, grumbling, bartering boobies, who would hang you, purely because you're a gentleman.

Wild. Ay, but on t'other hand, I have money enough to bribe the rogues with so, upon mature deliberation, I would fight for her. But no more of her. Pr'ythee, Vizard, cann't you recommend a friend to a pretty mistress by the bye, till I can find my own? You have store, I'm sure; you cunning poaching dogs make surer game than we that hunt open and fair. Pr'ythee now, good Vizard.

Viz. Let me consider a little.-Now love and revenge inspire my politics!

[Aside.

[Pauses, whilst Sir HARRY walks singing. Wild. Pshaw! thou'rt as long studying for a new mistress, as a drawer is piercing a new pipe. Viz. I design a new pipe for you, and wholesome wine; you'll therefore bear a little expectation.

Wild. Ha! say'st thou, dear Vizard?
Viz. A girl of sixteen, Sir Harry.

Wild. Now sixteen thousand blessings light on thee!

Viz. Find her!but then her foot, Sir Harry; she dances to a miracle.

Wild. Pr'ythee don't distract me.

Viz. Well then, you must know, that this lady is the greatest beauty in town; her name's Angelica: she that passes for her mother is a private bawd, and called the Lady Darling; she goes for a baronet's lady, (no disparagement to your honour, Sir Harry,) I assure you.

Wild. Pshaw, hang my honour! but what street, what house?

Viz. Not so fast, Sir Harry; you must have my passport for your admittance, and you'll find my recommendation in a line or two will procure you very civil entertainment; I suppose twenty or thirty pieces handsomely placed, will gain the point: I'll insure her sound."

Wild. Thou dearest friend to a man in necessity! Here, sirrah, order my coach about to St James's; I'll walk across the Park.

[To his servant.