printing an account of my journey through France and Italy; but now the history of my travels must be through Holborn to Tyburn.- The last dying speech of Beau Clincher, that was going to the jubilee-Come, a half-penny apiece.'- -A sad sound, a sad sound, faith! 'Tis one way to have a man's death make a great noise in the world. Enter SMUGGLER and Gaoler. Smug. Well, friend, I have told you who I am; so send these letters into Thames-Street, as di rected: they are to gentlemen that will bail me. [Exit Gaoler.] Eh! this Newgate is a very populous place: here's robbery and repentance in every corner.―― -Well, friend, what are you? a cut-throat or a bum-bailiff? Clin. sen. What are you, mistress? a bawd or a witch? Hark'e, if you are a witch, d'ye see, I'll give you a hundred pounds to mount me on a broom-staff, and whip me away to the jubilee. Smug. The jubilee! O, you young rake-hell, what brought you here? Chin. sen. Åh, you old rogue, what brought you here, if you go to that? Smug. I knew, sir, what your powdering, your prinking, your dancing, and your frisking, would come to. Clin. sen. And I knew what your cozening, your extortion, and your smuggling would come to. Smug. Ay, sir, you must break your indentures, and run to the devil in a full bottom wig, must you? Clin sen. Ay, sir, and you must put off your gravity, and run to the devil in petticoats:- -You design to swing in masquerade, master, d'ye ? Smug. Ay, you must go to the plays too, sirrah: Lord, Lord! what business has a 'prentice at a play-house, unless it be to hear his master made a cuckold, and his mistress a whore? It is ten to one now, but some malicious poet has my character upon the stage within this month: 'tis a hard matter now, that an honest sober man cannot sin in private for this plaguy stage. I gave an honest gentleman five guineas myself towards writing a book against it; and it has done no good, we see. Clin. sen. Well, well, master, take courage! Our comfort is, we have lived together, and shall die together, only with this difference, that I have lived like a fool, and shall die like a knave, and you have lived like a knave, and shall die like a fool. Smug. No, sirrah! I have sent a messenger for my clothes, and shall get out immediately, and shall be upon your jury by and by-Go to prayers, you rogue, to prayers. [Exit. Clin. sen. Prayers! it is a hard taking when a man must say grace to the gallows.-Ah, this cursed intriguing! Had I swung handsomely in a silken garter now, I had died in my duty; but to hang in hemp, like the vulgar, it is very ungentéel. Enter TOM ERRAND. A reprieve! a reprieve! thou dear, dear-damned rogue. Where have you been? Thou art the most welcome--son of a whore: where's my clothes? Er. Sir, I see where mine are. Come, sir, strip, sir, strip. Clin. sen. What, sir, will you abuse a gentleman? Er. A gentleman! Ha, ha, ha!-d'ye know where you are, sir? We're all gentlemen here. I stand up for liberty and property. Newgate's a commonwealth. No courtier has business among us. Come, sir. Clin. sen. Well, but stay, stay till I send for my own clothes: I shall get out presently. Er. No, no, sir; I'll ha' you into the dungeon, and uncase you. Clin. sen. Sir, you cannot master me, for I am twenty thousand strong. [Exeunt struggling. SCENE III-Changes to Lady DARLING'S House. Enter WILDAIR, with Letters; Servants fol lowing. Wild. Here, fly all around, and bear these as directed; you to Westminster, you to St. James's, and you into the city. Tell all my friends, a bridegroom's joy invites their presence. Look all of ye like bridegrooms also: all appear with hospitable looks, and bear a welcome in your faces. Tell them I am married. If any ask to whom, make no reply; but tell them, that I'm married; that joy shall crown the day, and love the night. Be gone, fly. Enter STANDARD. A thousand welcomes, friend; my pleasure's now complete, since I can share it with my friend: brisk joy shall bound from me to you, then back again, and, like the sun, grow warmer by reflec tion. Stand. You're always pleasant, Sir Harry; but this transcends yourself: Whence proceeds it? Wild. Canst thou not guess, my friend? Whence flows all earthly joy? What is the life of man, and soul of pleasure! Woman.- -What fires the heart with transport, and the soul with raptures? Lovely woman.- What is the masterstroke and smile of the creation, but charming virtuous woman?- -When Nature in the general composition first brought woman forth, like a flush'd poet, ravish'd with his fancy, with ecstacy it blest the fair production !– Methinks, my friend, you relish not my joy. What is the cause? Stand. Canst thou not guess?-What is the bane of man, and scourge of life, but woman? -What is the heathenish idol man sets up, and is damn'd for worshipping? Treacherous woman. -What are those, whose eyes, like basilisks, shine beautiful for sure destruction, whose smiles are dangerous as the grin of fiends, Enter DARLING and ANGELICA. Stand. [Saluting ANGELICA.] I wish you, madam, all the joys of love and fortune. Enter CLINCHER Junior. Clin. Gentlemen and ladies, I'm just upon the spur, and have only a minute to take my leave. Wild. Whither are you bound, sir? Clin. Bound, sir! I am going to the jubilee, Darl. Bless me, cousin! how came you by these clothes? Clin. Clothes! ha, ha, ha! the rarest jest! ha, ha, ha! I shall burst, by Jupiter Ammon, I shall burst. Darl. What's the matter, cousin? Clin. The matter! ha, ha, ha! Why, an honest porter, ha, ha, ha! has knocked out my brother's brains, ha, ha, ha! Wild. A very good jest, i'faith, ha, ha, ha! Clin. Ay, sir, but the jest of all is, he knocked out his brains with a hammer, and so he is as dead as a door-nail, ha, ha, ha! Dart. And do you laugh, wretch? Clin. Laugh! ha, ha, ha! let me see e'er a younger brother in England that won't laugh at such a jest Ang. You appeared a very sober, pious gentle. man some hours ago. Clin. Pshaw, I was a fool then: but now, ma dam, I'm a wit; I can rake now. As for your part, madam, you might have had me once; but now, madam, if you should fall to eating chalk, or gnawing the sheets, it is none of my fault. Now, madam-I have got an estate, and I must go to the jubilee. Enter CLINCHER Senior in a Blanket. Clin. sen. Must you so, rogue, must ye? You to the jubilee, will you? will go Clin. jun. A ghost! a ghost! Send for the Dean and Chapter presently. Clin. sen. A ghost! No, no, sirrah; I'm an elder brother, rogue. Clin. jun. I don't care a farthing for that; I'm sure you're dead in law. Clin, sen. Why so, sirrah, why so? Clin. jun. Because, sir, I can get a fellow to swear he knocked out your brains. Wild. An odd way of swearing a man out of his life! Clin. jun. Smell him, gentlemen; he has a deadly scent about him. Clin. sen. Truly the apprehensions of death may have made me savour a little. O, Lord! the colonel! The apprehension of him may make the savour worse, I'm afraid. Clin. jun. In short, sir, were you a ghost, or brother, or devil, I will go to the jubilee, by Jupiter Ammon. Stand. Go to the jubilee! go to the BearGarden.――The travel of such fools as you doubly injures our country: you expose our native follies, which ridicule us amongst strangers, and return fraught only with their vices, which you vend here for fashionable gallantry: a travelling fool is as dangerous as a home-bred villain. Get you to your native plough and cart, converse with animals like yourselves, sheep and oxen: men are creatures you don't understand. Wild. Let 'em alone, colonel, their folly will be now diverting. Come, gentlemen, we'll dis pute this point some other time I hear some fiddles tuning; let's hear how they can entertain us. [A servant enters, and whispers WILDAIR. Wild. Madam, shall I beg you to entertain the company in the next room for a moment? [To DARL Darl. With all my heartCome, gentlemen. [Exeunt all but WILDAIR, Wild. A lady to enquire for me! Who can this be? Enter LUREWELL. Oh, madam, this favour is beyond my expectation -to come uninvited to dance at my wedding. -What d'ye gaze at, madam? Lure. A monster-If thou'rt married, thou'rt the most perjured wretch that e'er avouch'd de ceit. Wild. Hey-day! Why, madam, I'm sure I never swore to marry you: I made indeed a slight promise, upon condition of your granting me a small favour; but you would not consent, you know. Lure. How he upbraids me with my shame! Can you deny your binding vows, when this appears a witness against your falsehood? [Shews a ring.] Methinks the motto of this sacred pledge should flash confusion in your guilty face-Read, read here the binding words of love and honour words not unknown to your perfidious tongue, though utter strangers to your treacherous heart. Wild. The woman's stark staring mad, that's certain. Lure. Was it maliciously designed to let me find my misery when. past redress; to let me know you, only to know you false? Had not cursed chance shewed me the surprising motto, I had been happy-The first knowledge I had of you was fatal to me, and this second worse. Wild. What the devil is all this! Madam, I'm not at leisure for raillery at present; I have weighty affairs upon my hands; the business of pleasure, madam: any other time- vour. [Going. Lure. Stay, I conjure you, stay. Wild. 'Faith, I cann't; my bride expects me; but hark'e, when the honey-moon is over, about a month or two hence, I may do you a small fa[Exit. Lure. Grant me some wild expressions, Heavens, or I shall burst! Woman's weakness, man's falsehood, my own shame, and love's disdain, at once swell up my breast-Words, words, or I shall burst. [Going. Enter STANDARD. Stand. Stay, madam, you need not shun my sight; for, if you are perfect woman, you have confidence to outface a crime, and bear the charge of guilt without a blush. Lure. The charge of guilt! What, making a fool of you? I've done it, and glory in the act: the height of female justice were to make you all hang or drown: dissembling, to the prejudice of men, is virtue; and every look, or sign, or smile, or tear that can deceive, is meritorious. Stand. Very pretty principles, truly. If there be truth in woman, 'tis now in thee. Come, madam, you know that you're discovered, and, being sensible that you cannot escape, you would now turn to bay. That ring, madam, proclaims you guilty. Lure. O, monster, villain, perfidious villain! Has he told you? Stand. I'll tell it you, and loudly too. Lure. O, name it not--Yet, speak it out; 'tis so just a punishment for putting faith in man, that I will bear it all; and let credulous maids, that trust their honour to the tongues of men, thus hear the shame proclaimed. Speak now, what his busy scandal, and your improving malice, both dare utter. Stand. Your falsehood cann't be reached by malice nor by satire; your actions are the justest libel on your fame; your words, your looks, your tears, I did believe, in spite of common fame. Nay, 'gainst mine own eyes, I still maintained your truth. I imagined Wildair's boasting of your favours to be the pure result of his own vanity: at last he urged your taking presents of him; as a convincing proof of which, you yesterday from him received that ring, which ring, that I might be sure he gave it, I lent him for that purpose. Lure. Ha! you lent it him for that purpose! Stand. Yes, yes, madam, I lent it him for that purpose--No denying it-I know it well, for I have worn it long, and desire you now, madam, to restore it to the just owner. Lure. The just owner! Think, sir, think but of what importance 'tis to own it: if you have love and honour in your soul, 'tis then most justly yours; if not, you are a robber, and have stolen it basely. Stand. Ha!-your words, like meeting flints, have struck a light to shew me something strange -But tell me instantly, is not your real name Manly? Lure. Answer me first: Did not you receive this ring about twelve years ago? Stand. I did. Lure. And were not you about that time entertained two nights at the house of Sir Oliver Manly in Oxfordshire? Stund. I was, I was! [Runs to her, and embra ces her. The blest remembrance fires my soul with transport-I know the rest-you are the charming she, and I the happy man. Lure. How has blind fortune stumbled on the right! But where have you wandered since?'Twas cruel to forsake me. Stand. The particulars of my fortune are too tedious now: but to discharge myself from the stain of dishonour, I must tell you, that immediately upon my return to the university, my elder brother and I quarrelled: my father, to prevent farther mischief, posts me away to travel: I wrote to you from London, but fear the letter came not to your hands. Lure. I never had the least account of you by letter or otherwise. Stand. Three years I lived abroad, and at my return found you were gone out of the kingdom, though none could tell me whither: missing you thus, I went to Flanders, served my king till the board at Amsterdam, one ship transported us peace commenced; then fortunately going on both to England. At the first sight I loved, though ignorant of the hidden cause--You may remember, madam, that, talking once of marriage, I told you I was engaged; to your dear self I meant. Lure. Then men are still most generous and brave-and, to reward your truth, an estate of three thousand pounds a year waits your acceptance; and, if I can satisfy you in my past con. duct, and the reasons that engaged me to deceive all men, I shall expect the honourable performance of your promise, and that you will stay with me in England. Stand. Stay! Nor fame nor glory e'er shall part us more. My honour can be no where more concerned than here. Enter WILDAIR, ANGELICA, both CLINCHERS. Oh! Sir Harry, Fortune has acted miracles today: the story's strange and tedious; but all amounts to this-that woman's mind is charming as her person, and I am made a convert too to beauty. Wild. I wanted only this to make my pleasure perfect. And now, madam, we may dance and sing, and love and kiss in good earnest. A Dance here. After the Dance, enter SMUG GLER. Smug. So, gentlemen and ladies, I'm glad to find you so merry: is my gracious nephew among ye? Wild. Sir, he dares not shew his face among such honourable company; for your gracious nephew is Stand. Sir Harry here dusted it out of your pocket at this lady's house yesterday. It contains an account of some secret practices in your merchandising; among the rest, the counterpart of an agreement with a correspondent at Bour deaux, about transporting French wine in Spanish casks. First, return this lady all her writings, then I shall consider whether I shall lay your pro Smug. What, sir? Have a care what you say.ceedings before the parliament or not, whose jus Wild. A villain, sir. tice will never suffer your smuggling to go unpunished. the Smug. With all my heart. I'll pardon you beating me for that very word. And pray, Sir Harry, when you see him next, tell him this news from me, that I have disinherited him-that I will leave him as poor as a disbanded quarter-master. And this is the positive and stiff resolution of threescore and ten; an age that sticks as obstinately to its purpose, as to the old fashion of its cloak. Wild. You see, madam, [To ANGEL.] how in dustriously fortune has punished his offence to Smug. Oh, my poor ship and cargo! Clin. sen. Hark'e, master, you had as good come along with me to the jubilee now. Ang. Come, Mr Alderman, for once let a wo man advise: Would you be thought an honest man, banish covetousness, that worst gout of age: avarice is a poor, pilfering quality of the soul, and will as certainly cheat, as a thief would steal. Would you be thought a reformer of the times, be less severe in your censures, less rigid in your precepts, and more strict in your example. imitation than compulsion; of which, colonel, Where virtue with a frowning aspect stands, Charming woman can true converts make ; EPILOGUE. Now all depart, each his respective way, To coffee some retreat, to save their pockets; But there, I hope, the author's fears are vain; The privilege of wine we only ask; You'll taste again, before you damn the flask. Sit down, and for their two-pence damn a poet : done. But now, to know what fate may us betide, If it should please them, and their spouses know it, | For their sakes, then, the play cann't miss sueceeding; Though critics may want wit, they have good breeding; They won't, I'm sure, forfeit the ladies' graces, |