I was in no kind denied to be a witness of the thing.

Fred. So now the thing is out. This is a damn'd bawd, and I as damn'd a rogue for what I did to Don John; for o' my conscience, this is that Constantia the fellow told me of. I'll make him amends, whate'er it cost me. Lady, you must give me leave not to part with you, till you meet with your daughter, for some reasons I shall tell you hereafter.

Moth. Sir, I am so highly your obligee for the manner of your enquiries, and you have grounded your determinations upon so just a basis, that I shall not be ashamed to own myself a votary to all your commands. [Exeunt.

Enter 2d CONSTANTIA.

2 Con. So, I'm once more freed from Antonio; but whither to go now, that's the question : nothing troubles me, but that he was sent up by that young fellow, for I liked him with my soul; would he had liked me so too.

Enter Don JOHN, and a Shop-keeper.
John. Which way went she?
Shop. Who?

John. The woman.

Shop. What woman ?

John. Pray, hear me.

2 Con. No, I will never hear you more, after such an injury: what would ye have done, if I had been kind to you, that could use me thus before?

John. By my troth, that's shrewdly urged. 2 Con. Besides, you basely broke your word. John. But will you hear nothing? nor did you hear nothing? I had three men upon me at once, and had I not consented to let that old fellow who came to my rescue, they had all broken in, whether I would or no.

up,

2 Con. Faith, it may be it was so, for I remember I heard a noise; but suppose it was not so, what then? Why then I'll love him however.— Hark ye, sir, I ought now to use you very scurvily. But I can't find in my heart to do it.

John. Then God's blessing on thy heart for it! 2 Con. But a

John. What?

2 Con. I would fain

John. Ay, so would I: come let's go.

2 Con. I would fain know, whether you can be kind to me?

John. That thou shalt presently. Come away. 2 Con. And will you always?

John. Always! I can't say so: but I will as often as I can.

2 Con. Phoo! I mean love me.
John. Well I mean that too.
2 Con. Swear then.

John. That I will upon my knees. What shall I say?

2 Con. Nay, use what words you please, so they be hearty, and not those that are spoken by the priest, for that charm seldom proves for tunate.

John. I swear then by thy fair self, that look'st so like a deity, and art the only thing I now can think of, that I'll adore thee to my dying day.

2 Con. And here I'll vow, the minute thou dost leave me, I'll leave the world; that is, kill myself.

her.] That kiss now has almost put me into a John. O my dear heavenly creature !—[Kisses swoon. For Heaven's sake, let's quickly out of the streets for fear of another scuffle. I durst encounter a whole army for thy sake, but yet methinks I had better try my courage. another way; what think'st thou?

2 Con. Well, well; why don't you then? [As they are going out, enter 1st CONSTAN TIA, and just then ANTONIO seizes upon her.

John. Who's this my old new friend has got there?

Ant. O! have I caught you, gentlewoman, at last! Come, give me my gold.

Con. I hope he takes me for another, I won't answer; for I had rather he should take me for any one than who I am.

John. Pray, sir, who is that you have there by the hand?

Ant. A person of honour, sir, that has broke open my trunks, and run away with all my gold; yet I'll hold ten pounds I'll have it whipped out of her again.

2 Con. Done, I'll hold you ten pounds of that,

now.

Ant. Ha! by my troth you have reason; and, lady, I ask your pardon. But I'll have it whipped out of you, then, gossip.

John. Hold, sir, you must not meddle with my goods.

Ant. Your goods! how came she to be yours? I'm sure I bought her of her mother for five hundred good pieces of gold, and she was a-bed with me all night too. Deny that if you dare.

2 Gon. Well, and what did you do when I was a-bed with you all night? Confess that if you dare.

Ant. Umph! say you so?

Con. I'll try if this lady will help me, for I know not whether else to go.

Ant. I shall be ashamed, I see, utterly, except I make her hold her peace. Pray, sir, by your leave, I hope you will allow me the speech of one word with your goods here, as you call her; 'tis but a small request.

John. Ay, sir, with all my heart. How, Constantia! Madam, now you have seen that lady, I hope you will pardon the haste you met me in a little while ago; if I have committed a fault you must thank her for it.

Con. Sir, if you will for her sake be persuaded to protect me from the violence of my brother, I shall have reason to thank you both.

John. Nay, madam, now that I am in my wits again, and my heart's at ease, it shall go very hard, but I will see yours so too. I was before distracted, and 'tis not strange the love of her should hinder me from remembering what was due to you, since it made me forget myself. Com. Sir, I do know too well the power of love by my own experience, not to pardon all the effects of it in another.

Ant. Well then, I promise you, if you will but help me to my gold again (I mean that which you and your mother stole out of my trunk) that I'll never trouble you more.

2 Con. A match; and 'tis the best that you and I could ever make.

John. Pray, madam, fear nothing; by my love I'll stand by you, and see that your brother shall do you no harm.

2 Con. Hark ye, sir, a word; how dare you talk of love, or standing by any lady but ine, sir?

John. By my troth that was a fault; but I did not mean in your way, I meant it only civilly.

2 Con. Ay, but if you are so very civil a gentleman, we shall not be long friends. I scorn to share your love with any one whatsoever: and for my part, I'm resolved either to have all or nothing.

John. Well, my dear little rogue, thou shalt have it all presently, as soon as we can but get rid of this company.

2 Con. Phoo! you are always abusing me,

Enter FREDERICK and Mother. Fred. Come, now, madam, let us not speak one word more, but go quietly about our business; not but that I think it the greatest pleasure in theworld to hear you talk, but

Moth. Do you indeed, sir? I swear then good wits jump, sir; for I have thought so myself a very great while.

Fred. You've all the reason imaginable. O, Don John, I ask thy pardon, but I hope I shall make thee amends, for I have found out the mother, and she has promised me to help thee to thy mistress again.

John. Sir, you may save your labour, the business is done, and I am fully satisfied.

Fred. And dost thou know who she is? John. No, faith, I never asked her name. Fred. Why, then, I'll make thee yet more satisfied; this lady here is that very Constan

tia

John. Ha! thou hast not a mind to be knocked o'er the pate too, hast thou?

Fred. No, sir, nor dare you do it neither:

John. Why, I will never more touch any other woman for her sake.

Fred. Well, I submit ; that indeed is stranger. 2 Con. Come, mother, deliver your purse; I have delivered up myself to this young fellow, and the bargain's made with that old fellow, so he may have his gold again, that all shall be well.

Moth. As I'm a Christian, sir, I took it away only to have the honour of restoring it again; for my hard fate having not bestowed upon me a fund which might capacitate me to make you presents of my own, I had no way left for the exercise of my generosity but by putting myself into a condition of giving back what was yours.

Ant. A very generous design indeed! So now I'll e'en turn a sober person, and leave off wenching, and this fighting, for 1 begin to find it does not agree with me.

Fred. Madam, I'm heartily glad to see your ladyship here; we have been in a very great disorder since we saw you. What's here, our landlady and the child again!

Enter Duke, PETRUCIIO, and Landlady with the Child.

Petr. Yes, we met her going to be whipped, in a drunken constable's hands that took her for another.

John. Why then, pray let her e'en be taken and whipped for herself, for on my word she de

serves it.

Land. Yes, I'm sure of your good word at any time.

Con. Hark ye, dear landlady.

Land. O, sweet goodness! is it you? I have been in such a peck of troubles since I saw you; they took me, and they tumbled me, and they hauled me, and they pulled me, and they called me painted Jezabel, and the poor little babe here did so take on. Come hither, my lord, come hi ther; here is Constantia.

Con. For Heaven's sake, peace! yonder is my brother, and if he discovers me, I'm certainly ruined.

Duke. No, madam, there is no danger.

Con. Were there a thousand dangers in those arms, I would run thus to meet them.

Duke. O, my dear, it were not safe that any should be here at present; for now my heart is so o'erpressed with joy, that I should scarce be able to defend thee.

Petr. Sister, I'm so asham'd of all the faults which my mistake has made me guilty of, that I know not how to ask your pardon for them.

Con. No, brother, the fault was mine in mistaking you so much, as not to impart the whole truth to you at first; but having begun my love

PERHAPS you, gentlemen, expect to-day,
The author of this fag end of a play,
According to the modern way of wit,
Should strive to be before-hand with the pit;
Begin to rail at you, and subtly too,
Prevent th' affront, by giving the first blow.
He wants not precedents, which often sway
In matters far more weighty than a play :
But he, no grave admirer of a rule,
Won't by example learn to play the fool.
The end of plays should be to entertain,
And not to keep the auditors in pain.
Giving our price, and for what trash we please,
He thinks, the play being done, you should have

ease.

No wit, no sense, no freedom, and a box, Is much like paying money for the stocks.

Besides the author dreads the strut and mien
Of new-prais'd poets, having often seen
Some of his fellows, who have writ before,
When Nell has danc'd her jig, steal to the door,
Hear the pit clap, and with conceit of that,
Swell, and believe themselves the lord knows
what.

Most writers now-a-days are grown so vain,
That once approv'd, they write, and write again,
Till they have writ away the fame they got.
Our friend this way of writing fancies not,
And hopes you will not tempt him with your

praise,

To rank himself with some that write new plays: For he knows ways enough to be undone, Without the help of poetry for one.

GREEDY, a hungry Justice of Peace.

WELLDO, a Parson.

TAPWELL, an Alehouse-keeper. Three Creditors.

WOMEN.

Lady ALLWORTH, a rich Widow. MARGARET, Overreach's Daughter.

GILES OVERREACH.

Chambermaid. Waiting-Woman.

That does command a citadel, called the stocks;
Whose guards are certain files of rusty billmen,
Such as, with great dexterity, will haul
Your tattered lousy-

Well. Rascal! slave! Froth. No rage, sir.

Tap. At his own peril! Do not put yourself In too much heat, there being no water near To quench your thirst; and sure, for other liquor, As mighty ale, or beer, they are things, I take it, You must no more remember; not in a dream, sir. Well. Why, thou unthankful villain, dar'st thou talk thus ?

Is not thy house, and all thou hast, my gift? Tap. I find it not in chalk ; and Timothy Tapwell

Does keep no other register.

Well. Am not I he

Humbled myself to marriage with my Froth here; Gave entertainment

Well. Yes, to whores and canters, Clubbers by night.

Tap. True, but they brought in profit,
And had a gift to pay for what they called for;
And stuck not like your mastership. The poor
income

I gleaned from them hath made me in my parisk
Thought worthy to be scavenger; and, in time,
May rise to be overseer of the poor;
Which, if I do, on your petition, Wellborn,
I may allow you thirteen pence a quarter;
And you shall thank my worship.
Well. Thus, you dog-bolt-
And thus-

Tap. Cry out for help!

Well. Stir, and thou diest :

[Beats him.

Your potent prince, the constable, shall not save

"Twas I, that when I heard thee swear, if ever Thou could'st arrive at forty pounds, thou would'st

Live like an emperor; 'twas I that gave it,
In ready gold. Deny this, wretch!
Tap. I must, sir.

For, from the tavern to the tap-house, all,
On forfeiture of their licences, stand bound
Never to remember who their best guests were,
If they grew poor like you,

Well. They are well rewarded

That beggar themselves to make such cuckolds rich.

Thou viper, thankless viper! impudent bawd!
But since you are grown forgetful, I will help
Your memory, and tread thee into mortar;
Not leave one bone unbroken. [Beats him again.
Tup. Oh!

Froth. Ask mercy!

Well. 'Twill not be granted.

Enter ALLWORth.

Alla. Hold, for my sake, hold! Deny me, Frank? they are not worth your anger. Well. For once thou hast redeemed them from

this sceptre : [Shaking his cudgel. But let them vanish, creeping on their knees; And if they grumble, I revoke my pardon.

Froth. This comes of your prating, husband; you presumed

On your ambling wit, and must use your glib tongue,

Though you are beaten lame for't.
Tap. Patience, Froth;

There's law to cure our bruises.

[They go off on their hands and knees. Well. Sent to your mother?

Allu. My lady, Frank, my patroness! my all! She's such a mourner for my father's death, And, in her love to him, so favours me,

That I cannot pay too much observance to her.