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'Egad! if thou hast trick'd Cerberus here, I shall be so ravish'd, that I will give this couple a wedding-dinner. Pray, Mr Moody, who's damn'd ridiculous now?

Moody. [Going to SPARKISH.] Look ye, sir -don't grin, for if you dare to shew your teeth at my misfortunes, I'll dash 'em down your impudent throat, you jackanapes.

Spark. [Quite calm.] Very fine, faith-but I have no weapons to butt with a mad bull, so you may toss and roar by yourself, if you please.

BELVILLE appears in the balcony.

Belv. What does my good friend want with me?

Moody. Are you a villain, or are you not?
Belv. I have obey'd your commands, sir.
Moody. What have you done with the girl, sir?
Belv. Made her my wife, as you desired.
Spark. Very true, I am your witness-
Moody. She's my wife, and I demand her.

PEGGY appears in the balcony.

-What's the matter,

Peg. No, but I a'n'tBud, are you angry with me? Moody. How dare you look me in the face, cockatrice?

Peg. How dare you look me in the face, Bud? Have you not given me to another, when you ought to have married me yourself? Have not you pretended to be married to me, when you knew in your conscience you was not?-And have not you been shilly-shally for a long time? So that if I had not married dear Mr Belville, I should not have married at all-so I should not. [BELVILLE and PEGGY retire from the balcony.

Spark. Extremely pleasant, faith; ha, ha, ha! Moody. I am stupified with shame, rage, and astonishment- -my fate has o'ercome- -I can struggle no more with it. [Sighs.] What is left me-I cannot bear to look, or be looked upon -I will hurry down to my old house, take a twelvemonth's provision into it-cut down my draw-bridge, run wild about my garden, which shall grow as wild as myself- then will I curse the world, and every individual in it—and when my rage and spirits fail me, I will be found dead among the nettles and thistles, a woeful example of the baseness and treachery of one sex, and of the falsehood, lying, perjury, deceit, impudence, and damnation of the other. [Exit.

Spark. Very droll, and extravagantly comic, I must confess; ha, ha, ha! [Enter BELVILLE and PEGGY.] Look ye, Belville, I wish you joy, with all my heart-you have got the prize, and perhaps have caught a Tartar-that's no business of mine If you want evidence for Mr Moody's gi ving his consent to your marriage, I shall be ready. I bear no ill will to that pair. I wish you happy. [To ALITHEA and HARCOURT.] Tho' I am sure they'll be miserable and so your humble servant.

[Exit.

Peg. I hope you forgive me, Alithea, for playing your brother this trick; indeed I should have only made him and myself miserable, had we married together,

Ali. Then 'tis much better as it is-But I am yet in the dark how this matter has been brought about; how your innocence, my dear, has outwitted his worldly wisdom.

Peg. I am sure I'll do any thing to please my Bud, but marry him.

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY PEGGY.

BUT you, good gentry, what say you to this?
You are to jud: e me-have I done amiss?
I've reasons will convince you all, and strong ones,
Except old folks, who hanker after young ones;
Bud was so passionate; and grown so thrifty,
"Twas a sad life;-and then he was near fifty!
I'm but nineteen-my husband too is young,
So soft, so gentle, such a winning tongue!
Have I, pray ladies speak, done very wrong?
As for poor Bud, 'twas honest to deceive him!
More virtuous sure, to cheat him than to grieve
him.

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I THE Plain Dealer am to act to-day;
And my rough part begins before the play.
First, you who scribble, yet hate all that write,
And keep each other company in spite,
As rivals in your common mistress, Fame,
And, with faint praises, one another damn,
'Tis a good play (we know) you cann't forgive,
But grudge yourselves the pleasure you receive;
Our scribbler, therefore, bluntly bid me say,
He would not have the wits pleas'd here to-day.
Next, you, the fine, loud gentlemen o' th' pit,
Who damn all plays; yet if y'ave any wit,
'Tis but what here you spunge, and daily get;
Poets, like friends to whom you are in debt,
You hate: and so rooks laugh, to see undone
Those pushing gamesters whom they live upon.
Well, you are sparks, and still will be i' th' fa-
shion;

Rail, then, at plays, to hide your obligation.
Now, you shrewd judges who the boxes sway,
Leading the ladies hearts and sense astray,
And, for their sakes, see all, and hear no play,
Correct your cravats, foretops, lock behind;
The dress and breeding of the play ne'er mind.
Plain dealing is, you'll say, quite out of fashion;
You'll hate it here, as in a dedication:

And your fair neighbours, in a limning poet,
No more than in a painter will allow it.
Pictures too like, the ladies will not please:
They must be drawn too here like goddesses.
You, as at Lely's too, would truncheon wield,
And look like heroes in a painted field;
But the course dauber of the coming scenes,
To follow life and nature only means;
Displays you as you are; makes his fine woman
A mercenary jilt, and true to no man :
His men of wit and pleasure of the age
Are as dull rogues as ever cumber'd stage:
He draws a friend, only to custom just,
And makes him naturally break his trust.
I, only, act a part like none of
you;
And yet, you'll say, it is a fool's part too,-
An honest man, who, like you, never winks
At faults, but, unlike you, speaks what he thinks:
The only fool who ne'er found patron yet;
For truth is now a fault, as well as wit.
And where else but on stages do we see
Truth pleasing, or rewarded honesty?
Which our bold poet does this day in me.
If not to th' honest, be to th' prosperous kind;
Some friends at court let the Plain Dealer find.

MEN.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

MANLY, of an honest, surly, nice humour, supposed first, in the time of the Dutch war, to have procured the command of a ship, out of honour, not interest, and chusing a sea-life, only to avoid the world.

FREEMAN, Manly's lieutenant, a gentleman well educated, but of a broken fortune, a complier with the age.

VARNISH, Manly's bosom and only friend. NOVEL, a pert, railing coxcomb, and an admirer of novelties, makes love to Olivia.

Major OLDFOX, an old, impertinent fop, given to scribbling, makes love to the Widow Black

acre.

My Lord PLAUSIBLE, a ceremonious, supple, com mending coxcomb, in love with Olivia. JERRY BLACKACRE, a true raw squire, under age and his mother's government, bred to the law. WOMEN.

FIDELIA, in love with Manly, and followed him OLIVIA, Manly's mistress. to sea in man's clothes. ELIZA, cousin to Olivia. LETTICE, Olivia's woman. The Widow BLACKACRE, a petulant, litigious widow, always in law, and mother to Squire Jerry. Lawyers, Knights of the Post, Bailiffs, and Aldermen, a Bookseller's 'Prentice, a Foot-boy, Sailors, Waiters, and Attendants.

SCENE,-London.

АСТ І.

SCENE I-Captain MANLY's Lodgings. Enter Captain MANLY surlily, and my Lord PLAUSIBLE following him, and two Sailors behind.

Man. Tell not me, my good Lord Plausible, of your decorums, supercilious forms, and slavish ceremonies; your little tricks, which you, the spaniels of the world, do daily over and over, for, and to one another, not out of love or duty, but your servile fear.

L. Plau. Nay, i'faith, i'faith, you are too passionate, and I must humbly beg your pardon, and leave to tell you, they are the arts and rules the prudent of the world walk by.

Man. Let'em. But I'll have no leading-strings; I can walk alone; I hate a harness, and will not tug on in a faction, kissing my leader behind, that another slave may do the like to me.

L. Plau. What, will you be singular then, like nobody? follow love, and esteem nobody?

Man. Rather than be general, like you; follow every body, court and kiss every body; though, perhaps, at the same time, you hate every body. L. Plau. Why, seriously, with your pardon, my dear friend

Man. With your pardon, my no friend, I will not, as you do, whisper my hatred or my scorn, call a man fool or knave, by signs or mouths over his shoulder, whilst you have him in your arms;

for such as you, like common whores and pickpockets, are only dangerous to those you embrace. L. Pluu. Such as I! Heavens defend meupon my honour

Man. Upon your title, my lord, if you'd have me believe you.

L. Plau. Well, then, as I am a person of honour, I never attempted to abuse or lessen any person in my life.

Man. What, you were afraid?

L. Plau. No; but, seriously, I hate to do a rude thing: no, faith, I speak well of all mankind.

Man. I thought so; but know, that the speak ing well of all mankind is the worst kind of detraction; for it takes away the reputation of the few good men in the world, by making all alike : now, I speak ill of most men, because they deserve it; I that can do a rude thing, rather than an unjust thing.

L. Plau. Well, tell not me, my dear friend, what people deserve; I ne'er mind that; I, like an author in a dedication, never speak well of a man for his sake, but my own; I will not dispaill of people behind their backs is not like a perrage any man, to disparage myself; for to speak son of honour; and, truly, to speak ill of 'em to their faces is not like a complaisant person: but if I did say or do an ill thing to any, it should be sure to be behind their backs, out of pure good

manners.

Man. Very well; but I, that am an unmannerly sea fellow, if I ever speak well of people, (which is very seldom indeed,) it should be sure to be behind their backs; and if I would say or do ill to any, it should be to their faces: I would jostle a proud, strutting, over-looking coxcomb at the head of his sycophants, rather than put out my tongue at him when he were past me; would frown in the arrogant, big, dull face of an overgrown knave of business, rather than vent my spleen against him when his back were turn'd; would give fawning slaves the lie, whilst they embrace or commend me; cowards, whilst they brag; call a rascal by no other title, though his father had left him a duke; laugh at fools aloud, before their mistresses; and must desire people to leave me, when their visits grow at last as troublesome as they were at first impertinent.

L. Plau. I would not have my visits troublesome. Man. The only way to be sure not to have 'em troublesome, is to make 'em when people are not at home; for your visits, like other good turns, are most obliging when made or done to a man in his absence. A pox! why should any one, because he has nothing to do, go and disturb another man's business?

L. Plau. I beg your pardon, my dear friend. What! you have business?

Man. If you have any, I would not detain your lordship.

L. Plau. Detain me, dear sir! I can never have enough of your company.

Man. I'm afraid I should be tiresome: I know not what you think.

L. Plau. Well, dear sir, I see you would have me gone.

Man. But I see you won't.
L. Plau. Your most faithful-
Man. God be wi' ye, my lord.
L. Plan. Your most humble-
Man. Farewell.

[Aside.

L. Plau. And eternally— Man. And eternally ceremony-then the devil take thee eternally. [Aside.

L. Plau. You shall use no ceremony, by my life. Man. I do not intend it.

L. Plau. Why do you stir then? Man. Only to see you out of doors, that I may shut 'em against more welcomes.

L. Plau. Nay, faith, that shall not pass upon your most faithful, humble servant.

Man. Nor this any more upon me. [Aside. L. Plau. Well, you are too strong for me. Man. I'd sooner be visited by the plague; for that only would keep a man from visits, and his doors shut. [Aside.

[Exit, thrusting out my Lord PLAUSIBLE. Manent Sailors.

1st Sail. Here's a finical fellow, Jack! What a brave fair-weather captain of a ship he would make!

2d Sail. He a captain of a ship! it must be when she's in the dock then; for he looks like one of those that get the king's commissions for

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hulls, to sell a king's ship, when a brave fellow has fought her almost to a long-boat.

1st Sail. On my conscience, then, Jack, that's the reason our bully tar sunk our ship; not only that the Dutch might not have her, but that the courtiers, who laugh at wooden legs, might not make her prize.

2d Sail. A pox of his sinking, Tom! We have made a base, broken, short voyage of it,

1st Sail. Ay, your brisk dealers in honour always make quick returns with their ship to the dock, and their men to the hospitals: 'tis, let me see, just a month since we set out of the river, and the wind was almost as cross to us as the Dutch.

2d Sail. Well, I forgive him sinking my own poor trunk, if he would but have given me time and leave to have saved black Kate of Wapping's small venture.

1st Sail. Faith, I forgive him, since, as the purser told me, he sunk the value of five or six thousand pound of his own, with which he was to settle himself somewhere in the Indies; for our merry lieutenant was to succeed him in his commission for the ship back; for he was resolved never to return again for England.

2d Sail. So it seemed, by his fighting.

1st Sail. No, but he was a weary of this side of the world here, they say.

2d Sail. Ay, or else he would not have bid so fair for a passage into t'other.

1st Sail. Jack, thou think'st thyself in the forecastle, thou'rt so waggish; but I tell you, then, he had a mind to go live and bask himself on the sunny side of the globe.

2d Sail. What, out of any discontent ? for he's always as dogged as an old tarpaulin, when hindered of a voyage by a young pantaloon captain.

1st Sail. 'Tis true; I never saw him pleased but in the fight, and then he looked like one of us coming from the pay-table, with a new lining to our hats under our arms.

2d Sail. A pox! he's like the Bay of Biscay,rough and angry, let the wind blow where 'twill.

1st Sail. Nay, there's no more dealing with him than with the land in a storm; no near

2d Sail. 'Tis a hurry-durry blade. Dost thou remember, after we had tugged hard the old leaky long-boat, to save his life, when I welcomed him a-shore, he gave me a box on the ear, and called me fawning water-dog.

Enter MANLY and FREEMAN.

1st Sail. Hold thy peace, Jack, and stand by; the foul weather's coming.

Man. You rascal dogs, how could this tame thing get through you?

1st Sail. Faith, to tell your honour the truth, we were at Hob in the Hall, and whilst my brother and I were quarrelling about a cast, he slunk by us.

2d Sail. He's a sneaking fellow, I warrant for't. Man. Have more care for the future, you slaves. Go, and, with drawn cutlasses, stand at the

stair-foot, and keep all that ask for me from coming up suppose you are guarding the scuttle to the powder-room: let none enter here, at your or their peril.

1st Sail. No; for the danger would be the same; you would blow them and us up, if we should. 2d Sail. Must no one come to you, sir? Man. No man, sir.

1st Sail. No man, sir? but a woman, then, an't like your honour

Man. No woman neither, you impertinent dog. Would you be pimping? A sea pimp is the strangest monster she has.

2d Sail. Indeed, an't like your honour, 'twill be hard for us to deny a woman any thing, since we are so newly come on shore.

1st Sail. We'll let no old woman come up, though it were our trusting landlady at Wapping. Man. Would you be witty, you brandy cask you? You become a jest as ill as you do a horse. Be gone, you dogs; I hear a noise on the stairs. [Exeunt Sailors. Free. Faith, I am sorry you would let the fop go; I intended to have had some sport with him. Man. Sport with him! A pox, then, why did you not stay? you should have enjoyed your coxcomb, and had him to yourself for me.

Free. No, I should not have cared for him without you neither; for the pleasure which fops afford is like that of drinking, only good when 'tis shared; and a fool, like a bottle, which would make you merry in company, will make you dull alone. But how the devil could you turn a man of his quality down stairs? You use a lord with very little ceremony, it seems.

Free. But what! will you see nobody? not your friends?

Man. Friends!- I have but one, and he, I hear, is not in town; nay, can have but one friend; for a true heart admits but of one friendship, as of one love. But in having that friend, I have a thousand; for he has the courage of men in despair, yet the diffidency and caution of cowards; the secrecy of the revengeful, and the constancy of martyrs; one fit to advise, to keep a secret, to fight and die for his friend. Such I think him; for I have trusted him with my mistress in my absence; and the trust of beauty is, sure, the greatest we can shew.

Free. Well, but all your good thoughts are not for him alone, I hope? Pray, what d'ye think of me for a friend?

Man. Of thee! Why, thou art a latitudinarian in friendship, that is, no friend; thou dost side with all mankind, but wilt suffer for none. Thou art, indeed, like your Lord Plausible,—the pink of courtesy, therefore hast no friendship; for ceremony and great professing renders friendship as much suspected as it does religion.

Free. And no professing, no ceremony at all in friendship, were as unnatural and as indecent as in religion; and there is hardly such a thing as an honest hypocrite, who professes himself to be worse than he is, unless it be yourself; for, though I could never get you to say you were my friend, I know you'll prove so.

Mun. I must confess, I am so much your friend, I would not deceive you; therefore must tell you, (not only because my heart is taken up, but according to your rules of friendship,) I cannot be your friend.

Free. Why, pray?

Man. A lord! What, thou art one of those who esteem men only by the marks and value fortune has set upon 'em, and never consider in- Man. Because he that is, you'll say, a true trinsic worth? but counterfeit honour will not be friend to a man, is a friend to all his friends: but current with me: I weigh the man, not his title: you must pardon me: I cannot wish well to pimps, 'tis not the king's stamp can make the metal bet-flatterers, detractors, and cowards, stiff-nodding ter, or heavier: your lord is a leaden shilling, knaves, and supple. pliant, kissing fools: now, all which you may bend every way, and debases the these I have seen you use like the dearest friends stamp he bears, instead of being raised by't.--Here in the world. again, you slaves?

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Man. Who's that? speak quickly, slaves. 2d Sail. Why, a man that should bring you a challenge; for though you refuse money, I'm sure you love fighting too well to refuse that. Man. Rogue, rascal, dog! [Kicks the Sailors out. Free. Nay, let the poor rogues have their forecastle jests; they cannot help 'em in a fight, scarce when a ship's sinking.

Man. Damn their untimely jests; a servant's jest is more sauciness than his counsel.

Free. Ha, ha, ha! -What, you observ'd me, I warrant, in the galleries at Whitehall, doing the business of the place! Pshaw! court professions, like court promises, go for nothing, man! but, faith, could you think I was a friend to all those I hugg'd,kiss'd, flatter'd, bow'd to? ha, ha!

Man. You told 'em so, and swore it too; I heard you.

Free. Ay, but when their backs were turn'd, did I not tell you they were rogues, villains, rascals, whom I despis'd and hated?

Man. Very fine! But what reason had I to believe you spoke your heart to me, since you profess'd deceiving so many?

Free. Why, don't you know, good captain, that telling truth is a quality as prejudicial to a man that would thrive in the world, as square play to a cheat, or true love to a whore? Would you have a man speak truth to his ruin? You are severer than the law, which requires no man to swear against himself: You would have mo

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