Jer. Ay, to chuse, I thank you. Wid. And are all my hopes frustrated? Shall I never hear thee put cases again to John the butler, or our vicar? Never see thee amble the circuit with the judges; and hear thee, in our townhall, louder than the crier?

Jer. No; for I have taken my leave of lawyering, and pettifogging.

Wid. Pettifogging! thou prophane villain, hast thou so?-Pettifogging!then you shall take your leave of me, and your estate too; thou shalt be an alien to me and it for ever.-Pettifogging! Jer. O, but if you be there too, mother, we have the deed and settlements, I thank you: Would you cheat me of my estate, ifac?

Wid. No, no, I will not cheat your little brother Bob, for thou wert not born in wedlock. Free. How's that?

Jer. How? What quirk has she got in her head now?

Wid. I say, thou canst not, shalt not, inherit the Blackacre estate.

Free. Why? why, forsooth? What d'ye mean, if you go there too?

Wid. Thou art but my base child; and, according to the law, can'st not inherit it: nay, thou art not so much as bastardeigne.

Jer. What, what? Am I then the son of a whore, mother?

Wid. The law says

Free. Madam, we know what the law says; but have a care what you say: do not let your passion to ruin your son, ruin your reputation. Wid. Hang reputation, sir! am not I a widow? have no husband, nor intend to have any? Nor would you, suppose, now have me for a wife. So, I think now I'm revenged on my son and you, without marrying, as I told you.

Free But, consider, madam.

Jer. What! have you no shame left in you, mother?

Wid. Wonder not at it, major; 'tis often the poor pressed widow's case, to give up her honour to save her jointure; and seems to be a light woman rather than marry: as some young men, they say, pretend to have the filthy disease, and lose their credit with most women, to avoid the importunities of some. [Aside to OLDFOX.

Free. But one word with you, madam. Wid. No, no, sir. Come, major, let us make haste now to the prerogative court.

Old. But, lady, if what you say be true, will you stigmatize your reputation on record? And, if it be not true, how will you prove it?

Wid. Pshaw! I can prove any thing; and for my reputation, know, major, a wise woman will no more value her reputation, in disinheriting a rebellious son of a good estate, than she would in getting him to inherit an estate.

Free. Madamsquire.

[Exeunt Wid. and OLDFOX. we must not let her go so,

Jer. Nay, the devil cann't stop her though, if she has a mind to't. But, come, bully-guardian,

we'll go advise with three attornies, two proctors, two solicitors, and a shrewd man of White-Friars, neither attorney, proctor, or solicitor, but as pure a pimp to the law as any of 'em; and sure all they will be hard enough for her; and, I fear, bully-guardian, you are too good a joker to have any law in your head.

Free. Thou'rt in the right on't, squire; I understand no law: especially against bastards, since I'm sure the custom is against that law; and more people get estates by being so than lose 'em.

[Exeunt.

The Scene changes to OLIVIA's Lodging. Enter Lord PLAUSIBLE, and Boy with a candle.

L. Plaus. Little gentleman, your most obedient, faithful, humble servant: where, I beseech you, is that divine person, your noble lady? Boy. Gone out, my lord; but commanded me to give you this letter. [Gives him a letter.

Enter to him NOVEL. L. Plaus. Which he must not observe. [Aside. Puls it up. Nov. Hey, boy, where is thy lady? Boy. Gone out, sir; but I must beg a word with [Gives him a letter, and exit. Nov. For me? So. [Puts up the letter. Servant, servant, my lord; you see the lady knew of your coming, for she is gone out.

you.

L. Plaus. Sir, I humbly beseech you not to censure the lady's good breeding: she has reason to use more liberty with me than with any other

man.

Nov. How, viscount, how?

L. Plaus. Nay, I humbly beseech you, be not in choler; where there is most love, there may be most freedom.

Nov. Nay, then 'tis time to come to an eclaircissement with you, and to tell you, you must think no more of this lady's love."

L. Plaus. Why, under correction, dear sir? Nov. There are reasons, reasons, viscount. L. Plaus. What, I beseech you, noble sir? Nov. Pry'thee, pry'thee, be not impertinent, my lord; some of you lords are such conceited, well-assured, impertinent rogues

L. Plaus. And you noble wits are so full of shamming and drolling, one knows not where to have you seriously.

Nov. Well, you shall find me in bed with this lady one of these days.

L. Plaus. Nay, I beseech you, spare the lady's honour; for her's and mine will be all one shortly.

Nov. Pr'ythee, my lord, be not an ass: dost thou think to get her from me? I have had such good encouragements

L. Pluus. I have not been thought unworthy of 'em.

Nov. What, not like mine! Come to an eclaircissement, as I said.

L. Plaus. Why, seriously then, she has told me, viscountess sounded prettily.

Nov. And me, that Novel was a name she would sooner change her's for, than for any title in England.

L. Plaus. She has commended the softness and respectfulness of my behaviour.

Nov. She has praised the briskness of my raillery of all things, man.

L. Plaus. The sleepiness of my eyes she liked. Nov. Sleepiness! dulness, dulness! But the fierceness of mine she adored.

L. Plaus. The brightness of my hair she liked. Nov. The brightness! no, the greasiness, I warrant; but the blackness, and the lustre of mine, she admires.

L. Plaus. The gentleness of my smile.
Nov. The subtlety of my leer.

L. Plaus. The clearness of my complexion.
Nov. The redness of my lips.

L. Plaus. The whiteness of my teeth. Nov. My janty way of picking them. L. Plaus. The sweetness of my breath. Nov. Ha, ha!-nay then she abused you, 'tis plain; for you know what Manly said: the sweetness of your pulvillio she might mean; but for your breath! ha, ha, ha. Your breath is such, man, that nothing but tobacco can perfume; and your complexion nothing could mend, but the small-pox.

L. Plaus. Well, sir, you may please to be merry; but, to put you out of all doubt, sir, she has received some jewels from me of value.

Nov. And presents from me; besides what I presented her jantily, by way of ombre, of three or four hundred pound value, which I'm sure are the earnest pence for our love-bargain.

L. Plaus. Nay then, sir, with your favour, and to make an end of all your hopes, look you here,

sir, she has writ to me.

[Deliver to each other their letters. Nov. How! how! well, well, and so she has to me; look you there

L. Plaus. What's here?
Nov. How's this?

"My dear Lord,

-in your heart OLIVIA."

with your Just the same, the names only alter'd. L. Plaus. Surely there must be some mistake; or somebody has abused her and us. Nor. Yes, you are abused, no doubt on't, my lord, but I'll to Whitehall, and see.

L. Plaus. And I, where I shall find you are abused.

Nov. Where, if it be so, for our comfort, we cannot fail of meeting with fellow-sufferers enough; for, as Freeman said of another, she stands in the drawing-room, like the glass, ready for all comers, to set their gallantry by her: and, like the glass too, lets no man go from her unsatisfied with himself. [Exeunt Ambo.

Enter OLIVIA and Boy.

Oliv. Both here, and just gone?

Boy. Yes, madam.

Oliv. But are you sure neither saw you deliver the other a letter?

Boy. Yes, yes, madam, I am very sure. Oliv. Go then to the Old Exchange, to Westminster, Holborn, and all the other places I told you of; I shall not need you these two hours: Begone, and take the candle with you, and be sure you leave word again below, I am gone out, to all that ask.

"You'll excuse me, for breaking my word with you, since 'twas to oblige, not offend you; for I am only gone abroad but to disappoint Novel, and meet you in the drawing-room; where I expect you with as much impatience as when I used to suffer Novel's visits, the most impertinent fop that ever affected the name of a wit, therefore not capable, I hope, to give you jealousy; for, for your sake alone, you saw I renounced an old lover, and will do all the world. Burn the letter, but lay up the kindness of it in your heart, with your

Very fine! but pray let's see mine.

OLIVIA."

L. Plaus. I understand it not; but sure she cannot think so of me. [Reads the other letter.

-for your

"quitted an old lover

Ver. Manly return'd! Fortune forbid !

Olin. Met with the Dutch in the Channel, fought, sunk his ship, and all he carried with him: he was here with me yesterday.

Ver. And did you own our marriage to him? Oliv. I told him I was married, to put an end to his love and my trouble; but to whom is yet a secret kept from him and all the world: And I have used him so scurvily, his great spirit will ne'er return to reason it farther with me; I have sent him to sea again, I warrant.

Ver. 'Twas bravely done. And sure he will now hate the shore more than ever, after so great a disappointment. Be you sure only to keep a while our great secret, till he be gone: in the mean time I'll lead the easy, honest fool by the nose, as I used to do; and, whilst he stays, rail with him at thee; and, when he's gone, laugh with thee at him. But have you his cabinet of jewels safe? Part not with a seed-pearl to him, to keep him from starving.

Oliv. Nor from hanging.

Ver. He cannot recover 'em ; and, I think, will scorn to beg 'em again.

Oliv. But, my life, have you taken the thousand guineas he left in my name out of the goldsmith's hands?

Ver. Ay, ay, they are removed to another goldsmith's.

Oliv. Ay, but, my soul, you had best have a care he find not where the money is: for his present wants (as I'm inform'd) are such as will make him inquisitive enough.

Ver. You say true, and he knows the man too : but I'll remove it to-morrow.

Oliv. To-morrow? O do not stay till to-morrow go to-night, immediately.

Ver. Now I think on't, you advise well, and I will go presently.

Oliv. Presently! instantly! I will not let you stay a jot.

Ver. I will then, though I return not home till twelve.

Oliv. Nay, though not till morning, with all my heart: go, dearest, I am impatient till you are gone.- [Thrusts him out.] So, I have at once now brought about those two grateful businesses, which all prudent women do together, secured money and pleasure, and now all interruptions of the last are removed. Go, husband, and come up, friend; just the buckets in the well; the absence of one brings the other; but I hope, like them too, they will not meet in the way, jostle, and clash together.

Enter FIDELIA, and MANLY treading softly,
and staying behind at some distance.
So, you are come? but not the husband-bucket,
I hope, again. Who's there? my dearest?

Fid. My life

[Softly.

Oliv. Right, right; where are thy lips? Here, take the dumb, and best welcomes, kisses and embraces; 'tis not a time for idle words. In a duel of love, as in others, parleying shews basely. Come, we are alone! and now the word is only satisfaction, and defend not thyself.

Man. How's this? how! she makes love like a devil in a play; and in this darkness, which conceals her angel's face, if I were apt to be afraid, I should think her a devil. [Aside. Oliv. What, you traverse ground, young gentleman ? [FIDELIA avoiding her. Fid. I take breath only. Man. Good Heav'ns! how was I deceived! [Aside.

Oliv. Nay, you are a coward; what, are you afraid of the fierceness of my love?

Fid. Yes, madam, lest its violence might presage its change; and I must needs be afraid you would leave me quickly, who could desert so brave a gentleman as Manly.

Oliv. O! name not his name; for in a time of stolen joys, as this is, the filthy name of husband were not a more allaying sound.

[Aside.

Man. There's some comfort yet. Fid. But did you not love him? Oliv. Never. How could you think it? Fid. Because he thought it, who is a man of that sense, nice discerning, and diffidency, and I should think it hard to deceive him.

Oliv. No: he that distrusts most the world, trusts most to himself, and is but the more easily deceived, because he thinks he cann't be deceived: his cunning is like the coward's sword, by which he is oftner worsted than defended.

Fid. Yet, sure, you used no common art to deceive him.

Oliv. I knew he loved his own singular moroseness so well, as to dote upon any copy of it; wherefore I feign'd an hatred to the world too, that he might love me in earnest: but, if it had been hard to deceive him, I'm sure t'were much harder to love him. A dogged, ill-manner❜dFid. D'ye hear her, sir? pray hear her.

[Aside to MANLY. Oliv. Surly, untractable, snarling brute! he! a mastiff-dog were as fit a thing to make a gallant of. Man. Ay, a goat or monkey were fitter for thee.

[Aside.

Fid. I must confess, for my part, (though my rival) I cannot but say he has a manly handsome

ness in's face and mien.

Oliv. So has a Saracen in the sign.
Fid. Is proper and well made.
Oliv. As a dray-man.

Fid. Has wit.

Oliv. He rails at all mankind. Fid. And undoubted courage.

Oliv. Like the hangman's, can murder a man when his hands are tied. He has cruelty indeed which is no more courage than his railing is wit. Man. Thus women, and men like women, are too hard for us, when they think we do not hear 'em; and reputation, like other mistresses, is never true to a man in his absence. [Aside.

Fid. He is

Oliv. Pr'ythee no more of him; I thought I had satisfied you enough before, that he could never be a rival for you to apprehend; and you need not be more assured of my aversion to him, but by the last testimony of my love to you, which I am ready to give you. Come, my soul, this way[Pulls FIDELIA. Fid. But, madam, what could make you dissemble love to him, when 'twas so hard a thing for you, and flatter his love to you?

Oliv. That which makes all the world flatter and dissemble, 'twas his money: I had a real passion for that. Yet I loved not that so well, as for it to take him; for, as soon as I had money, I hastened his departure: like a wife who, when she has made the most of a dying husband's breath, pulls away the pillow.

Man. Damn'd money! its master's potent rival still; and, like a saucy pimp, corrupts itself the mistress it procures for us! [Aside. Oliv. But I did not think with you, my life, to pass my time in talking. Come hither, come; yet stay, till I have lock'd a door in the other room, that may chance to let us in some interruption; which reciting poets, or losing gamesters, fear not more than I at this time do. [Exit OLIVIA. Fid. Well, I hope you are now satisfied, sir, and will be gone to think of your revenge? Man. No, I am not satisfied, and must stay to be revenged.

Fid. How, sir? You'll use no violence to her, I hope, and forfeit your own life, to take away hers? That were no revenge.

Man. No, no, you need not fear: my revenge shall only be upon her honour, not her life.

Fid. How, sir? her honour? O heavens! consider, sir, she has no honour. D'ye call that revenge? Can you think of such a thing? But reflect, sir, how she hates and loaths you.

Man. Yes, so much she hates me, that it would be a revenge sufficient to make her accessary to my pleasure, and then let her know it.

Fid. No, sir, no; to be revenged on her now were to disappoint her. Pray, sir, let us be gone. [Pulls MANLY.

Man. Hold off. What, you are my rival then? and therefore you shall stay, and keep the door for me, whilst I go in for you: but, when I'm gone, if you dare to stir off from this very board, or breathe the least murmuring accent, I'll cut her throat first, and if you love her, you will not venture her life; nay, then I'll cut your throat too; and I know you love your own life at least.

Fid. But, sir, good sir

Man. Not a word more, lest I begin my revenge on her, by killing you.

Fid. But are you sure 'tis revenge, that makes you do this? How can it be? Man. Hist!

Fid. 'Tis a strange revenge indeed.

Man. If you make me stay, I shall keep my word, and begin with you.-No more. [Exit MANLY, at the same door OLIVIA went. Manet FIDELIA

Fid. O Heavens! is there not punishment enough

In loving well, if you will have't a crime,
But you must add fresh torments daily to't,
And punish us like peevish rivals still,
Because we fain would find a heaven here?
But did there never any love like me,
That untried tortures you must find me out?
Others, at worst, you force to kill themselves;
But I must be self-murd'ress of my love,
Yet will not grant me power to end my life,
My cruel life; for, when a lover's hopes
Are dead and gone, life is unmerciful.

[Sits down, and weeps.

Enter MANLY to her.

Man. I have thought better on't; I must not discover myself now; I am without witnesses: for if I barely would publish it, she would deny it with as much impudence, as she would act it again with this young fellow here.-Where are you?

Fid. Here-oh-now I suppose we may be gone.

Man. I will, but not you; you must stay, and act the second part of a lover: that is, talk kindness to her.

Fid. Not I, sir.

Man. No disputing, sir, you must: 'tis necessary to my design of coming again to-morrow night.

Fid. What, can you come again then hither?

Man. Yes, and you must make the appointment, and an apology for your leaving her so soon; for I have said not a word to her, but have kept your counsel, as I expect you should do mine: do this faithfully, and I promise you here you shall run my fortune still, and we will never part as long as we live; but, if you do not do it, expect not to live.

Fid. 'Tis hard, sir; but such a consideration will make it easier: you won't forget your promise, sir?

Man. No, by heavens. But I hear her coming. [Exit.

Enter OLIVIA to FIDELIA.

Oliv. Where is my life? run from me already! you do not love me, dearest; nay, you are angry with me; for you would not so much as speak a kind word to me within: What was the reason? Fid. I was transported too much.