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must own

Sir Jos. No, no, captain, you need not own, heh, heh, heh! 'fis I must own.

Bluff. That you are over-reach'd too, ha, ha, ha! Only a little art military used-only undermined, or so, as shall appear by the fair Araminta, my wife's permission. Oh, the devil, cheated at last! [LUCY unmasks. Sir Jos. Only a little art military trick, captain; only countermined, or so-Mr Vainlove, I suppose you know whom I have got-now-but all's forgiven.

Vain. I know whom you have not got; pray, ladies, convince him.

[ARAMINTA and BELINDA unmask. Sir Jos. Ah! O Lord, my heart aches-Ah! Setter, a rogue of all sides.

Sharp. Sir Joseph, you had better have preengaged this gentleman's pardon: For, though Vainlove be so generous to forgive the loss of his mistress, I know not how Heartwell may take the loss of his wife. [SILVIA unmasks. Heart. My wife! By this light 'tis she, the very cockatrice- -Oh, Sharper! let me embrace thee-But art thou sure she is really married to him?

Set. Really and lawfully married, I am witness.
Sharp. Bellmour will unriddle to you.

[HEARTWELL goes to BELLMOUR. Sir Jos. Pray, madam, who are you? for I find you and I are like to be better acquainted. Silv. The worst of me is, that I am your wife

Sharp. Come, Sir Joseph, your fortune is not so bad as you fear-A fine lady, and a lady of very good quality.

Sir Jos. Thanks to my knighthood, she's a lady

Vain. That deserves a fool with a better title -Pray use her as my relation, or you shall hear on't.

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Bluff. What, are you a woman of quality too, spouse?

Set. And my relation; pray let her be respected accordingly-Well, honest Lucy, fare thee well I think you and I have been play-fellows off and on, any time this seven years.

Lucy. Hold your prating- -I'm thinking what vocation I shall follow, while my spouse is planting laurels in the wars.

Bluff. No more wars; spouse, no more warsWhile I plant laurels for my head abroad, I may find the branches sprout at home.

Heart. Bellmour, I approve thy mirth, and thank thee-And I cannot in gratitude (for I see which way thou art going) see thee fall into the same snare, out of which thou hast deliver'd me.

Bell. I thank thee, George, for thy good intention-But there is a fatality in marriage-For I find I'm resolute.

Heart. Then good counsel will be thrown away upon you-For my part I have once escaped; and when I wed again, may she be-ugly as an old bawd.

Vain. Ill-natured as an old maid-
Bell. Wanton as a young widow-
Sharp. And jealous as a barren wife.
Heart. Agreed.

Bell. Well; 'midst of these dreadful denunciations, and notwithstanding the warning and example before me, I commit myself to lasting du

rance.

Belin. Prisoner, make much of your fetters. (Giving her hand. Bell. Frank, will you keep us in countenance? Vain. May I presume to hope so great a blessing?

Aram. We had better take the advantage of a little of our friend's experience first.

Bell. O' my conscience she dare not consent, for fear he should recant. [Aside.] Well, we shall have your company to church in the morningMay be it may get you an appetite, to see us fall to before ye. Setter, did not you tell me

Set. They're at the door : I'll call 'em in.

[A Dance.

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EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY MRS BARRY.

As a rash girl, who will all hazards run,
And be enjoy'd, though sure to be undone ;
Soon as her curiosity is over,

Would give the world she could her toy recover:
So fares it with our poet; and I'm sent
To tell you, he already does repent:
Would you were all as forward to keep Lent.
Now the deed's done, the giddy thing has leisure
To think o'th' sting that's in the tail of pleasure.
Methinks I hear him in consideration!

What will the world say? Where's my reputation?

Now that's at stake-No, fool, 'tis out of fashion.

If loss of that should follow want of wit,
How many undone men were in the pit!
Why that's some comfort to an author's fears,
If he's an ass, he will be tried by peers.

But hold-I am exceeding my commission;
My business here was humbly to petition :
But we're so used to rail on these occasions,
I could not help one trial of your patience :
For 'tis our way, you know, for fear o'th' worst,
To be before-hand still, and cry fool first.
How say you, sparks? How do you stand af-
fected?

I swear young Bays within is so dejected,
'Twould grieve your hearts to see him; shall I
call him?

But then you cruel critics would so maul him!
Yet, may be, you'll encourage a beginner;
But how?-Just as the devil does a sinner.
Women and wits are used e'en much as one,
You gain your ends, and damn 'em when you've
done.

THE

DOUBLE DEALER.

BY

CONGREVE.

PROLOGUE.

MOORS have this way (as story tells) to know
Whether their brats are truly got or no:
Into the sea the new-born babe is thrown,
There, as instinct directs, to swim or drown.
A barbarous device, to try if spouse
Has kept religiously her nuptial vows.

Such are the trials poets make of plays;
Only they trust to more inconstant seas;
So does our author this his child commit
To the tempestuous mercy of the pit,
To know if it be truly born of wit.
Critics, avaunt! for you are fish of prey,
And feed, like sharks, upon an infant play.
Be ev'ry monster of the deep away;
Let's have fair trial, and a clear sea.

Let nature work, and do not damn too soon, For life will struggle long, ere it sink down; And will at least rise thrice before it drown.

Let us consider, had it been our fate,
Thus hardly to be proved legitimate!
I will not say we'd all in danger been,
Were each to suffer for his mother's sin :
But by my troth I cannot avoid thinking,
How nearly some good men might have 'scaped
sinking.

But, Heaven be praised, this custom is confined
Alone to the offspring of the muses' kind:
Our christian cuckolds are more bent to pity;
I know not one Moor-husband in the city.
I'th' good man's arms the chopping bastard thrives,
For he thinks all his own that is his wife's.

Whatever fate is for this play designed,
The poet's sure he shall some comfort find:
For if his muse has play'd him false, the worst
That can befall him is,-to be divorced;
You husbands judge, if that be to be cursed.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

MEN.

MASKWELL, a Villain; pretended Friend to Mellefont, Gallant to Lady Touchwood, and in love with Cynthia.

Lord TOUCHWOOD, Uncle to Mellefont.

Knight; Brother to Lady Touchwood, and Father to Cynthia.

WOMEN.

Lady TOUCHWOOD, in love with Mellefont.

MELLEFONT, promised to, and in love with Cyn- CYNTHIA, Daughter to Sir Paul by a former

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Wife, promised to Mellefont.

Lady FROTH, a great Coquet; Pretender to Poe try, Wit, and Learning.

Lady PLYANT, insolent to her Husband, and easy to any Pretender.

Chaplain, Boy, Footmen, and Attendants.

SCENE, A Gallery in Lord Touchwood's House, with Chambers adjoining.

ACT I.

SCENE I-A Gallery in Lord TOUCHWOOD'S
House, with Chambers adjoining.

Enter CARELESS, crossing the Stage, with his
Hat, Gloves, and Sword in his Hand, as just
risen from Table; MELLEFONT following him.
Mel. Ned, Ned, whither so fast? What, turn'd
flincher! Why, you wo' not leave us?

Care. Where are the women? I'm weary of guzzling, and begin to think them the better company.

Mel. Then thy reason staggers, and thou'rt almost drunk.

Care. No, faith, but your fools grow noisy; and if a man must endure the noise of words without sense, I think the women have more musical voices, and become the nonsense better.

Care. Pr'ythee get thee gone: thou seest we are serious.

Mel. We'll come immediately, if you'll but go in, and keep up good humour and sense in the company: Pr'ythee do-they'll fall asleep else.

Brisk. 'Egad, so they will-Well, I will, I will; 'egad, you shall command me from the zenith to the nadir.- -But the deuce take me if I say a good thing till you come. But, pr'ythee, dear rogue, make haste, pr'ythee make haste, I shall burst else. And yonder your uncle, my lord Touchwood, swears he'll disinherit you, and Sir Paul Plyant threatens to disclaim you for a sonin-law, and my Lord Froth won't dance at your wedding to-morrow; nor, the deuce take me, I won't write your epithalamium and see what a condition you are like to be brought to. Mel. Well, I'll speak but three words, and follow you.

Met. Why, they are at the end of the gallery, retired to their tea and scandal, according to their ancient custom after dinner. But I made a pre-apprehension along with you. tence to follow you, because I had something to say to you in private, and I am not like to have many opportunities this evening.

Brisk. Enough, enough. Careless, bring your [Exil.

Care. And here's this coxcomb most critically come to interrupt you.

Enter BRISK.

Brisk. Boys, boys, lads, where are you? What, do you give ground? Mortgage for a bottle, ha? Careless, this is your trick, you are always spoiling company by leaving it."

Care. And thou art always spoiling company by coming into it.

Brisk. Pooh! ha, ha, ha! I know you envy me. Spite, proud spite, by the gods! and burning envy.-I'll be judged by Mellefont here, who gives and takes raillery better, you or I. Pshaw, man, when I say you spoil company by leaving it, I mean you leave nobody for the company to laugh at. I think there I was with you, ha! Mellefont. Mel. O' my word, Brisk, that was a home thrust

-You have silenced him.

Brisk. Oh, my dear Mellefont, let me perish if thou art not the soul of conversation, the very essence of wit and spirit of wine-The deuce take me, if there were three good things said, or one understood, since thy amputation from the body of our society-Eh, I think that's pretty and metaphorical enough: 'Egad, I could not have said it out of thy company-Careless; ha! Care. Hum, what is it?

Care. Pert coxcomb!

Mel. 'Faith, 'tis a good-natured coxcomb, and has very entertaining follies-You must be more humane to him; at this juncture it will do me service. I'll tell you, I would have mirth continued this day at any rate; though patience purchase folly, and attention be paid with noise.— There are times when sense may be unseasonable, as well as truth. Pr'ythee do thou wear none today, but allow Brisk to have wit, that thou mayst

seem a fool.

Care. Why, how now? Why this extravagant proposition?

Mel. O, I would have no room for serious design, for I am jealous of a plot. I would have noise and impertinence keep my Lady Touchwood's head from working: for hell is not more busy than her brain, nor contains more devils than that imaginations.

Care. I thought your fear of her had been over. Is not to-morrow appointed for your marriage with Cynthia, and her father Sir Paul Plyant come to settle the writings this day, on purpose?

Mel. True; but you shall judge whether I have not reason to be alarmed. None besides you and Maskwell are acquainted with the secret of my aunt Touchwood's violent passion for me. Since my first refusal of her addresses, she has endeavoured to do me all the ill offices with my uncle; yet has managed them with that subtilty, that to him they have borne the face of kindness, while

Brisk. O, mon cœur! What is it? Nay, gad her malice, like a dark lanthorn, only shone upon I'll punish you for want of apprehension:-theme, where it was directed. Still it gave me less deuce take me if I tell you.

Mel. No, no, hang him, he has no taste-
But, dear Brisk, excuse me, I have a little busi-

ness.

VOL. III.

perplexity to prevent the success of her displeasure, than to avoid the importunities of her love; and of two evils, I thought myself favoured in her aversion: but whether urged by her despair, and

Y

the short prospect of time she saw to accomplish her designs; whether the hopes of revenge or of her love terminated in the view of this my marriage with Cynthia, I know not; but this morning she surprised me in my bed.

Care. Was there ever such a fury! 'Tis well nature has not put it into her sex's power to ravish.—Well, bless us! proceed. What followed? Mel. What at first amazed me; for I looked to have seen her in all the transports of a slighted and revengeful woman; but when I expected thunder from her voice, and lightning in her eyes, I saw her melted into tears, and hushed into a sigh. It was long before either of us spoke; passion had tied her tongue, and amazement mine.In short, the consequence was thus: she omitted nothing that the most violent love could urge, or tender words express; which when she saw had no effect (for still I pleaded honour, and nearness of blood to my uncle) then came the storm I feared at first; for, starting from my bed-side like a fury, she flew to my sword, and with much ado I prevented her doing me or herself a mischief: having disarmed her, in a gust of passion she left me, and, in a resolution, confirmed by a thousand curses, not to close her eyes till they had seen my

ruin.

Care. Exquisite woman! But what the devil, does she think that thou hast no more sense than to get an heir upon her body to disinherit thyself? -for, as I take it, this settlement upon you is with a proviso that your uncle have no children.

Mel. It is so. Well, the service you are to do me will be a pleasure to yourself; I must get you to engage my Lady Plyant all this evening, that my pious aunt may not work her to her interest. And if you chance to secure her to yourself, you may incline her to mine. She is handsome, and knows it; is very silly, and thinks she has sense, and has an old fond husband.

Cure. I confess a very fair foundation for a lover to build upon.

Mel. For my Lord Froth, he and his wife will be sufficiently taken up with admiring one another, and Brisk's gallantry, as they call it. I'll observe my uncle myself; and Jack Maskwell has promised me to watch my aunt narrowly, and give me notice upon any suspicion. As for Sir Paul, my wise father-in-law that is to be, my dear Cynthia has such a share in his fatherly fondness, he would scarce make her a moment uneasy, to have her happy hereafter.

Care. So, you have manned your works; but I wish you may not have the weakest guard where the enemy is strongest.

Mel. Maskwell, you mean; pr'ythee why should you suspect him?

Care. I am mistaken if there be not a familiarity between them you do not suspect, notwithstanding her passion for you.

Mel. Pooh, pooh! nothing in the world but his design to do me service; and he endeavours to be well in her esteem, that he may be able to effect it.

Care. Well, I shall be glad to be mistaken; but your aunt's aversion in her revenge cannot be any way so effectually shewn, as in bringing forth a child to disinherit you. She is handsome and cunning, and naturally wanton. Maskwell is flesh and blood at best, and opportunities between them are frequent. His affection to you, you have confessed, is grounded upon his interest, that you have transplanted; and, should it take root in my lady, I do not see what you can expect from the fruit.

Mel. I confess the consequence is visible, were your suspicions just.-But see, the company is broke up, let us meet them.

Enter Lord TOUCHWOOD, Lord FROTH, Sir PAUL PLYANT, and BRISK.

Ld T. Out upon 't, nephew-leave your fa ther-in-law and me to maintain our ground a gainst young people.

Mel. I beg your lordship's pardon-we were just returning.

Sir Paul. Were you, son? Gadsbud, much bet ter as it is.Good, strange! I swear I'm almost tipsy-t'other bottle would have been too powerful for me-as sure as can be it would.-We wanted your company--but Mr Brisk, where is he? I swear and vow he's a most facetious person-and the best company.-And my Lord Froth-your lordship is so merry a man, he, he, he!

Ld F. O foy, Sir Paul, what do you mean? Merry! O, barbarous! I'd as leave you had called me fool.

Sir Paul. Nay, I protest and vow now 'tis true; when Mr Brisk jokes, your lordship's laugh does so become you, he, he, he!

Ld F. Ridiculous!-Sir Paul, you're strangely mistaken; I find champagne is powerful. I assure you, Sir Paul, I laugh at nobody's jest but my own, or a lady's, I assure you, Sir Paul.

Brisk. How! how, my lord! What, affront ny wit; let me perish, do I never say any thing worthy to be laughed at?

Ld F. O foy, don't misapprehend me; I don't say so, for I often smile at your conceptions. But there is nothing more unbecoming a man of quality than to laugh; 'tis such a vulgar expression of the passion! every body can laugh. Then, especially to laugh at the jest of an inferior person, Care. Faith, I cannot help it; you know I ne- or when any body else of the same quality does ver liked him; I am a little superstitious in phy-not laugh with one. Ridiculous! to be pleased siognomy. with what pleases the crowd! Now, when I laugh, I always laugh alone!

Mel. He has obligations of gratitude to bind him to me; his dependence upon my uncle is through my means.

Care. Upon your aunt, you mean.
Mel. My aunt!

Brisk. I suppose that's because you laugh at your own jests, 'egad, ha, ha, ha!

Ld F. He, he! I swear, though, your raillery provokes me to a smile.

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