Miss P. Who? Why you did, did not you? Tat. O pox, that was yesterday, miss; that was a great while ago, child. I have been asleep since; slept a whole night, and did not so much as dream of the matter.

Miss P. Pshaw! O but I dreamt that it was so though.

Tat. Ay, but your father will tell you that dreams come by contraries, child.. O fie! what, we must not love one another now. Pshaw, that would be a foolish thing indeed! Fie, fie! you're a woman now, and must think of a new man every morning, and forget him every night. No, no, to marry is to be a child again, and play with the same rattle always: O fie, marrying is a paw thing!

Miss P. Well, but don't you love me as well as you did last night then?

Tat. No, no, child, you would not have me. Miss P. No? Yes but I would though. Tat. Pshaw, but I tell you, you would not. You forget you are a woman, and don't know your own mind.

Miss P. But here's my father, and he knows my mind.

Enter FORESIGHT.

For. O, Mr Tattle, your servant, you are a close man; but methinks your love to my daughter was a secret I might have been trusted with! -or had you a mind to try if I could discover it by my art?-Hum, ha! I think there is something in your physiognomy that has a resemblance of her; and the girl is like me.

Tat. And so you would infer that you and I are alike? What does the old prig mean? I'll banter him, and laugh at him, and leave him.[Aside.]—I fancy you have a wrong notion of faces.

For. How? what? a wrong notion! how so? Tat. In the way of art, I have some taking features, not obvious to vulgar eyes, that are indicative of a sudden turn of good fortune in the lottery of wives; and promise a great beauty and great fortune reserved alone for me, by a private intrigue of destiny, kept secret from the piercing eye of perspicuity, from all astrologers, and the stars themselves.

For. How! I will make it appear, that what you say is impossible.

Tat. Sir, I beg your pardon; I am in haste—
For. For what?

Tat. To be married, sir-married.

For. Ay, but pray take me along with you, sir. Tat. No, sir; it is to be done privately-I never make confidants.

For. Well, but my consent, I mean-You won't marry my daughter without my consent?

Tat. Who, I, sir? I am an absolute stranger to you and your daughter, sir.

For. Hey-day! What time of the moon is this?

Tat. Very true, sir; and desire to continue so. -I have no more love for your daughter than I

have likeness of you-and I have a secret in my heart which you would be glad to know, and sha'n't know; and yet you shall know it too, and be sorry for it afterwards.—I'd have you know, sir, that I'm as knowing as the stars, and as se cret as the night.-And I'm going to be married just now, yet did not know of it half an hour ago; and the lady stays for me, and does not know of it yet. There's a mystery for you. I know you love to untie difficulties. Or, if you cann't solve this, stay here a quarter of an hour, and I'll come and explain it to you. [Exit.

Miss P. O father! why will you let him go? Won't you make him to be my husband? For. Mercy on us! what do these lunacies por tend?-Alas, he's mad, child-stark wild.

Miss P. What, and must not I have e'er a husband then?-What, must I go to bed to nurse again, and be a child as long as she's an old woman?-Indeed, but I won't. For, now my mind is set upon a man, I will have a man some way or other.-Oh, methinks I'm sick when I think of a man! And if I cann't have one, I would go to sleep all my life; for, when I'm awake, it niakes me wish and long, and I don't know for what, and I'd rather be always asleep, than sick with thinking.

For. O fearful! I think the girl's influenced too.-Hussy, you shall have a rod.

Miss P. A fiddle of a rod! I'll have a husband; and if you won't get me one, I'll get one for myself. I'll marry our Robin the butler: he says he loves me; and he's a handsome man, and shall be my husband. I warrant he'll be my husband, and thank me too; for he told me so. Enter SCANDAL, Mrs FORESIGHT, and Nurse. For. Did he so?—I'll dispatch him for it presently. Rogue!-O nurse, come hither!

Nurse. What is your worship's pleasure? For. Here, take your young mistress, and lock her up presently, till further orders from me.Not a word, hussy! Do what I bid you. No reply-away-and bid Robin make ready to give an account of his plate and linen-d'ye hear? Be gone, when I bid you.

[Exeunt Nurse and Miss PRUE. Mrs For. What's the matter, husband? For. 'Tis not convenient to tell you now.Mr Scandal, Heaven keep us all in our senses! I fear there is a contagious frenzy abroad.-How does Valentine?

Scan. O, I hope he will do well again! I have a message from him to your niece Angelica.

For. I think she has not return'd since she went abroad with Sir Sampson.-Nurse, why are you not gone?-[Enter BEN.]-Here's Mr Benjamin; he can tell us if his father be come home. Ben. Who, father? Ay, he's come home with

she, as they say brother Val went mad for, she's mad too, I think.

For. O my poor niece my poor niece! is she gone too?-Well, I shall run mad next.

Airs For. Well, but how mad? How d'ye mean?

Ben. Nay, I'll give you leave to guess.- -I'll undertake to make a voyage to Antigua-no, I mayn't say so neither-but I'll sail as far as Leghorn, and back again, before you shall guess at the matter, and do nothing else.-Mess! you may take in all the points of the compass, and not hit the right.

Mrs For. Your experiment will take up a little too much time.

Ben. Why, then, I'll tell you-There's a new wedding upon the stocks; and they two are going to be married to rights.

Scan. Who?

you.

Scan. 'Sdeath! it is a jest, I cann't believe it. Ben. Look you, friend; it is nothing to me whether you believe it or no. What I say is true, d'ye see; they are married, or just going to be married, I know not which.

For. Well, but they are not mad; that is, not lunatic?

Ben. I don't know what you call madness; but she's mad for a husband, and he's horn-mad, I think, or they'd never make a match together. -Here they come.

Enter Sir SAMPSON, ANGELICA, and BUCKRAM. Sir S. Where is this old soothsayer? this uncle of mine elect?-Aha, old Foresight! uncle Foresight! wish me joy, uncle Foresight! double joy, both as uncle and astrologer! Here's a conjunction that was not foretold in all your Ephemeres! The brightest star in the blue firmament is shot from above in a jelly of love, and so forth; and I'm lord of the ascendant.-Odd, you're an old fellow, Foresight-uncle, I mean; a very old fellow, uncle Foresight; and yet you shall live to dance at my wedding; faith and troth you shall. -Odd, we'll have the music of the spheres for thee, old Lilly, that we will; and thou shalt lead up a dance in via lactea.

For. I'm thunder-struck! You are not married to my niece?

Sir S. Not absolutely married, uncle; but very near it; within a kiss of the matter, as you see. [Kisses ANGELICA.

Ang. 'Tis very true indeed, uncle; I hope you'll be my father, and give me,

Sir S. That he shall, or I'll burn his globes.— Body o' me, he shall be thy father; I'll make him thy father, and thou shalt make me a father, and I'll make thee a mother; and we'll beget sons

and daughters enough to put the weekly bills out of countenance.

Scan. Death and hell! where's Valentine?

Mrs For. This is so surprising

[Exit.

Sir S. How! What does my aunt say? surprising, aunt? Not at all, for a young couple to make a match in winter; not at all. It's a plot to undermine cold weather, and destroy that usurper of a bed call'd a warming-pan.

Mrs For. I'm glad to hear you have so much fire in you, Sir Sampson.

Ben Mess! I fear his fire's little better than tinder; mayhap it will only serve to light a match for somebody else.-The young woman's a handsome young woman, I cann't deny it; but, father, if I might be your pilot in this case, you should not marry her. It is just the same thing as if so be you should sail as far as the Streights without provision.

Sir S. Who gave you authority to speak, sirrah-To your element, fish! Be mute, fish, and to sea. Rule your helm, sirrah; don't direct me.

Ben. Well, well, take you care of your own helm, or you mayn't keep your new vessel steady.

Sir S. Why, you impudent tarpawling! sirrah, do you bring your forecastle jests upon your father?-But I shall be even with you; I won't give you a groat.—Mr Buckram, is the conveyance so worded, that nothing can possibly descend to this scoundrel? I would not so much as have him have the prospect of an estate, though there were no way to come to it but by the north-east passage.

Buck. Sir, it is drawn according to your direc tions; there is not the least cranny of the law unstopt.

Ben. Lawyer, I believe there's many a cranny that one had a pump to your bosom, I believe we and leak unstopt in your conscience. If so be should discover a foul hold.-They say a witch will sail in a sieve; but I believe the devil would not venture aboard with your conscience. And that's for you.

Sir S. Hold your tongue, sirrah.-How now ! Who's here?

Enter TATTLE and Mrs FRAIL. Mrs F. O, sister, the most unlucky accident! Mrs For. What's the matter? Tat. O, the two most unfortunate poor creatures in the world we are!

For. Bless us! how so?

Mrs F. Ah! Mr Tattle and I, poor Mr Tattle and I, are -I cann't speak it out.

Tat. Nor I-But poor Mrs Frail and I are-
Mrs F. Married.

For. Married! How?

Tat. Suddenly-before we knew where we were- -that villain Jeremy, by the help of disguises, trick'd us into one another.

For Why, you told me just now, you went hence in haste to be married.

Ang. But I believe Mr Tattle meant the favour to me-I thank him,

Tat. I did, as I hope to be saved, madam ; my intentions were good.-But this is the most cruel thing, to marry one does not know how, nor why, nor wherefore! The devil take me, if ever I was so much concern'd at any thing in my life.

Ang. 'Tis very unhappy, if you don't care for one another.

Tat. The least in the world; that is, for my part, I speak for myself.-Gad, I never had the least thought of serious kindness-I never liked any body less in my life-Poor woman! Gad, I'm sorry for her too; for I have no reason to hate her neither; but I believe I shall lead her a damn'd sort of a life.

Mrs For. He's better than no husband at all, though he's a coxcomb. [To Mrs FRAIL.

Mrs F. [To her.] Ay, ay, it's well it's no worse. -Nay, for my part, I always despised Mr Tattle of all things; nothing but his being my husband could have made me like him less.

Tat. Look you there! I thought as much.Pox on't! I wish we could keep it secret. Why, I don't believe any of this company would speak of it.

Ben. If you suspect me, friend, I'll go out of

the room.

Mrs F. But, my dear, that's impossible; the parson and that rogue Jeremy will publish it.

Tat. Ay, my dear, so they will, as you say. Ang. O you'll agree very well in a little time; custom will make it easy for you.

Tat. Easy! Pox on't, I don't believe I shall sleep to-night.

Sir S. Contrivance! what, to cheat me? to cheat your father? Sirrah, could you hope to prosper?

Val. Indeed I thought, sir, when the father en deavoured to undo the son, it was a reasonable return of nature.

Sir S. Very good, sir. Mr Buckram, are you ready? Come, sir, will you sign and seal? Val. If you please, sir; but first I would ask this lady one question.

Sir S. Sir, you must ask me leave first-That lady! No, sir; you shall ask that lady no questions, till you have asked her blessing, sir; that lady is to be my wife.

Val. I have heard as much, sir; but I would have it from her own mouth.

Sir S. That's as much as to say, I lie, sir; and you don't believe what I say.

Val. Pardon me, sir. But I reflect that I very lately counterfeited madness: I don't know but the frolic may go round.

Sir S. Come, chuck, satisfy him, answer him. -Come, Mr Buckram, the pen and ink. Buck. Here it is, sir, with the deed; all is ready. [VAL. goes to ANG.

Ang. 'Tis true, you have a great while pretended love to me; nay, what if you were sincere, still you must pardon me, if I think my own inclinations have a better right to dispose of my person than yours.

Sir S. Are you answered now, sir?
Val. Yes, sir.

Sir S. Where's your plot, sir? and your contrivance now, sir? Will you sign, sir? Come, will

Val. With all my heart, sir.

Scan. 'Sdeath, you are not mad indeed, to ruin yourself?

Val. I have been disappointed of my only hope, and he that loses hope may part with any thing. I never valued fortune, but as it was subservient to my pleasure; and my only pleasure was to please this lady: I have made many vain attempts, and find at last that nothing but my ruin can effect it; which, for that reason, I will sign to.Give me the paper.

Ang. Generous Valentine!
Buck. Here is the deed, sir.

[Aside.

Val. But where is the bond, by which I am obliged to sign this?

Buck. Sir Sampson, you have it.

Ang. No, I have it; and I'll use it, as I would every thing that is an enemy to Valentine.

Sir S. How now? Val. Ha!

[Tears the paper.

Ang. Had I the world to give you, it could not make me worthy of so generous and faithful a passion. Here's my hand; my heart was always yours, and struggled very hard to make this utmost trial of your virtue. [To VAL.

Val. Between pleasure and amazement I am lost-but on my knees I take the blessing. Sir S. Oons, what is the meaning of this?

Ben. Mess, here's the wind changed again !Father, you and I may make a voyage together now!

Ang Well, Sir Sampson, since I have played you a trick, I'll advise you how you may avoid such another. Learn to be a good father, or you'll never get a second wife. I always loved your son, and hated your unforgiving nature. I was resolved to try him to the utmost; I have tried you too, and know you both. You have not more faults than he has virtues; and it is hardly more pleasure to me, that I can make him and myself happy, than that I can punish you.

Val. If my happiness could receive addition, this kind surprise would make it double. Sir S. Oons, you're a crocodile!

For. Really, Sir Sampson, this is a sudden eclipse.

Sir S. You're an illiterate old fool; and I'm another.

ness.

Tat. If the gentleman is in disorder for want of a wife, I can spare him mine. Oh, are you there, sir? I am indebted to you for my happi [TO JEREMY. Jer. Sir, I ask you ten thousand pardons: it was an arrant mistake. You see, sir, my master was never mad, nor any thing like it.-Then how can it be otherwise?

Val. Tattle, I thank you; you would have interposed between me and heaven; but Providence laid purgatory in your way. You have but jus

tice.

Scan. I hear the fiddles that Sir Sampson provided for his own wedding; methinks it is pity they should not be employed when the match is so much mended. Valentine, though it be morning, we may have a dance.

Val. Any thing, my friend; every thing that looks like joy and transport.

Scan. Call them, Jeremy.

Ang. I have done dissembling now, Valentine; and if that coldness which I have always worn before you should turn to an extreme fondness, you must not suspect it.

Val. I'll prevent that suspicion-for I intend to dote to that immoderate degree, that your fondness shall never distinguish itself enough to be taken notice of. If ever you seem to love too much, it must be only when I cann't love enough.

Ang. Have a care of promises: you know you are apt to run more in debt than you are able to

pay.

Val. Therefore I yield my body as your prisoner, and make your best on't.

Scan. The music stays for you. [A Dance. [To ANG.] Well, madam, you have done exemplary justice, in punishing an inhuman father, and rewarding a faithful lover: but there is a third good work, which I, in particular, must thank you for: I was an infidel to your sex, and you have converted me— -for now I am convinced that all women are not, like fortune, blind in bestowing favours, either on those who do not merit, or who do not want them.

Ang. It is an unreasonable accusation, that you lay upon our sex. You tax us with injustice, only to cover your own want of merit. You would all have the reward of love; but few have the constancy to stay till it becomes your due. Men are generally hypocrites and infidels; they pretend to worship, but have neither zeal nor faith. How few, like Valentine, would persevere, even to martyrdom, and sacrifice their interest to their constancy! In admiring me, you misplace the novelty. The miracle to-day is, that we find A lover true; not that a woman's kind. [Exeunt omnes.

SURE Providence at first design'd this place
To be the player's refuge in distress;
For still, in every storm, they all run hither,
As to a shed, that shields them from the weather.
But, thinking of this change which last befel us,
It's like what I have heard our poets tell us:
For when behind our scenes their suits are plead-
ing,

To help their love, sometimes they shew their reading;

And, wanting ready cash to pay for hearts,
They top their learning on us and their parts.

Thus Aristotle's soul, of old that was,
May now be damn'd to animate an ass;
Or in this very house, for aught we know,
Is doing painful penance in some beau:
And thus our audience, which did once resort
To shining theatres, to see our sport,
Now find us toss'd into a tennis court.
These walls but t'other day were fill'd with noise
Of roaring gamesters, and your damme boys;
Then bounding balls and rackets they encompast;
And now they're fill'd with jests, and flights, and
bombast!

I vow, I don't much like this transmigration,

Strolling from place to place, by circulation; Grant Heav'n, we don't return to our first sta tion !

I know not what these think; but, for my part,
I cann't reflect without an aching heart,
How we should end in our original—a cart.
But we cann't fear, since you're so good to save us,
That you have only set us up to leave us.
Thus, from the past, we hope for future grace,
I beg it-

And some here know I have a begging face.
Then pray continue this your kind behaviour;
For a clear stage won't do, without your favour.