ACT III.

SCENE I.

Enter GOODVILE, a little heated.

Good. What a damned chicken-brained fellow am I grown! If I but dip my bill I am giddy. Now am I as hot-headed with my bare two bottles, as a drunken 'prentice on a holiday. Truman marries Victoria, that's resolved on; and so one care is over. But then Camilla! how shall I get possession of her?-Well, my mind misgives me, I shall do something may call my discretion in question; and yet I can't avoid it. Camilla I do love, and must have her, come what will on't; and no time so fit to begin the enterprize as this; she may make a good wife for Valentine for all that.

Enter TRUMAN and VALENTINE.

Music.

Fy, gentlemen, without the ladies! did you quit champaign for this? Faith I begin to despair of you, and doubt you are grown as weak lovers as drinkers.

Tru. Goodvile, thou hast no conscience; a decayed cavalier captain, that drinks journey-work under a deputy-lieutenant in the country, is not able to keep thee company. Two bottles, as I take it, is no such trifling matter.

Good. Oh but I hate to be baulked; and a friend that leaves me at two bottles, is as unkind as a mistress that jilts me when I thought I had made sure of the business. But, gallants, how stand the affairs of love? Truman, is Victoria kind? I question not your friendship in the matter, but trust the honour of my family in your hands.

Val. He little thinks Truman is informed of all, and no longer a stranger on what score he is so wondrous

civil. But I am mistaken if he be behind with him in kindness long. [Aside.

Tru. A pox on't, I am afraid this marriage will never agree with me; methinks the very thought on't goes a little against my stomach. Like a young thief, though I have some itching to be at it, yet I am loth to venture what may follow.

Good. Well, I'll go in and better prepare Victoria: in the mean time, believe it only my ambition to be as well allied in blood, as friendship, to so good and generous a person as Truman. [Exit.

Tru. What a damned creature man is! Valentine, didst thou believe this fellow could be a villain?

Val. I must confess it something surprizes me; he might have found out a fitter person to put his mistress upon, than his friend. But how the devil got you the knowledge of it?

Tru. Faith I'll tell thee; for I think I am no way obliged to conceal it--his wife, even his very wife told me all.

Val. I begin to suspect that Mrs. Goodvile has no ill opinion of you; I observed something but now, very obliging towards you: besides, when a woman begins to betray her husband's secrets, 'tis a certain sign she has a mind to conmmunicate very important ones of her own.

Tru. Valentine, no more of that; though it would be a rare revenge to make a cuckold of this smiling rogue. Val. "Tis fifty times better than cutting his throat; that were to do him more honour than he deserves.

Enter MALAGENE.

Mal. Ha, ha, ha! the rarest sport-Jack Truman, Ned Valentine.

Tru. Why, what's the matter? Where?

Mal. Yonder's my rogue of a knight, as drunk as a porter; and faith, Jack, I am but little better.

Val. Dear sir, and what of all this?

Mal. Why, with a bottle under his arm, and a beerglass in his hand, I set him full drive at my lady Squeamish; for nothing else but to make mischief, Ned-nothing else in the world; for every body knows I am the worst-natured fellow breathing: 'tis my way

of wit.

Val. Do you love nobody then?

Mal. No, not I; yes, a pox on't, I love you well enough, because you are a rogue I have known a good while. Though should I take the least prejudice against you, I could not afford you a good word behind your back for my heart.

Tru. Sir, we are much obliged to you: 'tis a sign the rogue is drunk that he speaks truth.

Mal. I tell you what I did t'other day: faith 'tis as good a jest as ever you heard.

Val. Pray, sir, do.

Mal: Why, walking alone, a lame fellow followed me, and asked my charity, (which, by the way, was a pretty proposition to me). Being in one of my witty merry fits, I asked him how long he had been in that condition? The poor fellow shook his head, and told me he was born so. But how d'ye think I served him? Val. Nay, the devil knows.

Mal. I showed my parts, I think; for I tripped up both his wooden legs, and walked off gravely about my business.

Tru. And this you say is your way of wit?

Mal. Ay altogether, this and mimickry. I'm a very good mimick: I can act Punchinello, Scaramouchio, Harlequin, prince Prettyman, or any thing. I can act the rumbling of a wheelbarrow.

Val. The rumbling of a wheelbarrow !

Mal. Ay, the rumbling of a wheelbarrow, so I say-Nay, more than that, I can act a sow and pigs, sausages a-broiling, a shoulder of mutton a-roasting: I can act a fly in a honey-pot.

Tru. That indeed must be the effect of very curious observation,

Mal. No, hang it, I never make it my business to observe any thing; that is mechanic. But all this I do, you shall see me if you will. But here comes her ladyship and sir Noble.

Enter Lady SQUEAMISH and Sir NOBLE CLUMSEY.

Lady Squ. Oh, dear Mr. Truman, rescue me. Nay, sir Noble, for heaven's sake.

Clum. I tell thee, lady, I must embrace thy lovely body: sir, do you know me? I am sir Noble Clumsey: I am a rogue of an estate, and I live-Do you want any money? I have fifty pounds.

Val. Nay, good sir Noble, none of your generosity we beseech you. The lady, the lady, sir Noble.

Clum. Nay, 'tis all one to me if you won't take it, there it is. Hang money, my father was an alderman. Mal. 'Tis pity good guineas should be spoiled: sir Noble, by your leave. [Picks up the Guineas, Clum. But, sir, you will not keep my money? Mal. Oh, hang money, sir, your father was an alder

man.

Clum. Well, get thee gone for an arch-wag-I do but sham all this while-but by dad he's pure company.

Tru. Was there ever such a blockhead! Now has he nevertheless a mighty opinion of himself, and thinks all this wit and pretty discourse.

Clum. Lady, once more I say be civil, and come kiss me; I shall ravish else, I shall ravish mightily.

Val. Well done, sir Noble, to her, never spare. Lady Squ. I may be even with you though for all this, Mr. Valentine: nay, dear sir Noble: Mr. Truman, I'll swear he'll put me into fits.

Clum. No, but let me salute the hem of thy garment. Wilt thou marry me?

[Kneels.

Mal. Faith, madam do, let me make the match. Lady Squ. Let me die, Mr. Malagene, you are a strange man, and I'll swear have a great deal of wit. Lord, why don't you write?

Mal. Write? I thank your ladyship for that with all any heart. No, I have a finger in a lampoon or so, sometimes, that's all.

Tru. But he can act.

Lady Squ. I'll swear, and so he does better than any one upon our theatres; I have seen him. Oh, the English comedians are nothing, not comparable to the French or Italian: besides, we want poets.

Clum. Poets! why I am a poet. I have written three acts of a play, and have named it already. 'Tis to be a tragedy.

Lady Squ. Oh cousin, if you undertake to write a tragedy, take my counsel. Be sure to say soft, melting, tender things in it, that may be moving, and make your ladies' characters virtuous, whate'er you do.

Clum. Moving! why, I can never read it myself but it makes me laugh: well, 'tis the prettiest plot, and so full of waggery.

Lady Squ. Oh ridiculous!

Mal. But, knight, the title; knight, the title.

Clum. Why let me see; 'tis to be called, "The Merry Conceits of Love; or the Life and Death of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, with the Humours of his Dog Bobadillo."

Mal. Ha, ha, ha!

Val. But, sir Noble, this sounds more like a comedy. Clum. Oh, but I have resolved it shall be a tragedy, because Bobadillo's to be killed in the play. Comedy! no, I scorn to write comedy. I know several that can squirt comedy.-I'll tell you more of this when I am sober.

Lady Squ. But, dear Mr. Malagene, won't you let us see you act a little something of Harlequin? I'll swear you do it so naturally, it makes me think I am at the Louvre or Whitehall all the time. [Malagene acts.] Oh Lord, don't, don't, neither: I'll swear you'll make me burst. Was there ever any thing so pleasant?

Tru. Was ever any thing so affected and ridiculous? Her whole life sure is a continued scene of imperti