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speak truth against myself, I warrant, and tell my other, whilst they can hardly hold their solemn promising friend, the courtier, he has a bad me- false countenances. mory?

Free. Well, they understand the world. Man. Yes.

Man. Which I do not, I confess. Free. And so make him remember to forget Free. But, sir, pray believe the friendship I my business. And I should tell the great lawyer, promise you real, whatsoever I have profess'd to too, that he takes oftener fees to hold his tongue others : try me. at least. than to speak ?

Man. Why, what would you do for me? Man. No doubt on't.

Free. I would fight for you. Free. Ay, and have him hang or ruin me, Man. That you would do for your own honour, when he should come to be a judge, and I be

--but what else? fore him. And you would have me tell the new Free. I would lend you money, if I had it. officer, who bought his employment lately, that Man. To borrow more of me another time. he is a coward ?

That were but putting your money to interest : Man. Ay:

an usurer would be as good a friend. But what Free. And so get myself cashier'd, not him, he other piece of friendship? having the better friends, though I the better Free. I would speak well of you to your enemies. sword. And I should tell the scribbler of honour, Man. To encourage others to be your friends, that heraldry were a prettier and fitter study for by a shew of gratitude-but what else? so fine a gentleman than poetry?

Free. Nay, I would not hear you ill spoken of Man. Certainly.

behind your back, by my friend. Free. And so find myself mauled in his next Man. Nay, then thou’rt a friend indeed; but lampoon. And you would have me tell the holy it were unreasonable to expect it from thee, as lady, too, she lies with her chaplain?

the world goes now, when new friends, like new Dlan. No doubt on't.

mistresses, are got by disparaging old ones. Free. And so draw the clergy upon my back, and want a good table to dine at sometimes.

Enter FIDELIA. And by the same reason, too, I should tell you But here comes another, will say as much, at least. that the world thinks you a madman, a brutal, -Dost not thou love me, devilishly too, my little and have you cut my throat, or, worse, hate me volunteer, as well as he or any man can? What other good success of all my plain dealing Fid. Better than any man can love you, my could I have, than what I've mentioned ? dear captain.

Man. Why, first, your promising courtier Man. Look you there; I told you so. would keep his word, out of fear of more re Fid. As well as you do truth or bonour, sir ; proaches; or, at least, would give you no more

as well. vain hopes : your lawyer would serve you more Man. Nay, good young gentleman, enough :faithfully; for he, having no honour but his in- For shame: thou hast been a page, by thy flatterterest, is truest still to him he knows suspects ing and lying, to one of those praying ladies who him: the new officer would provoke thee to love flattery so well, they are jealous of it, and make him a coward, and so be cashiered, that wert turn’d away for saying the same things to thou, or some other honest fellow, who had more the old house-keeper, for sweet-meats, as you did courage than money, might get his place: the to your lady; for thou flatterest erery thing and noble sonneteer would trouble thee no more with every body alike. his madrigals: the praying lady would leave off Fid. You, dear sir, should not suspect the truth railing at wenching before thee, and not turn of what I say of you, though to you: Fame, the away her chamber-maid, for her own known frail-old liar, is believ'd when she speaks wonders of ty with thee: and I, instead of hating thee, should you: you cannot be flattered, sir; your merit is love thee, for thy plain dealing, and, in lieu of unspeakable. being mortified, am proud that the world and I Man. Hold, hold, sir, or I shall suspect worse think not well of one another.

of you,—that you have been a cushion-bearer Free. Well, doctors differ. You are for plain to some state hypocrite, and turn'd away by the dealing, I find; but against your particular no chaplains, for out-flattering their probation-sertions, I have the practice of the whole world, mons for a benefice. Observe but, any morning, what people do, when Fid. Suspect me for any thing, sir, but the they get together on the Exchange, in West want of love, faith, and duty to you, the bravest, minster-hall, or the galleries in Whitehall. worthiest of mankind: believe me, I could die for

Man.Imust confess, there they seem to rehearse you, sir. Bayes's_grand dance :-here you see a bishop Mun. Nay, there you lie, sir :-Did I not see bowing low to a gaudy atheist; a judge to a door thee more afraid in the fight than the chaplain keeper ; a great lord to a fishmonger or a scri- of the ship, or the purser, that bought his place ? vener, with a jack-chain about his neck; a lawyer Fid. Can he be said to be afraid that ventures to a serjeant-at-arms; a velvet physician to a to sea with you? threadbare chymist; and a supple gentleman Mun. Fie, fie, no more ; I shall hate thy fatusher to a surly beef-eater; and so tread round tery worse than thy cowardice, nay, than thy brag. in a preposterous huddle of ceremony to each ging.

Fid. Well, I own, then, I was afraid, mightily Free. The widow Blackacre, is it not? that liafraid ; yet for you I would be afraid again, an tigious she petty-fogger, who is at law and diffehundred times afraid : dying is ceasing to be a rence with all the world; but I wish I could make fraid, and that I could do, sure, for you, and you'll her agree with me in the church: they say she believe me one day.

(Weeps. has fifteen hundred pounds a-year jointure, and Free. Poor youth! believe his eyes, if not his the care of her son, that is, the destruction of his tongue: he seems to speak truth with them. estate.

Man. What! does he cry? A pox on't! a Man. Herlawyers, attorneys, and solicitors have maudlin flatterer is as nauseously troublesome fifteen hundred pound a-year, whilst she is conas a naudlin drunkard. No more, you little milk- tented to be poor, to make other people so; for sop; (lo not cry; I'll never make thee afraid again; she is as vexatious as her father was, the great for of all men, if I had occasion, thou shouldst attorney, nay, as a dozen Norfolk attorneys, and not be my second ; and, when I go to sea again, as implacable an adversary, as a wife suing for thou slalt venture thy life no more with me. alimony, or a parson for his tithes; and she loves

Fid. Why, will you leave me behind then? an Easter-term, or any term, not, as other counIf you would preserve my life, I'm sure you should try ladies do, to come up to be fine, cuckold their not.

[Aside. husbands, and take their pleasure; for she has no Man. Leave thee behind! Ay, ay, thou art a pleasure but in vexing others, and is usually hopeful youth for the shore only: here thou wilt cloth'd and daggled like a bawd in disguise, purlive to be cherish'd by fortune and the great sued through alleys by serjeants. When she is ones; fcur thou may'st easily come to out-flatter in town, she lodges in one of the inns of Chancea dull poret, out-lie a coffee-house or gazette-writer, ry, where she breeds her son, and is herself his out-swear a knight of the post, out-watch a pimp, tutoress in law French; and for her country out-fawn a rook, out-promise a lover, out-rail a abode, though she has no estate there, she chuses wit, and out-brag a sea captain : All this thou Norfolk. But bid her come in, with a pox to canst do, because thou’rt a coward, a thing I hate; her: she is Olivia's kinswoman, and may make therefore thou’lt do better with the world than me amends for her visit, by some discourse of with me; and these are the good courses you must that dear woman.

[Exit Sailor. take in the world. There's good advice, at least, Enter Widow BLACKACRE, with a mantle, and a at parting : go, and be happy with't.

Fid. Parting, sir! O! let me not hear that dis green bag and several papers in the other hand; mal word.

JERRY BLACKACRE, her son, in a gown, laden Man. If my words frighten thee, be gone the

with green bugs, following her. sooner; for, to be plain with thee, cowardice and Wid. I never had so much to do with a judge's I cannot d well together.

floor-keeper as with yours; butFid. And cruelty and courage never dwell to Man. But the incomparable Olivia, how does gether, sur e, sir. Do not turn me off to shame $he since I went? and misery'; for I am helpless and friendless. Wid. Since you went, my suit

Man. Fi'iendless! there are half a score friends Man. Olivia, I say, is she well? for thee th en; [Offers her gold] I leave myself no l'id. My suit, if you had not returned more; they'll help thee a little. Be gone; go; I

Man. Damn your suit!-How does your cousin must be crizel to thee, (if thou call'st it so,) out of Olivia ? pity.

M'id. My suit, I say, had been quite lost;

but Fid. If you would be cruelly pitiful, sir, let it be with you ir sword, and not gold. (Exit. Man. But now where is Olivia? in town?

forEnter First Sailor.

Wid. For to-morrow we are to have a hearing. 1st Sail. We have, with much ado, turn'd away Mun. Would you'd let me have a hearing to-day. two gentlei nen, who told us, forty times over, Wid. But why won't you hear me? their

names were Mr Novel and Major Oldfox. Man. I am no judge, and you talk of nothing Man. Well, to your post again. (Exit Sailor.] but suits; but, pray tell me, when did you see But how coine those puppies coupled always to- Olivia? gether?

Wid. I am no visitor, but a woman of business, Free. O, the coxcombs keep each other com or if I ever visit, 'tis only the Chancery-Lane la. pany, to she w each other, as Novel calls it; or, dies,-ladies towards the law, and not any of as Öldfox says, like two knives, to whet one ano your lazy, good-for-nothing flirts, who cannot read ther.

law French, though a gallant writ it. But, as I Man. And set other people's teeth an edge. was telling you, my suit

Man. Damn these impertinent, vexatious peoEnter Second Sailor,

ple of business, of all sexes; they are still trou2 Sail. Here is a woman, an't like your honour, bling the world with the tedious recitals of their scolds and bustles with us, to come in, as much law-suits; and one can no more stop their mouths, as a seaman's widow at the Navy-Office: her than a wit's, when he talks of himself, or an inname is Mrs Blackacre.

telligencer's, when he talks of other people. Man. That liend, too !

Wid. And a pox of all vexatious, impertinent


lovers ; they are still perplexing the world with Wid. I have business of my own calls me the tedious narrations of their love suits, and away, sir. discourses of their mistresses : you are as trou Free. My business would prove yours too, dear blesome to a poor widow of business, as a young, madam. coxcomb, rhyming lover.

Wid. Yours would be some sweet business, I Man. And thou art as troublesome to me as warrant:-What, 'tis no Westminster-hall busia rook to a losing gamester, or a young putter of ness? Would you have my advice? cases to his mistress and semptress, who has love Free. No, faith; 'tis a little Westminster-abin her head for another.

bey business :- I would have your consent. Wid. Nay, since you talk of putting of cases, Wid. O fie, fie, sir ; to me such discourse, beand will not hear me speak, hear our Jerry a lit- fore my dear minor there ! tle; let him put our case to you, for the trial's Jer. Ay, ay, mother, he would be taking liveto-morrow; and since you are my chief witness, ry and seizen of your jointure, by digging the turf; I would have your memory refresh'd, and your but I'll watch your waters, bully, i'fack. Come judgment inform'd, that you may not give your away, mother. evidence improperly. Speak out, child.

(Exit JERRY, hauling away his mother. Jer. Yes, forsooth. Hem! Hem! John-aStiles

Manet FREEMAN: Enter to him FIDELIA. Man. You may talk, young lawyer, but I shall Fid. Dear sir, you have pity ; beget but some no more mind you, than a hungry judge does a in your captain for me. cause after the clock has struck one.

Free. Where is he? Free. Nay, you'll find him as peevish too. Fid. Within ; swearing as much as he did in

Wid. No matter. Jerry, go on. Do you ob- the great storm, and cursing you, and sometimes serve it then, sir; for I think I have seen you in sinks into calms and sighs, and talks of his Olivia. a gown once. Lord, I could hear our Jerry put Free. He would never trust me to see her: is cases all day long! Mark him, sir.

she handsoine? Jer. John-a-Stiles -No-There are, first, Fid. No, if you'll take my word; but I am not Fitz, Pere, and Ayle-No, no; Ayle, Pere, a proper judge. and Fitz: Ayle is seized in fee of Blackacre ; Free. What is she? John-a-Stiles disseises Ayle; Ayle makes claim, Fid. A gentlewoman, I suppose, but of as mean and the disseisor dies; then the Ayle -No, a fortune as beauty; but her relations would not the Fitz.

suffer her to go with him to the Indies : and liis Wid. No, the Pere, sirrah.

aversion to this side of the world, together with the Jer. O, the Pere; ay, the Pere, sir, and the late opportunity of commanding the convoy, would

-No, the Ayle; no, the Pere and the not let him stay here longer, though to enjoy Fitz, sir, and

her. Man. Damn Pere, Mere, and Fitz, sir.

Free. He loves her mightily then. Wid. No, you are out, child.—Hear me, cap Fid. Yes, so well, that the remainder of his fortain, then. There are Ayle, Pere, and Fitz: Ayle tune (I hear, about five or six thousand pounds) is seized in fee of Blackacre; and being so seized, he has left her, in case he had died by the way, John-a-Stiles disseises: the Ayle; Ayle makes or before she could prevail with her friends to folclaim, and the disseisor dies; and then the Pere low him, which he expected she should do; and re-enters—the Pere, sirrah, the Pere-[TOJERRY] has left behind him his great bosom-friend, to be and the Fitz enters upon the Pere; and the Ayle her convoy to him. brings his writ of disseizen in the Post; and the Free. What charms has she for him, if she be 1 Pere brings his writ of disseizen in the Pere; and not handsome ?

Man. Canst thou bear this stuff, Freeman? Fid. He fancies her, I suppose, the only woman I could as soon suffer a whole noise of flatterers, of truth and sincerity in the world. at a great man's levee in the morning; but thou Free. No common beauty, I confess. hast servile complacency enough to listen to a Fid. Or else, sure, he would not have trusted quibbling statesman in disgrace, nay, and be be- her with so great a share of his fortune in his fore-hand with him, in laughing at his dull no absence; I suppose,(since his late loss,) all he has. jest ; but I

(Offering to go out. Free. Why, has he left it in her own custody? Wid. Nay, sir, hold. Where's the subpænn, Fid. I am told so. Jerry? I must serve you, sir. You are requir’d, Free. Then he has shewed love to her indeed, by this, to give your testimony

in leaving her like an old husband, that dies as Man. I'll be foresworn to be reveng'd on thee. soon as he has made his wife a good jointure :

( Exit MANLEY, throwing away the subpæna. but I'll go in to him, and speak for you, and know Wid. Get you gone, for a lawless companion ! more from him of his Olivia.

[Erit. Come, Jerry, I had almost forgot we were to meet at the master's at three : let us mind our business

Manet FIDELIA, sola. still, child.

Fid. His Olivia, indeed, his happy Olivia; Jer. Ay, forsooth, e'en so let's.

Yet she was left behind, when I was with him ; Free. Nay, madam, now I would beg you to But she was ne'er out of his mind or heart. hear me a little, a little of my business.

She has told him she loy'd him; I have shew'd it,


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you love?

And durst not tell him so, till I had done, rally their most importunate solicitors to love or Under this habit, such convincing acts

marriage. Of loving friendship for him, that, through it, Free. And money summons lovers, more than He first might find out both my sex and love; beauty, and augments but their importunity and And when I'd have him from his fair Olivia, their number, so makes it the harder for a woAnd this bright world of artful beauties here, man to deny 'em. For my part, I am for the Might then have hop'd he would have look’don me, French maxim; if you would have your female Amongst the sooty Indians : and I could subjects loyal, keep 'em poor; but, in short, that Tochoose there live his wife, where wives are forc'd your mistress may not marry, you have given her To live no longer when their husbands die,

Man. She had given me her heart first, and I With many rival wives. But here he comes, am satisfied with the security: I can never doubt And I must yet keep out of his sight, not

her truth and constancy: To lose it for ever.

(Exit. Free. It seems you do, since you are fain to

bribe it with money. But how come you to be so Enter MANLY and FREEMAN.

diffident of the man that says he loves you, and Free. But what strange charms has she, that not doubt the woman that says it? could make

Man. I should, I confess, doubt the love of Mun. Strange charms indeed ! She has beauty any otirer woman but her, as I do the friendship enough to call in question her wit or virtue,and her of any other man but him I have trusted; but I form would make a starved hermit a ravisher, yet have such proofs of their faith as cannot deceive me. her virtue and conduct would preserve her from the Free. Cannot! subtle lust of a pampered prelate. She is so perfect Man. Not but I know, that, generally, no man a beauty, that art could not better it, nor affectation can be a great enemy but under the name of deform it; yet all this is nothing. Her tongue, as friend; and if you are a cuckold, it is your friend well as face, ne'er knew artifice; nor ever did her only that makes you so; for your enemy is not words or looks contradict her heart: She is all admitted to your house: if you are cheated in truth, and hates the lying, masking, daubing world, your fortune, 'tis your friend that does it; for as I do; for which I love her, and for which I your enemy is not made your trustee : if your ho think she dislikes not me; for she has often shut nour or good name be injured, 'tis your friend out of her conversation, for mine, the gaudy, flut- that does it still, because your enemy is not betering parrots of the town, apes and echoes of lieved against you : therefore, I rather chuse to men only, and refused their common-place, pert go where honest, downright barbarity is profess’d, chat, flattery, and submissions, to be entertained where men devour one another like generous, with my sullen bluntness and honest love; and, hungry lions and tigers, not like crocodiles ; last of all, swore to me, since her parents would where they think the devil white, of our comnot suffer her to go with me, she would stay be- plexion, and I am already so far an Indian : but hind for no other man, but follow me, without if your weak faith doubts this miracle of a woman, their leave, if not to be obtained : Which oathcome along with me, and believe, and thou wilt

Free. Did you think she would keep? find her so handsome, that thou, who art so much

Man. Yes; for she is not, I tell you, like other my friend, wilt have a mind to lie with her, and women, but can keep her promise, though she so wilt not fail to discover what her faith and has sworn to keep it; but, that she might the thine is to me. better keep it, I left her the value of five or six When we're in love, the great adversity, thousand pounds; for women's wants are gene Our friends and mistresses at once we try.



Oliv. You are a very censorious creature, I find. SCENE I.-Olivia's Lodgings.

Eliz. I must confess, I think we women as of

ten discover where we love by railing, as men Enter OLIVIA, ELIZA, LETTICE.

when they lie, by their swearing; and the world Oliv. Ah, cousin, what a world ’tis we live in! is but a constant keeping gallant, whom we fail I am so weary of it.

not to quarrel with, when any thing crosses us, Eliz. Truly, cousin, I can find no fault with it, yet cannot part with't for our hearts. but that we cannot always live in't ; for I can Let. A gallant, indeed, madam, whom ladies never be weary of it.

first make jealous, and then quarrel with it for Oliv. O, hideous! you cannot be in earnest, being so; for if, by her discretion, a lady be talked sure, when you say you like the filthy world. of for a man, she cries presently, 'Tis a censorious

Eliz. You cannot be in carnest, sure, when you world; if, by her vanity, the intrigue be found say you dislike it.

out, 'Tis a prying, malicious world; and if, by her

wear 'em.

over-fondness, the gallant proves inconstant, 'Tis | him when he goes out ; I cannot rail at the aba false world; and if, by her niggardliness, the sent, to fatter the standers-by; Ichamber-maid' tells, 'Tis a perfidious world: but Eliz. Well, but railing now is so common, that that, I'm sure, your ladyship cannot say of the 'tis no more malice, but the fashion ; and the ab world yet, as bad as 'tis.

sent think they are no more the worse for being, Oliv. But I may say, 'Tis a very impertinent rail'd at, than the present think they're the betworld.-Hold your peace. And, cousin, if the ter for being flattered : and for the courtworld be a gallant, 'tis such an one as is my aver Olio. Nay, do not defend the court; for you'll sion : pray name it no more.

make me rail at it, like a trusting citizen's widow, Eliz. But is it possible the world, which has Eliz. Or like a Holborn lady, who could not such variety of charms for other women, can get into the last ball, or was out of countenance have none for you? Let's see-first, what d'ye in the drawing-room, the last Sunday of her apthink of dressing and fine clothes ?

pearance there ; for none rail at the court but Oliv. Dressing! Fie, fie, 'tis my aversion. But those who cannot get into it, or else who are ricome hither, you dowdy; methinks you might diculous when they are there; and I shall suspect have opened this toure" better. O, hideous ! I you were laughed at when you were last there, or cannot suffer it ? D'ye see how't sits ?

would be a maid of honour. Eliz. Well enough, cousin, if dressing be your Oud. I a maid of honour! To be a maid of aversion.

honour were yet of all things my aversion. Olit. 'Tis so: and for variety of rich clothes, Eliz. In what sense am I to understand you? they are more my aversion.

But, in fine, by the word aversion, I'm sure you Let. Ay, 'tis because your ladyship wears 'em dissemble; for I never knew woman yet that us’d too long; for indeed a gown, like a gallant, grows it who did not. Come, our tongues belie our one's aversion by having too much of it. hearts, more than our pocket-glasses do our faces :

Oliv. Insatiable creature ! I'll be sworn I have' But methinks we ought to leave off dissembling, had this not above three days, cousin, and within since 'tis grown of no use to us; for all wise this month have made some six more.

observers understand us now-a-days, as they do Elz. Then your aversion to 'em is not alto-, dreams, almanacks, and Dutch gazettes, by the gether so great.

contrary: And a man no more believes a woman, Oliv. Alas ! 'tis for my woman only I wear 'em, when she says she has an aversion for him, than cousin.

when she says she'll cry out. Let. If it be for me only, madam, pray do not Olio. O, filthy, hideous! Peace, cousin, or your

discourse will be my aversion; and you may beEliz. But what d’ye think of visits-balls Oliv. O, I detest 'em.

Eliz. Yes; for if any thing be a woman's averEliz. Of plays ?

sion, 'tis plain dealing from another woman : and Olit. I abominate'em: filthy, obscene, hideous pertraps that's your quarrel to the world; for that things.

will talk, as your woman says. Eliz. What say you to masquerading in the Oliv. Talk ? not of me, sure; for what men do winter, and Hyde Park in the summer?

I converse with? what visits do I admit? Oliv. Insipid pleasures I taste not.

Enter Bay. Eliz. Nay, if you are for more solid pleasures, what think you of a rich young husband ?

Boy. Here's the gentleman to wait upon you, Oliv. O, horrid! Marriage! What a pleasure madam. you have found out ! 'I nauseate it of all things. Oliv. On me! You little, unthinking fop, d'ye

Lel. But what does your ladyship think then know what you say? of a liberal, handsome, young lover ?

Boy. Yes, madam, 'tis the gentleman that comes Olir. A handsome, young fellow, you impu- every day to you, whom dent ! Be gone out of my sight. Name a hand Oliv. Hold your peace, you heedless little anisome young fellow to me! Foh! a hideous, hand-mal, and get you gone. This country boy, cousin, some, young fellow'I abominate. Spits. takes my dancing-master, tailor, or the spruce milEliz. Indeed ! But let's see will nothing liner, for visitors,

(Erit Boy. please you? What d'ye think of the court ? Let.'No, madam, 'tis 'Mr Novel, I'm sure, by

Oliv. How? the court ! 'the court, cousin ! bis talking so loud: I know his voice too, madam, my aversion, 'my aversion, my 'аversion of all Otiv. You-know' nothing, you buffle-headed, aversions.

stupid creature you; you would make my cousin Eliz. flow? the court! where

believe I receive visits. But if it be Mr

-what Olid. Where sincerity is a quality as out of fa- did you call him? shion and as unprosperous ás "bashfulness. I Tet, Mr Novel, madam, he that could' not laugh at à quibble, though it were a Oliv. Hold your peace; I'll hear no more of fat privy-counsellor's, nor praise a lord's ill ver- him; but if it be your Mr--(I cann't think of ses, though I were myself the subject, nor an his name again,) I suppose he has followed my old lady's young tooks, though I were her woman, cousin hither. nor sit to a vain young simile-maker, though he Eliz. No, cousin, I will not rob you of the ho. flattered me; in short, I could not glote upon a nour of the visit: 'tis to you, cousin, for I know man when he comes into a room, and laugh at him not. VOL. III.


lieve me.

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