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Warn. So soon, to prevent the designs upon her; and in private, to save the effusion of Christian money.

Sir Mart. It strikes to my heart already; in fine, I am a dead man. Warner

Warn. Well, go your ways, I'll try what may be done. Look if he will stir now; your rival and the old man will see us together; we are just below the . window.

Sir Mart. Thou canst not do it.
Warn. On the peril of my twenty pieces be it.

Sir Mart. But I have found a way to help thee out; trust to my wit but once.

Warn, Name your wit, or think you have the least grain of wit but once more, and I'll lay it down for ever.

Sir Mart. You are a saucy, masterly companion; and so I leave you.

[Exit. Warn. Help, help, good people! Murder, Murder!

Enter Sir John and Moody. Sir John and Mood. How now, what's the matter?

Warn. I am abused, I am beaten, I am lamed

for ever.

Mood. Who has used thee so?
Warn. The rogue, my master.
Sir John. What was the offence?
Warn. A trifle, just nothing.
Sir John. That's very strange.

Warn. It was for telling him he lost too much at play: I meant him nothing but well, heaven knows; and he, in a cursed damned humour, would needs revenge his losses upon me: and kicked me, took away my money, and turned me off'; but, if I take it at his hands,

Mood. By cox-nowns, it was an ill-natured part; nay, I thought no better would come on't, when I heard him at his vow to gads, and in fines.

Warn. But, if I live, I'll cry quittance with him : he had engaged me to get Mrs Millisent, your daughter, for him; but if I do not all I can to make her hate him! a great booby, an overgrown oaf, a conceited Bartlemew

Sir John. Pr’ythee leave off thy choler, and hear me a little: I have had a great mind to thee a long time; if thou thinkest my service better than his, from this minute I entertain thee.

Warn. With all my heart, sir; and so much the rather, that I might spite him with it. This was the most propitious fate

Mood. Propitious! and fate! what a damned scander-bag rogue art thou, to talk at this rate? Hark you, sirrah, one word more of this gibberish, and I'll set you packing from your new service: I'll have neither propitious nor fate come within my doors.

Sir John. Nay, pray, father

Warn. Good old sir, be pacified; I was pouring out a little of the dregs that I had left in me of my former service, and now they are gone, my stomach's clear of them.

Sir John. This fellow is come in a happy hour; for now, sir, you and I may go to prepare the licence, and, in the mean time, he may have an eye upon your daughter.

Wurn. If you please I'll wait upon her till she's ready, and then bring her to what church you

shall appoint.

Mood. But, friend, you'll find she'll hang an arse, and be very loath to come along with you, and therefore I had best stay behind and bring her myself.

Warn. I warrant you I have a trick for that, sir: She knows nothing of my being turned away; so I'H come to her as from Sir Martin, and, under pretence of carrying her to him, conduct her to you.

Sir John. My better angel

Mood. By the mass, 'twas well thought on; well, son, go you before, I'll speak but one word for a dish or two at dinner, and follow you to the licence office. Sirrah, stay you here, till my return.

[Exeunt Sir John and MOODY. Warn. Was there ever such a lucky rogue as I? I had always a good opinion of my wit, but could never think I had so much as now I find. I have now gained an opportunity to carry away Mrs Millisent, for my master to get his mistress by means of his rival, to receive all his happiness, where he could expect nothing but misery: After this exploit, I will have Lilly draw me in the habit of a hero, with a laurel on my temples, and an inscription below it; This is Warner, the flower of serving-men.

Enter Messenger. Mess. Pray do me the favour to help me to the speech of Mr Moody. Warn. What's

your

business? Mess. I have a letter to deliver to him.

Warn. Here he comes, you may deliver it yourself to him.

Enter Moody. Mess. Sir, a gentleman met me at the corner of the next street, and bid me give this into your own hands.

Mood. Stay, friend, till I have read it.
Mess. He told me, sir, it required no answer.

[Exit Mess.

VOL. III.

Mood, reads. Sir, permit me, though d stranger, to give you counsel; some young gallants have had intelligence, that this day you intend privately to marry your daughter, the rich heiress; and, in fine, above twenty of them have dispersed themselves to watch her going out : Therefore, put it off, if you will avoid mischief, and be advised by

Your unknown servant. Mood. By the mackings, I thought there was no good in't, when I saw in fine there; there are some Papishes, I'll warrant, that lie in wait for my daughter; or else they are no Englishmen, but some of your French Outalian-rogues; I owe him thanks, however, this unknown friend of mine, that told me on't. Warner, no wedding to-day, Warner.

Warn. Why, what's the matter, sir?

Mood. I say no more, but some wiser than some; I'll keep my daughter at home this afternoon, and a fig for all these Outalians. [Exit Moody.

Warn. So, here's another trick of fortune, as unexpected for bad, as the other was for good. Nothing vexes me, but that I had made my game cock-sure, and then to be back-gammoned: It must needs be the devil that writ this letter; he owed my master a spite, and has paid him to the purpose: And here he comes as merry too! he little thinks what misfortune has befallen him; and, for my part, I am ashamed to tell him.

Enter Sir Martin taughing. Sir Mart. Warner, such a jest, Warner!

[Laughs again. Warn. What a murrain is the matter, sir? Where lies this jest that tickles you?

Sir Mart, Let me laugh out my laugh, and I'll tell thee.

[Laughs again.

Warn. I wish you may have cause for all this mirth.

Sir Mart. Hereafter, Warner, be it known unto thee, I will endure no more to be thy May-game: Thou shalt no more dare to tell me, I spoil thy, projects, and discover thy designs; for I have played such a prize, without thy help, of my own mother-wit, ('tis true I am hasty sometimes, and so do harm; but when I have a mind to shew myself, there's no man in England, though I say't, comes near me as to point of imagination) I'll make thee acknowledge I have laid a plot that has a soul in't:?

Warn. Pray, sir, keep me no longer in ignorance of this rare invention.

Sir Mart. Know then, Warner, that when I left thee, I was possessed with a terrible fear, that my mistress should be married: Well, thought I to myself,--and mustering up all the forces of my wit, I did produce such a stratagem!

Warn. But what was it?

Sir Mart. I feigned a letter as from an unknown friend to Moody, wherein I gave him to understand, that if his daughter went out this afternoon, she would infallibly be snapped by some young fellows that lay in wait for her.

Warn. Very good.

Sir Mart. That which follows is yet better; for he I sent assures me, that in that very nick of time my letter came, her father was just sending her abroad with a very foolish rascally fellow, that was with him.

Warn. And did you perform all this, a'God's name? Could you do this wonderful miracle without giving your soul to the devil for his help?

Sir Mart. I tell thee, man, I did it; and it was done by the help of no devil, but this familiar of my own brain; how long would it have been ere

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