Val. I would have an excuse for your barbarity and unnatural usage.

Sir Sam. Excuse?-Impudence! Why, sirrah, mayn't I do what I please? are not you my slave? did not I beget you? and might not I have chosen whether I would have begot you or no? Oons, who are you? whence came you? what brought you into the world? how came you here, sir? here, to stand here, upon those two legs, and look erect with that audacious face, hab? Answer me that. Did you come volunteer into the world? or did I, with the lawful authority of a parent, press you to the service?

a

Val. I know no more why I came, than you do why you called me. But here I am; and if you don't mean to provide for me, I desire you would leave me as you found me.

Sir Sam. With all my heart. Come, uncase, strip, and go naked out of the world as you came into it.

Val. My clothes are soon put off-but you must also divest me of my reason, thought, passions, inclinations, affections, appetites, senses, and the huge train of attendants, that you begot along with me.

Sir Sam. Body o'me, what a many-headed monster have I propagated!

Val. I am, of myself, a plain, easy, simple creature, and to be kept at small expence: but the retinue, that you gave me, are craving and invincible; they are so many devils, that you have raised, and will have employ

ment.

Sir Sam. Oons! what had I to do to get children?can't a private man be born without all these followers?Why, nothing under an emperor should be born with appetites-why, at this rate, a fellow, that has but a groat in his pocket, may have a stomach capable of a ten shilling ordinary.

Jer. Nay, that's as clear as the sun; I'll make oath of it before any justice in Middle

sex.

Sir Sam. Here's a cormorant, too!-'Sheart, this fellow was not born with you?—I did not beget him, did I?

Jer. By the provision that's made for me, you might have begot me, too.-Nay, and to tell your worship another truth, I believe you did; for I find I was born with those same whoreson appetites, too, that my master speaks of,

Sir Sam. Why, look you there now!—I'll maintain it, that by the rule of right reason, this fellow ought to have been born without a palate.-'Sheart, what should he do with a distinguishing taste?—I warrant now, he'd rather eat a pheasant, than a piece of poor John-and smell, now; why I warrant he can smell, and loves perfumes above a stink-why there's it; and music-don't you love music, scoundrel?

Jer. Yes, I have a reasonable good ear, sir, as to jiggs, and country dances, and the like; I don't much matter your solos or sonatas; they give me the spleen.

Sir Sam. The spleen? ha, ha, ha! a pox confound you!-Solos or sonatas? Oons, whose son are you? how were you engendered, muckworm? Jer. I am, by my father, the son of a chairman; my mother sold oysters in winter, and cucumbers in summer and I came up stairs into the world; for I was born in a cellar.

Fore. By your looks you shall go up stairs out of the world too, friend.

Sir Sam. And if this rogue were anatomized now, and dissected, he has his vessels of digestion and concoction, and so forth, large enough for the inside of a cardinal; this son of a cucumber!-These things are unaccountable and unreasonable.-Body o'me, why was I not a bear, that my cubs might have lived upon sucking their paws? Nature has been provident, only to bears and spiders: the one has its nutriment in its own hands; and the other spins its habitation out of its own entrails.

Val. Fortune was provident enough to supply all the necessities of my nature, if I had my right inheritance.

Sir Sam. Again! Oons, han't you four thousand pounds?—If I had it again I would not give thee a groat.-What, wouldst thou have me turn pelican, and feed thee out of my own vitals———— Odsheart, live by your wits you were always fond of the wits.-Now let's see if you have wit enough to keep yourself.-Your brother will be in town to-night, or to-morrow morning; then look you perform covenants, and so your friend and servant.-Come, brother Foresight.

to.

[Exeunt SIR SAMPSON and FORESIGHT, Jer. I told you what your visit would come

Val. 'Tis as much as I expected—I did not come to see him: I came to see Angelica; but since she was gone abroad, it was easily turned another way, and at least looked well on my side. What's here? Mrs Foresight and Mrs Frail! They are earnest-I'll avoid them.-Come this way, and go and inquire when Angelica will return. [Exeunt.

Enter MRS FORESIGHT and MRS FRAIL. Mrs Frail. What have you to do to watch me? 'Slife, I'll do what I please. Mrs Fore. You will?

Mrs Frail. Yes, marry, will I. A great piece of business to go to Covent-garden, to take a turn in a hackney-coach with one's friend!

Mrs Fore, Nay, two or three turns, I'll take my oath.

Mrs Frail. Well, what if I took twenty! I warrant, if you had been there, it had only been innocent recreation! Lord, where's the comfort

of this life, if we can't have the happiness of con- | versing where we like?

Mrs Fore. But can't you converse at home? I own it, I think there's no happines like conversing with an agreeable man; I don't quarrel at that, nor I don't think but your conversation was very innocent. But the place is public; and to be seen with a man in a hackney-coach, is scandalous. What if any body else should have seen you alight, as I did? How can any body be happy, while they are in perpetual fear of being seen and censured? Besides, it would not only reflect upon you, sister, but on me.

Mrs Frail. Pooh, here's a clutter! Why should it reflect upon you? I don't doubt but you have thought yourself happy in a hackney-coach before now! If I had gone to Knightsbridge, or to Chelsea, or to Spring-garden, or to Barn-elms, with a man alone-something might have been said.

Mrs Fore. Why, was I ever in any of those places? What do you mean, sister?

Mrs Frail. Was I? What do you mean? Mrs Fore. You have been at a worse place. Mrs Frail. I at a worse place, and with a man?

Mrs Fore. I suppose you would not go alone to the World's-end.

Mrs Frail. The World's-end! What, do you mean to banter me?

Mrs Fore. Poor innocent! you don't know that there is a place called the World's-end? I'll swear, you can keep your countenance purely; you'd make an admirable player!

Mrs Frail. I'll swear you have a great deal of confidence, and, in my mind, too much for the stage.

Mrs Fore. Very well, that will appear who has most. You never were at the World's-end? Mrs Frail. No.

Mrs Fore. You deny it positively to my face? Mrs Frail. Your face! what's your face? Mrs Fore. No matter for that; it's as good a face as yours.

Mrs Frail. Not by a dozen years wearing. But I do deny it positively to your face, then.

Mrs Fore. I'll allow you now to find fault with my face; for I'll swear your impudence has put me out of countenance. But look you here now, -where did you lose this gold bodkin? Oh, sister, sister!

Mrs Frail. My bodkin!

Mrs Fore. Nay, 'tis yours; look at it. Mrs Frail. Well, if you go that, where did you find this bodkin?-Oh, sister, sister! sister every way!

Mrs Fore. O, devil on't! that I could not discover, without betraying myself! [Aside. Mrs Frail. I have heard gentlemen say, sister, that one should take great care, when one makes a thrust in fencing, not to lay open one's self. Mrs Fore. It is very true, sister. Well, since all's out, and, as you say, since we are both

wounded, let us do, what is often done in duels, take care of one another, and grow better friends. than before.

Mrs Frail. With all my heart. Well, give me your hand, in token of sisterly secrecy and affection.

Mrs Fore. Here it is, with all my heart.

Mrs Frail. Well, as an earnest of friendship and confidence, I'll acquaint you with a design that I have. I'm afraid the world have observed us more than we have observed one another. You have a rich husband, and are provided for: I am at a loss, and have no great stock either of fortune or reputation, and therefore must look sharply about me. Sir Sampson has a son, that is expected to-night; and, by the account I have heard of his education, can be no conjurer. The estate, you know, is to be made over to him. Now, if I could wheedle him, sister, ha? you understand me?

Mrs Fore. I do; and will help you, to the utmost of my power. And I can tell you one thing that falls out luckily enough; my awkward daughter-in-law, who, you know, is designed to be his wife, is grown fond of Mr Tattle; now, if we can improve that, and make her have an aversion for the booby, it may go a great way towards his liking you. Here they come together; and let us contrive some way or other to leave them toge ther.

Enter TATTLE and MISS PRUE.

Miss Prue. Mother, mother, mother! look you here?

Mrs Fore. Fie, fie, miss, how you bawl! Besides, I have told you, you must not call me mother.

Miss Prue. What must I call you, then? are you not my father's wife?

Mrs Fore. Madain; you must say madam. By my soul, I shall fancy myself old indeed, to have this great girl call me mother. Well, but, niiss, what are you so overjoyed at?

Miss Prue. Look you here, madam, then, what Mr Tattle has given me. Look you here, cousin; here's a snuff-box; nay, there's snuff in't-here, will you have any? Oh good! how sweet it is! Mr Tattle is all over sweet; his peruke is sweet, and his gloves are sweet, and his handkerchief is sweet, pure sweet, sweeter than roses-smell him, mother-madam, I mean. He gave me this a kiss. ring, for

Tatt. O fie, miss! you must not kiss, and tell, Miss Prue. Yes; I may tell my mother-and he says he'll give me something to make me smell so. Oh, pray, lend me your handkerchief, Smell, cousin; he says, he'll give me something, that will make my smocks smell this way. Is not it pure? It's better than lavender, mun. I'm resolved I won't let nurse put any more lavender among my smocks-ba, cousin?

Tatt. Upon reputation

Mrs Frail. They're all so, sister, these men; they are as fond of it, as of being first in the fashion, or of seeing a new play the first day. I warrant it would break Mr Tattle's heart, to think that any body else should be before-hand with him!

Tatt. Oh, Lord! I swear I would not for the world

Mrs Frail. O, hang you; who'll believe you? You'll be hanged before you'd confess we know you-she's very pretty! Lord, what pure red and white! she looks so wholesome; ne'er stir, I don't know, but I fancy if I were a man—

Miss Prue. How you love to jeer one, cousin. Mrs Fore. Hark'ee, sister-by my soul, the girl is spoiled already-d'ye think she'll ever endure a great lubberly tarpawlin? Gad, I warrant you she won't let him come near her, after Mr

Tattle.

Mrs Frail. On my soul, I'm afraid not-eh! filthy creature, that smells all of pitch and tar Devil take you, you confounded toad-why did you see her before she was married?

Mrs Fore. Nay, why did we let him? My husband will hang us; he'll think we brought them acquainted.

Mrs Frail. Come, faith, let us be gone; if my brother Foresight should find us with them, he'd think so, sure enough.

Mrs Fore. So he would; but then the leaving them together is as bad; and he's such a sly devil, he'll never miss an opportunity.

Mrs Frail. I don't care; I won't be seen in it. Mrs Fore. Well, if you should, Mr Tattle, you'll have a world to answer for: remember, I wash my hands of it; I'm thoroughly innocent.

[Exeunt MRS FRAIL and MRS FORESIGHT. Miss Prue. What makes them go away, Mr Tattle? What do they mean, do you know? Tatt. Yes, my dear--I think I can guess--but hang me if I know the reason of it.

Miss Prue. Come, must not we go, too?

Tatt. No, no; they don't mean that. Miss Prue. No! what then? What shall you and I do together?

Tatt. I must make love to you, pretty miss; will you let me make love to you?

Miss Prue. Yes, if you please.

Tatt. Frank, egad, at least. What a pox does Mrs Foresight mean by this civility? Is it to make a fool of me? or does she leave us together out of good morality, and do as she would be done by? Egad, I'll understand it so. [Aside.

Miss Prue. Well, and how will you make love to me?---Come, I long to have you begin. Must I make love, too? You must tell me how.

Tatt. You must let me speak, miss; you must not speak first. I must ask you questions, and you must answer.

Miss Prue. What, is it like the catechism?-Come, then, ask me.

Tatt. D'ye think you can love me?

Miss Prue. Yes.

Tatt. Pooh, pox, you must not say yes already. I shan't care a farthing for you, then, in a twinkling.

Miss Prue. What must I say then? Tatt. Why, you must say, no; or, believe not; or, you can't tell.

Miss Prue. Why, must I tell a lie, then?

Tatt. Yes, if you'd be well-bred. All wellbred persons lie-Besides, you are a woman;— you must never speak what you think: your words must contradict your thoughts; but your actions may contradict your words. So, when I ask you, if you can love me, you must say, no; but you must love me, too. If I tell you you are handsome, you must deny it, and say, I flatter you. But you must think yourself more charming than I speak you-and like me for the beauty which I say you have, as much as if I had it myself. If I ask you to kiss me, you must be angry; but you must not refuse me. If I ask you for more, you must be more angry, but more complying; and as soon as ever I make you say, you'll cry out, you must be sure to hold your tongue.

Miss Prue. O Lord, I swear this is pure -I like it better than our old-fashioned country way of speaking one's mind. And must not you lie, too? Tatt. Hum!-Yes; but you must believe I speak truth.

Miss Prue. O Gemini ! Well, I always had a great mind to tell lies-but they frighted me, and said it was a sin.

Tatt. Well, my pretty creature, will you make me happy by giving me a kiss?

Miss Prue. No, indeed; I'm angry at you! [Runs and kisses him. Tatt. Hold, hold, that's pretty well—but you should not have given me, but have suffered me

to have taken it.

Miss Prue. Well, we'll do't again. Tatt. With all my heart-Now, then, my little angel! [Kisses her.

love, nor duty, nor natural affection, oblige him? Odsbud, madam, have no more to say to him; he is not worth your consideration. The rogue has not a drachm of generous love about himall interest, all interest! He's an undone scoundrel, and courts your estate. Body o'me, he does not care a doit for your person.

Ang. I am pretty even with him, sir Sampson; for, if ever I could have liked any thing in him, it should have been his estate, too. But, since that's gone, the bait's off, and the naked hook appears.

Sir Sam. Odsbud, well spoken; and you are a wiser woman than I thought you were: for most young women now-a-days are to be tempted with a naked hook.

Ang. If I marry, sir Sampson, I am for a good estate with any man, and for any man with a good estate: therefore, if I were obliged to make a choice, I declare I'd rather have you than your

son.

Sir Sam. Faith and troth, you are a wise woman; and I'm glad to hear you say so. I was afraid you were in love with a reprobate. Odd, I was sorry for you with all my heart. Hang him, mongrel! cast him off. You shall see the rogue shew himself, and make love to some desponding Cadua of fourscore for sustenance.Odd, I love to see a young spendthrift forced to cling to an old woman for support, like ivy round a dead oak-faith, I do. I love to see them hug and cotton together, like down upon a thistle. Enter BEN and Servant.

Ben. Where's father?

Ser. There, sir; his back's toward you. [Exit. Sir Sam. My son Ben! Bless thee, dear boy! Body o' me, thou art heartily welcome.

Ben. Thank you, father; and I'm glad to see you. Sir Sum. Odsbud, and I'm glad to see thee.Kiss me, boy; kiss me again and again, dear Ben. [Kisses him. Mess, I'd rather

Ben. So, so, enough, father. kiss these gentlewomen.

Sir Sam. And so thou shalt. my son Ben.

Mrs Angelica,

Ben. Forsooth, if you please! [Salutes her.] Nay, mistress, I'm not for dropping anchor here; about ship, i' faith. [Kisses FRAIL.] Nay, and you, too, my little cock-boat! so. [Kisses Miss. Tatt. Sir, you're welcome ashore. Ben. Thank you, thank you, friend. Sir Sam. Thou hast been many a weary league, Ben, since I saw thee.

Ben. Ey, ey, been? been far enough, and that be all. Well, father, and how do all at home? how does brother Dick, and brother Val?

Sir Sam. Dick! body o'me, Dick has been dead these two years. I writ you word, when you were at Leghorn.

Ben. Mass, that's true: marry, I had forgot. Dick is dead, as you say. Well, and how-I

have a many questions to ask you; well, you ben't married again, father, be you? Sir Sam. No, I intend you shall marry, Ben; I would not marry, for thy sake.

Ben. Nay, what does that signify? An you marry again-why, then, I'll go to sea again; so there's one for t'other, and that be all. Pray, don't let me be your hindrance; e'en marry, a God's name, and the wind sit that way. As for my part, mayhap I have no mind to marry.

Mrs Frail. That would be pity, such a handsome young gentleman!

Ben. Handsome! he, he, he! Nay, forsooth, an you be for joking, I'll joke with you; for I love my jest, an the ship were sinking, as we said at sea. But I'll tell you why I don't much stand towards matrimony. I love to roam from port to port, and from land to land: I could never abide to be port-bound, as we call it. Now a man that is married has, as it were, d'ye see, his feet in the bilboes, and mayhap may'nt get them out again when he would.

Sir Sam. Ben is a wag!

Ben. A man that is married, d'ye see, is no more like another man, than a galley-slave is like one of us free sailors: he is chained to an oar all his life; and mayhap forced to tug a leaky vessel into the bargain.

Sir Sum. A very wag! Ben is a very wag! only a little rough; he wants a little polishing.

Mrs Frail. Not at all; I like his humour mightily: it is plain and honest; I should like such a humour in a husband extremely.

Ben. Say'n you so, forsooth? Marry, and I should like such a handsome gentlewoman for a bed-fellow hugely. How say you, mistress?would you like a going to sea? Mess, you're a a tight vessel, and well-rigged, an you were but as well manned.

Mrs Frail. I should not doubt that, if you were master of me.

Ben. But I'll tell you one thing, an you come to sea in a high wind, or that lady- you may'nt carry so much sail o'your head-Top and top gallant, by the mess!

Mrs Frail. No? why so?

Ben. Why, an you do, you may run the risk to be overset: and then you'll carry your keels above water-he, he, he!

Ang. I swear, Mr Benjamin is the veriest wag in nature; an absolute sea wit.

Sir Sam. Nay, Ben has parts; but, as I told you before, they want a little polishing. You must not take any thing ill, madam.

Ben. No, I hope the gentlewoman is not angry; I mean all in good part: for, if I give a jest, I'll take a jest; and so, forsooth, you may be as free with me.

Ang. I thank you, sir; I am not at all offended. But, methinks, sir Sampson, you should leave him alone with his mistress. Mr Tattle, we must not hinder lovers.