did not wipe off the blood of the last man I fought with. Cle. Come, sir, this trifling sha'nt serve your [CLER. draws, and finds only a hilt in his Cle. Death! you villain, do you serve me so! Cla. In love and war, sir, all advantages are fair: so we conquer, no matter whether by force or stratagem.Come, quick, sir-your life or mistress. Cle. Neither. Death! you shall have both, or none! Here drive your sword; for only through this heart you reach Clarinda. Cla. Death, sir! can you be mad enough to die for a woman that hates you? Cle. If that were true, 'twere greater madness, then, to live. Cla. Why, to my knowledge, sir, she has used you basely, falsely, ill, and for no reason. Cle. No matter; no usage can be worse than the contempt of poorly, tamely parting with her. She may abuse her heart by happy infidelities; but, 'tis the pride of mine to be even miserably constant. Cla. Generous passion! You almost tempt me to resign her to you. Cle. You cannot, if you would. I would indeed have won her fairly from you with my sword; but scorn to take her as your gift. Be quick, and end your insolence. Cla. Yes, thus-Most generous Clerimont, you now, indeed, have fairly vanquished me! Runs to him.] My woman's follies, and my shame, be buried ever here. Cle. Ha, Clarinda! Is it possible? My wonder rises with my joy!-How came you in this habit? Cla. Now you indeed recall my blushes; but I had no other veil to hide them, while I confessed the injuries I had done your heart, in fooling with a man I never meant, on any terms, to engage with. Beside, I knew, from our late parting, your fear of losing me would reduce you to comply with sir Solomon's demands, for his interest in your favour. Therefore, as you saw, I was resolved to ruin his market, by seeming to raise it; for he secretly took the offer I made him. Cle. 'Twas generously and timely offered; for it really prevented my signing articles to him. But, if you would heartily convince me that I shall never more have need of his interest, even let us steal to the next priest, and honestly put it out of his power ever to part us. Cla. Why, truly, considering the trusts I have made you, 'twould be ridiculous now, I think, to deny you any thing: and if you should grow weary of me after such usage, I can't blame you. VOL. II. Enter SIR SOLOMON, with old MR WILFUL; Sir Sol. Troth, my old friend, this is a bad bu siness, indeed; you have bound yourself in a thousand pounds bond, you say, to marry your daughter to a fine gentleman, and she, in the mean time, it seems, is fallen in love with a stranger. Wil. Look you, sir Solomon, it does not trouble me o' this; for, I'll make her do as I please, or I'll starve her. Lady Sad. But, sir, your daughter tells me that the gentleman she loves is in every degree in as good circumstances as the person you design her for; and, if he does not prove himself so before to-morrow morning, she will cheerfully submit to whatever you'll impose on her. Wil. All sham! all sham! only to gain time. I expect my friend and his son here immediately to demand performance of articles; and if her ladyship's nice stomach does not immediately comply with them, as I told you before, I'll starve her. Lady Sad. But, consider, sir, what a perpetual discord must a forced marriage probably produce. Wil. Discord! pshaw, waw! One man makes as good a husband as another. A month's marriage will set all to rights, I warrant you. You know the old saying, sir Solomon-lying together makes pigs love, Lady Sud. [To SYL.] What shall we do for you? There's no altering him. Did your lover promise to come to your assistance? Syl. I expect him every minute; but can't foresee, from him, the least hope of my redemption.- -This is he. Enter ATALL, undisguised. Atall. My Sylvia, dry those tender eyes; for while there's life, there's hope. Lady Sad. Ha! is't he? but I must smother my confusion. [Aside. Wil. How now, sir! pray, who gave you commission to be so familiar with my daughter? Atall. Your pardon, sir; but when you know me right, you'll neither think my freedom or my pretensions familiar or dishonou: ble. Wil. Why, sir, what pretensions have you to her? Atall. Sir, I saved her life at the hazard of my own that gave me a pretence to know her; knowing her made me love, and gratitude made her receive it. Wil. Ay, sir! And some very good reasons, 3 M best known to myself, make me refuse it. Now, what will you do? Atall. I can't tell yet, sir; but if you'll do me the favour to let me know those reasons- Wil. Sir, I don't think myself obliged to do either; but I'll tell you what I'll do for you: since you say you love my daughter, and she loves you, I'll put you in the nearest way to get her. Atall. Don't flatter me, I beg you, sir. Wil. Not I, upon my soul, sir! for, look you, 'tis only this get my consent, and you shall have her. Atall. I beg your pardon, sir, for endeavouring to talk reason to you. But, to return your raillery, give me leave to tell you, when any man marries her but myself, he must extremely ask my consent. Wil. Before George, thou art a very pretty impudent fellow! and I'm sorry I can't punish her disobedience, by throwing her away upon thee. Atall. You'll have a great deal of plague about this business, sir; for I shall be mighty difficult to give up my pretensions to her. Wil. Ha! 'tis a thousand pities I can't comply with thee. Thou wilt certainly be a thriving fellow; for thou dost really set the best face upon a bad cause, that ever I saw since I was born. Atall. Come, sir, once more, raillery apart; suppose I prove myself of equal birth and fortune to deserve her? Wil. Sir, if you were eldest son to the Cham of Tartary, and had the dominions of the Great Mogul entailed upon you and your heirs for ever, it would signify no more than the bite of my thumb. The girl's disposed of; I have matched her already, upon a thousand pounds forfeit; and, faith, she shall fairly run for't, though she's yerked and flead from the crest to the crupper. Atall. Confusion! Syl. What will become of me? Wil. And if you don't think me in earnest now, here comes one that will convince you of my sincerity. Atall. My father! Nay, then my ruin is inevitable. Enter SIR HARRY ATALL. Sir Har. [To ATALL.] Oh, sweet sir! have I found you at last? Your very humble servant. What's the reason, pray, that you have had the assurance to be almost a fortnight in town, and never come new me, especially when I sent you word I had business of such consequence with you? Atall. I understood your business was to marry me, sir, to a woman I never saw: and, to confess the truth, I durst not come near you, because I was at the same time in love with one you never Wil. Hey! Harry? Sir Har. Hey-day !-Why, did not you know that before? Atall. Oh, earth, and all ye stars! is this the lady you designed me, sir? Syl. Oh, fortune! is it possible? Sir Har. And is this the lady, sir, you have been making such a bustle about? Atall. Not life, health, or happiness are half so dear to me. Sir Sol. [Joining ATALL and SYLVIA's hands.] Loil, loll, leroll! Atall. Oh, tranporting joy! [Embracing SYLVIA. Sir Har. and Wil. Loll! loll! [Joining in the tune, and dancing about them.] Sir Sol. Hey! within there! [Calls the fiddles.] By jingo, we'll make a night on't! Enter CLARINDA and CLERIMONT. Cla. Save you, save you, good people !—I'm glad, uncle, to hear you call so cheerfully for the fiddles; it looks as if you had a husband ready for me. Sir Sol. Why, that I may have by to-morrow night, madam; but, in the mean time, if you please, you may wish your friends joy. Cla. Dear Sylvia! Syl. Clarinda! Atall. Oh, Clerimont, such a deliverance! Cla. I congratulate your happiness, and am pleased our little jealousies are over; Mr Cle rimont has told me all, and cured me of curiosity for ever. Syl. What, married? Cla. You'll see presently. But, sir Solomon, what do you mean by to morrow? Why, do you fancy I have any more patience than the rest of my neighbours? Sir Sol. Why, truly, madam, I don't suppose you have; but I believe to-morrow will be as soon as their business can be done; by which time expect a jolly fox-hunter from Yorkshire : and if you are resolved not to have patience till next day, why, the same parson may toss you up all four in a dish together. Cla. A filthy fox-hunter! Sir Sol. Odzooks, a mettled fellow, that will ride you from day-break to sun-set! None of your flimsy London rascals, that must have a Sir Har. Was you so, sir? Why, then, sir,chair to carry them to their coach, and a coach saw. to carry them to a trapes, and a constable to carry both to the round-house. Cla. Ay, but this fox-hunter, sir Solomon, will come home dirty and tired as one of his hounds; he'll be always asleep before he's a-bed, and on horseback before he's awake; he must rise early to follow his sport, and I sit up late at cards for want of better diversion. Put this together, my wise uncle. Sir Sol. Are you so high fed, madam, that a country gentleman of fifteen hundred pounds ayear won't go down with you? Cla. Not so, sir; but you really kept me so sharp, that I was e'en forced to provide for myself; and here stands the fox-hunter for my money. [Claps CLE. on the shoulder. Sir Sol. How! Cle. Even so, sir Solomon-Hark in your ear, sir-You really held your consent at so high a price, that, to give you a proof of my good husbandry, I was resolved to save charges, and e'en marry her without it. Sir Sol. Hell and Cla. And hark you in t'other ear, sir—Because I would not have you expose your reverend age by a mistake, know, sir, I was the young spark, with a smooth face and a feather, that offered you a thousand guineas for your consent, which you would have been glad to have taken. Care. What say you, madam, (to divert the good company) shall we send for him by way of mortification? Lady Dain. By all means; for your sake, methinks, I ought to give him full despair. Care. Why, then, to let you see, that 'tis a nuch easier thing to cure a fine lady of her sickly taste, than a lover of his impudencethere's Careless for you, without the least tincture of despair about him. [Discovers himself. All. Ha, Careless! Lady Dain. Abused! undone ! Cle. Nay, now, madam, we wish you a superior joy; for you have married a man instead of a monster. Care. Come, come, madam; since you find you were in the power of such a cheat, you may be glad it was no greater: you might have fallen into a rascal's hands; but you know I am a gentleman, my fortune no small one, and, if your temper will give me leave, will deserve you. Lady Sad. Come, e'en make the best of your fortune; for, take my word, if the cheat had not been a very agreeable one, I would never have had a hand in't.-You must pardon me, if I can't help laughing. Lady Dain. Well, since it must be so, I parSir Sol. The devil! If ever I traffic in wodon all; only one thing let me beg of you, men's flesh again, may all the bank stocks sir; that is, your promise to wear this habit fall when I have bought them, and rise when I one month for my satisfaction. have sold them!- -Hey-day! what have we here? more cheats. Cle. Not unlikely, sir; for I fancy they are married. Enter LADY DAINTY and CARELESS, disguised. Lady Sad. That they are, I can assure youI give your highness joy, madam. Lady Dain. Lard, that people of any rank shoule use such vulgar salutations! though, methinks, highness has something of grandeur in the sound. But I was in hopes, good people, that confident fellow, Careless, had been among you: Care. Oh, madam, that's a trifle! I'll lie in the sun a whole summer for an olive complexion, to oblige you. Lady Dain. Well, Mr Careless, I begin now to think better of my fortune, and look back with apprehension of the escape I have had; you have already cured my folly, and, were but my health recoverable, I should think myself completely happy. Care. For that, madam, we'll venture to save you doctor's fees; And trust to nature: time will soon discover, Your best physician is a favoured lover. [Exeunt omnes. SCENE I.-The Market-Place-Drum beats any man; for you must know, gentlemen, that I the Grenadier's March. Enter SERJEANT KITE, followed by THOMAS APPLETREE, COSTAR PEARMAIN, and the Mob. KITE, making a speech. If any gentlemen, soldiers, or others, have a mind to serve his majesty, and pull down the French king; if any 'prentices have severe masters, any children have undutiful parents, if any servants have too little wages, or any husband too much wife, let them repair to the noble Serjeant Kite, at the sign of The Raven, in this good town of Shrewsbury, and they shall receive present relief and entertainment-Gentlemen, I don't beat my drums here to insnare or inveigle am a man of honour: besides, I don't beat up for common soldiers; no, I list only grenadiers; grenadiers, gentlemen- -Pray, gentlemen, observe this cap-this is the cap of honour; it dubs a man a gentleman in the drawing of a trigger; and he, that has the good fortune to be born six foot high, was born to be a great man—Sir, will you give me leave to try this cap upon your head. Cos. Is there no harm in't? won't the cap list me? Kite. No, no; no more than I can-Come, let me see how it becomes you. Cos. Are you sure there be no conjuration i it? no gunpowder-plot upon me? Kite. No, no, friend; don't fear, mar FARQUHAR.] BRITISH DRAMA. Cos. My mind misgives me plaguily-Let me | left London-an hundred and twenty miles in see it-[Going to put it on.] It smells woundily thirty hours is pretty smart riding, but nothing to the fatigue of recruiting. of sweat and brimstone. Smell, Tummas. Tho. Ay, wauns does it. Cos. Pray, serjeant, what writing is this upon the face of it? Kite. The crown, or the bed of honour. Cos. Pray now, what may be that same bed of honour? Kite. Oh! a mighty large bed! bigger by half than the great bed at Ware-ten thousand people may lie in it together, and never feel one another. Cos. My wife and I would do well to lie in't, for we don't care for feeling one another-But do folk sleep sound in this same bed of honour? Kite. Sound! ay, so sound that they never wake. Cos. Wauns! I wish again that my wife lay there. Kite. Say you so! then I find, brother——— Cos. Brother! hold there, friend; I am no kindred to you that I know of yet-Look ye, serjeant, no coaxing, no wheedling, d'ye see if I have a mind to list, why so-if not, why 'tis not so-therefore, take your cap and your brothership back again, for I am not disposed at this present writing-No coaxing, no brothering me, faith! Kite. I coax! I wheedle! I'm above it, sir: I have served twenty campaigns-but, sir, you talk well, and I must own that you are a man, every inch of you; a pretty, young, sprightly fellow!-I love a fellow with a spirit; but I scorn to coax; 'tis base; though, I must say, that never in my life have I seen a man better built. How firm and strong he treads! he steps like a castle! but I scorn to wheedle any man-Come, honest lad! will you take share of a pot? Cos. Nay, for that matter, I'll spend my penny with the best he that wears a head; that is, begging your pardon, sir, and in a fair way. Kite. Give me your hand, then; and now, gentlemen, I have no more to say but thishere's a purse of gold, and there is a tub of humming ale at my quarters-'tis the king's money, and the king's drink-he's a generous king, and loves his subjects-I hope, gentlemen, you won't refuse the king's health? All Mob. No, no, no. Kite. Huzza, then! huzza for the king, and the honour of Shropshire! All Mob. Huzza! Kite. Beat drum. Enter KITE. Kite. Welcome to Shrewsbury, noble captain! from the banks of the Danube to the Severn side, noble captain, you're welcome! Plume. A very elegant reception, indeed, Mr Kite. I find you are fairly entered into your recruiting strain-Pray, what success? Kite. I've been here a week, and I've recruited five. Plume. Five! pray what are they? Kite. I have listed the strong man of Kent, the king of the gipsies, a Scotch pedlar, a scoundrel attorney, and a Welch parson. Plume. An attorney! wert thou mad? list a lawyer! discharge him, discharge him, this minute! Kite. Why, sir? a Plume. Because I will have nobody in my Kite. And what shall I do with the parson? Kite. Hum! he plays rarely upon the fiddle. Plume. Keep him, by all means-But how stands the country affected? were the people pleased with the news of my coming to town? Kite. Sir, the mob are so pleased with your honour, and the justices and better sort of people are so delighted with me, that we shall soon do your business-But, sir, you have got a recruit here, that you little think of. Plume. Who? Kite. One that you beat up for the last time you were in the country. You remember your old friend Molly at The Castle? Plume. She's not with child, I hope? Plume. If they should, we'll take her with us; she can wash, you know, and make a bed upon occasion. Kite. Aye, or unmake it upon occasion. But your honour knows that I am married already. Plume. To how many? Kite. I can't tell readily-I have set them down here upon the back of the muster-roll.— Imprimis, Mrs [Draws it out.] Let me see [Exeunt shouting, drum beating a grena- Shely Snikereyes; she sells potatoes upon Or dier's march. Enter PLUME in a riding habit. mond Key in Dublin-Peggy Guzzle, the brandy woman at the Horse-Guards at WhitehallDolly Waggon, the carrier's daughter at HullMademoiselle Van Bottomflat at the Buss-then Jenny Oakum, the ship-carpenter's widow at Portsmouth; but I don't reckon upon her, for she was married at the same time to two lieu |