discharge me, 'twill be the greatest punishment | might kill one in four-and-twenty hours-And you can inflict; for, were we this moment to go did you ask him any questions about me? upon the greatest dangers in your profession, they Mel. You! why I passed for you. would be less terrible to me than to stay behind Lucy. So 'tis I, that am to die a maid-But you-And now, your hand! this lists me-and the devil was a liar from the beginning; he now you are my captain. can't make me die a maid-I've put it out of his power already. [Aside. Plume. Your friend: [Kisses her.] 'Sdeath! there's something in this fellow that charms me! Syl. One favour I must beg-this affair will make some noise, and I have some friends that would censure my conduct, if I threw myself into the circumstance of a private centinel of my own head-I must therefore take care to be imprest by the act of parliament; you shall leave that to me. Plume. What you please as to that-Will you lodge at my quarters in the mean time? you shall have part of my bed. Syl. O fy! lie with a common soldier! would not you rather lie with a common woman? Plume. No, faith, I am not that rake, that the world imagines. I've got an air of freedom, which people mistake for lewdness in me, as they mistake formality in others for religion. The world is all a cheat; only I take mine, which is undesigned, to be more excusable than theirs, which is hypocritical. I hurt nobody but myself; they abuse all mankind-Will you lie with me? Syl. No, no, captain; you forget Rose; she's to be my bedfellow, you know. Plume. I had forgot: pray be kind to her. [Exeunt severally. Enter MELINDA and LUCY. Mel. 'Tis the greatest misfortune in nature for a woman to want a confident: we are so weak, that we can do nothing without assistance; and then a secret racks us worse than the colic-I am at this minute so sick of a secret, that I'm ready to faint away-Help me, Lucy! If Lucy. Bless me! Madam, what's the matter? Mel. Vapours only; I begin to recover. Sylvia were in town I could heartily forgive her faults for the ease of discovering my own. Lucy. You are thoughtful, madam; am not I worthy to know the cause? Mel. Oh, Lucy! I can hold my secret no longer. You must know, that, hearing of a famous fortune-teller in town, I went, disguised, to satisfy a curiosity, which has cost me dear. The fellow is certainly the devil, or one of his bosomfavourites: he has told me the most surprising things of my life. Mel. I do but jest. I would have passed for you, and called myself Lucy; but he presently told me my name, my quality, my fortune, and gave me the whole history of my life. He told me of a lover I had in this country, and described Worthy exactly, but in nothing so well as in his present indifference-I fled to him for refuge today; he never so much as encouraged me in my fright, but coldly told me, that he was sorry for the accident, because it might give the town cause to censure my conduct, excused his not waiting on me home, made me a careless bow, and walked off-'Sdeath! I could have stabbed him, or myself; 'twas the same thing-Yonder he comes I will so use him! Lucy. Don't exasperate him; consider what the fortune-teller told you. Men are scarce; and, as times go, it is not impossible for a woman to die a maid. Enter WORTHY. Mel. No matter. Wor. I find she's warmed; I must strike, while the iron is hot-You've a great deal of courage, madam, to venture into the walks, where you were so lately frightened. Mel. And you have a quantity of impudence to appear before me, that you so lately have affronted. Wor. I had no design to affront you, nor appear before you either, madam; I left you here, because I had business in another place; and came hither, thinking to meet another person. Mel. Since you find yourself disappointed, I hope you'll withdraw to another part of the walk. Wor. The walk is broad enough for us both. [They walk by one another, he with his hat cocked, she fretting and tearing her fan.] Will you please to take snuff, madam? [He offers her his bor. She strikes it out off his hand; while he is gathering it up, BRAZEN enters, and takes her round the waist; she cuffs him.] Braz. What, here before me, my dear! Lucy. Things past, madam, can hardly be rec-thy? koned surprising, because we know them already. Did he tell you any thing surprising that was to come. Mel. One thing very surprising; he said I should die a maid! Lucy. Die a maid! come into the world for nothing! Dear madam! if you believe him, it might come to pass; for the bare thought on't [TO BRAZEN. Braz. No; no; I'm struck blind-Worthy! odso! well turned-My mistress has wit at her finger's ends-Madam, I ask your pardon; 'tis our way abroad-Mr Worthy, you're the happy man. Wor. I don't envy your happiness very much. if the lady can afford no other sort of favours but what she has bestowed upon you. Mel. I'm sorry the favour miscarried, for it was designed for you, Mr Worthy; and, be assured, 'tis the last and only favour you must expect at my hands- -captain, I ask your pardon. Plume. What letter? Wor. One that I would not let you see, for fear that you should break windows in good earnest. Here, captain, put it into your pocket[Exit with Lucy.book, and have it ready upon occasion. [Knocking at the door. Bras. I grant it--You see, Mr Worthy, 'twas only a random-shot; it might have taken off your head as well as mine. Courage, my dear! 'tis the fortune of war; but the enemy has thought fit to withdraw, I think. Wor. Withdraw! Oons! Sir, what d'ye mean by withdraw? Braz. I'll shew you. [Exit BRAZEN. Wor. She's lost, irrecoverably lost, and Plume's advice has ruined me. 'Sdeath! why should I, that knew her haughty spirit, be ruled by a man that's a stranger to her pride? Enter PLUME. Plume. Ha, ha, ha! a battle royal! Don't frown so, man; she's your own, I tell you: I saw the fury of her love in the extremity of her passion. The wildness of her anger is a certain sign that she loves you to madness. That rogue, Kite, began the battle with abundance of conduct, and will bring you off victorious, my life on't; he plays his part admirably: she's to be with him again presently. Wor. But what could be the meaning of Brazcu's familiarity with her? Plume. You are no logician, if you pretend to draw consequences from the actions of foolsWhim, unaccountable whim, hurries them on, like a man drunk with brandy before ten o'clock in the morning-But we lose our sport;Kite has opened about an hour ago: let's away. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A chamber; a table with books and globes. KITE disguised in a strange habit, sitting at a table. Kite. Rising. By the position of the heavens, gained from my observation upon these celestial globes, I find, that Luna was a tide-waiter; Sol a surveyor; Mercury a thief; Venus a whore; Saturn an alderman; Jupiter a rake; and Mars a serjeant of grenadiers ;-and this is the system of Kite the conjurer. Enter PLUME and WORTHY. Plume. Well, what success? Kite. Officers, to your posts. Tycho, mind the door. [Ereunt PLUME and WORTHY. Servant opens the door. Kite. Writing your name in his pocket-book. Mel. Ha, ha! my name! pray what have you or he to do with my name? Kite. Look'e, fair lady, the devil is a very modest person; he seeks nobody, unless they seek him first; he's chain'd up like a mastiff, and can't stir unless he be let loose-You come to me to have your fortune told-do you think, madam, that I can answer you of my own head? No, madani, the affairs of women are so irregular, that nothing less than the devil can give any account of them. Now, to convince you of your incredulity, I'll shew you a trial of my skill. Here, you Cacodemo del Plumo, exert your power; draw me this lady's name; the word Melinda, in proper letters and characters of her Wor. Aye, but it won't do-Have you shewed own hand-writing-Do it at three motions—one her her name, that I tore off from the bottom of-two-three-'tis done-Now, madam, will you the letter? please to send your maid to fetch it? Kite. I have sent away a shoemaker and a tailor already; one's to be a captain of the marines, and the other a major of dragoons-I am to manage them at night-Have you seen the lady, Mr Worthy? Kite. No, sir, I reserve that for the last stroke. Lucy. I fetch it! the devil fetch me, if I do! Mel. My name in my own hand-writing! that would be convincing indeed. Kite. Seeing is believing. [Goes to the table, and lifts up the carpet.] Here Tre, Tre, poor Tre, give me the bone, sirrah. There's your name upon that square piece of paper. Behold!Mel. 'Tis wonderful! my very letters to a tittle! Lucy. Tis like your hand, madam, but not so like your hand, neither: and now, I look nearer, 'tis not like your hand at all. Kite. Here's a chambermaid, now, will outlie the devil! Lucy. O pray, sir, discharge us first! Enter WORTHY and PLUME. Kite. Mr Worthy, you were pleased to wish me joy to-day; I hope to be able to return the compliment to-morrow. Wor. I'll make it the best compliment to you, that ever I made in my life, if you do; but I must be a traveller, you say? Kite. No farther than the chops of the chan Plume. That we have concerted already. [Knocking hard.] Heyday! you don't profess midwifery, doctor? Lucy. Look'e, madam, they sha'nt impose up-nel, I presume, sir. on us; people can't remember their hands, no more than they can their faces-Come, madam, let us be certain; write your name upon this paper, then we'll compare the two hands. [Takes out a paper, and folds it. Kite. Any thing for your satisfaction, madam -Here's pen and ink. [MELINDA writes, Lucy holds the paper. Lucy. Let me see it, madam; 'tis the samethe very same—But I'll secure one copy for my own affairs. [Aside. Mel. This is demonstration! Kite. 'Tis so, madam-the word Demonstration comes from Dæmon, the father of lies. : Mel. Well, doctor, I'm convinced and now, pray, what account can you give of my future fortune? Kite. Before the sun has made one course round this earthly globe, your fortune will be fixed for happiness or misery. Mel. What! so near the crisis of my fate? Kite. Let me see-About the hour of ten tomorrow morning, you will be saluted by a gentleman, who will come to take his leave of you, being designed for travel; his intention of going abroad is sudden, and the occasion a woman. Your fortune and his are like the bullet and the barrel, one runs plump into the other-In short, if the gentleman travels, he will die abroad, and if he does, you will die before he comes home. Mel. What sort of a man is he? Kite. Madam, he's a fine gentleman, and a lover; that is, a man of very good sense, and a very great fool. Mel. How is that possible, doctor? Kite. Because, madam-because it is so-A woman's reason is the best for a inan's being a fool. Mel. Ten o'clock, you say? Kite. Ten-about the hour of tea-drinking throughout the kingdom. Mel. Here, doctor. [Gives money.] Lucy, have you any questions to ask? Lucy. Oh, madam! a thousand. Kite. I must beg your patience till another time, for I expect more company this minute; besides, I must discharge the gentleman under the table. Kite. Away to your ambuscade. [Exeunt WORTHY and PLUME. Enter BRAZEN. Braz. Your servant, my dear! Kite. Yes, my dear! but mine is a peaceable spirit, and hates gunpowder. Thus I fortify myself: [Draws a circle round him.] and now, captain, have a care how you force my lines. Braz. Lines! what dost talk of lines! you have something like a fishing-rod there, indeed; but I come to be acquainted with you, manWhat's your name, my dear? Kite. Conundrum. Braz. Conundrum? rat me! I knew a famous doctor in London of your name-Where were you born? Kite. I was born in Algebra. Braz. Algebra! 'tis no country in Christendom, I'm sure, unless it be some place in the Highlands in Scotland. Kite. Right-I told you I was bewitched. Braz. So am I, my dear! I am going to be married-I have had two letters from a lady of fortune that loves me to madness, fits, cholic, spleen, and vapours-shall I marry her in four-and-twenty hours, ay or no? Kite. Certainly. Braz. Gadso, ay Kite. Or no-Eut I must have the year, and the day of the month, when these letters were dated. Braz. Why, you old bitch! did you ever hear of love-letters dated with the year and day of the month? do you think billetdoux are like bank-bills? Kite. They are not so good, my dear-but if they bear no date, I must examine the contents. Braz. Contents! that you shall, old boy! here they be both. Kite. Only the last you received, if you please. [Takes the letter.] Now, sir, if you please to let me consult my books for a minute, I'll send this letter enclosed to you with the determination of the stars upon it to your lodgings. Braz. With all my heart-I must give him[Puts his hands in his pockets] Algebra! I fancy, doctor, 'tis hard to calculate the place of your nativity-Here-[Gives him money.] And if I succeed, I'll build a watch-tower on the top of the highest mountain in Wales, for the study of astrology, and the benefit of the Conundrums. Enter PLUME and WORTHY. [Exit. Wor. O doctor! that letter's worth a million; let me see it and now I have it, I'm afraid to open it. : Plume. But 'twas barbarous to conceal this so long, and to continue me so many hours in the Plume. Pho! let me see it. [Opening the let-pernicious heresy of believing that angelic creater.] If she be a jilt-Damn her, she is one- ture could change. Poor Sylvia! there's her name at the bottom on't. Wor. Rich Sylvia, you mean, and poor cap Wor. How then I'll travel in good earnest-tain; ha, ha, ha!-Come, come, friend, MelinBy all my hopes, 'tis Lucy's hand! linda is true, and shall be mine; Sylvia is conPlume. Lucy's! stant, and may be yours. Wor. Certainly-'tis no more like Melinda's character, than black is to white. Plume. Then 'tis certainly Lucy's contrivance Plume. No, she's above my hopes—but for her sake, I'll recant my opinion of her sex. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.-Justice BALANCE's house. Enter BALANCE and SCALE. Scale. I SAY, 'tis not to be borne, Mr Balance. Bal. Look'e, Mr Scale, for my own part I shall be very tender in what regards the officers of the army; I only speak in reference to captain Plume-for the other spark, I know nothing of. Scale. Nor can I hear of any body that does -Oh, here they come. Enter SYLVIA, BULLOCK, ROSE, Prisoners, Constable, and Mob. Const. May it please your worships, we took them in the very act, re infecta, sir-The gentleman, indeed, behaved himself like a gentleman, for he drew his sword and swore, and afterwards laid it down, and said nothing. ance, sir, promises some understanding; pray, Bal. Hold thy prating, fool-Your appear what does this fellow mean? Syl. He means marriage, I think—but that, you know, is so odd a thing, that hardly any two people under the sun agree in the ceremony; some make it a sacrainent, others a convenience, and others make it a jest; but among soldiers Bal. Give the gentleman his sword again-'tis most sacred-our sword you know is our hoWait you without. [Exeunt Constable and Watch. I'm sorry, sir, [To SYLVIA] to know a gentleman upon such terms, that the occasion of our meeting should prevent the satisfaction of an acquaintance. Syl. Sir, you need make no apology for your warrant, no more than I shall do for my behaviour-my innocence is upon an equal foot with your authority. Scale. Innocence! have you not seduced that young maid? Syl. No, Mr Goosecap, she seduced me. Bul. So she did, I'll swear-for she proposed marriage first. nour, that we lay down-the hero jumps over it first, and the amazon after-leap, rogue; follow, whore-the drum beats a ruff, and so to bed: that's all: the ceremony is concise. Bul. And the prettiest ceremony, so full of pastime and prodigality Bal. What are you a soldier? Bul. Ay, that I am-Will your worship lend me your cane, and I'll shew you how I can exercise? Bal. Take it. [Strikes him over the head.] Pray, sir, what commission may you bear? [To SYLVIA. Syl. I'm called captain, sir, by all the coffee men, drawers, whores, and groom-porters in Lon- | vitude. How did you use me the year before! don; for I wear a red-coat, a sword, piquet in my head, and dice in my pocket. Scale. Your name, pray, sir? Syl. Captain Pinch: I cock my hat with a pinch, I take snuff with a pinch, pay my whores with a pinch; in short, I can do any thing at a pinch, but fight and fill my belly. Bal. And pray, sir, what brought you into Shropshire? when, taking the advantage of my innocence and necessity, you would have made me your mistress, that is, your slave-Remember the wicked insinuations, artful baits, deceitful arguments, cunning pretences; then your impudent behavi our, loose expressions, familiar letters, rude visits; remember those, those, Mr Worthy. Wor. I do remember, and am sorry I made no better use of them. [Aside.] But you may re Syl. A pinch, sir: I know you country gentle-member, madam, thatmen want wit, and you know that we town gentlemen want money; and so Mel. Sir, I'll remember nothing-'tis your interest that I should forget. You have been bar Bal. I understand you, sir-Here, constable-barous to me, I have been cruel to you; put Enter Constable. Take this gentleman into custody till further orders. Rose. Pray your worship don't be uncivil to him, for he did me no hurt; he's the most harmless man in the world, for all he talks so. Scale. Come, come, child; I'll take care of you. Syl. What, gentlemen, rob me of my freedom and my wife at once! 'tis the first time they ever went together. Bal. Hark'e, constable. [Whispers him. Const. It shall be done, sir-come along, sir. [Exeunt Constable, BULLOCK, and SYLVIA. Bal. Come, Mr Scale, we'll manage the spark presently. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-MELINDA's apartment. Enter MELINDA and WORTHY. Mel. So far the prediction is right; 'tis ten exactly. [Aside.] And pray, sir, how long have you been in this travelling humour? Wor. 'Tis natural, madam, for us to avoid. what disturbs our quiet. Mel. Rather the love of change, which is more natural, may be the occasion of it. Wor. To be sure, madam, there must be charms in variety, else neither you nor I should be so fond of it. Mel. You mistake, Mr Worthy; I am not so fond of variety as to travel for't; nor do I think it prudence in you to run yourself into a certain expence and danger, in hopes of precarious plea sures. Wor. What pleasures I may receive abroad are indeed uncertain; but this I am sure of, I shall meet with less cruelty among the most barbarous of nations, than I have found at home. Mel. Come, sir, you and I have been jangling a great while; I fancy if we made up our accounts we should the sooner come to an agreement. Wor. Sure, madam, you won't dispute your being in my debt-My fears, sighs, vows, promises, assiduities, anxieties, jealousies, have run on for a whole year without any payment. Mel. A year! oh, Mr Worthy! what you owe to me is not to be paid under a seven years' serVOL. II. that and that together, and let one balance the other-Now, if you will begin upon a new score, lay aside your adventuring airs, and behave yourself handsomely till Lent be over, here's my hand, I'll use you as a gentleman should be. Wor. And If I don't use you as a gentlewo man should be, may this be my poison! [Kissing her hand. Enter a Servant. Ser. Madam, the coach is at the door. Mel. I am going to Mr Balance's countryhouse to see my cousin Sylvia; I have done her an injury, and can't be easy till I've asked her pardon. Wor. I dare not hope for the honour of waiting on you. Mel. My coach is full; but if you'll be so gallant as to mount your own horse and follow us, we shall be glad to be overtaken; and if you bring captain Plume with you, we shan't have the worse reception. Wor. I'll endeavour it. |