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a better reason which you gave to Mr Tattle ; to be as absolutely and substantially mad, as for his impertinence forced you to acknowledge any freeholder in Bedlam. Nay, he's as mad as a kindness for Valentine, which you denied to any projector, fanatic, chemist, lover, or poet, in all his sufferings and my solicitations. So I'll Europe. leave him to make use of the discovery, and Val. Sirrah, you lie; I'm not mad. your ladyship to the free confession of your in- Ang. Ha, ha, ha! you see he denies it. clinations.

Jer. O Lord, madam! did you ever know any Ang. Oh Heavens ! you won't leave me alone madman mad enough to own it ? with a madman?

Val. Sot, can't you apprehend? Scand. No, madam ; I only leave a madman Ang. Why, be talked very sensibly just now. to his remedy.

[Erit. Jer. Yes, madam; he has intervals : but you Val. Madam, you need not be very much see he begins to look wild again now. afraid, for I fancy I begin to come to myself. Val. Why, you thick-skulled rascal, I tell you Ang. Ay, but if I don't fit you, I'll be hanged. the farce is done, and I'll be mad no longer, Aside.

[Beats him. Val. You see what disguises love makes us Ang. Ha, ha, ha! is he mad or no, Jeremy? put on. Gods have been in counterfeited Jer. Partly, I think—for he does not know shapes for the same reason; and the divine his own mind two hours. I'm sure I left him part of me, my mind, has worn this masque just now in the humour to be mad : and I think of madness, and this motly livery, only as I have not found him very quiet at the present. the slave of love, and menial creature of your [One knocks.] Who's there? beauty.

Val. Go see, you sot. I'm very glad that I Ang. Mercy on me, how he talks !—Poor can move your mirth, though not your compasValentine !

sion. Val. Nay, faith, now let us understand one Ang. I did not think you had apprehension another, hypocrisy apart. The comedy draws enough to be exceptious : but madmen shew towards an end; and let us think of leaving themselves most by over-pretevding to a sound acting, and be ourselves; and, since you have understanding, as drunken men do by over-acting loved me, you must own, I have at length deserv- sobriety. I was half inclining to believe you, ed you should confess it.

till I accidentally touched upon your tender part. Ang. (Sighs.] I would I had loved you !—for, But now you have restored me to my former Heaven knows, I pity you; and, could I have opinion and compassion. foreseen the bad effects, I would have striven; Jer. Sir, your father has sent to know if you but that's too late !

are any better yet.— Will

you please to be mad, Val. What bad effects? what's too late? My sir, or how? seeming madness has deceived my father, and Val. Stupidity! you know the penalty of all procured me time to think of means to reconcile I'm worth must pay for the confession of my me to him, and preserve the right of my inheri- senses.-- I'm mad, and will be mad, to every tance to his estate ; which otherwise, by articles, I body but this lady. must this morning have resigned. And this I Jer. So ;—just the very back-side of truth. had informed you of to-day, but you were gone But lying is a figure in speech, that interlards the before I knew you had been here.

greatest part of my conversation.—Madam, your Ang. How ! 'I thought your love of me had ladyship's woman. caused this transport in your soul, which, it seems, you only counterfeited for mercenary ends

Enter JENNY. and sordid interest.

Ang. Well, have you been there!Come Val. Nay, now you do me wrong; for, if any hither. interest was considered, it was yours; since I Jenny. Yes, madam! sir Sampson will wait thought I wanted more than love to make me upon you presently. [Aside to ANGELICA. worthy of you.

Val. You are not leaving me in this uncerAng. Then you thought me mercenary—But tainty? how am I deluded, by this interval of sense, to Ang. Would any thing but a madman comreason with a madman?

plain of uncertainty? Uncertainty and expectaVal. Oh, 'tis barbarous to misunderstand me tion are the joys of life. Security is an insipid longer.

thing; and the overtaking and possessing of a

wish discovers the folly of the chase. Never Enter JEREMY.

let us know one another better; for the pleasure Ang. Oh, here's a reasonable creature !-sure of a masquerade is done, when we come to shew he will not have the impudence to persevere! our faces. But I'll tell you two things before I -Come, Jeremy, acknowledge your trick, leave you; I am not the fool you take me for; and confess your master's madness counterfeit. and you are mad, and don't know it. Jer. Counterfeit, madam! I'll maintain him

[Exeunt Angelica and JENNY, Val. From a riddle you can expect nothing | Hebrew books backwards. May be you begin but a riddle. There's my instruction, and the to read at the wrong end. moral of my lesson.

Val. They say so of a witch's prayer; and Jer. What, is the lady gone again, sir? I dreams and Dutch almanacks are to be underhope you understood one another before she stood by contraries. Yet, while she does not went?

seem to hate me, I will pursue her, and know her, Val. Understood ! she is harder to be un- if it be possible, in spite of the opinion of my saderstood than a piece of Egyptian antiquity, or tirical friend, who saysan Irish manuscript; you may pore till you That women are like tricks by slight of hand; spoil your eyes, and not improve your know- Which, to adınire, we should not understand. ledge.

[Ereunt. Jer. I have heard them say, sir, they read hard


SCENE I.-A room in FORESIGHT's house. they should bring forth fruit. I am of a long,

lived race, and inherit vigour. None of my anEnter ANGELICA and JENNY.

cestors inarried till fifty; yet they begot sons and Ang. WHERE iş sir Sampson ? did you not tell daughters till fourscore. I am of your patrime he would be here before me?

archs, I, a branch of one of your antediluvian Jenny. He's at the great glass in the dining- families, fellows that the flood could not wash room, madam, setting his cravat and wig.

away. Well, madam, what are your commands? Ang. How! I'm glad on't. If he has a mind Has any young rogue affronted you, and shall I I should like him, it's a sign he likes me; and cut his throat? or that's more than half my design.

Any. No, sir Sampson, I have no quarrel upJenny. I hear him, madam.

on my hands- I have more occasion for your Ang. Leave me; and, d’ye hear, if Valentine conduct, than your courage, at this time. To tell should come, or send, I'm not to be spoken with. you the truth, I'm weary of living single, and

[Exit JENNY. want a husband.
Sir Sam. Od's-bud, and it is pity you

shoold! Enter Sir SAMPSON.

Odd, would she would like me! then I should Sir Sam. I have not been honoured with the hamper my young rogues : odd, would she commands of a fair lady a great while. Odd, would! faith and troth, she's devilish handsome! madam, you have revived me—not since I was -[Aside.]—Madam, you deserve a good husfive and thirty.

band; and 'twere pity you should be thrown Ang. Why, you have no great reason to com- away upon any of these young idle rogues about plain, sir Sampson; that's not long ago.

the town.

Odd, there's ne'er a young fellow Sir Sam. Zooks, but it is, madam, a very great worth hanging—that is, a very young fellows while; to a man that admires a fine woman as Pize on them, they never think beforehand of much as I do.

any thing--and if they commit matrimony, 'tis as Ang. You're an absolute courtier, sir Samp- they commit murder; out of a frolic; and are

ready to hang themselves, or to be hanged by the Sir Sam. Not at all, madam. Od's-bud, you law, the next morning. Odso, have a care,' mawrong me: I am not so old, neither, to be a bare dam. courtier, only a man of words. Odd, I have Ang. Therefore, I ask your advice, sir Sampwarm blood about me yet, and can serve a lady son. I have fortune enough to make any man any way. Come, come, let me tell you, you wo- easy that I can like; if there were such a thing men think a man old too soon; faith and troth as a young agreeable man, with a reasonable you do. Come, don't despise tifty; Odd, fifty, stock of good-nature and sense--for I would neiin a hale constitution, is no such contemptible ther have an absolute wit, nor a fool.

Sir Sam. Odd, you are hard to please, madam: Ang. Fifty a contemptible age! not at all : a to find a young fellow that is neither a wit in his very fashionable age, I think-I assure you, I own eye, nor a fool in the eye of the world, is a know very considerable beaux, that set a good very hard task. But, faith and troth, you speak face upon fifty. Fifty! I have seen fifty in a very discreetly. I hate a wit; I had a son that side-box, by candle-light, out-blossom five-and- was spoilt among them; a good, hopeful lad, till twenty.

he learnt to be a wit-and might have risen in Sir Sam. Outsides, outsides ! a pize take them, the state. But, a pox on't

, his wit ran him out mere outsides. Hang your side-box beaux; no, of his money, and now his poverty has run him I'm none of those, none of your forced trees, that out of his wits. pretend to blossom in the fall, and bud when Ang. Sir Sampson, as your friend, I must tell



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you, you are very much abused in that matter man, and I'll make it appear-Odd, you're devilhe's no more mad than you are.

ish handsome. Faith and troth, you're very handSir Sam. How, madam! would I could prove some; and I'ın very young, and very lusty. Odsit!

bud, hussy, you know how to choose! and so do I. Ang. I can tell you how that may be done- Odd, I think we are very well met. Give me your but it is a thing that would make me appear to hand; odd, let me kiss it; 'tis as warm and as be too much concerned in your affairs.

soft- as what?-odd, as t'other hand !-give me Sir Sam. Odsbud, I believe she likes me t'other hand; and I'll mumble them, and kiss [Aside. —Ah, madam, all my affairs are scarce them, till they melt in my mouth. worthy to be laid at your feet; and I wish, ma- Ang. Hold, sir Sampson--you're profuse of dam, they were in a better posture, that I might your vigour before your time. You'll spend your make a more becoming offer to a lady of your in- estate before you come to it. comparable beauty and merit. If I had Peru in Sir Sam. No, no; only give you a rent-roll of one hand, and Mexico in t'other, and the eastern my possessions—ah, baggage ! I warrant you for empire under my feet, it would make me only a a little Sampson. Odd, Sampson is a very good more glorious victim, to be offered at the shrine name for an able fellow. Your Sampsons were of your beauty.

strong dogs from the beginning. Ang. Bless me, sir Sampson, what's the mat- Ang. Have a care, and don't overact your ter?

part. If you remember, Sampson, the strongest Sir Sam. Odd, madam, I love you—and if you of the name, pulled an old house over his head would take my advice in a husband

at last. Ang. Hold, hold, sir Sampson ! I asked your Sir Sam. Say you so, hussy? Come, let's go, advice for a husband, and you are giving me your then; odd, I long to be pulling, too. Come away. consent. I was, indeed, thinking to propose -Odso, here's somebody coming. something like it in jest, to satisfy you about 'Va

[Exeunt. lentine: for if a match were seemingly carried on between you and me, it would oblige him to

Enter TATTLE and JEREMY. throw off his disguise of madness, in apprehen- Tatt. Is not that she, gone out just now? sion of losing me; for, you know, he has long Jer. Aye, sir, she's just going to the place of pretended a passion for me.

appointment. Ah, sir, if you are not very faithSir Sam. Gadzooks, a most ingenious contri- ful and close in this business, you'll certainly be vance-if we were to go through with it! but the death of a person, that has a most extraordiwhy must the match only be seemingly carried nary passion for your honour's service. on Odd, let it be a real contract.

Tatt. Aye, who's that? Ang. O fie, sir Sampson, what would the world Jer. Even my unworthy self, sir. Sir, I have

had an appetite to be fed with your commands a Sir Sam. Say? They would say you were a great wbile—and now, sir, my former master hawise woman, and I a happy man. Odd, madam, ving much troubled the fountain of his underI'll love you as long as I live; and leave you a standing, it is a very plausible occasion for me to good jointure when I die.

quench my thirst at the spring of your bounty. Ang. Aye, but that is not in your power, sir I thought I could not recommend myself better Sampson; for when Valentine confesses himself to you, sir, than by the delivery of a great beauin his senses, he must make over his inheritance ty and fortune into your arms, whom I have to his younger brother.

heard you sigh for. Sir Sam. Odd, you're cunning, a wary baggage! Tatt. I'll make thy fortune ; say no more.Faith and troth, I like you the better. But, I Thou art a pretty fellow, and canst carry a meswarrant you, I have a proviso in the obligation sage to a lady, in a pretty soft kind of phrase, in favour of myself. Body o' me, I have a trick and with a good persuading accent. to turn the settlement upon the issue-inale of our Jer. Sir, I have the seeds of rhetoric and orar two bodies begotten. Odsbud, let us find chil- tory in my head—I have been at Cambridge. dren, and I'll find an estate!

Tatt. Aye; 'tis well enough for a servant to Ang. Will you? well, do you find the estate, be bred at an university; but the education is a and leave the other to me.

little too pedantic for a gentleman. I hope you Sir Sam. O rogue! but I'll trust you. And are secret in your nature, private, close, ha ? will you consent? Is it a match, then?

Jer. O sir, for that, sir, 'tis my chief talent; Ang. Let me consult my lawyer concerning I'm as secret as the head of Nilus. this obligation; and, if I find what you propose Tatt. Aye? who's he, though? a privy counpracticable, I'll give you my answer.

sellor? Sir Sam. With all my heart

. Come in with Jer. O ignorance !--[Aside.] — A cunning me, and I'll lend you the bond. You shall con- Egyptian, sir, that with his arms could over-run sult your lawyer, and I'll consult a parson. Od the country, yet nobody could ever find out his zooks, I'm a young man; Odzooks, I'm a young head-quarters.


my mind.

Tatt. Close dog! a good whoremaster, I war- no; to marry is to be a child again, and play with rant him! The time draws nigh, Jeremy. Angelica the same rattle always: 0 fie, marrying is a paw will be veiled like a nun; and I must be hooded thing! like a friar; ha, Jeremy?

Miss Prue. Well, but don't you love me as Jer. Aye, sir, hooded like a hawk, to seize at well as you did last night, then? first sight upon the quarry. It is the whim of my Tatt. No, no, child; you would not have me? master's madness to be so dressed; and she is so Miss Prue. No? Yes, but I would though. in love with him, she'll comply with any thing to Tatt. Pshaw, but I tell you, you would not. please him. Poor lady! I'm sure she'll have rea- You forget you are a woman, and don't know son to pray for me, when she finds what a happy your own mind. change she has made, between a madman and so Miss Prue. But here's my father, and he knows accomplished a gentleman. Tatt. Aye, faith, so she will, Jeremy: you're a

Enter FORESIGHT. good friend to her, poor creature ! I swear I do it hardly so much in consideration of myself, as Fore. O, Mr Tattle, your servant; you are a compassion to her.

close man; but, methinks, your love to my Jer. 'Tis an act of charity, sir, to save a fine daughter was a secret I might have been trusted woman with thirty thousand pounds from throw- with !-or had you a mind to try if I could dising herself away:

cover it by my art ?- Hum, ha! I think there is Tatt. So 'tis, faith! I might have saved several something in your physiognomy, that has a reothers in my time; but, egad, I could never find semblance of her; and the girl is like me. in my heart to marry any body before.

Tatt. And so you would infer, that you and I Jer. Well, sir, I'll go and tell her iny master's are alike?

-What does the old priy mean? I'll coming; and meet you in half a quarter of an banter him, and laugh at him, and leave him. hour, with your disguise, at your own lodgings. Aside.] I fancy you have a wrong notion of You must talk a little madly;—she won't distin- faces. guish the tone of


Fore. How? what? a wrong notion ! how so? Tatt. No, no, let me alone for a counterfeit. Tatt. In the way of art, I have some taking I'll be ready for you.

[Exit Jeremy. features, not obvious to vulgar eyes, that are in

dication of a sudden turn of good fortune, in the Enter Miss PRUE.

lottery of wives; and promise a great beauty and Miss Prue. O, Mr Tattle, are you here? I'm great fortune reserved alone for me, by a private glad I have found you. I have been looking up intrigue of destiny, kept secret from the piercing and down for


any thing, till I'm as tired eye of perspicuity, from all astrologers, and the as any thing in the world.

stars themselves. Tatt. O pox ! how shall I get rid of this fool- Fore. How? I will make it appear, that what ish girl ?

Aside. you say is impossible. Miss Prue. O, I have pure news, I can tell Tatt. Sir, I beg your pardon, I am in hasteyou; pure news !-I must not marry the seaman Fore. For what? now-My father says so. Why, won't you be my Tatt. To be married, sir-married. husband? You say you love me! and you

won't Fore. Ay, but pray, take me along with you, be my husband. And I know you may


you please.

Tatt. No, sir; it is to be done privately—I Tatt. O fie, miss! who told you so, child ? never make confidents.

Miss Prue. Why, my father-I told him that Fore. Well; but my consent, I mean—-You you loved me.

won't marry my daughter without my consent? Tatt. O fie, miss! why did you do so! and Tatt. Who, I, sir? I am an absolute stranger who told you so, child ?

to you and your daughter, sir. Miss Prue. Who? Why, you did; did not Fore. Hey-day! What time of the moon is you?

this? Tatt. O pox! that was yesterday, miss; that Tatt. Very true, sir; and desire to continue was a great while ago, child. I have been asleep so. I have no more love for your daughter, than since; slept a whole night, and did not so much I have likeness of you: and I have a secret in as dream of the matter.

my heart, which you would be glad to know, and Miss Prue. Pshaw! O, but I dreamt that it shan't know: and yet you shall know it too, and was so though.

be sorry for it afterwards. I'd have you know, Tatt. Ay, but your father will tell you that sir, that I am as knowing as the stars, and as sedreams come by contraries, child. O fie! what, cret as the night. And I'm going to be married we must not love one another now. Pshaw, that just now, yet, did not know of it half an hour would be a foolish thing, indeed! Fie, fie! you're ago; and the lady stays for me, and does not a woman now, and must think of a new man know of it yet. There's a mystery for you! I every morning, and forget him every night. No, know you love to untie difficulties. Or, if you

now, if

can't solve this; stay here a quarter of an hour, Leghorn, and back again, before you shall guess and I'll come and explain it to you. [Erit. at the matter, and do nothing else. Mess, you

Miss Prue. O, father! why will you let him may take in all the points of the compass, and go? Won't you make him to be my husband ? not hit the right.

Fore. Mercy on us! what do these lunacies por- Mrs Fore. Your experiment will take up a littend? Alas! he's mad, child, stark wild.

tle too much time. Miss Prue. What, and must not I have e'er a Ben. Why, tben, I'll tell you : there's a new husband, then? What, must I go to bed to nurse wedding upon the stocks, and they two are going again, and be a child as long as she's an old wo- to be married to rights. man? Indeed, but I won't. For, now my mind Scand. Who? is set upon a man, I will have a man some way Ben. Why, father, and—the young woman. I or other.

can't hit her name. Fore. O fearful! I think the girl's influenced, Scand. Angelica? too. Hussy, you shall have a rod.

Ben. Ay, the same. Miss Prue. A fiddle of a rod! I'll have a hus- Mrs Fore. Sir Sampson and Angelica? Imposband; and, if you won't get me one, I'll get one sible ! for myself. I'll marry our Robin the butler; he Ben. That may be-but I'm sure it is as I tell says he loves me: and he's a handsome man, and you. shall be my husband : I warrant he'll be my hus- Scand. 'Sdeath, it is a jest. I can't believe it. band, and thank me, too; for he told me so. Ben. Look you, friend; it is nothing to me,

whether Enter Scandal, Mrs Foresight, and Nurse. d'ye see; they are married, or just going to be

believe it or no. What I say is true,

you Fore. Did he so? I'll dispatch him for it pre- married, I know not which. sently. Rogue! Oh, nurse, come hither.

Fore. Well, but they are not mad, that is, not Nurse. What is your worship's pleasure ? lunatic?

Fore. Here, take your young mistress, and lock Ben. I don't know what you may call madher up presently, till farther orders from me. ness—but she's mad for a husband, and he's hornNot a word, hussy-Do what I bid you. No mad, I think, or they'd never make a match toreply: away. And bid Robin make ready to gether. Here they come. give an account of his plate and linen, dy'e hear? Begone, when I bid you.

Enter Sir SAMPSON, ANGELICA, and BUCKRAM. (Ereunt Nurse and Miss PRUE. Sir Sam. Where is this old soothsayer? this Mrs Fore. What's the matter, husband ? uncle of mine elect ?-Aha! old Foresight ! un

Fore. 'Tis not convenient to tell you now- cle Foresight ! wish me joy, uncle Foresight, Mr Scandal, Heaven keep us all in our senses ! double joy, both as uncle and astrologer : here's I fear there is a contagious frenzy abroad. How a conjunction that was not foretold in all your does Valentine?

Ephemeres ! The brightest star in the blue firScand. O, I hope he will do well again. Imament–is shot from above, in a jelly of love, have a message from him to your niece Ange- and so forth; and I'm lord of the ascendant. lica.

Odd, you're an old fellow, Foresight-uncle, I Fore. I think she has not returned since she mean; a very old fellow, uncle Foresight, and went abroad with sir Sampson. Nurse, why are yet you shall live to dance at my wedding ; faith you not gone?

and troth you shall. Odd, we'll have the music

of the spheres for thee, old Lilly, that we will; Enter Ben.

and thou shalt lead up a dance in via lactea. Here's Mr Benjamin; he can tell us if his father Fore. I'm thunder-struck! You are not marbe come home.

ried to my niece ? Ben. Who? Father? Ay, he's come home with Sir Sam. Not absolutely married, uncle; but a vengeance.

very near it; within a kiss of the matter, as you Mrs Fore. Why, what's the matter?

[Kisses ANGELICA. Ben. Matter ! Why, he's mad.

Ang. 'Tis very true, indeed, uncle; I hope Fore. Mercy on us! I was afraid of this. you'll be my father, and give me.

Ben. And there's a handsome young woman; Sir Sam. That he shall, or I'll burn his globes. she, as they say, brother Val went mad for, she's Body o'me, he shall be thy father : I'll make him mad, too, I think.

thy father, and thou shalt make me a father, and Fore. O, my poor niece ! my poor niece! is I'll make thee a mother; and we'll beget sons she gone, too? Well, I shall run inad next. and daughters enough to put the weekly bills out

Mrs Fore. Well, but how mad ? how d’ye of countenance. mean?

Scand. Death and hell! Where's Valentine? Ben. Nay, I'll give you leave to guess—I'll un

Erit. dertake to make a voyage to Antigua—No, I Mrs Fore. This is so surprisinginayn't say so, neither but I'll sail as far as Sir Sam. How! What does my aunt say? sur


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