THE FALSE COUNT.

ARGUMENT.

Don Carlos, Governor of Cadiz, who has been contracted to Julia, now married to a rich old churl, Francisco, in order to gain her, mans a galley, which has been captured from the Turks, with some forty or fifty attendants disguised as ferocious Ottomans; and whilst she, her husband and a party of friends are taking a pleasure trip in a yacht, they are suddenly boarded and all made prisoners by the supposed corsairs, who carry them off to a country villa a few miles from the town belonging to Carlos’ friend, Antonio, which, however, they are firmly convinc’d is a palace inhabited by the Great Turk himself. Here Carlos appears, dressed as the Sultan, with much pomp, and Francisco, overwhelmed with terror, speedily relinquishes Julia to his captor. In order to punish her for her intolerable arrogance, Isabella, Francisco’s daughter by his former wife, who is designed to wed Antonio, is introduced to a chimney-sweep, Guiliom, masquerading as a noble of high degree. She forthwith strikes up a match with the False Count, leaving Antonio free to marry Clara, Julia’s sister, whom he loves. No sooner, however, has the knot been securely tied than Guiliom, appearing in his sooty rags and with smutched face, publicly demands and humiliates his haughty bride. The trick of the feigned Turks is discovered by the arrival at the villa of Baltazer, Julia’s father. Don Carlos, however, claims his mistress by reason of his former contract, which is perforce allowed.

SOURCE.

Guiliom, masquerading as a Count, is of course directly derived from Les Précieuses Ridicules, first performed 18 November, 1659, and Isabella is a close copy of Cathos and Magdelon. Flecknoe had already adapted Molière in The Damoiselles à la Mode, unacted (4to 1667); and seven years later than Mrs. Behn, Shadwell, in his fine comedy, Bury Fair (1689), drew largely from the same source. His mock noble is a French peruke-maker, La Roch, who marries Lady Fantast’s affected daughter. Miller, in his The Man of Taste; or, The Guardian (1735), blended the same plot with L’Ecole des Maris. The stratagem of the feigned Turkish ship capturing the yacht is a happy extension of a hint from the famous galley scene (Que diable allait-il faire à cette galère?), Act ii, 7, Les Fourberies de Scapin. This, however, is not original with Molière, being entirely borrowed from Le Pédant Joué, Act ii, 4, of Cyrano de Bergerac (1654). What is practically a translation of Les Fourberies de Scapin by Otway, was produced at the Duke’s Theatre in 1677, and in the same year Ravenscroft included a great part of it in his Scaramouch a Philosopher, Harlequin a Schoolboy, Bravo, Merchant, and Magician.

In the Epilogue Mrs. Behn asserts that she wrote The False Count with ease in something less than a week. This may be a pardonable exaggeration; but there are certainly distinct marks of haste in the composition of the play. In Act iii, I, she evidently intended Francisco and his party to be seized as they were returning home by sea, at the end of the act she arranges their sea trip as an excursion on a yacht.

THEATRICAL HISTORY.

The False Count; or, A New Way to Play an Old Game was produced at the Duke’s Theatre, Dorset Garden, in the autumn of 1682, not later than the end of October. An excellent rattling farce, it seems to have kept the stage at intervals for some twenty years. On 11 August, 1715, there was a revival at Lincoln’s Inn Fields. It is billed as ‘not acted ten years’. Spiller played Guiliom, Mrs. Moor Isabella, and Mrs. Thurmond Julia. There is no further record of its performance.

THE FALSE COUNT: or, A New Way to play an old Game.

PROLOGUE.

Spoken by Mr. Smith.

Know all ye Whigs and Tories of the Pit,
(Ye furious Guelphs and Gibelins of Wit,
Who for the Cause, and Crimes of Forty One
So furiously maintain the Quarrel on)
Our Author, as you’ll find it writ in Story,
Has hitherto been a most wicked Tory;
But now, to th’joy o’th’ Brethren be it spoken,
Our Sister’s vain mistaken Eyes are open;
And wisely valuing her dear Interest now,
All-powerful Whigs, converted is to you.
’.was long she did maintain the Royal Cause,
Argu’d, disputed, rail’d with great Applause;
Writ Madrigals and Doggerel on the Times,
And charg’d you all with your Fore-fathers Crimes;
Nay, confidently swore no Plot was true,
But that so slily carried on by you:
Raised horrid Scandals on you, hellish Stories,
In Conventicles how you eat young Tories;
As Jew did heretofore eat Christian _Suckling;
And brought an Odium on your pious Gutling:
When this is all Malice it self can say,
You for the good Old Cause devoutly eat and pray.
Though this one Text were able to convert ye,
Ye needy Tribe of Scriblers to the Party;
Yet there are more advantages than these,
For write, invent, and make what Plots you please,
The wicked Party keep your Witnesses;
Like frugal Cuckold-makers you beget
Brats that secur’d by others fires shall sit.
Your Conventicling Miracles out-do
All that the Whore of_ Babylon e’er knew:
By wondrous art you make Rogues honest Men,
And when you please transform ‘em Rogues again.
To day a Saint, if he but hang a Papist,
Peach a true Protestant, your Saint’s turn’d Atheist:
And dying Sacraments do less prevail,
Than living ones, though took in Lamb’s-Wool-Ale.
Who wou’d not then be for a Common-weal,
To have the Villain covered with his Zeal?
A Zeal, who for Convenience can dispense
With Plays provided there’s no Wit nor Sense.
For Wit’s profane, and Jesuitical,
And Plotting’s Popery, and the Devil and all.
We then have fitted you with one to day,
’.is writ as ‘twere a Recantation Play;
Renouncing all that has pretence to witty,
T’oblige the Reverend Brumighams o’th’ City:
No smutty Scenes, no Jests to move your Laughter,
Nor Love that so debauches all your Daughters.
But shou’d the Torys now,—who will desert me,
Because they find no dry bobs on your Party,
Resolve to hiss, as late did Popish Crew, |
By Yea and Nay, she’ll throw her self on you, |
The grand Inquest of Whigs, to whom she’s true. |
Then let ‘em rail and hiss, and damn their fill,
Your Verdict will be Ignoramus still.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

Don Carlos, Governour of Cadiz, young and rich, in love with Julia, Mr. Smith Antonio, a Merchant, young and rich. Friend to Carlos, in love with Clara, but promis’d to Isabella, Mr. Wiltshire Francisco, old and rich, Husband to Julia, and Father to Isabella, Mr. Nokes. Baltazer, Father to Julia and Clara, Mr. Bright. Sebastian, Father to Antonio, Mr. Freeman. Guzman, Gentlemen to Carlos, Mr. Underhill. Guiliom, a Chimney-Sweeper; the False Count, Mr. Lee. Two overgrown Pages to the False Count, A little Page to the False Count. Petro, Cashier to Antonio. Page to Don Carlos. Captain of a Gally. Two Seamen. Lopez, Servant to Baltazer. Several disguis’d like Turks.

WOMEN.

Julia, Wife to Francisco, young and handsom, in love with Carlos, Mrs. Davis. Clara, Sister to Julia, in love with Antonio, Mrs. Petty. Isabella, Daughter to Francisco; proud, vain and foolish, despising all Men under the degree of Quality, and falls in love with Guiliom, Mrs. Corror. Jacinta, Woman to Julia, Mrs. Osborne. Wife to Petro.

Dancers, Singers, &c.

ACT I.

SCENE I. The Street.

Enter Carlos, Antonio and Guzman.

Car. By all that’s good, I’m mad, stark raving mad,
To have a Woman young, rich, beautiful,
Just on the point of yielding to my Love,
Snatcht from my Arms by such a Beast as this;
An old ridiculous Buffoon, past Pleasure,
Past Love, or any thing that tends that way;
Ill-favour’d, ill-bred, and ill-qualify’d,
With more Diseases than a Horse past Service;
And only blest with Fortune and my Julia;
For him, I say, this Miser, to obtain her,
After my tedious nights and days of Love,
My midnight Watchings, Quarrels, Wounds and Dangers;
—My Person not unhandsom too,
By Heav’n, ‘twas wondrous strange!

Ant. And old Francisco, without the expence of an hour’s Courtship, a Billet-Doux, or scarce a sight of her, could gain her in a day; and yet ‘tis wonder, your Fortune and your Quality, should be refus’d by Don Baltazer her Father.

Car. A Pox upon’t, I went the wrong way to work, and courted the Daughter; but indeed my Father, the late Governour of Cadiz, whose Estate and Honour I now enjoy, was then living; and, fearing he would not consent to my Passion, I endeavoured to keep it secret, though sacred Vows had past between us two.

Ant. Did she not tell you of this Marriage with old Francisco?

Car. The night before, she did; but only by a Letter from her Window dropt; which when by the help of a dark Lanthorn, I had read, I was struck dead with Grief. [Gives him the Letter.

Ant. [reads.]

  Expect to morrow night to hear I’m dead, since the next
  Sun will guide me to a fatal Marriage with old Francisco.
                                                    Your Julia.

Car. Judge, dear Antonio, my Surprize and Grief;
A-while I stood unmov’d, thoughtless, and silent,
But soon Rage wak’d me to new Life again;
But what I said and did, I leave to raging Lovers,
Like disappointed me, to guess and judge;
She heard—and only answer’d me in Tears,
Nor could I beg one tender Word from her,
She sigh’d, and shut the Window too, and vanish’d.

Ant. And she accordingly next day was married.

Car. She was—and I have since endeavoured all the Arts and Ways I can to cuckold him; ‘tis now two months since the Wedding, and I hear he keeps her as close as a Relict, jealous as Age and Impotence can make him. She hitherto has been absent at Sevil, but Expectation of her Daughter-in-law’s Wedding with you has brought ‘em hither,—and, I ask your Pardon, Antonio, for raillying your Father-in-law that shall be, old Francisco.

Ant. I hope you are mistaken, Sir.

Car. How, are you not to marry his Daughter, Isabella?

Ant. Not if I can help it, Sir,—the Honour you have done me in your Friendship to me, a Person so much above me in Title and Birth, makes me think it my Duty to conceal no part of my Heart to you,—Know then this Isabella, Daughter to old Francisco, and your Cuckold that shall be I hope, is, though fair, most ridiculously proud, vain and fantastical; as all of her Birth and Education, grown rich, are.

Car. Prithee, what was her Birth?

Ant. Why, her Father, old Francisco, was in his youth an English Cordwainer, that is to say, a Shoemaker, which he improv’d in time to a Merchant; and the Devil and his Knavery helping him to a considerable Estate, he set up for Gentleman; and being naturally a stingey, hide-bound Rascal, and in the Humour of Jealousy even out-doing the most rigid of us Spaniards, he came over into Spain, to settle with his whole Family, where his Wife dying, to heighten the Vice, marries this young Julia, your Mistress, Sir;—and now this Daughter of his having wholly forgot her original Dunghill, sets up for a Viscountess at least, though her Father has design’d me the Blessing; but I have fixt my Heart and Eyes else-where, Clara, the young Sister of your Mistress, Sir, commands my Liberty.

Car. I’ve seen her, she has Youth and Beauty capable to make a Conquest any where,—but does she know your Love?

Ant. She does, and makes me think my Love return’d.

Car. Then know, Antonio, I must be your Rival.

Ant. How, Sir!

Car. You said but now you were my Friend, Antonio; If true, you must assist in my design.

Ant. I listen, Sir, impatiently.

Car. Then thus; before I knew she was your Mistress, I had resolv’d upon Addresses to her, in order to’t, have treated with her Father about a Marriage.

Ant. How! and wou’d the false, forsworn, receive your Vows?

Car. No; but with Tears implores her Father daily, whene’er he speaks to her about my Passion; nor can I undeceive her, for indeed I have but feign’d a Love, (she living in the same house with Julia whilst here at Cadiz) to get an opportunity with that dear, charming Creature; for, coming as a Brother, sure they’ll admit me kindly; nor will Francisco, who has heard of what has past ‘twixt me and Julia, suspect me any more.

Ant. I knew I had a Rival, Sir, whom Clara lov’d not; but ne’er cou’d get it from her who he was, for fear of mischief: I have often the Liberty to see her, under the name and pretence of Isabella’s Lover.

Car. And I visit her only to get a sight of Julia, which hitherto has been impossible, though I have oft endeavour’d it. I beg you’ll not be jealous; for this, by Heav’n, is only my Design.

Ant. I’ll trust my Life, my Honour and my Mistress in so good hands at any time.

Car. You oblige me; but though I find your Clara cold and cruel, Isabella would invite me to her Love, and makes so many kind advances to me—

Ant. So would she for your Title, were you deform’d, and had no shape of Man about you; but me, because a little Citizen and Merchant, she so reviles, calling me base Mechanick, saucy Fellow; and wonders where I got the Impudence to speak of Love to her—in fine, I am resolved to be reveng’d on all her Pride and Scorn; by Heav’n, I will invent some dire Revenge:—I’m bent upon’t, and will about it instantly.

Car. And would you do it home and handsomly, and have a good occasion of being disengaged from her, and make her self the instrument?

Ant. Ay, such a Plot were worth the Prosecution.

Car. And such a one I have in my head: Guzman, my Servant, knows a fellow here in Cadiz, whom for his pleasant humour I have oft observ’d, as I have past the Streets, but too mean to be convers’d with, by almost any human thing, by Trade a Chimney-Sweeper.

Ant. On, Sir, I beseech you.

Car. This Fellow’s of a quick Wit and good Apprehension, though possibly he cannot act the Don so well, yet that which makes up the best part of our young Gallants now a-days, he shall not want; that is, good Clothes, Money, and an Equipage,—and a little Instruction will serve turn.

Ant. I’m ravisht with the Fancy;—let me see—he shall be an English Lord, or a French Count.

Car. Either, we’ll furnish him with Bills on Signior Don Francisco, —Men and Baggage, and the business is done—he shall make Love to her.

Ant. Most excellent.

Car. Guzman, have you not observ’d this Fellow I am speaking of.

Guz. Observ’d him, Sir! I know him particularly, I’ll fetch him to you now, Sir; he always stands for new Imployment with the rest of his Gang under St. Jago’s Church-wall.

Car. Bring him anon to my Lodgings, where we’ll prepare him for the Adventure.

Ant. And if the proud Isabella bite not at so gay a bait, I’ll be bound to be married to her.

Car. And if she do not, possibly that may be your Fate—but in return, you must let Clara know the Design I have, and, undeceiving her opinion of my Love, make her of our Party.

Ant. Trust my Friendship, Sir, and Management. I’ll to her instantly, that is, make a visit to Isabella, and get an opportunity to speak with Clara.

Car. And I must write a Letter to Julia, to undeceive her Fears too, could I but get it to her.

Guz. For that let me alone.

[Exeunt severally, bowing.

SCENE II. A Chamber.

Enter Julia and Jacinta.

Jac. Lord, Madam, you are as melancholy as a sick Parrot.

Jul. And can you blame me, Jacinta? have I not many Reasons to be sad? first have I not lost the only Man on earth in Don Carlos, that I cou’d love? and worse than that, am married to a Thing, fit only for his Tomb; a Brute, who wanting sense to value me, treats me more like a Prisoner than a Wife?—and his Pretence is, because I should not see nor hear from Don Carlos.

Jac. Wou’d I were in your room, Madam, I’d cut him out work enough, I’d warrant him; and if he durst impose on me, i’faith, I’d transform both his Shape and his Manners; in short, I’d try what Woman-hood cou’d do. And indeed, the Revenge wou’d be so pleasant, I wou’d not be without a jealous Husband for all the World; and really, Madam, Don Carlos is so sweet a Gentleman.

Jul. Ay, but the Sin, Jacinta!

Jac. O’ my Conscience, Heav’n wou’d forgive it; for this match of yours, with old Francisco, was never made there.

Jul. Then if I wou’d, alas, what opportunities have I, for I confess since his first Vows made him mine—

Jac. Right—that lying with old Francisco is flat Adultery.

Jul. I might, with some excuse, give my self away to Carlos—But oh, he’s false, he takes unjustly all the Vows he paid me, and gives ‘em to my Sister Clara now.

Jac. Indeed that’s something uncivil, Madam, if it be true.

Jul. True! my Father has with joy consented to it, and he has leave to visit her; and can I live to see’t? No, Mischief will ensue, my Love’s too high, too nicely true to brook Affronts like that.

Jac. Yet you first broke with him.

Jul. Not I; be witness, Heav’n, with what reluctancy I forc’d my breaking heart; and can I see that charming Body in my Sister’s Arms! that Mouth that has so oft sworn Love to me kist by another’s Lips! no, Jacinta, that night that gives him to another Woman, shall see him dead between the Charmer’s Arms. My Life I hate, and when I live no more for Carlos, I’ll cease to be at all; it is resolv’d.

Jac. Faith, Madam, I hope to live to see a more comical end of your Amours—but see where your amiable Spouse comes with Don Baltazer your Father.

Enter Francisco and Baltazer.

Fran. So—you two are damnable close together, ‘tis for no goodness I’ll warrant, you have your trade betimes.

Jac. Meaning me, Sir?

Fran. Yes, you, one of my Wife’s evil Counsellors,—go, get you up both to your respective Chambers, go—

[Ex. both.

Bal. Barring your Compliments, good Son, give me leave to speak.

Fran. Shaw, I know as well as your self what you wou’d say now; you wou’d assure me I am sole Master of your House, and may command; that you are heartily glad to see me at Cadiz, and that you desire I wou’d resolve upon a Week’s stay, or so; that you’ll spare nothing for my entertainment: why, I know all this, and therefore pray take my word, good Father-in-Law, without any more ado.

Bal. Well, Sir, pray answer me one question, what drew you to Cadiz?

Fran. Why, I’ll tell you; in the first place, a Pox of all Lovers, I say; for my Daughter Isabella is to be married, as you know, to Antonio, a young rich Merchant of this Town; in the second place, my Wife, with a Vengeance, must be gadding to visit you and her Sister, whom we heard also was to be married to the young Governor Don Carlos; ’.is shreudly against my will, Heav’n knows, for my Wits are in an uproar already about this business—your Gallants, Father, your young Gallants,—I wish my Wife were secure at home again.

Bal. Pray, why so?

Fran. Alas, I see the Trick, Sir, a mere Trick put upon a Man, a married Man, and a married Man to a handsome young Woman,—you apprehend me.

Bal. Not I, Sir.

Fran. Not you, Sir! why, look ye, your young Governor who now is, made most desperate love to her who is now my Wife, d’ye mind me?—but you, being a Man of an exact Judgment, to her great grief, gave her to me, who best deserv’d her, both for my civil Behaviour, and comely Personage, d’ye understand me? but now this Carlos, by his Father’s death, being made Governor, d’ye see? is to marry me your other daughter Clara, and to exasperate me, wou’d never let me be at quiet till he had got both of us hither to Cadiz, to grace his Wedding; a Pox of his Invitation, was I so civil to invite him to mine?

Bal. If this be your Affliction, you may avoid it.

Fran. No, no, I’ll try to force Nature a little, and be civil, or so; but as soon as the Ceremony’s over, I’ll steal out of Town, whip a way, presto, i’faith.

Bal. But shou’d you do so rude a thing to your new Brother, your Wife wou’d think you were jealous of her. No, dissemble that Fault, I beseech you, ‘twill make you odious to her and all the world, when ‘tis needless, ’.is natural for Women to hate what they fear.

Fran. Say you so, then I will hide it as much as I can in words, I can dissemble too upon occasion.

Bal. Let her remain awhile amongst us.

Fran. The Devil a bit she shall, good Father mine, no, no, I have more years than you, Sir Father, and understand what Women are, especially when married to ancient Men, and have the Conversation of young Men—whose Eyes like Basilisks destroy Modesty with looking on ‘em; the very Thought on’t has rais’d a Bump in my Forehead already.

Bal. I am sorry you should suspect my Daughter’s Virtue.

Fran. May be you are, Sir—but Youth you know— Opportunity—Occasion—or so—there are Winks, and Nods, and Signs, and Twirs—and—well—in short I am satisfied, and they that are not may go whistle: and so I’ll to my Wife, whom I have left too long alone, evil thoughts will grow upon her—Wife, Love—Duckling— [Calls her.

Enter Julia and Jacinta.

Bal. Wou’d I had never married her to this Sot.

Jul. Your pleasure, Sir.

Fran. Only to see thee, Love.

Jul. I have a Suit to you.

Fran. What is’t, my Chicken.

Jul. I wou’d go make a Visit to my Aunt, my Sister Clara’s there, and I’ll go fetch her home.

Fran. Hum—perhaps the Governor’s there too?

Jul. What if he be? we ought to make him a visit too, who so kindly sent for us to Cadiz.

Fran. How! Make a visit to the Governor? What have I to do with the
Governor, or what have you to do with the Governor? you are no Soldier,
Love. As for a Visit to your Aunt, there’s some reason in’t; but for the
Governor, think no more upon him, I say no more.

Jul. Since he’s to marry my Sister, why shou’d you refuse him that Civility.

Fran. Your Sister, so much the worse.

Jul. So much the worse?

Fran. I, so much the worse, I tell you; for mark me, you have been Lovers lately; and old Stories may arise that are not yet forgotten; and having under the Cloke of a Husband both Sisters at command, one for a Wife, t’other for a Mistress, hoyte toyte, there will be mad work, i’faith; What a mixture of Brother by the Father’s side, and Uncle by the Mother’s side there will be; Aunt by the Mother’s side, and Sister by the Father’s side; a man may find as good kindred amongst a kennel of Beagles.—No, no, no Visits to the Governor, I beseech you, fair Madam.

Bal. So, you are at your Jealousy again.

Fran. Come, come, I love plain dealing; besides, when she named the Governor, Flesh and Blood could not contain.

Jul. I spoke in reference to his Quality.

Fran. A Pox of your Civility; I tell you, I scorn my Wife should be civil. Why, what a Coil’s here about a Governor! I’ll stand to’t, a Man had better have a Mule to his Wife than a Woman, and ‘twere easier govern’d.

Bal. But hear reason, Son.

Fran. What, from a Woman and a Wife? Lord, Lord, where are your Wits, good Father-in-Law? Why, what a Devil, shall I be made ridiculous, a Coxcomb, Cuckold, to shew my Wife? No, no, there’s no Necessity of your Civility, Mistress; leave that to me who understand the due Punctilios of it.

Bal. Harkye, Son, Harkye!

Fran. Father mine, every Man to his business, I say, therefore say no more of this; for I’ll give my Mother’s Son to the Devil, when any Wife of mine ever makes a Visit to the Governor; and there’s an end on’t. Was ever so horrid a Plot contriv’d against her own lawful Husband? Visit the Governor with a Pox!

Bal. ‘Tis an Honour due to all Men of his Rank.

Fran. I care not for that, my opinion is, my Wife’s my Slave, and let him keep his Rank to himself.

Enter Guzman.

[Fran. gets his Wife behind him, and fences her with his Cloke.

Guz. He’s here, and with his Wife; how shall I do to deliver my Letter to her;—Sir, by the order of my Master, Don Carlos, the Governour, I am commanded to come hither to the end that, going from hence, and returning to my Master, I may be able to inform him—

Fran. That I am in health,—very well, I was afraid he wou’d have been harping upon my Wife in the first place—the Devil take her, she looks for’t. [Makes signs to have her gone.

Guz. Farther, Sir, he kisses your hand, with a more than ordinary friendship.

Fran. A Pox of his Compliments.— [Aside.

Guz. But he charg’d me, Sir, most passionately to present his Service to your Lady.

Fran. Yes, yes; I thought as much.

Guz.—In a more particular manner.

Fran. Friend, my Wife, or Lady, has no need of his Service in a more particular manner, and so you may return it.

Jac. Indeed, but she has great need of his service in a very particular manner.

Guz. Sir, I meant no hurt, but ‘tis always the fashion of your true bred Courtier, to be more ceremonious in his Civilities to Ladies than Men;—and he desires to know how she does.

Fran. How strong this Carlos smells of the Devil—Friend, tell your Master she’s very well, but since she was married, she has forgot her gentile Civility and good Manners, and never returns any Compliments to Men.

Guz.—How shall I get it to her?—Sir, the Governor hopes he shall have the honour of entertaining you both at his House. He’s impatient of your coming, and waits at home on purpose.

Fran. Friend, let your Master know we are here in very good quarters already, and he does us both too much honour; and that if we have notice of the Wedding-day, and I have nothing else to do, we’ll certainly wait on him, and the next morning we intend to take our leaves, which I send him word of beforehand to prevent surprize.

Guz. But, Sir—

[Approaching him, he puts his Wife farther.

Fran. Go, Sir, and deliver your Message.

Guz. But I have order, Sir—

Fran. There’s no such thing in this World.

Guz. I’m resolv’d to teaze him, if I can do nothing else, in revenge;—But, Sir, he most earnestly desires to entertain your fair Lady in his own house.

Fran. Yes, yes; I know he does; but I’ll give him to the Devil first.—Troth, Sir, this Cadiz Air does not agree with my fair Lady, she has ventured out but once, and has got an Ague already.

Guz. Agues, Sir, are kind Diseases, they allow of Truces and Cessations.

Fran. No, no; she has no Cessation, Friend, her Ague takes her night and day, it shakes her most unmercifully, and it shall shake her till the Wedding-day.

Guz. Were this Fellow to be tried by a Jury of Women, I would not be in his Coat to lie with his Lady.—What shall I do to deliver this Letter?—Well, Sir, since I see you are so averse to what the Governor desires, I’ll return—but, Sir, I must tell you as a Friend, a Secret; that to a man of your temper may concern you;—Sir,—he’s resolv’d when he comes next to visit his Mistress, to make another visit to your Apartment, to your Lady too.

[Goes to whisper him, and gives Julia the Letter over his Shoulder.

Fran. Is he so, pray tell him he need not take that pains; there’s no occasion for’t; besides ‘twill be but in vain; for the Doctors have prescribed her Silence and Loneliness, ‘tis good against the Fit; how this damn’d Fellow of a Rival torments me! honest Friend, adieu.

Guz. Now is this Fellow so afraid of being made a Cuckold that he fears his own Shadow, and dares not go into his Wife’s Chamber if the Sun do but shine into the room— [Ex. Guz.

Fran. So, your Mercury’s gone; Lord, how simply you look now, as if you knew nothing of the matter!

Jul. Matter! what matter? I heard the civil Message the Governor sent, and the uncivil Answer you return’d back.

Fran. Very good; did that grieve your heart? alas, what pity ‘twas I carried you not in my hand, presented you to him my self, and beg’d him to favour me so much to do my office a little for me, or the like; hah,—

Jul. And there’s need enough, and the truth were known.

Jac. Well said, Madam.

Fran. Peace, thou wicked Limb of Satan—but for you, Gentlewoman, since you are so tarmagant, that your own natural Husband cannot please you, who, though I say it, am as quiet a Bed-fellow, and sleep as sweetly, for one of my years, as any in Spain—I’ll keep you to hard meat, i’faith.

Jul. I find no fault with your sleeping, ‘tis the best quality you have a-bed.

Fran. Why so then, is the Devil in an unmerciful Woman? Come, come, ’.is a good Tenant that pays once a quarter.

Jac. Of an hour do you mean, Sir?—

Fran. Peace, I say—thou damnable Tormentor, this is the Doctrine you preach to your Mistress, but you shall do’t it private, for I’m resolv’d to lock ye both up, and carry the Keys in my Pocket.

Jul. Well, I am a wicked Creature to teaze thee so, Dear; but I’ll do what thou wilt; come, come, be friends, I vow, I care not for the Governor, not I, no more than I do for my—own Soul.

Fran. Why so, this is something; Come, come your ways in,—who have we here? a Man! ad’s my life, away, away.

Jul. Yes, up to my Chamber, to write an answer to this dear Letter. [Ex Julia.

Enter Isabella.

Fran. No, ‘tis not a Man, but my Daughter Isabella.

Jac. Now will I stay, and set her on to teaze the Dotard: wou’d I could teaze him to Death, that my Mistress might be rid of him.

Fran. How now, what makes you look so scurvily to day? Sure the Devil rides once a day through a Woman, that she may be sure to be inspired with some ill Qualities—what wou’d you have now?

Isa. Something.

Fran. Something? what thing? have I not provided you a Husband whom you are to marry within a day or two.

Isa. There’s a Husband indeed, pray keep him to your self, if you please; I’ll marry none of him, I’ll see him hanged first.

Fran. Hey day;—what, is he not young and handsome enough, forsooth?

Isa. Young and handsome; is there no more than that goes to the making up of a Husband—Yes, there’s Quality.

Fran. Quality!—Why, is he not one of the richest Merchants of his standing in all Cadiz.

Isa. Merchant! a pretty Character! a Woman of my Beauty, and five Thousand Pound, marry a Merchant—a little, petty, dirty-heel’d Merchant; faugh, I’d rather live a Maid all the days of my life, or be sent to a Nunnery, and that’s Plague enough I’m sure.

Jac. Have a care of a Nunnery, lest he take you at your word.

Isa. I would not for the world; no, Jacinta, when ever thou seest me in holy Orders, the World will be at an end.

Fran. Merchant! why, what Husband do you expect?

Isa. A Cavalier at least, if not a Nobleman.

Fran. A Nobleman, marry come up, your Father, Huswife, meaning my self, was a Leather-seller at first, till, growing rich, I set up for a Merchant, and left that mechanick Trade; and since turned Gentleman; and Heav’n blest my Endeavours so as I have an Estate for a Spanish Grandee; and, are you so proud, forsooth, that a Merchant won’t down with you, but you must be gaping after a Cap and Feather, a Silver Sword with a more dreadful Ribbon at the hilt?—Come, come, I fear me, Huswise, you are one that puff’s her up with Pride thus;—but lay thy hand upon thy Conscience now.— [To Jacinta.

Jac. Who, I, Sir? No, no, I am for marrying her out of hand to any reasonable Husband, except a Merchant; for Maids will long, and that’s Probatum est against the prevailing distemper of Longing. Hitherto I dare answer for her, but Batteries will be made, and I dare not be always responsible for frail Mortality.

Fran. Well, I have provided her one that I like, but if she be so squeamish, let her fast, with a Murrain to her.

Isa. Dear Father.

Fran. Dear me no Dears: wou’d your old Mother were alive, she wou’d have strapt your Just-au-corps, for puleing after Cavaliers and Nobleman, i’faith, that wou’d she; a Citizen’s Daughter, and would be a Madona—in good time.

_Isa. Why, Father, the Gentry and Nobility now-a-days frequently marry Citizens Daughters.

Fran. Come, come, Mistress, I got by the City, and I love and honour the City; I confess ‘tis the Fashion now-a-days, if a Citizen get but a little Money, one goes to building Houses, and brick Walls; another must buy an Office for his Son, a third hoists up his Daughter’s Topsail, and flaunts it away, much above her breeding; and these things make so many break, and cause the decay of Trading: but I am for the honest Dutch way of breeding their Children, according to their Fathers Calling.

Isa. That’s very hard, because you are a laborious, ill-bred Tradesman, I must be bound to be a mean Citizen’s Wife.

Fran. Why, what are you better than I, forsooth, that you must be a Lady, and have your Petticoats lac’d four Stories high; wear your false Towers, and cool your self with your Spanish Fan? Come, come, Baggage, wear me your best Clothes a Sunday, and brush ‘em up a Monday Mornings, and follow your Needle all the Week after; that was your good old Mother’s way, and your Grandmother’s before her; and as for the Husband, take no care about it, I have designed it Antonio, and Antonio you are like to wed, or beat the hoof, Gentlewoman, or turn poor Clare, and die a begging Nun, and there’s an end on’t—see where he comes—I’ll leave you to ponder upon the business. [Exit.]

Enter Antonio. Isabella weeps.

Ant. What, in Tears, Isabella? what is’t can force that tribute from your Eyes?

Isa. A Trifle, hardly worth the naming, your self.—

Ant. Do I? pray, for what Sin of mine must your fair Eyes be punish’d?

Isa. For the Sin of your odious Addresses to me, I have told you my mind often enough, methinks your Equals should be fitter for you, and sute more with your Plebeian Humour.

Ant. My Equals! ‘Tis true, you are fair; but if there be any Inequality in our births, the advantage is on my side.

Isa. Saucy Impertinent, you shew your City breeding; you understand what’s due to Ladys! you understand your Pen and Ink, how to count your dirty Money, trudge to and fro chaffering of base commodities, and cozening those you deal with, till you sweat and stink again like an o’er heated Cook, faugh, I smell him hither.

Ant. I must confess I am not perfum’d as you are, to stifle Stinks you commonly have by Nature; but I have wholesom, cleanly Linen on; and for my Habit wore I but a Sword, I see no difference between your Don and me, only, perhaps, he knows less how to use it.

Isa. Ah, name not a Don, the very sound from the Mouth of a little Cit is disagreeable—Bargain and Sale, Bills, Money, Traffick, Trade, are words become you better.

Jac. Well said, use him scurvily that Mrs. Clara may have him. [Aside.

Ant. The best of those you think I should not name, dare hardly tell me this.

Isa. Good Lord, you think your self a very fine Fellow now, and finical your self up to be thought so; but there’s as much difference between a Citizen and a true bred Cavalier—

Ant. As between you and a true bred Woman of Honour.

Isa. Oh, Sir, you rail, and you may long enough, before you rail me out of my Opinion, whilst there are Dons with Coaches and fine Lackeys, and I have Youth and Beauty, with a Fortune able to merit one, so farewel, Cit. [Ex.

Ant. Farewel, proud Fool.

Jac. Sir, be this Evening at the Door, Donna Clara has something to say to you.

Ant. Bless thee for this Tidings, dear Jacinta.

[Ex. Jacinta.

  —I find let Man be brave, or good, or wise,
  His Virtue gains no Smiles from Woman’s Eyes;
  ‘Tis the gay Fool alone that takes the Heart,
  Foppery and Finery still guide the Dart.

[Ex.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Chamber.

Enter Jacinta with a Light, and Julia.

Jac. Well, Madam, have you writ to Don Carlos?

Jul. No, nor is it possible I shou’d, this Devil haunts me so from room to room, like my evil Genius to prevent that Good; oh, for an opportunity of one kind Minute to return Acknowledgments for this kind Letter he has sent me.

Jac. I’m glad you find me a Sybil: Madam, I ever prophesy’d a happier end of that Amour than your ill Fortune has hitherto promised,—but what said the lovely Cavalier?

Jul. All that a Man inspir’d with Love cou’d say, all that was soft and charming.

Jac. Nay, I believe his Art.

Jul. Judge then what my Heart feels, which like a Fire but lightly cover’d o’er with the cold Ashes of Despair, with the least blast breaks out into a Flame; I burn, I burn, Jacinta, and only charming Carlos can allay my Pain—but how? Ay, there’s the question.

Jac. Some way I will contrive to speak with him, for he has lost his old wont if he traverse not the Street where you live: but see Donna Clara.—

Enter Clara.

Jul. Hah, my Sister, whom yet my jealous heart can scarce be reconciled to; so deeply was my fear of Rivalship fixt there, —so sad, my Sister, and so near the happy day with Carlos?

Cla. ‘Tis pity she that thinks it so shou’d want him; the Blessing’s thrown away on me, but we are both unhappy to be match’d to those we cannot love. Carlos, though young, gay, handsom, witty, rich, I hate as much as you the old Francisco; for since I cannot marry my Antonio, both Youth and Beauty are but lost on me, and Age decrepid would be equal torment.

Jul. Wou’d Carlos knew your heart, sure he’d decline; for he has too much Honor to compel a Maid to yield that loves him not.

Cla. ‘Tis true, he is above me every way, and the Honor my Father thinks to do our Family by this Match, makes him resolve upon’t; but I have given my Vows to young Antonio.

Jul. And young Antonio you are like to have, for any thing that Carlos cares; for know, to thy eternal joy, my Clara, he has but feigned to thee, as much as thy Antonio to Isabella.

Cla. But are you sure of this?

Jul. Most certain; this Night if you can let Antonio see you, he’ll tell you all the Cheat, and beg your Pardon.

Cla. Which he will soon obtain, and in return, what Service I can render him in your behalf he shall not want.

Jul. Antonio will engage you they are Friends.

Cla. You amaze me.

Jac. I have appointed him this night to wait, and, if possible, I would get him a Minute’s time with you.

Cla. Dear Jacinta, thou art the kindest Maid.—

Jac. Hang’t, why should we young Women pine and languish for what our own natural Invention may procure us; let us three lay our Heads together, and if Machiavel with all his Politicks can out-wit us, ‘tis pity but we all lead Apes in Hell, and die without the Jewish Blessing of Consolation.

Jul. No more, here comes the Dragon.

Enter Francisco.

Fran. So, together consulting and contriving.

Jac. What, are you jealous of the Petticoat?

Fran. Petticoat! Come, come, Mistress Pert, I have known as much danger hid under a Petticoat, as a pair of Breeches. I have heard of two Women that married each other—oh abominable, as if there were so prodigious a scarcity of Christian Mans Flesh.

Jac. No, the Market’s well enough stored, thanks be praised, might every Woman be afforded a reasonable Allowance.

Fran. Peace, I say, thou Imp of Lucifer; wou’d thou hadst thy Bellyful, that I might be fairly rid of thee—go get you up to your Chamber, and, d’ye hear, stir not from thence, on pain of our severe displeasure, for I am sent for in all haste, to Signior Don Sebastian’s, ‘tis but hard by, I shall soon return;—what, are you here?

Enter Isabella.

I have a high commendation of your fine Behaviour, Gentlewoman, to Antonio; his Father has sent for me, and I shall know all anon, this shall but hasten your Wedding, Huswise, I tell you that, and so farewel to you— [Ex. Isabella crying.

Cla. Say you so, then ‘tis time for me to look about me.

Jul. But will you go out so late, Love? indeed some hurt will come to thee.

Fran. No, look ye, I go arm’d. [Shews his Girdle round with Pistols. Go, get you to your Chambers.

[He goes out, they go in.

SCENE II. Changes to the Street.

Enter Carlos, Antonio.

Car. I wonder where this Man of mine should be, whom I sent this Evening with my Letter to Julia. What art thou?

Enter Guzman, runs against Carlos.

Guz. My Lord, ‘tis I, your trusty Trojan, Guzman.—what makes you here, Sir, so near the Door of your Mistress?

Car. To wait my Doom; what Tidings hast thou, Guzman?

Guz. Why, Sir, I went as you directed me, to Don Baltazer’s.

Car. And didst thou deliver it?

Guz. And the first thing I met with was old Francisco.

Car. So.

Guz. To whom I civilly addrest my self—told him, you presented your Service to him,—sent to know how his Lady and he did. Which word Lady I no sooner named, but I thought he would have saluted me with a Cudgel,—in fine, observing her behind him, whom he shelter’d all he could with his Cloke, I taking an occasion to whisper him, gave it her over his shoulder, whilst she return’d some Smiles and Looks of Joy,—but for an answer, ‘twas impossible to get the least sign of one.

Car. No matter, that joy was evident she wisht me one, and by the first opportunity my diligent waiting will be recompensed; but where hast thou been all this while?

Guz. Finding out the Chimney-sweeper you spoke of, Sir, and whom you ordered me to bring this Evening.

Car. And hast thou found him?

Guz. He’s here, at the corner of the Street, I’ll call him. [Ex. Guz.

Car. I have, Antonio, besides your particular Revenge, one of my own to act by this deceit, since all my Industry to see the charming Julia has hitherto been vain, I have resolv’d upon a new project, if this False Count pass upon ‘em, as I doubt not but he will, and that he gets admittance into the House, I’ll pass for one of his Domesticks.

Enter Guzman and Guiliom. Page holding his lanthorn to his face.

Guz. Here’s the Fellow, Sir.

Ant. Fellow! he may be the Devil’s Fellow by his countenance.

Car. Come nearer, Friend; dost think thou canst manage a Plot well?

Guil. As any Man in Cadiz, Sir, with good instructions.

Car. That thou shalt have, thou art apprehensive.

Guil. So, so, I have a pretty memory for mischief.

Ant. Hast thou Assurance and Courage?

Guil. To kill the honestest Man in Spain, if I be well paid.

Car. That thou shalt be.

Guil. I’ll do’t, say no more, I’ll do’t.

Car. But canst thou swear stoutly, and lye handsomely.

Guil. Prettily, by Nature, Sir, but with good instructions I shall improve; I thank Heaven I have Docity, or so.

Car. Thou want’st not Confidence.

Guil. No, nor Impudence neither; how should a man live in this wicked world without that Talent?

Ant. Then know our Design is only comical, though if you manage not Matters well, it may prove tragical to you; in fine, dost think thou canst personate a Lord?

Guil. A Lord! marry, that’s a hard question: but what sort of a Lord?

Car. Why, any Lord.

Guil. That I cannot do, but I can do some sort of a Lord, as some Lords are wiser than other-some; there is your witty Lord,—him I defie; your wise Lord, that is to say, your knavish Lord, him I renounce; then there’s your Politick Lord, him I wou’d have hang’d; then there’s your Foolish Lord, let him follow the Politician; then there’s your brisk, pert, noisy Lord, and such a small insignificant Fiend I care not if I am possest with; I shall deal well enough with a Devil of his capacity.

Car. Very well, then there needs no more but that you go along with my man to my house, my Authority shall secure you from all the injuries that shall accrue from a discovery, but I hope none will happen: Equipage, Clothes and Money we’ll furnish you with.—Go home with him, and dress, and practise the Don till we come, who will give you ample instructions what to do.

Guil. And if I do not fit you with a Don better than Don Del Phobos, or Don Quixote, let me be hang’d up for the Sign of the Black Boy on my own Poles at a Spanish Inn door.

Ant. We’ll be with you presently.

Guil. And if you find me not en Cavalier, say Clothes, Garniture, Points, and Feathers have lost their Power of making one.

[Ex. Guz. and Page, and Guil.

Enter, opening the door, Jacinta.

Car. Hah, the Door opens, and surely ‘tis a Woman that advances: dear Antonio, wait a little farther;—who’s there?

Jac. Hah, if it should be old Francisco now.

Car. Let it be who it will, I’ll tell my name, it cannot injure either;—I’m Carlos, who are you?

Jac. A thing that looks for him you name—Jacinta;—are you alone?

Car. Never since Julia did possess my heart; what news, my dearest Messenger of Love? what may I hope?—

Enter Julia.

Jul. All that the kindest Mistress can bestow, If Carlos loves, and still will keep his Vows.

Car. Julia, my Life, my Soul, what happy Stars Conspir’d to give me this dear lucky minute?

Jul. Those that conducted old Francisco out,
And will too soon return him back again;
I dare not stay to hear thy love or chiding,
Both which have power to charm, since both proceed
From a kind heart, that’s mine.

Car. Oh, take not this dear Body from my Arms, For if you do, my Soul will follow it.

Jul. What would’st thou have me do?

Car. Be wondrous kind, be lavish of thy Heart, Be generous in thy Love, and give me all.

Jul. Oh Heavens! what mean you? I shall die with fear.

Car. Fear! let coward Lovers fear, who love by halves, We that intirely love are bold in Passion, Like Soldiers fir’d with glory dread no Danger.

Jul. But should we be unthrifty in our Loves, And for one Moment’s joy give all away, And be hereafter damn’d to pine at distance?

Car. Mistaken Miser, Love like Money put
Into good hands increases every day,
Still as you trust me, still the Sum amounts:
Put me not off with promise of to morrow,
To morrow will take care for new delights,
Why shou’d that rob us of a present one?

Jul. Ah, Carlos! How fondly do I listen to thy words,
And fain would chide, and fain wou’d boast my Virtue,
But mightier Love laughs at those poor delays;
And I should doubtless give you all your Julia,
Did not my fear prevent my kinder business;
—And should Francisco come and find me absent,
Or take thee with me, we were lost, my Carlos.

Car. When then, my Julia, shall we meet again?

Jul. You Spaniards are a jealous Nation, But in this English Spaniard Old Francisco, That mad Passion’s doubled; wholly deprives him of his Sense, and turns his Nature Brute; wou’d he but trust me only with my Woman, I wou’d contrive some way to see my Carlos.

Car. ‘Tis certain, Julia, that thou must be mine.

Jul. Or I must die, my Carlos.

[Ant. listning advances.

Ant.—I’m sure ‘tis Carlos’s voice, and with a Woman; And though he be my Rival but in Jest, I have a natural curiosity to see who ‘tis he entertains.

Jul. Oh Heavens! Sir, here’s Francisco; step aside, Lest mischief shou’d befall you. [Runs in.

Car. Now Love and wild Desire prompt me to kill this happy Rival,— he’s old, and can’t be long in his Arrears to Nature.—What if I paid the debt? [Draws halfway. One single push wou’d do’t, and Julia’s mine;—but, hang’t, Adultery is a less sin than Murder, and I will wait my Fortune.—

Ant. Where are you,—Don Carlos?

Car. Who’s there, Antonio? I took thee for my Rival, and ten to one but I had done thy business.

Ant. I heard ye talking and believ’d you safe, and came in hopes to get a little time to speak to Clara in;—hah!—Jacinta—

Jac. Who’s there, Antonio? [Peeping out of the door.

Ant. The same; may I not speak with Clara?

Jac. Come in, she’s here.—

Car. And prithee, dear Jacinta, let me have one word with Julia more, she need not fear surprize; just at the door let me but kiss her hand. [Going in.

Jac. I’ll see if I can bring her.—

Enter Francisco.

Fran. A proud ungracious Flirt,—a Lord with a Pox! here’s a fine business, i’faith, that she should be her own Carver,—well I’ll home, and thunder her together with a vengeance.

Car. Who’s here? sure this is he indeed; I’ll step aside, lest my being seen give him an occasion of jealousy, and make him affront his Wife. [Goes aside as Fran. was going in.

Enter Julia.

Fran. Hum, what have we here, a Woman?

Jul. Heavens! what, not gone yet, my Dear?

Fran. So, so, ‘tis my confounded Wife, who expecting some body wou’d have me gone now.

Jul. Are you not satisfied with all I’ve said, With all the Vows I’ve made, Which here anew, in sight of Heaven, I breathe?

Fran. Yes, yes, you can promise fair, but hang him that trusts ye.

Jul. Go, go, and pray be satisfyed with my eternal Love.—

Fran. How fain she’d have me gone now; ah, subtle Serpent! is not this plain demonstration,—I shall murder her, I find the Devil great with me. [Aside still.

Jul.—What is’t thou pausest on?

Fran. The wicked Dissimulation of villainous Woman. [Aloud to her.

Jul. Francisco!

Fran. Oh thou Monster of Ingratitude, have I caught thee? You’d have me gone, wou’d ye? ay, to Heaven, I believe, like a wicked Woman as you are, so you were rid of me. Go,—and be satisfyed of my eternal love —ah, Gipsey,—no, Gentlewoman, I am a tuff bit, and will hold you tugging till your heart ake.

Jul. Why, was there such hurt in desiring you to go that you might make haste back again,—Oh, my fears!

Fran. That you might receive a Lover,—’tis plain—and my Indignation’s high.

Jul. Heav’n knows I meant—

Fran. Only to cuckold me a little,—get you in,—where I will swear thee by Bell, Book and Candle,—get you in, I say,—go, go,—I’ll watch for your Lover, and tell him how unkind he was to stay so long, I will.—

[Ex. Julia, he stands just in the door, Carlos advances.

Car. I hear no noise, sure ‘twas he,—and he’s gone in— To reap those Joys he knows not how to value, And I must languish for; I’ll stay a little—perhaps Jacinta may return again, for anything belonging to my Julia is dear, even to my Soul.

[Goes just to the door, Fran. bolts out on him.

Fran. Who’s there?—what wou’d you have?—who wou’d you speak to?—who do you come from?—and what’s your business?

Car. Hah, ‘tis the Sot himself;—my name is Carlos.

Fran. Carlos! what Father of Belzebub sent him hither?—a plain case;—I’ll murder her out of hand.

Car.—And I wou’d speak to any body, Friend, that belongs to the fair Clara,—if you are any of this house.

Fran. Only the Cuckold of the house, that’s all;—my name, Sir, is Francisco; but you, perhaps, are better acquainted with my Wife.

Car. Francisco, let me embrace you, my noble Brother, and chide you, that you wou’d not visit me. [Going to embrace him, he flies off.

Fran. And bring my Wife along with me.

Car. Both had been welcome—and all I have, you shou’d command.

Fran. For my Wife’s sake—what if I shou’d pistol him now;—and I am damnably provok’d to’t, had I but Courage to shoot off one. [Aside.

Car. Methinks you make not so kind returns as my Friendship to you, and the Alliance shall be between us, deserves.

Fran. I am something ill-bred, I confess, Sir;—’tis dark, and if I shou’d do’t no body wou’d know ‘twas I. [Aside.

Car. I fear there’s some Misunderstanding between us, pray let us go in a while, I’ll talk you from your error. [Offers to go, he gets between him and the door.

Fran. Between us, Sir! oh Lord, not in the least, Sir, I love and honour you so heartily—I’d be content to give you to the Devil, but the noise of the Pistol wou’d discover the business. [Aside.

Car. Come, let’s in, and talk a while.

Fran. I’m sorry I cannot do’t, Sir, we are something incommoded being not at our own house.

Car. Brother, I am afraid you are a little inclined to be jealous, that will destroy all Friendship.—

Fran. So, how finely the Devil begins to insinuate!

Car. That makes a Hell of the Heav’n of Love, and those very Pains you fear, are less tormenting than that Fear; what say you, Brother, is’t not so with you?

Fran. I find you wou’d have me turn a Husband of the Mode, a fine convenient Tool, one of the modern Humour, a civil Person, that understands Reason, or so; and I doubt not but you wou’d be as modish a Gallant.

Car. Ha, ha, ha.

Fran. What, do you laugh, Sir?

Car. Who can chuse, to hear your Suspicions, your needless Fears. Come, come, trust your Wife’s Discretion, and Modesty—and I doubt not but you will find your self—

Fran. In the Road to Heaven, whither they say all Cuckolds go—I thank you for your advice; I perceive you wou’d willingly help me onwards of my Journey.

Car. I’m glad I know you, Sir,—farewel to you— [Goes out.

Fran. No matter for that, so you know not my Wife—and so farewel to you, Sir, and, the Devil take all Cuckoldmakers.

[Exit.