University of Virginia Library

ACT. I.

SCEN. I.

The Scene, an Ante-Chamber to Sir Frederick Frollick's Bed-Chamber.
Enter Dufoy, with a Plaister on his head, walking discontentedly; and Clarke immediately after him.
Clark.
Good-morrow, Monsieur.

Dufoy.
Good-mor',—good-mor'.

Clark.
Is Sir Fred'rick stirring?

Duf.
Pox sturré himé.

Clark.
My Lord has sent me—

Duf.

Begar me vil havé de revengé; me vil no stay two
day in Englandé.

Clark.
Good Monsieur, what's the matter?

Dufoy.
De matré! de matré is easie to be perceive;
Dis Bedlamé, Mad-cape, diable de matré, vas
Drunké de last night, and vor no reason, but dat
Me did advisé him go to bed, begar he did
Striké, breaké my headé, Jernie.

Clark.
Have patience, he did it unadvisedly.

Dufoy.
Unadvisé! didé not me advise him
Justé when he did ité?

Clark.
Yes; but he was in drink you say.

Dufoy.
In drinké! me vishé he had ben over de head
And de ear in drinké; Begar in France de
Drink dat van man drinké do's not crack de
Noder man's brainé Hark!—
[Sir Fred. knocks.
He is avake, and none of de peeple are
To attende himé: Ian Villian day are all gon, run
[Knocks again.
To de Diablé; have de patience, I beseech you.

[Pointing towards his Masters Chamber.
Clark.
Acquaint Sir Frederick I am here from my Lord.

Dufoy.
I vil, I vil; your ver umble Serviteur.

[Exeunt.

SCEN. II.

Scene, Sir Frederick's Bed-Chamber.
Enter Sir Frederick in his night-gown, and after him Dufoy.
Duf.
Good-mor, good-mor to your Vorshippé; me am alvay
Ready to attendé your Vorshippé, and your Vorshippe's
Alvay ready to beaté and to abusé mé; you vare drunké
De lasté nighté, and my head aké to day morningé;
[Shewing his head.
Seé you heré if my brayné have no ver good raison
To counsel you, and to mindé your bus'nessé.

Sir Fred.
Thou hast a notable brain;
Set me down a Crown for a
Plaister; but forbear your rebukes.

Dufoy.
'Tis ver couragious ting to breaké de head of your
Serviteur, is it noté? Begar you vil never keepé
De good Serviteur, had no me love you ver vel.—

Sir Fred.
I know thou lov'st me.

Dufoy.
And darefore you do beaté me, is dat de raison?

Sir Fred.
Prethee forbear; I am sorry for't.

Dufoy.
Ver good satisfaction! Begar it is me dat am
Sorrié for't.

Sir Fred.
Well, well.

Dufoy.
De Serviteur of my Lord your Cousin
Be con é speak vid you.

Sir Fred.
Bring him in.
[Exit Dufoy.
I am of opinion that drunkenness is not so
Damnable a sin to me as 'tis to many; Sorrow
And Repentance are sure to be my first Work
The next morning: 'Slid, I have known some
So lucky at this recreation, that, whereas 'tis
Familiar to forget what we do in drink, have
Even lost the memory, after sleep, of being
Drunk: Now do I feel more qualms then
A young woman in breeding.
Enter Dufoy and Clark.
[Dufoy goes out again.
Clark! What news from the God of Love? he's
Always at your Master's elbow, h'as jostl'd the
Devil out of service; no more!
Mrs. Grace! Poor Girl, Mrs. Graciana has flung a
Squib into his bosome, where the wild-fire will
Huzzéé for a time, and then crack; it
Fly's out at's Breeches.

Clark.
Sir, he sent me before with his service; he'l
Wait on you himself when he's dress'd.

Sir Fred.
In very good time; there never was a girl
More humoursome, nor tedious in the dressing of
Her Baby.

[Ex. Clark.
Enter Dufoy, and Foot-boy.
Dufoy.
Hayé! heré is de ver vine varké
Begar, de ver vine varké!—

Sir Fred.
What's the bus'ness?

Dufoy.
De business! de divil také mé if daré be not
De whole Regiment Army de Hackené Cocheman,
De Linke-boy, de Fydler, and de Shamber-maydé,
Dat havé beseegé de howsé; dis is de consequance
Of de drink vid a poxé.

Sir Fred.
Well, the Coach-men and Link-boys must be
Satisfi'd, I suppose there's money due to 'em; the
Fidlers, for broken heads and Instruments,
Must be compounded with; I leave that to your care;
But for the Chamber-maid, I'le deal with her
My self; go, go, fetch her up.

Dufoy.
De Pimpé, begar I vil be de pimpé to no man
In de Christendomé; do you go vech her up;
De Pimpé—
[Exit Dufoy.

Sir Fred.
Go Sirrah, direct her. [To the Foot-b.]

Ex. Foot-b.
Now have I most unmanfully fallen foul upon some
Woman, I'le warrant you, and wounded her
Reputation shrowardly: Oh drink, drink! thou
Art a vile enemy to the civillest sort of curteous
Ladies.—
[Enter Jenny, Wheadle's Wenches maid.
Oh Jenny, next my heart nothing could
Be more welcome.

Maid.
Unhand me;
Are you a man fit to be trusted with a womans
Reputation?

Sir Fred.
Not when I am in a reeling condition; men are
Now and then subject to those infirmities
In drink, which women have when th'are sober.
Drunkenness is no good Secretary, Jenny; you
Must not look so angry, good faith you must not.

Maid.
Angry! we always took you for a civil Gentleman.

Sir Fred.
So I am i'troth I think.—

Maid.
A civil Gentleman will
Come to a Ladies Lodging at two a clock in
The morning, and knock as if it were upon
Life and death; a Midwife was never knock'd up
With more fury.

Sir Fred.
Well, well, Girl, all's well I hope, all's well.

Maid.
You have made such an Uproar amongst
The Neighbours, we must be forc'd to change
Our Lodging.

Sir Fred.
And thou art come to tell me whither;—
Kind heart!—

Maid.
I'le see you a little better manner'd first.
Because we would not let you in at that
Unseasonable hour, you and your rude
Ranting Companions hoop'd and hollow'd like
Mad-men, and roar'd out in the streets,
A whore, a whore, a whore; you need not have
Knock'd good people out of their Beds, you
Might have met with them had been good
Enough for your purpose abroad.

Sir Fred.
'Twas ill done Jenny, indeed it was.

Ma.
'Twas a mercy Mr Wheadle was not there, my Mistresses
Friend; had he been there sh'ad been quite undone.
There's nothing got by your leud doings; you are
But scandals to a civil Woman: We had so much
The good will of the Neighbours before, we had
Credit for what we wo'd; and but this morning the
Chandler refus'd to score a quart of Scurvy-grass.

Sir Fred.
Hang Reputation amongst a company of Rascals;
Trust me not if thou art not grown most wondrous pretty.

[Offers to hug her.
Maid.
Stand off, or I protest I'le make the people
In your Lodging know what a manner of
Man you are.

Sir Fred.
You and I have been intimate acquaintance;—
Why so coy now, Jenny?

Maid.
Pray forbear:—
You'l never leave till I shriek out;—Your
[Noise within.
Servants listen, heark—there's some body coming.
My Mistress charg'd me to tell you she will
[Enter Beaufort.
Never see your eyes again; she never deserv'd
This at your hands,—poor Gentlewoman:—You had a
Fling at me too, you did not whisper it, I thank
You: 'Tis a miserable condition we
Women bring our selves too for your sakes.

[Weeps.
Beauf.
How now Cousin! what, at wars with the Women?

Sir Fred.
I gave a small alarm to their Quarters
Last night, my Lord.

Beauf.
Jenny in tears! what's the occasion, poor Girl?

Maid.
I'le tell you, my Lord.

Sir Fred.
Buzze; Set not her tongue a going agen;
[Clapping his hand before her mouth.
Sh'as made more noise then half a dozen
Paper-mills: London-bridge at a low water is
Silence to her; in a word, rambling last
Night, we knock'd at her Mistresses Lodging,
They deny'd us entrance, whereupon a harsh
Word or two flew out, Whore—I think, or
Something to that purpose.

Maid.
These were not all your Heroick actions;
[Ent. Dufoy.
Pray tell the Consequence, how you march'd
Bravely at the rere of an Army of
Link-boys; upon the sudden, how you gave
Defiance, and then wag'd a bloody war with the
Constable; and having vanquish'd that
Dreadful enemy, how you committed a general
Massacre on the glass-windows: Are not these
Most honourable atchievements, such as will be
Registred to your eternal Fame, by the most
Learn'd Historians or Hicks's Hall.

Sir Fred.
Good sweet Jenny let's come to a Treaty;
Do but hear what Articles I'le propose.

Maid.
A Womans heart's too tender to be an enemy
To Peace.

[They whisper.
Dufoy.
Your most humble Serviteur, my Lord.

Beauf.
Monsieur, I perceive you are much to blame;
You are an excellent Governour indeed.

Dufoy.
Begar do you tinké dat I amé de Bedlamé?
No tingè but de Bedlamé can governé himé.

Sir Fred.
Jenny, here's my hand; I'le come and make
Amends for all—prety Rogue.—

Dufoy.
Ver pret Rogué,
Vid a poxé.

Maid.
What rude French Rascal have you here?

Dufoy.
Rascalé! Begar ver it nod vor
De reverence of my Matré I vod cut off your occupation
French Rascalé! Whore English—

Sir Fred.
Dufoy, be gone, and leave us.

Dufoy.
I vil, I vil leave you to your recreation; I
Vishé you ver good pastimé, and de poxé
Begar.
[Exit Dufoy.

Maid.
I never heard a ruder Fellow.—Sir Frederick, you
Will not fail the time.

Sir Fred.
No, no, Jenny.

Maid.
Your Servant, my Lord.

Beauf.
Farewel Jenny.

[Ex. Jenny.
Sir Fred.
Now did all this fury end in a mild
Invitation to the Ladies Lodging.

Beauf.
I have known this wenches Mistress
Ever since I came from Travel, but never
Was acquainted with that Fellow that
Keeps her; prethee what is he?

Sir Fred.
Why his name is Wheadle; he's one whose trade is Trechery,
To make a Friend, and then deceive him;
He's of a ready Wit, pleasant Conversation,
Throughly skill'd in men; in a word, he
Knows so much of Virtue as makes him
Well accomplish'd for all manner of Vice:
He has lately insinuated himself into
Sir Nich'las Culley, one whom Oliver, for the
Transcendent knavery and disloyalty of
His Father, has dishonour'd with Knight-hood;
A fellow as poor in experience as in parts,
And one that has a vain-glorious humour to gain a
Reputation amongst the Gentry, by feigning good nature, and
An affection to the King and his Party.
I made a little debauch th'other day in their Company,
Where I fore-saw this fellow's destiny, his purse must pay
For keeping this Wench, and all other Wheadle's extravagances.
But pray, my Lord,
How thrive you in your more honourable
Adventures? Is harvest near? When is the
Sickle to be put i'th'Corn?

Beauf.
I have been hitherto so prosperous,
My happiness has still out flown my faith:
Nothing remains but Ceremonial Charms,
Graciana's fix'd i'th'circle of my Arms.

Sir Fred.
Then y'are a happy man for a season.

Beauf.
Forever.

Sir Fred.
I mistrust your Mistresses Divinity; you'l
Find her Attributes but Mortal:
Women, like Juglers Tricks,
Appear Miracles to the ignorant; but in themSelves
th'are meer cheats.

Beauf.
Well, well, Cousin; I have engag'd that you this day
Shall be my Guest at my Lord Bevill's Table;
Pray make me Master of my promise once.

Sir Fred.
Faith I have engag'd to dine with my dear
Lucy; poor Girl, I have lately given her
Occasion to suspect my kindness; yet for your
Sake I'le venture to break my Word,
Upon condition you'l excuse
My errors; you know my
Conversation has not been amongst ceremonious
Ladies.

Beauf.
All modest freedom you will find allow'd;
Formality is banish'd thence.

Sir Fred.
This Virtue is enough to make me bear
With all the inconveniences of honest Company.

Beauf.
The freeness of your humour is your friend.
I have such news to tell thee that I fear
Thou'lt find thy breast too narrow for thy joy.

Sir Fred.
Gently, my Lord, lest I find the thing too
Little for my expectation.

Beauf.
Know that thy careless carriage has done more
Then all the skill and diligence of Love
Could e're effect.

Sir Fred.
What? the Widow has some kind thoughts of my body.

Beauf.
She loves you, and dines on purpose at her Brother's house
This day, in hopes of seeing you.

Sir Fred.
Some Women like Fishes despise the
Bait, or else suspect it, whil'st still it's
Bobbing at their mouths; but subtilly wav'd
By the Angler's hand, greedily hang themselves upon the hook.
There are many so critically wise, they'l suffer
None to deceive them but themselves.

Beauf.
Cousin, 'tis time you were preparing for your Mistress.

Sir Fred.
Well, since 'tis my fortune, I'le about it.
Widow, thy ruine lie on thy own head:
Faith, my Lord, you can witness 'twas none
Of my seeking.

[Exeunt.

SCEN. III.

Scene, Wheadle's Lodging.
Enter Wheadle and Palmer.
Whe.
Come, bear thy losses patiently.

Palm.
A pox confound all Ordinaries,
If ever I play in an Ordinary agen—

[Bites his thumb.
Whead.
Thou'lt lose thy money:
Thou hast no power to forbear;
I will as soon undertake to reclaim
A Horse from a hitch he has learn'd in his pace,
Or an old Mastive from worrying of Sheep.

Palm.
Ay, ay, there is nothing can do it but hemp.

Whead.
Want of money may do much.

Palm.
I protest I had rather still be vicious
Then owe my Virtue to Necessity.
How commendable is chastity in an Eunuch?
I am grown more then half virtuous of late:
I have laid the dangerous Pad now quite aside;
I walk within the Purlieus of the Law.
Could I but leave this Ordinary, this Square,
I were the most accomplish'd man in Town.

Whead.
'Tis pity thou art Master of thy Art;
Such a nimble hand, such neat conveyance.

Palm.
Nay, I should have made an excellent Jugler, 'faith.

Whead.
Come, be chearful,
I've lodg'd a Deer shall make amends for all;
I lack'd a man to help me set my Toyls,
And thou art come most happily.

Palm.
My dear Wheadle, who is it?

Whead.
My new Friend
And Patron Sir Nicholas Cully.

Palm.
He's fat, and will say well, I promise you.
Well, I'le do his business most dextrously,
Else let me ever lose the honour
Of serving a Friend in the like nature.

Whead.
No more words, but haste, prepare for the design;
Habit your self like a good thrifty Country-man;
Get Tools, Dice, and Money for the purpose,
And meet me at the Devil about three exactly.

Enter Boy.
Boy.
Sir, Sr Nicholas Cully is without.

Whead.
Desire him to walk in.
Here Palmer, the back-way, quickly, and be sure—

Palm.
Enough, enough, I'le warrant thee.
[Ex. Palm.

Enter Sir Nicholas Cully.
Whead.
Sir Nicholas, this Visit is too great a favour;
I intended one to you; how do you
Find your self this morning?

Cul.
Faith much the dryer for the last nights wetting.

Whead.
Like thirsty earth, which gapes the more
For a small showre; we'l soak you
Throughly to day.

Cul.
Excuse me, faith I am engag'd.

Whead.
I am sorry for't;
I meant you a share in my good fortune;
But since it cannot be—

Cul.
What? what good fortune?

Whead.
Nay, 'twill but vex you to know it,
Since you have not leasure to pursue it.

Cul.
Dear Wheadle, prethee tell me.

Whead.
Now do I want power to keep it from you.
Just as you came in at that door, went
Out at this a Waiting-Gentlewoman,
Sent with a civil Message from her Lady,
To desire the happiness of my Company
This afternoon, where I should have the
Opportunity of seeing another lovely brisk
Woman, newly married to a foolish
Citizen, who will be apt enough to hear
Reason from one that can speak it better then
Her Husband: I return'd my humble
Thanks for the honour she did me, and that
I could not do my self so great an injury
To disobey her will; this is
Th'adventure; But since y'ave bus'ness—

Cul.
A pox on bus'ness, I'le defer't.

Whead.
By no means for a silly Woman; our Pleasures
Must be slaves to our Affairs.

Cul.
Were it to take possession of an
Estate, I'd neglect it.
Are the Ladies Cavaliers?

Whea.
Oh, most Loyal-hearted Ladies!

Cul.
How merry will we be then!

Whead.
I say, mind your bus'ness.

Cul.
I'le go and put it off immediately.
Where shall I meet you in the afternoon?

Whead.
You'l find me at the Devil about three
A clock, where I expect a second summons as
She passes toward the City.

Cul.
Thither will I come without fail; be sure
You wait for me.
[Exit Cully.

Whead.
Wait for thee, as a Cat does for a Mouse
She intends to play with, and then prey upon.
How eagerly did this half-witted fellow chap
Up the bait? like a ravenous Fish, that will
Not give the Angler leave to sink his Line,
But greedily darts up and meets it half way.

Ex. laughing.

SCEN. IV.

Scene, The Lord Bevill's House.
Enter Graciana, and Aurelia immediately after her, with a Letter in her hand.
Grac.
The Sun's grown lazie; 'tis a tedious space
Since he set forth, and yet's not half his race.
I wonder Beaufort does not yet appear;
Love never loyters, Love sure brings him here.

Aur.
Brought on the wings of Love, here I present
[Presenting the Letter.
His Soul, whose Body Prisons yet prevent;
The noble Bruce, whose Virtues are his Crimes:
[Grac. rejects the Letter.
Are you as false and cruel as the times!
Will you not read the story of his grief?
But wilfully refuse to give relief?

Grac.
Sister, from you this language makes me start:
Can you suspect such vices in my heart?
His Virtues I, as well as you, admire;
I never scorn'd, but pity much his fire.

Aur.
If you did pity, you would not reject
[Grac. rejects the Letter again.
This Messenger of Love: This is neglect.

Grac.
'Tis cruelty to gaze on Wounds I'm sure,
When we want Balsome to effect their Cure.

Aurel.
'Tis only want of will in you, you have
Beauty to kill, and Virtue too to save.

Grac.
We of our selves can neither love nor hate;
Heav'n does reserve the pow'r to guid our Fate.

Aurel.
Gracianæ,—

[Enter Lord Bevill, Lovis, and the Widow.
Grac.
Sister, forbear; my Father's here.

L. Bev.
So Girl; what, no news of your Lover yet?
Our Dinner's ready, and I am afraid
He will go nigh to incur the Cooks anger.

Wid.
I believe h'as undertook a hard task;
Sir Frederick, they say, is no easie man
To be perswaded to come among us women.

Lovis.
Sir.

[Lovis and L. Bevill whisper.
L. Bev.
What now?

Wid.
I am as impatient as thou art, Girl;
[To Graciana.
I long to see Sir Frederick here.

L. Bev.
Forbear, I charge you on my blessing;
Not one word more of Colonel Bruce.

Lovis.
You gave encouragement Sir to his Love;
The honour of our House now lies at stake.

L. Bev.
You find by your Sisters Inclinations
Heaven has decreed her otherwise.

Lovis.
But Sir,—

L. Bev.
Forbear to speak, or else forbear the Room.

Lovis.
This I can obey, but not the other.
Exit Lovis.

Enter Foot-boy.
Foot-b.
Sir, my Lord Beaufort's come.

L. Bev.
'Tis well.

Wid.
D'hear, are there not two Gentlemen?

Foot-b.
Yes Madam, there is another proper handsom
Gentleman.
[Exit Foot-boy.

L. Bev.
Come, let us walk in, and give them entertainment.

Wid.
Now Cousin for Sr Frederick, this man of men,
There's nothing like him.

[Exeunt all but Aurelia.
Aur.
With curious diligence I still have strove
[Holding the Letter in her hand.
During your absence, Bruce, to breath your Love
Into my Sisters bosom; But the fire
Wants force; Fate does against my breath conspire:
I have obey'd, though I cannot fulfil,
Against my self, the dictates of your Will:
My Love to yours do's yield; Since you enjoyn'd,
I hourly court my Rival to be kind;
With passion too, as great as you can do,
Taught by those wounds I have receiv'd from you.
Small is the difference that's between our grief;
Yours finds no cure, and mine seeks no relief:
You unsuccessfully your Love reveal;
And I for ever must my Love conceal:
Within my bosom I'le your Letter wear,
[Putting the Letter in her bosom.
It is a Tombe that's proper for despair.

Exit.