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Full text   Wycherley, William, 1640-1716: The gentleman dancing-master (1673)

Wycherley, William, 1640-1716: The gentleman dancing-master (1673)

Bibliographic details

THE GENTLEMAN Dancing-Master.
A COMEDY,
Acted at the DUKE'S THEATRE.

Front matter

SCENE London.

Main text

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Don Diego's House in the Evening.

Enter Hippolita and Prue her Maid.

To confine a Woman just in her rambling / Age! take away her liberty at the very / time she shou'd use it! O barbarous Aunt! / O unnatural Father! to shut up a poor Girl / at fourteen, and hinder her budding; all / things are ripen'd by the Sun; to shut up a poor Girl at fourteen!--- /

'Tis true, Miss, two poor young Creatures as we are! /

Not suffer'd to see a play in a twelve-month!--- /

Nor to go to Ponchinello nor Paradise!--- /

Nor to take a Ramble to the Park nor Mulberry-gar'n!--- /

Nor to Tatnam-Court nor Islington!--- /

Nor to eat a Sillybub in new Spring-gar'n with a / Cousin!--- /

Nor to drink a pint of Wine with a Friend at the Prince / in the Sun!--- /

Nor to hear a Fiddle in good Company. /

Nor to hear the Organs and Tongs at the Gun in / Moorfields!--- /

Nay, not suffer'd to go to Church, because the men / are sometimes there! little did I think I should ever have long'd / to go to Church! /

Or I either, but between two Maids!--- /

Not see a man!--- /

Nor come near a man!--- /

[25] Nor hear of a man--- /

No, Miss, but to be deny'd a man! and to have no use / at all of a man!--- /

Hold, hold---your resentment is as much greater than / mine, as your experience has been greater; but all this while, / what do we make of my Cousin, my Husband elect (as my Aunt / says) we have had his Company these three days. Is he no / man? /

No faith, he's but a Monsieur, but you'll resolve your / self that question within these three days: for by that time, / he'll be your Husband, if your Father come to night?--- /

Or if I provide not my self with another in the mean / time! For Fathers seldom chuse well, and I will no more take / my Fathers choice in a Husband, than I would in a Gown or / a Suit of Knots: so that if that Cousin of mine were not an ill / contriv'd ugly-Frekeish-fool in being my Fathers choice, I / shou'd hate him; besides, he has almost made me out of love / with mirth and good humour, for he debases it as much as a / Jack-pudding; and Civility and good Breeding more than a / City Dancing-Master.--- /

What, won't you marry him then, Madam? /

Wou'dst thou have me marry a Fool! an Idiot? /

Lord! 'tis a sign you have been kept up indeed! and / know little of the World to refuse a man for a Husband only, / because he's a Fool. Methinks he's a pretty apish kind of a / [50] Gentleman, like other Gentlemen, and handsom enough to lye / with in the dark; when Husbands take their priviledges, and /

[Page 3]
for the day-times you may take the priviledge of a Wife. /

Excellent Governess, you do understand the World, I / see. /

Then you shou'd be guided by me. /

Art thou in earnest then, damn'd Jade? wou'dst thou / have me marry him? well---there are more poor young Women / undone and married to filthy Fellows, by the treachery / and evil counsel of Chamber-maids, than by the obstinacy and / covetousness of Parents. /

Does not your Father come on purpose out of Spain to / marry you to him? Can you release your self from your Aunt / or Father any other way? Have you a mind to be shut up as / long as you live? For my part (though you can hold out upon / the Lime from the Walls here, Salt, old Shoes, and Oat-meal) I / cannot live so, I must confess my patience is worn out--- /

Alas! alas! poor Prue! your stomach lies another way, / I will take pity of you, and get me a Husband very suddenly, / who may have a Servant at your service; but rather than marry / my Cousin, I will be a Nun in the new Protestant Nunnery / they talk of, where (they say) there will be no hopes of coming / near a man. /

But you can marry no body but your Cousin, Miss, your / Father you expect to night, and be certain his Spanish policy / [75] and wariness, which has kept you up so close ever since you / came from Hackney-School, will make sure of you within a day / or two at farthest--- /

Then 'tis time to think how to prevent him---stay--- /

In vain, vain Miss! /

If we knew but any man, any man, though he were / but a little handsomer than the Devil, so that he were a Gentleman. /

What if you did know any man, if you had an opportunity; / cou'd you have confidence to speak to a man first? But / if you cou'd, how cou'd you come to him, or he to you? nay / how cou'd you send to him? for though you cou'd write, / which your Father in his Spanish prudence wou'd never permit / you to learn, who shou'd carry the Letter? but we need not be / concern'd for that, since we know not to whom to send it. /

Stay!---it must be so---I'le try however--- /

Enter Monsieur de Paris.

Servitèur, Servitèur, la Coufinè, I come to give the / bon Soir, as the French say. /

O Cousin, you know him, the fine Gentleman they / talk of so much in Town. /

What! will you talk to him of any man else? /

I know all the beaux monde Cousinè. /

Mister--- /

Monsieur Taileur! Monsieur Esmit, Monsieur--- /

These are French-men--- /

Non, non, vou'd you have me say Mr. Taylor, Mr. / [100] Smith, fie, fie, teste nòn--- /

But don't you know the brave Gentleman they talk of / so much in Town? /

Who, Monsieur Gerrard? /

What kind of man is that Mr. Gerrard? and then I'le / tell you. /

Why---he is truly a pretty man, a pretty man---a / pretty so so---kind of man, for an English-man. /

How! a pretty man? /

Why, he is conveniently tall---but--- /

But, what? /

And not ill-shap'd---but--- /

But what? /

And handsom, as 'tis thought---but--- /

But, what are your Exceptions to him? /

I can't tell you, because they are innumerable, innumerable / mon foy. /

Has he Wit? /

Ay, ay, they say he's witty, brave and dè bèl humeùr / and well-bred with all that---but--- /

But what? he wants Judgment? /

Non, non, they say he has good sense and judgment, / but it is according to the account Englis'---for--- /

For what? /

For Jarniè---if I think it--- /

[125] Why? /

Why---why his Taylor lives within Ludgate---his / Valet dè Chambrè is no French-man---and he has been seen at / noon-day to go into an English Eating-house--- /

Say you so, Cousin? /

Then for being well-bred you shall judge---first he / can't dance a step, nor sing a French Song, nor swear a French / Oatè, nor use the polite French word in his Conversation; and / in fine, can't play at Hombrè---but speaks base good Englis' / with the commune homebred pronunciation, and in fine, to say / no more, he ne're carries a Snuff-box about with him. /

Indeed--- /

And yet this man has been abroad as much as any / man, and does not make the least shew of it, but a little in his / Meen, not at all in his discour Jerniè; he never talks so much / as of St. Peters Church, and Rome, the Escurial, or Madrid, nay / not so much as of Henry IV. of Pont-Neuf, Paris, and the new / Louvre, nor of the Grand Roy. /

'Tis for his commendation, if he does not talk of his / Travels. /

Auh, auh---Cousinè---he is conscious himself of his / wants, because he is very envious, for he cannot endure me--- /

He shall be my man then for that. /
                                        [aside.
Ay, ay, 'tis the same, Prue. No I know he can't endure you, / Cousin--- /

[150] How do you know it---who never stir out. Testè / non--- /

Well---dear Cousin---if you will promise me never to / tell my Aunt, I'le tell you--- /

I won't, I won't, Jarniè--- /

Nor to be concern'd your self so as to make a quarrel / of it. /

Non, non--- /

Upon the word of a Gentleman. /

Foy de Chevalier, I will not quarrel. /

Lord, Miss! I wonder you won't believe him without / more ado? /

Then he has the hatred of a Rival for you. /

Mal à peste. /

You know my Chamber is backward, and has a door / into the Gallery, which looks into the back-yard of a Tavern, / whence Mr. Gerrard once spying me at the Window, has often / since attempted to come in at that Window by the help of the / Leads of a low Building adjoyning, and indeed 'twas as much / as my Maid and I cou'd do to keep him out--- /

Aù lè Coquin!--- /

But nothing is stronger than aversion; for I hate him / perfectly, even as much as I love you--- /

I believe so faith---but what design have we now on / foot? /

[175] This discovery is an Argument sure of my love to / you--- /

Ay, ay; say no more, Cousin, I doubt not your amourè / for me, because I doubt not your judgment. But what's / to be done with this Fanfaron---I know where he eats to / night---I'le go find him out ventrè bleù--- /

Oh my dear Cousin, you will not make a quarrel of / it? I thought what your promise wou'd come to! /

Wou'd you have a man of Honour--- /

Keep his promise? /

And lose his Mistress, that were not for my honour, / ma foy--- /

Cousin, though you do me the injury to think I cou'd / be false---do not do your self the injury to think any one cou'd / be false to you---will you be afraid of losing your Mistress; to / shew such a fear to your Rival, were for his honour, and not / for yours sure. /

Nay, Cousin, I'de have you know I was never afraid / of losing my Mistress in earnest---Let me see the man can / get my Mistress from me, Jarniè---but he that loves must / seem a little jealous. /

Not to his Rival, those that have Jealousie, hide it / from their Rivals. /

But there are some who say Jealousie is no more to be / hid than a Cough; but it shou'd never be discovered in me, if / [200] I had it, because it is not French, it is not French at all--- / ventrè---bleu--- /

No, you shou'd railly your Rival, and rather make / a Jest of your Quarrel to him, and that I suppose is French / too--- /

'Tis so, 'tis so, Cousin, 'tis the veritable French Methods / for your Englis, for want of Wit, drive every thing to a serious / grum quarrel, and then wou'd make a Jest on't, when 'tis too / late, when they can't laugh, Jarniè!--- /

Yes, yes, I wou'd have you railly him soundly, do not / spare him a jot---but shall you see him to night? /

Ay, ay--- /

Yes! pray be sure to see him for the Jest's sake--- /

I will---for I love a Jestè as well as any bel Esprit of / 'em all---da /

Ay, and railly him soundly; be sure you railly him / soundly, and tell him, just thus---that the Lady he has so long / courted, from the great Window of the Ship-Tavern, is to be / your Wife to morrow, unless he come at his wonted hour of / six in the morning to her Window to forbid the Banes; for 'tis / the first and last time of asking: and if he come not, let him / for ever hereafter stay away and hold his tongue. /

Hah, ha, ha, a vèr good Jestè, testè bleu. /

And if the Fool shou'd come again, I wou'd tell him / his own, I warrant you, Cousin; my Gentleman shou'd be satisfied / [225] for good and all, I'de secure him. /

Bòn, Bòn. /

Well, well! young Mistress, you were not at Hackney-School / for nothing I see; nor taken away for nothing: a Woman / may soon be too old, but is never too young to shift for / her self? /

Hah, ah, ah, Cousin, dòu art a merry Grigg---ma / foy---I long to be with Gerrard, and I am the best at improving / a Jestè---I shall have such divertisement to night testè / bleù. /

He'll deny, 'may be at first, that he never courted any / such Lady. /

Nay, I am sure he'll be asham'd of it: I shall make him / look so sillily, testè non---I long to find him out, adieu, adieu, / la Cousinè. /

Shall you be sure to find him? /

Indubitablemènt I'le search the Town over but I'le / find him, hah, ha, ha--- /
                                        Exit Mons. and returns.
But I'm afrait, Cousinè, if I should tell him you are to be my / Wife to morrow, he wou'd not come, now I am for having / him come for the Jest's sake---ventrè--- /

So am I, Cousin, for having him come too for the Jest's / sake. /

Well, well! leave it to me! ha, ha, ha. /

Enter Mrs. Caution.

What's all this gigling here? /

[250] Hay, do you tinkè we'll tell you; no faìt, I warrant / you testè nòn, ha, ha, ha--- /

My Cousin is over-joy'd, I suppose, that my Father is / to come to night. /

I am afraid he will not come to night---but you'll / stay and see, Nephew. /

Non, non: I am to sup at tother end of the Town to / night---la, la, la, la---ra, ra, ra--- /

I wish the French Levity of this Young-man may / agree with your Fathers Spanish Gravity. /

Just as your crabbed old age and my youth agree. /

Well, Malapert! I know you hate me, because I / have been the Guardian of your Reputation. But your Husband / may thank me one day. /

If he be not a Fool, he would rather be oblig'd to me / for my vertue than to you, since, at long run he must whether / he will or no. /

So, so!--- /

Nay, now I think on't; I'de have you to know the / poor man, whoso'ere he is, will have little cause to thank / you. /

No--- /

No; for I never lived so wicked a life, as I have done / this twelve-month, since I have not seen a man. /

How! how! If you have not seen a man, how /

[Page 9]
[275] cou'd you be wicked? how cou'd you do any ill? /

No, I have done no ill, but I have paid it with thinking. /

O that's no hurt; to think is no hurt; the ancient, / grave, and godly cannot help thoughts. /

I warrant, you have had 'em your self; Aunt. /

Yes, yes! when I cannot sleep. /

Ha, ha---I believe it, but know I have had those / thoughts sleeping and waking: for I have dream't of a man. /

No matter, no matter, so that it was but a dream, / I have dream't my self; for you must know Widows are / mightily given to dream, insomuch that a dream is waggishly / call'd the Widows Comfort. /

But I did not only dream Ih--- /

How, how! did you more than dream! speak, / young Harlotry; confess, did you do more than dream? how / could you do more than dream in this house? speak! confess. /

Well! I will then. Indeed, Aunt, I did not only / dream, but I was pleased with my dream when I wak'd. /

Oh is that all? nay, if a dream only will please / you, you are a modest-young Woman still but have a care of / a Vision. /

I; but to be delighted when we wake with a naughty / dream, is a sin, Aunt; and I am so very scrupulous, that I / wou'd as soon consent to a naughty man as to a naughty / dream. /

[300] I do believe you. /

I am for going into the Throng of Temptations. /

There I believe you agen. /

And making my self so familiar with them, that I wou'd / not be concern'd for 'em a whit. /

There I do not believe you. /

And would take all the innocent liberty of the Town, / to tattle to your men under a Vizard in the Play-houses, and / meet 'em at night in Masquerade. /

There I do believe you again, I know you wou'd / be masquerading; but worse wou'd come on't, as it has done / to others, who have been in a Masquerade, and are now Virgins, /

[Page 10]
but in Masquerade, and will not be their own Women agen / as long as they live. The Children of this Age must be wise / Children indeed, if they know their Fathers, since their Mothers / themselves cannot inform 'em! O the fatal Liberty of this / masquerading Age when I was a young Woman. /

Come, come, do not blaspheme this masquerading / Age, like an ill-bred City. Dame, whose Husband is half broke / by living in Coven-Garden, or who has been turn'd out of the / Temple or Lincolns-Inn upon a masquerading Night: by what / I've heard, 'tis a pleasant-well-bred-complacent-free-frolick / good-natur'd-pretty-Age; and if you do not like it, leave it to / us that do. /

Lord! how impudently you talk, Niece, I'm sure / [325] I remember when I was a Maid. /

Can you remember it, reverent Aunt? /

Yes, modest Niece, that a raw young thing though / almost at Womans estate, that was then at 30 or 35 years of age, / would not so much as have look'd upon a man. /

Above her Fathers Butler or Coach-man. /

Still taking me up! well thou art a mad Girl, / and so good night. We may go to bed, for I suppose now / your Father will not come to night. /

I am sorry for it, for I long to see him. But I / lye; I had rather see Gerrard here, and yet I know not aside. / how I shall like him: if he has wit he will come, and if / he has none he wou'd not be welcome. /

Scene

SCENE changes to the French-House, a Table, Bottles, and Candles.

Enter Mr. Gerrard, Martin, and Monsieur de Paris.

'Tis ver veritablè, Jarniè, what the French say of you / English, you use the debauch so much, it cannot have with you / the French operation, you are never enjoyeè; but come, let / us for once be enfinement galliard, and sing a French Sonnet, / sings la boutelle, la boutelle, glou, glou. /

What a melodious Fop it is? /

Auh---you have no Complaisance. /

No, we can't sing, but we'll drink to you the Ladies / health, whom (you say) I have so long courted at her Window. /

Ay, there is your Complaisance; all your English / Complaisance is pledging Complaisance, ventrè--- / but if I do you reason here, will you do me reason /
                                        Takes the Glass
son to a little French Chanson aboirè---I shall / shall begin to you---La boutellè, la boutellè---sings. /

I had rather keep Company with a Set of / wide-mouth'd-drunken Cathedral Choristers. /

Come, Sir, drink, and he shall do you reason to your / French Song since you stand upon't sing him Arthur of Bradely, or, / I am the Duke of Norfolk. /

Auh, Testè bleu, an English Catch fie, fie, ventrè--- /

He can sing no damn'd French Song. /

Nor can I drink the damn'd Englis' / Wine. /

Yes, to that Ladies health, who has commanded me / [25] to wait upon her to morrow at her Window, which looks (you / say) into the inward Yard of the Ship. Tavern, near the end / of what deè call't street. /

Ay, ay, do you not know her, not you (vert & bleu) /

But 'pray repeat agen what she said. /

Why, she said, she is to be marry'd to morrow to a / person of Honour, a brave Gentleman, that shall be nameless, / and so, and so forth (little does he think who 'tis) /

And what else? /

That if you make not your appearance before her / Window to morrow at your wonted hour of six in the morning / to forbid the Banes, you must for ever hereafter stay away and / hold your tongue, for 'tis the first and last time of asking, ha, / ha, ha! /

'Tis all a Riddle to me; I should be unwilling to be / fool'd by this Coxcomb. /

I won't tell him all she said, lest he shou'd not go, /

[Page 12]
I wou'd fain have him go for the Jest's sake---ha, ha, / ha. /

Her name is, you say Hippolita Daughter to a rich Spanish / Merchant. /

Ay, ay, you don't know her, not you à d'autrè à / d'autrè ma foy---ha, ha, ha. /

Well! I will be an easie Fool for once. /

By all means go. /

[50] Ay, ay, by all means go---hah, ha, ha. /

To be caught in a Fools Trap---I'le venture it. /
                                        [aside.
Come, 'tis her health. /

And to your good reception---testè bleu---ha, / ha, ha. /

Well, Monsieur! I'le say this for thee, thou hast made / the best use of three months at Paris as ever English Squire / did. /

Considering I was in a dam' Englis' pention too. /

Yet you have convers'd with some French, I see; / Foot-men I suppose at the Fencing-School, I judge it by your / oaths. /

French Foot-men! well, well, I had rather have the / conversation of a French Foot-man than of an English Esquire, / there's for you da--- /

I beg your pardon, Monsieur: I did not think the / French Foot-men had been so much your Friends. /

Yes, yes, I warrant they have oblig'd him at Paris much / more than any of their Masters did. Well, there shall be no / more said against the French Foot-men. /

Non de Grace---you are alway turning the Nation / Francez into redicule, dat Nation so accomplie, dat Nation / which you imitate, so, dat in the conclusion you buttè turn / your self into rediculè ma foy: if you are for de raillery, abuse / the Duch, why not abuse the Duch? les grossè Villaines, Pandars, / [75] Insolents; but here in your England ma foy, you have / more honeùr, respectè, and estimation for de Dushè Swabber, / who come to cheat your Nation, den for de Franch-Foot-man, / who come to oblige your Nation. /

Our Nation! then you disowne it for yours, it seems. /

Well! wàt of dàt; are you the disobligeè by datè? /

No, Monsieur, far from it; you cou'd not oblige us, / nor your Country any other way than by disowning it. /

It is de Brutalè Country, which abuse de France, an' / reverencè de Dushe: I vill maintain, sustain, and justifie dat one / little Franch-Foot-man have more honeur, courage, and generosity, / more good blood in his vaincè, an' mush more good manners an' / civility den all de State General togedèr, Jarniè---dey are only / wise and valiant wèn dey are drunkeè. /

That is always. /

But dey are never honestè wèn dey are drunkeè; dey / are de only Rogue in de Varldè, who are not honestè wèn dey / are drunk---ma foy. /

I find you are well acquainted with them, Monsieur. /

Ay, ay, I have made the tourè of Holland, but it was / èn postè, derè was no staying for me, testè non---for de / Gentleman can no more live derè den de Toad in Ir'land, ma / foy; for I did not see on' Chevalier in de whole Cuntreè: alway, / you know de Rebel hate de gens de quality; besides, I had / make sufficient observation of the Canaile barbare de first nighteè / [100] of my arrival at Amsterdammè. I did visit you must know one of / Principal of de Stat General, to whom I had recommendation from / England, and did find his Excellence weighing Sope, Jarniè--- / ha, ha, ha. /

Weighing Sope! /

Weighing Sopè, ma foy, for he was a whole Sale / Chandeleer, and his Lady was taking the Tale of Chandels wid / her own witer hands, ma foy, and de young Lady, his Excellence / Daughters stringing Harring, stringing Harring, Jarniè--- /

So---h---and what were his Sons doing? /

Auh---his Son (for he had but one) was making de / Toure of France, Espaigne, Italy, an' Germany in a Coach and / six, or rader now I think on't, gone of an Embassy hidèr to / derè Master Cromwell, whom dey did love and fear, because / he was some-tingè de greater Rebel burè now I talk of de Rebellè, / none but de Rebel can love de Rebellè, and so mush for / you and your Friend the Dushe I'le say no more, and pray do /

[Page 14]
you say no more of my Friend de Franch, not so mush as of my / Friend the Franch-Foot-man---da--- /

No, no; but, Monsieur, now give me leave to admire / thee, that in three months at Paris you could renounce your / Language, Drinking and your Country (for which we are not / angry with you) as I said) and come home so perfect a French-man, / that the Drey-men of your Fathers own Brew-house / wou'd be ready to knock thee in the head. /

[125] Vèl, vèl, my Father was a Merchant of his own Beer, / as the Noblessè of France of their own Wine: but I can forgive / you that Raillery, that Bob, since you say I have the Eyrè Francèz. / But have I the Eyrè Francèz? /

As much as any French-Footman of 'em all. /

And do I speak agreeable ill Englis' enough? /

Very ill. /

Veritablemènt! /

Veritablemènt. /

For you must know, 'tis as ill breeding now to speak / good Englis', as to write good Englis', good sense, or a good / hand. /

But indeed, methinks, you are not slovenly enough for / a French-man. /

Slovenly! you mean negligent? /

No, I mean slovenly. /

Then I will be more slovenly. /

You know, to be a perfect French-man, you must never / be silent, never sit still, and never be clean. /

But you have forgot one main qualification of a true / French-man, he shou'd never be sound, that is, be very pockie / too. /

Oh! if dat be all, I am very pockie; pockie enough / Jarnie, that is the only French qualification may be had without / going to Paris, mon foy. /

Enter a Waiter.

[150] Here are a couple of Ladies coming up to you, Sir. /

To us! did you appoint any to come hither, Martin? /

Not I. /

Nor you, Monsieur! /

Nor I. /

Sirrah, tell your Master, if he cannot protect us from / the Constable, and these midnight-Coursers, 'tis not a House / for us. /

Tell 'em you have no body in the house, and shut the / doors. /

They'll not be satisfi'd with that, they'll break open the / door, they search'd last night all over the house for my Lord / Fisk and Sir Jeffery Janteè, who were fain to hide themselves / in the Bar under my Mistresses Chair and Peticoats. /

Wat do the Women hunt out the men so now? /

Ay, ay, things are alter'd since you went to Paris, / there's hardly a young man in Town dares be known of his / Lodging for 'em. /

Bailiffs, Pursevants, or a City-Constable are modest / people in comparison of them. /

And we are not so much afraid to be taken up by the / Watch, as by the taring midnight Ramblers or Houza-Women. /

Jarnie---ha, ha, ha. /

Where are they? I hope they are gone agen? /

No, Sir, they are below at the Stair-foot, only swearing / [175] at their Coach-man. /

Come, you Rogue! they are in Fee with you Waiters, / and no Gentleman can come hither, but they have the / intelligence straight. /

Intelligence from us, Sir, they shou'd never come here / if we cou'd help it. I am sure we wish 'em choak'd when we / see them come in; for they bring such good stomachs from / St. James's Park or rambling about in the streets, that we poor / Waiters have not a bit left; 'tis well if we can keep our money / in our Pockets for 'em; I am sure I have paid seventeen and / six pence in half Crowns for Coach-hire at several times for a / little damn'd taring Lady, and when I ask't her for it agen one / morning in her Chamber, she bid me pay my self, for she had / no money: but I wanted the Courage of a Gentleman; besides / the Lord that kept her, was a good Customer to our house, and /

[Page 16]
my Friend, and I made a Conscience of wronging him. /

A man of Honour! /

Vert & bleu, pleasènt, pleasènt, mon foy. /

Go, go, Sirrah, shut the door, I hear 'em coming up. /

Indeed I dare not; they'll kick me down stairs, if I / should. /

Go you, Rascal, I say. /

Flounce and Flirte upon my life. /
                                        [aside.
Ladies, I am sorry you have no Volunteers in your Service; / this is meer pressing, and argues a great necessity you have for / [200] men. /

You need not be afraid, Sir, we will use no violence / to you, you are not fit for our Service; we know you--- /

The hot Service you have been in formerly, makes / you unfit for ours now; besides, you begin to be something / too old for us we are for the brisk Hoaza's of seventeen or / eighteen. /

Nay 'faith, I am not too old yet, but an old acquaintance / will make any man old; besides, to tell you the truth, / you are come a little too early for me, for I am not drunk yet; / but there are your brisk young men who are always drunk, / and perhaps have the happiness not to know you. /

The happiness not to know us! /

The happiness not to know us! /

Be not angry, Ladies; 'tis rather happiness to have pleasure / to come, than to have it past, and therefore these Gentlemen / are happy in not knowing you. /

I'de have you to know, I do know the Ladies too, / and I will not lose the honour of the Ladies acquaintance for / any thing. /

Not for the pleasure of beginning an acquaintance / with us, as Mr. Gerrard says: but it is the general vanity of / you Town-Fops to lay claim to all good acquaintance and persons / of Honour; you cannot let a Woman pass in the Mall at / midnight, but dam you, you know her strait, you know her; /

[Page 17]
[225] but you wou'd be damn'd before you wou'd say so much for / one in a Mercers Shop. /

He has spoken it in a French-house, where he has very / good credit, and I dare swear you may make him eat his / words. /

She does want a Gown indeèt: she is in /
                                        Peeping under her Scarff.
her dishabilieè, this dishabilieè is a great Mode / in England; the Women love the dishabilieè as / well as the men, ma foy. /

Well: if we should stay and sup with you, I warrant / you wou'd be bragging of it to morrow amongst your Comrades / that you had the Company of two Women of Quality at the / French-house and name us. /

Pleasant Jilts. /

No upon our Honours, we wou'd not brag of your / Company. /

Upon your Honours? /

No faith. /

Come, we will venture to sit down then: yet I know / the vanity of you men; you cou'd not contain your selves from / bragging. /

No, no! you Women now adays have found out the / pleasure of bragging, and will allow it the men no longer. /

Therefore indeed we dare not stay to sup with you; / for you wou'd be sure to tell on't. /

[250] And we are Young-men who stand upon our Reputations. /

You are very pleasant, Gentlemen. /

For my part I am to be marry'd shortly, and know / 'twould quickly come to my Mistresses's ear. /

And for my part I must go visit to morrow morning by / times a new City-Mistress, and you know they are as inquisitive / as precise in the City. /

Come, come! pray leave this fooling; sit down agen, / and let us bespeak Supper. /

No 'faith, I dare not. /

Besides, we have supp'd. /

No matter, we only desire you shou'd look on, while /

[Page 18]
we eat, and put the glass about, or so. /

Pray, stay. /

Upon my life I dare not. /

Upon our Honours we will not tell, if you are in / earnest. /

P'shaw, p'shaw---I know the vanity of you Women, / you cou'd not contain your selves from bragging. /

Ma foy! is it certain! ha, ha, ha! hark you, Madam! / can't you fare well, but you must cry Roast-meat? /

Then you would of a Clapè, if you had it, dat's the / only secret you can keep, Jarnie. /

I am glad we are rid of these Jilts. /

And we have taken a very ridiculous occasion. /

Wàt! must we leave the Lady then, dìs is dam Civilitie / Englis' mon foy. /

Nay, Sir, you have too much of the French Eyre to have / so little honour and good breeding. /

Deè, you tinkè so then, sweet Madam, I have mush of / de French Eyre? /

More than any French-man breathing. /

Auh, you are the curtoise Dame, mort-bleu, I shall / stay then, if you think so. Monsieur Gerrand, you will be certain / to see the Lady to morrow, pray not forget, ha, ha, ha. /

No, no Sir, /

You will go then? /

I will go on a Fools Errant for once. /

What will you eat, Sir? /

Wàt you please, Madamè. /

Dè Heare, Waiter, then some young Partridge. /

What else, Madam? /

Some Ruffes. /

What else, Madam? /

Some young Pheasants. /

[300] What else, Madam? /

Some young Rabits, I love Rabits. /

What else, Madam? /

Stay--- /

Dìs Englis' Waiter wit his wat else Madam will ruine / me, testè non. /

What else, Madam? /

Wàt else Madam agen! call up the French Waiter. /

What else, Madam? /

Again, call up the French Waiter or Quesinièr, more / testè-ventrè, vitè, vitè---Auh, Madam the stupidity of the / Englis' Waiter, I hate the Englis' Waiter, mon foy. /

Be not in passion, dear Monsieur. /

I kiss your hand obligeant, Madam. /

Enter a French Scullion.

En voulez vous de Cram Schiquin. /

Yes. /

De Partrish, de Faysan, de Quailles. /

This Bougre vel ruinè me too, but he speak wit dàt / bel Eyrè and gracè. I cannot bid him hold his tongue, ventre, / c'est assey, Pierot, vat-èn. /

And de litèl plate dè--- /

Jarnie, vat-èn. /

And de litèl plate dè--- /

[325] De grace go dy way. /

And de litèl dè--- /

De Fourmage, de Brie, vat-èn, go, go. /

What's that Cheese that stinks? /

Ay, ay, be sure it stinkè extremèntè, Pierot vat-èn; / but stay till I drink dy health, here's to dat pretty Fellow's / health, Madam. /

Must we drink the Scullions health? /

Auh, you will not be disobligeant, Madam, he is the / Quisinier for a King, nay for a Cardinal or French Abbot. /

But how shall we divertise our selves till Supper be / ready? /

Can we have better Divertisement than this Gentleman? /

But I think we had beter carry the Gentleman home / with us, and because it is already late sup at home, and divertise / the Gentleman at Cards, till it be ready dè hear Waiter, / let it be brought when 'tis ready to my Lodging hard by in / Mustard Alley, at the Sign of the Crooked-Billet. /

At the Crook-Billet! /

Come, Sir, come. /

Mort-bleu, I have take the Vow (since my last Clap) / never to go again to the Bourdel. /

What is the Bourdel? /

How call you the name of your House? /

The Crooked-Billet. /

[350] No, no, the---the Bawdy-house, vert & bleu. /

How our Lodging! we'd have you to know--- /

Auh, mort-bleu, I wou'd not know it, de Crookè-Billet, / hah, ha. /

Come, Sir. /

Besides, if I go wit you to the Bourdel, you will tell, / mort-bleu. /

Fie, fie, come along. /

Beside, I am to be marry'd within these two days, if / you shou'd tell now. /

Come, come along, we will not tell. /

But will you promise then to have the care of my honour, / pray, good Madam, have de care of my honeùr, pray / have de care of my honeùr. Will you have care of my honeùr? / pray have de care of my honeùr, and do not tell, if you / can help it; pray, dear Madam, do not tell. /

I wou'd not tell for fear of losing you, my Love for / you will make me secret. /

Why, do you love me? /

Indeed I cannot help telling you now what my modesty / ought to conceal, but my eyes wou'd disclose it too. I / have a passion for you, Sir. /

A passion for me! /

An extreme passion, dear Sir, you are so French, so / mightily French, so agreeable French; but I'le tell you more of / [375] my heart at home: come along. /

But is your patiòn sincere? /

The truest in the World. /

Well then I'le venture my body wit thee for one / night. /

For one night, don't you believe that, and so you / wou'd leave me to morrow; but I love you so, I cannot part / with you, you must keep me for good and all, if you will have / me. I can't leave you for my heart. /

How keep, Jarniè, de Whore Englis' have notingè / but keepè, keepè in derè mouths now a-days, testè nòn: formerly / 'twas enough to keep de shild, ma foy. /

Nay, I will be kept else---but come we'll talk on't / at home. /

Umh---so, so, ver vèl de Amourè of de Whore does / alway end in keep, ha, keep, ma foy, keep, ha--- /

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Don Diego's House in the Morning.

Enter Don Diego in the Spanish Habit, Mrs. Caution his Sister.

Have you had a Spanish care of the Honour of / my Family, that is to say, have you kept up my Daughter close / in my absence? as I directed. /

I have, Sir; but it was as much as I cou'd do. /

I knew that; for 'twas as much I cou'd do to keep up / her Mother. I that have been in Spain look you. /

Nay, 'tis a hard task to keep up an English Woman. /

As hard as it is for those who are not kept up to be / honest, look you con Licentia Sister. /

How now, Brother! I am sure my Husband never kept / me up. /

I knew that, therefore I cryed con Licentia Sister, as / the Spaniards have it. /

But you Spaniards are too censorious, Brother. /

You English Women, Sister, give us too much cause / (look you) but you are sure my Daughter has not seen a man / since my departure. /

No, not so much as a Church-man. /

As a Church-man (Voto) I thank you for that, not a / Church-man! not a Church-man! /

No, not so much as a Church-man; but of any, one / wou'd think one might trust a Church-man. /

No, we are bold enough in trusting them with our / Souls, I'le never trust 'em with the body of my Daughter, look / [25] you, Guarda, you see what comes of trusting Church-men here / in England; and 'tis because the Women govern the Families, / that Chaplains are so much in fashion. Trust a Church-man--- / trust a Coward with your honour, a Fool with your secret, a / Gamester with your purse, as soon as a Priest with your Wife / or Daughter, look you, Guarda, I am no Fool, look you. /

Nay, I know you are a wise man, Brother. /

Why, Sister, I have been fifteen years in Spain for it, / at several times look you: Now in Spain he is wise enough / that is grave, politick enough, that says little; and honourable / enough that is jealous; and though I say it that shou'd not say / it, I am as grave, grum, and jealous, as any Spaniard breathing. /

I know you are, Brother. /

And I will be a Spaniard in every thing still, and will / not conform, not I, to their ill-favour'd English Customs, for I / will wear my Spanish Habit still, I will stroke my Spanish Whiskers / still, and I will eat my Spanish Olio still; and my Daughter / shall go a Maid to her Husbands bed, let the English Custom / be what 'twill: I wou'd fain see any sinical cunning insinuating /

[Page 23]
Monsieur, of the age debauch, or steal away my / Daughter; but well, has she seen my Cousin? How long has / he been in England? /

These three days. /

And she has seen him, has she? I was contented he / shou'd see her, intending him for her Husband: but she has seen / [50] no body else upon your certain knowledge? /

No, no, alas! how shou'd she? 'tis impossible she / shou'd. /

Where is her Chamber? pray let me see her. /

You'll find her, poor Creature, asleep, I warrant you; / or if awake, thinking no hurt, nor of your coming this morning. /

Let us go to her, I long to see her, poor innocent / Wretch. /

Enter Hippolita, Gerrard, and Prue at a distance.

Am I not come upon your own Summons, Madam? and / yet receive me so? /

My Summons, Sir, no I assure you; and if you do not / like your reception, I cannot help it; for I am not us'd to receive / men, I'de have you to know. /

She is beautiful beyond all things I ever saw. /

I like him extremely. /

Come, fairest, why do you frown? /

Because I am angry. /

I am come on purpose to please you then, do not receive / me so unkindly. /

I tell you, I do not use to receive men; there has not / been a man in the house before, but my Cousin, this twelve-month, / I'de have you to know. /

Then you ought to bid me the more welcome, I'de / have you to know. /

What do you mock me too? I know I am but a home-bred-simple / [75] Girl; but I thought you Gallants of the Town had / been better bred, than to mock a poor Girl in her Fathers own / house. I have heard indeed 'tis a part of good breeding to mock / people behind their backs, but not to their faces. /

Pretty Creature! she has not only the Beauty but the / Innocency of an Angel. /
                                        [aside.
Mock you, dear Miss! no, I only repeated the words, because / they were yours, sweet Miss, what we like we imitate. /

Dear Miss! sweet Miss! how came you and I so well / acquainted? This is one of your confident Tricks too, as I have / been told, you'll be acquainted with a Woman in the time you / can help her over a Bench in the Play-house, or to her Coach: / but I need not wonder at your confidence, since you cou'd / come in at the great Gallery-window just now. But pray who / shall pay for the glass you have broken? /

Pretty Creature! your Father might have made the / Window bigger then, since he has so fine a Daughter, and will / not allow people to come in at the door to her. /

A pleasant man! well---tis harder playing the Hypocrite / with him, I see, than with my Aunt or Father; and if / dissimulation were not very natural to a Woman, I'm sure I / cou'd not use it at this time; but the mask of simplicity and innocency / is as useful to an intriguing Woman, as the mask of / Religion to a States-man, they say. /

Why do you look away, dearest Miss? /

[100] Because you quarrell'd with me just now for frowning / upon you, and I cannot help it, if I look upon you. /

O let me see that Face at any rate. /

Wou'd you have me frown upon you? for I shall be / sure to do't. /

Come, I'e stand fair: you have done your worst to my / heart already. /

Now I dare not look upon him, lest I shou'd not be / able to keep my word. /

Come, I am ready, and yet I am afraid of her frowns. / [aside Come, look, lh---am ready, lh---am ready. /

But I am not ready. /

Turn, dear Miss, Come, Ih---am ready. /

Are you ready then, I'le look? /
                                        [Turns upon him.
No faith, I can't frown upon him, if I shou'd be hang'd. /

Dear Miss, I thank you, that look has no terrour / in't. /

No, I cannot frown for my heart; for blushing, I don't / use to look upon men, you must know. /

If it were possible any thing cou'd, those blushes wou'd / add to her Beauty: well, bashfulness is the only out-of-fashion-thing / that is agreeable. /

Ih---h---like this man strangely, I was going to say / lov'd him. Courage then, Hippolita, make use of the only opportunity / thou canst have to enfranchize thy self: Women formerly / [125] (they say) never knew how to make use of their time / till it was past; but let it not be said so of a young Woman of / this Age; my damn'd Aunt will be stirring presently: well then, / courage, I say, Hippolita, thou art full fourteen years old, shift / for thy self. /

So, I have look'd upon her so long, till I am grown / bashful too; Love and Modesty come together like Money and / Covetousness, and the more we have, the less we can shew it. / I dare not look her in the face now, nor speak a word. /

What, Sir, methinks you look away now. /

Because you wou'd not look upon me, Miss. /

Nay, I hope you can't look me in the face, since you / have done so rude a thing as to come in at the Window upon / me; come, come, when once we Women find the men bashful, / then we take heart; now I can look upon you as long as / you will; let's see if you can frown upon me now! /

Lovely Innocency! No, you may swear I can't frown / upon you, Miss. /

So I knew you were asham'd of what you have done; / well, since you are asham'd, and because you did not come of / your own head, but were sent by my Cousin, you say. /

Which I wonder at. /

For all these reasons I do forgive you. /

In token of your forgiveness then (dearest Miss) let / me have the honour to kiss your hand. /

[150] Nay, there 'tis you men are like our little Shock-dogs, / if we don't keep you off from us, but use you a little kindly, / you grow so fidling, and so troublesom, there is no enduring / you. /

O dear Miss, if I am like your Shock-dog, let it be in his / priviledges. /

Why, I'de have you know he does not lye with me. /

'Twas well guess'd, Miss, for one so innocent. /

No, I always kick him off from the Bed, and never / will let him come near it; for of late indeed (I do not know / what's the reason) I don't much care for my Shock-dog nor my / Babies. /

O then, Miss, I may have hopes; for after the Shock-dog / and the Babies, 'tis the mans turn to be belov'd. /

Why cou'd you be so good-natur'd as to come after / my Shock-dog in my Love? it may be indeed, rather than after / one of your Brother men. /

Hah, ha, ha---poor Creature, a Wonder of Innocency. /

But I see you are humble, because you wou'd kiss my / hand. /

No, I am ambitious therefore. /

(Well, all this fooling but loses time, I must make better / use of it.) [aside. I cou'd let you kiss my hand, but then I'm afraid you / wou'd take hold of me and carry me away. /

Indeed I wou'd not. /

[175] Come! I know you wou'd. /

Truly I wou'd not. /

You wou'd, you wou'd, I know you wou'd. /

I'le swear I wo' not---by--- /

Nay, don't swear, for you'll be the apter to do it then, / I wou'd not have him forswear it neither; he does not like me / sure well enough to carry me away. /

Dear Miss, let me kiss your hand. /

I am sure you wou'd carry me away, if I shou'd. /

Be not afraid of it. /

Nay! I am afraid of the contrary; either he dislikes / me, and therefore will not be troubled with me, or what is as / bad, he loves me, and is dull, or fearful to displease me. /

Trust me, sweetest; I can use no violence to you. /

Nay, I am sure you wou'd carry me away, what shou'd / you come in at the Window for, if you did not mean to steal / me? /

If I shou'd endeavour it, you might cry out, and I / shou'd be prevented. /

Dull, dull man of the Town, are all like thee. /
                                        [aside.
He is as dull as a Country Squire at Questions and Commands. / No, if I shou'd cry out never so loud; this is quite / at the further end of the house, and there no body cou'd hear / me. /

I will not give you the occasion, Dearest. /

[200] Well! I will quicken thy sense, if it be possible. /
                                        [aside.
Nay, I know you come to steal me away; because / I am an Heiress, and have twelve hundred pound a year, / lately left me by my Mothers Brother, which my Father cannot / meddle with, and which is the chiefest reason (I suppose) why / he keeps me up so close. /

Ha! /

So---this has made him consider, O money, powerful / money! how the ugly, old, crooked, straight, handsom / young Women are beholding to thee? /

Twelve hundred pound a year--- /

Besides, I have been told my Fortune, and the Woman / said I shou'd be stol'n away, because she says 'tis the Fate / of Heiresses to be stoln away. /

Twelve hundred pound year--- /

Nay more, she described the man to me, that was to / do it, and he was as like you as cou'd be! have you any Brothers? /

Not any! 'twas I, I warrant you, Sweetest. /

So he understands himself now. /

Well, Madam, since 'twas foretold you, what do you / think on't? 'tis in vain, you know, to resist Fate. /

I do know indeed they say, 'tis to no purpose: besides, / the Woman that told me my Fortune, or you have bewitch'd / me. Ih---think. /

My Soul, my Life, 'tis you have Charms powerful as / [225] numberless, especially those of your innocency irresistable, and / do surprise the wary'st Heart; such mine was, while I cou'd / call it mine, but now 'tis yours for ever. /

Well, well, get you gone then, I'le keep it safe for / your sake. /

Nay, you must go with me, sweetest. /

Well, I see you will part with the Jewel; but you'll / have the keeping of the Cabinet to which you commit it. /

Come, come, my Dearest, let us be gone: Fortune as / well as Women must be taken in the humour. /

Enter Prue running hastily to stop 'em, Don Diego and Mrs. Caution immediately after.

O Miss, Miss! your Father, it seems, is just now arriv'd, / and here is coming in upon you. /

My Father! /

My Daughter! and a man! /

A man! a man in the house! /

Ha!---what mean these! a Spaniard. /

What shall I do? stay---nay, pray stir not from me; / but lead me about, as if you lead me a Corant. /

Is this your Government, Sister, and this your innocent / Charge, that has not seen the face of a man this twelve-month / En horâ mala. /

O sure it is not a man, it cannot be a / man! /

It cannot be a man! if he be not a man he's a Devil; / he has her lovingly by the hand too, Valga me el Cielo. /

[250] Do not seem to mind them, but dance on, or lead / me about still. /

What de'e mean by't? /

Hey! they are frolick, a dancing. /

Indeed they are dancing, I think, why Niece. /

Nay, hold a little: I'le make 'em dance in the Devils / name, but it shall not be la Gailliarda! /

O Niece! why Niece! /

Do you hear her? what do you mean? /

Take no notice of them; but walk about still, and / sing a little, sing a Corant. /

I can't sing; but I'le hum, if you will. /

Are you so merry? well, I'le be with you en hora / mala. /

Oh Niece, Niece, why Niece, Oh--- /

Why, Daughter, my dainty Daughter, my shame, my / ruine, my plague. /

Mind him not, but dance and sing on. /

A pretty time to dance and sing indeed, when I have a / Spaniard with naked Toledo at my tail: no, pray excuse me, / Miss, from fooling any longer. /

O my Father! my Father! poor Father! you are / welcome, pray give me your blessing. /

My blessing en hora mala. /

What, am I not your Daughter, Sir? /

[275] My Daughter, mi mal, mi muertè. /

My name's Hippolita, Sir, I don't owne your Spanish / names; but pray, Father, why do you frighten one so! you / know I don't love to see a Sword: what do you mean to do / with that ugly thing out? /

I'le shew you, Trayidor Ladron, demi houra, thou / dy'st. /

Not if I can help it, good Don; but by the names you / give me, I find you mistake your man, I suppose some Spaniard / has affronted you. /

None but thee, Ladron, and thou dy'st for't. /

Oh, oh, oh---help, help, help. /

Oh---what will you kill my poor Dancing-master? /

A Dancing-master, he's a Fencing-master rather, I / think. But is he your Dancing-master? Umph--- /

So much Wit and Innocency were never together before. /

Is he a Dancing-master? /

Is he a Dancing-master? He does not look like a Dancing-master. /

Pish---you don't know a Dancing-master, you have / not seen one these threescore years, I warrant. /

No matter; but he does not look like a Dancing-master. /

Nay, nay, Dancing-masters look like Gentlemen, enough, / Sister; but he's no Dancing-master by drawing his / Sword so briskly: those tripping out-sides of Gentlemen are / like Gentlemen enough in every thing but in drawing a Sword, / [300] and since he is a Gentleman, he shall dye by mine. /

Oh, hold, hold. /

Hold, hold! pray, Brother, let's talk with him a little / first, I warrant you I shall trap him, and if he confesses, you / may kill him; for those that confess, they say, ought to be / hang'd---let's see--- /

Poor Hippolita, I wish I had not had this occasion of admiring / thy Wit; I have increased my Love, whilst I have lost / my hopes, the common Fate of poor Lovers. /

Come, you are guilty by that hanging down of your / head. Speak, are you a Dancing-master? Speak, speak, a / Dancing-master? /

Yes, forsooth, I am a Dancing-master, ay, ay--- /

How do'st it appear? /

Why there is his Fiddle, there upon the Table, Father. /

No busie-body, but it is not---that is my Nephews / Fiddle. /

Why, he lent it to my Cousin; I tell you it is his. /

Nay, it may be indeed, he might lend it him, for / ought I know. /

I, I, but ask him, Sister, if he be a Dancing-master, / where? /

Pray, Brother, let me alone with him, I know what / to ask him, sure! /

What will you be wiser than I? nay, then stand away. / [325] Come, if you are a Dancing-master; where's your School? / adonè, adondè. /

Why, he'l say, may be he has ne're a one. /

Who ask'd you, nimble Chaps? So you have put an / Excuse in his head. /

Indeed, Sir, 'tis no Excuse, I have no School. /

Well! but who sent you, how came you hither? /

There I am puzl'd indeed. /

How came you hither, I say? how--- /

Why, how, how, how shou'd I come hither? /

Ay, how shou'd he come hither? upon his Legs. /

So, so, now you have put an Excuse in his head too, / that you have, so you have, but stay--- /

Nay, with your favour, Mistress, I'le ask him now. /

Y facks; but you shan't, I'le ask him, and ask you no / favour that I will. /

Y fackins; but you shan't ask him, if you go there to / look you, you Prattle-box you, I'le ask him. /

I will ask him, I say, come. /

Where. /

What. /

Mine's a shrewd question. /

Mine's as shrewd as yours. /

Nay then we shall have it come, answer me, where's / your Lodging? come, come, Sir. /

[350] A shrewd question indeed, at the Surgeons Arms I / warrant in---for 'tis Spring-time, you know. /

Must you make lyes for him? /

But come, Sir, what's your Name? answer me to that, / come. /

His Name, why 'tis an easie matter to tell you a false / Name, I hope. /

So, must you teach him to cheat us? /

Why did you say my questions were not shrewd questions / then? /

And why wou'd you not let me ask him the question / then? Brother, Brother, ever while you live for all your Spanish / wisdom, let an old Woman make discoveries, the young Fellows / cannot cheat us in any thing, I'de have you to know; set / your old Woman still to grope out an Intrigue, because you / know the Mother found her Daughter in the Oven: a word / to the wise Brother. /

Come, come, leave this tattling; he has dishonour'd / my Family, debauch'd my Daughter, and what if he cou'd excuse / himself? the Spanish Proverb says, Excuses neither satisfie / Creditors nor the injur'd; the wounds of Honour must have /

[Page 32]
blood and wounds, St. Jago para mi. /

Oh hold! dear-Father, and I'le confess all. /

She will not, sure, after all. /

My Cousin sent him, because, as he said, he wou'd have / [375] me recover my Dancing a little before our Wedding, having / made a Vow he wou'd never marry a Wife who cou'd not / dance a Corant. I am sure I was unwilling, but he wou'd have / him come, saying, I was to be his Wife, as soon as you came, / and therefore expected obedience from me. /

Indeed the venture is most his, and the shame wou'd be / most his; for I know here in England 'tis not the custom for / the Father to be much concern'd what the Daughter does, but / I will be a Spaniard still. /

Did not you hear him say last night he wou'd send / me one this morning? /

No not I sure. If I had, he had never come here. /

Indeed, Aunt, you grow old, I see, your memory / fails you very much. Did not you hear him, Prue, say he / wou'd send him to me? /

Yes I'le be sworn did I. /

Look you there, Aunt, /

I wonder I should not remember it. /

Come, come, you are a doting old Fool. /

So, so, the fault will be mine now. But pray, Mistress, / how did he come in: I am sure I had the Keys of the Doors, / which till your Father came in, were not open'd to day. /

He came in just after my Father, I suppose. /

It might be indeed while the Porters brought in the / things, and I was talking with you. /

[400] O might he so, forsooth; you are a brave Governantè, / look you, you a Duenna voto---and not know who comes / in and out. /

So, 'twas my fault, I know. /

Your Maid was in the Room with you! was she not, / Child? /

Yes indeed, and indeed, Father, all the while. /

Well, Child, I am satisfi'd then; but I hope he does / not use the Dancing-masters tricks of squeezing your hands, / setting your Legs and Feet, by handling your Thighs, and seeing / your Legs. /

No indeed, Father; I'de give him a Box on the Ear, / if he shou'd. /

Poor Innocent! Well I am contented you shou'd learn / to dance; since, for ought I know, you shall be marry'd to morrow, / or the next day, at farthest, by that time you may recover / a Corant, a Sarabrand I wou'd say; and since your Cousin too / will have a dancing Wife, it shall be so, and I'le see you dance / my self, you shall be my Charge these two days, and then I / dare venture you in the hand of any Dancing-master, even a / sawcy French Dancing-master, look you. /

Well, have a care though; for this man is not dress'd / like a Dancing master. /

Go, go, you dote, are they not (for the most part) / better dress'd and prouder than many a good Gentleman? you / [425] wou'd be wiser then I wou'd you? Querno--- /

Well, I say only look to't, look to't. /

Hey, hey! come, Friend, to your bus'ness, teach her, / her Lesson over again, let's see. /

Come, Master. /

Come, come, let's see your English Method, I understand / something of Dancing my self-come. /

Come, Master. /

I shall betray you yet, dearest Miss, for I know not a / step, I cou'd never dance. /

No! /

Come, come, Child. /

Indeed I'm asham'd, Father. /

You must not be asham'd, Child, you'll never dance / well, if you are asham'd. /

Indeed I can't help it, Father. /

Come, come, I say, go to't. /

Indeed I can't, Father, before you; 'tis my first Lesson, / and I shall do it so ill: pray, good Father, go into the / next Room for this once, and the next time my Master comes, / you shall see I shall be confident enough. /

Poor-foolish-innocent Creature; well, well, I will, / Child, who but a Spanish kind of a Father cou'd have so innocent / a Daughter? In England, well I wou'd fain see any one / steal or debauch my Daughter from me. /

[450] Nay, won't you go, Father! /

Yes, yes, I go, Child, we will all go but your Maid; / you can dance before your Maid. /

Yes, yes, Father, a Maid at most times with her Mistress / is no body. /

He peeps yet at the door. /

Nay, Father, you peep, indeed you must not see me, / when we have done you shall come in. /

Indeed, little Mistress, like the young Kitten, you see, / you play'd with your prey, till you had almost lost it! /

'Tis true, a good old Mouser like you, had it taken up, / and run away with it presently. /

Let me adore you, dearest Miss, and give you--- /

No, no, embracing good Mr. that ought to be the last / Lesson you are to teach me, I have heard. /

Though an after Game be the more tedious and dangerous, / 'tis won, Miss, with the more honour and pleasure; for / all that I repent we were put to't; the coming in of your Father / as he did, was the most unlucky thing that ever befel / me. /

What, then you think I would have gone with you. /

Yes, and will go with me yet, I hope, courage, Miss, / we have yet an opportunity, and the Gallery-window is yet / open. /

No, no, if I went, I would go for good and all; but / [475] now my Father will soon come in again, and may quickly / overtake us; besides, now I think on't, you are a Stranger to / me. I know not where you live, nor whither you might carry / me; for ought I know, you might be a Spirit, and carry me / to Barbadoes. /

No, dear Miss, I would carry you to Court, the Playhouses, / and Hide-Park--- /

Nay, I know 'tis the trick of all you that spirit Women /

[Page 35]
away to speak 'em mighty fair at first; but when you have / got 'em in your Clutches: you carry 'em into York-shire, Wales, / or Cornwall, which is as bad as to Barbadoes, and rather than / be served so, I would be a Pris'ner in London still as I am. /

I see the Air of this Town without the pleasures of it, / is enough to infect Women with an aversion for the Country. / Well, Miss, since it seems you have some diffidence in me, give / me leave to visit you as your Dancing-master, now you have / honour'd me with the Character, and under that, I may have / your Fathers permission to see you, till you may better know / me and my heart, and have a better opportunity to reward it. /

I am afraid, to know your heart, would require a great / deal of time, and my Father intends to marry me very suddenly / to my Cousin who sent you hither. /

Pray, sweet Miss, then let us make the better use of our / time, if it be short: but how shall we do with that Cousin of / yours in the mean time, we must needs charm him? /

[500] Leave that to me! /

But what's worse! how shall I be able to act a Dancing-master? / who ever wanted inclination and patience to learn my / self. /

A Dancing-School in half an hour will furnish you with / terms of the Art. Besides, Love (as I have heard say) supplies / his Scholars with all sorts of Capacities they have need of in / spight of Nature, but what has Love to do with you? /

Love indeed has made a grave Gouty States-man fight / Duels; the Souldier flye from his Colours, a Pedant a fine / Gentleman; nay, and the very Lawyer a Poet, and therefore / may make me a Dancing-master. /

If he were your Master. /

I'm sure, dearest Miss, there is nothing else which I cannot / do for you already, and therefore may hope to succeed in / that. /

Enter Don Diego.

Come, have you done? /

O! my Father agen. /

Come, now let us see you dance. /

Indeed I am not perfect yet, pray excuse me till the / next time my Master comes: but when must he come agen, / Father? /

Let me see, Friend, you must needs come after Dinner / agen, and then at night agen, and so three times to morrow / too. If she be not marry'd to morrow (which I am to consider / [525] of) she will dance a Corant in twice or thrice teaching / more, will she not? for 'tis but a twelve-month since she came / from Hackney-School. /

We will lose no time I warrant you, Sir, if she be to be / marry'd to morrow. /

Truly, I think she may be marry'd to morrow, therefore / I would not have you lose any time, look you. /

You need not caution me I warrant you, Sir, sweet / Scholar, your humble Servant, I will not fail you immediately / after Dinner. /

No, no, pray do not, and I will not fail to satisfie you / very well, look you. /

He does not doubt his reward, Father, for his pains. / If you shou'd not, I wou'd make that good to him. /

Come, let us go into your Aunt, I must talk with you / both together, Child. /

I follow you, Sir. /

Here's the Gentlewoman o'th next house come to see / you, Mistress. /

She's come, as if she came expressly to sing the new / Song she sung last night, I must hear it, for 'tis to my purpose / now. /
                                        [aside.
Madam, your Servant, I dream't all night of the Song you sung, / last; the new Song against delays in Love: pray let's hear it / again. /

Your Father calls for you, Miss. /

[575] I come, I come. I must be obedient as long as I am / with him. /

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Don Diego's House.

Enter Monsieur, Hippolita, and Prue.

Serviteur, Serviteur, la Cousin, your Maid told me she / watch'd at the stair-foot for my coming, because you / had a mind to speak wit me before I saw your Fadèr, it seem. /

I wou'd so indeed, Cousin. /

Or ca, Or ca, I know your affair, it is to tell me wat / recreation you adè with Monsieur Gerrard; but did he come / I was afrait he wou'd not come. /

Yes, yes, he did come. /

Ha, ha, ha---and were you not infiniment divertiseè / and pleasè, confess. /

I was indeed, Cousin, I was very well pleas'd. /

I do tinkè so. I did tinkè to come and be divertiseè / my self this morning with the sight of his reception; but I did / ran'counter last night wit dam Company dàt keep me up so late / I cou'd not rise in dè morning. Mala-pestè de Puteins--- /

Indeed we wanted you here mightily, Cousin. /

To elpè you to laugh; for if I adde been here, I had / made such recreation wid dat Coxcomb Gerrard. /

Indeed, Cousin! you need not have any subject or / property to make one laugh, you are so pleasant your self, and / when you are but alone, you wou'd make one burst. /

Am I so happy, Cousin? then in the bòn quality of / making people laugh. /

Mighty happy, Cousin. /

[25] De gracè, /

Indeed! /

Nay, sans vanitiè I observe wheresoe're I come I make / every body merry, sans vanitiè---da--- /

I do believe you do. /

Nay, as I marchè in de street I can make de dull Apprenty / laugh and sneer. /

This Fool, I see, is as apt as an ill Poet to mistake the / contempt and scorn of people for applause and admiration. /

Ah, Cousin, you see wàt it is to have been in France; / before I went into France I cou'd get no body to laugh at me, / ma foy. /

No! truly Cousin, I think you deserv'd it before, but / you are improv'd indeed by going into France. /

Ay, ay, the Franch Education make us propre à tout; / beside, Cousin, you must know to play the Fool is the Science / in France, and I diddè go to the Italian Academy at Paris thrice / a week to learn to play de Fool of Signior Scaramouchè, who is / the most excellent Personage in the World for dat Noble Science. / Angel is a dam English Fool to him. /

Methinks now Angel is a very good Fool. /

Nauh, nauh, Nokes is a better Fool, but indeed the / Englis' are not fit to be Fools; here are vèr few good Fools. / 'Tis true, you have many a young Cavalier, who go over into / France to learn to be the Buffoon; but for all dat, dey return / [50] but mauvais Buffoon. Jarniè. /

I'm sure, Cousin, you have lost no time there. /

Auh lè bravè Scaramouchè. /

But is it a Science in France, Cousin? and is there an / Academy for Fooling: sure none go to it but Players. /

Dey are Comedians dàt are de Matrès, but all the / beaux monde go to learn, as they do here of Angel and Nokes; / for if you did go abroad into Company, you wou'd find the / best almost of de Nation conning in all places the Lessons which / dey have learnt of the Fools, dere Matrès, Nokes and Angel. /

Indeed! /

Yes, yes, dey are the Gens de quality that practise / dat Science most, and the most ambitieux; for Fools and Buffoons / have been always most welcome to Courts, and desir'd / in all Companies. Auh to be de Fool, de Buffoon, is to be / de greatè Personagè. /

Fools have Fortune, they say indeed. /

So say old Senequè. /

Well, Cousin (not to make you proud) you are the / greatest Fool in England, I am sure. /

Non, non, de gracè, non, Nokes dè Comedian is a pretty / man, a pretty man for a Comedian, da--- /

You are modest, Cousin; but least my Father shou'd / come in presently (which he will do as soon as he knows you / are here) I must give you a Caution, which 'tis fit you shou'd / [75] have before you see him. /

Well, vèl, Cousin vat is dat? /

You must know then (as commonly the conclusion of / all mirth is sad) after I had a good while pleas'd my self in / jesting and leading the poor Gentleman you sent into a Fools / Paradise, and almost made him believe I wou'd go away with / him, my Father coming home this morning, came in upon us, / and caught him with me. /

Mala-pestè. /

And drew his Sword upon him, and wou'd have kill'd / him; for you know my Fathers Spanish fierceness and Jealousie. /

But how did he come off then? testè nòn. /

In short, I was fain to bring him off by saying he was / my Dancing-master. /

Hah, ha, ha, vèr good Jestè. /

I was unwilling to have the poor man kill'd you know / for our foolish Frolick with him; but then upon my Aunts and / Fathers inquiry, how he came in, and who sent him; I was / forc'd to say you did, desiring I shou'd be able to dance a Corant / before our Wedding. /

A vèr good Jest---da---still bettrè as bettrè. /

Now all that I am to desire of you, is to owne you / sent him, that I may not be caught in a lye. /

Yes, yes, a ver good Jest, Gerrard, a Mastrè de Dance, / hah, ha, ha. /

[100] Nay, the Jest is like to be better yet; for my Father / himself has oblig'd him now to come and teach me: So that / now he must take the Dancing-master upon him, and come /

[Page 41]
three or four times to me before our Wedding, lest my Father, / if he shou'd come no more, shou'd be suspicious I had told / him a lye: and (for ought I know) if he shou'd know or but / guess he were not a Dancing-master, in his Spanish strictness and / Punctillioes of Honour he might kill me as the shame and stain / of his Honour and Family, which he talks of so much. Now / you know the jealous cruel Fathers in Spain serve their poor / innocent Daughters often so, and he is more than a Spaniard. /

Non, non, fear noting, I warrant you he shall come / as often as you will to the house, and your Father shall never / know who he is till we are marry'd; but then I'le tell him all / for the Jests sake. /

But will you keep my Counsel, dear Cousin, till we / are marry'd? /

Poor, dear Fool, I warrant thee, mon foy. /

Nay, what a Fool am I indeed, for you wou'd not / have me kill'd: you love me too well sure, to be an Instrument / of my death; /

Enter Don Diego walking gravely, a little Black behind him. Mrs. Caution.

I would no more tell him of it, than I would tell you / if I had been with a Wench, Jarnie---she's afraid to be kill'd, / poor Wretch, and he's a capricious jealous Fop enough to do't, / [125] but here he comes. /
                                        [aside.
I'le keep thy Counsel I warrant thee, my dear Soul, mon petit / Coeùr. /

Peace, peace, my Father's coming this way. /

I, but by his march he won't be near enough to hear / us this half hour, hah, ha, ha. /

Is that thing my Cousin, Sister? /

'Tis he, Sir. /

Cousin, I'm sorry to see you. /

Is that a Spanish Complement? /

So much disguis'd, Cousin. /

Oh! is it out at last, ventrè? / Serviteur, Serviteur, a Monseur mon Oncle, and I am glad to see / you here within doors, most Spanish Oncle, ha, ha, ha But I / should be sorry to see you in the streets, teste non. /

Why soh---would you be asham'd of me, hah--- / (voto a St. Jago) wou'd you? hauh--- /

I it may be you wou'd be asham'd your self, Monseur / mon Oncle, of the great Train you wou'd get to wait upon / your Spanish Hose, puh---the Boys wou'd follow you, and hoot / at you (vert & bleu) pardonè my Franch Franchise, Monsieur / mon Oncle. /

We shall have sport anon, betwixt these two Contraries. /

Do'st thou call me Monseur (voto a St. Jago.) /

No, I did not call you Monseur voto a St. Jago, Sir, / [150] I know you are my Uncle Mr. James Formal---da--- /

But I can hardly know you are my Cousin, Mr. Nathaniel / Paris; but call me Sir Don Diego henceforward, look you, / and no Monsieur, call me Monsieur Guarda. /

I confess my errour, Sir; for none but a blind man / wou'd call you Monsieur, ha, ha, ha---But pray do not call / me neder Paris, but de Paris, de Paris (si vou plai'st) Monseur / de Paris! Call me Monseur and welcome, da--- /

Monsieur de Pantalleòns then voto--- /

Monsieur de Pantalloons! a pretty name, a pretty name, / ma foy, da---bein trove de Pantalloons; how much betrè dèn / your de la Fountaines, de la Rivieres, de la Roches, and all the / De's in France---da---well; but have you not the admiration / for my Pantalloon, Don Diego mon Oncle? /

I am astonish'd at them verde deramentè, they are wonderfully / ridiculous. /

Redicule, redicule! ah---'tis well you are my Uncle, / da---Redicule, ah---is dere any ting in de Universe so jenti / as de Pantalloons? any ting so ravisaunt as de Pantallons? / Auh---I cou'd kneel down and varship a pair of jenti Pantalloons? / vat, vat, you wou'd have me have de admiration for dis /

[Page 43]
outward skin of your Thigh, which you call Spanish Hose, fie, / fie, fie---ha, ha, ha. /

Do'st thou deride my Spanish Hose? young Man, / hauh. /

[175] In comparison of Pantalloon I do undervalue 'em indeet, / Don Diegue mon Oncle, ha, ha, ha. /

Thou art then a gavanho de malo guito, look you. /

You may call me vàt you vil, Oncle Don Diegue; but / I must needs say, your Spanish Hose are scurvy Hose, ugly Hose, / lousie Hose, and stinking Hose. /

Do not provoke me, Boracho. /

Indeet for lousie I recant dat Epithete, for dere is / scarce room in 'em for dat little Animal, ha, ha, ha. But for stinking / Hose, dat Epithete may stand; for how can dey chuse but / stink, since dey are so furieusmentè close to your Spanish Tail, / da. /

Ha, ha, ridiculous. /

Do not provoke me, I say, En horâ malâ. /

Nay, Oncle, I am sorry you are in de pation; but I / must live and dye for de Pantalloon against de Spanish Hose, / da. /

You are a rash young Man, and while you wear Pantalloons, / you are beneath my passion, voto---Auh---they make / thee look and waddle (with all those gew-gaw Ribbons) like / a great old Fat, slovenly Water-dog. /

And your Spanish Hose, and your Nose in the Air, / make you look like a great grisled-long-Irish-Grey-hound, / reaching a Crust off from a high Shelf, ha, ha, ha. /

Bueno, Bueno. /

[200] What have you a mind to ruine your self, and / break off the Match? /

Pshaw---wàt do you telle me of de Matchè? deè / tinke I will not vindicate Pantalloons, Morbleu? /

Well! he is a lost young Man, I see, and desperately / far gone in the Epidemick Malady of our Nation, the affectation / of the worst of French Vanities: but I must be wiser than him, /

[Page 44]
as I am a Spaniard look you Don Diego, and endeavour to / reclaim him by Art and fair means (look you, Don Diego) if not / he, shall never marry my Daughter look you, Don Diego, / though he be my own Sister's Son, and has two thousand five / hundred seventy three pound Starling twelve shillings and two / pence a year Penny-rent, Segouaramentè. /
                                        [aside.
Come Young-man, since you are so obstinate, we will refer our / difference to Arbitration, your Mistress my Daughter shall be / Umpire betwixt us, concerning Spanish Hose and Pantalloons. /

Pantalloons and Spanish Hose (si vous plaist.) /

Your Mistress is the fittest Judge of your Dress, sure? /

I know ver vel, dat most of the Jeunesse of England't / will not change the Ribband upon de Crevat widout the consultation / of dere Matress, but I am no Anglois da---nor shall / I make de reference of my Dress to any in the Universe, da--- / I judg'd by any in England, teste non, I wou'd not be judg'd by / an English Looking-glass, Jarnie. /

Be not positivo, Young-man. /

[225] Nay, pray refer it, Cousin, pray do. /

Non, non, your Servant, your Servant, Aunt. /

But pray be not so positive, come hither, Daughter, / tell me which is best. /

Indeed, Father, you have kept me in universal ignorance, / I know nothing. /

And do you tink I shall refer an Affair of dat consequence / to a poor young ting who have not see the Varld, da, I / am wiser than so voto? /

Well, in short, if you will not be wiser, and leave off / your French Dress, Stammering, and Tricks, look you, you shall / be a Fool and go without Daughter, voto. /

How, must I leave off my Janti Franch Accoustrements, / and speak base Englis' too, or not marry my Cousin! / mon Oncle Don Diego. Do not break off the Match, do not; / for know I will not leave off my Pantalloon and Franch Pronuntiation / for ne're a Cousin in England't, da. /

I tell you again, he that marry's my Daughter shall at / least look like a wise man, for he shall wear the Spanish Habit, / I am a Spanish Positivo. /

Ver vèl, ver vèl! and I am a Franch Positivo. /

Then I am Definitivo; and if you do not go immediately / into your Chamber, and put on a Spanish Habit, I have / brought over on purpose for your Wedding Cloaths, and put / off all these French Fopperies and Vanidades with all your Grimaces, / [250] Agreeables, Adorables, ma Foys, and Jernies. I swear / you shall never marry my Daughter (and by an Oath by Spaniard / never broken) by my Whiskers and Snuff-box. /

O hold, do not swear, Uncle, for I love your Daughter / furiesmènt. /

If you love her, you'l obey me. /

Auh, wat vil become of me! but have the consideration, / must I leave off all the Franch Béautes, Graces, and Embellisemènts, / bote of my Person and Language. /

I will have it so. /

I am ruinne den undonne, have some consideration / for me, for dere is not the least Ribbon of my Garniture, but is / as dear to me as your Daughter, Jernie--- /

Then you do not deserve her, and for that reason I will / be satisfi'd you love her better, or you shall not have her, for / I am positivo. /

Vil you breake mine Arte! pray have de consideration / for me. /

I say agen, you shall be dress'd before night from Top / to Toe in the Spanish-Habit, or you shall never marry my / Daughter, look you. /

If you will not have de consideration for me, have / de consideration for your Daughter; for she have de passionate / Amour for me, and like me in dis Habite betre den in yours, / da--- /

[275] What I have said I have said, and I am uno Positivo. /

Will you not so mush as allow me one little Franch / Oate? /

No, you shall look like a Spaniard, but speak and swear / like an English man, look you. /

Helas, helas, den I shall take my leave, mort, teste, ventre, / Jernie, teste-bleu, ventre-bleu, ma foy, certes. /

Pedro, Sanchez wait upon this Cavaliero into his Chamber / with those things I ordered you to take out of the Trunks, / I wou'd have you a little accustomed to your Cloaths before / your Wedding; for if you comply with me, you shall marry / my Daughter to morrow, look you. /

Adieu then, dear Pantalloon! dear Beltè! dear / Sword! dear Perruque! and dear Chappeaux, Retrouseè, and / dear Shoe, Garni; adieu, adieu, adieu, helas, helas, helas, will / you have yet no pitie. /

I am a Spanish Positivo, look you. /

And more cruel than de Spanish Inquisitiono, to compel / a man to a Habit against his conscience, helas, helas, helas. /

Enter Prue and Gerrard.

Here is the Dancing-master, shall I call my Mistress, / Sir? /

Yes. / O you are as punctual as a Spaniard: I love your punctual / men, nay, I think 'tis before your time something. /

Nay, I am resolv'd your Daughter, Sir, shall lose no / [300] time by my fault. /

So, so, tis well. /

I were a very unworthy man, if I should not be punctual / with her, Sir. /

You speak honestly, very honestly, Friend; and I believe / a very honest man, though a Dancing-master. /

I am very glad you think me so, Sir. /

What you are but a Young-man, are you marry'd / ye? /

No, Sir, but I hope I shall, Sir, very suddenly, if things / hit right. /

What the old Folks her Friends are wary, and cannot / agree with you so soon as the Daughter can? /

Yes, Sir, the Father hinders it a little at present; but /

[Page 47]
the Daughter I hope is resolv'd, and then we shall do well / enough. /

What! you do not steal her, according to the laudable / Custom of some of your Brother-Dancing-masters? /

No, no, Sir, steal her, Sir, steal her, you are pleas'd to / be merry, Sir, ha, ha, ha. / I cannot but laugh at that question. /

No, Sir, methinks you are pleas'd to be merry; but you / say the Father does not consent. /

Not yet, Sir; but 'twill be no matter whether he does / or no. /

[325] Was she one of your Scholars? if she were, 'tis a hundred / to ten but you steal her. /

I shall not be able to hold laughing. /

Nay, nay, I find by your laughing you steal her, she / was your Scholar, was she not? /

Yes, Sir, she was the first I ever had, and may be the / last too; for she has a Fortune (if I can get her) will keep me / from teaching to dance any more. /

So, so, then she is your Scholar still it seems, and she / has a good Portion, I am glad on't, nay, I knew you stole / her. /

My laughing may give him suspicions, yet I cannot / hold. /

What, you laugh I warrant to think how the young / Baggage and you will mump the poor old Father; but if all her / dependence for a Fortune be upon the Father, he may chance / to mump you both, and spoil the Jest. /

I hope it will not be in his power, Sir, ha, ha, ha. / I shall laugh too much anon. /
                                        [aside.
Pray, Sir, be pleas'd to call for your Daughter, I am impatient / till she comes; for time was never more precious with me and / with her too, it ought to be so, sure, since you say she is to be / marry'd to morrow. /

She ought to bestir her, as you say indeed, wuh, Daughter, / Daughter, Prue, Hippolita: Come away, Child, why do / [350] you stay so long? /

Enter Hippolita, Prue, and Caution.

Your Servant, Master! indeed I am asham'd you have / stay'd for me. /

O good Madam, 'tis my Duty, I know you came as soon / as you cou'd. /

I knew my Father was with you, therefore I did not / make altogether so much haste as I might; but if you had been / alone, nothing shou'd have kept me from you, I wou'd not have / been so rude as to have made you stay a minute for me, I warrant / you. /

Come, fidle, fadle, what a deal of Ceremony there is / betwixt your Dancing-master and you, Querno--- /

Lord, Sir, I hope you'l allow me to shew my respect / to my Master, for I have a great respect for my Master. /

And I am very proud of my Scholar, and am a very / great Honourer of my Scholar. /

Come, come, Friend, about your bus'ness, and honour / the King. Your Dancing-masters and Barbers are such finical / smooth-tongu'd, tatling Fellows, and if you set 'em once a talking, / they'll ne're a done, no more than when you set 'em a fidling: / indeed all that deal with Fiddles are given to impertinency. /

Well! well! this is an impertinent Fellow, without / being a Dancing-master; he's no more a Dancing-master than / I am a Maid. /

So he wou'd, I warrant you, if your Worship wou'd / let him alone. /

How now Mrs. Nimble-Chaps? /

Well, though I have got a little Canting at the Dancing-School / since I was here, yet I do ill so bunglingly, he'll / discover me. /

Try, come take my hand, Master. /

Look you, Brother, the impudent Harletry gives him / her hand. /

Can he dance with her without holding her by the / hand? /

Here take my hand, Master. /

I wish it were for for good and all. /

You Dancing-masters are always so hasty, so nimble. /

Voto a St. Jago, not that I can see, about, about with / her, man. /

Indeed, Sir, I cannot about with her as I wou'd do, unless / you will please to go out a little, Sir; for I see she is bashful / still before you, Sir. /

Hey, hey, more fooling yet, come, come, about with / her. /

Nay, indeed, Father, I am asham'd and cannot help it. /

But you shall help it, for I will not stir: move her, I / say, begin Hussie, move when he'll have you. /

[400] I cannot but laugh at that, ha, ha, ha. /

Come then, Madam, since it must be so let us try, but / I shall discover all, One, two, and Coupee. /

Nay de' see how he squeezes her hand, Brother, O the / lewd Villain! /

There, there, he pinch'd her by the Thigh, will you / suffer it? /

One, two, three, and fall back. /

Fall back, fall back, back, some of you are forward / enough to back. /

Back, Madam. /

Fall back when he bids you, Hussie. /

How! how! fall back, fall back, marry, but she shall / not fall back when he bids her. /

I say she shall, Huswife, come. /

She will, she will, I warrant you, Sir, if you won't be / angry with her. /

Do you know what he means by that now, you a / [425] Spaniard? /

How's that, I not a Spaniard? say such a word again. /

Come forward, Madam, three steps agen. /

See, see, she squeezes his hand now, O the debauch'd / Harletry! /

So, so, mind her not, she moves forward pretty well; / but you must move as well backward as forward, or you'll never / do any thing to purpose. /

Do you know what you say, Brother, your self? now / are you at your beastliness before your young Daughter? /

Ha, ha, ha. /

How now, Mistress, are you so merry? is this your / staid Maid as you call her, Sister impertinent? /

I have not much to say to you, Miss; but I shall not / have an opportunity to do it, unless we can get your Father / out. /

Come about agen with her. /

Look you, there she squeezes his hand hard again. /

Indeed and indeed, Father, my Aunt puts me quite out, / I cannot dance while she looks on for my heart, she makes me / asham'd and afraid together. /

Indeed if you wou'd please to take her out, Sir, I am / sure I shou'd make my Scholar do better, than when you are / present, Sir, pray, Sir, be pleased for this time to take her / away; for the next time I hope I shall order it so, we shall / [450] trouble neither of you. /

No, no, Brother, stir not, they have a mind to be left / alone. Come, there's a beastly Trick in't: he's no Dancing-master / I tell you. /

Dam'd Jade, she'll discover us. /

What will you teach me? nay then I will go out, and / you shall go out too, look you. /

I will not go out, look you. /

Come, come, thou art a censorious wicked Woman, and / you shall disturb them no longer. /

What will you bawd for your Daughter? /

Ay, ay, come go out, out, out. /

I will not go out, I will not go out, my conscience will / not suffer me; for I know by experience what will follow. /

I warrant you, Sir, we'll make good use of our time / when you are gone. /

Do you hear him again, don't you know what he / means? /

'Tis very well, you are a fine Gentleman to abuse my / poor Father so. /

'Tis but by your Example, Miss. /

Well I am his Daughter, and may make the bolder / with him, I hope. /

And I am his Son-in-law, that shall be; and therefore / may claim my Priviledge too of making bold with him, I / [475] hope. /

Methinks you shou'd be contented in making bold / with his Daughter; for you have made very bold with her, / sure. /

I hope I shall make bolder with her yet. /

I do not doubt your confidence, for you are a Dancing-master. /

Why, Miss? I hope you wou'd not have me a fine senseless / Whining, modest Lover; for modesty in a man is as ill as / the want of it in a Woman. /

I thank you for that, Sir, now you have made bold / with me indeed; but if I am such a confident Piece, I am sure / you made me so; if you had not had the confidence to come / in at the Window, I had not had the confidence to look upon / a man: I am sure I cou'd not look upon a man before. /

But that I humbly conceive, sweet Miss, was your Fathers / fault, because you had not a man to look upon. But, / dearest Miss, I do not think you confident, you are only innocent; / for that which wou'd be called confidence, nay impudence / in a Woman of years, is called innocency in one of your / age; and the more impudent you appear, the more innocent / you are thought. /

Say you so! has Youth such Priviledges? I do not / wonder then most Women seem impudent, since it is to be / thought younger than they are it seems; but indeed, Master you /

[Page 52]
are as great an Encourager of impudence I see, as if you were / [500] a Dancing-master in good earnest. /

Yes, yes, a young thing may do any thing, may leap / out of the Window, and go away with her Dancing-master, if / she please. /

So, so, the use follows the Doctrine very suddenly. /

Well, Dearest, pray let us make the use we shou'd of / it, lest your Father shou'd make too bold with us, and come in / before we wou'd have him. /

Indeed old Relations are apt to take that ill-bred freedom / of pressing into young Company at unseasonable hours. /

Come, dear Miss, let me tell you how I have design'd / matters; for in talking of any thing else we lose time and opportunity: / people abroad indeed say the English Women are / the worst in the World in using an opportunity, they love tittle / tattle and Ceremony. /

'Tis because I warrant opportunities are not so scarce / here as abroad, they have more here than they can use; but let / people abroad say what they will of English Women, because / they do not know 'em, but what say people at home? /

Pretty Innocent, ha, ha, ha. Well I say you will not / make use of your opportunity. /

I say you have no reason to say so yet. /

Well, then anon at nine of the Clock at night I'le try / you; for I have already bespoke a Parson, and have taken up / the three back Rooms of the Tavern, which front upon the / [525] Gallery-window, that no body may see us escape, and I have / appointed (precisely betwixt eight and nine of the Clock when / it is dark) a Coach and Six to wait at the Tavern-door for / us. /

A Coach and Six, a Coach and Six, do you say? nay / then I see you are resolv'd to carry me away; for a Coach / and Six, though there were not a man but the Coach-man with / it, wou'd carry away any young Girl of my Age in England, a / Coach and Six! /

Then you will be sure to be ready to go with me. /

What young Woman of the Town cou'd ever say no / to a Coach and Six, unless it were going into the Country: /

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a Coach and Six, 'tis not in the power of fourteen year old to / resist it. /

You will be sure to be ready? /

You are sure 'tis a Coach and Six? /

I warrant you, Miss. /

I warrant you then they'll carry us merrily away: a / Coach and Six? /

But have you charm'd your Cousin the Monsieur (as you / said you wou'd) that he in the mean time say nothing to prevent / us? /

I warrant you. /

Enter to 'em Don Diego and Mrs. Caution pressing in.

I will come in. /

Well, I hope by this time you have given her full instructions, / [550] you have told her what and how to do, you have / done all. /

We have just done indeed, Sir. /

Ay, Sir, we have just done, Sir. /

And I fear just undone, Sir. /

De' hear that dam'd Witch. /

Come leave your censorious prating, thou hast been a / false right Woman thy self in thy Youth, I warrant you. /

I right! I right! I scorn your words, I'de have you / to know, and 'tis well known. I right! no 'tis your dainty / Minx, that Jillflirt your Daughter here that is right, do you / see how her Hankerchief is ruffled, and what a heat she's in? /

She has been dancing. /

Ay, ay, Adam and Eves Dance, or the beginning of the / World, de' see how she pants? /

She has not been us'd to motion. /

Motion, motion, motion de' call it? no indeed, I kept / her from motion till now, motion with a vengeance. /

You put the poor bashful Girl to the blush, you see, / hold your peace. /

'Tis her guilt, not her modesty, marry. /

Come, come, mind her not, Child, come, Master, let / me see her dance now the whole Dance roundly together, come / sing to her. /

Faith, we shall be discovered after all, you know I cannot / [575] sing a Note, Miss. /

Come, come, man. /

Indeed, Father, my Master's in haste now, pray let it / alone till anon at night, when you say he is to come again, and / then you shall see me dance it to the Violin, pray stay till then, / Father. /

I will not be put off so, come begin. /

Pray, Father. /

Come, sing to her, come begin. /

Pray, Sir, excuse me till anon, I am in some haste. /

I say begin, I will not excuse you, come take her by / the hand, and about with her. /

I say he shall not take her by the hand, he shall touch / her no more; while I am here there shall be no more squeesing / and tickling her palm, good Mr. Dancing master, stand off. /

Get you out, Mrs. Impertinence, take her by the hand, / I say. /

Stand off, I say, he shall not touch her, he has touch'd / her too much already. /

If patience were not a Spanish Vertue, I wou'd lay it / aside now. I say let 'em dance. /

I say they shall not dance. /

Pray, Father, since you see my Aunts obstinacy, let / us alone till anon, when you may keep her out. /

Well then, Friend, do not fail to come. /

[600] Nay, if he fail me at last. /

Be sure you come, for she's to be marry'd to morrow, / do you know it? /

Yes, yes, Sir, sweet Scholar, your humble Servant, till / night, and think in the mean time of the instructions I have given / you, that you may be the readier when I come. /

I, Girl, be sure you do, and do you be sure to come. /

You need not be so concern'd, he'll be sure to come, I / warrant you; but if I cou'd help it, he shou'd never set foot / agen in the house. /

You wou'd frighten the poor Dancing-master from the /

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house; but be sure you come for all her. /

Hold, hold, Sir, I must let you out, and I wish I cou'd / keep you out. He a Dancing-master, he's a Chouce, a Cheat, / a meer Cheat, and that you'll find. /

I find any man a Cheat! I cheated by any man! I scorn / your words, I that have so much Spanish Care, Circumspection, / and Prudence, cheated by a man: do you think I who have / been in Spain, look you, and have kept up my Daughter a / twelve-month, for fear of being cheated of her, look you? I / cheated of her! /

Well, say no more. /

Well, old Formality, if you had not kept up your / [625] Daughter, I am sure I had never cheated you of her. /

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Enter Monsieur de Paris without a Perruque with a Spanish Hat, a Spanish Doublet, Stockins, and Shooes, but in Pantalloons, a Waste-Belt, and a Spanish Dagger in't, and a Crevat about his Neck.

Enter Hippolita and Prue behind laughing.

To see wat a Fool Love do make of one, Jernie. / It do metamorphose de brave man into de Beast, de / Sotte, de Animal. /

Ha, ha, ha. /

Nay, you may laugh, 'tis ver vel, I am become as redicule / for you as can be, mort-bleu. I have deform my self into / an ugly Spaniard. /

Why, do you call this disguising your self like a Spaniard / while you wear Pantalloons still and the Crevat. /

But is here not the double Doublet and the Spanish / Dagger aussy. /

But 'tis as long as the French Sword, and worn like it. / But where's your Spanish Beard, the thing of most consequence? /

Jernie, do you tink Beards are as easie to be had as in / de Play-houses, non; but if here be no the ugly-long-Spanish / Beard, here are, I am certain, the ugly-long-Spanish Ear. /

That's very true, ha, ha, ha. /

Auh de ingrate! dat de Woman is, when we poor / men are your Gallants you laugh at us your selves, and wen we / are your Husband, you make all the Warld laugh at us, Jernie. / Love, dam Love, it make the man more redicule than poverty / Poetry, or a new Title of Honeur, Jernie. /

Enter Don Diego and Caution.

What at your Jernies still? voto. /

Why, Oncle, you are at your voto's still. /

[25] Nay, I'le allow you to be at your voto's too, but not / to make the incongruous Match of Spanish Doublet and French / Pantalloons. /

Nay, pray dear Oncle, let me unite France and Spain, / 'tis the Mode of France now, Jarnie, voto. /

Well, I see I must pronounce, I told you, if you were / not drest in the Spanish Habit to night, you shou'd not marry / my Daughter to morrow, look you. /

Well, am I not habiliee in de Spanish Habit, my Doublet, / Ear, and Hat, Leg and Feet are Spanish, that dey are. /

I told you I was a Spanish Positivo, voto. /

Vil you not spare my Pantalloon (begar) I will give / you one little finger to excuse my Pantalloon, da--- /

I have said, look you. /

Auh chere Pantalloons, speak for my Pantalloons, / Cousin, my poor Pantalloons are as dear to me as de Scarff to / de Countree Capitaine, or de new made Officer; therefore /

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have de compassion for my Pantalloons, Don Diego, mon Oncle, / helas, helas, helas. /

I have said, look you, your Dress must be Spanish, and / your Language English, I am uno Positivo. /

And must speak base good English too, ah la pitice, / helas. /

It must be done, and I will see this great change 'ere / it be dark, voto---your time is not long, look to't, look / [50] you. /

Helas, helas, helas, dat Espaigne shou'd conquer la / France in England, helas, helas, helas. /

You see what pains I take to make him the more agreeable / to you, Daughter. /

But indeed and indeed, Father, you wash the Black-a-more / white, in endeavouring to make a Spaniard of a Monsieur, / nay an English Monsieur too, consider that, Father; for when / once they have taken the French plie (as they call it) they are / never to be made so much as English men again, I have heard / say. /

What, I warrant, you are like the rest of the young / silly Baggages of England, that like nothing but what is French. / You wou'd not have him reform'd, you wou'd have a Monsieur / to your Husband, wou'd you, Querno? /

No indeed, Father, I wou'd not have a Monsieur to / my Husband, not I indeed, and I am sure you'll never make / my Cousin otherwise. /

I warrant you. /

You can't, you can't, indeed Father: and you have / sworn, you know, he shall never have me, if he does not leave / off his Monsieurship. Now as I told you, 'tis as hard for him / to cease being a Monsieur, as 'tis for you to break a Spanish / Oath, so that I am not in any great danger of having a Monsieur / to my Husband. /

[75] Well; but you shall have him for your Husband, look / you. /

Then you will break your Spanish Oath. /

No, I will break him of his French Tricks, and you / shall have him for your Husband, Querno. /

Indeed and indeed, Father, I shall not have him. /

Indeed you shall, Daughter. /

Well, you shall see, Father. /

No I warrant you, she will not have him, she'll have / her Dancing-master rather: I know her meaning, I understand / her. /

Thou malicious foolish Woman, you understand her! / but I do understand her, she says I will not break my Oath, nor / he his French Customs, so through our difference she thinks she / shall not have him, but she shall. /

But I shan't. /

I know she will not have him, because she hates him. /

I tell you, if she does hate him, 'tis a sign she will have / him for her Husband; for 'tis not one of a thousand that marries / the man she loves, look you. Besides, 'tis all one whether / she loves him now or not; for as soon as she's marry'd, she'd / be sure to hate him: that's the reason we wise Spaniards are / jealous and only expectè, nay will be sure our Wives shall fear / us, look you. /

Pray, good Father and Aunt, do not dispute about / [100] nothing, for I am sure he will never be my Husband to hate. /

I am of your opinion indeed, I understand you, I can / see as far as another. /

You, you cannot see so much as through your Spectacles, / but I understand her, 'tis her meer desire to Marriage makes / her say she shall not have him; for your poor young things, / when they are once in the teens, think they shall never be / marry'd. /

Well, Father, think you what you will, but I know / what I think. /

Enter Monsieur in the Spanish Habit entire only with a Crevat, and follow'd by the little Black-a-more with a Golilia in his hand.

Come, did not I tell you, you shou'd have him, look / you there, he has comply'd with me, and is a perfect Spaniard. /

Ay, ay, I am ugly Rogue enough, now sure, for my / Cousin; but 'tis your Father's fault, Cousin, that you han't the /

[Page 59]
handsomest best dress'd man in the Nation, a man be in mise. /

Yet agen at your French? and a Crevat on still (voto / a St. Jago) off, off with it. /

Nay I will ever hereafter speak clownish good English, / do but spare me my Crevat. /

I am uno Positivo, look you. /

Let me not put on that Spanish yoke, but spare me / my Crevat; for I love Crevat suriesment. /

Agen at your Furiesments! /

Indeed I have forgot my self, but have some mercy. /

Off, off, off with it I say, come refuse the Ornamento / [125] principal of the Spanish Habit. /

Will you have no mercy, no pity, alas, alas, alas, Oh / I had rather put on the English Pillory than this Spanish Golilia; / for 'twill be all a case I'm sure; for when I go abroad, I shall / soon have a Crowd of Boys about me, peppering me with rotten / Eggs and Turneps, helas, helas. /

Helas again? /

Alas, alas, alas. /

I shall dye; ha, ha, ha. /

I shall burst, ha, ha, ha. /

Ay, ay, you see what I am come to for your sake, / Cousin, and Uncle, pray take notice how ridiculous I am grown / to my Cousin that loves me above all the World? she can no / more forbear laughing at me, I vow and swear, than if I were / as arrant a Spaniard as your self. /

Be a Spaniard like me, and ne're think people laugh at / you: there was never a Spaniard that thought any one laugh'd / at him; but what do you laugh at a Golilia, Baggage? / Come, Sirrah-Black, now do you teach him to walk with the / verdadero gesto, gracia, and Gravidad of a true Castilian. /

Must I have my Dancing master too? come little Master / then, lead on. /

Malo, malo, with your Hat on your Pole, as if it hung / upon a Pin; the French and English wear their Hats, as if their / Horns would not suffer 'em to come over their Foreheads, / [150] voto--- /

'Tis true, there are some well-bred Gentlemen have / so much Reverence for their Perruque, that they wou'd refuse / to be Grandees of your Spain, for fear of putting on their Hats, / I vow and swear. /

Come, Black, teach him now to make a Spanish Leg. /

Ha, ha, ha, your Spanish Leg is an English Courtsie, I / vow and swear, hah, hah, ha. /

Well, the Hood does not make the Monk, the Ass was / an Ass still, though he had the Lyons Skin on; this will be a / light French Fool, in spight of the grave Spanish Habit, look / you. But, Black, do what you can, make the most of him, / walk him about. /

Here are the people, Sir, you sent to speak with about / Provisions for the Wedding, and here are your Cloaths brought / home too, Mistress. /

Well, I come, Black, do what you can with him, walk / him about. /

Indeed, Uncle, if I were as you, I would not have the / grave Spanish Habit so travesty'd, I shall disgrace it and my little / Black Master too, I vow and swear. /

Learn, learn of him, improve your self by him, and / do you walk him, walk him about soundly. Come, Sister and / Daughter, I must have your Judgments, though I shall not need / 'em, look you, walk him, see you walk him. /

[175] Jernie, he does not only make a Spaniard of me, but / a Spanish Jennit, in giving me to his Lacquey to walk; but / come a long, little Master. /

O the unfortunate condition of us poor Chamber-maids, / who have all the carking and caring, the watching and sitting / up, the trouble and danger of our Mistresses Intrigues! whilst / they go away with all the pleasure; and if they can get their /

[Page 61]
man in a corner, 'tis well enough, they ne're think of the poor / watchful Chamber-maid, who sits knocking her heels in the / cold, for want of better exercise in some melancholy Lobby or / Entry, when she cou'd imploy her time every whit as well as her / Mistress for all her Quality, if she were but put to't. /

Hold up your head, hold up your head, Sir, a stooping / Spaniard, Malo. /

True, a Spaniard scorns to look upon the ground. /

We can shift for our Mistresses, and not for our selves, / mine has got a handsom proper Young-man, and is just going / to make the most of him, whilst I must be left in the Lurch / here with a Couple of ugly little Black-a-more Boys in Bonets / and an old wither'd Spanish Eunuch, not a Servant else in the / house, nor have I hopes of any comfortable Society at all. /

Now let me see you make your Visit-Leg thus. /

Auh, teste non, ha, ha, ha. /

What, a Spaniard, and laugh aloud! no; if you laugh / thus only so---now your Salutation in the street as you pass / [200] by your Acquaintance, look you, thus---if to a Woman, / thus, putting your Hat upon your heart; if to a man, thus with / a nod, so---but frown a little more, frown. / But if to a Woman you wou'd be very ceremonious /
                                        Mons. imitating the Black.
too, thus---so---your Neck nearer your / shoulder, so---Now if you wou'd speak contemptibly / of any man or thing, do thus with your hand--- / so---and shrug up your shoulders, till they hide your Ears. / Now walk agen. /

All my hopes are in that Coxcomb there; I must take / up with my Mistress's leavings, though we Chamber-maids are / wont to be before-hand with them: but he is the dullest, modestest / Fool, for a Frenchifi'd Fool, as ever I saw; for no body / cou'd be more coming to him than I have been (though I / say it) and yet I am ne're the nearer. I have stollen away his / Hankerchief, and told him of it, and yet he wou'd never so / much as struggle with me to get again. I have pull'd off his / Perruque, unty'd his Ribbons, and have been very bold with /

[Page 62]
him, yet he would never be so with me; nay, I have pinch'd / him, punch'd him, and tickl'd him, and yet he would never / do the like for me. /

Nay, thus, thus, Sir. /

And to make my person more acceptable to him, I / have us'd Art, as they say; for every night since he came, I / have worn the Forehead-piece of Bees-wax and Hogs-grease, / [225] and every morning wash'd with Butter-milk and wild Tansie, / and have put on every day for his only sake my Sunday's Bowdy-Stockins, / and have new chalk'd my Shoos, and's constantly / as the morning came; nay, I have taken an occasion to garter / my Stockins before him, as if unawares of him; for a good / Leg and Foot, with good Shoos and Stockins, are very provoking, / as they say, but the Devil a bit wou'd he be provok'd; / but I must think of a way. /

Thus, thus. /

What so---well, well, I have Lessons enow for this / time. Little Master, I will have no more, lest the multiplicity / of 'em make me forget 'em, da--- / Prue, art thou there, and so pensive? what art thou? thinking / of? /

Indeed I am asham'd to tell your Worship. /

What asham'd! wer't thou thinking then of my beastliness? / ha, ha, ha. /

Nay, then I am forc'd to tell your Worship in my own / vindication. /

Come then. /

But indeed your Worship---I'm asham'd that I am, / though it was nothing but of a dream I had of your sweet Worship / last night. /

Of my sweet Worship! I warrant it was a sweet dream / then, what was it? ha, ha, ha. /

[250] Nay, indeed I have told your Worship enough already, / you may guess the rest. /

I cannot guess, ha, ha, ha, what shou'd it be? prethee / let's know the rest. /

Wou'd you have me so impudent? /

Impudent! ha, ha, ha, nay prethee tell me, for I can't / guess, da--- /

Nay, 'tis always so; for want of the mens guessing, the / poor Women are forc'd to be impudent, but I am still asham'd. /

I will know it, speak. /

Why then methoughts last night you came up into my / Chamber in your Shirt, when I was in Bed, and that you might / easily do; for I have ne're a Lock to my door: now I warrant / I am as red as my Petticoat. /

No, thou'rt as yellow as e're thou wert. /

Yellow, Sir! /

Ay, ay; but let's hear the Dream out. /

Why, can't you guess the rest now? /

No not I, I vow and swear, come let's hear. /

But can't you guess in earnest? /

Not I, the Devil eat me. /

Not guess yet! why then methoughts you came to bed / to me? Now am I as read as my Petticoat again. /

Ha, ha, ha, well, and what then? ha, ha, ha. /

Nay, now I know by your Worship's laughing, you / [275] guess what you did: I'm sure I cry'd out, and wak'd all in / tears, with these words in my mouth, You have undone me, / you have undone me! your Worship has undone me. /

Hah, ha, ha; but you wak'd and found it was but a / Dream. /

Indeed it was so lively, I know not whether 'twas a / Dream or no: but if you were not there, I'le undertake you / may come when you will, and do any thing to me you will, I / sleep so fast. /

No, no, I don't believe that. /

Indeed you may, your Worship--- /

It cannot be. /

Insensible Beast! he will not understand me yet, and / one wou'd think I speak plain enough. /

Well, but Prue, what art thou thinking of? /

Of the Dream, whether it were a Dream or no. /

'Twas a Dream I warrant thee. /

Was it? I am hugeous glad it was a Dream. /

Ay, ay, it was a Dream; and I am hugeous glad it / was a Dream too. /

But now I have told your Worship, my door hath neither / Lock nor Latch to it: if you shou'd be so naughty as to / come one night, and prove the dream true---I am so afraid / on't. /

Ne're fear it, dreams go by the contraries. /

[300] Then by that I should come into your Worship's Chamber, / and come to bed to your Worship. Now am I as red as / my Petticoat again, I warrant. /

No, thou art no redder than a Brick unburnt, Prue. /

But if I shou'd do such a trick in my sleep, your Worship / wou'd not censure a poor harmless Maid, I hope; for I am / apt to walk in my sleep. /

Well then, Prue, because thou shalt not shame thy self / (poor Wench) I'le be sure to lock my door every night fast. /

So, so, this way I find will not do, I must come roundly / and down-right to the bus'ness, like other Women, or--- /

Enter Gerrard.

O the Dancing-master! /

Dear Sir, I have something to say to you in your Ear, / which I am asham'd to speak aloud. /

Another time, another time; Prue, but now go call your / Mistress to her Dancing-master, go, go. /

Nay, pray hear me, Sir, first. /

Another time, another time, Prue, prethee be gone. /

Nay, I beseech your Worship hear me. /

No, prethee be gone. /

Nay, I am e'en well enough serv'd for not speaking my / mind when I had an opportunity. Well, I must be playing the / modest Woman, forsooth; a Womans hypocrisie in this case / does only deceive her self. /

O the brave Dancing-master, the fine Dancing-master, / [325] your Servant, your Servant. /

Your Servant, Sir, I protest I did not know you at first. / I am afraid this Fool shou'd spoil all, notwithstanding Hippolita's / care and management, yet I ought to trust her; but a Secret / is more safe with a treacherous Knave than a talkative Fool. /

Come, Sir, you must know a little Brother Dancing-master / of yours, Walking-master I shou'd have said; for he / teaches me to walk and make Legs by the by: Pray know him, / Sir, salute him, Sir; you Christian Dancing-masters are so / proud. /

But, Monsieur, what strange Metamorphosis is this? you / look like a Spaniard, and talk like an English-man again, which / I thought had been impossible. /

Nothing impossible to Love, I must do't, or lose my / Mistress your pretty Scholar, for 'tis I am to have her; you / may remember I told you she was to be marry'd to a great man, / a man of Honour and Quality. /

But does she enjoyn you to this severe penance, such I / am sure it is to you. /

No, no, 'tis by the compulsion of the starch'd Fop her / Father, who is so arrant a Spaniard, he wou'd kill you and his / Daughter, if he knew who you were; therefore have a special / care to dissemble well. /

I warrant you. /

Dear Gerrard, go little Master and call my Cousin, / [350] tell her, her Dancing-master is here. /
                                        [Exit Black.
I say, dear Gerrard, faith I'm obliged to you for the trouble / you have had: when I sent you, I intended a Jest indeed, but / did not think it wou'd have been so dangerous a Jest; therefore / pray forgive me. /

I do, do heartily forgive you. /

But can you forgive me, for sending you at first, like / a Fool as I was, 'twas ill done of me; can you forgive me? /

Yes, yes, I do forgive you. /

Well, thou art a generous man, I vow and swear, to / come and take upon you this trouble, danger, and shame, to / be thought a paltry Dancing-master, and all this to preserve a / Ladies honour and life, who intended to abuse you; but I take / the obligation upon me. /

Pish, pish, you are not obliged to me at all. /

Faith but I am strangely obliged to you. /

Faith but you are not. /

I vow and swear but I am. /

I swear you are not. /

Nay, thou art so generous a Dancing-master---ha, / ha, ha. /

Enter Don Diego, Hippolita, Caution, and Prue.

You shall not come in, Sister. /

I will come in. /

You will not be civil. /

I'm sure they will not be civil, if I do not come in, I / [375] must, I will. /

Well, honest Friend, you are very punctual, which is / a rare Vertue in a Dancing-master, I take notice of it, and will / remember it, I will, look you. /

So silly-damn'd-politick Spanish Uncle, ha, ha, ha. /

My fine Scholar, Sir, there, shall never have reason (as / I told you) Sir, to say I am not a punctual man, for I am more / her Servant than to any Scholar I ever had. /

Well said, i'faith, thou dost make a pretty Fool of / him, I vow and swear; but I wonder people can be made such / Fools of, ha, ha, ha. /

Well, Master, I thank you, and I hope I shall be a / grateful kind Scholar to you. /

Ha, ha, ha, cunning little Jilt, what a Fool she makes / of him too: I wonder people can be made such Fools of, I vow / and swear, ha, ha, ha. /

Indeed it shall go hard but I'le be a grateful kind Scholar / to you. /

As kind as ever your Mother was to your Father, I / warrant. /

How; agen with your senseless suspicions. /

Pish, pish, Aunt, ha, ha, ha, she's a Fool another way; / she thinks she loves him, ha, ha, ha. Lord, that people shou'd / be such Fools! /

Come, come, I cannot but speak, I tell you beware in / [400] time; for he is no Dancing-master, but some debauch'd person / who will mump you of your Daughter. /

Will you be wiser than I still? Mump me of my Daughter! /

[Page 67]
I wou'd I cou'd see any one mump me of my Daughter. /

And mump you of your Mistress too, young Spaniard. /

Ha, ha, ha, will you be wiser than I too, voto. Mump / me of my Mistress! I wou'd I cou'd see any one mump me of / my Mistress. /
                                        [To Caution.
I am afraid this dam'd old Aunt shou'd discover us, I vow and / swear; be careful therefore and resolute. /

He, he does not go about his bus'ness like a Dancing-master, / he'll ne're teach her to dance, but he'll teach her no / goodness soon enough I warrant: he a Dancing-master! /

I, the Devil eat me, if he be not the best Dancing-master / in England now. Was not that well said, Cousin? was / it not? for he's a Gentleman Dancing-master, you know. /

You know him, Cousin, very well, Cousin, you sent / him to my Daughter? /

Come, Friend, about your bus'ness, about with my / Daughter. /

Nay, pray, Father, be pleas'd to go out a little, and / [425] let us but practise a while, and then you shall see me dance the / whole Dance to the Violin. /

Tittle, tattle, more fooling still! did not you say when / your Master was here last, I shou'd see you dance to the Violin / when he came agen. /

So I did, Father; but let me practise a little first before, / that I may be perfect. Besides, my Aunt is here, and she / will put me out, you know I cannot dance before her. /

Fidle, fadle. /

They're afraid to be discovered by Gerards bungling, / I see. Come, come, Uncle, turn out, let 'em practise. /

I won't (voto a St. Jago) what a fooling's here? /

Come, come, let 'em practise, turn out, turn out, / Uncle. /

Why, can't she practise it before me? /

Come, Dancers and Singers are sometimes humorsom; / besides, 'twill be more grateful to you, to see it danc'd all at / once to the Violin. Come, turn out, turn out, I say. /

What a fooling's here still amongst you, voto? /

So there he is with you, voto, turn out, turn out, I / vow and swear you shall turn out. /

Well, shall I see her dance it to the Violin at last? /

Yes, yes, Sir, what do you think I teach her for? /

Go, go, turn out, and you too, Aunt. /

Seriously, Nephew, I shall not budge, royally I shall / [450] not. /

Royally you must, Aunt, come. /

Pray hear me, Nephew. /

I will not hear you. /

'Tis for your sake I stay, I must not suffer you to be / wrong'd. /

Come, no wheedling, Aunt, come away. /

That slippery Fellow will do't. /

Let him do't. /

Indeed he will do't, royally he will. /

Well let him do't, royally. /

He will wrong you. /

Well, let him, I say, I have a mind to be wrong'd, / what's that to you, I will be wrong'd, if you go thereto, I / vow and swear. /

You shall not be wrong'd. /

I will. /

You shall not. /

What's the matter? won't she be rul'd? come, come / away, you shall not disturb 'em. /

De' see how they laugh at you both, well, go to, the / Troth-telling Trojan Gentlewoman of old was ne're believ'd, / till the Town was taken, rumag'd, and ransak'd, even, even so--- /

Hah, hah, ha, turn out. /

[Page 69]
Lord, that people shou'd be such arrant Cuddens, ha, ha, ha; / [475] but I may stay, may I not? /

No, no, I'de have you go out and hold the door, Cousin, / or else my Father will come in agen before his time. /

I will, I will then, sweet Cousin, 'twas well thought / on, that was well thought on indeed for me to hold the door. /

But be sure you keep him out, Cousin, till we knock. /

I warrant you, Cousin, Lord, that people shou'd be / made such Fools of, ha, ha, ha. /

So, so, to make him hold the door, while I steal his Mistress / is not unpleasant. /

Ay, but wou'd you do so ill a thing, so treacherous a / thing? faith 'tis not well. /

Faith I can't help it. Since 'tis for your sake, come, / Sweetest, is not this our way into the Gallery? /

Yes, but it goes against my Conscience to be accessary / to so ill a thing; you say you do it for my sake? /

Alas, poor Miss? 'tis not against your Conscience, but / against your modesty, you think to do it franckly. /

Nay, if it be against my modesty too, I can't do it indeed. /

Come, come, Miss, let us make haste, all's ready. /

Nay, faith, I can't satisfie my scruple. /

Come, Dearest, this is not a time for scruples nor modesty; / modesty between Lovers is as impertinent as Ceremony / between Friends, and modesty is now as unseasonable as on / the Wedding night: come away, my Dearest. /

[500] Whither? /

Nay sure, we have lost too much time already: Is that / a proper Question now? if you wou'd know, come along, for / I have all ready. /

But I am not ready. /

Truly, Miss, we shall have your Father come in upon / us, and prevent us agen, as he did in the morning. /

'Twas well for me he did; for on my Conscience if he / had not come in, I had gone clear away with you when I was / in the humour. /

Come, Dearest, you wou'd frighten me as if you were /

[Page 70]
not yet in the same humour. Come, come away, the Coach / and Six is ready. /

'Tis too late to take the Air, and I am not ready. /

You were ready in the morning. /

I, so I was. /

Come, come, Miss, indeed the Jest begins to be none. /

What, I warrant you think me in jest then? /

In jest, certainly; but it begins to be troublesom. /

But, Sir, you cou'd believe I was in earnest in the morning, / when I but seemed to be ready to go with you; and why / won't you believe me now, when I declare to the contrary? I / take it unkindly, that the longer I am acquainted with you, / you shou'd have the less confidence in me. /

For Heaven's sake, Miss, lose no more time thus, your / [525] Father will come in upon us, as he did--- /

Let him, if he will. /

He'll hinder our design. /

No, he will not, for mine is to stay here now. /

Are you in earnest? /

You'll find it so. /

How! why you confess'd but now you wou'd have / gone with me in the morning. /

I was in the humour then. /

And I hope you are in the same still, you cannot change / so soon. /

Why, is it not a whole day ago? /

What, are you not a day in the same humour? /

Lord! that you who know the Town (they say) shou'd / think any Woman could be a whole day together in an humor, / ha, ha, ha. /

Hey! this begins to be pleasant: What, won't you go / with me then after all? /

No indeed, Sir, I desire to be excus'd. /

Then you have abus'd me all this while? /

It may be so. /

Cou'd all that so natural Innocency be dissembl'd? / faith it cou'd not, dearest Miss. /

Faith it was, dear Master. /

Was it, faith? /

[550] Methinks you might believe me without an Oath: you / saw I cou'd dissemble with my Father, why shou'd you think I / cou'd not with you? /

So young a Wheadle? /

Ay, a meer damn'd Jade I am. /

And I have been abus'd, you say? /

'Tis well you can believe it at last. /

And I must never hope for you? /

Wou'd you have me abuse you again? /

Then you will not go with me? /

No; but for your comfort your loss will not be great, / and that you may not resent it, for once I'le be ingenuous and / disabuse you; I am no Heiress, as I told you, to twelve hundred / pound a year. I was only a lying Jade then, now you / will part with me willingly I doubt not. /

I wish I cou'd. /

Come, now I find 'tis your turn to dissemble; but / men use to dissemble for money, will you dissemble for nothing? /

'Tis too late for me to dissemble. /

Don't you dissemble, faith? /

Nay, this is too cruel. /

What, wou'd you take me without the twelve hundred / pound a year? wou'd you be such a Fool as to steal a / Woman with nothing? /

I'le convince you, for you shall go with me; and since / [575] you are twelve hundred pound a year the lighter, you'll be the / easier carried away. /

What, he takes her away against her will, I find I must / knock for my Master then. /

Enter Don Diego and Mrs. Caution.

My Father, my Father is here. /

Prevented again! /

What, you have done I hope now, Friend, for good and / all? /

Yes, yes, we have done for good and all indeed. /

How now! you seem to be out of humour, Friend. /

Yes, so I am, I can't help it. /

He's a Dissembler in his very Throat, Brother. /

Pray do not carry things so as to discover your self, / if it be but for my sake, good Master. /

She is grown impudent. /

See, see, they whisper, Brother, to steal a Kiss under a / Wisper, O the Harletry! /

What's the matter, Friend? /

I say for my sake be in humour, and do not discover / your self, but be as patient as a Dancing-master still. /

What, she is wispering to him indeed! what's the matter? / I will know it, Friend, look you. /

Will you know it? /

Yes, I will know it. /

Why, if you will know it, then she wou'd not do as I / [600] wou'd have her, and whisper'd me to desire me not to discover / it to you. /

What, Hussy, wou'd you not do as he'd have you! / I'le make you do as he'd have you. /

I wish you wou'd. /

'Tis a lye, she'll do all he'll have her do, and more too, / to my knowledge. /

Come, tell me what 'twas then she wou'd not do, come / do it, Hussy, or--- / Come, take her by the hand, Friend, come, begin, let's see / if she will not do any thing now I am here. /

Come, pray be in humour, Master. /

I cannot dissemble like you. /

What, she can't dissemble already, can she? /

Yes but she can, but 'tis with you she dissembles; for / they are not fallen out, as we think, for I'le be sworn I saw / her just now give him the languishing Eye, as they call it, that / is, the Whitings Eye, of old called the Sheeps Eye. I'le be / sworn I saw it with these two Eyes, that I did. /

You'll betray us, have a care, good Master. /

Hold your peace, I say, silly Woman. /

But does she dissemble already? how do you mean? /

She pretends she can't do what she shou'd do, and that / she is not in humour, the common Excuse of Women for not / doing what they shou'd do. /

[625] Come, I'le put her in humour; dance, I say, come, / about with her, Master. /

I am in a pretty humour to dance. /
                                        [aside.
I cannot fool any longer, since you have fool'd me. /

You wou'd not be so ungenerous, as to betray the / Woman that hated you, I do not do that yet; for Heaven's / sake for this once be more obedient to my desires than your / passion. /

What is she humoursom still? But methinks you look / your self as if you were in an ill humour; but about with / her. /

I am in no good Dancing humour indeed. /

Enter Monsieur.

Well, how goes the Dancing forward? what my Aunt / here to disturb 'em again? /

Come, come. /

I say stand off, thou shalt not come near, avoid, Satan, / as they say. /

Nay then we shall have it, Nephew, hold her a little, / that she may not disturb 'em, come, now away with her. /

Wilt thou lay violent hands upon thy own natural / Aunt, Wretch? /

Pray, Master, have patience, and let's mind our business. /

Why did you anger him then, Hussy, look you? /

Do you see how she smiles in his face, and squeezes / his hand now? /

Your Servant, Aunt, that won't do, I say. /

Have patience, Master. /

I am become her sport, one, two, three, Death, Hell, / and the Devil. /

Ay, they are three indeed; but pray have patience. /

Do you see how she leers upon him and clings to him, / can you suffer it? /

Ay, ay. /

One, two, and a slur; can you be so unconcern'd after / all? /

What, is she unconcern'd! Hussy, mind your bus'ness. /

One, two, three, and turn round, one, two, fall back, / Hell and Damnation. /

Ay, people, fall back indeed into Hell and Damnation, / Heav'n knows. /

One, two, three, and your Honour: I can fool no / longer. /

Nor will I be withel'd any longer like a poor Hen in / [675] her Pen, while the Kite is carrying away her Chicken before / her face. /

What have you done? Well then let's see her dance / it now to the Violin. /

Ay, ay, let's see her dance it to the Violin. /

Another time, another time. /

Don't you believe that, Friend; these Dancing-masters / make no bones of breaking their words. Did not you / promise just now I shou'd see her dance it to the Violin, and / that I will too, before I stir. /

Let Monsieur play then while I dance with her, she can't / dance alone. /

I can't play at all, I'm but a Learner; but if you'll / play, I'le dance with her. /

I can't play neither. /

What a Dancing-master, and not play! /

Ay, you see what a Dancing-master he is. 'Tis as I / told you, I warrant: A Dancing-master, and not play upon / the Fiddle! /

How! /

O you have betray'd us all! if you confess that, you / undo us for ever. /

I cannot play, what wou'd you have me say? /

I vow and swear we are all undone, if you cannot play. /

What, are you a Dancing-master, and cannot play! / [700] umph--- /

He is only out of humour, Sir; here, Master, I know / you will play for me yet, for he has an excellent hand. /

What wou'd you have me do with it? I cannot play a / stroke. /

No, stay then, seem to tune it, and break the strings. /

Come then. / Next to the Devil's the Invention of Women, they'll no more / want an excuse to cheat a Father with, than an opportunity to / abuse a Husband. /
                                        [aside.
But what do you give me such a dam'd Fiddle with rotten / strings for? /

Hey-day, the Dancing-master is frantick. /

Ha, ha, ha, that people shou'd be made such Fools of. /

He broke the strings on purpose, because he cou'd not / play, you are blind, Brother. /

What, will you see further than I? look you. /

But pray, Master, why in such haste? /

Because you have done with me. /

But don't you intend to come to morrow agen? /

Your Daughter does not desire it. /

[725] No matter, I do, I must be your pay Master I'm sure, / I wou'd have you come betimes too, not only to make her / perfect; but since you have so good a hand upon the Violin /

[Page 76]
to play your part with half a dozen of Musicians more, whom / I wou'd have you bring with you; for we will have a very / merry Wedding, though a very private one; you'll be sure / to come? /

Your Daughter does not desire it. /

Come, come, Baggage, you shall besire it of him, he / is your Master. /

My Father will have me desire it of you, it seems. /

But you'll make a Fool of me agen: if I shou'd come, / wou'd you not? /

If I shou'd tell you so, you'd be sure not to come. /

Come, come, she shall not make a Fool of you, upon / my word: I'le secure you, she shall do what you'll have her. /

Ha, ha, ha, so, so, silly Don. /

But, Madam, will you have me come? /

I'd have you to know for my part, I care not whether / you come or no; there are other Dancing masters to be had, / it is my Fathers request to you: all that I have to say to you, / is a little good advice, which (because I will not shame you) / I'le give you in private. /

What, will you let her whisper with him too? /

Nay, if you find fault with it, they shall whisper; / [750] though I did not like it before, I'le ha' no body wiser than / my self; but do you think if 'twere any hurt, she wou'd whisper / it to him before us? /

If it be no hurt, why does she not speak aloud? /

Because she says she will not put the man out of Countenance. /

Hey-day, put a Dancing-master out of countenance! /

You say he is no Dancing-master. /

Yes, for his impudence, he may be a Dancing-master. /

Well, well, let her whisper before me as much as she / will to night, since she is to be marry'd to morrow, especially / since her Husband that shall be stands by consenting too. /

Ay, ay, let 'em whisper (as you say) as much as they / will before we marry. / She's making more sport with him, I warrant; but I wonder / how people can be fool'd so, ha, ha, ha. /

Well, a Penny for the secret, Daughter. /

Indeed, Father, you shall have it for nothing to morrow. /

Well, Friend, you will not fail to come. /

And be sure you bring the Fiddlers with you, as I bid / you. /

Yes, be sure you bring the Fiddlers with you, as I bid you. /

So, so, He'll fiddle your Daughter out of the house, / must you have Fiddles, with a fiddle, faddle. /

[775] Lord! that people shou'd be made such Fools of, hah, / hah. /

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Enter Monsieur and Black stalking over the Stage, to them Mr. Gerard.

Good morrow to thee noble Dancing-master, ha, / ha, ha, your little black Brother here my Master I / see, is the more diligent man of the two; but why do you come / so late? what you begin to neglect your Scholar, do you? / Little black Master (con Licentia) pray get you out of the / Room. /
                                        [Exit Black.
What, out of humour, man! a Dancing master shou'd be like / his Fiddle, always in Tune. Come, my Cousin has made an / Ass of thee, what then, I know it. /

Does he know it? /

But prethee don't be angry, 'twas agreed upon betwixt / us, before I sent you to make a Fool of thee, ha, ha, ha. /

Was it so? /

I knew you would be apt to entertain vain hopes /

[Page 78]
from the Summons of a Lady; but faith the design was but to / make a Fool of thee, as you find. /

'Tis very well. /

But indeed I did not think the Jest wou'd have lasted / so long, and that my Cousin wou'd have made a Dancing-master / of you, ha, ha, ha. /

The Fool has reason, I find, and I am the Coxcomb / while I thought him so. /

Come, I see you are uneasie, and the Jest of being a / Dancing-master grows tedious to you; but have a little patience, / [25] the Parson is sent for, and when once my Cousin and I / are marry'd, my Uncle may know who you are. /

I am certainly abus'd. /

What do you say? /

Meerly fool'd. /

Why do you doubt it? ha, ha, ha. /

Can it be? /

Pish, pish, she told me yesterday as soon as you were / gone, that she had led you into a Fools Paradise, and made you / believe she wou'd go away with you, ha, ha, ha. /

Did she so! I am no longer to doubt it then? /

Ay, ay, she makes a meer Fool of thee, I vow and / swear; but don't be concern'd, there's hardly a man of a thousand / but has been made a Fool of by some Woman or other: / I have been made a Fool of my self, man, by the Women, I / have, I vow and swear, I have. /

Well, you have, I believe it, for you are a Coxcomb. /

Lord! you need not be so touchy with one, I tell / you but the truth for your good, for though she does, I wou'd / not fool you any longer; but prethee don't be troubl'd at what / can't be help'd. Women are made on purpose to fool men; / when they are Children, they fool their Fathers; and when / they have taken their leaves of their Hanging-sleeves, they fool / their Gallants or Dancing-masters, ha, ha, ha. /

Hark you, Sir, to be fool'd by a woman you say is not / [50] to be help'd; but I will not be fool'd by a Fool. /

You shew your English breeding now, an English / Rival is so dull and brutish as not to understand raillery, but /

[Page 79]
what is spoken in your passion, i'le take no notice of, for I am / your friend, and would not have you my Rival to make your / self ridiculous. Come, prethee, prethee, don't be so concern'd; / for as I was saying, women first fool their Fathers, / then their Gallants, and then their Husbands; so that it will be / my turn to be fool'd too; (for your comfort) and when they come / to be Widows, they would fool the Devil I vow and swear. / Come, come, dear Gerard, prethee don't be out of humour / and look so sillily. /

Prethee do not talk so sillily. /

Nay, faith I am resolv'd to beat you out of this ill / humour. /

Faith, I am afraid I shall first beat you into an ill humour. /

Ha, ha, ha, that thou should'st be gull'd so by a little / Gipsey, who left off her Bib but yesterday; faith I can't but / laugh at thee. /

Faith then I shall make your mirth (as being too violent) / conclude in some little mis-fortune to you. The Fool begins / to be tyrannical. /

Ha, ha, ha, poor angry Dancing-Master; prethee / match my Spanish pumps and legs with one of your best and / newest Sarabands; ha, ha, ha, come--- /

[75] I will match your Spanish ear thus, Sir, and make you / Dance thus. /

How! sa, sa, sa, than i'le make you Dance thus. / Hold, hold a little, /
                                        [Mon. draws his Sword and runs at him, but Ger. drawing he retires.
a desperate disappointed / Lover will cut his own throat, then sure he will make nothing / of cutting his Rivals throat. /

Consideration is an enemy to fighting; if you have a / mind to revenge your self, your Sword's in your hand. /

Pray, Sir, hold your peace; I'le ne'r take my Rivals / counsel be't what 'twill, I know what you wou'd be at; you / are disappointed of your Mistress, and cou'd hang your self, / and therefore will not fear hanging; but I am a successful / Lover, and need neither hang for you nor my Mistress nay, / if I should kill you, I know I should do you a kindness; therefore /

[Page 80]
e'en live to dye daily with envy of my happiness; but if / you will needs dye, kill your self and be damn'd for me I vow / and swear. /

But won't you fight for your Mistress? /

I tell you, you shall not have the honour to be kill'd / for her; besides, I will not be hit in the teeth by her as long / as I live with the great love you had for her. Women speak / well of their dead Husbands, what will they do of their dead / Gallants? /

But if you will not fight for her, you shall Dance for / [100] her, since you desir'd me to teach you to Dance too; I'le teach / you to Dance thus--- /

Nay, if it be for the sake of my Mistress, there's nothing / I will refuse to do. /

Nay, you must Dance on. /

Ay, ay for my Mistress and Sing too, la, la, la, ra, la. /

Enter Hippolita and Prue.

What Swords drawn betwixt you too? what's the / matter? /

Is she here? /
                                        [Aside.
Come put up your Sword; you see this is no place for us; but / the Devil eat me, if you shall not eat my Sword but--- /

What's the matter Cousin? /

Nothing, nothing Cousin; but your presence is a sanctuary / for my greatest enemy, or else, teste non. /

What, you have not hurt my Cousin, Sir, /
                                        [To Ger.
I hope? /

How she's concern'd for him; nay, then I need not / doubt, my fears are true. /

What was that you said Cousin! hurt me, ha, ha, ha, / hurt me! if any man hurt me, he must do it basely; he shall / ne'r do it when my Sword's drawn, sa, sa, sa. /

Because you will ne'r draw your Sword perhaps. /

Scurvily guess'd. /
                                        [Aside.
You Ladies may say any thing; but, Cousin, pray do not you /

[Page 81]
talk of Swords and fighting, meddle with your Guitar, and / [125] talk of dancing with your Dancing-master there, ha, ha, ha. /

But I am afraid you have hurt my Master, Cousin, he / says nothing; can he draw his breath? /

No, 'tis you have hurt your Master, Cousin, in the / very heart, Cousin, and therefore he wou'd hurt me; for Love / is a disease makes people as malicious as the Plague does. /

Indeed, poor Master, something does ail you. /

Nay, nay, Cousin, faith don't abuse him any longer, / he's an honest Gentleman, and has been long of my acquaintance, / and a man of tolerable sense to take him out of his Love; / but prethee, Cousin, don't drive the Jest too far for my sake. /

He counsels you well, pleasant-cunning-jilting-Miss for / his sake; for if I am your divertisement, it shall be at his cost, / since he's your Gallant in favour. /

I don't understand you. /

But I do, a pox take him, and the Custom that so orders / it, forsooth; that if a Lady abuse or affront a man, presently / the Gallant must be beaten, nay, what's more unreasonable, / if a Woman abuse her Husband, the poor Cuckold must / bear the shame as well as the injury. /

But what's the matter, Master? what was it you / said? /

I say pleasant, cunning, jilting Lady, though you make / him a Cuckold, it will not be revenge enough for me upon him / for marrying you. /

[150] How, my surly, huffing, jealous, sensless sawcy Master? /

Nay, nay, faith give losers leave to speak, losers of / Mistresses especially, ha, ha, ha. Besides, your anger is too great / a favour for him, I scorn to honour him with mine, you see. /

I tell you, my sawcy Master, my Cousin shall never be / made that monstrous thing (you mention) by me. /

Thank you, I vow and swear, Cousin, no, no, I never / thought I should. /

Sure you marry him by the sage Maxime of your Sex, / which is, Wittals make the best Husbands, that is, Cuckolds. /

Indeed, Master, whatsoever you think, I wou'd sooner / chuse you for that purpose then him. /

Ha, ha, ha, there she was with him, i'faith, I thank / you for that, Cousin, I vow and swear. /

Nay, he shall thank me for that too; but how came / you two to quarrel? I thought, Cousin, you had had more wit / than to quarrel, or more kindness for me than to quarrel here: / what if my Father hearing the Bustle shou'd have come in, he / wou'd soon have discover'd our false Dancing-master (for passion / un-masks every man) and then the result of your quarrel / had been my ruine. /

Nay, you had both felt his desperate, deadly, daunting / Dagger; there are your dès for you. /

Go, go presently therefore, and hinder my Father / from coming in, whilst I put my Master into a better humour, / [175] that we may not be discover'd, to the prevention of our Wedding, / or worse, when he comes, go, go. /

Well, well, I will, Cousin. /

Be sure you let him not come in this good while. /

No, no, I warrant you. /
                                        [Mons. goes out and returns.
But if he shou'd come before I wou'd have him, I'le come before / him and cough and hawk soundly, that you may not be / surprised. Won't that do well, Cousin? /

Very well, pray be gone. /
                                        [Exit Monsieur.
Well, Master, since I find you are quarrelsom and melancholy, / and wou'd have taken me away without a Portion, three infallible / signs of a true Lover, faith here's my hand now in earnest, / to lead me a Dance as long as I live. /

How's this? you surprise me as much as when first I / found so much Beauty and Wit in Company with so much Innocency. / But, Dearest, I would be assur'd of what you say, / and yet dare not ask the question. You h--- do not abuse / me again, you h--- will fool me no more sure. /

Yes but I will sure. /

How! nay, I was afraid on't. /

For I say you are to be my Husband, and you say Husbands / must be Wittals and some strange things to boot. /

Well, I will take my Fortune. /

But have a care, rash man. /

I will venture. /

[200] At your peril, remember I wish'd you to have a care, / fore-warn'd, fore-arm'd. /

Indeed now that's fair; for most men are fore-arm'd / before they are warn'd. /

Plain dealing is some kind of honesty however, and / few women wou'd have said so much. /

None but those who wou'd delight in a Husbands jealousie, / as the proof of his love and her honour. /

Hold, Sir, let us have a good understanding betwixt / one another at first, that we may be long Friends; I differ / from you in the point, for a Husbands jealousie, which cunning / men wou'd pass upon their Wives for a Complement, is the / worst can be made 'em, for indeed it is a Complement to their / Beauty, but an affront to their Honour. /

But, Madam--- /

So that upon the whole matter I conclude, jealousie in / a Gallant is humble true Love, and the height of respect, and / only an undervaluing of himself to overvalue her; but in a / Husband 'tis arrant sawciness, cowardise, and ill breeding, and / not to be suffer'd. /

I stand corrected gracious Miss. /

Well! but have you brought the Gentlemen Fidlers / with you as I desired? /

They are below. /

Are they arm'd well? /

[225] Yes, they have Instruments too that are not of wood; / but what will you do with them? /

What did you think I intended to do with them? / when I whisper'd you to bring Gentlemen of your acquaintance / instead of Fidlers, as my Father desir'd you to bring; pray / what did you think I intended? /

Faith, e'en to make fools of the Gentlemen-Fidlers, as / you had done of your Gentleman Dancing-Master. /

I intended 'em for our guard and defence against my / Fathers Spanish and Guiny force, when we were to make our / retreat from hence, and to help us to take the keys from my / Aunt, who has been the watchful Porter of this house this /

[Page 84]
twelve-month; and this design (if your heart do not fail you) / we will put in execution, as soon as you have given your friends / below instructions. /

Are you sure your heart will stand right still? you / flinch'd last night, when I little expected it, I am sure. /

The time last night, was not so proper for us as now, / for reasons I will give you; but besides that, I confess I had a / mind to try whether your interest did not sway you more than / your love; whether the twelve hundred pounds a year I told / you of, had not made a greater impression in your heart than / Hippolita; but finding it otherwise---yet hold, perhaps upon / consideration you are grown wiser; can you yet, as I said, / be so desperate, so out of fashion, as to steal a woman with / [250] nothing? /

With you I can want nothing, nor can be made by any / thing more rich or happy. /

Think well again; can you take me without the / twelve hundred pounds a year; the twelve hundred pounds / a year? /

Indeed, Miss, now you begin to be unkind again, and / use me worse than e're you did. /

Well, though you are so modest a Gentleman as to / suffer a Wife to be put upon you with nothing, I have more / conscience than to do it: I have the twelve hundred pounds / a year out of my Father's power, which is yours, and I am sorry / it is not the Indies to mend your bargain. /

Dear Miss, you but encrease my fears, and not my wealth: / pray let us make haste away, I desire but to be secure of you; / come, what are you thinking of? /

I am thinking if some little filching inquisitive Poet / shou'd get my story, and represent it on the Stage; what those / Ladies, who are never precise but at a Play, wou'd say of me / now; that I were a confident coming piece I warrant, and / they wou'd damn the poor Poet for libelling the Sex; but sure / though I give my self and fortune away franckly, without the / consent of my Friends, my confidence is less than theirs, who / stand off only for separate maintenance. /

They wou'd be Widows before their time, have a Husband /

[Page 85]
[275] and no Husband: but let us be gone, lest fortune shou'd / recant my happiness. Now you are fix'd my dearest Miss. /

Enter Monsieur coughing, and Don Diego.

Oh here's my Father! /

How now Sir! what kissing her hand? what means that / friend, ha! Daughter ha! do you permit this insolence ha! (voto / à mi hourâ.) /

We are prevented again. /

Ha, ha, ha, you are so full of your Spanish Jealousie, / Father, why you must know he's a City Dancing-master, and / they, forsooth, think it fine to kiss the hand at the Honour before / the Corant. /

Ay, ay, ay, Uncle, don't you know that? /

Go to, go to, you are an easie French Fool, there's / more in it than so, look you. /

I vow and swear there's nothing more in't, if you'll / believe one. / Did not I cough and hawk? a jealous prudent Husband cou'd / not cough and hawk louder at the approach of his Wifes / Chamber in visiting-time, and yet you wou'd not hear me, / he'll make now ado about nothing, and you'll be discover'd / both. /

Umph, umph, no, no, I see it plain, he is no Dancing-master, / now I have found it out, and I think I can see as far / into matters as another: I have found it now, look you. /

My fear was prophetical. /

[300] What shall we do? nay, pray, Sir, do not stir yet. /

Enter Mrs. Caution.

What's the matter, Brother? what's the matter? /

I have found it out, Sister, I have found it out, Sister, / this Villain here is no Dancing-master, but a dishonourer of / my House and Daughter, I caught him kissing her hand. /

Pish, pish, you are a strange Spanish kind of an Uncle, /

[Page 86]
that you are, a dishonourer of your Daughter, because he kissed / her hand; pray how cou'd he honour her more? he kiss't / her hand, you see, while he was making his Honour to her. /

You are an unthinking, shallow, French Fop, voto--- / But I tell you, Sister, I have thought of it, and have found it / out, he is no Dancing-master, Sister. Do you remember the / whispering last night? I have found out the meaning of that / too, and I tell you, Sister, he's no Dancing-master, I have / found it out. /

You found it out, marry come up, did not I tell you always / he was no Dancing-master? /

You tell me, you silly Woman, what then? what of / that? you tell me, de' think I heeded what you told me? but / I tell you now I have found it out. /

I say I found it out. /

I say 'tis false, Gossip, I found him out. /

I say I found him out first, say you what you will. /

Sister Mum, not such a word again, guarda---you found / him out. /

[325] Nay, I must submit, or dissemble like other prudent / Women, or--- /

Come, come, Sister, take it from me, he is no Dancing-master. /

O yes, he is a Dancing-master. /

What will you be wiser than I every way? remember / the whispering, I say. /

So, he thinks I speak in earnest, then I'le fit him still. / But what do you talk of their whispering, they wou'd not whisper / any ill before us sure. /

Will you still be an Idiot, a Dolt, and see nothing. /

Lord! you'll be wiser than all the World, will you? / are we not all against you? pshaw, pshaw, I ne're saw such a / Donissimo as you are, I vow and swear. /

No, Sister, he's no Dancing-master; for now I think / on't too, he cou'd not play upon the Fiddle. /

Pish, pish, what Dancing-master can play upon a Fiddle / without strings? /

Again, I tell you he broke 'em on purpose, because he /

[Page 87]
cou'd not play; I have found it out now, Sister. /

Nay, you see farther than I, Brother. /

For Heaven's sake stir not yet. /

Besides, if you remember they were perpetually putting / me out of the Room, that was, Sister, because they had a / mind to be alone, I have found that out too: Now, Sister, look / you, he is no Dancing-master. /

[350] But has he not given her Lesson often before you. /

I but, Sister, he did not go about his bus'ness like a / Dancing-master; but go, go down to the dore, some body / rings. /

I vow and swear Uncle he is a Dancing-master; pray / be appeas'd, Lord de'e think I'de tell you a lye? /

If it prove to be a lye, and you do not confess it, though / you are my next Heir after my Daughter, I will disown thee / as much as I do her, for thy folly and treachery to thy self, as / well as me; you may have her, but never my estate look you. /

How! I must look to my hits then. /

Look to't. /

Then I had best confess all, before he discover all, / which he will soon do. /

Enter Parson.

No. /

What has the Fool betray'd us then at last? nay, then / 'tis time to be gone; come away Miss. /

Nay, Sir, if you pass this way, my Toledo will pass that / way look you. /

O hold Mr. Gerrard, hold Father! /

I tell you Uncle he's an honest Gentleman, means no / [375] hurt, and came hither but upon a frolick of mine and your / Daughters. /

Ladron, Trayidor. /

I tell you all's but a jest, a meer jest I vow and / swear. /

A jest, jest with my honour voto, ha! no Family to / dishonour but the Grave, Wise, Noble, Honourable, Illustrious, / Puissant, and right Worshipful Family of the Formals; nay, / I am contented to reprieve you, till you know who you have / dishonoured, and convict you of the greatness of your crime / before you die; we are descended look you--- /

Nay, pray Uncle hear me. /

I say, we are descended. /

'Tis no matter for that. /

And my great, great, great Grandfather was. /

Well, well, I have something to say more to the / purpose. /

My great, great, great Grandfather, I say, was--- /

Well, a Pin-maker in--- /

But he was a Gentleman for all that Fop, for he was / a Serjeant to a Company of the Train-bands, and my great, / great, great Grandfather was. /

Was his Son, what then? won't you let me clear this / Gentleman? /

He was, he was--- /

[400] He was a Felt-maker, his Son a Wine-cooper, your / Father a Vintner, and so you came to be a Canary-Merchant. /

But we were still Gentlemen, for our Coat was as the / Heralds say---was--- /

Was, your sign was the Three Tuns, and the Field / Canary; now let me tell you this honest Gentleman--- /

Now that you shou'd dare to dishonour this Family; / by the Graves of my Ancestors in Great Saint Ellens Church--- /

Yard. /

Thou shalt dye fort't ladron. /

Hold, hold Uncle, are you mad? /

Oh, oh. /

Nay then, by your own Spanish rules of honour / (though he be my Rival) I must help him, /
                                        [Draws his sword.
since I brought him into danger. /

[Aside.

Tu quoque Brute. /

Nay, now Uncle you must understand reason; what, / you are not only a Don, but you are a Don Quixot too I vow / and swear. /

[425] Thou spot, sploach of my Family and blood; I will / have his blood look you. /

Pray good Spanish Uncle, have but patience to hear / me; suppose---I say, suppose he had done, done, done the feat / to your Daughter. /

How, done the feat, done the feat, done the feat, Em / horâ Malâ. /

I say, suppose, suppose--- /

Suppose--- /

I say, suppose he had, for I do but suppose it; well, I / am ready to marry her however; now Marriage is as good a / Solder for crack'd female-honour, as blood, and can't you / suffer the shame but for a quarter of an hour, till the Parson has / marry'd us, and then if there be any shame, it becomes mine; for / here in England, the Father has nothing to do with the Daughters / business, honour, what de'e call't, when once she's marry'd, / de'e see. /

England! what de'e tell me of England? I'le be a Spaniard / still, voto a mi hora, and I will be reveng'd, Pedro, Juan, / Sanches. /

Enter Mrs. Caution follow'd by Flirt and Flounce in vizard Masks.

What's the matter Brother? /

Pedro, Sanchez, Juan, but who are these Sister? are they / not men in womens cloaths? what make they here? /

They are relations, they say, of my Cousins, who press'd / in when I let in the Parson, they say my Cousin invited 'em to his / [450] Wedding. /

Two of my relations, ha---they are my Cousins indeed / of the other night; a Pox take 'em, but that's no Curse / for 'em; a Plague take 'em then, but how came they here? /

Now must I have witnesses too of the dishonour of my / Family; it were Spanish prudence to dispatch 'em away out of / the house, before I begin my revenge. /
                                        [Aside.
What are you? what make you here? who wou'd you speak / with? /

With Monsieur. /

Here he is. /

Now will these Jades discredit me, and spoil my match / just in the coupling minute. /

Do you know 'em? /

Yes, Sir, sure, I know 'em. Pray, Ladies, say as I say, / or you will spoil my Wedding, for I am just going to be marry'd, / and if my Uncle, or Mistress should know who you are, it might / break of the match. /

We come on purpose to break the match. /

How! /

Why, de'e think to marry and leave us so in the lurch? /

What do the Jades mean? /

Come, who are they? what wou'd they have? if they / come to the Wedding, Ladies, I assure you there will be none / to day here. /

[475] They won't trouble you, Sir, they are going again. / Ladies, you hear what my Uncle says; I know you won't trouble / him. I wish I were well rid of 'em. /

You shall not think to put us off so. /

Who are they? what are their names? /

We are, Sir--- /

Nay, for Heaven's sake don't tell who you are, for / you will undo me, and spoil my match infallibly. /

We care not, 'tis our business to spoil matches. /

You need not, for, I believe, marry'd men are your best / customers, for greedy Batchelors take up with their Wives. /

Come, pray Ladies, if you have no business here, be / pleas'd to retire, for few of us are in humour to be so civil to / you, as you may deserve. /

Ay, prethee dear Jades get you gone. /

We will not stir. /

Who are they I say, fool, and why don't they go? /

We are, Sir--- /

We are no persons of honour and quality, Sir, we / are--- /

They are modest Ladies, and being in a kind of disguise, / will not own their quality. /

We modest Ladies! /

[500] Why? sometimes you are in the humour to pass for / women of honour and quality; prethee, dear Jades, let your / modesty and greatness come upon you now. /

Come, Sir, not to delude you, as he wou'd have us, / we are--- /

Hold, hold--- /

The other night at the French house--- /

Hold, I say, 'tis even true as Gerrard says, the women / will tell I see. /

If you wou'd have her silent, stop her mouth with / that ring. /

Will that do't, here, here--- / 'Tis worth one hundred and fifty pounds; but I must not lose / my match, I must not lose a Trout for a Fly. / That men shou'd live to hire women to silence. /

Enter Gerrard, Hippolita, Parson and Prue.

Oh, are you come agen! /

Oh, hold, hold Uncle! / What are you mad, Gerrard, to expose your self to a new danger? / why wou'd you come out yet? /

Because our danger now is over, I thank the Parson there. / And now we must beg--- /

Nay, faith Uncle, forgive him now, since he asks you / forgiveness upon his knees, and my poor Cousin too. /

You are mistaken, Cousin; we ask him blessing, and / you forgiveness. /

[525] How, how, how! what do you talk of blessing? what / do you ask your Father blessing, and he asks me forgiveness? / But why shou'd he ask me forgiveness? /

Because he asks my Father blessing. /

Pish, pish, I don't understand you I vow and swear. /

The Parson will expound to you, Cousin. /

Hey! what say you to it, Parson? /

They are marry'd, Sir. /

Marry'd! /

Marry'd! so I told you what 'twou'd come to. /

You told us--- /

Nay, she is setting up for the reputation of a Witch. /

Marry'd Juan, Sanchez, Petro, arm, arm, arm. /

A Witch, a Witch! /

Nay, indeed Father, now we are marry'd, you had / better call the Fiddles: Call 'em Prue quickly. /

Who do you say marry'd, man? /

Was I not sent for on purpose to marry 'em? why / shou'd you wonder at it? /

No, no, you were to marry me, man, to her; I knew / there was a mistaken in't some how; you were meerly mistaken, / therefore you must do your business over again for me now: / The Parson was mistaken, Uncle, it seems, ha, ha, ha. /

I suppose five or six Guinies made him make the mistake, / which will not be rectify'd now Nephew; they'll marry / [550] all that come near 'em, and for a Guiny or two, care not what / mischief they do Nephew. /

Marry'd Pedro, Sanchez? /

How, and must she be his Wife then for ever and ever? / have I held the dore then for this, like a fool as I was? /

Yes, indeed. /

Have I worn Golillia here for this? little Breeches / for this? /

Yes, truly. /

And put on the Spanish honour with the habit, in defending / my Rival; nay, then I'le have another turn of honour / in revenge. Come, Uncle, I'm of your side now, sa, sa, sa, but / let's stay for our force, Sanchez, Juan, Petro, arm, arm, arm. /

Enter two Blacks, and the Spaniard follow'd by Prue, Martius, and five other Gentlemen like Fiddlers.

Murder the Villain, kill him. /

Hold, hold, Sir. /

How now, who sent for you, Friends? /

We Fiddlers, Sir, often come unsent for. /

And you are often kick'd down stairs for't too. /

No, Sir, our Company was never kick'd I think. /

Fiddlers, and not kick'd? then to preserve your Virgin / honour, get you down stairs quickly; for we are not at / present dispos'd much for mirth, voto. /

A pox, is it you, Martin? nay, Uncle, then / 'tis in vain; for they won't be kick'd down stairs, to my knowledge. / They are Gentlemen Fiddlers, forsooth, a pox on all / [575] Gentlemen Fiddlers and Gentlemen Dancing-masters say I. /

How! ha. /

Well, Flirt, now I am a Match for thee, now I may / keep you, and there's little difference betwixt keeping a Wench / and Marriage, only Marriage is a little the cheaper; but the / other is the more honourable now, vert & bleu, nay now I may / swear a French Oath too. Come, come, I am thine, let us / strike up the Bargain, thine according to the honourable Institution / of Keeping, come. /

Nay hold, Sir, two words to the Bargain, first I have / ne're a Lawyer here to draw Articles and Settlements. /

How! is the World come to that? a man cannot keep / a Wench without Articles and Settlements, nay then 'tis e'en as / bad as Marriage indeed, and there's no difference betwixt a / Wife and a Wench. /

Only in Cohabitation, for the first Article shall be / against Cohabitation; we Mistresses suffer no Cohabitation. /