ACT II.

_Enter_ Calista _and Mrs._ Wellfed.

_Calista._ I Think _Marsillia_ is very tedious.

Mrs. _Wellf._ I think so too. 'Tis well 'tis _Marsillia_, else the Players wou'd never have Patience.

_Calis._ Why, do they love her?

Mrs. _Wellf._ No, but they fear her, that's all one.----Oh! yonder's Mr. _Powell_, I want to speak with him.

_Calis._ So do I.

_Enter Mr._ Powell.

Mrs. _Wellf._ Your Servant Mr. _Powell_.

_Calis._ Sir, I am your humble Servant.

Mr. _Powell_. Ounds! What am I fell into the Hands of two Female Poets? There's nothing under the Sun, but two Bailiffs, I'd have gone so far to have avoided.

_Calis._ I believe, Mr. _Powell_, I shall trouble you quickly.

Mr. _Pow._ When you please Madam.

_Calis._ Pray, Mr. _Powell_, don't speak so carelesly: I hope you will find the Characters to your Satisfaction; I make you equally in Love with two very fine Ladies.

Mr. _Pow._ Oh, never stint me Madam, let it be two Douzen, I beseech you.

_Calis._ The Thought's new I am sure.

Mr. _Pow._ The Practice is old, I am sure.

Mrs. _Wellf._ Now, Mr. _Powell_, hear mine: I make two very fine Ladies in Love with you, is not that better? Ha!

_Calis._ Why, so are my Ladies.

Mrs. _Wellf._ But, my Ladies.----

_Calis._ Nay, if you go to that, Madam, I defie any Ladies, in the Pale, or out of the Pale, to love beyond my Ladies.

Mrs. _Wellf._ I'll stand up for the Violence of my Passion, whilst I have a bit of Flesh left on my Back, Mr. _Powell_!

_Calis._ Lord! Madam, you won't give one leave to speak.

Mr. _Pow._ O Gad! I am Deaf, I am Deaf, or else wou'd I were.

Mrs. _Wellf._ Well, Mr. _Powell_, when shall mine be done?

_Calis._ Sure I have Mr. _Powell's_ Promise.

Mrs. _Wellf._ That I am glad on, then I believe mine will come first.

_Calis._ D'ye hear that, Mr. _Powell_! Come pray Name a Time.

Mrs. _Wellf._ Then I'll have time set too.

Mr. _Pow._ O Heav'ns! Let me go! Yours shall be done to day, and yours to morrow; farewell for a Couple of Teazers! Oh the Devil! [_Flinging from 'em._

Marsillia _Entring, meets him_.

_Mars._ What in a Heat, and a Passion, and all that, Mr. _Powell_? Lord! I'll tell you, Mr. _Powell_, I have been in a Heat, and Fret, and all that, Mr. _Powell_! I met two or three idle People of Quality, who thinking I had no more to do than themselves, stop'd my Chair, and teaz'd me with a Thousand foolish Questions.

Mr. _Pow._ Ay, Madam, I ha' been plagu'd with Questions too.

_Mars._ There's nothing gives me greater Fatigue than any one that talks much; Oh! 'Tis the superlative Plague of the Universe. Ump! This foolish Patch won't stick: Oh Lord! Don't go Mr. _Powell_, I have a World of things to say to you. [_Patching at her Glass._

Mr. _Pow._ The more's my Sorrow.

_Enter Mr._ Praiseall _and Mrs._ Knight.

_Mar._ How do you like my Play, Mr. _Powell_?

Mr. _Pow._ Extraordinary, Madam, 'tis like your Ladyship, at Miracle.

_Calis._ How civilly he treats her.

Mrs. _Wellf._ He treats her with what ought to be dispis'd, Flattery.

_Mars._ What was that you said? Some fine thing I dare swear? Well, I beg your Pardon a Thousand times: My Head was got to _Cataline_: Oh, Mr. _Powell_, you shall be _Catiline_, not _Ben Johnson_'s Fool, but my _Cataline_, Mr. _Powell_.

Mr. _Pow._ I'd be a Dog to serve your Ladyship, as a Learned Author has it.

_Mar._ Oh my Jehu! What, no Body come?

Mrs. _Knight_. No Body, Madam! Why here's all the Players.

_Mar._ Granted, Mrs. _Knight_ and I have great Value for all the Players, and your self in particular; but give me leave to say, Mrs. _Knight_, when I appear, I expect all that have any Concerns in the Play-house, shou'd give their Attendance, Knights, Squires, or however dignified, or distinguished.

Mrs. _Knight_. I beg your Pardon, Madam, if we poor Folks, without Titles, cou'd have serv'd you, we are ready.

_Mar._ Mr. _Powell_! Mr. _Powell_! Pray stay by my Elbow. Lord! I don't use to ask a Man twice to stand by me.

Mr. _Pow._ Madam, I am here.

Mr. _Prais._ Ha! A rising Favourite, that may Eclipse my Glory; Madam, I have been taking true Pains to keep your Princes and Princesses together here.

_Mar._ Pray don't interrupt me, Mr. _Praiseall_, at this time. Mr. _Powell_, I suppose you observe, throughout my Play, I make the Heroes, and Heroines in Love with those they shou'd not be.

Mr. _Pow._ Yes, Madam.

_Mar._ For look ye, if every Woman had lov'd her own Husband, there had been no Business for a Play.

Mr. _Pow._ But, Madam, won't the Critticks say, the Guilt of their Passion takes off the Pity_?_

_Mar._ Oh, Mr. _Powell_, trouble not your self about the Criticks, I am provided for them, my Prologue cools their Courage I warrant 'em; han't you heard the Humour?

Mr. _Pow._ No, Madam.

_Mar._ I have two of your stoutest Men enter with long Truncheons.

Mr. _Pow._ Truncheons! Why Truncheons?

_Mar._ Because a Truncheon's like a Quarter-staff, has a mischievous Look with it, and a Critick is cursedly afraid of any thing that looks terrible.

Mr. _Prais._ Why, Madam, there are abundance of Critticks, and witty Men that are Soldiers.

_Mar._ Not one upon my Word, they are more Gentlemen, than to pretend to either, a Witty Man and a Soldier; you may as well say a modest Man, and a Courtier; Wit is always in the Civil Power, take my Word for it; Courage, and Honesty work hard for their Bread; Wit and Flattery feeds on Fools, and if they are counted Wise, who keep out of Harm's way, there's scarce a Fool now in the Kingdom.

Mr. _Prais._ Why, Madam, I have always took care to keep my self out of Harms Way, not that it is my Pretence to Wit, for I dare look Thunder in the Face, and if you think no Wit has Courage, what made you send for me?

Mr. _Pow._ Here's good Sport towards.

_Mar._ Because I have Occasion for nothing but Wit: I sent for you to vouch for mine, and not fight for your own. Mr. _Powell_, let us mind our Cause.

Mr. _Prais._ Damme, I dare fight!

_Mar._ Not with me, I hope: This is all Interruption by Heav'n!

Mr. _Prais._ 'Tis well there's not a Man asserts your Cause. [_Walks about._

_Mar._ How Sir! Not a Man assert my Cause?

_Prais._ No, if there were, this Instant you should behold him weltring at your Feet.

Mr. _Pow._ Sir!

Mr. _Prais._ Hold! Honest _George_; I'll not do the Town such an Injury, to whip thee thro' the Guts.

_Mar._ Barbarous, not to endure the Jest the whole Audience must hear with patience.

_Enter Mr._ Aw'dwell.

Mr. _Aw'dw._ What's here Quarrelling? Come on; I thank Heav'n, I never was more inclin'd to Bloodshed in my Life.

Mr. _Prais._ This is my Evil Genius: I said I should have no Luck to Day----Mr. _Aw'dwell_, your very humble Servant, did you hear a Noise, as you came in? 'Twas I made the Noise, Mr. _Aw'dwell_, I'll tell you how 'twas.

_Aw'dw._ Do, for I am resolv'd to justifie the Lady.

Mr. _Prais._ Then you must know, I was trying to act one of _Marsillia's_ Heroes, a horrible blustring Fellow_!_ That made me so loud, Sir; now, says Mr. _Powell_, you do it awkerdly; whip says I, in answer like a Chollerick Fool, and out comes Poker, whether _George_ was out so soon I can't say.

Mr. _Pow._ How Sir_!_ my Sword in the Scabbard, and your's drawn!

Mr. _Prais._ Nay, nay, may be it was _George_, but now we are as good Friends as ever, witness this hearty Hug! (to _Mars._) Madam, I invented this Story to prevent your Rehearsals being interrupted.

_Mar._ I thank you Sir, your Cowardize has kept Quietness.

Mr. _Prais._ Your Servant Madam, I shall find a time.

Mr. _Aw'dw._ So shall I!

Mr. _Prais._ 'Tis hard tho' one can't speak a Word to a Lady without being over-heard.

_Mar._ Come Mr. _Aw'dwell_, sit down, I am oblig'd to you for what you have done, but this Fellow may make a Party for me at the Coffee-house; therefore prithee let him alone, tho' I believe my Play won't want it.--Now clear the Stage; Prompter give me the Book! Oh, Mr. _Powell_, you must stay, I shall want your Advice; I'll tell ye time enough for your Entrance.

Mr. _Pow._ Madam, give me leave to take a Glass of Sack, I am qualmish.

_Mars._ Oh! Fie, Mr. _Powell_, we'll have Sack here; d'ye see Ladies, you have teaz'd Mr. _Powell_ sick: Well, Impertinence, in a Woman is the Devil!

Mrs. _Wellf._ Shall we stay to be affronted?

_Calista._ Prithee let's stay, and laugh at her _Opera_, as she calls it, for I hear 'tis a very foolish one.

_Mar._ Come Prologue-Speakers! Prologue Speakers! Where are you? I shall want Sack my self, by and by, I believe.

_Enter Two Men with Whiskers, large Truncheons, Drest strangely._

_Mar._ Lord, Mr. _Powell_, these Men are not half tall enough, nor half big enough! What shall I do for a larger sort of Men?

Mr. _Pow._ Faith, Madam, I can't tell, they say the Race diminishes every Day.

_Mar._ Ay, so they do with a witness, Mr. _Powell_. Oh, these puny Fellows will spoil the Design of my Prologue! Hark ye! Mr. _Powell_, you know the huge tall Monster, that comes in one Play, which was taken Originally from _Bartholomew-fair_ Against this, is spoke Publickly; cou'd not we contrive to dress up two such things, twou'd set the Upper-Gallery a Clapping like mad? And let me tell you, Mr. _Powell_, that's a Clapping not to be despis'd.

Mr. _Pow._ We'll see what may be done; But, Madam, you had as good hear these speak it now.

_Mar._ Well, Sheep-biters, begin!

_1st._----Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here!

_Mars._ Ah! And t'other looks no more like a Monster than I do; speak it fuller in the Mouth Dunce. Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here?

_1st._----Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here?

_2d._----I come to put the Criticks in a mortal Fear.

_Mars._ O Heav'ns! You shou'd have every thing that is terrible in that Line! You shou'd speak it like a Ghost, like a Giant, like a Mandrake, and you speak it like a Mouse.

Mr. _Pow._ Madam, if you won't let 'em proceed, we shan't do the first Act this Morning.

_Mar._ I have no Patience! I wish you wou'd be a Monster, Mr. _Powell_, for once, but then I cou'd not match you neither.

Mr. _Pow._ I thank you Madam, come, these will mend with Practice.

_Mar._----Come begin then, and go thro' with it roundly.

_1st._----Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here_?_

_2d._----I come to put the Critticks in a mortal Fear.

_1st._----I'm also sent upon the same Design.

_2d._----Then let's our heavy Trunchions shake and joyn.

_Mar._ Ah! The Devil take thee, for a squeaking Treble_!_ D'ye mention shaking your Trunchions, and not so much as stir 'em, Block! By my hopes of _Cataline_, you shall never speak it, give me the Papers quickly.

[_Throws their Trunchions down._

_1st._----Here's mine.

_2d._----And mine, and I'm glad on't.

_Mar._ Out of my Sight, begone I say! [_Pushes 'em off._ Lord! Lord! I shan't recover my Humour again, this half Hour!

Mr. _Pow._ Why do you vex your self, so much, Madam?

Mr. _Aw'dw._ Poetry ought to be for the use of the Mind, and for the Diversion of the Writer, as well as the Spectator; but to you, sure Madam, it proves only a Fatigue and Toyl.

_Mar._ Pray, Mr. _Aw'dwell_, don't come here to make your Remarks; what, I shan't have the Priviledge to be in a Passion for you! Shall I; how dare you contradict me?

Mr. _Prais._ But you shall be in a Passion, if you have a mind to it, by the Clubb of _Hercules_. Ah! Madam, if we had but _Hercules_, _Hercules_ and his Clubb wou'd ha' done rarely: Dear Madam! Let 'em have Clubbs next time, do Madam, let 'em ha' Clubbs; let it be my Thought.

_Mar._ What, for you to brag on't all the Town over! No, they shan't have Clubbs, tho' I like Clubbs better my self too.

Mr. _Prais._ I ha' done, I ha' done.

_Mar._ O Heav'ns! Now I have lost Mr. _Powell_, with your Nonsensical Clubbs, wou'd there was a lusty one about your empty Pate.

Mr. _Prais._ I ha' done, I ha' done, Madam.

_Mar._ Mr. _Powell_! Mr. _Powell_!

_Scene-Keeper_--He's gone out of the House, Madam.

_Mar._ Oh the Devil! Sure I shall go distracted! Where's this Book? Come we'll begin the Play: Call my Lady _Loveall_, and _Betty Useful_ her Maid: Pray keep a clear Stage. Now look you, Mr. _Praiseall_, 'thas been the receiv'd Opinion, and Practice in all your late _Operas_ to take care of the Songish part, as I may call it, after a great Man; and for the Play, it might be the History of _Tom Thumb_; no matter how, I have done just contrary, took care of the Language and Plot; and for the Musick, they that don't like it, may go whistle.

Mr. _Aw'dw._ Why wou'd you chuse to call it an _Opera_ then?

_Mar._ Lord! Mr. _Aw'dwell_, I han't time to answer every impertinent Question.

Mr. _Prais._ No Sir! We han't time, it was the Ladys Will, and that's Allmighty Reason.

Mr. _Aw'dw._ I shall have an Opportunity to Kick that Fellow.

_Mar._ I wonder my Lord Duke's not come, nor Sir _Thomas_. Bless me! What a Disorder my dress is in? Oh! These People will give me the Spleen intollerablly! Do they design ever to enter or no? My Spirits are quite gone! They may do e'en what they will.

Mrs. _Wellf._ They are entring, Madam.

_Mars._ Mrs. _Wellfed_, you know where to get good Wine; pray speak for some, then perhaps we shall keep Mr. _Powell_.

Mrs. _Wellf._ I'll take care of it, I warrant you.

_Mars._ I knew 'twas a pleasing Errand.

_Enter Lady_ Loveall, _and_ Betty Useful.

_Mar._ Come Child, speak handsomly, this Part will do you a Kindness.

_Betty._ Why do those Eyes, Loves Tapers, that on whomsoe'er they are fixt, kindle straight Desire, now seem to Nod, and Wink, and hardly Glimmer in their Sockets?

_Mar._ Mr. _Praiseall_, is not that Simile well carried on?

Mr. _Prais._ To an Extreamity of Thought, Madam, But I think 'tis stole. [_Aside._

La. _Lov._ Art thou the Key to all my Secrets, privy to every rambling Wish, and canst not guess my Sorrows!

_Betty._ No! For what Lover have ye mist, honest _Betty Useful_ has been the Contriver, Guide and close Concealer of your Pleasures: _Amorous_ the Steward, you know, is yours; the Butler too bows beneath your Conquering Charms, and you have vow'd your Wishes in your own Family shou'd be confin'd, who then of Worth remains?

La. _Lov._--Oh _Betty_! _Betty!_

_Mar._ Good Mrs. _Knight_ speak that as passionately as you can, because you are going to Swoon, you know; and I hate Women shou'd go into a Swoon, as some of our Authors make 'em, without so much as altering their Face, or Voice.

La. _Lov._----Madam, I never knew _Betty_ sound well in Heroick.

_Mar._ Why, no Mrs _Knight_, therefore in that lies the Art, for you to make it sound well; I think I may say, without a Blush, I am the first that made Heroick natural.

La. _Lov._ I'll do my best. Oh! _Betty_! _Betty!_ Fear and Love, like meeting Tides, o'erwhelm me, the rowling Waves beat sinking Nature down, and Ebbbing Life retires! [_Swoons._

_Mar._ What d'ye think of that, Mr. _Praiseall_? There's a Clap for a Guinea: 'Gad if there is not, I shall scarce forbear telling the Audience they are uncivil.

_Prais._ Nor, Gad, I shall scarce forbear Fighting 'em one by one. But hush! Now let's hear what _Betty_ says.

_Betty._ Oh! My poor Lady! Look up, fair Saint! Oh close not those bright Eyes! If 'tis in _Betty's_ Power, they shall still be feasted with the Object of their Wishes.

_Prais._ Well said, honest _Betty_.

_Mar._ Nay, She is so throughout the whole Play, to the very last, I assure you.

La. _Lov._ Yes, he shall be mine! Let Law, and Rules, confine the creeping Stoick, the cold lifeless Hermit, or the Dissembling Brethren of Broad Hats, and narrow Bands; I am a Libertine, and being so, I love my Husband's Son, and will enjoy him.

_Mar._ There's a Rant for you! Oh Lord! Mr. _Praiseall_, look how Mrs. _Betty_'s surpriz'd: Well, she doth a silent Surprize the best i'th' World; I must kiss her, I cannot help it, 'tis incomparable! Now speak Mrs _Betty_, now speak.

_Betty._ My Master's Son just Married to a Celebrated Beauty, with which he comes slowly on, and beneath this Courteous Roof rests this Night his wearied Head.

La. _Lov._----Let me have Musick then, to melt him down; he comes and meets this Face to charm him. 'Tis done! 'Tis done! By Heav'n, I cannot bear the reflected Glories of those Eyes, all other Beauties fly before me.

_Betty._ But _Isabella_ is----

_Mar._ Now _Betty_'s doubting----Dear Mrs _Knight_, in this Speech, stamp as Queen _Statira_ does, that always gets a Clap; and when you have ended, run off, thus, as fast as you can drive. O Gad! Duce take your confounded Stumbling Stage. [_Stumbles._

Mr. _Prais._ Oh! Madam!

_Mar._ Hush! Hush! 'Tis nothing! Come Madam.

La. _Lov._ No more, he is mine, I have him fast: Oh! The Extasie!

_Mar._ Now Stamp, and Hug your self, Mrs. _Knight_: Oh! The strong Extasie!

La. _Lov._ Mine! Forever mine! [_Exit._

_Betty._ But you must ask me leave first; yes, I will assist her, for she is nobly generous, and pays for Pleasure, as dear as a Chambermaids Avarice requires! Then, my old Master, why, I fear not him, he is an old Book-worm, never out of his Study; and whilst he finds out a way to the Moon, my Lady and I'll tread another beaten Road much pleasanter: My next Task must be to tempt Fasting, with my Lady's Beauty, this _Isabella_.----

_Enter_ Amourous _the Steward_.

_Am._ Did I not hear the Name of _Isabella_? _Isabella_, Charming as _Venus_ rising from the Sea, or _Diana_ descening on _Latmus_ Top too like _Diana_ much I fear; Oh _Isabella_! Where art thou! I loose my way in Tears, and cannot find my Feet. [_Exit._

_Mar._ D'ye mark! This was Mr. _Amorous_ the Steward, and he was transported, he never saw _Betty_. Look _Betty_'s surpris'd again.

Mr. _Prais._ 'Tis amazingly fine!

_Betty._ What's this I have heard? It makes for us; Mischief and Scandal are a Feast for them who have past the Line of Shame: _Amorous_ has a Wife, and _Isabella_ _Faustins_, work on together, work, work, on together work.

_Mar._ Now make haste off, Mrs. _Betty_, as if you were so full of Thought, you did not know what you did. Gentlemen and Ladies, how d'ye like the first Scene?

[_Exit_ Betty.

Mr. _Prais._ If your Ladyship swore, you might justly use _Ben Johnson_'s Expressions; _By Gad 'tis Good_!

_Mar._ What say you, _Calista_?

_Calis._ 'Tis beyond imitation. I never heard such stuff in my Life. [_Aside._

_Mar._ Did you observe _Betty_ said her Master was finding out a new way to the Moon?

Mr. _Prais._ Yes marry did I, and I was thinking to ask if I might not go with him, for I have a great mind to see the Moon World.

_Mar._ And you shall see it all, and how they live in't, before the Play's done, here they have talked of the Emperour of the Moon, and the World in the Moon, but discovered nothing of the Matter; Now, again, I go just contrary; for I say nothing, and shew all.

Mr. _Prais._ And that's kindly done to surprize us with such a Sight.

_Mar._ Observe, and you'll be satisfied. Call _Fastin_, and _Isabella_, attended; that is to say, call Mr. _Powell_, and Mistress _Cross_, and the Mob; for their Attendants look much like the Mob. Mr. _Praiseall_, do you know where the Scene of this Play lies?

Mr. _Prais._ Gad forgive me for a Sot; Faith I han't minded it.

_Mar._ Why, to tell you the Truth, 'tis not yet resolv'd; but it must be in some warm Climate, where the Sun has power, and where there's Orange Groves; for _Isabella_, you'll find, Loves walking in Orange Groves.

Mr. _Prais._ Suppose you lay it in _Holland_, I think we have most of our Oranges, and Lemons from thence.

Mr. _Aw'dw._ Well said Geographer.

_Mar._ No, no, it must be some where in _Italy_. Peace! They are coming.

_Enter_ Fastin, _and_ Isabella _attended_.

Attendance, don't tread upon their Backs, keep at an awful Distance there; so upon my Train! Ah thou Blockhead, thou art as fit for a Throne, as a Stage.

_Fas._ Shall I speak, Madam.

_Mar._ Ay, dear Mr. _Powell_, soon as you please.

_Fas._ Wellcome, dear _Isabella_, to this peaceful Seat of all my Father's Mansions, this is his Choice, this surrounded by these melancholly Groves, it suits his Philosophick Temper best; yet Fame reports, he has so long given his--Studies truce, as to wed a Young and beauteous Bride.

Mr. _Prais._ Why, Madam, had my Lady _Loveall_ never seen this Spark?

_Mar._ No, no; but she had heard of him, and that's all one.--Don't ask a Question just when People are a speaking, good Mr. _Praiseall_.

Mr. _Prais._ I beg your Pardon.

_Mar._ Pish! Come Mrs. _Cross_.

_Isabella._ Close by there, is an Orange Grove dark as my Thoughts, yet in that Darkness lovely; there my Lord, with your leave, I'd walk.

_Fas._ Your Pleasure shall be mine.

_Mar._ Lead her to the side Scene, Mr. _Powell_, now come back again.

_Fas._ To desire and love to walk alone, shews her Thoughts entertain and please her more than I, that's not so well.

_Mar._ Mark! He is beginning to be jealous: Now comes _Betty_, and I dare be bold to say, here's a Scene excells _Jago_, and the _Moor_.

Mr. _Prais._ Come, dear Mrs. _Betty Useful_! Oh! She's my Heart's Delight!

_Enter_ Betty Useful.

_Fas._ What Fair Nymph is this?

_Betty._ From the bright Partner of your Fathers Bed, too sweet a Blossome, alass, to hang on such a wither'd Tree, whose sapless Trunck affords no Nourishment to keep her Fresh and Fair! From her I come to you, and charming _Isabella_, But where is that Lady? Can you be separate? Can any thing divide her from your fond Eyes.

_Mar._ Now she begins.

_Fas._ By her own desire, she chooses Solitudes, and private Walks, flies these faithful Arms; or if she meets 'em, Cold and Clammy as the Damp of Death her Lips still joyn my Longings.

_Betty._ Cold Sweats, Privacies and lonely Hours, all Signs of strong Aversion: Oh had your Fate but thrown you on my Lady, her very Eyes had rais'd your Passion up to Madness.

_Fas._ Thou hast already kindled Madness here; Jealousie that unextinguish'd Fire, that with the smallest Fuel burns, is blazing round my Heart. Oh! Courteous Maid, go on! Inform me if my Love is false.

_Betty._ As yet, I cannot, the Office is ungrateful; but for your sake, I'll undertake it.

_Fas._ Do, and command me ever.

_Betty._ The Fair _Clemene_.

_Fas._ My Mother, do you mean?

_Betty._ Call her not so, unless you break her Heart: A Thousand tender Names all Day and Night she gives you, but you can never scape her Lips, her Curtains by me drawn wide, discover your goodly Figure, each Morn the Idol's brought, eagerly she prints the dead Colours, throws her tawny Arms abroad, and vainly hopes kisses so Divine, wou'd inspire the painted Nothing, and mould into Man.

_Mar._ Is not this moving, Mr. _Powell_?

_Prais._ Ay, and melting too, I Gad, wou'd I was the Picture for her sake.

_Fas._ What's this I hear?

_Prais._ Nay, no harm, Sir.

_Mar._ Fie! Mr. _Praiseall_! Let your ill-tim'd Jests alone.

_Prais._ I ha' done, I ha' done.

_Mars._ Mr. _Powell_, be pleas'd to go on.

_Fas._ What's this I hear?

_Betty._ Her own Picture, which sure she sees by Sympathy, you'll entertain by me, she prays you to accept.

[_Gives the Picture._

_Mar._ Now, dear Mr. _Powell_, let me have the pleasure to hear you rave. Oh_!_ Mr. _Praiseall_, this Speech, I die upon this Speech!

Mr. _Prais._ Wou'd we cou'd hear it, Madam, I am preparing to clap.

_Fas._ What's this thou hast given me? There's more than Necromantick Charms in every bewitching Line, my trembling Nerves are in their Infancy; I am cold as Ice!

_Mar._ Ay, ay, Love comes just like an Ague Fit.

_Fas._ What alteration here? Now I am all on Fire! _Alcides_ Shirt sticks close; Fire, incestious Fire, I blaze! I burn! I Rost! I Fry! Fire! Fire! [_Exit._

_Betty._ And my Lady will bring Water, Water, ha, ha, ha.

_Mar._ Laugh heartily, Mrs. _Betty_, go off Laughing.

_Betty._ Ha, ha, ha! [_Exit._

_Mar._ So, Mr. _Praiseall_, here's a difficult matter brought about with much ease.

_Prais._ Yes, Faith Madam, so there is; the young Gentleman made no great Scruple to fall in Love with his Mother-in-Law.

_Mar._ O fie, Mr. _Praiseall_, 'twas the Struglings of his Virtue put him in such a Passion.

_Prais._ Ah! Madam! When once Virtue comes to strugle, either in Male or Female, it commonly yields.

_Mars._ You are waggish----Now for my Dance----Mrs.-----Mrs. _Cross_, Mrs. _Cross_, come you little Cherubim, your Dance.

A _DANCE_.

_Aw'dwell._ Pray, Madam, who is this Dance to entertain?

_Mar._ What, do you sit an Hour to study a cross Question? Why, to satisfie you, Sir, you are to suppose _Fastin_, in passing towards his Mothers Lodgings, may, out of some Gallery, see it; now you are answered.

_Aw'dw._ I am.

Mr. _Prais._ Ay, and sufficiently too: A Gallery Balcony, twenty Peepholes.

_Enter Mrs._ Cross

Mrs. _Cross_. Madam, I cou'd wish you wou'd not be disoblig'd if I gave up this Part, I shall get my self, nor you, no Credit by it.

_Mar._ How, Mrs. _Cross_! Disoblig'd! Assure your self, I shall resent it ill to the last Degree, what throw up my Heroine! my _Isabella_! Was there ever a Character more Chaste, more Noble, or more Pitiful?

Mrs. _Cross_. Yes, very Chaste, when I am in Love with my Father-in-Law's Steward, I know not why, nor wherefore.

_Mar._ Mrs. _Cross_, I maintain, no Woman in the Play-House, nor out of the Play-house, can be chaster than I ma'e _Isabella_, but trouble your Head no further, I'll do the Part my self.

Mrs. _Cross_. With all my Heart.

_Mar._ And let me tell you Mistress _Cross_, I shall command whatever is in the Wardrobe, I assure you!

Mrs _Cross_. Any of my Gowns are at your Service, if they'll fit you, Madam.

_Mar._ Nay, they shall be; perhaps, without boasting, I command them, that command you.

Mrs. _Cross_. Perhaps 'tis not worth boasting on; there's your part. [_Exit._

_Mar._ A little inconsiderable Creature! Well, she shall see how much better 'twill be done, and for meer madness, hang her self in her own Garters. Mrs. _Wellfed_, I'll wear a white Feather, That, I believe, will become me best. _Patty_, is _Patty_ there?

_Pat._ Yes, Madam.

_Mar._ _Patty_, run to the Exchange, bring me a Dozen yards of Scarlet Ribbon; and d'ye hear _Patty_? Some shining Patches, some Pulvil and Essence, my Lord Duke shall help me to Jewels, throw up her part! I'll fit her, let her see how the Town will receive her, after I have trode the Stage.

Mr. _Aw'dw._ Why, Madam, you are not in earnest!

_Mar._ By my hopes of _Catiline_, I am.

Mr. _Aw'dw._ For Heav'ns sake, don't make your self so irrecoverably rediculous.

Mr. _Prais._ Do, Madam, I say, 'Gad, I'll make such a Party_!_ Gad, I'll do nothing but clap, from the time I come into the House, 'till I go out; Ouns, I'll be hang'd if it don't bring a Swindging Audience, on the third day.

Mr. _Aw'dw._ To dance naked on the third Day, wou'd bring a bigger Audience; Why don't you perswade the Lady to that? [_Speaking loud to_ Marsillia.

Do, _Marsillia_, be rul'd by your Vanity, and that good Friend, Mr. _Praiseall_; but rest assur'd, after such a weakness, I will never see your Face again.

_Mar._ Ha! I must not loose him. (_aside_) Why, Mr. _Aw'dwell_, wou'd you have such a hopeful Play lost? Can you be so unreasonable to desire it? And that Part ruins all.

Mr. _Aw'dwell_. Give me the Part, and I'll try to perswade Mrs. _Cross_.

_Mar._ Do, that's a good Boy; and I won't disoblige him this two days.

Mr. _Aw'dw._ Is't possible! Will you dine at your own Lodgings to day? I'll give Order for some Dishes of Meat there?

_Mar._ Yes, yes.

Mr. _Aw'dw._ Don't serve me now, as you did when I provided a handsome Dinner for you at my own House; and you whiskt to _Chelsy_, in a Coach, with the Lord knows who.

_Mar._ No, I scorn it. [_Exit Mr._ Aw'dwell.

_Prais._ You was talking of Wine, there is some within; pray take a Recruit before you proceed.

_Mar._ A good Motion, wait upon these two Ladies in, and I'll follow; I must practice a little, least Mrs. _Cross_ shou'd prove stubborn, and then, not my Father's Ghost shou'd hinder me.

_Calista._ We'll begin your health.

[_Exeunt._

_Mar._ Do. Whom shall I Curse, my Birth, My Fate, or Stars! All are my Foes! All bent to ruine Innocence!

_Enter_ Patty, _with Patches_, _Powder_, _Looking-glass_, &c.

_Pat._ Oh, Madam!

_Mar._ How now, Impertinence! was not you told of Interrupting once to Day? Look how she stands now! How long must I expect what you have to say?

_Pat._ My Lord _Whiffle_ is come to wait on your Ladyship, and sends to know, whether you are at leisure.

_Mar._ Ay, he understands Breeding, and Decorum. Is my Dress in great disorder?

_Pat._ You Look all Charming, Madam.

_Mar._ Hold the Glass; give me some Patches; my Box is done; I am much oblig'd to his Lordship for this Honour. Some Powder. (_Pulls the Box out of her Pocket._ Put my Gown to rights, and shake my Tail. The unmannerly Blockheads have made a Road over it, and left the vile Impression of their Nauseous Feet. Well, how do I look now, _Patty_?

_Pat._ Like one of the Graces, drest for a Ball at the Court of _Orleans_.

_Mar._ Ha, ha, ha; well said, _Patty_; now for my dear dear Lord _Whiffle_.

_Mr._ Awdwell _meeting her_.

Mr. _Awd._ How!

_Mar._ And how too! why, look ye, Mr. _Awdwell_, my Lord is come to pay his Respects to me; and I will pay my Respects again to my Lord, in spight of your Tyrannical Pretensions. And so, your humble Servant.

(_Exit_

Mr. Awd. _Who wou'd a kind and certain Mistress choose, Let him, like me, take one that loves a Muse._

(Exit.

_The End of the Second_ ACT.