Chapter 26

_Enter_ Francisco _alone_.

_Fran_. Now am I afraid to walk in this Garden, lest I shou’d spy my own natural Wife lying with the Great _Turk_ in Fresco, upon some of these fine fiowry Banks, and learning how to make Cuckolds in _Turkey_.

_Enter_ Guzman _and_ Jacinta.

_Guz_. Nay, dear _Jacinta_, cast an eye of pity on me.--What, deny the _Vizier Bassa_?

_Jac_. When you are honest _Guzman_ again, I’ll tell you a piece of my mind.

_Guz_. But opportunity will not be kind to _Guzman_, as to the Grand _Bassa_; therefore, dear Rogue, let’s retire into these kind shades, or, if foolish Virtue be so squeamish, and needless Reputation so nice, that Mr. _Vicar_ must say _Amen_ to the bargain, there is an old lousy Frier, belonging to this _Villa_, that will give us a cast of his Office; for I am a little impatient about this business, Greatness having infus’d a certain itch in my Blood, which I felt not whilst a common Man.

_Fran_. Um, why, what have we here, pert Mrs. _Jacinta_ and the _Bassa_? I hope the Jade will be Turkefied with a vengeance, and have Circumcision in abundance; and the Devil shall ransom her for old _Francisco_.

_Jac_. Hah, the old Gentleman!

_Fran_. What, the Frolick is to go round, I see, you Women have a happy time on’t.

_Guz_. Men that have kind Wives may be as happy; you’ll have the honour of being made a Cuckold, Heaven be prais’d.

_Fran_. Ay, Sir, I thank ye,--pray, under the Rose, how does my Wife please his Grace the Great _Turk_?

_Guz_. Murmuring again, thou Slave.

_Fran. Who_, I? O Lord, Sir! not I, why, what hurt is there in being a Cuckold?

_Guz_. Hurt, Sirrah, you shall be swinged into a belief, that it is an honour for the Great _Turk_ to borrow your Wife.

_Fran_. But for the Lender to pay Use-money, is somewhat severe;--but, see, he comes,--bless me, how grim he looks!

_Enter_ Carlos, _and Mutes attending_.

_Car_. Come hither, Slave,--why, was it that I gave you Life? dismiss’d the Fetters from your aged Limbs?

_Fran_. For love of my Wife, and’t please your Barbarousness.

_Car_. Gave you free leave to range the Palace round, excepting my Apartment only?

_Fran_. Still for my Wife’s sake, I say, and’t like your Hideousness.

_Car_. And yet this Wife, this most ungrateful Wife of yours, again wou’d put your Chains on, expose your Life to Dangers and new Torments, by a too stubborn Virtue, she does refuse my Courtship, and foolishly is chaste.

_Fran_. Alas! what pity’s that!

_Car_. I offer’d much, lov’d much, but all in vain; Husband and Honour still was the reply.

_Fran_. Good lack! that she shou’d have no more Grace before her Eyes.

_Car_. But, Slave, behold these Mutes; that fatal Instrument of Death behold too, and in ‘em read thy doom, if this coy Wife of yours be not made flexible to my Addresses.

_Fran_. O Heavens! I make her.

_Car_. No more, thy Fate is fix’d--and, here attend, till he himself deliver his willing Wife into my Arms; _Bassa_, attend, and see it be perform’d-- [_To his Mutes, then to_ Guz. [_Ex_. Car.

_Guz_. Go, one of you, and fetch the fair Slave hither.

[_Ex_. Turk.

_Fran_. I pimp for my own Wife! I hold the door to my own Flesh and Blood! _monstrum horrendum_!

_Guz_. Nay, do’t, and do’t handsomly too, not with a snivelling Countenance, as if you were compell’d to’t; but with the face of Authority, and the awful command of a Husband--or thou dyest.

_Enter_ Turk _and_ Julia.

_Fran_. My dear _Julia_, you are a Fool, my Love.

_Jul_. For what, dear Husband?

_Fran_. I say, a silly Fool, to refuse the Love of so great a _Turk_; why, what a Pox makes you so coy? [_Angrily_.

_Jul_. How! this from you, _Francisco_.

_Fran_. Now does my Heart begin to fail me; and yet I shall ne’er endure strangling neither; why, am not I your Lord and Master, hah?

_Jul_. Heavens! Husband, what wou’d you have me do?

_Fran_. Have you do;--why, I wou’d have ye--d’ye see--’twill not out; why, I wou’d have ye lie with the _Sultan_, Huswife; I wonder how the Devil you have the face to refuse him, so handsom, so young a Lover; come, come, let me hear no more of your Coyness, Mistress, for if I do, I shall be hang’d; [_Aside_. The Great _Turk’s_ a most worthy Gentleman, and therefore I advise you to do as he advises you; and the Devil take ye both. [_Aside_.

_Jul_. This from my Husband, old _Francisco_! he advise me to part with my dear Honour.

_Fran_. Rather than part with his dear Life, I thank ye. [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Have you considered the Virtue of a Wife?

_Fran_. No, but I have considered the Neck of a Husband. [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Which Virtue, before I’ll lose, I’ll die a thousand Deaths.

_Fran_. So will not I one; a Pox of her Virtue,--these Women are always virtuous in a wrong place. [_Aside_. I say you shall be kind to the sweet _Sultan_.

_Jul_. And rob my Husband of his right!

_Fran_. Shaw, Exchange is no Robbery.

_Jul_. And forsake my Virtue, and make nown Dear a Cuckold.

_Fran_. Shaw, most of the Heroes of the World were so;--go, prithee, Hony, go, do me the favour to cuckold me a little, if not for Love, for Charity.

_Jul_. Are you in earnest?

_Fran_. I am.

_Jul_. And would it not displease you?

_Fran_. I say, no; had it been _Aquinius_ his Case, to have sav’d the pinching of his Gullet he wou’d have been a Cuckold. [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Fear has made you mad, or you’re bewitcht; and I’ll leave you to recover your Wits again. [_Going out_.

_Fran_. O gracious Wife, leave me not in despair; [_Kneels to her and holds her_.] I’m not mad, no, nor no more bewitcht than I have been these forty years; ‘tis you’re bewitcht to refuse so handsom, so young, and so--a Pox on him, she’ll ne’er relish me again after him. [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Since you’ve lost your Honour with your wits, I’ll try what mine will do.

_Enter_ Carlos, Turks.

_Fran_. Oh, I am lost, I’m lost--dear Wife,--most mighty Sir, I’ve brought her finely to’t--do not make me lose my credit with his _Mahometan_ Grace,--my Wife has a monstrous Affection for your Honour, but she’s something bashful; but when alone your Magnanimousness will find her a swinger.

_Car_. Fair Creature--

_Jul_. Do you believe my Husband, Sir? he’s mad.

_Car_. Dog. [_Offers to kill him_.

_Fran_. Hold, mighty Emperor; as I hope to be saved, ‘tis but a copy of her Countenance--inhuman Wife--lead her to your Apartment, Sir! barbarous honest Woman,--to your Chamber, Sir,--wou’d I had married thee an errant Strumpet; nay, to your Royal Bed, Sir, I’ll warrant you she gives you taunt for taunt: try her, Sir, try her. [_Puts ‘em out_.

_Jac_. Hark you, Sir, are you possest, or is it real reformation in you? what mov’d this kind fit?

_Fran_. E’en Love to sweet Life; and I shall think my self ever obliged to my dear Wife, for this kind Reprieve;--had she been cruel, I had been strangled, or hung in the Air like our Prophet’s Tomb.

_Enter First_ Turk.

_Turk_. Sir, boast the honour of the News I bring you.

_Fran_. Oh, my Head! how my Brows twinge.

_Turk_. The mighty _Sultan_, to do you honour, has set your Daughter and her Lover free, ransomless;--and this day gives ‘em liberty to solemnize the Nuptials in the Court;--but Christian Ceremonies must be private; but you’re to be admitted, and I’ll conduct you to ‘em.

_Fran_. Some Comfort, I shall be Father to a Viscount, and for the rest--Patience--

_All Nations Cuckolds breed, but I deny They had such need of Cuckolding as I_.

[_Goes out with the_ Turk.

_Enter_ Antonio, _and_ Clara _to_ Jacinta.

_Jac_. Madam, the rarest sport--Ha, ha, ha.

_Ant_. You need not tell us, we have been witness to all. But to our own Affairs, my dearest _Clara_, Let us not lose this blessed opportunity, Which Art nor Industry can give again if this be idly lost.

_Cla_. Nay, hang me if it be my fault, _Antonio_: Charge it to the number of your own Sins; it shall not lie at my door.

_Ant_. ‘Tis generously said, and take notice, my little dear Virago, _Guzman_ has a Priest ready to tie you to your word.

_Cla_. As fast as you please; hang her that fears the conjuring knot for me: But what will our Fathers say--mine who expects me to be the Governor’s Lady; and yours, who designs _Isabella_ for a Daughter-in-Law?

_Ant_. Mine will be glad of the Change; and, for yours, if he be not pleased, let him keep his Portion to himself--that’s the greatest mischief he can do us: and for my Friend, the Governor, he’s above their Anger.

_Cla_. Why do we lose precious time? I long to be at--I _Clara_ take thee _Antonio_,--the very Ceremony will be tedious, so much I wish thee mine; and each delay gives me a fear something will snatch me from thee.

_Ant_. No power of Man can do’t, thou art so guarded; but now the Priest is employed in clapping up the honourable Marriage between the False Count and Isabella.

_Jac_. Lord, what a jest ‘twill be to see ‘em coupled, ha, ha.

_Cla_. Unmerciful _Antonio_, to drive the Jest so far; ‘tis too unconscionable!

_Ant_. By Heaven, I’m so proud I cannot think my Revenge sufficient for Affronts, nor does her Birth, her Breeding and her Vanity--deserve a better Fortune; besides,--he has enough to set up for a modern Spark-- the Fool has just Wit and good Manners to pass for a Fop of Fashion; and, where he is not known, will gain the Reputation of a fine accomplish’d Gentleman,--yet I’m resolved she shall see him in his Geers, in his original Filthiness, that my Revenge may be home upon the foolish Jilt.

_Cla_. Cruel _Antonio_, come, lets go give ‘em Joy.

_Ant_. And finish our Affair with Mr. Vicar.

_Enter_ Isabella, _her Train borne by the great_ Page, Guiliom, _with the other great_ Page, _and_ Francisco _bare_.

--Joy to my noble Lord, and you, fair _Isabella_!

_Isa_. Thank thee, Fellow,--but, surely, I deserved my Titles from thee.

_Cla_. Your Honour I hope will pardon him.

_Isa_. How now, _Clara_! [_Nodding to her_.

_Jac_. I give your Honour joy.

_Isa_. Thank thee, poor Creature.--

_Fran_. My Lord, this Honour you have done my Daughter is so signal, that whereas I designed her but five thousand Pound, I will this happy day settle on her ten.

_Guil_. Damn dirty trash, your Beauty is sufficient--hum --Signior Don _Antonio_, get the Writings ready. [_Aside_. Money--hang Money.

_Fran_. How generous these Lords are; nay, my Lord, you must not refuse a Father’s Love, if I may presume to call you Son--I shall find enough besides for my Ransom, if the Tyrant be so unmerciful to ask more than my Wife pays him.

_Guil_. Nay, if you will force it upon me.

_Isa_. Ay, take it, the trifling sum will serve to buy our Honour Pins.

_Ant_. Well, Sir, since you will force it on him, my Cashier shall draw the Writings.

_Guil_. And have ‘em signed by a publick Notary. [_Aside_.

_Fran_. With all my Soul, Sir, I’ll go to give him order, and subscribe. [_Ex_. Francisco.

_Guil_. Let him make ‘em strong and sure--you shall go halves. [_Aside_.

_Ant_. No, you will deserve it dearly, who have the plague of such a Wife with it;--but harkye, Count--these goods of Fortune are not to be afforded you, without Conditions.

_Guil_. Shaw, Conditions, any Conditions, noble _Antonio_.

_Ant_. You must disrobe anon, and do’n your native Habiliments--and in the Equipage give that fair Viscountess to understand the true quality of her Husband.

_Guil_. Hum--I’m afraid, ‘tis a harder task to leap from a Lord to a Rogue, than ‘tis from a Rogue to a Lord.

_Ant_. Not at all, we have examples of both daily.

_Guil_. Well, Sir, I’ll show you my agility--but, Sir, I desire I may consummate, d’ye see,--consummate--a little like a Lord, to make the Marriage sure.

_Ant_. You have the Freedom to do so--the Writings I’ll provide.

_Guil_. I’ll about it then, the Priest waits within for you, and _Guzman_ for you, _Jacinta_,--haste, for he is to arrive anon Ambassador from _Cadiz_.

_Jac_. I know not, this noise of Weddings has set me agog, and I’ll e’en in, and try what ‘tis.

[_Ex_. Antonio, Clara, _and_ Jacinta.

_Guil_. Come, Madam, your Honour and I have something else to do, before I have fully dub’d you a Viscountess.

_Isa_. Ah, Heav’ns, what’s that?

_Guil_. Why a certain Ceremony, which must be performed between a pair of Sheets,--but we’ll let it alone till Night.

_Isa_. Till Night, no; whate’er it be, I wou’d not be without an Inch of that Ceremony, that may compleat my Honour for the World; no, for Heaven’s sake, let’s retire, and dub me presently.

_Guil_. Time enough, time enough.

_Isa_. You love me not, that can deny me this.

_Guil_. Love--no, we are married now, and People of our Quality never Love after Marriage; ‘tis not great.

_Isa_. Nay, let’s retire, and compleat my Quality, and you will find me a Wife of the Mode, I’ll warrant you.

_Guil_. For once you have prevail’d.

_Enter_ Francisco.

_Fran_. Whither away?

_Isa_. Only to consummate a little, pray keep your distance. [_She pulls off his hat_.

_Fran_. Consummate!

_Isa_. Ay, Sir, that is to make me an absolute Viscountess--we cannot stay--farewel. [Guiliom _leads her out_.

_Fran_. Hum--this _Turkey_ Air has a notable faculty, where the Women are all plaguy kind.

_Enter_ Carlos _and_ Julia.

_Car_. By Heav’n, each Moment makes me more your Slave.

_Fran_. The Business is done.

_Jul_. My Husband! [_Aside_.

_Car_. And all this constant love to old _Francisco_ has but engaged me more.

_Fran_. Ha, Love to me? [_Aside_.

_Jul_. Sir, if this Virtue be but real in you, how happy I shou’d be; but you’ll relapse again, and tempt my virtue, which if you do--

_Fran_. I’ll warrant she wou’d kill herself. [_Aside_.

_Jul_. I should be sure to yield. [_In a soft tone to him_.

_Car_. No, thou hast made an absolute Conquest o’er me--and if that Beauty tempt me every hour, I shall still be the same I was the last.

_Fran_. Pray Heaven he be _John_.

_Enter First_ Turk.

1st _Turk_. Most mighty Emperor, a Messenger from _Cadiz_ has Letters for your Highness.

_Car_. Conduct him in; in this retreat of ours we use no State.

_Enter_ Guzman, _as himself, gives_ Carlos _Letters_.

_Guz_. Don _Carlos_, Governor of _Cadiz_, greets your Highness.

_Carlos_ reads.

High and Mighty,

_For seven_ Christian _Slaves, taken lately by a Galley of yours, we offer you twice the number of_ Mahometans _taken from you by us. --If this suffice not,--propose your Ransoms, and they shall be paid by Don_ Carlos, _Governor of_ Cadiz.

--Know you this _Carlos_ offers so fair for you?

_Fran_. Most potent Lord, I do, and wonder at the Compliment,--and yet I am not jealous--I have so overacted the complaisant Husband, that I shall never fall into the other Extreme again.

_Car_. Go, let the Christian Governor understand his Request is granted.

_Guz_. The Slaves are ready, Sir, and a Galley to carry off the Christians.

_Jul_. How shall we make this Governor amends?

_Fran_. I do even weep for joy; alas, I must leave it to thee, Love.

_Jul_. To me, Sir? do you mock me?

_Fran_. Mock thee! no; I know thy Virtue, and will no more be jealous, believe me, Chicken, I was an old Fool.

_Car_. Your Wife is chaste--she overcame my unruly Passion with her Prayers and Tears.

_Enter_ Isabella _at one door_; Clara, Antonio, Jacinta, _at another_; Isabella’s _Train carried up_.

_Fran_. Rare News,--we are all free and ransom’d! All’s well, and the Man has his Mare again.

_Isa_. You still forget your Duty and your Distance.

_Fran_. A pox of your troublesom Honour; a man can’t be overjoy’d in quiet for’t.

_Enter_ Baltazer _and_ Sebastian.

_Seb_. Sure, I am not mistaken, this is the House of my Son _Antonio_.

_Bal_. Let it be whose house ‘twill, I think the Devil’s broke loose in’t.

_Seb_.--Or the _Turks_; for I have yet met with ne’er a Christian thing in’t.

_Fran_. Hah,--do I dream, or is that my Father-in-law, and Signior _Sebastian_?

_Ant_. My Father here?

_Car_. _Baltazer_! [_Aside_.

_Bal_. Son _Francisco_, why do you gaze on me so?

_Fran_. Bless me, Sir, are you taken by the Great _Turk_ too?

_Bal_. Taken,--Great _Turk_,--what do mean?

_Fran_. Mean, Sir! why, how the Devil came you into _Turkey_?

_Bal_. Sure, Jealousy has crack’d his brains.

_Fran_. Crack me no Cracks, good Father mine;--am not I a Slave in _Turkey_? and is not this the _Grand Seignior’s_ Palace?

_Car_. So,--all will come out, there’s no prevention. [_Aside_.

_Seb_. Some that are wiser answer us: You, Son,--are you infected too?--was not yesterday to have been your Wedding-day?

_Ant_. To day has done as well, Sir, I have only chang’d _Isabella_ for _Clara_.

_Seb_. How, _Francisco_, have you juggled with me?

_Fran_. My Daughter’s a Lady, Sir.

_Bal_. And you, Mistress, you have married _Antonio_, and left the Governor.

_Cla_. I thought him the fitter Match, Sir, and hope your Pardon.

_Jul_. We cannot scape.

_Fran_. But how came you hither, Gentlemen, how durst you venture?

_Seb_. Whither, Sir, to my own Son’s house; is there such danger in coming a mile or two out of _Cadiz_?

_Fran_. Is the Devil in you, or me, or both? Am not I in the Possession of _Turks_ and Infidels?

_Bal_. No, Sir; safe in _Antonio Villa_, within a League of _Cadiz_.

_Fran_. Why, what a Pox, is not this the Great _Turk_ himself?

_Bal_. This, Sir,--cry mercy, my Lord,--’tis Don _Carlos_, Sir, the Governor.

_Fran_. The Governor! the worst Great _Turk_ of all; so, I am cozened, --most rarely cheated; why, what a horrid Plot’s here carried on, to bring in heretical Cuckoldom?

_Car_. Well, Sir, since you have found it out, I’ll own my Passion.

_Jul_. Well, if I have been kind you forced me to’t, nay, begged on your knees, to give my self away.

_Fran_. Guilty, guilty, I confess,--but ‘twas to the Great _Turk_, Mistress, not Don _Carlos_.

_Jul_. And was the Sin the greater?

_Fran_. No, but the Honour was less.

_Bal_. Oh horrid! What, intreat his Wife to be a Whore?

_Car_. Sir, you’re mistaken, she was my Wife in sight of Heaven before; and I but seiz’d my own.

_Fran_. Oh,--Sir, she’s at your Service still.

_Car_. I thank you, Sir, and take her as my own.

_Bal_. Hold, my Honour’s concerned.

_Fran_. Not at all, Father mine, she’s my Wife, my Lumber now, and, I hope, I may dispose of my Goods and Chattels--if he takes her we are upon equal terms, for he makes himself my Cuckold, as he has already made me his;--for, if my memory fail me not, we did once upon a time consummate, as my Daughter has it.

_Enter_ Guiliom _in his own dress; crying Chimney-Sweep_.

_Guil_. Chimney-sweep,--by your leave, Gentlemen.

_Ant_. Whither away, Sirrah?

_Guil_. What’s that to you, Sir?--

_Ant_. Not to me, Sirrah;--who wou’d you speak with?

_Guil_. What’s that to you, Sir? why, what a Pox, may not a man speak with his own Lady and Wife?

_Cla_. Heavens! his Wife! to look for his Wife amongst Persons of Quality!

_Car_. Kick out the Rascal.

_Guil_. As soon as you please, my Lord; but let me take my Wife along with me. [_Takes_ Isa. _by the hand_.

_Isa_. Faugh! what means the Devil?

_Guil_. Devil; ‘twas not long since you found me a human creature within there.

_Isa_. Villain, Dog; help me to tear his Eyes out.

_Guil_. What, those Eyes, those lovely Eyes, that wounded you so deeply?

_Fran_. What’s the meaning of all this? why, what, am I cozen’d? and is my Daughter cozen’d?

_Guil_. Cozen’d! why, I am a Man, Sir.

_Fran_. The Devil you are, Sir, how shall I know that?

_Guil_. Your Daughter does, Sir; and that’s all one.

_Isa_. Oh! I’m undone; am I no Viscountess then.

_Guil_. Hang Titles; ‘twas my self you lov’d, my amiable sweet and charming self: In fine, sweet-heart, I am your Husband; no Viscount, but honest _Guiliom_, the Chimney-sweeper.--I heard your Father design’d to marry you to a Tradesman, and you were for a Don; and to please you both, you see how well I have managed matters.

_Fran_. I’ll not give her a farthing.

_Guil_. No matter, her Love’s worth a million; and, that’s so great, that I’m sure she’ll be content to carry my Soot basket after me.

_Isa_. Ah! I die, I die.

_Guil_. What, and I so kind? [_Goes and kisses her, and blacks her face_.

_Isa_. Help! murder, murder!

_Guil_. Well, Gentlemen, I am something a better fortune than you believe me, by some thousands. [_Shows_ Car. _his Writings_.

_Car_. Substantial and good! faith, Sir, I know not where you’ll find a better fortune for your Daughter, as cases stand. [_To_ Francisco.

_Guil_. And, for the Viscount, Sir, gay Clothes, Money and Confidence will set me up for one, in any ground in Christendom.

_Car_. Faith, Sir, he’s i’th’ right; take him home to _Sevil_, your Neighbours know him not, and he may pass for what you please to make him; the Fellow’s honest, witty and handsom.

_Fran_. Well, I have considered the matter: I was but a Leather-seller my self, and am grown up to a Gentleman; and, who knows but he, being a Chimney-sweeper, may, in time, grow up to a Lord? Faith, I’ll trust to Fortune, for once--here--take her and rid me of one Plague, as you, I thank you, Sir, have done of another. [_To_ Carlos.

_Guil_. Prithee be pacified, thou shalt see me within this hour as pretty a fluttering Spark as any’s in Town.--My noble Lord, I give you thanks and joy; for, you are happy too.

_Car_. As Love and Beauty can make me.

_Fran_. And I, as no damn’d Wife, proud Daughter, or tormenting Chamber-maid can make me.

_Ant_. And I, as Heaven and _Clara_ can. _--You base-born Beauties, whose ill-manner’d Pride, Th’industrious noble Citizens deride. May you all meet with_ Isabella’s _doom_.

_Guil_. _--And all such Husbands as the Count_ Guiliome.

EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Mrs. Barry, made by a Person of Quality.

_I Come not a Petitioner to sue, This Play the Author has writ down to you; ’.is a slight Farce, five Days brought forth with ease, So very foolish that it needs must please; For though each day good Judges take offence, | And Satir arms in Comedy’s defence, | You are still true to your _Jack-Pudding_ Sense. | No Buffoonry can miss your Approbation, You love it as you do a new_ French _Fashion: Thus in true hate of Sense, and Wit’s despite, Bantring and Shamming is your dear delight. Thus among all the Folly’s here abounding, None took like the new Ape-trick of Dumfounding. If to make People laugh the business be, | You Sparks better Comedians are than we; | You every day out-fool ev’n_ Nokes _and_ Lee. | _They’re forc’d to stop, and their own Farces quit, T’admire the Merry-Andrews of the Pit; But if your Mirth so grate the Critick’s ear, Your Love will yet more Harlequin appear. --You everlasting Grievance of the Boxes, You wither’d Ruins of stum’d Wine and Poxes; What strange Green-sickness do you hope in Women Should make ‘em love old Fools in new Point Linen? The Race of Life you run off-hand too fast, Your fiery Metal is too hot to last; Your Fevers come so thick, your Claps so plenty, Most of you are threescore at five and twenty. Our Town-bred Ladys know you well enough, Your courting Women’s like your taking Snuff; Out of mere Idleness you keep a pother, You’ve no more need of one than of the other. Ladies-- Wou’d you be quit of their insipid noise, And vain pretending take a Fool’s advice; Of the faux Braves I’ve had some little trial, There’s nothing gives ‘em credit but Denial: As when a Coward will pretend to Huffing, Offer to fight, away sneaks Bully-Ruffian, So when these Sparks, whose business is addressing, In Love pursuits grow troublesom and pressing; When they affect to keep still in your eye, | When they send_ Grisons _every where to spy, | And full of Coxcomb dress and ogle high; | Seem to receive their Charge, and face about, I’ll pawn my life they never stand it out.

THE LUCKY CHANCE; OR, AN ALDERMAN’S BARGAIN.

ARGUMENT.

Harry Bellmour, having killed his man in a duel, flies to Brussels, perforce leaving behind him Leticia, to whom he is affianced. During his absence Sir Feeble Fainwou’d, a doting old alderman and his rival, having procured his pardon from the King to prevent it being granted if applied for a second time, and keeping this stratagem secret, next forges a letter as if from the Hague which describes in detail Bellmour’s execution for killing a toper during a tavern brawl. He then plies his suit with such ardour that Leticia, induced by poverty and wretchedness, reluctantly consents to marry him. On the wedding morning Bellmour returns in disguise and intercepts a letter that conveys news of the arrival of Sir Feeble’s nephew, Frank, whom his uncle has never seen. The lover straightway resolves to personate the expected newcomer, and he is assisted in his design by his friend Gayman, a town gallant, who having fallen into dire need is compelled to lodge, under the name of Wasteall, with a smith in Alsatia. His estate has been mortgaged to an old banker, Sir Cautious Fulbank, whose wife Julia he loves, and to her he pretends to have gone to Northamptonshire to his uncle’s death bed. He is discovered, unknown to himself, in his slummy retreat by Bredwel, Sir Cautious’ prentice, who has to convey him a message with reference to the expiration of the mortgage, and who reveals the secret to Lady Fulbank. She promptly abstracts five hundred pounds from her husband’s strong box and forwards it to her lover by Bredwel, disguised as a devil, with an amorous message purporting to be from some unknown bidding him attend at a certain trysting place that night without fail. Gayman, now able to redeem his forfeited estates, dresses in his finest clothes and appears at Sir Feeble Fainwou’d’. wedding. Bellmour has meanwhile revealed himself to Leticia, who is plunged in despair at the nuptials. Lady Fulbank, who is present, greets Gayman and asks him to give her an assignation in the garden, but he excuses himself in order to keep his prior appointment, and she leaves him in dissembled anger. Bredwel then in his satanic masquerade meets Gayman, and bringing him a roundabout way, introduces him into Sir Cautious’ house, where, after having been entertained with a masque of dances and songs as by spirits, he is conducted to Lady Fulbank’s chamber by her maid disguised as an ancient crone, and admitted to his mistress’ embraces. Meanwhile Sir Feeble Fainwou’d, who just at the moment of entering the bridal chamber has been hurriedly fetched away by Bellmour under the pretext of an urgent message from Sir Cautious concerning some midnight plot and an outbreak in the city, arrives at the house in great terror, and Sir Cautious (not knowing the reason of so late a visit) and he sit opposite each other for a while, gaping and staring in amaze. Bredwel, to pass Gayman out undetected, ushers him through the room white-sheeted like a ghost, and the two old fools are well frightened, but eventually they conclude there has been some mistake or trick. Sir Feeble returns home to find Leticia with her jewels about to flee, but she succeeds in reassuring him. Gayman now visits Lady Fulbank and gives her some account of his adventures with the she-devil, all of which he half jestingly ascribes to magic. Sir Cautious and various guests enter, dice are produced and, luck favouring the gallant, Gayman wins one hundred pounds from the old Banker, and a like sum from several others of the company. As the niggardly Sir Cautious bewails his losses the victor offers to stake three hundred pounds against a night with Julia, the bargain, of course, being kept from the lady. After some rumination Sir Cautious accepts and Gayman wins the throw. That night he causes himself to be conveyed to Sir Cautious’ house in a chest and Sir Cautious leads him to Lady Fulbank in bed, she supposing him to be her husband. Meanwhile Sir Feeble being with Leticia is about to enter her bed when from behind the curtains Bellmour appears unmasqued, dressed in a torn and blood-stained shirt and brandishing a dagger. Sir Feeble flies in terror. The next morning Lady Fulbank discovers the trick which has been played upon her and rates both her husband and lover soundly. Bellmour and Leticia arriving throw themselves on her protection. Sir Feeble and Sir Cautious are at length obliged to acquiesce in the existing state of things and to resign their ladies to their two gallants. They are unable to protest even when Sir Feeble finds that his daughter Diana has married Bredwel instead of Sir Cautious’ nephew Bearjest for whom she was designed, whilst the choused fop is wedded to Pert, Lady Fulbank’s woman, to whom he had been previously contracted.

SOURCE.

The plot of _The Lucky Chance; or, An Alderman’s Bargain_ is original save for the details of Lady Fulbank’s design upon Gayman, when he is conveyed to her house by masqued devils and conducted to her chamber by Pert dressed as a withered beldame. In this Mrs. Behn exactly copies Shirley’s excellent comedy, _The Lady of Pleasure_, produced at the Private House in Drury Lane, October, 1635, (4to 1637). In the course of Lady Bornwell’s intrigue with Kickshaw he is taken blindfold to the house of the procuress, Decoy, who, in the guise of a doting crone, leads him to a chamber where he imagines he is to meet a succubus, whilst the Lady, unknown to him, entertains him herself.

THEATRICAL HISTORY.

_The Lucky Chance; or, An Alderman’s Bargain_, produced at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, in 1687, was, with the exception of the disapproval of a certain pudibond clique, received with great favour, and kept the stage for a decade or more. During the summer season of 1718 there was, on 24 July, a revival, ‘not acted twenty years,’ of this witty comedy at Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Gayman was played by Frank Leigh, son of the famous low comedian; Sir Feeble Fainwou’d by Bullock.

On 25 November, 1786, there was produced at Drury Lane a comedy by Mrs. Hannah Cowley (1743-1809), a prolific but mediocre dramatist, entitled, _A School for Greybeards; or, The Mourning Bride_ (4to 1786 and 1787). Genest writes: ‘On the first night it struck me that I had seen something like the play before and when the 4th act came I was fully satisfied--that part of the plot which concerns Antonia, Henry, and Gasper [Donna Antonia (The Mourning Bride), Mrs. Crouch; Don Henry, Kemble; Don Gasper (a Greybeard), Parsons; Donna Seraphina, Miss Farren]; and even the outlines of Seraphina’s character, are taken from _The Lucky Chance_--as Mrs. Behn’s play, though a very good one is too indecent to be ever represented again. Mrs. Cowley might without any disgrace to herself have borrowed whatever she pleased provided she had made a proper acknowledgement--instead of which she says in her preface “--The idea of the business which concerns Antonia, Henry and Gasper was presented to me in an obsolete Comedy; I say the _idea_, for when it is known that in the original the scene lay among traders in London--and those traders of the lowest and most detestable manners, it will be conceived at once, that in removing it to Portugal and fixing the characters among the nobility, it was hardly possible to carry with me _more_ than the idea”--the traders whom Mrs. Cowley mentions, are both Knights, the one an Alderman, the other a Banker.’ Genest then compares various scenes and expressions from _The Lucky Chance_ with Mrs. Cowley and concludes ‘The other scenes though they may differ in the dialogue yet agree in essentials--the scene in the 5th act between Alexis and Gasper bears the strongest resemblance to that between Sir Feeble and Sir Cautious in The Lucky Chance. Mrs. Cowley was ashamed to advance a direct lie, but she was not ashamed to insinuate a falsehood--_A Naeuio uel sumpsisti multa, si fateris; uel, si negas surripuisti_--Cicero.’ The strictures of our stage historian are entirely apposite and correct. Henry, Don Gasper and Antonia of the Georgian comedy are none other but Bellmour, Sir Feeble, and Leticia. With regard to the reception of _The School for Greybeards_ ‘the audience took needless offence at a scene in the 4th act, and an unfortunate expression in Young Bannister’s part [Don Sebastian. Bannister, jun., also spoke the prologue], revived the opposition in the last scene--no more was heard till King [Don Alexis] advanced to speak the last speech--some alteration was made on the 2nd night, and the play was acted 9 times or more in the course of the season, but never afterwards [It was played at Bath 28 October, 1813. Chatterley acted Don Gasper; Miss Greville (from the Pantheon theatre), Donna Seraphina. It had little success]--it is a good Comedy and was very well acted.’

The audience must indeed have been qualmish prudes. Of all plays it is the most harmless. The scene in the fourth Act to which exception was taken seems to have been No. II, after the marriage of Gasper and Antonia, a most trifling and inept business. In Act V, IV, Alexis says to Viola: ‘As for you Madam bread and water, and a dark chamber shall be your lot--’ but Sebastian (Bannister, jun.), who has married Viola, breaks in crying: ‘No, Sir,--I am the arbiter of her lot;--however, I confirm half your punishment; and a dark chamber she shall certainly have.’ To this speech in the 4to Mrs. Cowley appends the following note: ’.his is the expression, I am told, which had nearly prov’d fatal to the Comedy. I should not have printed it, but from the resolution I have religiously kept, of restoring every thing that was objected to.’ Imagination and ingenuity fail to fathom the cryptic indecency. _The School for Greybeards_ is, in fine, a modest and mediocre comedy of little value.

12 December, 1786, Walpole, writing from Berkeley Square to the Countess of Upper Ossary, says: ‘To-night ... I am going to Mrs. Cowley’s new play, which I suppose is as _instructive_ as the _Marriage of Figaro_, for I am told it approaches to those of Mrs. Behn in spartan delicacy; but I shall see Miss Farren, who, in my poor opinion, is the first of all actresses.’ Writing three days later to the same lady he has: ‘_The Greybeards_ have certainly been chastised, for we did not find them at all gross. The piece is farcical and improbable, but has some good things, and is admirably acted.’ Those ‘good things’ are entirely due to Mrs. Behn.

To the Right Honourable _Laurence_, Lord _Hyde_, Earl of _Rochester_, one of his Majesty’s most Honourable Privy Council, Lord High Treasurer of _England_, and Knight of the Noble Order of the Garter.

My Lord,

When I consider how Ancient and Honourable a Date Plays have born, how they have been the peculiar Care of the most Illustrious Persons of _Greece_ and _Rome_, who strove as much to outdoe each other in Magnificence, (when by Turns they manag’d the great Business of the Stage, as if they had contended for the Victory of the Universe;) I say, my Lord, when I consider this, I with the greater Assurance most humbly address this Comedy to your Lordship, since by right of Antient Custom, the Patronage of Plays belong’d only to the great Men, and chiefest Magistrates. Cardinal _Richelieu_, that great and wise Statesman, said, That there was no surer Testimony to be given of the flourishing Greatness of a State, than publick Pleasures and Divertisements--for they are, says he--the Schools of Vertue, where Vice is always either punish’t, or disdain’d. They are secret Instructions to the People, in things that ‘tis impossible to insinuate into them any other Way. ‘Tis Example that prevails above Reason or DIVINE PRECEPTS. (Philosophy not understood by the Multitude;) ‘tis Example alone that inspires Morality, and best establishes Vertue, I have my self known a Man, whom neither Conscience nor Religion cou’d perswade to Loyalty, who with beholding in our Theatre a Modern Politician set forth in all his Colours, was converted, renounc’d his opinion, and quitted the Party.

The Abbot of _Aubignac_ to show that Plays have been ever held most important to the very Political Part of Government, says, The Phylosophy of _Greece_, and the Majesty and Wisdom of the Romans, did equally concern their Great Men in making them Venerable, Noble, and Magnificent: Venerable, by their Consecration to their Gods: Noble, by being govern’d by their chiefest Men; and their Magnificency was from the publick Treasury, and the liberal Contributions of their Noble Men.

It being undeniable then, that Plays and publick Diversions were thought by the Greatest and Wisest of States, one of the most essential Parts of good Government, and in which so many great Persons were interested; suffer me to beg your Lordships Patronage for this little Endeavour, and believe it not below the Grandure of your Birth and State, the Illustrious Places you so justly hold in the Kingdom, nor your Illustrious Relation to the greatest Monarch of the World, to afford it the Glory of your Protection; since it is the Product of a Heart and Pen, that always faithfully serv’d that Royal Cause, to which your Lordship is by many Tyes so firmly fixt: It approaches you with that absolute Veneration, that all the World is oblig’d to pay you; and has no other Design than to express my sense of those excellent Vertues, that make your Lordship so truly admir’d and lov’d. Amongst which we find those two so rare in a Great Man and a Statesman, those of Gracious Speech and easie Access, and I believe none were ever sent from your Presence dissatisfied. You have an Art to please even when you deny; and something in your Look and Voice has an Air so greatly good, it recompences even for Disappointment, and we never leave your Lordship but with Blessings. It is no less our Admiration, to behold with what Serenity and perfect Conduct, that great Part of the Nations Business is carry’d on, by one single Person; who having to do with so vast Numbers of Men of all Qualitys, Interests, and Humours, nevertheless all are well satisfi’d, and none complain of Oppression, but all is done with Gentleness and Silence, as if (like the first Creator) you cou’d finish all by a Word. You have, my Lord, a Judgment so piercing and solid, a Wisdom so quick and clear, and a Fortitude so truly Noble, that those Fatigues of State, that wou’d even sink a Spirit of less Magnitude, is by yours accomplish’t without Toil, or any Appearance of that harsh and crabbed Austerity, that is usually put on by the buisy Great. You, my Lord, support the Globe, as if you did not feel its Weight; nor so much as seem to bend beneath it: Your Zeal for the Glorious Monarch you love and serve, makes all things a Pleasure that advance his Interest, which is so absolutely your Care. You are, my Lord, by your generous Candor, your unbyast Justice, your Sweetness, Affability, and Condescending Goodness (those never-failing Marks of Greatness) above that Envy which reigns in Courts, and is aim’d at the most elevated Fortunes and Noblest Favourites of Princes: And when they consider your Lordship, with all the Abilitys and Wisdom of a great Counsellor, your unblemisht Vertue, your unshaken Loyalty, your constant Industry for the Publick Good, how all things under your Part of Sway have been refin’d and purg’d from those Grossnesses, Frauds, Briberys, and Grievances, beneath which so many of his Majestys Subjects groan’d, when we see Merit establish’t and prefer’d, and Vice discourag’d; it imposes Silence upon Malice it self, and compells ‘em to bless his Majesty’s Choice of such a Pillar of the State, such a Patron of Vertue.

Long may your Lordship live to remain in this most Honourable Station, that his Majesty may be serv’d with an entire Fidelity, and the Nation be render’d perfectly Happy. Since from such Heads and Hearts, the Monarch reaps his Glory, and the Kingdom receives its Safety and Tranquility. This is the unfeign’d Prayer of,

My Lord, Your Lordships most Humble And most Obedient Servant A. Behn

PREFACE.

The little Obligation I have to some of the witty Sparks and Poets of the Town, has put me on a Vindication of this Comedy from those Censures that Malice, and ill Nature have thrown upon it, tho in vain: The Poets I heartily excuse, since there is a sort of Self-Interest in their Malice, which I shou’d rather call a witty Way they have in this Age, of Railing at every thing they find with pain successful, and never to shew good Nature and speak well of any thing; but when they are sure ‘tis damn’d, then they afford it that worse Scandal, their Pity. And nothing makes them so thorough-stitcht an Enemy as a full Third Day, that’s Crime enough to load it with all manner of Infamy; and when they can no other way prevail with the Town, they charge it with the old never failing Scandal--That ‘tis not fit for the Ladys: As if (if it were as they falsly give it out) the Ladys were oblig’d to hear Indecencys only from their Pens and Plays and some of them have ventur’d to treat ‘em as Coursely as ‘twas possible, without the least Reproach from them; and in some of their most Celebrated Plays have entertained ‘em with things, that if I should here strip from their Wit and Occasion that conducts ’.m in and makes them proper, their fair Cheeks would perhaps wear a natural Colour at the reading them: yet are never taken Notice of, because a Man writ them, and they may hear that from them they blush at from a Woman--But I make a Challenge to any Person of common Sense and Reason--that is not wilfully bent on ill Nature, and will in spight of Sense wrest a double _Entendre_ from every thing, lying upon the Catch for a Jest or a Quibble, like a Rook for a Cully; but any unprejudic’d Person that knows not the Author, to read any of my Comedys and compare ’.m with others of this Age, and if they find one Word that can offend the chastest Ear, I will submit to all their peevish Cavills; but Right or Wrong they must be Criminal because a Woman’s; condemning them without having the Christian Charity, to examine whether it be guilty or not, with reading, comparing, or thinking; the Ladies taking up any Scandal on Trust from some conceited Sparks, who will in spight of Nature be Wits and _Beaus_; then scatter it for Authentick all over the Town and Court, poysoning of others Judgments with their false Notions, condemning it to worse than Death, Loss of Fame. And to fortifie their Detraction, charge me with all the Plays that have ever been offensive; though I wish with all their Faults I had been the Author of some of those they have honour’d me with. For the farther Justification of this Play; it being a Comedy of Intrigue Dr. _Davenant_ out of Respect to the Commands he had from Court, to take great Care that no Indecency should be in Plays, sent for it and nicely look’t it over, putting out anything he but imagin’d the Criticks would play with. After that, Sir Roger _L’Estrange_ read it and licens’d it, and found no such Faults as ‘tis charg’d with: Then Mr. _Killigrew_, who more severe than any, from the strict Order he had, perus’d it with great Circumspection; and lastly the Master Players, who you will I hope in some Measure esteem Judges of Decency and their own Interest, having been so many Years Prentice to the Trade of Judging.

I say, after all these Supervisors the Ladys may be convinc’d, they left nothing that could offend, and the Men of their unjust Reflections on so many Judges of Wit and Decencys. When it happens that I challenge any one, to point me out the least Expression of what some have made their Discourse, they cry, _That Mr_. Leigh _opens his Night Gown, when he comes into the Bride-chamber_; if he do, which is a Jest of his own making, and which I never saw, I hope he has his Cloaths on underneath? And if so, where is the Indecency? I have seen in that admirable Play of _Oedipus_, the Gown open’d wide, and the Man shown, in his Drawers and Waist coat, and never thought it an Offence before. Another crys, _Why we know not what they mean, when the Man takes a Woman off the Stage, and another is thereby cuckolded_; is that any more than you see in the most Celebrated of your Plays? as the _City Politicks_, the _Lady Mayoress_, and the _Old Lawyers Wife_, who goes with a Man she never saw before, and comes out again the joyfull’st Woman alive, for having made her Husband a Cuckold with such Dexterity, and yet I see nothing unnatural nor obscene: ‘tis proper for the Characters. So in that lucky Play of the _London Cuckolds_, not to recite Particulars. And in that good Comedy of _Sir Courtly Nice_, the _Taylor to the young Lady_--in the fam’d Sir _Fopling Dorimont and Bellinda_, see the very Words--in _Valentinian_, see the Scene between the _Court Bawds_. And _Valentinian_ all loose and ruffld a Moment after the Rape, and all this you see without Scandal, and a thousand others The _Moor of Venice_ in many places. The _Maids Tragedy_--see the Scene of undressing the Bride, and between the _King_ and _Amintor_, and after between the _King_ and _Evadne_--All these I Name as some of the best Plays I know; If I should repeat the Words exprest in these Scenes I mention, I might justly be charg’d with course ill Manners, and very little Modesty, and yet they so naturally fall into the places they are designed for, and so are proper for the Business, that there is not the least Fault to be found with them; though I say those things in any of mine wou’d damn the whole Peice, and alarm the Town. Had I a Day or two’s time, as I have scarce so many Hours to write this in (the Play, being all printed off and the Press waiting,) I would sum up all your Beloved Plays, and all the Things in them that are past with such Silence by; because written by Men: such Masculine Strokes in me, must not be allow’d. I must conclude those Women (if there be any such) greater Critics in that sort of Conversation than my self, who find any of that sort in mine, or any thing that can justly be reproach’t. But ‘tis in vain by dint of Reason or Comparison to convince the obstinate Criticks, whose Business is to find Fault, if not by a loose and gross Imagination to create them, for they must either find the Jest, or make it; and those of this sort fall to my share, they find Faults of another kind for the Men Writers. And this one thing I will venture to say, though against my Nature, because it has a Vanity in it: That had the Plays I have writ come forth under any Mans Name, and never known to have been mine; I appeal to all unbyast Judges of Sense, if they had not said that Person had made as many good Comedies, as any one Man that has writ in our Age; but a Devil on’t the Woman damns the Poet.

Ladies, for its further Justification to you, be pleas’d to know, that the first Copy of this Play was read by several Ladys of very great Quality, and unquestioned Fame, and received their most favourable Opinion, not one charging it with the Crime, that some have been pleas’d to find in the Acting. Other Ladys who saw it more than once, whose Quality and Vertue can sufficiently justifie any thing they design to favour, were pleas’d to say, they found an Entertainment in it very far from scandalous; and for the Generality of the Town, I found by my Receipts it was not thought so Criminal. However, that shall not be an Incouragement to me to trouble the Criticks with new Occasion of affronting me, for endeavouring at least to divert; and at this rate, both the few Poets that are left, and the Players who toil in vain will be weary of their Trade.

I cannot omit to tell you, that a Wit of the Town, a Friend of mine at Wills Coffee House, the first Night of the Play, cry’d it down as much as in him lay, who before had read it and assured me he never ‘saw a prettier Comedy. So complaisant one pestilent Wit will be to another, and in the full Cry make his Noise too; but since ‘tis to the witty Few I speak, I hope the better Judges will take no Offence, to whom I am oblig’d for better Judgments; and those I hope will be so kind to me, knowing my Conversation not at all addicted to the Indecencys alledged, that I would much less practice it in a Play, that must stand the Test of the censoring World. And I must want common Sense, and all the Degrees of good Manners, renouncing my Fame, all Modesty and Interest for a silly Sawcy fruitless Jest, to make Fools laugh, and Women blush, and wise Men asham’d; My self all the while, if I had been guilty of this Crime charg’d to me, remaining the only stupid, insensible. Is this likely, is this reasonable to be believ’d by any body, but the wilfully blind? All I ask, is the Priviledge for my Masculine Part the Poet in me, (if any such you will allow me) to tread in those successful Paths my Predecessors have so long thriv’d in, to take those Measures that both the Ancient and Modern Writers have set me, and by which they have pleas’d the World so well: If I must not, because of my Sex, have this Freedom, but that you will usurp all to your selves; I lay down my Quill, and you shall hear no more of me, no not so much as to make Comparisons, because I will be kinder to my Brothers of the Pen, than they have been to a defenceless Woman; for I am not content to write for a Third day only. I value Fame as much as if I had been born a _Hero_; and if you rob me of that, I can retire from the ungrateful World, and scorn its fickle Favours.

THE LUCKY CHANCE;

or, An Alderman’s Bargain.

PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mr. _Jevon_.

_Since with old Plays you have so long been cloy’d, As with a Mistress many years enjoy’d, How briskly dear Variety you pursue; Nay, though for worse ye change, ye will have New. Widows take heed some of you in fresh Youth Have been the unpitied Martyrs of this Youth. When for a drunken Sot, that had kind hours, And taking their own freedoms, left you yours; ’.was your delib’rate choice your days to pass With a damn’d, sober, self-admiring Ass, Who thinks good usage for the Sex unfit, And slights ye out of Sparkishness and Wit. But you can fit him--Let a worse Fool come, If he neglect, to officiate in his room. Vain amorous Coxcombs every where are found, Fops for all uses, but the Stage abound. Though you shou’d change them oftener than your Fashions, There still wou’d be enough for your Occasions: But ours are not so easily supplied, All that cou’d e’er quit cost, we have already tried. Nay, dear sometimes have bought the Frippery stuff. | This, Widows, you--I mean the old and tough-- | Will never think, be they but Fool enough. |

Such will with any kind of Puppies play; | But we must better know for what we pay: | We must not purchase such dull Fools as they. | Shou’d we shew each her own partic’lar Dear, What they admire at home, they wou’d loath here. Thus, though the Mall, the Ring, the Pit is full, And every Coffee-House still swarms with Fool; Though still by Fools all other Callings live, Nay our own Women by fresh Cullies thrive, Though your Intrigues which no Lampoon can cure, Promise a long Succession to ensure; And all your Matches plenty do presage: Dire is the Dearth and Famine on the Stage. Our Store’s quite wasted, and our Credit’s small, Not a Fool left to bless our selves withal. We re forc’t at last to rob, (which is great pity, Though ‘tis a never-failing Bank) the City.

We show you one to day intirely new, And of all Jests, none relish like the true. Let that the value of our Play inhance, Then it may prove indeed the_ Lucky Chance.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

MEN.

Sir _Feeble Fainwou’d_, an old Alderman to be married Mr. _Leigh_. to _Leticia_, Sir _Cautious Fulbank_, an old Banker married to _Julia_, Mr. _Nokes_. Mr. _Gayman_, a Spark of the Town, Lover of _Julia_, Mr. _Betterton_. Mr. _Bellmour_. contracted to _Leticia_. disguis’d, and passes for Sir _Feeble’s_ Nephew, Mr. _Kynaston_. Mr. _Bearjest_, Nephew to Sir _Cautious_, a Fop, Mr. _Jevon_. Capt. _Noisey_, his Companion, Mr. _Harris_. Mr. _Bredwel_, Prentice to Sir _Cautious_, and Brother to _Leticia_, in love with _Diana_, Mr. _Bowman_. _Rag_, Footman to _Gayman_. _Ralph_, Footman to Sir _Feeble_. _Dick_, Footman to Sir _Cautious_. _Gingle_, a Music Master. A Post-man. Two Porters. A Servant.

WOMEN.

Lady _Fulbank_, in love with _Gayman_, honest and generous, Mrs. _Barry_. _Leticia_. contracted to _Bellmour, married to Sir _Feeble_, young and virtuous, Mrs. _Cook_. _Diana_, Daughter to Sir _Feeble_, in love with Bredwel; virtuous, Mrs. _Mountford_. _Pert_, Lady _Fulbank’s_ Woman. Gammer _Grime_, Landlady to _Gayman_, a Smith’s Wife in _Alsatia_, Mrs. _Powell_. _Susan_, Servant to Sir _Feeble_. _Phillis, Leticia’s_ Woman.

A Parson, Fidlers, Dancers and Singers.

_The Scene_, LONDON.