Chapter VI: Part 6

_Lady Brute._ So some Men will, to keep their Wives from coming near 'em.

_Bel._ Then those Wives shou'd cuckold 'em at a distance.

_He rises in a Fury, throws his Pipe at 'em, and drives 'em out. As they run off, ~Constant~ and ~Heartfree~ enter. Lady ~Brute~ runs against ~Constant~._

_Sir John._. 'Oons, get you gone up Stairs, you confederating Strumpets you, o I'll cuckold you, with a Vengeance!

_Lady Brute._ O Lord, he'll beat us, he'll beat us. Dear, dear Mr. _Constant_, save us!

[_Exeunt._

_Sir John._ I'll cuckold you, with a Pox.

_Const._ Heav'n! Sir _John_, what's the matter?

_Sir John._ Sure, if Women had been ready created, the Devil, instead of being kick'd down into Hell, had been marry'd.

_Heart._ Why, what new Plague have you found now?

_Sir John._ Why, these two Gentlewomen did but hear me say, I expected you here this Afternoon; upon which they presently resolv'd to take up the Room, o' purpose to plague me and my Friends.

_Const._ Was that all? Why, we shou'd have been glad of their Company.

_Sir John._ Then I should have been weary of yours; for I can't relish both together. They found fault with my smoaking Tobacco, too; and said Men stunk. But I have a good mind--to say something.

_Const._ No, nothing against the Ladies, pray.

_Sir John._ Split the Ladies! Come, will you sit down? Give us some Wine, Fellow: You won't smoak?

_Const._. No; nor drink, neither, at this time--I must ask your Pardon.

_Sir John._ What, this Mistress of yours runs in your Head! I'll warrant it's some such squeamish Minx as my Wife, that's grown so dainty of late, she finds fault even with a dirty Shirt.

_Heart._ That a Woman may do, and not be very dainty, neither.

_Sir John._ Pox o' the Women! let's drink. Come, you shall take one Glass, tho' I send for a Box of Lozenges to sweeten your Mouth after it.

_Const._ Nay, if one Glass will satisfy you, I'll drink it, without putting you to that Expence.

_Sir John._ Why, that's honest. Fill some Wine, Sirrah: So here's to you, Gentlemen--A Wife's the Devil. To your being both married.

[_They drink._

_Heart._ O, your most humble Servant, Sir.

_Sir John._ Well, how do you like my Wine?

_Const._ 'Tis very good, indeed.

_Heart._ 'Tis admirable.

_Sir John._ Then give us t'other Glass.

_Const._ No, pray excuse us now: We'll come another time, and then we won't spare it.

_Sir John._ This one Glass, and no more: Come, it shall be your Mistress's Health: And that's a great Compliment from me, I assure you.

_Const._ And 'tis a very obliging one to me: So give us the Glasses.

_Sir John._ So: let her live--

[_Sir ~John~ coughs in the Glass._

_Heart._ And be kind.

_Const._ What's the matter? Does it go the wrong way?

_Sir John._ If I had Love enough to be jealous, I shou'd take this for an ill Omen: For I never drank my Wife's Health in my Life, but I puk'd in the Glass.

_Const._ O, she's too virtuous to make a reasonable Man jealous.

_Sir John._ Pox of her Virtue! If I cou'd but catch her Adulterating, I might be divorc'd from her by Law.

_Heart._ And so pay her a yearly Pension, to be a distinguish'd Cuckold.

_Enter Servant._

_Serv._ Sir, there's my Lord _Rake_, Colonel _Bully_, and some other Gentlemen at the _Blue-Posts_, desire your Company.

_Sir John._ Cod's so, we are to consult about playing the Devil to-night.

_Heart._ Well, we won't hinder Business.

_Sir John._ Methinks I don't know how to leave you, tho': But for once I must make bold. Or look you; may be the Conference mayn't last long: So, if you'll wait here half an hour, or an hour; if I don't come then--why, then--I won't come at all.

_Heart._ [_To ~Const~._] A good modest Proposition, truly!

[_Aside._

_Const._ But let's accept on't, however. Who knows what may happen?

_Heart._ Well, Sir, to shew you how fond we are of your Company, we'll expect your Return as long as we can.

_Sir John._ Nay, may be I mayn't stay at all. But Business, you know, must be done. So your Servant--Or hark you, if you have a mind to take a Frisk with us, I have an Interest with my Lord; I can easily introduce you.

_Const._ We are much beholden to you; but for my part, I'm engag'd another way.

_Sir John._ What! to your Mistress, I'll warrant. Pr'ythee, leave your nasty Punk to entertain herself with her own lewd Thoughts, and make one with us to-night.

_Const._ Sir, 'tis Business that is to employ me.

_Heart._ And me; and Business must be done, you know.

_Sir John._ Ay, Women's Business, tho' the World were consum'd for't.

[_Exit Sir ~John~._

_Const._ Farewel, Beast! And now, my dear Friend, would my Mistress be but as complaisant as some Men's Wives, who think it a piece of good Breeding to receive the Visits of their Husband's Friends in his Absence!

_Heart._ Why, for your sake I could forgive her, tho' she should be so complaisant to receive something else in his Absence. But what way shall we invent to see her?

_Const._ O, ne'er hope it: Invention will prove as vain as Wishes.

_Enter Lady ~Brute~ and ~Belinda~._

_Heart._ What do you think now, Friend?

_Const._ I think I shall swoon.

_Heart._ I'll speak first, then, whilst you fetch breath.

_Lady Brute._ We think ourselves oblig'd, Gentlemen, to come and return you thanks for your Knight-Errantry. We were just upon being devour'd by the fiery Dragon.

_Bel._ Did not his Fumes almost knock you down, Gentlemen?

_Heart._ Truly, Ladies, we did undergo some Hardships; and should have done more, if some greater Heroes than ourselves, hard by, had not diverted him.

_Const._ Tho' I'm glad of the Service you are pleas'd to say we have done you, yet I'm sorry we could do it in no other way, than by making ourselves privy to what you would perhaps have kept a Secret.

_Lady Brute._ For Sir _John_'s part, I suppose he design'd it no Secret, since he made so much Noise. And for myself, truly I'm not much concern'd, since 'tis fallen only into this Gentleman's Hands and yours; who, I have many Reasons to believe, will neither interpret nor report any thing to my disadvantage.

_Const._ Your good Opinion, Madam, was what I fear'd I never could have merited.

_Lady Brute._ Your Fears were vain, then, Sir; for I'm just to every body.

_Heart._ Pr'ythee, _Constant_, what is't you do to get the Ladies good Opinions? for I'm a Novice at it.

_Bel._ Sir, will you give me leave to instruct you?

_Heart._ Yes, that I will, with all my Soul, Madam.

_Bel._ Why, then, you must never be slovenly, never be out of humour, fare well and cry Roast-meat, smoak Tobacco, nor drink but when you are dry.

_Heart._ That's hard.

_Const._ Nay, if you take his Bottle from him, you break his Heart, Madam.

_Bel._ Why, is it possible the Gentleman can love Drinking?

_Heart._ Only by way of Antidote.

_Bel._ Against what, pray?

_Heart._ Against Love, Madam.

_Lady Brute._ Are you afraid of being in Love, Sir?

_Heart._ I should, if there were any Danger of it.

_Lady Brute._ Pray why so?

_Heart._ Because I always had an Aversion to being us'd like a Dog.

_Bel._ Why, truly, Men in Love are seldom us'd better.

_Lady Brute._ But was you never in Love, Sir?

_Heart._ No, I thank Heav'n, Madam.

_Bel._ Pray, where got you your Learning, then?

_Heart._ From other People's Expence.

_Bel._ That's being a Spunger, Sir, which is scarce honest: If you'd buy some Experience with your own Money, as 'twould be fairlier got, so 'twould stick longer by you.

_Enter Footman._

_Foot._ Madam, here's my Lady _Fancyfull_, to wait upon your Ladyship.

_Lady Brute._ Shield me, kind Heaven! What an Inundation of Impertinence is here coming upon us!

_Enter Lady ~Fancyfull~, who runs first to Lady ~Brute~,
then to ~Belinda~, kissing 'em._

_Lady Fan._ My dear Lady _Brute_, and sweet _Belinda_, methinks 'tis an Age since I saw you.

_Lady Brute._ Yet 'tis but three Days; sure you have pass'd your time very ill, it seems so long to you.

_Lady Fan._ Why, really, to confess the truth to you, I am so everlastingly fatigu'd with the Addresses of unfortunate Gentlemen, that, were it not for the Extravagancy of the Example, I shou'd e'en tear out these wicked Eyes with my own Fingers, to make both myself and Mankind easy. What think you on't, Mr. _Heartfree_, for I take you to be my faithful Adviser?

_Heart._ Why, truly, Madam--I think--every Project that is for the good of Mankind ought to be encourag'd.

_Lady Fan._ Then I have your Consent, Sir?

_Heart._ To do whatever you please, Madam.

_Lady Fan._ You had a much more limited Complaisance this Morning, Sir. Would you believe it, Ladies? The Gentleman has been so exceeding generous, to tell me of above fifty Faults, in less time than it was well possible for me to commit two of 'em.

_Const._ Why, truly, Madam, my Friend there is apt to be something familiar with the Ladies.

_Lady Fan._ He is, indeed, Sir; but he's wondrous charitable with it: He has had the Goodness to design a Reformation, even down to my Fingers-ends.----'Twas thus, I think, Sir, [_Opening her fingers in an aukward manner._] you'd have had 'em stand--My Eyes, too, he did not like: How was't you wou'd have directed 'em? Thus, I think. [_Staring at him._]--Then there was something amiss in my Gait, too: I don't know well how 'twas; but as I take it, he would have had me walk like him. Pray, Sir, do me the Favour to take a turn or two about the Room, that the Company may see you.--He's sullen, Ladies, and won't. But, to make short, and give you as true an Idea as I can of the matter, I think 'twas much about this Figure, in general, he would have moulded me to: But I was an obstinate Woman, and could not resolve to make myself Mistress of his Heart, by growing as aukward as his Fancy.

[_She walks aukwardly about, staring and looking ungainly,
then changes on a sudden to the Extremity of her
usual Affectation._

_Heart._. Just thus Women do, when they think we are in love with em, or when they are so with us.

[_Here ~Constant~ and Lady ~Brute~ talk together apart._

_Lady Fan._ 'Twould, however, be less Vanity for me to conclude the former, than you the latter, Sir.

_Heart._. Madam, all I shall presume to conclude, is, That if I wer in love, you'd find the means to make me soon weary on't.

_Lady Fan._ Not by Over-fondness, upon my Word, Sir. But pray let's stop here; for you are so much govern'd by Instinct, I know you'll grow brutish at last.

_Bel._ [_Aside._] Now am I sure she's fond of him: I'll try to make her jealous. Well, for my part, I should be glad to find somebody would be so free with me, that I might know my Faults, and mend 'em.

_Lady Fan._ Then pray let me recommend this Gentleman to you: I have known him some time, and will be Surety for him, that upon a very limited Encouragement on your side, you shall find an extended Impudence on his.

_Heart._ I thank you, Madam, for your Recommendation: But hating Idleness, I'm unwilling to enter into a Place where I believe there would be nothing to do. I was fond of serving your Ladyship, because I knew you'd find me constant Employment.

_Lady Fan._ I told you he'd be rude, _Belinda_.

_Bel._ O, a little Bluntness is a sign of Honesty, which makes me always ready to pardon it. So, Sir, if you have no other Exceptions to my Service, but the fear of being idle in it, you may venture to lift yourself: I shall find you Work, I warrant you.

_Heart._ Upon those Terms I engage, Madam; and this (with your leave) I take for Earnest.

[_Offering to kiss her Hand._

_Bel._ Hold there, Sir; I'm none of your Earnest-givers. But if I'm well serv'd, I give good Wages, and pay punctually.

[_~Heartf~. and ~Bel~. seem to continue talking familiarly._

_Lady Fan._ [_Aside._] I don't like this jesting between 'em--Methinks the Fool begins to look as if he were in earnest.----But then he must be a Fool, indeed.----Lard, what a Difference there is between me and her! [_Looking at ~Bel~. scornfully._] How I shou'd despise such a Thing, if I were a Man!----What a Nose she has!--What a Chin----What a Neck!----Then her Eyes----And the worst kissing Lips in the Universe----No, no, he can never like her, that's positive----Yet I can't suffer 'em together any longer. Mr. _Heartfree_, do you know that you and I must have no Quarrel for all this? I can't forbear being a little severe now and then: But Women, you know, may be allowed any thing.

_Heart._ Up to a certain Age, Madam.

_Lady Fan._ Which I'm not yet past, I hope.

_Heart._ [_Aside._] Nor never will, I dare swear.

_Lady Fan._ [_To Lady ~Brute~._] Come, Madam, will your Ladyship be Witness to our Reconciliation?

_Lady Brute._ You agree, then, at last?

_Heart._ [_Slightingly._] We forgive.

_Lady Fan._ [_Aside._] That was a cold, ill-natur'd Reply.

_Lady Brute._ Then there's no Challenges sent between you?

_Heart._ Not from me, I promise. [_Aside to ~Constant~._] But that's more than I'll do for her; for I know she can as well be damn'd as forbear writing to me.

_Const._ That I believe. But I think we had best be going, lest she should suspect something, and be malicious.

_Heart._ With all my heart.

_Const._ Ladies, we are your humble Servants. I see Sir _John_ is quite engag'd, 'twould be in vain to expect him. Come, _Heartfree_.

[_Exit._

_Heart._ Ladies, your Servant. [_To ~Belinda~._] I hope, Madam, you won't forget our Bargain; I'm to say what I please to you.

[_Exit ~Heartfree~._

_Bel._ Liberty of Speech entire, Sir.

_Lady Fan._ [_Aside._] Very pretty truly--But how the Blockhead went out--languishing at her, and not a Look toward me!--Well, Churchmen may talk, but Miracles are not ceas'd. For 'tis more than natural, such a rude Fellow as he, and such a little Impertinent as she, should be capable of making a Woman of my Sphere uneasy. But I can bear her sight no longer----methinks she's grown ten times uglier than _Cornet_. I must home, and study Revenge. [_To Lady ~Brute~._] Madam, your humble Servant; I must take my leave.

_Lady Brute._ What, going already, Madam?

_Lady Fan._ I must beg you'll excuse me this once; for really I have eighteen Visits to return this Afternoon: So you see I'm importun'd by the Women as well as the Men.

_Bel._ [_Aside._] And she's quits with them both.

_Lady Fan._ [_Going._] Nay, you shan't go one Step out of the Room.

_Lady Brute._ Indeed I'll wait upon you down.

_Lady Fan._ No, sweet Lady _Brute_, you know I swoon at Ceremony.

_Lady Brute._ Pray give me leave.

_Lady Fan._ You know I won't.

_Lady Brute._ Indeed I must.

_Lady Fan._ Indeed you shan't.

_Lady Brute._ Indeed I will.

_Lady Fan._. Indeed you shan't.

_Lady Brute._ Indeed I will.

_Lady Fan._ Indeed you shan't. Indeed, indeed, indeed you shan't.

[_Exit Lady ~Fan~. running; they follow._

_Re-enter Lady ~Brute~ sola._

This impertinent Woman has put me out of Humour for a Fortnight----What an agreeable Moment has her foolish Visit interrupted! Lord, how like a Torrent Love flows into the Heart, when once the Sluice of Desire is open'd! Good Gods! What a Pleasure there is in doing what we should not do!

_Re-enter ~Constant~._

Ha! here again?

_Const._ Tho' the renewing my Visit may seem a little irregular, I hope I shall obtain your Pardon for it, Madam, when you know I only left the Room, lest the Lady who was here should have been as malicious in her Remarks as she's foolish in her Conduct.

_Lady Brute._ He who has Discretion enough to be tender of a Woman's Reputation, carries a Virtue about him may atone for a great many Faults.

_Const._ If it has a Title to atone for any, its Pretensions must needs be strongest where the Crime is Love. I therefore hope I shall be forgiven the Attempt I have made upon your Heart, since my Enterprize has been a Secret to all the World but yourself.

_Lady Brute._ Secrecy, indeed, in Sins of this kind, is an Argument of weight to lessen the Punishment; but nothing's a Plea for a Pardon entire, without a sincere Repentance.

_Const._ If Sincerity in Repentance consists in Sorrow for offending, no Cloyster ever inclos'd so true a Penitent as I should be. But I hope it cannot be reckon'd an Offence to love where 'tis a Duty to adore.

_Lady Brute._ 'Tis an Offence, a great one, where it would rob a Woman of all she ought to be ador'd for--her Virtue.

_Const._ Virtue?--Virtue, alas! is no more like the thing that's call'd so, than 'tis like Vice itself. Virtue consists in Goodness, Honour, Gratitude, Sincerity, and Pity; and not in peevish, snarling, strait-lac'd Chastity. True Virtue, wheresoever it moves, still carries an intrinsick Worth about it, and is in every Place, and in each Sex, of equal Value. So is not Continence, you see: That Phantom of Honour, which Men in every Age have so contemned, they have thrown it amongst the Women to scrabble for.

_Lady Brute._ If it be a thing of so little Value, why do you so earnestly recommend it to your Wives and Daughters?

_Const._ We recommend it to our Wives, Madam, because we wou'd keep 'em to ourselves; and to our Daughters, because we wou'd dispose of 'em to others.

_Lady Brute._ 'Tis then, of some Importance, it seems, since you can't dispose of them without it.

_Const._ That Importance, Madam, lies in the Humour of the Country, not in the Nature of the Thing.

_Lady Brute._ How do you prove that, Sir?

_Const._ From the Wisdom of a neighbouring Nation in a contrary Practice. In Monarchies, things go by Whimsy; but Commonwealths weigh all things in the Scale of Reason.

_Lady Brute._ I hope we are not so very light a People, to bring up Fashions without some ground.

_Const._ Pray what does your Ladyship think of a powder'd Coat for deep Mourning?

_Lady Brute._ I think, Sir, your Sophistry has all the effect that you can reasonably expect it should have; it puzzles, but don't convince.

_Const._ I'm sorry for it.

_Lady Brute._ I'm sorry to hear you say so.

_Const._ Pray why?

_Lady Brute._ Because, if you expected more from it, you have a worse Opinion of my Understanding than I desire you should have.

_Const._ [_Aside._] I comprehend her: She would have me set a Value upon her Chastity, that I might think myself the more oblig'd to her when she makes me a Present of it. [_To her._] I beg you will believe I did but rally, Madam; I know you judge too well of Right and Wrong, to be deceiv'd by Arguments like those. I hope you'll have so favourable an Opinion of my Understanding too, to believe the thing call'd Virtue has Worth enough with me, to pass for an eternal Obligation where'er 'tis sacrific'd.

_Lady Brute._ It is, I think, so great a one as nothing can repay.

_Const._ Yes; the making the Man you love your everlasting Debtor.

_Lady Brute._ When Debtors once have borrow'd all we have to lend, they are very apt to grow shy of their Creditors' Company.

_Const._ That, Madam, is only when they are forc'd to borrow of Usurers, and not of a generous Friend. Let us choose our Creditors, and we are seldom so ungrateful to shun 'em.

_Lady Brute._ What think you of Sir _John_, Sir? I was his free Choice.

_Const._ I think he's married, Madam.

_Lady Brute._ Does Marriage, then, exclude Men from your Rule of Constancy?

_Const._ It does. Constancy's a brave, free, haughty, generous Agent, that cannot buckle to the Chains of Wedlock. There's a poor sordid Slavery in Marriage, that turns the flowing Tide of Honour, and sinks us to the lowest Ebb of Infamy. 'Tis a corrupted Soil: Ill-Nature, Avarice, Sloth, Cowardice, and Dirt, are all its Product.

_Lady Brute._ Have you no Exceptions to this general Rule, as well as to t'other?

_Const._ Yes; I would, after all, be an Exception to it myself, if you were free in Power and Will to make me so.

_Lady Brute._ Compliments are well plac'd where 'tis impossible to lay hold on 'em.

_Const._ I wou'd to Heaven 'twere possible for you to lay hold on mine, that you might see it is no Compliment at all. But since you are already dispos'd of, beyond Redemption, to one who does not know the Value of the Jewel you have put into his Hands, I hope you wou'd not think him greatly wrong'd, tho' it should sometimes be look'd on by a Friend, who knows how to esteem it as he ought.

_Lady Brute._ If looking on't alone wou'd serve his turn, the Wrong, perhaps, might not be very great.

_Const._ Why, what if he shou'd wear it now and then a Day, so he gave good Security to bring it home again at Night?

_Lady Brute._ Small Security, I fancy, might serve for that. One might venture to take his Word.

_Const._ Then, where's the Injury to the Owner?

_Lady Brute._ 'Tis an Injury to him, if he think it one. For if Happiness be seated in the Mind, Unhappiness must be so too.

_Const._ Here I close with you, Madam, and draw my conclusive Argument from your own Position: If the Injury lie in the Fancy, there needs nothing but Secrecy to prevent the Wrong.

_Lady Brute._ [_Going._] A surer way to prevent it, is to hear no more Arguments in its behalf.

_Const._ [_Following her._] But, Madam----

_Lady Brute._ But, Sir, 'tis my turn to be discreet now, and not suffer too long a Visit.

_Const._ [_Catching her Hand._] By Heaven, you shall not stir, till you give me hopes that I shall see you again at some more convenient Time and Place!

_Lady Brute._ I give you just hopes enough----[_Breaking from him._] to get loose from you: and that's all I can afford you at this time.

[_Exit running._

_~Constant~ solus._

Now, by all that's great and good, she is a charming Woman! In what Extasy of Joy she has left me! For she gave me Hope, did she not say she gave me Hope?--Hope! Ay: what Hope? Enough to make me let her go--Why, that's enough in Conscience. Or, no matter how 'twas spoke: Hope was the Word: it came from her, and it was said to me.

_Enter ~Heartfree~._

Ha, _Heartfree_! Thou hast done me noble Service in prattling to the young Gentlewoman without there; come to my Arms, thou venerable Bawd, and let me squeeze thee [_Embracing him eagerly._] as a new Pair of Stays does a fat Country Girl, when she's carried to Court to stand for a Maid of Honour.

_Heart._ Why, what the Devil's all this Rapture for?

_Const._ Rapture! There's ground for Rapture, Man; there's Hopes, my _Heartfree_, Hopes, my Friend!

_Heart._ Hopes! of what?

_Const._ Why, Hopes that my Lady and I together (for 'tis more than one Body's Work) should make Sir _John_ a Cuckold.

_Heart._ Pr'ythee, what did she say to thee?

_Const._ Say? What did she not say? She said that----says she--she said--Zoons, I don't know what she said; but she look'd as if she said every thing I'd have her. And so, if thou'lt go to the Tavern, I'll treat thee with any thing that Gold can buy; I'll give all my Silver amongst the Drawers, make a Bonfire before the Door; say the Plenipo's have sign'd the Peace, and the Bank of _England_'s grown honest.

[_Exeunt._

+SCENE+ _opens; Lord ~Rake~, Sir ~John~, &c. at a Table, drinking._

_All._ Huzza!

_Lord Rake._ Come, Boys, charge again----So--Confusion to all Order! Here's Liberty of Conscience.

_All._ Huzza!

_Lord Rake._ I'll sing you a Song I made this Morning to this purpose.

_Sir John._ 'Tis wicked, I hope.

_Col. Bully._ Don't my Lord tell you he made it?

_Sir John._ Well, then, let's ha't.

Lord _Rake_ Sings.

I.

_What a Pother of late
Have they kept in the State,
About setting our Consciences free!
A Bottle has more
Dispensations in store,
Than the King and the State can decree._

II.

_When my Head's full of Wine,
I o'erflow with Design,
And know no ~Penal-Laws~ that can curb me:
Whate'er I devise
Seems good in my Eyes,
And Religion ne'er dares to disturb me._

III.

_No saucy Remorse
Intrudes in my Course,
Nor impertinent Notions of Evil;
So there's Claret in store,
In Peace I've my Whore,
And in Peace I jog on to the Devil._

All sing. _So there's Claret_, &c.

_Lord Rake._ [Rep.] _And in Peace I jog on to the Devil._ Well, how do you like it, Gentlemen?

_All._ O, admirable!

_Sir John._ I would not give a Fig for a Song that is not full of Sin and Impudence.

_Lord Rake._ Then my Muse is to your Taste. But drink away; the Night steals upon us; we shall want Time to be lewd in. Hey, Page! Sally out, Sirrah, and see what's doing in the Camp; we'll beat up their Quarters presently.

_Page._ I'll bring your Lordship an exact Account.

[_Exit Page._

_Lord Rake._. Now let the Spirit of Clary go round. Fill me a Brimmer Here's to our Forlorn Hope. Courage, Knight, Victory attends you.

_Sir John._ And Laurels shall crown me; drink away, and be damn'd.

_Lord Rake._ Again, Boys; t'other Glass, and damn Morality.

_Sir John._ [_Drunk._] Ay--damn Morality--and damn the Watch. And let the Constable be married.

_All._ Huzza!

_Re-enter Page._

_Lord Rake._ How are the Streets inhabited, Sirrah?

_Page._ My Lord, 'tis Sunday-night; they are full of drunken Citizens.

_Lord Rake._ Along, then, Boys, we shall have a Feast.

_Col. Bully._ Along, noble Knight.

_Sir John._ Ay----along, _Bully_; and he that says Sir _John Brute_ is not as drunk and as religious as the drunkenest Citizen of them all--is a Liar, and the Son of a Whore.

_Col. Bully._ Why, that was bravely spoke, and like a free-born _Englishman_.

_Sir John._ What's that to you, Sir, whether I am an _Englishman_ or a _Frenchman_?

_Col. Bully._ Zoons, you are not angry, Sir?

_Sir John._ Zoons, I am angry, Sir----for if I'm a free-born _Englishman_, what have you to do even to talk of my Privileges?

_Lord Rake._ Why, pr'ythee, Knight, don't quarrel here; leave private Animosities to be decided by Day-light; let the Night be employ'd against the publick Enemy.

_Sir John._ My Lord, I respect you because you are a Man of Quality. But I'll make that Fellow know, I am within a Hair's breadth as absolute by my Privileges, as the King of _France_ is by his Prerogative. He by his Prerogative takes Money where it is not his due; I by my Privilege refuse paying it where I owe it. Liberty and Property, and _Old England_, Huzza!

_All._ Huzza!

[_Exit Sir ~John~ reeling, all following him._

+SCENE+, _A Bed-Chamber._

_Enter ~Lady Brute~ and ~Belinda~._

_Lady Brute._ Sure 'tis late, _Belinda_; I begin to be sleepy.

_Bel._ Yes, 'tis near Twelve. Will you go to Bed?

_Lady Brute._ To Bed, my Dear? And by that time I am fallen into a sweet Sleep (or perhaps a sweet Dream, which is better and better) Sir _John_ will come home roaring drunk, and be overjoy'd he finds me in a Condition to be disturb'd.

_Bel._ O, you need not fear him; he's in for all Night. The Servants say he's gone to drink with my Lord _Rake_.

_Lady Brute._ Nay, 'tis not very likely, indeed, such suitable Company should part presently. What Hogs Men turn, _Belinda_, when they grow weary of Women!

_Bel._ And what Owls they are, whilst they are fond of 'em!

_Lady Brute._ But That we may forgive well enough, because they are so upon our accounts.

_Bel._ We ought to do so, indeed; but 'tis a hard matter. For when a Man is really in love, he looks so unsufferably silly, that tho' a Woman lik'd him well enough before, she has then much ado to endure the Sight of him: And this I take to be the Reason why Lovers are so generally ill-us'd.

_Lady Brute._ Well, I own, now, I'm well enough pleased to see a Man look like an Ass for me.

_Bel._ Ay, I'm pleas'd he should look like an Ass, too;--that is, I'm pleased with myself for making him look so.

_Lady Brute._ Nay, truly, I think if he'd find some other way to express his Passion, 'twould be more to his advantage.

_Bel._ Yes; for then a Woman might like his Passion and him too.

_Lady Brute._ Yet, _Belinda_, after all, a Woman's Life would be but a dull Business, if it were not for Men; and Men that can look like Asses, too. We shou'd never blame Fate for the shortness of our Days; our Time would hang wretchedly upon our Hands.

_Bel._ Why, truly, they do help us off with a good share on't: For were there no Men in the World, o'my Conscience, I shou'd be no longer a-dressing than I'm a-saying my Prayers; nay, tho' it were Sunday: For you know that one may go to Church without Stays on.

_Lady Brute._ But don't you think Emulation might do something? For every Woman you see desires to be finer than her Neighbour.

_Bel._ That's only that the Men may like her better than her Neighbour. No, if there were no Men, adieu fine Petticoats, we should be weary of wearing 'em.

_Lady Brute._ And adieu Plays, we should be weary of seeing 'em.

_Bel._ Adieu _Hyde Park_, the Dust would choak us.

_Lady Brute._ Adieu _St. James_'s, walking would tire us.

_Bel._ Adieu _London_, the Smoke would stifle us.

_Lady Brute._ And adieu going to Church, for Religion wou'd ne'er prevail with us.

_Both._ Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!

_Bel._ Our Confession is so very hearty, sure we merit Absolution.

_Lady Brute._ Not unless we go thro' with't, and confess all. So, pr'ythee, for the Ease of our Consciences, let's hide nothing.

_Bel._ Agreed.

_Lady Brute._ Why, then, I confess, that I love to sit in the Fore-front of a Box; for if one sits behind, there's two Acts gone, perhaps, before one's found out. And when I am there, if I perceive the Men whispering and looking upon me, you must know I cannot for my Life forbear thinking they talk to my Advantage; and that sets a thousand little tickling Vanities on foot----

_Bel._ Just my Case, for all the World; but go on.

_Lady Brute._ I watch with Impatience for the next Jest in the Play, that I might laugh, and shew my white Teeth. If the Poet has been dull, and the Jest be long a-coming, I pretend to whisper one to my Friend, and from thence fall into a little small Discourse, in which I take occasion to shew my Face in all Humours, brisk, pleas'd, serious, melancholy, languishing----Not that what we say to one another causes any of these alterations. But----

_Bel._ Don't trouble yourself to explain. For if I'm not mistaken, you and I have had some of these necessary Dialogues before now with the same Intention.

_Lady Brute._ Why, I swear, _Belinda_, some People do give strange agreeable Airs to their Faces in speaking. Tell me true--Did you never practise in the Glass?

_Bel._ Why, did you?

_Lady Brute._ Yes, 'faith, many a time.

_Bel._ And I too, I own it; both how to speak myself, and how to look when others speak. But my Glass and I could never yet agree what Face I should make when they come blunt out with a nasty thing in a Play: For all the Men presently look upon the Women, that's certain: so laugh we must not, tho' our Stays burst for't, because that's telling Truth, and owning we understand the Jest. And to look serious is so dull, when the whole House is a laughing--

_Lady Brute._ Besides, that looking serious does really betray our Knowledge in the matter, as much as laughing with the Company would do: For if we did not understand the thing, we shou'd naturally do like other People.

_Bel._ For my part, I always take that occasion to blow my Nose.

_Lady Brute._ You must blow your Nose half off, then, at some Plays.

_Bel._ Why don't some Reformer or other be at the Poet for't?

_Lady Brute._ Because he is not so sure of our private Approbation, as of our publick Thanks. Well, sure there is not upon Earth so impertinent a thing as Women's Modesty.

_Bel._ Yes: Men's Fantasque, that obliges us to it. If we quit our Modesty, they say we lose our Charms: and yet they know that very Modesty is Affectation, and rail at our Hypocrisy.

_Lady Brute._ Thus, one would think 'twere a hard matter to please 'em, Niece; yet our kind Mother Nature has given us something that makes amends for all. Let our Weakness be what it will, Mankind will still be weaker; and whilst there is a World, 'tis Woman that will govern it. But, pr'ythee, one Word of poor _Constant_ before we go to bed, if it be but to furnish matter for Dreams: I dare swear he's talking of me now, or thinking of me at least, tho' it be in the middle of his Prayers.

_Bel._ So he ought, I think; for you were pleas'd to make him a good round Advance to-day, Madam.

_Lady Brute._ Why, I have e'en plagu'd him enough to satisfy any reasonable Woman: He has besieg'd me these two Years, to no purpose.

_Bel._ And if he besieg'd you two Years more, he'd be well enough pay'd, so he had the plundering of you at last.

_Lady Brute._ That may be; but I'm afraid the Town won't be able to hold out much longer: for to confess the Truth to you, _Belinda_, the Garrison begins to grow mutinous.

_Bel._ Then the sooner you capitulate, the better.

_Lady Brute._ Yet, methinks, I wou'd fain stay a little longer to see you fix'd too, that we might start together, and see who cou'd love longest. What think you, if _Heartfree_ shou'd have a Month's Mind to you?

_Bel._ Why, 'faith, I cou'd almost be in love with him for despising that foolish, affected Lady _Fancyfull_; but I'm afraid he's too cold ever to warm himself by my Fire.

_Lady Brute._ Then he deserves to be froze to death. Wou'd I were a Man for your sake, dear Rogue! [_Kissing her._]

_Bel._ You'd wish yourself a Woman again for your own, or the Men are mistaken. But if I cou'd make a Conquest of this Son of _Bacchus_, and rival his Bottle, what shou'd I do with him? He has no Fortune, I can't marry him: and sure you wou'd not have me commit Fornication?

_Lady Brute._ Why, if you did, Child, 'twould be but a good friendly part; if 'twere only to keep me in countenance whilst I commit--you know what.

_Bel._ Well, if I can't resolve to serve you that way, I may perhaps some other, as much to your Satisfaction. But pray how shall we contrive to see these Blades again quickly?

_Lady Brute._ We must e'en have recourse to the old way; make 'em an Appointment 'twixt Jest and Earnest; 'twill look like a Frolick, and that you know 's a very good thing to save a Woman's Blushes.

_Bel._ You advise well; but where shall it be?

_Lady Brute._ In _Spring Garden_. But they shan't know their Women, till their Women pull off their Masks; for a Surprize is the most agreeable thing in the World: And I find myself in a very good Humour, ready to do 'em any good turn I can think on.

_Bel._ Then pray write 'em the necessary Billet, without farther delay.

_Lady Brute._ Let's go into your Chamber, then, and whilst you say your Prayers I'll do it, Child.

[_Exeunt._

+ACT+ IV.

+SCENE+, _Covent Garden_.

_Enter Lord ~Rake~, Sir ~John~, &c. with Swords drawn._

_Lord Rake._ Is the Dog dead?

_Col. Bully._ No, damn him, I heard him wheeze.

_Lord Rake._ How the Witch his Wife howl'd!

_Col. Bully._ Ay, she'll alarm the Watch presently.

_Lord Rake._ Appear, Knight, then; come, you have a good Cause to fight for--there's a Man murder'd.

_Sir John._ Is there? Then let his Ghost be satisfy'd; for I'll sacrifice a Constable to it presently, and burn his Body upon his wooden Chair.

_Enter a Taylor, with a Bundle under his Arm._

_Col. Bully._ How now? What have we got here? A Thief.

_Taylor._ No, an't please you, I'm no Thief.

_Lord Rake._ That we'll see presently: Here, let the General examine him.

_Sir John._ Ay, ay, let me examine him, and I'll lay a hundred Pound I find him guilty, in spite of his Teeth--for he looks--like a--sneaking Rascal. Come, Sirrah, without Equivocation or mental Reservation, tell me of what Opinion you are, and what Calling; for by them----I shall guess at your Morals.

_Taylor._ An't please you, I'm a Dissenting Journeyman Taylor.

_Sir John._ Then, Sirrah, you love Lying by your Religion, and Theft by your Trade: And so, that your Punishment may be suitable to your Crimes--I'll have you first gagg'd--and then hang'd.

_Tayl._ Pray, good worthy Gentlemen, don't abuse me: indeed I'm an honest Man, and a good Workman, tho' I say it, that should not say it.

_Sir John._ No Words, Sirrah, but attend your Fate.

_Lord Rake._ Let me see what's in that Bundle.

_Tayl._ An't please you, it is the Doctor of the Parish's Gown.

_Lord Rake._ The Doctor's Gown!----Hark you, Knight, you won't stick at abusing the Clergy, will you?

_Sir John._ No, I'm drunk, and I'll abuse any thing--but my Wife; and her I name--with Reverence.

_Lord Rake._ Then you shall wear this Gown, whilst you charge the Watch; that tho' the Blows fall upon you, the Scandal may light upon the Church.

_Sir John._ A generous Design----by all the Gods----give it me.

[_Takes the Gown, and puts it on._

_Tayl._ O dear Gentlemen, I shall be quite undone, if you take the Gown.

_Sir John._ Retire, Sirrah; and since you carry off your Skin--go home and be happy.

_Tayl._ [_Pausing._] I think I had e'en as good follow the Gentleman's friendly Advice; for if I dispute any longer, who knows but the Whim may take him to case me? These Courtiers are fuller of Tricks than they are of Money; they'll sooner cut a Man's Throat, than pay his Bill.

[_Exit ~Taylor~._

_Sir John._ So, how do you like my Shapes now?

_Lord Rake._ This will do to a Miracle; he looks like a Bishop going to the Holy War. But to your Arms, Gentlemen, the Enemy appears.

_Enter Constable and Watch._

_Watch._ Stand! Who goes there? Come before the Constable.

_Sir John._ The Constable is a Rascal----and you are the Son of a Whore.

_Watch._ A good civil Answer for a Parson, truly!

_Constab._ Methinks, Sir, a Man of your Coat might set a better Example.

_Sir John._ Sirrah, I'll make you know----there are Men of my Coat can set as bad Examples----as you can do, you Dog, you.

[_Sir ~John~ strikes the Constable. They knock him down,
disarm him, and seize him. Lord Rake, &c. run away._

_Constab._ So, we have secur'd the Parson, however.

_Sir John._ Blood, and Blood----and Blood.

_Watch._ Lord have mercy upon us! How the wicked Wretch raves of Blood! I'll warrant he has been murdering some body to-night.

_Sir John._ Sirrah, there's nothing got by Murder but a Halter: My Talent lies towards Drunkenness and Simony.

_Watch._ Why, that now was spoke like a Man of Parts, Neighbours; 'tis pity he shou'd be so disguised.

_Sir John._ You lye----I'm not disguis'd; for I am drunk barefac'd.

_Watch._ Look you there again--This is a mad Parson, Mr. _Constable_; I'll lay a Pot of Ale upon 's Head, he's a good Preacher.

_Constab._ Come, Sir, out of respect to your Calling, I shan't put you into the Round-house; but we must secure you in our Drawing-room till Morning, that you may do no Mischief. So, come along.

_Sir John._ You may put me where you will, Sirrah, now you have overcome me----But if I can't do Mischief, I'll think of Mischief--in spite of your Teeth, you Dog, you.

[_Exeunt._

+SCENE+, _A Bed-Chamber._

_Enter ~Heartfree~ solus._

What the Plague ails me?----Love? No, I thank you for that, my Heart's Rock still----Yet 'tis _Belinda_ that disturbs me; that's positive----Well, what of all that? Must I love her for being troublesome? At that rate I might love all the Women I meet, I'gad. But hold!--Tho' I don't love her for disturbing me, yet she may disturb me, because I love her----Ay, that may be, 'faith. I have dreamt of her, that's certain----Well, so I have of my Mother; therefore what's that to the purpose? Ay, but _Belinda_ runs in my Mind waking--and so does many a damn'd thing that I don't care a Farthing for----Methinks, tho', I would fain be talking to her, and yet I have no Business----Well, am I the first Man that has had a Mind to do an impertinent thing?

_Enter ~Constant~._

_Const._ How now, _Heartfree_? What makes you up and dress'd so soon? I thought none but Lovers quarrell'd with their Beds; I expected to have found you snoring, as I us'd to do.

_Heart._ Why, 'faith, Friend, 'tis the Care I have of your Affairs, that makes me so thoughtful; I have been studying all Night how to bring your matter about with _Belinda_.

_Const._ With _Belinda_?

_Heart._ With my Lady, I mean: And, 'faith, I have mighty Hopes on't. Sure you must be very well satisfied with her Behaviour to you yesterday?

_Const._ So well, that nothing but a Lover's Fears can make me doubt of Success. But what can this sudden Change proceed from?

_Heart._ Why, you saw her Husband beat her, did you not?

_Const._ That's true: A Husband is scarce to be borne upon any terms, much less when he fights with his Wife. Methinks, she shou'd e'en have cuckolded him upon the very spot, to shew that after the Battle she was Master of the Field.

_Heart._ A Council of War of Women wou'd infallibly have advis'd her to't. But, I confess, so agreeable a Woman as _Belinda_ deserves better Usage.

_Const._ _Belinda_ again!

_Heart._ My Lady, I mean. What a Pox makes me blunder so to-day? [_Aside._] A Plague of this treacherous Tongue!

_Const._ Pr'ythee, look upon me seriously, _Heartfree_--Now answer me directly: Is it my Lady, or _Belinda_, employs your careful Thoughts thus?

_Heart._ My Lady, or _Belinda_?

_Const._ In Love; by this Light, in Love.

_Heart._ In Love!

_Const._ Nay, ne'er deny it; for thou'lt do it so aukwardly, 'twill but make the Jest sit heavier about thee. My dear Friend, I give thee much Joy.

_Heart._ Why, pr'ythee, you won't persuade me to it, will you?

_Const._ That she's Mistress of your Tongue, that's plain; and I know you are so honest a Fellow, your Tongue and Heart always go together. But how, but how the Devil? Pha, ha, ha, ha--

_Heart._ Hey-dey! Why, sure you don't believe it in earnest?

_Const._ Yes, I do, because I see you deny it in jest.

_Heart._ Nay, but look you, _Ned_--a----deny in jest----a----gadzooks, you know I say----a----when a Man denies a thing in jest--a--

_Const._ Pha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

_Heart._ Nay, then we shall have it: What, because a Man stumbles at a Word: did you never make a Blunder?

_Const._ Yes; for I am in Love, I own it.

_Heart._ Then, so am I--Now laugh till thy Soul's glutted with Mirth. [_Embracing him._] But, dear _Constant_, don't tell the Town on't.

_Const._ Nay, then, 'twere almost pity to laugh at thee, after so honest a Confession. But tell us a little, _Jack_, by what new-invented Arms has this mighty Stroke been given?

_Heart._ E'en by that unaccountable Weapon call'd _Je-ne-sçai-quoy_: For every thing that can come within the Verge of Beauty, I have seen it with indifference.

_Const._ So in few Words, then, the _Je-ne-sçai-quoy_ has been too hard for the quilted Petticoat.

_Heart._ I'gad, I think the _Je-ne-sçai-quoy_ is in the quilted Petticoat; at least 'tis certain, I ne'er think on't without----a----a _Je-ne-sçai-quoy_ in every Part about me.

_Const._ Well, but have all your Remedies lost their Virtue? Have you turn'd her inside out yet?

_Heart._ I dare not so much as think on't.

_Const._ But don't the two Years Fatigue I have had discourage you?

_Heart._ Yes: I dread what I foresee; yet cannot quit the Enterprize. Like some Soldiers, whose Courage dwells more in their Honour, than their Nature--on they go, tho' the Body trembles at what the Soul makes it undertake.

_Const._ Nay, if you expect your Mistress will use you as your Profanations against her Sex deserve, you tremble justly. But how do you intend to proceed, Friend?

_Heart._ Thou know'st I'm but a Novice; be friendly, and advise me.

_Const._ Why, look you, then: I'd have you--Serenade and a----write a Song----Go to Church; Look like a Fool----Be very officious; Ogle, write and lead out: And who knows but in a Year or two's time you may be----call'd a troublesome Puppy, and sent about your Business.

_Heart._ That's hard.

_Const._ Yet thus it oft falls out with Lovers, Sir.

_Heart._ Pox on me for making one of the Number!

_Const._ Have a care: Say no saucy things; 'twill but augment your Crime; and if your Mistress hears on't, increase your Punishment.

_Heart._ Pr'ythee say something, then, to encourage me; you know I help'd you in your Distress.

_Const._ Why, then, to encourage you to Perseverance, tho' you may be thoroughly ill-us'd for your Offences; I'll put you in mind, that even the coyest Ladies of 'em all are made up of Desires, as well as we; and tho' they do hold out a long time, they will capitulate at last. For that thundering Engineer, Nature, does make such havock in the Town, they must surrender at long run, or perish in their own Flames.

_Enter a Footman._

_Foot._ Sir, there's a Porter without with a Letter; he desires to give it into your own Hands.

_Const._ Call him in.

_Enter Porter._

_Const._ What, _Joe_! Is it thee?

_Porter._ An't please you, Sir, I was order'd to deliver this into your own Hands by two well-shap'd Ladies, at the _New Exchange_. I was at your Honour's Lodgings, and your Servants sent me hither.

_Const._ 'Tis well; are you to carry any Answer?

_Porter._ No, my noble Master. They gave me my Orders, and whip they were gone, like a Maidenhead at Fifteen.

_Const._ Very well; there.

[_Gives him Money._

_Porter._ God bless your Honour!

[_Exit Porter._

_Const._ Now let's see what honest, trusty _Joe_ has brought us.

_Reads._

_If you and your Play-Fellow can spare time from your Business and
Devotions, don't fail to be at ~Spring-Garden~ about Eight in the
Evening. You'll find nothing there but Women, so you need bring no
other Arms than what you usually carry about you._

So, Play-fellow: here's something to stay your Stomach till your Mistress's Dish is ready for you.

_Heart._ Some of our old batter'd Acquaintance. I won't go, not I.

_Const._ Nay, that you can't avoid; there's Honour in the Case; 'tis a Challenge, and I want a Second.

_Heart._ I doubt I shall be but a very useless one to you; for I'm so dishearten'd by this Wound _Belinda_ has given me, I don't think I shall have Courage enough to draw my Sword.

_Const._ O, if that be all, come along; I'll warrant you find Sword enough for such Enemies as we have to deal withal.

[_Exeunt._

+SCENE+, _A Street_.

_Enter Constable, &c. with Sir ~John~._

_Constab._ Come along, Sir; I thought to have let you slip this Morning, because you were a Minister; but you are as drunk and as abusive as ever. We'll see what the Justice of the Peace will say to you.

_Sir John._ And you shall see what I'll say to the Justice of the Peace, Sirrah.

[_They knock at the Door._

_Enter Servant._

_Constab._ Pray, acquaint his Worship, we have got an unruly Parson here: We are unwilling to expose him, but don't know what to do with him.

_Serv._ I'll acquaint my Master.

[_Exit Serv._

_Sir John._ You----Constable--What damn'd Justice is this?

_Constab._ One that will take Care of you, I warrant you.

_Enter Justice._

_Just._ Well, Mr. Constable, what's the Disorder here?

_Constab._ An't please your Worship----

_Sir John._ Let me speak, and be damn'd: I'm a Divine, and can unfold Mysteries better than you can do.

_Just._ Sadness, sadness! A Minister so overtaken! Pray, Sir, give the Constable leave to speak, and I'll hear you very patiently: I assure you, Sir, I will.

_Sir John._ Sir----You are a very civil Magistrate! Your most humble Servant.

_Constab._ An't please your Worship, then, he has attempted to beat the Watch to-night, and swore----

_Sir John._ You lye.

_Just._ Hold, pray, Sir, a little.

_Sir John._ Sir, your very humble Servant.

_Constab._ Indeed, Sir, he came at us without any Provocation, call'd us Whores and Rogues, and laid us on with a great Quarter-staff. He was in my Lord _Rake_'s Company: They have been playing the Devil to-night.

_Just._ Hem----Hem----Pray, Sir----may you be Chaplain to my Lord?

_Sir John._ Sir----I presume----I may if I will.

_Just._ My meaning, Sir, is----Are you so?

_Sir John._ Sir--You mean very well.

_Just._ He, hem----hem----Under Favour, Sir, pray answer me directly.

_Sir John._ Under Favour, Sir----Do you use to answer directly when you are drunk?

_Just._ Good lack, good lack! Here's nothing to be got from him: Pray, Sir, may I crave your Name?

_Sir John._ Sir----My Name's----[_He hiccups._] Hiccup, Sir.

_Just._ Hiccup? Doctor _Hiccup_, I have known a great many Country Parsons of that Name, especially down in the _Fenns_. Pray where do you live, Sir?

_Sir John._ Here----and there, Sir.

_Just._ Why, what a strange Man is this! Where do you preach, Sir? Have you any Cure?

_Sir John._ Sir----I have----a very good Cure----for a Clap, at your Service.

_Just._ Lord have mercy upon us!

_Sir John._ [_Aside._] This Fellow asks so many impertinent Questions, I believe, I'gad, 'tis the Justice's Wife in the Justice's Clothes.

_Just._ Mr. Constable, I vow and protest, I don't know what to do with him.

_Constab._ Truly, he has been but a troublesome Guest to us all Night.

_Just._ I think, I had e'en best let him go about his Business; for I'm unwilling to expose him.

_Constab._ E'en what your Worship thinks fit.

_Sir John._ Sir----not to interrupt Mr. Constable, I have a small Favour to ask.

_Just._ Sir, I open both my Ears to you.

_Sir John._ Sir, your very humble Servant. I have a little urgent Business calls upon me; and therefore I desire the Favour of you to bring Matters to a Conclusion.

_Just._ Sir, if I were sure that Business were not to commit more Disorders, I wou'd release you.

_Sir John._ None----By my Priesthood!

_Just._ Then, Mr. Constable, you may discharge him.

_Sir John._ Sir, your very humble Servant. If you please to accept of a Bottle--

_Just._ I thank you, kindly, Sir; but I never drink in a Morning. Good-by t'ye, Sir, good-by t'ye.

_Sir John._ Good by t'ye, good Sir. [_Exit Justice._] So----now, Mr. Constable, shall you and I go pick up a Whore together?

_Constab._ No, thank you, Sir; my Wife's enough to satisfy any reasonable Man.

_Sir John._ [_Aside._] He, he, he, he--the Fool is married, then. Well, you won't go?

_Constab._ Not I, truly.

_Sir John._ Then I'll go by myself; and you and your Wife may be damn'd.

[_Exit Sir ~John~._

_Constable._ [_Gazing after him._] Why, God a-mercy, Parson?

[_Exeunt._

+SCENE+, _Spring-Garden_.

_~Constant~ and ~Heartfree~ cross the Stage. As they go off,
enter Lady ~Fancyfull~ and ~Madamoiselle~ mask'd, and
dogging 'em._

_Const._ So; I think we are about the time appointed: let us walk up this way.

[_Exeunt._

_Lady Fan._ Good: Thus far I have dogg'd 'em without being discover'd. 'Tis infallibly some Intrigue that brings them to _Spring-Garden_. How my poor Heart is torn and rackt with Fear and Jealousy! Yet let it be any thing but that Flirt _Belinda_, and I'll try to bear it. But if it prove her, all that's Woman in me shall be employ'd to destroy her.

[_Exeunt after ~Constant~ and ~Heartfree~._

_Re-enter ~Constant~ and ~Heartfree~, Lady ~Fancyfull~ and
~Madamoiselle~ still following at a Distance_.

_Const._ I see no Females yet, that have any thing to say to us. I'm afraid we are banter'd.

_Heart._ I wish we were; for I'm in no Humour to make either them or myself merry.

_Const._ Nay, I'm sure you'll make them merry enough, if I tell 'em why you are dull. But pr'ythee why so heavy and sad before you begin to be ill us'd?