Chapter IX: Part 9

_Rog._ Honest! 'Zbud we are all so, the Tawne raund, we live like Breether; when one can sarve another, he does it with all his Heart and Guts; when we have any thing that's good, we eat it together, Holidays and Sundays we play at Nine-pins, tumble upon the Grass with wholesome young Maids, laugh till we split, daunce till we are weary, eat till we burst, drink till we are sleepy, then swap into Bed, and snore till we rise to Breakfast.

_Esop._ And all this thou wou'dst leave to go to Court? I'll tell thee what once happen'd:

_A Mouse, who long had liv'd at Court, }
(Yet ne'er the better Christian for't) }
Walking one Day to see some Country Sport, }
He met a home-bred Village-Mouse;
Who with an awkward Speech and Bow, }
That savour'd much of Cart and Plow, }
Made a shift, I know not how, }
T' invite him to his House.
Quoth he, My Lord, I doubt you'll find
Our Country Fare of homely kind;
But by my troth, you're welcome to't,
Y'ave that, and Bread and Cheese to boot:
And so they sat and din'd._

_Rog._ Very well.

_Esop._ _The ~Courtier~ cou'd have eat at least
As much as any Houshold Priest,
But thought himself oblig'd in Feeding,
To shew the difference of Town breeding;
He pick'd and cull'd, and turn'd the Meat,
He champt and chew'd, and cou'd not eat:
No toothless Woman at Fourscore,
Was ever seen to mumble more.
He made a thousand ugly Faces, }
Which (as sometimes in Ladies cases) }
Were all design'd for Airs and Graces._ }

_Rog._ Ha, ha!

Esop. _At last he from the Table rose,
He pick'd his Teeth and blow'd his Nose,
And with an easy Negligence,
As tho' he lately came from France,
He made a careless sliding Bow:
'Fore Gad, quoth he, I don't know how
I shall return your friendly Treat;
But if you'll take a bit of Meat
In Town with me,
You there shall see,
How we poor Courtiers eat._

_Rog._ Tit for tat; that was friendly.

Esop. _There needed no more Invitation
To e'er a Country 'Squire i'th' Nation:
Exactly to the time he came,
Punctual as Woman when she meets
A Man between a pair of Sheets,
As good a Stomach, and as little Shame._

_Rog._ Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho!

Esop. _To say the Truth, he found good Chear,
With Wine, instead of Ale and Beer:
But just as they sat down to eat,
Came bouncing in a hungry Cat._

_Rog._ O Lord, O Lord, O Lord!

Esop. _The nimble Courtier skipt from Table,
The 'Squire leapt too, as he was able:
It can't be said that they were beat,
It was no more than a Retreat;
Which when an Army, not to fight
By Day-light, runs away by Night,
Was ever judg'd a great and glorious Feat._

_Rog._ Ever, ever, ever.

Esop. _The Cat retir'd, our Guests return,
The Danger past becomes their Scorn,
They fall to eating as before,
The Butler rumbles at the Door._

_Rog._ Good Lord!

Esop. _To Boot and Saddle again they sound._

_Rog._ Ta ra, tan tan ta ra, ra ra tan ta ra.

Esop. _They frown, as they wou'd stand their Ground,
But (like some of our Friends) they found
'Twas safer much to scour._

_Rog._ Tantive, Tantive, Tantive, _&c._

Esop. _At length the 'Squire, who hated Arms,
Was so perplext with these Alarms,
He rose up in a kind of Heat,
Udswookers, quoth he, with all your Meat,
I will maintain, a Dish of Pease,
A Radish, and a Slice of Cheese,
With a good Desert of Ease,
Is much a better Treat.
However,
Since every Man shou'd have his due,
I own, Sir, I'm oblig'd to you
For your Intentions at your Board:
But Pox upon your courtly Crew----_

_Rog._ _Amen_, I pray the Lord. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Now the De'el cuckold me if this Story be not worth a Sermon. Give me your Hond, Sir.----If it had na' been for your friendly Advice, I was going to be Fool enough to be Secretary of State.

_Esop._ Well, go thy ways home, and be wiser for the future.

_Rog._ And so I will: For that same Mause, your Friend, was a witty Person, gadsbudlikins! and so our Wife _Joan_ shall know: For between you and I, 'tis she has put me upon going to Court. Sir, she has been so praud, so saucy, so rampant, ever since I brought her home a lac'd Pinner, and a pink-colour'd pair of Shoe-strings, from _Tickledowne_ Fair, the Parson o'th' Parish can't rule her; and that you'll say's much. But so much for that. Naw I thank you for your good Counsel, honest little Gentleman; and to shew you that I'se not ungrateful--give me your Hond once more----If you'll take the pains but to walk dawne to our Towne--a Word in your Ear----I'se send you so drunk whome again, you shall remember friendly _Roger_ as long as you have Breath in your Body.

[_Exit ~Roger~_

_Esop. ~solus~._

Farewel, what I both envy and despise!
Thy Happiness and Ignorance provoke me.
How noble were the thing call'd Knowledge,
Did it but lead us to a Bliss like thine!
But there's a secret Curse in Wisdom's Train, }
Which on its Pleasures stamps perpetual Pain, }
And makes the wise Man Loser by his Gain. }

[_Exit._

+ACT+ III.

_Enter ~Esop~._

_Esop._ Who waits there?

[_Enter Servant._

If there be any body that has Business with me, let 'em in.

_Serv._ Yes, Sir.

[_Exit Serv._

_Enter ~Quaint~, who stands at a distance, making a great
many fawning Bows._

_Esop._ Well, Friend, who are you?

_Quaint._ My Name's _Quaint_, Sir, the profoundest of all your Honour's humble Servants.

_Esop._ And what may your Business be with me, Sir?

_Quaint._ My Business, Sir, with every Man, is first of all to do him Service.

_Esop._ And your next is, I suppose, to be paid for't twice as much as 'tis worth.

_Quaint._ Your Honour's most obedient humble Servant.

_Esop._ Well, Sir, but upon what Account am I going to be oblig'd to you?

_Quaint._ Sir, I'm a Genealogist.

_Esop._ A Genealogist!

_Quaint._ At your Service, Sir.

_Esop._ So, Sir?

_Quaint._ Sir, I am inform'd from common Fame, as well as from some little private familiar Intelligence, that your Wisdom is ent'ring into Treaty with the _Primum Mobilè_ of Good and Evil, a fine Lady. I have travell'd, Sir; I have read, Sir; I have consider'd, Sir; and I find, Sir, that the Nature of a fine Lady is to be----a fine Lady, Sir; a fine Lady's a fine Lady, Sir, all the World over;----she loves a fine House, fine Furniture, fine Clothes, fine Liveries, fine Petticoats, fine Smocks; and if she stops there--she's a fine Lady indeed, Sir. But to come to my Point. It being the _Lydian_ Custom, that the fair Bride should be presented on her Wedding-day with something that may signify the Merit and the Worth of her dread Lord and Master, I thought the noble _Esop_'s Pedigree might be the welcom'st Gift that he could offer. If his Honour be of the same Opinion--I'll speak a bold Word--there's ne'er a Herald in all _Asia_ shall put better Blood in his Veins, than--Sir, your humble Servant, _Jacob Quaint_.

_Esop._ Dost thou then know my Father, Friend? For I protest to thee I am a Stranger to him.

_Quaint._ Your Father, Sir? Ha, ha! I know every Man's Father, Sir; and every Man's Grandfather, and every Man's Great Grandfather. Why, Sir, I'm a Herald by Nature, my Mother was a _Welchwoman_.

_Esop._ A _Welchwoman_? Pr'ythee of what Country is that?

_Quaint._ That, Sir, is a Country in the World's Backside, where every Man is born a Gentleman and a Genealogist. Sir, I cou'd tell my Mother's Pedigree before I could speak plain; which, to shew you the Depth of my Art, and the Strength of my Memory, I'll trundle you down in an instant. _Noah_ had three Sons, _Shem_, _Ham_, and _Japhet_; _Shem_----

_Esop._ Hold, I conjure thee, in the Name of all thy Ancestors.

_Quaint._ Sir, I cou'd take it higher, but I begin at Noah for brevity's sake.

_Esop._ No more on't, I intreat thee.

_Quaint._ Your Honour's impatient, perhaps, to hear your own Descent. _A Word to the wise is enough._ Hem, hem! _Solomon_, the wise King of _Judea_----

_Esop._ Hold, once more!

_Quaint._ Ha, ha! Your Honour's modest, but----_Solomon_, the wise King of _Judea_----

_Esop._ Was my Ancestor, was he not?

_Quaint._ He was, my Lord, which no one sure can doubt, who observes how much of Prince there hangs about you.

_Esop._ What! Is't in my Mien?

_Quaint._ You have something----wondrous noble in your Air.

_Esop._ Personable too; view me well.

_Quaint._ N----not Tall; but Majestick.

_Esop._ My Shape?

_Quaint._ A World of Symmetry in it.

_Esop._ The Lump upon my Back?

_Quaint._ N----not regular; but agreeable.

_Esop._ Now by my Honesty thou art a Villain, Herald. But Flattery's a Thrust I never fail to parry. 'Tis a Pass thou should'st reserve for young Fencers; with Feints like those they're to be hit: I do not doubt but thou hast found it so; hast not?

_Quaint._ I must confess, Sir, I have sometimes made 'em bleed by't. But I hope your Honour will please to excuse me, since, to speak the Truth, I get my Bread by't, and maintain my Wife and Children: And Industry, you know, Sir, is a commendable Thing. Besides, Sir, I have debated the Business a little with my Conscience; for I'm like the rest of my Neighbours, I'd willingly get Money, and be sav'd too, if the Thing may be done upon any reasonable Terms: And so, Sir, I say, to quiet my Conscience, I have found out at last, that Flattery is a Duty.

_Esop._ A Duty!

_Quaint._ Ay, Sir, a Duty: For the Duty of all Men is to make one another pass their time as pleasantly as they can. Now, Sir, here's a young Lord, who has a great deal of Land, a great deal of Title, a great deal of Meat, a great deal of Noise, a great many Servants, and a great many Diseases. I find him very dull, very restless, tir'd with Ease, cloy'd with Plenty, a Burden to himself, and a Plague to his Family. I begin to flatter: He springs off of the Couch; turns himself round in the Glass; finds all I say true; cuts a Caper a yard high; his Blood trickles round his Veins; his Heart's as light as his Heels; and before I leave him----his Purse is as empty as his Head. So we both are content; for we part much happier than we met.

_Esop._ Admirable Rogue! What dost thou think of Murder and of Rape, are not they Duties too? Wert not for such vile fawning Things as thou art, young Nobles wou'd not long be what they are: They'd grow asham'd of Luxury and Ease, and rouse up the old Spirit of their Fathers; leave the pursuit of a poor frightned Hare, and make their Foes to tremble in their stead; furnish their Heads with Sciences and Arts, and fill their Hearts with Honour, Truth and Friendship; Be generous to some, and just to all; drive home their Creditors with Bags of Gold, instead of chasing 'em away with Swords and Staves; be faithful to their King and Country both, and stab the Offerer of a Bribe from either; blush even at a wandering Thought of Vice, and boldly own they durst be Friends to Virtue; trembling at nothing but the Frowns of Heaven, and be no more asham'd of Him that made 'em.

_Quaint._ [_Aside._] If I stand to hear this Crump preach a little longer, I shall be Fool enough perhaps to be bubbled out of my Livelyhood, and so lose a Bird in the Hand for two in the Bush. Sir, since I have not been able to bring you to a good Opinion of yourself, 'tis very probable I shall scarce prevail with you to have one of me. But if you please to do me the favour to forget me, I shall ever acknowledge myself----Sir, your most obedient, faithful, humble Servant.

_Esop._ Hold; if I let thee go, and give thee nothing, thou'lt be apt to grumble at me; and therefore----who waits there?

_Enter Servant._

_Quaint._ [_Aside._] I don't like his Looks, by Gad.

_Esop._ I'll present thee with a Token of my Love.

_Quaint._ A--another time, Sir, will do as well.

_Esop._ No; I love to be out of Debt, tho' 'tis being out of the Fashion. So, d'ye hear! Give this honest Gentleman half a score good Strokes on the Back with a Cudgel.

_Quaint._ By no means in the World, Sir.

_Esop._ Indeed, Sir, you shall take 'em.

_Quaint._ Sir, I don't merit half your Bounty.

_Esop._ O 'tis but a Trifle!

_Quaint._ Your Generosity makes me blush.

[_Looking about to make his Escape._

_Esop._ That's your Modesty, Sir.

_Quaint._ Sir, you are pleased to compliment. But a----twenty Pedigrees for a clear Coast.

[_Running off, the Servant after him._

_Esop._ Wait upon him down Stairs, Fellow; I'd do't myself, were I but nimble enough; but he makes haste, to avoid Ceremony.

_Enter Servant._

_Serv._ Sir, here's a Lady in great haste, desires to speak with you.

_Esop._ Let her come in.

_Enter ~Aminta~, weeping._

_Amin._ O Sir, if you don't help me, I'm undone.

_Esop._ What, what's the Matter, Lady?

_Amin._ My Daughter, Sir, my Daughter's run away with a filthy Fellow.

_Esop._ A slippery Trick indeed!

_Amin._ For Heaven's sake, Sir, send immediately to pursue 'em, and seize 'em. But 'tis in vain, 'twill be too late, 'twill be too late; I'll warrant at this very Moment they are got together in a Room with a Couch in't; all's gone, all's gone; tho' 'twere made of Gold, 'tis lost: Oh! my Honour, my Honour. A forward Girl she was always; I saw it in her Eyes the very Day of her Birth.

_Esop._ That indeed was early; but how do you know she's gone with a Fellow?

_Amin._ I have e'en her own insolent Hand-writing for't: Sir, take but the pains to read what a Letter she has left me.

_Esop._ Reads.

_I love and am belov'd, and that's the Reason I run away._

Short, but significant!----_I'm sure there's no Body knows better than your Ladyship what Allowances are to be made to Flesh and Blood; I therefore hope this from your Justice, that what you have done three Times yourself, you'll pardon once in your Daughter._ _The Dickens!_

_Amin._ Now, Sir, what do you think of the Business?

_Esop._ Why truly, Lady, I think it one of the most natural Businesses I have met with a great while. I'll tell you a Story.

_A Crab-fish once her Daughter told,
(In Terms that savour'd much of Scold)
She cou'd not bear to see her go
Sidle, sidle, to and fro:
The Devil's in the Wench, quoth she,
When so much Money has been paid
To polish you like me,
It makes me almost mad to see
Y'are still so awkward, an ungainly Jade.
Her Daughter smil'd, and look'd a-skew; }
She answer'd (for to give her her due) }
Pertly, as most Folks Daughters do: }
Madam, your Ladyship, quoth she,
Is pleas'd to blame in me
What, on Enquiry, you may find,
Admits a passable Excuse,
From a Proverb much in use,
~That Cat will after kind~._

_Amin._ Sir, I took you to be a Man better bred, than to liken a Lady to a Crab-fish.

_Esop._ What I want in Good-breeding, Lady, I have in Truth and Honesty: As what you have wanted in Virtue, you have had in a good Face.

_Amin._ Have had, Sir! What I have had, I have still; and shall have a great while, I hope. I'm no Grandmother, Sir.

_Esop._ But in a fair way for't, Madam.

_Amin._ Thanks to my Daughter's Forwardness then, not my Years. I'd have you to know, Sir, I have never a Wrinkle in my Face. A young pert Slut! Who'd think she shou'd know so much at her Age?

_Esop._ Good Masters make quick Scholars, Lady; she has learn'd her Exercise from you.

_Amin._ But where's the Remedy, Sir?

_Esop._ In trying if a good Example will reclaim her, as an ill one has debauch'd her. Live private, and avoid Scandal.

_Amin._ Never speak it; I can no more retire, than I can go to Church twice on a Sunday.

_Esop._ What, your youthful Blood boils in your Veins, I'll warrant?

_Amin._ I have Warmth enough to endure the Air, old Gentleman. I need not shut myself up in a House these twenty Years.

_Esop._ [_Aside._] She takes a long Lease of Lewdness: She'll be an admirable Tenant to Lust.

_Amin._ [_Walking hastily to and fro._] People think when a Woman is turn'd Forty, she's old enough to turn out of the World: But I say, when a Woman is turn'd Forty, she's old enough to have more Wit. The most can be said is, her Face is the worse for wearing: I'll answer for all the rest of her Fabrick. The Men wou'd be to be pity'd, by my troth, wou'd they, if we shou'd quit the Stage, and leave 'em nothing but a parcel of young pert Sluts, that neither know how to speak Sense, nor keep themselves clean. But, don't let 'em fear, we a'n't going yet----[_~Esop~ stares upon her, and as she turns from him, runs off the Stage._] How now! What left alone! An unmannerly Piece of Deformity! Methinks he might have had Sense enough to have made Love to me. But I have found Men strangely dull for the last ten or twelve Years: Sure they'll mend in Time, or the World won't be worth living in.

_For let Philosophers say all they can,
The Source of Women's Joys is plac'd in Man._

[Exit.

_Enter ~Learchus~ and ~Euphronia~, ~Doris~ following at
a Distance._

_Lear._ [_To Euph._] I must tell you, Mistress, I'm too mild with you; Parents shou'd never intreat their Children, nor will I hereafter. Therefore, in a Word, let _Esop_ be lov'd, let _Oronces_ be hated; let one be a Peacock, let t'other be a Bat: I'm Father, you are Daughter; I command, and you shall obey.

_Euph._ I never yet did otherwise; nor shall I now, Sir; but pray let Reason guide you.

_Lear._ So it does: But 'tis my own, not yours, Hussy.

_Dor._ Ah--Well, I'll say no more; but were I in her Place, by the Mass, I'd have a tug for't.

_Lear._ Dæmon, born to distract me! Whence art thou, in the Name of Fire and Brimstone? Have I not satisfy'd thee? Have I not paid thee what's thy due? And have not I turn'd thee out of Doors, with Orders never more to stride my Threshold, ha? Answer, abominable Spirit; what is't that makes thee haunt me?

_Dor._ A foolish Passion to do you good, in spite of your Teeth: Pox on me for my Zeal, I say.

_Lear._ And Pox on thee, and thy Zeal too, I say.

_Dor._ Now if it were not for her Sake more than for yours, I'd leave all to your own Management, to be reveng'd of you. But rather than I'll see that sweet Thing sacrificed--I'll play the Devil in your House.

_Lear._ Patience, I summon thee to my Aid.

_Dor._ Passion, I defy thee; to the last Drop of my Blood I'll maintain my Ground. What have you to charge me with? Speak! I love your Child better than you do, and you can't bear that, ha? Is't not so? Nay, 'tis well y'are asham'd on't; there's some Sign of Grace still. Look you, Sir, in a few Words, you'll make me mad; and 'twere enough to make any Body mad (who has Brains enough to be so) to see so much Virtue shipwreck'd at the very Port. The World never saw a Virgin better qualify'd; so witty, so discreet, so modest, so chaste: in a Word, I brought her up myself, and 'twould be the Death of me to see so virtuous a Maid become a lewd Wife; which is the usual Effect of Parents Pride and Covetousness.

_Lear._ How, Strumpet! wou'd any Thing be able to debauch my Daughter?

_Dor._ Your Daughter! Yes, your Daughter, and myself into the Bargain: A Woman's but a Woman; and I'll lay a hundred Pound on Nature's side. Come, Sir, few Words dispatch Business. Let who will be the Wife of _Esop_, she's a Fool, or he's a Cuckold. But you'll never have a true Notion of this Matter, till you suppose yourself in your Daughter's Place. As thus: You are a pretty, soft, warm, wishing young Lady: I'm a straight, proper, handsome, vigorous, young Fellow. You have a peevish, positive, covetous, old Father, and he forces you to marry a little, lean, crooked, dry, sapless Husband. This Husband's gone abroad, you are left at home. I make you a Visit; find you all alone: the Servant pulls to the Door; the Devil comes in at the Window. I begin to wheedle, you begin to melt: you like my Person, and therefore believe all I say: so first I make you an Atheist, and then I make you a Whore. Thus the World goes, Sir.

_Lear._ Pernicious Pestilence! Has not thy eternal Tongue run down its Larum yet?

_Dor._ Yes.

_Lear._ Then go out of my House, Abomination.

_Dor._ I'll not stir a Foot.

_Lear._ Who waits there? Bring me my great Stick.

_Dor._ Bring you a Stick! Bring you a Head-piece: That you'd call for, if you knew your own wants.

_Lear._ Death and Furies, the Devil and so forth! I shall run distracted.

_Euph._ Pray, Sir, don't be so angry at her. I'm sure she means well, tho' she may have an odd way of expressing herself.

_Lear._ What, you like her meaning? Who doubts it, Offspring of _Venus_? But I'll make you stay your Stomach with Meat of my chusing, you liquorish young Baggage you. In a Word, _Esop_'s the Man; and to-morrow he shall be your Lord and Master. But since he can't be satisfied unless he has your Heart, as well as all the rest of your Trumpery, let me see you receive him in such a Manner that he may think himself your Choice as well as mine; 'twill make him esteem your Judgment: For we usually guess at other People's Understandings, by their approving our Actions and liking our Faces. See here, the great Man comes! [_To ~Dor~._] Follow me, Insolence; and leave 'em to express their Passion to each other. [_To ~Euph~._] Remember my last Word to you is, Obey.

_Dor._ [_To ~Euph.~ aside._] And remember my last Advice to you is, Rebel.

[_Exit ~Lear.~ ~Dor.~ following him._

_Euph._ Alas, I'm good-natured; the last Thing that's said to me usually leaves the deepest Impression.

_Enter ~Esop~; they stand some Time without speaking._

_Esop._--They say, That Lovers, for want of Words, have Eyes to speak with. I'm afraid you do not understand the Language of mine, since yours, I find, will make no Answer to 'em. But I must tell you, Lady, there is a numerous Train of youthful Virgins, that are endow'd with Wealth and Beauty too, who yet have thought it worth their Pains and Care to point their Darts at _Esop_'s homely Breast; whilst you so much contemn what they pursue, that a young senseless Fop's preferr'd before me.

_Euph._ Did you but know that Fop you dare to term so, his very Looks wou'd fright you into nothing.

_Esop._ A very Bauble.

_Euph._ How!

_Esop._ A Butterfly.

_Euph._ I can't bear it.

_Esop._ A Parroquet can prattle and look gaudy.

_Euph._ It may be so; but let me paint him and you in your proper Colours, I'll do it exactly, and you shall judge which I ought to chuse.

_Esop._ No, hold; I'm naturally not over-curious; besides, 'tis Pride makes People have their Pictures drawn.

_Euph._ Upon my Word, Sir, you may have yours taken a hundred times before any Body will believe 'tis done upon that Account.

_Esop._ [_Aside._] How severe she is upon me! You are resolv'd then to persist, and be fond of your Feather; sigh for a Perriwig, and die for a Cravat string.

_Euph._ Methinks, Sir, you might treat with more respect what I've thought fit to own I value; your Affronts to him are doubly such to me; if you continue your provoking Language, you must expect my Tongue will sally too; and if you are as wise as some would make you, you can't but know I shou'd have Theme enough.

_Esop._ But is it possible you can love so much as you pretend?

_Euph._ Why do you question it?

_Esop._ Because Nobody loves so much as they pretend: But hark you, young Lady: Marriage is to last a long, long Time; and where one Couple bless the sacred Knot, a Train of Wretches curse the Institution. You are in an Age where Hearts are young and tender; a pleasing Object gets Admittance soon. But since to Marriage there's annexed this dreadful Word, _For ever_, the following Example ought to move you:

_A Peacock once, of splendid show,
Gay, gaudy, foppish, vain----a Beau,
Attack'd a fond young Pheasant's Heart
With such Success,
He pleas'd her, tho' he made her smart;
He pierc'd her with so much Address,
She smil'd the Moment that he fixt his Dart.
A Cuckow in a neighbouring Tree,
Rich, honest, ugly, old----like me,
Lov'd her as he lov'd his Life:
No pamper'd Priest e'er study'd more
To make a virtuous Nun a Whore,
Than he to get her for his Wife:
But all his Offers still were vain,
His Limbs were weak, his Face was plain;
Beauty, Youth, and Vigour weigh'd
With the warm desiring Maid:
No Bird, she cry'd, wou'd serve her turn,
But what cou'd quench as well as burn;
She'd have a young Gallant: so one she had.
But 'ere a Month was come and gone, }
The Bride began to change her tone, }
She found a young Gallant was an inconstant one. }
She wander'd to a neighbouring Grove,
Where after musing long on Love,
She told her Confidant, she found,
When for one's Life one must be bound,
(Tho' Youth indeed was a delicious Bait)
An aged Husband, rich, tho' plain, }
Wou'd give a slavish Wife less Pain; }
And, what was more, was sooner slain, }
Which was a Thing of Weight._

Behold, young Lady, here, the Cuckow of the Fable; I'm deform'd, 'tis true, yet I have found the Means to make a Figure amongst Men, that well has recompens'd the Wrongs of Nature; my Rival's Beauty promises you much; perhaps my homely Form might yield you more; at least, consider on't, 'tis worth your Thought.

_Euph._ I must confess, my Fortune wou'd be greater;
But what's a Fortune to a Heart like mine?
'Tis true, I'm but a young Philosopher,
Yet in that little Space my Glass has run,
I've spent some Time in search of Happiness:
The fond Pursuit I soon observ'd of Riches,
Inclin'd me to enquire into their Worth:
I found their Value was not in themselves,
But in their Power to grant what we cou'd ask.
I then proceeded to my own Desires,
To know what State of Life wou'd suit with them:
I found 'em moderate in their Demands,
They neither ask'd for Title, State, or Power:
They slighted the aspiring Post of Envy:
'Tis true, they trembled at the Name Contempt;
A general Esteem was all they wish'd;
And that I did not doubt might be obtain'd,
If furnish'd but with Virtue and Good-nature;
My Fortune prov'd sufficient to afford me
Conveniences of Life, and Independence.
This, Sir, was the Result of my Enquiry;
And by this Scheme of Happiness I build,
When I prefer the Man I love to you.

_Esop._ How wise, how witty, and how cleanly, young Women grow, as soon as ever they are in love!

_Euph._ How foppish, how impertinent, and how nauseous are old Men, when they pretend to be so too!

_Esop._ How pert is Youth!

_Euph._ How dull is Age!

_Esop._ Why so sharp, young Lady?

_Euph._ Why so blunt, old Gentleman?

_Esop._ 'Tis enough; I'll to your Father, I know how to deal with him, though I don't know how to deal with you. Before to-morrow Noon, Damsel, Wife shall be written on your Brow.

[_Exit ~Esop~._

_Euph._ Then before to-morrow Night, Statesman, Husband shall be stampt upon your Forehead.

[_Exit ~Euph~._

+ACT+ IV.

_Enter ~Oronces~ and ~Doris~._

_Dor._ Patience, I beseech you.

_Oron._ Patience! What, and see that lovely Creature thrown into the Arms of that pedantick Monster! 'Sdeath, I'd rather see the World reduc'd to A'toms, Mankind turn'd into Crawfish, and myself an old Woman.

_Dor._ So you think an old Woman a very unfortunate thing, I find; but you are mistaken, Sir; she may plague other Folks, but she's as entertaining to herself, as any one Part of the Creation.

_Oron._ [_Walking to and fro._] She's the Devil----and I'm one of the damn'd, I think. But I'll make somebody howl for't; I will so.

_Dor._ You'll e'en do as all the young Fellows in the Town do, spoil your own Sport: Ah----had young Mens Shoulders but old Courtiers Heads upon 'em, what a delicious Time wou'd they have on't! For shame, be wise; for your Mistress's sake at least use some Caution.

_Oron._ For her sake I'll respect, even like a Deity, her Father. He shall strike me, he shall tread upon me, and find me humbler even than a crawling Worm, for I'll not turn again; but for _Esop_, that unfinish'd Lump, that Chaos of Humanity, I'll use him----nay, expect it, for I'll do it----the first Moment that I'll see him, I'll----

_Dor._ Not challenge him, I hope----'Twould be a pretty sight, truly, to see _Esop_ drawn up in Battalia! Fye for shame, be wise once in your Life; think of gaining Time, by putting off the Marriage for a Day or two, and not of waging War with a Pigmy. Yonder's the old Gentleman walking by himself in the Gallery; go and wheedle him, you know his weak side; he's good-natur'd in the bottom. Stir up his old fatherly Bowels a little, I'll warrant you'll move him at last: go, get you gone, and play your Part discreetly.

_Oron._ Well, I'll try; but if Words won't do with one, Blows shall with t'other; by Heavens, they shall.

[_Exit. ~Oron~._

_Doris ~sola~._

Nay, I reckon we shall have rare work on't bye and bye. Shield us, kind Heaven! what Things are Men in love? Now they are Stocks and Stones; then they are Fire and Quick-silver; first whining and crying, then swearing and damning: This Moment they are in Love, and next Moment they are out of Love: Ah--cou'd we but live without 'em--but 'tis in vain to think on't.

[_Exit._

_Enter ~Esop~ at one side of the Stage, Mrs. ~Forge-will~
at t'other._

_Forg._ Sir, I'm your most devoted Servant! What I say is no Compliment, I do assure you.

_Esop._ Madam, as far as you are really mine, I believe I may venture to assure you, I am yours.

_Forg._ I suppose, Sir, you know that I'm a Widow.

_Esop._ Madam, I don't so much as know you are a Woman.

_Forg._ O surprizing! Why, I thought the whole Town had known it. Sir, I have been a Widow this Twelvemonth.

_Esop._ If a Body may guess at your Heart by your Petticoat, Lady, you don't design to be so a Twelvemonth more.

_Forg._ O bless me! Not a Twelvemonth! Why, my Husband has left me four squalling Brats. Besides, Sir, I'm undone.

_Esop._ You seem as chearful an undone Lady as I have met with.

_Forg._ Alas, Sir, I have too great a Spirit ever to let Afflictions spoil my Face. Sir, I'll tell you my Condition; and that will lead me to my Business with you. Sir, my Husband was a Scriviner.

_Esop._ The deuce he was: I thought he had been a Count, at least.

_Forg._ Sir, it is not the first Time I have been taken for a Countess; my Mother us'd to say, as I lay in my Cradle, I had the Air of a Woman of Quality; and truly I have always liv'd like such. My Husband, indeed, had something sneaking in him (as most Husbands have, you know, Sir); but, from the Moment I set Foot in his House, bless me, what a Change was there! His Pewter was turn'd into Silver, his Goloshoes into a Glass Coach, and his little travelling Mare into a Pair of _Flanders_ Horses. Instead of a greasy Cook-maid to wait at Table, I had four tall Footmen in clean Linen; all Things became new and fashionable, and nothing look'd aukward in my Family. My Furniture was the Wonder of my Neighbourhood, and my Clothes the Admiration of the whole Town; I had a Necklace that was envy'd by the Queen, and a Pair of Pendants that set a Dutchess a-crying. In a Word, I saw nothing I lik'd but I bought it; and my Husband, good Man, durst ne'er refuse paying for't. Thus I liv'd, and I flourish'd, till he sicken'd and dy'd: but ere he was cold in his Grave, his Creditors plunder'd my House. But, what pity it was to see Fellows with dirty Shoes come into my best Rooms, and touch my Hangings with their filthy Fingers! You won't blame me, Sir, if, with all my Courage, I weep at this sensible Part of my Misfortune.

_Esop._ A very sad Story, truly!

_Forg._ But now, Sir, to my Business. Having been inform'd this Morning, That the King has appointed a great Sum of Money for the Marriage of young Women who have liv'd well, and are fallen to decay, I am come to acquaint you I have two strapping Daughters, just fit for the Matter, and to desire you'll help 'em to Portions out of the King's Bounty; that they mayn't whine and pine, and be eaten up with the Green-sickness, as half the young Women in the Town are, or wou'd be, if there were not more Helps for the Disease than one. This, Sir, is my Business.

_Esop._ And this, Madam, is my Answer:

_A crawling Toad, all speckled o'er,
Vain, gaudy, painted, patch'd----a Whore,
Seeing a well-fed Ox hard by,
Regards him with an envious Eye,
And (as the Poets tell)
Ye Gods, I cannot bear't, quoth she,
I'll burst, or be as big as he,
And so began to swell.
Her Friends and Kindred round her came,
They shew'd her she was much to blame,
The Thing was out of reach.
She told 'em they were busy Folk,
And when her Husband wou'd have spoke,
She bid him kiss her Br----.
With that they all e'en gave her o'er,
And she persisted as before,
Till with a deal of Strife
She swell'd at last so much her Spleen,
She burst like one that we have seen,
Who was a Scrivener's Wife._

This, Widow, I take to be your Case, and that of a great many others; for this is an Age where most People get Falls, by clambering too high, to reach at what they should not do. The Shoemaker's Wife reduces her Husband to a Cobler, by endeavouring to be as spruce as the Taylor's: The Taylor's brings hers to a Botcher, by going as fine as the Mercer's: The Mercer's lowers hers to a Foreman, by perking up to the Merchant's: The Merchant's wears hers to a Broker, by strutting up to Quality: And Quality bring theirs to nothing, by striving to out-do one another. If Women were humbler, Men wou'd be honester. Pride brings Want, Want makes Rogues, Rogues come to be hang'd, and the Devil alone's the Gainer. Go your ways home, Woman; and as your Husband maintain'd you by his Pen, maintain yourself by your Needle; put your great Girls to service, Imployment will keep them honest; much Work and plain Diet will cure the Green-Sickness as well as a Husband----

_Forg._ Why, you pityful Pigmy; preaching, canting, Pickthank; you little, sorry, crooked, dry, wither'd Eunuch, do you know that----

_Esop._ I know that I'm so deform'd you han't Wit enough to describe me: But I have this good Quality, That a foolish Woman can never make me angry.

_Forg._ Can't she so? I'll try that, I will.

[_She falls
upon him, holds his Hands, and boxes his Ears._

_Esop._ Help, help, help.

_Enter Servants. She runs off, they after her._

_Esop._ Nay, e'en let her go----let her go----don't bring her back again----I'm for making a Bridge of Gold for my Enemy to retreat upon----I'm quite out of Breath----A terrible Woman, I protest.

_Enter a Country Gentleman drunk, in a hunting Dress,
with a Huntsman, Groom, Falconer, and other Servants;
one leading a couple of Hounds, another Grey-Hounds,
a third a Spaniel, a fourth a Gun upon his
Shoulder, the Falconer a Hawk upon his Fist, ~&c.~_

_Gent._ Haux, haux, haux, haux, haux! Joular, there Boy, Joular, Joular, Tinker, Pedlar, Miss, Miss, Miss, Miss, Miss--Blood and Oons--O there he is; that must be he, I have seen his Picture [_Reeling upon_ Esop].--Sir,--if your Name's _Esop_--I'm your humble Servant.

_Esop._ Sir, my Name is _Esop_, at your Service.

_Gent._ Why then, Sir--Compliments being past on both sides, with your leave--we'll proceed to Business. Sir, I'm by Profession--a Gentleman of--three thousand Pounds a Year--Sir, I keep a good Pack of Hounds, a good Stable of Horses. [_To his Groom._] How many Horses have I, Sirrah?--Sir, this is my Groom.

[_Presenting him to ~Esop~._

_Groom._ Your Worship has six Coach-horses, (Cut and Long-Tail) two Runners, half a dozen Hunters, four breeding Mares, and two blind Stallions, besides Pads, Routs, and Dog-Horses.

_Gent._ Look you there, Sir, I scorn to tell a Lye. He that questions my Honour--he's a Son of a Whore. But to Business--Having heard, Sir, that you were come to this Town, I have taken the Pains to come hither too, tho' I had a great deal of Business upon my Hands, for I have appointed three _Justices of the Peace_ to hunt with 'em this Morning----and be drunk with 'em in the Afternoon. But the main Chance must be look'd to--and that's this----I desire, Sir, you'll tell the King from me--I don't like these Taxes--in one Word, as well as in twenty--I don't like these Taxes.

_Esop._ Pray, Sir, how high may you be tax'd?

_Gent._ How high may I be tax'd, Sir! Why I may be tax'd, Sir--four Shillings in the Pound, Sir; one half I pay in Money--and t'other half I pay in Perjury, Sir: Hey, Joular, Joular, Joular. Haux, haux, haux, haux, haux. Hoo, hoo----Here's the best Hound-bitch in _Europe_----Oons is she. And I had rather kiss her than kiss my Wife----Rot me if I had not----But, Sir, I don't like these Taxes.

_Esop._ Why how wou'd you have the War carry'd on?

_Gent._ War carried on, Sir!----Why, I had rather have no War carried on at all, Sir, than pay Taxes. I don't desire to be ruin'd, Sir.

_Esop._ Why you say, you have three thousand Pounds a Year.

_Gent._ And so I have, Sir----_Lett-Acre!_----Sir, this is my Steward. How much Land have I, _Lett-Acre_?

_Lett-Acre._ Your Worship has three thausand Paunds a Year, as good Lond as any's i'th' Caunty; and two thausand Paunds worth of Wood to cut dawne at your Worship's Pleasure, and put the Money in your Pocket.

_Gent._ Look you there, Sir, what have you to say to that?

_Esop._ I have to say, Sir, that you may pay your Taxes in Money, instead of Perjury, and still have a better Revenue than I'm afraid you deserve. What Service do you do your King, Sir?

_Gent._ None at all, Sir--I'm above it.

_Esop._ What Service may you do your Country, pray?

_Gent._ I'm Justice of the Peace----and Captain of the Militia.

_Esop._ Of what use are you to your Kindred?

_Gent._ I'm the Head of the Family, and have all the Estate.

_Esop._ What Good do you do your Neighbours?

_Gent._ I give them their Bellies full of Beef every time they come to see me; and make 'em so drunk, they spew it up again before they go away.

_Esop._ How do you use your Tenants?

_Gent._ Why, I skrew up their Rents till they break and run away, and if I catch 'em again, I let 'em rot in a Gaol.

_Esop._ How do you treat your Wife?

_Gent._ I treat her all Day with Ill-nature and Tobacco, and all Night with snoring and a dirty Shirt.

_Esop._ How do you breed your Children?

_Gent._ I breed my eldest Son----a Fool; my youngest breed themselves, and my Daughters----have no Breeding at all.

_Esop._ 'Tis very well, Sir; I shall be sure to speak to the King of you; or if you think fit to remonstrate to him, by way of Petition or Address, how reasonable it may be to let Men of your Importance go Scot-free, in the Time of a necessary War, I'll deliver it in Council, and speak to it as I ought.

_Gent._ Why, Sir, I don't disapprove your Advice, but my Clerk is not here, and I can't spell well.

_Esop._ You may get it writ at your leisure, and send it me. But because you are not much used to draw up Addresses, perhaps; I'll tell you in general what kind of one this ought to be.

* * * * *

_May it please your Majesty_----

_To the Gent._] You'll excuse me, if I don't know your Name and Title.

_Gent._ Sir _Polydorus Hogstye_, of _Beast-Hall_ in _Swine-County_.

_Esop._ Very well.

_May it please your Majesty; ~Polydorus Hogstye~, of ~Beast-hall~ in ~Swine-County~, most humbly represents, That he hates to pay Taxes, the dreadful Consequences of 'em being inevitably these, That he must retrench two Dishes in ten, where not above six of 'em are design'd for Gluttony._

_Four Bottles out of twenty; where not above fifteen of 'em are for Drunkenness._

_Six Horses out of thirty; of which not above twenty are kept for State._

_And four Servants out of a Score; where one half do nothing but make Work for t'other._

_To this deplorable Condition must your important Subject be reduc'd, or forc'd to cut down his Timber, which he wou'd willingly persevere against an ill run at Dice._

_And as to the Necessity of the War for the Security of the Kingdom, he neither knows nor cares whether it be necessary or not._

_He concludes with his Prayers for your Majesty's Life, upon Condition you will protect him and his Fox Hounds at Beast-Hall, without e'er a Penny of Money._

_To the Gent._] This, Sir, I suppose, is much what you wou'd be at.

_Gent._ Exactly, Sir; I'll be sure to have one drawn up to the self-same purpose: and next Fox-Hunting I'll engage half the Company shall set their Hands to't. Sir, I am your----most devoted Servant; and if you please to let me see you at _Beast-Hall_, here's my Huntsman, _Houndsfoot_, will shew you a Fox shall lead you through so many Hedges and Briars, you shall have no more Clothes on your Back in half an Hour's Time--than you had----in the Womb of your Mother. Haux, haux, haux, &c.

[_Exit shouting._

Esop. _O Tempora, O Mores!_

_Enter Mr. ~Fruitful~ and his Wife._

_Mr. Fruit._ Heavens preserve the noble _Esop_, grant him long Life and happy Days.

_Mrs. Fruit._ And send him a fruitful Wife, with a hopeful Issue!

_Esop._ And what is it I'm to do for you, good People, to make you amends for all these friendly Wishes?

_Mr. Fruit._ Sir, here's myself and my Wife--

_Mrs. Fruit._ Sir, here's I and my Husband--[_To her Husband._] Let me speak in my turn, Goodman _Forward_. [_To ~Esop~._] Sir, here's I and my Husband, I say, think we have as good Pretensions to the King's Favour as ever a Lord in the Land.

_Esop._ If you have no better than some Lords in the Land, I hope you won't expect much for your Service.

_Mr. Fruit._ An't please you, you shall be Judge yourself.

_Mrs. Fruit._ That's as he gives Sentence, Mr. _Littlewit_; who gave you Power to come to a Reference? If he does not do us right, the King himself shall; what's to be done here! [_To ~Esop~._] Sir, I'm forc'd to correct my Husband a little; poor Man, he is not us'd to Court-Business; but to give him his due, he's ready enough at some Things: Sir, I have had twenty fine Children by him; fifteen of 'em are alive, and alive like to be; five tall Daughters are wedded and bedded, and ten proper Sons serve their King and their Country.

_Esop._ A goodly Company, upon my Word!

_Mrs. Fruit._ Would all Men take as much Pains for the peopling of the Kingdom, we might tuck up our Aprons, and cry, A Fig for our Enemies; but we have such a Parcel of Drones amongst us----Hold up your Head, Husband----He's a little out of Countenance, Sir, because I chid him; but the Man is a very good Man at the Bottom. But to come to my Business, Sir, I hope his Majesty will think it reasonable to allow me something for the Service I have done him; 'tis pity but Labour shou'd be encourag'd, especially when what one has done, one has done't with a Good-will.

_Esop._ What Profession are you of, good People?

_Mrs. Fruit._ My Husband's an Inn-keeper, Sir; he bears the Name, but I govern the House.

_Esop._ And what Posts are your Sons in, in the Service?

_Mrs. Fruit._. Sir, there are four Monks.

_Mr. Fruit._ Three Attorneys.

_Mrs. Fruit._ Two Scriveners.

_Mr. Fruit._ And an Exciseman.

_Esop._ The deuce o'the Service; why, I thought they had been all in the Army.

_Mrs. Fruit._ Not one, Sir.

_Esop._ No, so it seems, by my Troth: Ten Sons that serve their Country, quotha! Monks, Attorneys, Scriveners and Excisemen, serve their Country with a Vengeance: you deserve to be rewarded, truly; you deserve to be hang'd, you wicked People, you. Get you gone out of my sight: I never was so angry in my Life.

[_Exit ~Esop~._

_Mr. Fruit. to his Wife._] So; who's in the right now, you or I? I told you what wou'd come on't; you must be always a Breeding, and Breeding, and the King wou'd take Care of 'em, and the Queen wou'd take Care of 'em: And always some Pretence or other there was. But now we have got a great Kennel of Whelps, and the Devil will take Care of 'em, for aught I see. For your Sons are all Rogues, and your Daughters are all Whores; you know they are.

_Mrs. Fruit._ What, you are a grudging of your Pains now, you lazy, sluggish, flegmatick Drone. You have a Mind to die of a Lethargy, have you? but I'll raise your Spirits for you, I will so. Get you gone home, go; go home, you idle Sot, you; I'll raise your Spirits for you.

[_Exit, pushing him before her._

_Re-enter ~Esop~._

_Esop. solus._] Monks, Attorneys, Scriveners, and Excisemen!

_Enter ~Oronces~._

_Oron._ O here he is. Sir, I have been searching for you, to say two Words to you.

_Esop._ And now you have found me, Sir, what are they?

_Oron._ They are, Sir----that my Name's Oronces: You comprehend me.

_Esop._ I comprehend your Name.

_Oron._ And not my Business?

_Esop._ Not I, by my Troth.

_Oron._ Then I shall endeavour to teach it you, Monsieur _Esop_.

_Esop._ And I to learn it, Monsieur _Oronces_.

_Oron._ Know, Sir----that I admire _Euphronia_.

_Esop._ Know, Sir----that you are in the right on't.

_Oron._ But I pretend, Sir, that Nobody else shall admire her.

_Esop._ Then I pretend, Sir, she won't admire you.

_Oron._ Why so, Sir?

_Esop._ Because, Sir----

_Oron._ What, Sir?

_Esop._ She's a Woman, Sir.

_Oron._ What then, Sir?

_Esop._ Why, then, Sir, she desires to be admir'd by every Man she meets.

_Oron._ Sir, you are too familiar.

_Esop._ Sir, you are too haughty; I must soften that harsh Tone of yours: It don't become you, Sir; it makes a Gentleman appear a Porter, Sir: And that you may know the Use of good Language, I'll tell you what once happen'd. _Once an a Time_----

_Oron._ I'll have none of your old Wives Fables, Sir, I have no Time to lose; therefore, in a Word----

_Esop._ In a Word, be mild: For nothing else will do you Service. Good Manners and soft Words have brought many a difficult Thing to pass. Therefore hear me patiently.

_A Cook one Day, who had been drinking,
(Only as many Times, you know,
You spruce, young, witty Beaux will do,
To avoid the dreadful Pain of thinking)
Had Orders sent him to behead
A Goose, like any Chaplain fed.
He took such Pains to set his Knife right,
'T had done one good t'have lost one's Life by't.
But many Men have many Minds,
There's various Tastes in various Kinds:
A Swan (who by Mistake he seiz'd)
With wretched Life was better pleas'd:
For as he went to give the Blow,
In tuneful Notes she let him know,
She neither was a Goose, nor wish'd
To make her ~Exit~ so.
The Cook (who thought of nought but Blood,
Except it were the Grease,
For that you know's his Fees)
To hear her sing, in great Amazement stood.
Cod's fish! quoth he, 'twas well you spoke,
For I was just upon the Stroke:
Your Feathers have so much of Goose,
A drunken Cook cou'd do no less
Than think you one: That you'll confess:
But y' have a Voice so soft, so sweet,
That rather than you shall be eat,
The House shall starve for want of Meat:
And so he turn'd her loose._

_To ~Oron~._] Now, Sir, what say you? will you be the Swan, or the Goose?

_Oron._ The Choice can't, sure, be difficult to make;
I hope you will excuse my youthful Heat,
Young Men and Lovers have a Claim to Pardon:
But since the Faults of Age have no such Plea,
I hope you'll be more cautious of offending.
The Flame that warms _Euphronia_'s Heart and mine,
Has long, alas! been kindled in our Breasts:
Even Years are past since our two Souls were wed,
'Twou'd be Adultery but to wish to part 'em.
And wou'd a Lump of Clay alone content you,
A Mistress cold and senseless in your Arms,
Without the least Remains or Signs of Life,
Except her Sighs to mourn her absent Lover?
Whilst you shou'd press her in your eager Arms,
With fond Desire and Extasy of Love,
Wou'd it not pierce you to the very Soul,
To see her Tears run trickling down her Cheeks,
And know their Fountain meant 'em all to me?
Cou'd you bear this?
Yet thus the Gods revenge themselves on those
Who stop the happy Course of mutual Love.
If you must be unfortunate one way,
Choose that where Justice may support your Grief,
And shun the weighty Curse of injur'd Lovers.

_Esop._ Why, this is pleading like a Swan, indeed!
Were any Thing at Stake but my _Euphronia_----

_Oron._ Your _Euphronia_! Sir----

_Esop._ The Goose----take heed----
Were any Thing, I say, at Stake but her,
Your Plea wou'd be too strong to be refus'd.
But our Debate's about a Lady, Sir,
That's young, that's beautiful, that's made for Love.
----So am not I, you'll say: But you're mistaken;
I'm made to love, tho' not to be belov'd.
I have a Heart like yours; I've Folly too:
I've every Instrument of Love like others.

_Oron._ But, Sir, you have not been so long a Lover;
Your Passion's young and tender,
'Tis easy for you to become its Master:
Whilst I shou'd strive in vain; mine's old and fixt.

_Esop._ The older 'tis, the easier to be govern'd; Were mine of as long a standing, 'twere possible I might get the better on't. Old Passions are like old Men; weak, and soon jostled into the Kennel.

_Oron._ Yet Age sometimes is strong, even to the Verge of Life.

_Esop._ Ah, but there our Comparison don't hold.

_Oron._ You are too merry to be much in Love.

_Esop._ And you too sad to be so long.

_Oron._ My grief may end my Days, so quench my Flame, but nothing else can e'er extinguish it.

_Esop._ Don't be discourag'd, Sir, I have seen many a Man outlive his Passion twenty Years.

_Oron._ But I have sworn to die _Euphronia_'s Slave.

_Esop._ A decay'd Face always absolves a Lover's Oath.

_Oron._ Lovers whose Oaths are made to Faces, then; But 'tis _Euphronia_'s Soul that I adore, which never can decay.

_Esop._ I wou'd fain see a young Fellow in love with a Soul of Threescore.

_Oron._ Quit but _Euphronia_ to me, and you shall;
At least if Heaven's Bounty will afford us
But Years, enow to prove my Constancy,
And this is all I ask the Gods and you.

[_Exit ~Oron~._

_~Esop~ solus._