cy.- But when he's Drunk, he's as loving as the Monster in the Tempeft, and much after the fame manner. To give the t'other his due, he has fomething of good Nature, and does not always want Wit.

Mira. Not always; but as often as his Memory fails him, and his common Place of Comparisons. He is a Fool with a good Memory, and fome few Scraps of other Folks Wit. He is one whofe Converfation can never be approv'd, yet it is now and then to be endur'd. He has indeed one good Quality, he is not Exceptious; for he fo paffionately affects the Reputation of understanding Raillery; that he will conftrue an Affront into a a Jeft; and call downright Rudenefs and ill Language, Satire and Fire. Fain. If you have a mind to finish his Picture; you have an Opportunity to do it at full length. Behold the Original. Enter Witwoud.

Wit. Afford me your Compaffion, my Dears; pity me, Fainall, Mirabell, pity me.

Mira. I do from my Soul.

Fain. Why, what's the Matter?

Wit. No Letters for me, Betty?

Bet. Did not the Meffenger bring you one but now, Sir?
Wit. Ay, but no other?

Bet. No, Sir.

Wit. That's hard, that's very hard;

A Messenger, a Mule, a Beast of Burden, he has brought me a Letter from the Fool my Brother, as heavy as a Panegyrick in a Funeral Sermon, or a CoPy of Commendatory Verfes from one Poet to another. And what's worse, 'tis as fure a Forerunner of the Author, as an Epiftle Dedicatory.

Mira. A Fool, and your Brother, Witwoud!

Wit. Ay, ay, my half Brother. My half Brother he is, no nearer upon Honour.

Mira. Then 'tis poffible he may be but half a Fool.

Wit. Good, good Mirabell, le Drole! Good, good, hang him, don't let's talk of him; Fainall, how does your Lady? Gad, I fay any thing in the World to get this Fellow out of my Head. I beg Pardon that I fhou'd ask a Man of Pleasure, and the Town, a Question at once fo Foreign and Domestick. But I Talk like an old Maid at a Marriage, I don't know what I fay: But she's the best Woman in the World.

Fain. 'Tis well you don't know what you fay, or else your Commendation wou'd go near to make me either Vain or Jealous.

Wit. No Man in Town lives well with a Wife but Fainall: Your Judgment Mirabell.

Mira. You had better step and ask his Wife; if you wou'd be credibly inform'd.

Wit. Mirabell.

Mira. Ay.

Wit. My Dear, I ask Ten Thousand Pardons;
forgot what I was going to fay to you.
Mira. I thank you heartily, heartily.
Wit. No, but prithee excuse me,
Memory.

Gad I have

my Memory is fuch a

Mira. Have a care of fuch Apologies, Witwoud;. for I never knew a Fool but he affected to complain, either of the Spleen or his Memory.

Fain. What have you done with Petulant?
Wit. He's reckoning his Mony,

have no Luck to Day.

my Mony it was- I

Fain. You may allow him to win of you at Play; for you are fure to be too hard for him at Repartee: Since you monopolize the Wit that is between you, the Fortune must be his of Course. Mira. I don't find that Petulant confeffes the Superiority of Wit to be your Talent, Witwoud.

Wit. Come, come, you are malicious now, and wou'd breed Debates. Petulant's my Friend, and a very honeft Fellow, and a very pretty Fellow, and has a fmattering Faith and Troth a pretty deal of an odd fort of a small Wit: Nay, I'll do him Juftice. I'm his Friend, I won't wrong him neither. -And if he had but any Judgment in the World, he wou'd not be altogether contemptible, Come, come, don't detract from the Merits of my Friend.

Fain. You don't take your Friend to be over-nicely bred.

Wit. No, no, hang him, the Rogue has no Manners at all,that I must own -No more Breeding than a Bum-baily, that I grant 'Tis pity faith; the Fellow has Fire and Life.

you,

Mira. What, Courage?

Wit. Hum, faith I don't know as to that, I can't fay as to that. Yes, faith, in a Controverfie he'll contradict any Body. Mira. Tho' 'twere a Man whom he fear'd, or a Woman whom he lov'd.

Wit. Well, well, he does not always think before he speaks; We have all our Failings; you are too hard upon him, you are faith. Let me excufe him, I can defend most of his Faults,

exce

except one or two; one he has, that's the Truth on't, if he were my Brother, I cou'd not acquit him

cou'd wish were otherwife,

Mira. Ay marry, what's that, Witwoud?

That indeed I

Wit. O pardon me— - Expofe the Infirmities of my Friend. No, my Dear, excufe me there.

Fain. What I warrant he's unfincere, or 'tis fome fuch Trifle. Wit. No, no, what if he be? 'Tis no matter for that, his Wit will excufe that: A Wit fhou'd no more be fincere, than a Woman conftant, one argues a Decay of Parts, as t'other of Beauty. Mira. May be you think him too pofitive?

Wit. No, no, his being pofitive is an Incentive to Argument, and keeps up Conversation.

Fain. Too illiterate.

Wit. That! that's his Happiness

-His want of Learning,

gives him the more Opportunities to fhew his natural Parts.

Mira. He wants Words.

Wit. Ay; but I like him for that now; for his want of Words gives me the Pleasure very often to explain his Meaning.

Fain. He's Impudent.

Wit. No, that's not it.

Mira. Vain.

Wit. No.

Mira. What, he speaks unseasonable Truths sometimes,because he has not Wit enough to invent an Evasion.

Wit. Truths! Ha, ha, ha! No, no, fince you will have it,

I mean, he never speaks Truth at all,

That's all. He will lie like a Chambermaid, or a Woman of Quality's Porter. Now that is a Fault.

Enter Coachman.

Coach. Is Mafter Petulant here, Mistress?

Bet. Yes.

Coach. Three Gentlewomen in the Coach would speak with him.

Fain. O brave Petulant, Three!

Bet. I'll tell him.

Coach. You must bring Two Dishes of Chocolate and a Glass of Cinnamon-water.' [Exit. Wit. That fhould be for Two fafting Strumpets, and a Bawd troubled with Wind. Now you may know what the Three are. Mira. You are very free with your Friend's Acquaintance.

Wit. Ay, ay, Friendship without Freedom is as dull as Love without Enjoyment, or Wine without Toafting; but to tell you a Secret, these are Trulls that he allows Coach-hire, and fomething more by the Week,to call on him once a Day at publick Places. Mira. How!

Wit. You shall fee he won't go to 'em because there's no more Company here to take notice of him. Why this is nothing to what he us'd to do; Before he found out this way, I have

known him call for himself

Fain. Call for himfelf? What doft thou mean?

was turn'd

Wit. Mean, why he wou'd flip you out of this Chocolate-house, just when you had been talking to him As foon as your Back Whip he was gone;-Then trip to his Lodging, clap on a Hood and Scarf, and Mask, flap into a Hackney-Coach, and drive hither to the Door again in a trice; where he wou'd fend in for himself, that I mean, call for himself, wait for himself, nay and what's more,not finding himself, fometimes leave a Letter for himself.

Mira. I confefs this is fomething extraordinary

I believe he waits for himself now, he is so long a coming; I ask his Pardon.

1

Enter Petulant.

Bet. Sir, the Coach stays.

Pet. Well, well, I come-Sbud a Man had as good be a profefs'd Midwife as a profefs'd Whoremafter, at this rate; to be knock'd up and rais'd at all Hours, and in all Places. Pox on 'em I won't come. -D'ye hear, tell 'em I won't come. Let 'em fnivel and cry their Hearts out.

Fain. You are very cruel, Petulant.
Pet. All's one, let it pass

I have a Humour to be cruel. Mira. I hope they are not Persons of Condition that you ufe

at this rate.

∙a

Pet. Condition, Condition's a dry'd Fig, if I am not in Humour By this Hand, if they were your your What-dee-call-'ems themselves, they must wait or rub off, if I want Appetite.

Mira. What-dee--call-'ems! What are they, Witwoud?

Wit. Empreffes, my DearBy your What-dee-call-'ems he means Sultana Queens.

Pet. Ay, Roxolana's.

Mira. Cry you Mercy.

Fain. Witwoud fays they are

Pet. What does he fay th' are?

Wit. I, fine Ladies I fay.

Pet. Pals on, Witwoud —— Harkee, by this Light his Relations Two Coheireffes his Coufins, and an old Aunt, that loves Catterwauling better than a Conventicle.

Wit. Ha, ha, ha, I had a Mind to fee how the Rogue wou'd
Ha, ha, ha; Gad I can't be angry with him; if

come off

he faid they were my Mother and my Sifters.

Mira. No!

Wit. No, the Rogue's Wit and Readiness of Invention charm me, dear Petulant.

Bet. They are gone, Sir, in great Anger.

Pet. Enough, let 'em trundle. Anger helps Complexion, faves Paint.

Fain. This Continence is all diffembled; this is in order to have fomething to brag of the next time he makes Court to Milla. mant, and fwear he has abandon'd the whole Sex for her Sake.

Mira. Have you not left off your impudent Pretensions there yet? I fhall cut your Throat, fometime or other Petulant, about that Bufinefs.

Pet. Ay, ay,let that pass-There are other Throats to be cut.-
Mira. Meaning mine, Sir?

Pet. Not II mean no Body
I mean no Body I know nothing. But
there are Uncles and Nephews in the WorldAnd they may
What then? All's one for that.

be Rivals

Mira. How! Harkec Petulant, come hither

I fhall call your Interpreter.

Pet. Explain, I know nothing

Explain, or

Why you have an Uncle,

have you not, lately come to Town, and lodges by my Lady Wifhfort's?

Mira. True.

Pet. Why that's enough-You and he are not Friends; and if he thou'd marry and have a Child, you may be difinherited, ha? Mira. Where haft thou ftumbled upon all this Truth?

Pet. All

one for that; why then fay I know fomething. Mira. Come, thou art an honeft Fellow Petulant, and fhalt make Love to my Mistress, thou fha't, Faith. What haft thou heard of my Uncle?

Pet. I, nothing I. If Throats are to be cut, let Swords clash, fnugs the Word, I fhrug and am filent.

Mira. O Raillery, Raillery. Come, I know thou art in the Women's Secrets What you're a Cabalift, I know you ftaid

at