But, Heaven be prais'd, this custom is confin'd
Alone to th offspring of the muses kind :
Our christian cuckholds are more bent to pity;
I know not one Moor-husband in the city.

I' th' good man's arms the chopping bastard thrives,
For he thinks all his own that is his wives.

Whatever fate is for this play design'd,
The poet's sure he shall some comfort find:
For if his muse has play'd him false, the worst
That can befall him, is, to be divorc'd;

You busbands judge, if that be to be curs'd.

Dramatis Personae.

COVENT GARDEN.

Men.

MASKWELL, a Villain; pretended Friend
to Mellefont, Gallant to Lady Touch-
wood, and in love with Cynthia
Lord TOUCHWOOD, Uncle to Mellefont-
MELLEFONT, promised to, and in love
with Cynthia

CARELESS, his Friend

Lord FROTH, a solemn Coxcomb
BRISK

Sir PAUL PLYANT, an uxorious, foolish
old Knight; Brother to Lady Touch-
wood, and Father to Cynthia

Lady Touchwood, in love with Mellefont
CYNTHIA, Daughter to Sir Paul by a for-
mer Wife, promised to Mellefont
Lady FROTH, a great Coquet; pretender
to Poetry, Wit, and Learning
Lady PLYANT, insolent to her Husband,
and easy to any Pretender

Mr. Sheridan.

Mr. Clarke.

Mr. Wroughton.
Mr. Lewis.

Mr. Booth.

Mr. Woodward.

Mr. Macklin.

Women.

Mrs. Jackson.

Miss Dayes.

Mrs. Mattocks.

Miss Macklin.

Chaplain, Boy, Footmen, and Attendants.

The SCENE, a Gallery in Lord Touchwood's House, with Chambers adjoining.

THE

DOUBLE DEALER.

ACT I. SCENE I.

A Gallery in Lord Touchwood's House, with Chambers adjoining. Enter CARELESS, crossing the Stage, with bis Hat, Gloves, and Sword in his Hands, as just risen from Table; MELLEFONT following him.

Mellefont.

NED, Ned, whither so fast? What, turn'd flincher! Why, you wo' not leave us?

Gare. Where are the women? I'm weary of guzzling, and begin to think them the better company. Mel. Then thy reason staggers, and thou 'rt almost drunk.

Care. No, faith, but your fools grow noisy; and if a man must endure the noise of words without sense, I think the women have more musical voices, and become nonsense better.

Mel. Why, they are at the end of the gallery, retired to their tea and scandal, according to their ancient

custom after dinner. But I made a pretence to follow you, because I had something to say to you in private, and I am not like to have many opportunities this evening.

Care. And here's this coxcomb most critically come to interrupt you.

Enter BRISK.

Brisk. Boys, boys, lads, where are you? What, do you give ground? Mortgage for a bottle, ha? Careless, this is your trick, you are always spoiling company by leaving it.

Care. And thou art always spoiling company by coming into it.

Brisk. Pooh, ha, ha, ha, I know you envy me, Spite, proud spite, by the gods! and burning envy.I'll be judged by Mellefont here, who gives and takes raillery better, you or I. Pshaw, man, when I say you spoil company by leaving it, I mean you leave nobody for the company to laugh at. I think there I was with you, ha! Mellefont.

Mel. O' my word, Brisk, that was a home thrustyou have silenced him.

Brisk. Oh, my dear Mellefont, let me perish if thou art not the soul of conversation, the very essence of wit and spirit of wine-The deuce take me, if there were three good things said, or one understood, since thy amputation from the body of our society-He, I think that's pretty and metaphorical enough: 'Egad, I could not have said it out of thy company-Careless; ha!

Care. Hum, what is it?

Brisk. O, mon cœur! What is 't? Nay, gad I'll punish you for want of apprehension:-the deuce take me if I tell you.

-But,

Mel. No, no, hang him, he has no tastedear Brisk, excuse me, I have a little business. Care. Pr'y thee get thee gone: thou seest we are serious.

Mel. We'll come immediately if you 'll but go in, and keep up good humour and sense in the company : Pr'y thee do they 'll fall asleep else..

Brisk. 'Egad, so they will-Well, I will, I will 'egad, you shall command me from the zenith to the nadir.- -But the deuce take me if I say a good thing till you come. But, pr'y thee, dear rogue, make haste, pr'y thee make haste, I shall burst else.-And yonder your uncle, my Lord Touchwood, swears he 'll disinherit you, and Sir Paul Plyant threatens to disclaim you for a son-in-law, and my Lord Froth won't dance at your wedding to-morrow; nor, the deuce take me, I won't write your epithalamium-and see what a condition you are like to be brought to. Mel. Well, I'll speak but three words, and follow

you.

Brisk. Enough, enough. Careless, bring your apprehension along with you. [Exit.

Care. Pert coxcomb.

Mel. 'Faith, 't is a good-natured coxcomb, and has very entertaining folliesYou must be more humane to him; at this juncture it will do me service. I'll

C