For. How, how, Sir Sampson? that all? Give me leave to contradict you, and tell you, you are ignorant. Sir S. I tell you, I am wise and sapiens dominabitur astris; there's Latin for you to prove it, and an argument to confound your Ephemeris. -Ignorant!-I tell you, I have travelled, old Fercu: and know the globe. I have seen the Antipodes, where the sun rises at mid-night, and sets at noon-day. For. But I tell you, I have travelled, and travelled in the celestial spheres; know the signs and the planets, and their houses: can judge of motions direct and retrograde, of sextiles, quadrates, trines and oppositions; fiery trigons, and aquatical trigons; know whether life shall be long or short, happy or unhappy; whether diseases are curable or incurable; if journies shall be prosperous, undertakings successful, or goods stolen recovered: I know Sir S. How now? Who sent for you, ha? what would you have? For. Nay, if you were but in jest—Who's that fellow? I don't like his physiognomy. Sir S. [To JEREMY.] My son, sir! What son, sir? My son Benjamin, ha? Jer. No, sir; Mr Valentine, my master-It is the first time he has been abroad since his confinement; and he comes to pay his duty to you. Sir S. Well, sir. S. S. I know the length of the emperor of China's foot; have kissed the Great Mogul's slip-it per, and rid a hunting upon an elephant with the A cham of Tartary.-Body o'me, I have made a cuckold of a king; and the present majesty of Bantam is the issue of these loins. For. I know when travellers lie or speak truth, when they don't know it themselves. Sir S. I have known an astrologer made a cuckold in the twinkling of a star; and seen a conjuror, that could not keep the devil out of his wife's circle. For. What, does he twit me with my wife too! I must be better informed of this. [Aside.]—Do you mean my wife, Sir Sampson? Though you made a cuckold of the king of Bantam, yet, by the body of the sun Sir S. By the horns of the moon, you would say, brother Capricorn. For. Capricorn in your teeth, thou modern Mandeville; Ferdinand Mendez Pinto was but a type of thee, thou liar of the first magnitude! Take back your paper of inheritance; send your son to sea again. I'll wed my daughter to an Egyptian mummy, ere she shall incorporate with a contemner of sciences, and a defamer of virtue. Sir S. Body o'me, I have gone too far-I must not provoke honest Albumazar.--An Egyptian mummy is an illustrious creature, my trusty hieroglyphick; and may have significations of futurity about him. Odsbud, I would my son were an Egyptian mummy for thy sake. What, thou art not angry for a jest, my good Haly?—I reverence the sun, moon, and stars, with all my heart.What! I'll make thee a present of a mummy.Now I think on't, body o'me, I have a shoulder of an Egyptian king, that I purloined from one of the pyramids, powdered with hieroglyphicks; thou shalt have it brought home to thy house, and make an entertainment for all the Philomaths, and students in physic and astrology, in and about London. For. But what do you know of my wife, Sir Sampson? Sir S. Thy wife is a constellation of virtues; Enter VALENTINE. Sir S. You've had it already, sir; I think I sent Sir S. Body o' me, so do I.—Hark’e, Valentine, if there be too much, refund the superfluity; dost hear, boy? Val. Superfluity, sir! It will scarce pay my debts. I hope you will have more indulgence, than to oblige me to those hard conditions which my necessity sign'd to. Sir S. Sir! how, I beseech you, what were you pleased to intimate concerning indulgence? Val. Why, sir, that you would not go to the extremity of the conditions, but release me at least from some part. Sir S. O, sir, I understand you-that's all, ha? Val. Yes, sir, all that I presume to ask--But what you, out of fatherly fondness, will be pleased to add, will be doubly welcome. Sir S. No doubt of it, sweet sir; but your filial piety and my fatherly fondness would fit like two tallies.-Here's a rogue, brother Foresight, makes a bargain under hand and seal in the morning, and would be released from it in the afternoon! Here's a rogue, dog; here's conscience and honesty! This is your wit now, this is the morality of your wit! You are a wit, and have been a beau, and may be a- -Why, sirrah, is it not here under hand and seal? Can you deny it? Val. Sir, I don't deny it. Sir S. Sirrah, you'll be hang'd; I shall live to see you go up Holborn-hill-Has he not a rogue's face?-Speak, brother; you understand physiog nomy-a hanging look to me-of all my boys, the most unlike me-He has a damn'd Tyburn face, without the benefit of the clergy. For. Hum-Truly, I don't care to discourage a young man-He has a violent death in his face, but I hope no danger of hanging. Val. Sir, is this usage for your son?-For that old weather-headed fool, I know how to laugh at him; but you, sir above a stink-why there's it, and music-don't you love music, scoundrel? Jer. Yes, I have a reasonable good ear, sir, as Ser S. That's more than I know, sir; and I be- to jiggs and country dances, and the like: I don't lieve not. much matter your solo's or sonata's; they give me the spleen. Val. Faith, I hope not. Sir S. What, would you have your mother a whore? Did you ever hear the like; did you ever hear the like? Body o' me Val. I would have an excuse for your barbarity and unnatural usage. Sir S. Excuse!-Impudence!-Why, sirrah, mayn't I do what I please? are not you my slave? did not I beget you? and might not I have chosen whether I would have begot you or no?Oons, who are you? whence came you? what brought you into the world? how came you here, sir? here, to stand here, upon those two legs, and look erect with that audacious face, hal? Answer me that.-Did you come a volunteer into the world? or did I, with the lawful authority of a parent, press you to the service? Vul. I know no more why I came, than you do why you call'd me. But here I am; and, if you don't mean to provide for me, I desire you would leave me as you found me. Ser S. With all my heart Come, uncase, strip, and go naked out of the world, as you came in to it. Sir S. The spleen! ha, ha, ha! a pox confound you!-Solo's or sonata's! Oons, whose son are you? how were you engender'd, muckworm? Jer. I am, by my father, the son of a chairman; my mother sold oysters in winter, and cucumbers in summer; and I came up stairs into the world; for I was born in a cellar. For. By your looks, you shall go up stairs out of the world too, friend. Sir S. And if this rogue were anatomized now, and dissected, he has his vessels of digestion and concoction, and so forth, large enough for the in-, side of a cardinal-this son of a cucumber !These things are unaccountable and unreasonable.-Body o' me, why was I not a bear, that my cubs might have lived upon sucking their paws! Nature has been provident only to bears and spiders: the one has its nutriment in its own hands; the other spins its habitation out of its own entrails. Val. Fortune was provident enough to supply all the necessities of my nature, if I had my right inheritance. Vul. My clothes are soon put off; but you Sir S. Again!- -Oons, han't you four thou must also divest me of my reason, thought, pas-sand pounds?—If I had it again, I would not sions, inclinations, affections, appetites, senses, and the huge train of attendants that you begot along with me. Sur S. Body of me, what a many-headed monster have I propagated! Val. I am of myself, a plain, easy, simple creature; and to be kept at small expence: but the retinue that you gave me are craving and invincible; they are so many devils that you have raised, and will have employment. Sir S. Oons, what had I to do to get children? -Cann't a private man be born without all these followers? Why, nothing under an emperor should be born with appetites-Why, at this rate, a fellow that has but a groat in his pocket may have a stomach capable of a ten shilling ordi give thee a groat.-What, wouldst thou have me turn pelican, and feed thee out of my own vitals?-Ödsheart, live by your wits-you were always fond of the wits.-Now let's see if you have wit enough to keep yourself.-Your brother will be in town to-night, or to-morrow morning; and then look you perform covenants; and so your friend and servant.-Come, brother Foresight. [Exeunt Sir SAMPSON and FORESIGHT. Jer. I told you what your visit would come to. Vat. 'Tis as much as I expected. I did not come to see him: I came to see Angelica; but since she was gone abroad, it was easily turn'd another way, and at least look'd well on my side. -What's here? Mrs Foresight and Mrs Frail! They are earnest; I'll avoid them.-Come this way, and go and enquire when Angelica will return. [Exeunt. Enter Mrs FORESIGHT and Mrs FRAIL. Mrs F. What have you to do to watch me? 'Slife, I'll do what I please. Mrs For. You will? Jer. By the provision that's made for me, you might have begot me too-Nay, and to tell your Mrs F. Yes, marry, will I.-A great piece of worship another truth, I believe you did; for I business to go to Covent-Garden, to take a tura find I was born with those same whoreson appe-in a hackney-coach with one's friend! tites too that my master speaks of. Mrs For. Nay, two or three turns, I'll take Sir S. Why, look you there now!-I'll main-my oath. tain it, that, by the rule of right reason, this fellow ought to have been born without a palate. 'Sheart, what should he do with a distinguishing taste?—I warrant now, he'd rather cat a pheasant than a piece of poor John-And smell now; why, I warrant he can smell, and loves perfumes Mrs F. Well, what if I took twenty?—I warrant, if you had been there, it had only been innocent recreation.-Lord, where's the comfort of this life, if we cann't have the happiness of conversing where we like? Mrs For. But cann't you converse at home? I own it, I think there's no happiness like conversing with an agreeable man; I don't quarrel at that, nor I don't think but your conversation was very innocent. But the place is public; and to be seen with a man in a hackney-coach is scandalous. What if any body else should have seen you alight, as I did? How can any body be happy, while they are in perpetual fear of being seen and censured? Besides, it would not only reflect upon you, sister, but on me. Mrs F. Pooh, here's a clutter! Why should it reflect upon you?-I don't doubt but you have thought yourself happy in a hackney-coach be fore now. If I had gone to Knightsbridge, or to Chelsea, or to Spring-garden, or to Barn-elms, with a man alone-something might have been said. Mrs For. Why, was I ever in any of those places? What do you mean, sister? Mrs F. Was I? What do you mean? Mrs For. You have been at a worse place. Mrs F. I at a worse place! and with a man? Mis For. I suppose you would not go alone to the World's-end. Mrs F. The World's-end! What, do you mean to banter me? Mis For. Poor innocent! you don't know that there is a place call'd the World's-end. I'll swear you can keep your countenance purely; you'd make an admirable player. Mrs F. I'll swear you have a great deal of confidence, and in my mind too much for the stage Mrs For. Very well, that will appear who has most. You never were at the World's-end? Mrs F. No. Mrs For. You deny it positively to my face? Mrs F. Your face! What's your face? Mrs For. No matter for that; it's as good a face as yours. Mrs F. Not by a dozen years wearing. But I do deny it positively to your face then. Mrs For. I'll allow you now to find fault with my face; for I'll swear your impudence has put me out of countenance.- -But look you here now; where did you lose this gold bodkin?-O, sister, sister! Mrs F. My bodkin! Mrs For. Nay, 'tis yours; look at it. Mrs F. Well, if you go to that, where did you find this bodkin?-O, sister, sister!-sister every way! Mrs For. O, devil on't! that I could not discover her without betraying myself! [Aside. Mrs F. I have heard gentlemen say, sister, that one should take great care, when one makes a thrust in fencing, not to lay open one's self. Mrs For. It is very true, sister. Well, since all's out, and, as you say, since we are both wounded, let us do what is often done in duels, take care of one another, and grow better friends than before. Mrs F. With all my heart.-Ours are but elight flesh wounds; and, if we keep them from air, not at all dangerous.-Well, give me your hand, in token of sisterly secrecy and affection. Mrs For. Here it is, with all my heart. Mrs F. Well, as an earnest of friendship and confidence, I'll acquaint you with a design that I have.-To tell truth, and speak openly to one another, I am afraid the world have observed us more than we have observed one another. You have a rich husband, and are provided for: I am at a loss, and have no great stock either of fortune or reputation, and therefore must look sharply about me. Sir Sampson has a son, that is expected to-night; and, by the account I have heard of his education, can be no conjuror. The estate, you know, is to be made over to him.Now, if I could wheedle him, sister, ha? you understand me? Mrs For. I do; and will help you, to the utmost of my power-And I can tell you one thing that falls out luckily enough; my awkward daughter-in-law, who, you know, is designed to be his wife, is grown fond of Mr Tattle; now, if we can improve that, and make her have an aversion for the booby, it may gó a great way towards his liking you. Here they come together; and let us contrive some way or other to leave them together. Enter TATTLE and Miss PRUE. Miss P. Mother, mother, mother, look you here! Mrs For. Fie, fic, miss, how you bawl!-Besides, I have told you, you must not call me mo ther. Miss P. What must I call you then? are you not my father's wife? Mrs For. Madam; you must say madam-By my soul, I shall fancy myself old indeed, to have this great girl call me mother.-Well, but, miss, what are you so overjoy'd at ? Miss P. Look you here, madam, then, what Mr Tattle has given me-Look you here, cousin; here's a snuff-box; nay, there's snuff in't-here, will you have any?-Ö, good! how sweet it is! Mr Tattle is all over sweet; his peruke is sweet, and his gloves are sweet-and his handkerchief is sweet, pure sweet, sweeter than roses-Smell him, mother-madam, I mean-He gave me this ring for a kiss. Tat. O fie, miss! you must not kiss and tell, Miss P. Yes; I may tell my mother-and he says he will give me something to make me smell so-O, pray lend me your handkerchief-Smell, cousin ; he says he'll give me something that will make my smocks smell this way-Is not it pure? It's better than lavender, mun-I'm resolved I won't let nurse put any more lavender among my smocks-ha, cousin? Mrs F. Fie, miss! amongst your linen, you must say; you must never say smock. Miss P. Why, it is not bawdy, is it, cousin? Tat. O, madam, you are too severe upon miss: you must not find fault with her pretty simplici ty; it becomes her strangely.—Pretty miss, don't let them persuade you out of your innocency. Mrs For. O, dem you, toad! I wish you don't persuade her out of her innocency. Tat. Who I, madam? O Lord, how can your ladyship have such a thought?--Sure don't know me. you Mrs F. Ah, devil, sly devil!-He's as close, sister, as a confessor-He thinks we don't observe him. Mrs For. A cunning cur!-How soon he could find out a fresh, harmless creature-and left us, sister, presently! Tat. Upon reputation— Mrs F. They're all so, sister, these men-they love to have the spoiling of a young creature; they are as fond of it as of being in the first fashion, or of seeing a new play the first day.I warrant it would break Mr Tattle's heart, to think that any body else should be before-hand with him. Tat. O Lord! I swear I would not for the world Mrs F. O, hang you! who'll believe you?You'll be hang'd before you'd confess-we know you-she's very pretty-Lord, what pure red and white-she looks so wholesome-Ne'er stirI don't know; but I fancy, if I were a man Miss P. How you love to jeer one, cousin. Mrs For. Hark'e, sister-by my soul, the girl is spoil'd already-D'ye think she'll ever endure a great lubberly tarpawlin?-Gad, I warrant you she won't let him come near her, after Mr Tattle. Mrs F. On my soul, I'm afraid not-ch! filthy creature, that smells all of pitch and tar!Devil take you, you confounded toad-why did you see her before she was married? Mrs For. Nay, why did we let him?-My husband will hang us-he'll think we brought them acquainted. Mrs F. Come, faith, let us be gone-If my brother Foresight should find us with them, he'd think so, sure enough. Mrs For. So he would-But then the leaving them together is as bad-and he's such a sly devil, he'll never miss an opportunity. Mrs F. I don't care; I won't be seen in it. Mrs For. Well, if you should, Mr Tattle, you'll have a world to answer for: remember, I wash my hands of it; I'm thoroughly innocent. [Exeunt Mrs FRAIL and Mrs FORESIGHT. Miss P. What makes them go away, Mr Tattle? What do they mean, do you know? Tat. Yes, my dear, I think I can guess; but hang me if I know the reason of it. Miss P. Come, must not we go too? Tat. No, no; they don't mean that. Miss P. No! what then? What shall you and I do together? Tut. I must make love to you, pretty misswill you let me make love to you? MS P. Yes, if you please. Tut. Frank, egad, at least.-What a pox does Mrs Foresight mean by this civility? Is it to make a fool of me? or does she leave us together out of good morality, and do as she would be done by-Egad, I'll understand it so. [Aside. Miss P. Well, and how will you make love to me?-Come, I long to have you begin. Must I make love too?-You must tell me how. Tat. You must let me speak, miss; you must not speak first. I must ask you questions, and you must answer. Miss P. What, is it like the catechism? Tat. D'ye think you can love me? Tat. Pooh, pox! you must not say yes already. I sha'n't care a farthing for you then, in a twinkling. Miss P. What must I say then? Tat. Why, you must say no; or, believe not; or, you cann't tell. Miss P. Why, must I tell a lie then? Tat. Yes, if you'd be well-bred. All well-bred persons lie-Besides, you are a woman; you must never speak what you think: your words must contradict your thoughts; but your actions may contradict your words. So, when I ask you if you can love me, you must say no; but you must love me too. If I tell you you are handsome, you must deny it, and say I flatter you; but you must think yourself more charming than I speak you, and like me for the beauty which I say you have, as much as if I had it myself. If I ask you to kiss me, you must be angry; but you must not refuse If I ask you for more, you must be more angry, but more complying; and as soon as ever I make you say you'll cry out, you must be sure to hold your tongue. me. Miss P. O Lord, I swear this is pure! I like it better than our old-fashion'd country way of speaking one's mind.—And must not you lie too? Tat. Hum-Yes; but you must believe I speak truth. Miss P. O Gemini! Well, I always had a great mind to tell lies-but they frighten'd me, and said it was a sin. Tut. Well, my pretty creature, will you make me happy by giving me a kiss? Miss P. No, indeed; I'm angry at you! [Runs and kisses him. Tat. Hold, hold, that's pretty well-but you should not have given it me, but have suffer'd me to have taken it. Miss P. Well, we'll do it again. Tat. With all my heart-Now then, my little angel! [Kisses her. Miss P. Pish! Tat. That's right-Again, my charmer ! [Kisses again. Miss P. O fie! Nay, now I cann't abide you. Tat. Admirable! That was as well as if you had been born and bred in Covent-Garden.-Ånd won't you shew me, pretty miss, where your bedchamber is? Miss P. No, indeed, won't I ; but I'll run there, and hide myself from you behind the curtains. Tat. I'll follow you. Miss P. Ah, but I will hold the door with both hands, and be angry; and you shall push me down before you come in. Tat. No, I'll come in first, and push you down afterwards. Miss P. Will you? Then I'll be more angry, and more complying. Tat. Then I'll make you cry out. Miss P. O, but you sha'n't; for I'll hold my Longue. Tat. O, my dear apt scholar! Tut. You shall not fly so fast as I'll pursue. [Exeunt. SCENE I. Nurse alone. ACT III. Tat. [Coming up.] Scandal, are you in private discourse? Any thing of secrecy? [Aside to SCANDAL. Scan. Yes; but I dare trust you. We were talking of Angelica's love to Valentine: you won't speak of it? Tat. No, no, not a syllable-I know that's a secret, for it is whisper'd every where. Sean. Ha, ha, ha! Nurse. Miss, Miss, Miss Prue!-Mercy on me, marry, and amen!-Why, what's become of the child?-Why, Miss, Miss Foresight!-Sure she has lock'd herself up in her chamber, and gone to sleep, or to prayers!-Miss, miss!—I hear her. -Come to your father, child.-Open the door; open the door, miss!-I hear you cry husht.O Lord, who's there? [Peeps.] What's here to do?-O the father! a man with her!--Why, miss, I say!-God's my life, here's fine doings towards!-O Lord, we're all undone !—O you Tat. No, madam; his love for your ladyship young harlotry!-[Knocks.]—Ods my life, won't-Gad take me, I beg your pardon; for I never you open the door?-I'll come in the back way. heard a word of your ladyship's passion till this instant. [Exit. Enter TATTLE and Miss PRUE. Miss P. O Lord, she's coming; and she'll tell iny father! What shall I do now? Tat. Pox take ber! If she had staid two minutes longer, I should have wish'd for her coming. Miss P. O dear, what shall I say? Tell me, Mr Tattle, tell me a lie. Tat. There's no occasion for a lie; I could never tell a lie to no purpose-But, since we have done nothing, we must say nothing, I think. I hear her. I'll leave you together; and come off as you can. [Thrusts her in, and shuts the door. Enter VALENTINE, SCANDAL, and ANGELICA. Ang. You cann't accuse me of inconstancy; I never told you that I loved you. Val. But I can accuse you of uncertainty, for not telling me whether you did or not. Ang. You mistake indifference for uncertainty; I never had concern enough to ask myself the question. Sean. Nor good-nature enough to answer him that did ask you: I'll say that for you, madam. Ang. What, are you setting up for good-na ture? Scan. Only for the affectation of it, as the women do for ill-nature. Ang. Persuade your friend that it is all affec tation. Scan. I shall receive no benefit from the opinion; for I know no effectual difference between Continued affectation and reality. Ang. What is, Mr Tattle? I heard you say something was whisper'd every where. Scan. Your love for Valentine. Ang. How! Ang. My passion !—And who told you of my passion, pray, sir? it Scan. Why, is the devil in you? did not I tell you for a secret? Tat. Gadso; but I thought she might have been trusted with her own affairs. Scan. Is that your discretion? trust a woman with herself? Tat. You say true; I beg your pardon—I'll bring all off.-It was impossible, madam, for me to imagine that a person of your ladyship's wit and gallantry could have so long received the passionate addresses of the accomplish'd Valentine, and yet remain insensible: therefore you will pardon me, if, from a just weight of his merit, with your ladyship's good judgment, I form'd the balance of a reciprocal affection. Vat. O, the devil! What damn'd costive poet has given thee this lesson of fustian to get by rote? Ang. I dare swear you wrong him; it is his own; and Mr Tattle only judges of the success of others from the effects of his own merit; for certainly Mr Tattle was never denied any thing in his life. Tat. O Lord! yes, indeed, madam, several times. Ang. I swear I don't think it is possible. Tat. Yes, I vow and swear, I have. Lord, madam, I'm the most unfortunate man in the world, and the most cruelly used by the ladies. Ang. Nay, now you're ungrateful. Tat. No, I hope not.-It is as much ingratitude to own some favours, as to conceal others. Val. There, now it is out, |