Lure. You're a fool, child! obferve this, that tho' a woman fwear, forfwear, lie, diffemble, back-bite, be proud, vain, malicious, any thing, if fhe fecures the main chance, fhe's ftill virtuous; that's a maxim.

Par. I can't be perfuaded tho', madam, but that you really lov'd Sir Harry Wildair in Paris.

Lure. Of all the lovers I ever had, he was my greatest plague, for I cou'd never make him uneafy: I left him involv'd in a duel upon my account: I long to know whether the fop be kill'd or not.

Enter Standard.

O Lord! no fooner talk of killing, but the foldier is conjur❜d up. You're upon hard duty, colonel, to serve your king, your country, and a mistress too.

Stand. The latter, I must confefs, is the hardeft; for in war, madam, we can be reliev'd in our duty; but in love, who wou'd take our poft, is our enemy; emulation in glory is tranfporting, but rivals here intolerable.

Lure. Thofe that bear away the prize in the field, fhould boast the fame fuccefs in the bed-chamber; and I think, confidering the weakness of our fex, we fhou'd make thofe our companions who can be our champions.

Stand. I once, madam, hop'd the honour of defending you from all injuries, thro' a title to your lovely perfon, but now my love must attend my fortune. My commiffion, madam, was my pafs-port to the fair; adding a noblenefs to my paffion, it ftampt a value in my love; 'twas once the life of honour, but now its winding-fheet, and with it must my love be buried. Par. What! difbanded, colonel?

Stand. Yes, Mrs. Parly.

Par. Faugh, the naufeous fellow! he ftinks of poverty already.

[Afide.

Lure. His misfortune troubles me, 'cause it may prevent my defigns.

[Afide.

Stand. I'll chufe, madam, rather to deftroy my paffon by abfence abroad, than have it starv'd at home. Lure. I'm forry, fir, you have fo mean an opinion of my affection, as to imagine it founded upon your fortune. And to convince you of your mistake, here. I

vow by all that's facred, I own the fame affection now as before. Let it fuffice, my fortune is confiderable.

Stand. No, madam no; I'll never be a charge to her I love! the man that fells himself for gold, is the worst of prostitutes.

Lure. Now were he any other creature but a man, I cou'd love him.

[Afide. Stand. This only laft requeft I make, that no title recommend a fool, no office introduce a knave, nor coat a coward, to my place in your affections; fo farewell my country, and adieu my love.

[Exit. Lure. Now the devil take thee for being fo honourable here, Parly, call him back, I fhall lofe half my diverfion elfe. Now for a trial of skill. [Re-enter Colonel. Sir, I hope you'll pardon my curiosity:

When do you take your journey?

Stand. To-morrow morning, early, madam.

Lure. So fuddenly! which way are you defign'd to travel?

Stand. That I can't yet refolve on.

Lure. Pray, fir, tell me; pray, fir; I intreat you; why are you so obstinate!

Stand. Why are you fo curious, madam?

Lure. Because

Stand. What!

Lure. Becaufe, I, I,

Stand. Becaufe! what, madam?-Pray tell me.

Lure. Because I defign to follow you.

[Crying.

Stand. Follow me! by all that's great, I ne'er was proud before.

But fuch love from fuch a creature

Might fwell the vanity of the proudest prince.'
Follow me! by Heavens thou shalt not.

What! expofe thee to the hazards of a camp--
Rather I'll stay, and here

Bear the contempt of fools, and worst of fortune.'
Lure. You need not, fhall not; my estate for both is
Lufficient.

Stand. Thy eftate! no, I'll turn a knave, and pur¬ chafe one myself; I'll cringe to the proud man I undermine, and fawn on him that I wou'd bite to death; I'll tip my tongue with flattery, and smooth my face with

fmiles; I'll turn pimp, informer, office-broker, nay coward, to be great; and facrifice it all to thee, my generous fair.

Lure. And I'll diffemble, lie, fwear, jilt, any thing, but I'll reward thy love, and recompenfe thy noble paffion.

Stand. Sir Harry, ha, ha, ha! poor Sir Harry, ha, ha, ha! rather kifs her hand, than the Pope's toe, ha, ha, ha!

Lure. What Sir Harry, Colonel! What Sir Harry! Stand. Sir Harry Wildair, madam.

Lure. What! is he come over?

Stand. Ay, and he told me-but I don't believe a fyllable on't.

Lure. What did he tell you?

Stand. Only called you his miftrefs, and pretending to be extravagant in your commendation, would vainly infinuate the praise of his own judgment and good fortune in a choice..

Lure. How eafily is the vanity of fops tickled by our fex!

Stand. Why, your fex is the vanity of fops.

Lure. On my confcience, I believe fo. This gentleman, because he danc'd well, I pitch'd on for a partner at a ball in Paris, and ever fince he has fo perfecuted me with letters, fongs, dances, ferenading, flattery, foppery, and noife, that I was forc'd to fly the kingdom--and I warrant you he made you jealous.

Stand. Faith, madam, I was a little uneasy.

Lure. You fhall have a plentiful revenge; I'll fend him back all his foolish letters, fongs and verfes, and you yourself fhall carry 'em; 'twill afford you opportu nity of triumphing, and free me from his farther impertinence; for of all men he's my averfion. I'll run and fetch them inftantly.

Stand. Dear madam, a rare project! How fhall I bait him like Acteon with his own dogs!--Well, Mrs. Parly, it is ordered by act of parliament, that you receive no more pieces, Mrs. Parly..

Par. 'Tis provided by the fame act, that you fend no more meflages by me, good Colonel; you must not pretend to fend any more letters, unless you can pay the postage.

Stand.

Stand. Come, come, don't be mercenary; take example by your lady, be honourable.

Par. A-lack-a-day, fir, it fhews as ridiculous and haughty for us to imitate our betters in their honour, as in their finery; leave honour to nobility that can fupport it: We poor folks, colonel, have no pretence to't; and truly, I think, fir, that your honour fhould be cafhier'd with your leading-staff.

Stand. 'Tis one of the greatest curfes of poverty, to be the jeft of chambermaids!

Enter Lurewell.

Lure. Here's the packet, colonel; the whole magazine of love's artillery. [Gives him the packet. Stand. Which fince I have gain'd, I will turn upon the enemy. Madam, I'll bring you the news of my victory this evening. Poor Sir Harry, ha, ha, ha! [Exit.

Lure. To the right about as you were; march colo. nel! ha, ha, ha!

• Vain man, who boasts of study'd parts and wiles ! • Nature in us, your deepest art beguiles,

Stamping deep cunning in our frowns and fmiles. •You toil for art, your intellects you trace;

• Woman, without a thought, bears policy in her face."

}

ACT II. SCENE, Clincher Junior's Lodgings.

Enter Clincher opening a Letter, Servant following.

reads.

-

Dear Brother,

Clin. Will fee you prefently; I bave fent this lad to wait on you, he can instruct you in the fashions of the town; I am your affectionate brother,

Very well, and what's your name, fir?

Dick. My name is Dicky, fir?

Clin. Dicky!

Dick. Ay, Dicky, fir.

Clincher.

Clin. Very well, a pretty name! And what can you

do, Mr. Dicky?

Dick. Why, fir, I can powder a wig, and pick up a whore.

Clin. O Lord! O Lord! A whore! Why are there many whores in this town?

Dick. Ha, ha, ha! many whores? There's a question indeed; why, fir, there are above five hundred furgeons in town.-Hark'e, fir, do you fee that woman there in the velvet scarf, and red knots?

Clin. Ay, fir, what then?

Dick. Why the fhall be at your fervice in three minutes, as I'm a pimp.

Clin. O Jupiter Ammon! Why fhe's a gentlewoman. Dick. A gentlewoman! fo are all the whores in town, fir.

Enter Clincher senior.

Clin. fen. Brother, you're welcome to London!

Clin. jun. I thought, brother, you ow'd fo much to the memory of my father, as to wear mourning for his

death.

Clin. fen. Why fo I do, fool; I wear this because I have the eftate, and you wear that, because you have not the estate. You have cause to mourn indeed, brother. Well, brother, I'm glad to fee you, fare you well.

[Going. Clin. jun. Stay, ftay, brother; where are you going? Clin. fen. How natural 'tis for a country booby to afk impertinent questions. Hark'e, fir, is not my father dead?

Clin. jun. Ay, ay, to my forrow.

Clin. fen. No matter for that, he's dead; and am not I a young powder'd extravagant English heir?

Clin. jun. Very right, fir.

Clin. Jen. Why then, fir, you may be fure that I am going to the Jubilee, fir."

Clin. jun. Jubilee! What's that?

Clin. Jen. Jubilee! Why the Jubilee is--faith, I don't know what it is.

Dick. Why, the Jubilee is the fame thing with our Lord Mayor's day in the city; there will be pageants, and quibs, and raree shows, and all that, fir.

Clin. jun. And must you go so soon, brother?