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SCENE V.

FORESIGHT and Sir SAMPSON with a paper.

Sir Samp. Nor no more to be done, old boy; that's plain. Here 'tis, I have it in my hand, old Ptolomee; I'll make the ungracious prodigal know who begat him; I will, old Nostrodamus. What, I warrant my son thought nothing belonged to a father but forgiveness and affection; no authority, no correction, no arbitrary power; nothing to be done, but for him to offend, and me to pardon. I warrant you, if he danced till doomsday, he thought I was to pay the piper. Well, but here it is under black and white, signatum, sigillatum, and deliberatum; that as soon as my son Benjamin is arrived, he is to make over to him his right of inheritance. Where's my daughter that is to beha! old Merlin! body o'me, I'm so glad I'm revenged on this undutiful rogue.

Fore. Odso, let me see; let me see the paper.Ay, faith and troth, here 'tis, if it will but hold. I wish things were done, and the conveyance made. When was this signed, what hour? Odso, you should have consulted me for the time. Well, but we'll make haste.

Sir Samp. Haste, ay, ay; haste enough, my son Ben will be in town to night.-I have ordered my lawyer to draw up writings of settlement and jointure-all shall be done to-night. No matter for the time: prithee, brother Foresight, leave superstition. Pox o'th' time! there's no time but the time present, there's no more to be said of what's past, and all that is to come will happen. If the sun shine by day, and the stars by night, why, we shall know one another's faces without the help of a candle, and that's all the stars are good for.

Fore. How, how, Sir Sampson? that all? Give me leave to contradict you, and tell you, you are ignorant.

Sir Samp. 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 Fircu, and know the globe. I have seen the antipodes, where the sun rises at midnight, and sets at noonday.

Fore. [Aside.] What, does he twit me with my wife too? I must be better informed of this.[Aloud.] 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 Samp. By the horns of the moon, you would say, brother Capricorn.

Fore. 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 Samp. [Aside.] Body o'me, I have gone too far;-I must not provoke honest Albumazar.— [Aloud.] An Egyptian mummy is an illustrious creature, my trusty hieroglyphic; 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 hieroglyphics; 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.

Fore. But what do you know of my wife, sir Sampson?

Sir Samp. Thy wife is a constellation of virtues ; she's the moon, and thou art the man in the moon: nay, she is more illustrious than the moon; for she has her chastity without her inconstancy; 'sbud I was but in jest.

SCENE VI.

FORESIGHT, Sir SAMPSON, and JEREMY. Sir Samp. How now, who sent for you? ha! what would you have?

[JEREMY whispers Sir SAMPSON. Fore. Nay, if you were but in jest-Who's that fellow? I don't like his physiognomy.

Sir Samp. [To JEREMY.] My son, sir; what son, sir? my son Benjamin, hoh?

Fore. But I tell you, I have travelled, and travelled in the celestial spheres, know the signs Jer. No, sir; Mr. Valentine, my master.-'Tis and the planets, and their houses. Can judge of the first time he has been abroad since his confinemotions direct and retrograde, of sextiles, quad-ment, and he comes to pay his duty to you. rates, trines and oppositions, fiery trigons and quatical trigons. Know whether life shall be long

short, happy or unhappy, whether diseases are curable or incurable. If journeys shall be prosperous, undertakings successful; or goods stolen recovered, I know

Sir Samp. I know the length of the emperor of China's foot; have kissed the Great Mogul's slipper, and rid a hunting upon an elephant with the 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.

Fore. I know when travellers lie or speak truth, when they don't know it themselves.

Sir Samp. I have known an astrologer made a cuckold in the twinkling of a star; and seen a conjurer that could not keep the devil out of his wife's circle.

Sir Samp. Well, sir.

SCENE VII.

FORESIGHT, Sir SAMPSON, VALENTINE, and JEREMY, Jer. He is here, sir.

Val. Your blessing, sir.

Sir Samp. You've had it already, sir. I think I sent it you to-day in a bill of four thousand pounds.-A great deal of money, brother Foresight.

Fore. Ay, indeed, sir Sampson, a great deal of money for a young man; I wonder what he can do with it.

Sir Samp. Body o'me, so do I.-Hark ye, Valentine, if there be too much, refund the superfluity; dost hear, boy? P 2

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 signed to.

Sir Samp. 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 Samp. Oh, 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 shall be doubly welcome.

Sir Samp. 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 wits! 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 Samp. Sirrah, you'll be hanged; I shall live to see you go up Holborn-hill.-Has he not a rogue's face?-Speak, brother, you understand physiognomy, a hanging look to me ;-of all my boys the most unlike me; he has a damned Tyburnface, without the benefit o' the clergy.

Fore. 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

Sir Samp. You, sir; and you, sir ;—why, who are you, sir?

Val. Your son, sir.

Sir Samp. That's more than I know, sir, and I believe not.

Val. Faith, I hope not.

Sir Samp. 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 Samp. 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, hah? 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?

Val. I know no more why I came than you do why you called 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.

Sir Samp. With all my heart: come, uncase, strip, and go naked out of the world as you came into't.

Val. My clothes are soon put off;-but you must also divest me of reason, thought, passions, inclinations, affections, appetites, senses, and the huge train of attendants that you begot along with me.

Sir Samp. Body o'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 expense; but the retinue that you gave me are craving and invin cible; they are so many devils that you have raised, and will have employment.

Sir Samp. 'Oons, what had I to do to get children! can'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 ordinary. Jer. Nay, that's as clear as the sun; I'll make oath of it before any justice in Middlesex.

Sir Samp. Here's a cormorant too.-'S'heart, this fellow was not born with you?-I did not beget him, did I?

Jer. By the provision that's made for me, you might have begot me too:-nay, and to tell your worship another truth, I believe you did, for I find I was born with those same whoreson appetites too that my master speaks of.

Sir Samp. Why, look you there now-I'll maintain it, that by the rule of right reason, this fellow ought to have been born without a palate.-'S'heart, what should he do with a distinguishing taste?I warrant now he'd rather eat a pheasant than a piece of poor John: and smell now-why, I warrant he can smell, and loves perfumes 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 to jigs and country dances, and the like; I don't much matter your solos or sonatas; they give me the spleen.

Sir Samp. The spleen, ha ha! ha! a pox confound you !-solos or sonatas ? 'Oons, whose son are you? how were you engendered, 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

Fore. By your looks, you should go up stairs but of the world too, friend.

Sir Samp. And if this rogue were anatomised now, and dissected, he has his vessels of digestion and concoction, and so forth, large enough for the inside of a cardinal, this son of a cucumber!--These things are unaccountable and unreasonable.-Body o'me, why was not I 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 his own hands, and t'other spins his habitation out of his own entrails.

Val. Fortune was provident enough to supply all the necessities of my nature, if I had my right of inheritance.

Sir Samp. Again! 'Oons, han't you four thousand pounds-if I had it again, I would not give thee a groat.-What, wouldst thou have me turn pelican, and feed thee out of my own vitals?'S'heart, 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.

SCENE VIII.

VALENTINE and JEREMY,

Jer. I told you what your visit would come to. Val. 'Tis as much as I expected.—I did not come to see him: I came to Angelica; but since she was gone abroad it was easily turned another way; and at least looked well on my side.-What's here? Mrs. Foresight and Mrs. Frail; they are earnest. I'll avoid 'em.-Come this way, and go and inquire when Angelica will return.

SCENE IX.

Mrs. FORESIGHT and Mrs. FRAIL.

Frail. What have you to do to watch me ! 'slife, I'll do what I please.

Mrs. Fore. You will?

Frail. Yes, marry will I.-A great piece of business to go to Covent-Garden square in a hackney-coach, and take a turn with one's friend!

Mrs. Fore. Nay, two or three turns, I'll take my oath.

Frail. Well, what if I took twenty?—I warrant if you had been there, it had been only innocent recreation.-Lord, where's the comfort of this life, if we can't have the happiness of conversing where we like?

Mrs. Fore. But can'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 anybody else should have seen you alight, as I did?-How can anybody be happy, while they're in perpetual fear of being seen and censured?-Besides, it would not only reflect upon you, sister, but me.

Frail. 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 before now. If I had gone to Knightsbridge, or to Chelsea, or to Spring Garden, or Barn Elms, with a man alone-something might have been said.

Mrs. Fore. Why, was I ever in any of those places? what do you mean, sister?

Frail. Was I? what do you mean?

Mrs. Fore. You have been at a worse place. Frail. I at a worse place, and with a man! Mrs. Fore. I suppose you would not go alone to the World's-End,

Frail. The world's-end! what, do you mean to banter me?

Mrs. Fore. Poor innocent! you don't know that there's a place called the World's-End? I'll swear you can keep your countenance purely, you'd make an admirable player.

Frail. I'll swear you have a great deal of confidence, and in my mind too much for the stage. Mrs. Fore. Very well, that will appear who has most; you never were at the World's-End" Frail. No.

Mrs. Fore. You deny it positively to my face? Frail. Your face! what's your face?

Mrs. Fore. No matter for that, it's as good a face as yours.

Frail. Not by a dozen years' wearing. But I do deny it positively to your face then.

Mrs. Fore. I'll allow you now to find fault with my face;-for I'li swear your impudence has put me out of countenance :-but look you here now, -where did you lose this gold bodkin ?—O sister, sister!

Frail. My bodkin?

Mrs. Fere. Nay, 'tis yours, look at it.

Frail. Well, if you go to that, where did you find this bodkin?-O, sister, sister!-sister every way.

Mrs. Fore. [Aside.] O devil on't, that I could not discover her without betraying myself!

Frail. I have heard gentlemen say, sister, that one should take great care, when one makes a thrust in fencing, not to lie open one's self.

Mrs. Fore. It's 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.

Frail. With all my heart: ours are but slight flesh wounds, and if we keep 'em from air, not at all dangerous: well, give me your hand in token of sisterly secrecy and affection.

Mrs. Fore. Here 'tis with all my heart.

Frail. Well, as an earnest of friendship and confidence, I'll acquaint you with a design that I have. To tell truth, and speak openly one to another, I'm 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. Sampson has a son that is expected to-night; and by the account I have heard of his education, can be no conjurer; the estate you know is to be mado over to him :-now if I could wheedle him, sister, ha? you understand me?

Sir

Mrs. Fore. 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 daughterin-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 go a great way towards his liking you. Here they come together; and let us contrive some way or other to leave 'em together.

SCENE X.

Mrs. FORESIGHT, Mrs. FRAIL, TATTLE, and Miss PRUE. Prue. Mother, mother, mother, look you here ! Mrs. Fore. Fy, fy, miss! how you bawl.Besides, I have told you, you must not call me mother.

Prue. What must I call you then? are you not my father's wife?

Mrs. Fore. 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 overjoyed at ?

Prue. 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?-Oh 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 fy, miss! you must not kiss and tell.

Prue. Yes; I may tell my mother.-And he says he'll give me something to make me smell so. -[To TATTLE.] Oh 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, munI'm resolved I wont let nurse put any more lavender among my smocks-ha, cousin?

Frail. Fy, miss! amongst your linen, you must say; you must never say smock.

Prue. Why, it is not bawdy, is it, cousin? Tat. Oh, madam, you are too severe upon miss; you must not find fault with her pretty simplicity, it becomes her strangely.-Pretty miss, don't let 'em persuade you out of your innocency.

Mrs. Fore. Oh, demm you, toad!--I wish you don't persuade her out of her innocency.

Tat. Who I, madam ?-Oh Lord, how can your ladyship have such a thought-sure you don't know me?

Frail. Ah, devil! sly devil! — He's as close, sister, as a confessor.-He thinks we don't observe him.

Mrs. Fore. A cunning cur! how soon he could find out a fresh harmless creature! and left us, sister, presently.

Tat. Upon reputation

Mrs. Fore. They're all so, sister, these men :-they love to have the spoiling of a young thing, they are as fond of it, as of being first in the fashion, or of seeing a new play the first day.-I warrant it would break Mr. Tattle's heart, to think that anybody else should be beforehand with him. Tat. Oh Lord, I swear I would not for the world

Frail. O hang you! who'll believe you?--You'd be hanged before you'd confess-we know you-she's very pretty!-Lord, what pure red and white-she looks so wholesome ;-ne'er stir, I don't know, but I fancy, if I were a man

Prue. How you love to jeer one, cousin! Mrs. Fore. Hark ye, sister.-By my soul the girl is spoiled already-d'ye think she'll ever endure a great lubberly tarpaulin!-gad, I warrant you, she won't let him come near her, after Mr. Tattle.

Frail. O' my soul, I'm afraid not-eh!-filthy creature, that smells all of pitch and tar.-[To TATTLE.] Devil take you, you confounded toad! -why did you see her before she was married ?

Mrs. Fore. Nay, why did we let him?-My husband will hang us ;-he'll think we brought 'em acquainted.

Frail. Come, faith, let us be gone.-If my brother Foresight should find us with them, he'd think so, sure enough.

Mrs. Fore. So he would-but then leaving 'em together is as bad.--And he's such a sly devil. he'll never miss an opportunity.

Frail. I don't care; I won't be seen in't. Mrs. Fore. Well, if you should, Mr. Tattle, you'll have a world to answer for ;-remember I wash my hands of it--I'm throughly innocent.

SCENE XI..

TATTLE and Miss PRUE.

Prue. What makes 'em 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. Prue. Come, must not we go too?

Tat. No, no, they don't mean that. Prue. No what then? what shall you and I do together?

Tat. I must make love to you, pretty miss; will you let me make love to you? Prue. Yes, if you please.

Tat. [Aside.] 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 ?-Gad, I'll understand it so.

Prue. 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

Prue. What, is it like the catechism?-come then, ask me.

Tat. D'ye think you can love me?

Prue. Yes.

Tat. Pooh! pox! you must not say yes already; I shan't care a farthing for you then in a twinkling.

Prue. What must I say then?

Tat. Why, you must say no, or you believe not, or you can't tell.

Prue. 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 me. 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.

Prue. O Lord, I swear this is pure !-I like it better than our old-fashioned country way of speaking one's mind; - and must not you lie

too?

Tat. Hum!-Yes; but you must believe I speak truth.

Prue. O Gemini! well, I always had a great mind to tell lies; but they frighted me. and said it was a sin.

Tat. Well, my pretty creature; will you make me happy by giving me a kiss? Prue. 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 suffered me

to have taken it.

Prue. Well, we'll do't again.

Tat. With all my heart.-Now, then, my little angel! [Kisses her.

Prue. Pish!
Tat. That's right--again, my charmer!

[Kisses again. Prue. O fy! nay, now I can't abide you. Tat. Admirable! that was as well as if you had been born and bred in Covent-garden. And won't you show me, pretty miss, where your bedchamber is?

Prue. No, indeed won't I; but I'll run there and hide myself from you behind the curtains. Tat. I'll follow you.

Prue. Ah, but I'll 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.

Prue. Will you? then I'll be more angry, and more complying.

Tat. Then I'll make you cry out.

Prue. Oh, but you shan't; for I'll hold my tongue.

Tat. Oh, my dear apt scholar!

Prue. Well, now I'll run, and make more haste than you.

Tat. You shall not fly so fast as I'll pursue.

[Exeunt.

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SCENE I.-The Gallery adjoining PRUE'S
Bedchamber.
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 locked 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 Hush!-O Lord, who's there?— [Peeps through the keyhole.]-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 young harlotry!-[Knocks.] Od's my life! won't you open the door?-I'll come in the back-way.

SCENE II.

TATTLE and Miss PRUE.

Prue. O Lord, she's coming!-and she'll tell my father; what shall I do now!

Tat. Pox take her!-if she had stayed two minutes longer, I should have wished for her coming.

Prue. 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.

SCENE III.

TATTLE, VALENTINE, SCANDAL, and ANGELICA. Ang. You can'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.

Scan. 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-nature? Scan. Only for the affectation of it, as the women do for ill-nature.

Ang. Persuade your friend that it is all affectation.

Scan. I shall receive no benefit from the opinion; for I know no effectual difference between continued affectation and reality.

Tat. [Coming up.] Scandal, are you in private discourse? anything of secrecy? [Aside to SCANDAL Scan. Yes, but I dare trust you; we were talking of Angelica's love for Valentine; you won't speak of it?

Tat. No, no, not a syllable;-I know that's a secret, for it's whispered everywhere.

Scan. Ha ha! ha!

Ang. What is, Mr. Tattle? I heard you say something was whispered everywhere.

Scan. Your love of Valentine.

Ang. How!

Tat. No, madam, his love for your ladyship.Gad take me, I beg your pardon ;-for I never heard a word of your ladyship's passion till this instant.

Ang. My passion! and who told you of my passion, pray, sir?

Scan. [Aside to TATTLE.] Why, is the devil in you? did not I tell it you for a secret ?

Tat. [Aside to SCANDAL.] Gad so, 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-[Aloud.] 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 accomplished Valentine, and yet remain insensible; therefore you will par don me, if, from a just weight of his merit, with your ladyship's good judgment, I formed he balance of a reciprocal affection.

Val. O the devil! what damned costive poet

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