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<div class = "act">ACT the Third</div> <div class = "scenedesc">Enter Charles.</div> Char. WELL, here's the House, which holds the Lovely Prize quiet and serene; here no noisie Footmen throng to tell the World, that Beauty dwells within; no Ceremonious Visit makes the Lover wait; no Rival to give my Heart a Pang; who wou'd not scale the Window at Midnight without fear of the Jealous Father's Pistol, rather than fill up the Train of a Coquet, where every Minute he is jostled out of Place. (Knocks softly.) Mrs. Patch, Mrs. Patch. <div class = "entrance">Enter Patch.</div> Patch. Oh, are you come, Sir? All's safe. Char. So in, in then. 30 <div class = "entrance">Enter Marplot.</div> Marpl. There he goes: Who the Devil lives here? Except I can find out that, I am as far from knowing his Business as ever; gad I'll watch, it may be a Bawdy-House, and he may have his Throat cut; if there shou'd be any Mischief, I can make Oath, he went in. Well, Charles, in spight of your Endeavour to keep me out of the Secret; I may save your Life, for ought I know: At that Corner I'll plant my self; there I shall see whoever goes in, or comes out. Gad, I love Discoveries. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> <div class = "scenedesc">SCENE Draws. Charles, Isabinda, and Patch.</div> Isab. Patch, look out sharp; have a care of Dad. Patch. I warrant you. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> Isab. Well, Sir, if I may judge your Love by your Courage, I ought to believe you sincere; for you venture into the Lyons Den when you come to see me. Char. If you'd consent whilst the furious Beast is abroad, I'd free you from the Reach of his Paws. Isab. That wou'd be but to avoid one Danger, by running into another; like the poor Wretches, who fly the Burning Ship, and meet their Fate in the Water. Come, come, Charles, I fear if I consult my Reason, Confinement and Plenty is better than Liberty and Starving. I know you'd make the Frolick pleasing for a little time, by Saying and Doing a World of tender things; but when our small Substance is once Exhausted, and a Thousand Requisits for Life are Wanting; Love, who rarely dwells with Poverty, wou'd also fail us. Char. Faith, I fancy not; methinks my Heart has laid up a Stock will last for Life; to back which, I have taken a Thousand Pound upon my Uncle's Estate; that surely will support us, till one of our Fathers relent. Isab. There's no trusting to that my Friend, I doubt your Father will carry his Humour to the Grave, and mine till he sees me settled in Spain. Char. And can ye then cruelly Resolve to stay till that 31 curs'd Don arrives, and suffer that Youth, Beauty, Fire and Wit, to be sacrific'd to the Arms of a dull Spaniard, to be Immur'd and forbid the Sight of any thing that's Humane. Isab. No, when it comes to the Extremity, and no Stratagem can Relieve us, thou shalt List for a Soldier, and I'll carry thy Knapsack after thee. Char. Bravely Resolv'd; the World cannot be more Savage than our Parents, and Fortune generally assists the Bold; therefore Consent now: Why shou'd we put it to a future Hazard? who knows when we shall have another Opportunity? Isab. Oh, you have your Ladder of Ropes, I suppose, and the Closet Window stands just where it did; and if you han't forgot to write in Characters, Patch will find a way for our Assignations. Thus much of the Spanish Contrivance, my Father's Severity has taught me, I thank him; tho' I hate the Nation, I admire their Management in these Affairs. <div class = "entrance">Enter Patch.</div> Patch. Oh, Madam, I see my Master coming up the Street. Char. Oh the Devil, wou'd I had my Ladder now; I thought you had not expected him till Night; why, why, why, why; what shall I do, Madam? Isab. Oh, for Heaven's sake! don't go that way, you'll meet him full in the Teeth: Oh unlucky Moment!— Char. Adsheart, can you shut me into no Cupboard, Ram me into no Chest, ha? Patch. Impossible, Sir, he Searches every Hole in the House. Isab. Undone for ever! if he sees you, I shall never see you more. Patch. I have thought on't: Run you to your Chamber, Madam; and Sir, come you along with me, I'm certain you may easily get down from the Balcone. Char. My Life, Adieu— Lead on, Guide. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> Isab. Heaven preserve him. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> 32 <div class = "sceneplain">SCENE Changes to the Street.</div> <div class = "entrance">Enter Sir Jealous, with Marplot behind him.</div> Sir Jeal. I don't know what's the matter; but I have a strong Suspicion, all is not right within; that Fellow's sauntring about my Door, and his Tale of a Puppy, had the Face of a Lye, methought. By St. Jago, if I shou'd find a Man in the House, I'd make Mince-Meat of him— Marpl. Ah, poor Charles—ha? Agad he is old— I fancy I might bully him, and make Charles have an Opinion of my Courage. Sir Jeal. My own Key shall let me in; I'll give them no Warning. <div class = "stagedir">(Feeling for his Key.</div> Marpl. What's that you say, Sir. <div class = "stagedir">(Going up to Sir Jealous.</div> Sir Jeal. What's that to you, Sir. <div class = "stagedir">(Turns quick upon him.</div> Marpl. Yes, 'tis to me, Sir; for the Gentleman you threaten is a very honest Gentleman. Look to't, for if he comes not as safe out of your House, as he went in, I have half a Dozen Mirmidons hard-by shall beat it about your Ears. Sir Jeal. Went in; what is he in then? Ah! a Combination to undo me— I'll Mirmidon you, ye Dog you— Thieves, Thieves. <div class = "stagedir">(<ins class = "correction" title = "so in original">Beat's Marplot</ins> all this while he cries Thieves.</div> Marpl. Murder, Murder; I was not in your House, Sir. <div class = "entrance">Enter Servant.</div> Serv. What's the matter, Sir? Sir Jeal. The Matter, Rascals? Have you let a Man into my House; but I'll flea him Alive, follow me, I'll not leave a Mousehole unsearch'd; if I find him, by St. Jago, I'll Equip him for the Opera. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> Marpl. A Duce of his Cane, there's no trusting to Age—what shall I do to Relieve Charles! Egad, I'll raise the Neighbourhood— Murder, Murder— (Charles drops down upon him from the Balcone.) Charles faith I'm glad to see thee safe out, with all my Heart. Char. A Pox of your Bawling: How the Devil came you here? 33 F Marpl. Here, gad I have done you a piece of Service; I told the old Thunderbolt, that the Gentleman that was gone in was— Char. Was it you that told him, Sir? (Laying hold of him.) Z'death, I cou'd crush thee into Atoms. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit Charles.</div> Marpl. What will you choak me for my Kindness?—will my Enquiring Soul never leave Searching into other Peoples Affairs, till it gets squeez'd out of my Body? I dare not follow him now, for my Blood, he's in such a Passion— I'll to Miranda; if I can discover ought that may oblige Sir George, it may be a means to Reconcile me agen to Charles. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> <div class = "entrance">Enter Sir Jealous and Servants.</div> Sir Jeal. Are you sure you have search'd every where? Serv. Yes, from the Top of the House to the Bottom. Sir Jeal. Under the Beds, and over the Beds? Serv. Yes, and in them too, but found no Body, Sir. Sir Jeal. Why, what cou'd this Rogue mean? <div class = "entrance">Enter Isabinda and Patch.</div> Patch. Take Courage, Madam, I saw him safe out. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside to Isab.</div> Isab. Bless me! what's the matter, Sir? Sir Jeal. You know best— Pray where's the Man that was here just now? Isab. What Man, Sir? I saw none! Patch. Nor I, by the Trust you repose in me; do you think I wou'd let a Man come within these Doors, when you were absent? Sir Jeal. Ah Patch, she may be too cunning for thy Honesty; the very Scout that he had set to give Warning discover'd it to me—and threaten'd me with half a Dozen Mirmidons— But I think I maul'd the Villain. These Afflictions you draw upon me, Mistress! Isab. Pardon me, Sir, 'tis your own Ridiculous Humour draws you into these Vexations, and gives every Fool pretence to banter you. Sir Jeal. No, 'tis your Idle Conduct, your Coquetish Flurting into the Balcone— Oh with what Joy shall I resign thee into the Arms of Don Diego Babinetto! 34 Isab. And with what Industry shall I avoid him! <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Jeal. Certainly that Rogue had a Message from some body or other; but being baulk'd by my coming, popt that Sham upon me. Come along, ye Sots, let's see if we can find the Dog again. Patch, lock her up; D'ye hear? <div class = "stagedir">(Exit with Servants.</div> Patch. Yes, Sir—ay, walk till your Heels ake, you'll find no Body, I promise you. Isab. Who cou'd that Scout be, which he talks of? Patch. Nay, I can't imagine, without it was Whisper. Isab. Well, dear Patch, let's employ all our Thoughts how to escape this horrid Don Diego, my very Heart sinks at his Terrible Name. Patch. Fear not, Madam, Don Carlo shall be the Man, or I'll lose the Reputation of Contriving, and then what's a Chambermaid good for? Isab. Say'st thou so, my Girl: Then— <div class = "verse"> Let Dad be Jealous, multiply his Cares, While Love instructs me to avoid the Snares; I'll, spight of all his Spanish Caution, show How much for Love a British Maid can do.</div> <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> <div class = "scene">SCENE Sir Francis Gripe's House.</div> <div class = "entrance">Sir Francis and Miranda meeting.</div> Miran. Well, Gardee, how did I perform my Dumb Scene? Sir Fran. To Admiration— Thou dear little Rogue, let me buss thee for it: Nay, adod, I will, Chargee, so muzle, and tuzle, and hug thee; I will, I faith, I will. <div class = "stagedir">(Hugging and Kissing her.</div> Miran. Nay, Gardee, don't be so lavish; who wou'd Ride Post, when the Journey lasts for Life? Sir Fran. Ah wag, ah wag— I'll buss thee agen for that. Miran. Faugh! how he stinks of Tobacco! what a delicate Bedfellow I shou'd have! <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Fran. Oh I'm Transported! When, when, my Dear, wilt thou Convince the World of thy Happy Day? when shall we marry, ha? 35 F2 Miran. There's nothing wanting but your Consent, Sir Francis. Sir Fran. My Consent! what do's my Charmer mean? Miran. Nay, 'tis only a Whim: But I'll have every thing according to form— Therefore when you sign an Authentick Paper, drawn up by an able Lawyer, that I have your Leave to marry, the next Day makes me yours, Gardee. Sir Fran. Ha, ha, ha, a Whim indeed! why is it not Demonstration I give my Leave when I marry thee. Miran. Not for your Reputation, Gardee; the malicious World will be apt to say, you trick'd me into Marriage, and so take the Merit from my Choice. Now I will have the Act my own, to let the idle Fops see how much I prefer a Man loaded with Years and Wisdom. Sir Fran. Humph! Prithee leave out Years, Chargee, I'm not so old, as thou shalt find: Adod, I'm young; there's a Caper for ye. <div class = "stagedir">(Jumps.</div> Miran. Oh never excuse it, why I like you the better for being old— But I shall suspect you don't love me, if you Refuse me this Formality. Sir Fran. Not Love thee, Chargee! Adod I do love thee better than, than, than, better than—what shall I say? Egad, better than Money, I faith I do— Miran. That's false I'm sure (Aside.) To prove it do this then. Sir Fran. Well, I will do it, Chargee, provided I bring a License at the same time. Miran. Ay, and a Parson too, if you please; Ha, ha, ha, I can't help Laughing to think how all the young Coxcombs about Town will be mortify'd when they hear of our Marriage. Sir Fran. So they will, so they will; Ha, ha, ha. Miran. Well, I fancy I shall be so happy with my Gardee! Sir Fran. If wearing Pearls and Jewels, or eating Gold, as the old Saying is, can make thee happy, thou shalt be so, my Sweetest, my Lovely, my Charming, my—verily I know not what to call thee. Miran. You must know, Gardee, that I am so eager to have this Business concluded, that I have employ'd my Womans Brother, who is a Lawyer in the Temple, to settle Matters 36 just to your Liking, you are to give your Consent to my Marriage, which is to your self, you know: But Mum, you must take up notice of that. So then I will, that is, with your Leave, put my Writings into his Hands; then to Morrow we come slap upon them with a Wedding, that no body thought on; by which you seize me and my Estate, and I suppose make a Bonfire of your own Act and Deed. Sir Fran. Nay, but Chargee, if— Miran. Nay, Gardee, no Ifs— Have I refus'd three Northern Lords, two British Peers, and half a score Knights, to have you put in your Ifs?— Sir Fran. So thou hast indeed, and I will trust to thy Management. Od, I'm all of a Fire. Miran. 'Tis a wonder the dry Stubble does not blaze. <div class = "entrance">Enter Marplot.</div> Sir Fran. How now! who sent for you, Sir? What's the Hundred Pound gone already? Marpl. No, Sir, I don't want Money now. Sir Fran. No, that's a Miracle! But there's one thing you <ins class = "correction" title = "text reads 'wan't'">want</ins>, I'm sure. Marpl. Ay, what's that, Guardian? Sir Fran. Manners, what had I no Servants without? Marpl. None that cou'd do my Business, Guardian, which is at present with this Lady. Miran. With me, Mr. Marplot! what is it, I beseech you? Sir Fran. Ay, Sir, what is it? any thing that relates to her may be deliver'd to me. Marpl. I deny that. Miran. That's more than I do, Sir. Marpl. Indeed, Madam, why then to proceed: Fame says, that you and my most Conscionable Guardian here, design'd, contriv'd, plotted and agreed to chouse a very civil, honourable, honest Gentleman, out of a Hundred Pound. Miran. That I contrived it! Marpl. Ay you— You said never a Word against it, so far you are Guilty. Sir Fran. Pray tell that civil, honourable, honest Gentleman, 37 that if he has any more such Sums to fool away, they shall be received like the last; Ha, ha, ha, ha, chous'd, quotha! But hark ye, let him know at the same time, that if he dare to report I trick'd him of it, I shall recommend a Lawyer to him shall shew him a Trick for twice as much; D'ye hear, tell him that. Marpl. So, and this is the way you use a Gentleman, and my Friend. Miran. Is the Wretch thy Friend? Marpl. The Wretch! Look ye, Madam, don't call Names; Egad I won't take it. Miran. Why you won't beat me, will you? Ha, ha. Marpl. I don't know whether I will or no. Sir Fran. Sir, I shall make a Servant shew you out at the Window if you are sawcy. Marpl. I am your most humble Servant, Guardian; I design to go out the same way I came in. I wou'd only ask this Lady, if she do's not think in her Soul Sir George Airy is not a fine Gentleman. Miram. He Dresses well. Sir Fran. Which is chiefly owing to his Taylor, and Valet de Chamber. Miran. And if you allow that a proof of his being a fine Gentleman, he is so. Marpl. The judicious part of the World allow him Wit, Courage, Gallantry and Management; tho' I think he forfeited that Character, when he flung away a Hundred Pound upon your Dumb Ladyship. Sir Fran. Does that gaul him? Ha, ha, ha. Miran. So, Sir George remaining in deep Discontent, has sent you his trusty Squire, to utter his Complaint: Ha, ha, ha. Marpl. Yes, Madam; and you, like a cruel, hard-hearted Jew, value it no more—than I wou'd your Ladyship, were I Sir George, you, you, you— Miran. Oh, don't call Names. I know you love to be employ'd, and I'll oblige you; and you shall carry him a Message from me. 38 Marpl. According as I like it: What is it? Miran. Nay, a kind one you may be sure— First tell him, I have chose this Gentleman to have, and to hold, and so forth. <div class = "stagedir">(Clapping her Hand into Sir Francis's.</div> Sir Fran. Oh the dear Rogue, how I dote on her! <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Miran. And advise his Impertinence to trouble me no more, for I prefer Sir Francis for a Husband before all the Fops in the Universe. Marpl. Oh Lord, Oh Lord! She's bewitch'd, that's certain; Here's a Husband for Eighteen— Here's a Shape— Here's Bones ratling in a Leathern Bag. (Turning Sir Francis about.) Here's Buckram, and Canvass, to scrub you to Repentance. Sir Fran. Sirrah, my Cane shall teach you Repentance presently. Marpl. No faith, I have felt its Twin-Brother from just such a wither'd Hand too lately. Miran. One thing more, advise him to keep from the Garden Gate on the left Hand; for if he dares to saunter there, about the Hour of Eight, as he used to do, he shall be saluted with a Pistol or a Blunderbuss. Sir Fran. Oh monstrous! why Chargee; did he use to come to the Garden Gate? <ins class = "correction" title = "text reads 'Marpl.'">Miran.</ins> The Gardner describ'd just such another Man that always watch'd his coming out, and fain wou'd have bribed him for his Entrance—tell him he shall find a warm Reception if he comes this Night. Marpl. Pistols and Blunderbusses! Egad, a warm Reception indeed; I shall take care to inform him of your Kindness, and advise him to keep farther off. Miran. I hope he will understand my Meaning better, than to follow your Advice. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Fran. Thou hast sign'd, seal'd, and ta'en Possession of my Heart; for ever, Chargee, Ha, ha, ha; and for you, Mr. Sauce-box, let me have no more of your Messages, if ever you design to inherit your Estate, Gentleman. Marpl. Why there 'tis now. Sure I shall be out of your Clutches one Day.— Well, Guardian, I say no more; but if you be not as errant a Cuckold, as e're drove Bargain upon 39 the Exchange, or paid Attendance to a Court; I am the Son of a Whetstone; and so your humble Servant. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> Miran. Don't forget the Message; Ha, ha. Sir Fran. I am so provok'd!—'tis well he's gone. Miran. Oh mind him not, Gardee, but let's sign Articles, and then— Sir Fran. And then— Adod, I believe I am Metamorphos'd; my Pulse beats high, and my Blood boils, methinks— <div class = "stagedir">(Kissing and Hugging her.</div> Miran. Oh fye, Gardee, be not so violent; Consider the Market lasts all the Year— Well, I'll in and see if the Lawyer be come, you'll follow. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> Sir Fran. Ay, to the World's End, my Dear. Well, Franck, thou art a lucky Fellow in thy old Age, to have such a delicate Morsel, and Thirty Thousand Pound in love with thee; I shall be the Envy of Batchelors, the Glory of Marry'd Men, and the Wonder of the Town. Some Guardians wou'd be glad to compound for part of the Estate, at dispatching an Heiress, but I engross the whole: O! Mihi præteritos referet si Jupiter Annos. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> <div class = "scene">SCENE Changes to a Tavern; discovers Sir George and Charles with Wine before them, and Whisper waiting.</div> Sir Geo. Nay, prithee don't be Grave, Charles; Misfortunes will happen: Ha, ha, ha, 'tis some Comfort to have a Companion in our Sufferings. Char. I am only apprehensive for Isabinda, her Father's Humour is implacable; and how far his Jealousie may transport him to her Undoing, shocks my Soul to think. Sir Geo. But since you escap'd undiscover'd by him, his Rage will quickly lash into a Calm, never fear it. Char. But who knows what that unlucky Dog, Marplot, told him; nor can I imagine what brought him thither; that Fellow is ever doing Mischief; and yet, to give him his due, he never designs it. This is some Blundering Adventure, 40 wherein he thought to shew his Friendship, as he calls it: A Curse on him. Sir Geo. Then you must forgive him; what said he? Char. Said! nay, I had more mind to cut his Throat, than hear his Excuses. Sir Geo. Where is he? Whisp. Sir, I saw him go into Sir Francis Gripe's just now. Char. Oh! then he is upon your Business, Sir George; a thousand to one, but he makes some Mistake there too. Sir Geo. Impossible, without he huffs the Lady, and makes Love to Sir Francis. <div class = "entrance">Enter Drawer.</div> Draw. Mr. Marplot is below, Gentlemen, and desires to know if he may have Leave to wait upon ye. Char. How civil the Rogue is when he has done a fault! Sir Geo. Ho! Desire him to walk up. Prithee, Charles, throw off this Chagreen, and be good Company. Char. Nay, hang him, I'm not angry with him. Whisper, fetch me Pen, Ink and Paper. Whisp. Yes, Sir. <div class = "stagedir">(Ex. Whisp.</div> <div class = "entrance">Enter Marplot.</div> Char. Do but mark his sheepish Look, Sir George. Marpl. Dear Charles, don't o'erwhelm a Man—already under insupportable Affliction. I'm sure I always intend to serve my Friends; but if my malicious Stars deny the Happiness, is the fault mine? Sir Geo. Never mind him, Mr. Marplot, he is eat up with Spleen. But tell me, what says Miranda? Marpl. Says—nay, we are all undone there too. Char. I told you so; nothing prospers that he undertakes. Marpl. Why can I help her having chose your Father for Better for Worse? Char. So: There's another of Fortune's Strokes; I suppose I shall be Edg'd out of my Estate, with Twins every Year, let who will get 'em. Sir Geo. What is the Woman really Possest? 41 G Marpl. Yes with the Spirit of Contradiction, she rail'd at you most prodigiously. Sir Geo. That's no ill Sign. <div class = "entrance">Enter Whisper, with Pen, Ink and Paper.</div> Marpl. You'd say it was no good Sign, if you knew all. Sir Geo. Why, prithee? Marpl. Hark'e, Sir George, Let me warn you, pursue your old Haunt no more, it may be dangerous. <div class = "stagedir">(Charles sits down to write.</div> Sir Geo. My old Haunt, what d'you mean? Marpl. Why in short then, since you will have it, Miranda vows if you dare approach the Garden-Gate at Eight a Clock, as you us'd, you shall be saluted with a Blunderbuss, Sir. These were her Words; nay, she bid me tell you so too. Sir George, Ha! The Garden-Gate at Eight, as I us'd to do! There must be a Meaning in this. Is there such a Gate, Charles? Char. Yes, yes; it opens into the Park, I suppose her Ladyship has made many a Scamper through it. Sir Geo. It must be an Assignation then. Ha, my Heart springs with Joy, 'tis a propitious Omen. My dear Marplot, let me embrace thee, thou art my Friend, my better Angel— Marpl. What do you mean, Sir George? Sir Geo. No matter what I mean. Here take a Bumper to the Garden-Gate, ye dear Rogue, you. Marpl. You have Reason to be transported, Sir George; I have sav'd your Life. Sir Geo. My Life! thou hast sav'd my Soul, Man. Charles, if thou do'st not pledge this Health, may'st thou never taste the Joys of Love. Char. Whisper, be sure you take care how you deliver this (gives him the Letter) bring me the Answer to my Lodgings. Whisp. I warrant you, Sir. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> 42 Marpl. Whither does that Letter go?— Now dare I not ask for my Blood. Char. Now I'm for you. Sir Geo. To the Garden-Gate at the Hour of Eight, Charles, along, Huzza! Char. I begin to conceive you. Marpl. That's more than I do, Egad—to the Garden-Gate, Huzza, (Drinks.) But I hope you design to keep far enough off on't, Sir George. Sir Geo. Ay, ay, never fear that; she shall see I despise her Frowns, let her use her Blunderbuss against the next Fool, she shan't reach me with the Smoak, I warrant her, Ha, ha, ha. Marpl. Ah, Charles, if you cou'd receive a Disappointment thus En Cavalier, one shou'd have some comfort in being beat for you. Char. The Fool comprehends nothing. Sir Geo. Nor wou'd I have him; prithee take him along with thee. Char. Enough: Marplot, you shall go home with me. Marpl. I'm glad I'm well with him however. Sir George, yours. Egad, Charles, asking me to go home with him, gives me a shrewd suspicion there's more in the Garden-Gate, than I comprehend. Faith, I'll give him the drop, and away to Guardians, and find it out. Sir Geo. I kiss both your Hands— And now for the Garden-Gate. <div class = "verse"> It's Beauty gives the Assignation there, And Love too powerful grows t' admit of Fear.</div> <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> <div class = "scene">The End of the Third Act.</div> 43 G2 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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