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will refresh your memory: speak, sir, as you tender life and limb, whom did you see together in the garden last night? Mal. Ha!-nobody.

Good. Were not Truman and my wife there to your knowledge, privately?

Mal. Ha, ha, ha!-Child ! no.

Good. Did you not tell me that you overheard 'em whispering in the grotto together?

Mal. No.

Good. Hell and devils! this fellow has been tampered withal, and instructed to abuse me. This is all contrivance, a studied scene to fool me of my reason.

Enter Footmen.

Here, take him hence, and harness him with the other two, till he confess the truth.

Mrs. Good. He shall not go; touch hini who dares. Must people then be forced and tortured to accuse me falsely? Ah, Mr. Goodvile, how have I deserved this at your hands ? Let not my good name be ravished from me: if you have resolved to break my heart, kill me now quickly, and put me out of pain —

(Mal. runs away. Good. Nay, madam, here is that shall yet convince -see here a letter from your lover, left for vou in a private corner; hear me read it; and if you have modesty enough left, blush.

(Reads.) “ If Goodvile goes out of town this morn“ ing, let me know it, that I may wait on you, and tell

you the rest of my heart: for you do not know how • much I love you yet.

Truman." Mrs. Good. Death and destruction! It was all my own contrivance: madded with your jealousy, I sought all

ways to vex you. I counterfeited it with my own hand, and left it in a place where you might be sure to find it. To convince you farther, see bere a caution sent me just before by one whom you have trusted and

loved too much for my quiet: peruse it, and when you have done, consider how you have used me, and how I have deserved it. Oh! [Gives Victoria's letter.

Good. (Reads.) “ Journey out of town is a pre« tence-return and surprize-believe by this discovery—your servant,

Victoria.” Victoria, has she betrayed me? nay, then I pronounce there is no trust nor faith in the sex. By heaven, in every condition they are jilts; all false, from the bawd to the babe.

Mrs. Good. Now, sir, I hope I may withdraw; from this minute never expect I'll see your face again: no, I'll leave you to be happy at your own choice, Love where you please, and be as free as if I ne'er had bad relation to you. I shall take care to trouble you no more, but wish you may be happier than ever yet I

made you.

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Good. Stay, madam.

Mrs. Good. No, sir, I'll be gone! I will not stay a moment longer; inhuman, cruel, false traitor! Wert thou now languishing on thy knees, prostrate at my feet, ready to grow mad with thy own guilt, I would not stop, nor turn my face to save thee from despair.

Good. You shall.
Mrs. Good. For what?

Good. To let the world see how much a fool I can be. Art thou innocent?

Mrs. Good. By my love I am ; I never wronged you; but you

have undone me, ruined my fame and quiet. What mouth will not be full of my dishonour ? Henceforth let all ny sex remember me, when they'd upbraid mankind for baseness. Oh that I could dissemble longer with you, that I might to your torment persuade you still all your jealousies were just, and I as infamous as you are cruel.

[Exit in a rage. Good. Get thee in then, and talk to me no more; there's something in thy face will make a fool of me; and there's a devil in this business which yet I cannot discover. Truman, if thou hast enjoyed her, I beg theç

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ag keep it close, and, if it be possible, let us yet be friends.

Tru. 'Tis not my fault if we be foes.

Good. But now to my fools; bring 'em forth, and let us see how their new equipage becomes 'em. Oh dear, Valentine, how does the fair Camilla ?

Val. Faith, sir, she and I have been despatching a trifling affair this morning, commonly called matrimony.

Good. Married! nay then there is some comfort yet, that thou art fallen into the snare.-Valentine ! look to her; keep her as secret as thou wouldst a murder, hadst thou committed one: trust her not with thy dearest friend; she has beauty enough to corrupt him.

Enter Caper and SAUNTER, their hands tied behind

them, Fools' Caps on their heads; CAPER with one leg tied up, and SAUNTER gagged.

See here these rogues, how like themselves they look. Now, you paltry vermin, you rats, that run squeaking from house to house up and down the town, that no man can eat his bread in quiet for you; take warning of what

you feel, and come not near these doors again, on peril of hanging. Here, discharge thens of their punishment, and see 'em forth the gates.

Enter Lady SQUEAMISH, Sir NOBLE CLUMSEY, and

VICTORIA.

Lady Squ. Oh, gallants, your humble servant. Dear Mr. Goodvile, be pleased to give my kinsman, sir Noble, joy: he has done himself the honour to marry your cousin Victoria, whom now I must be proud to call my relation, since she has accepted of the title of my lady Clumsey.

Clum. Ay, sir, I am married; and will be drunk again too before night, as simply as I stand here.

Good. Sir Noble married to Victoria too! pay then in spite of misfortunesThis day shall be a day of jubilee.

But first,
Good people all that my sad fortune sce,
I beg you to take warning here by me;

Marriage and hanging go by destiny. Especially you gay young married blades, beware, and keep your wives from balls and masquerades.

[Exeunt omnes.

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EPILOGUE.

Well, sirs, if now my spouse and I should part,
To which kind critic shall I give my heart?
Stay, let me look, not one in all the place
But has a scurvy, froward, damning face.
Have you resolv'd then on the poet's fall?
Go, ye ill-natur’d, ugly devils all.
The married sparks I know this play will curse
For the wife's sake; but some of 'em bave worse.
Poets themselves their own ill-luck have wrought,
You ne'er had learnt, had not their quarrels taught.
But, as in the disturbance of a state,
Each factious maggot thinks of growing great:
So when the poets first had jarring fits,
You all set up for critics and for wits:
Then straight there came, which cost you mothers' pains,
Songs and lampoons in litters from your brains:
Libels, like spurious brats, ran up and down,
Which their dull parents were asham’d to own;
But vented 'em in others' names, like whores
That lay their bastards down at honest doors.
For shame, leave off this higgling way of wit,
Railing abroad, and roaring in the pit;
Let poets live in peace, in quiet write,
Else may they all to punish you unite;
Join in one force to study to abuse ye,
And teach your wives and misses how to use ye !

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