SCENE II-The Inn.

Enter AIMWELL, dressed, and ARCHER. Aim. And was she the daughter of the house? Arch. The landlord is so blind as to think so; but I dare swear she has better blood in her veins. Aim. Why dost think so?

Arch. Because the baggage has a pert je-nescai-quoi; she reads plays, keeps a monkey, and is troubled with vapours.

Aim. By which discoveries, I guess that you

know more of her.

Arch. Not yet, 'faith. The lady gives herself airs, forsooth; nothing under a gentleman.

Aim. Let me take her in hand.

Arch. Say one word more o'that, and I'll declare myself, spoil your sport there, and every where else: look ye, Aimwell, every one in his own sphere.

Aim. Right; and therefore you must pimp for your master.

Arch. In the usual forms, good Sir, after I have served myselfBut to your business. You are so well dressed, Tom, and make so handsome a figure, that I fancy you may do execution in a country church.

Aim. There's something in that which may turn to advantage. The appearance of a stranger in a country church, draws as many gazers as a blazing star: no sooner he comes into the cathedral, but a train of whispers run buzzing round the congregation in a moment-Who is he? Whence comes he? Do you know him?Then I, Sir, tips the verger half-a-crown; he pockets the simony, and inducts me into the best pew in the church; I pull out my snuff-box, turn myself round, bow to the bishop, or the dean, if he be the commanding officer, single out a beauty, rivet both my eyes on hers, set my nose a-bleeding by the strength of imagination, and show the whole church my concern, by my endeavouring to hide it! after the sermon, the whole town gives me to her for her lover, and by persuading the lady that I am dying for her, the tables are turned, and she in good earnest falls in love with me.

Arch. There's nothing in this, Tom, without a precedent; but instead of rivetting your eyes on a beauty, try to fix them upon a fortune: that's our business at present.

Aim. Pshaw no woman can be a beauty without a fortune. Let me alone for a marksman. Arch. Tom!

Aim. Ay!

Arch. When were you at church before, pray? Aim. Um-I was there at the coronation. Arch. And how can you expect a blessing by going to church now?

wife.

Aim. Blessing! Nay, Frank, I ask but for a [Exit. Arch. Truly, the man is not very unreasonable in his demands. [Exit, at the opposite door. Enter BONIFACE and CHERRY.

Bon. Well, daughter, as the saying is, have you brought Martin to confess ?

Cher. Pray, father, don't put me upon getting any thing out of a man; I'm but young, you know, father, and don't understand wheedling.

Bon. Young! why, you jade, as the saying is, can any woman wheedle that is not young? Your mother was useless at five and twenty. Would

you make your mother a whore and me a cuckold, as the saying is? I tell you, his silence confesses it, and his master spends his money se freely, and is so much a gentleman every manner of way, that he must be a highwayman.

Enter GIBBET, in a cloak.

Gib. Landlord, landlord, is the coast clear?
Bon. O, Mr. Gibbet, what's the news?

Gib. No matter; ask no questions; all's fair and honourable. Here, my dear Cherry, [Gires her a bag.] two hundred sterling pounds, as good the rest; and here-three wedding or mourning as ever hanged or saved a rogue; lay em by with rings-'tis much the same, you know.-Here, two silver-hilted swords: I took these from fellows that never show any part of their swords but the hilts. Here is a diamond necklace, which the lady hid in the privatest place in the coach, but I found it out. This gold watch I took from a pawnbroker's wife: it was left in her hands by a person of quality; there's the arms upon the case. Cher. But who had you the money from? Gib. Ah! poor woman, I pitied her!-from a poor lady just eloped from her husband; she had made up her cargo, and was bound for Ireland as hard as she could drive; she told me of her husband's barbarous usage, and so 'faith I left her half-a-crown. But I had almost forgot, my dear Cherry, I have a present for you. Cher. What is't?

of a lady's under petticoat pocket. Gib. A pot of ceruse, my child, that I took out

Cher. What, Mr. Gibbet, do you think I paint? the lady I took it from had a coronet upon her Gib. Why, you jade, your betters do; I'm sure handkerchief-Here, take my cloak, and go secure the premises.

Cher. I will secure 'em.

[Erit.

Bon. But, harkye, where 's Hounslow and Bagshot?

Gib. They'll be here to-night.

Bon. D'ye know of any other gentleman o'the pad on the road.

Gib. No.

Bon. I fancy I have two that lodge in the house just now.

Gib. The devil! how do you smoke 'em?
Bon. Why, one is gone to church.
Gib. To church! That's suspicious I must

confess.

Bon. And the other is now in his master's chamber; he pretends to be a servant to the other; we'll call him out, and pump him a little.

Gib. With all my heart.

Bon. Mr. Martin! Mr. Martin !

Enter ARCHER, brushing a hat, and singing.

Gib. The roads are consumed deep; I'm as dirty as Old Brentford at Christmas.-A good pretty fellow that;-whose servant are you, friend? Arch. My master's.

Gib. Really. Arch. Really.

Gib. That's much. That fellow has been at the bar, by his evasions:-but pray, Sir, what is your master's name?

Arch. Tall, all, dall. [Sings and brushes the hat.]-This is the most obstinate spotGib. I ask you his name?

Arch. Name, Sir-Tall, all, dall-I never asked him his name in my life -Tall, all, dall. Bon. What think you now?

Gib. Very well again; an old offender-Right -But I mean does he go upwards or downwards? Arch. Downwards I fear, Sir-Tall, lall. Gib. I'm afraid thy fate will be a contrary way. Bon. Ha, ha, ha! Mr. Martin, you are very arch. This gentleman is only travelling towards Chester, and would be glad of your company, that's all. Come, captain, you'll stay to-night, I suppose; I'll show you a chamber- -Come, cap

Cher. Love is I know not what, it comes I know not how, goes I know not when.

Arch. Very well, an apt scholar. [Chucks her under the chin.] Where does love enter?

Cher. Into the eyes.

Arch. And where go out?
Cher. I won't tell you.

Arch. What are the objects of that passion?
Cher. Youth, beauty, and clean linen.
Arch. The reason?

Cher. The two first are fashionable in nature, and the third at court.

Arch. That's my dear. What are the signs and tokens of that passion?

Cher. A stealing look, a stammering tongue, words improbable, designs impossible, and actions impracticable.

Arch. That's my good child; kiss me-What must a lover do to obtain a mistress?

Cher. He must adore the person that disdains him, he must bribe the chambermaid that betrays him, and court the footman that laughs at him! He must, he must

Arch. Nay, child, I must whip you, if you don't mind your lesson; he must treat his

Cher. O ay. He must treat his enemies with respect, his friends with indifference, and all the world with contempt: he must suffer much, and fear more; he must desire much and hope little; in short he must embrace his ruin, and throw himself away.

Arch. Had ever man so hopeful a pupil as mine! Come, my dear, why is love called a riddle? Cher. Because, being blind, he leads those that see; and, though a child, he governs a man.

Arch. Mighty well. And why is love pictured blind?

Cher. Because the painters, out of their weak

ness, or the privilege of their art, choose to hide those eyes they could not draw.

Arch. That's my dear little scholar, kiss me again-And why should love, that's a child, govern a man?

Cher. "ause that a child is the end of love. Arch. A so ends love's catechism-And now, my dear, we'll go in, and make my master's bed.

Cher. Hold, hold, Mr. Martin-you have taken a great deal of pains to instruct me, and what d'ye think I have learned by it? Arch. What?

Cher. That your discourse and your habit are contradictions, and it would be nonsense in me to believe you a footman any longer.

Arch. 'Oons, what a witch it is!

Cher. Depend upon this, Sir; nothing in that garb shall ever tempt me: for though I was born to servitude, I hate it. Own your condition, swear you love me, and then

Arch. And then we shall go make my master's

bed?

Arch. 'Sdeath, what shall I do?-But harkye, child, what need you make me master of yourself and money, when you may have the same pleasure out of me, and still keep your fortune in your own hands?

Cher. Then you won't marry me?
Arch. I would marry you, but-

Cher. O, sweet Sir, I'm your humble servant, you're fairly caught. Would you persuade me that any gentleman who could bear the scandal of wearing a livery, would refuse two thousand pounds, let the condition be what it would-No, no, Sir, but I hope you'll pardon the freedom I have taken, since it was only to inform myself of the respect I ought to pay you. [Going.

Arch. Fairly bit, by Jupiter!-Hold! hold! and have you actually two thousand pounds?

Cher. Sir, I have my secrets as well as youwhen you please to be more open, I shall be more free; and be assured that I have discoveries that will match yours, be they what they will.-In the mean while be satisfied, that no discovery I make shall ever hurt you; but beware of my father.

[Exit.

Arch. So we're like to have as many adventures in our inn, as Don Quixote had in hisLet me see-two thousand pounds! if the wench would promise to die when the money were spent, 'egad, one would marry her; but the fortune mav go off in a year or two, and the wife may live

For whatsoe'er the sages charge on pride,
The angels' fall, and twenty faults beside;
On earth, I'm sure, 'mong us of mortal calling,
Pride saves man oft, and woman too, from
falling.

ACT III.

[Exit.

SCENE I-LADY BOUNTIFUL'S House. Enter MRS. SULLEN and DORINDA. Mrs. S. Ha, ha, ha! my dear sister; let me embrace thee; now we are friends, indeed; for I shall have a secret of yours as a pledge for mine. Dor. But do you think that I am so weak as to fall in love with a fellow at first sight.

Mrs. S. Pshaw! now you spoil all; why should not we be as free in our friendships as the men? I warrant you, the gentleman has got to his confidant already, has avowed his passion, toasted your health, called you ten thousand angels.

Dor. Your hand, sister; I an't well.

Mrs. S. Shall I send to your mother, child? or shall I send to the gentleman for something for you?-Come, unbosom yourself-the man is perfectly a pretty fellow; I saw him when he first came into church.

Dor. I saw him too, sister, and with an air that shone, methought, like rays about his person. Mrs. S. Well said, up with it.

Dor. No forward coquette behaviour, no air to set him off, no studied looks, no artful posture,but nature did it all

Mrs. S. Better and better-One touch more Come

Dor. But then his looks-Did you observe his eyes?

Mrs. S. Yes, yes, I did-his eyes; well, what of his eyes?

Dor. Sprightly, but not wandering; they seemed to view, but never gazed on any thing but me--and then his looks so humble were, and yet so noble, that they aimed to tell me, that he could with pride die at my feet, though he scorned slavery any where else.

Mrs. S. The physic works purely.-How d'ye find yourself now, my dear?

Dor. Hem! much better my dear-Oh, here comes our Mercury!

Enter SCRUB.

Dor. Well, Scrub, what news of the gentleman?

Scrub. Madam, I have brought you a whole packet of news.

Dor. Open it quickly; come.

Scrub. In the first place, I inquired who the gentleman was? They told me he was a stranger. Secondly, I asked what the gentleman was? They answered and said, that they never saw him before. Thirdly, I inquired what countryman he was? They replied, 'twas more than they knew. Fourthly, I demanded whence he came? Their answer was, they could not tell. And fifthly, I asked whither he went? And they replied, they knew nothing of the matter.And this is all I could learn.

Mrs. S. But what do the people say? Can't they guess?

Scrub. Why some think he's a spy, some

Dor. A jesuit! why a jesuit?

Scrub. Because he keeps his horses always ready saddled, and his footman talks French.

Mrs. S. His footman!

Scrub. Ay, he and the count's footman were gabbering French like two intriguing ducks in a millpond; and I believe they talked of me, for they laughed consumedly.

Dor. What sort of livery has the footman?

Scrub. Livery! Lord, Madam, I took him for a captain, he's so bedizen'd with lace; and then he has a silver-headed cane dangling at his knuckles:--he carries his hands in his pockets, and walks just so-[Walks in a French air.) and has a fine long periwig tied up in a bag-Lord, Madam, he's clear another sort of a man than I Mrs. S. That may easily be.-But what shall we do now, sister?

Dor. I have it.-This fellow has a world of simplicity, and some cunning; the first hides the latter by abundance.-Scrub!

Scrub. Madam!

Dor. We have a great mind to know who this gentleman is, only for our satisfaction. Scrub. Yes, Madam, it would be a satisfaction, no doubt.

Dor. You must go and get acquainted with his footman, and invite him hither to drink a bottle of your ale, because you're butler to-day.

Scrub. Yes, Madam, I am butler every Sunday. Mrs. S. O brave, sister! o'my conscience you understand the mathematics already.-'Tis the best plot in the world? Your mother, you know, will be gone to church, my spouse will be got to the alehouse with his scoundrels, and the house will be our own-so we drop in by accident, and ask the fellow some questions ourselves. In the country, you know, any stranger is company, and we're glad to take up with the butler in a country-dance, and happy if he will do us the favour.

Scrub. Oh, Madam, you wrong me; I never refused your ladyship the favour in my life. Enter GIPSEY.

Gip. Ladies, dinner's upon table.

Dor. Scrub, we'll excuse you waiting.-Go where we order'd you.

Scrub. I shall.

SCENE II-The Inn.

Enter AIMWELL and ARCHER.

[Exeunt

Arch. Well, Tom, I find you're a marksman Aim. A marksman! who so blind could be as not discern a swan among the ravens ?

Arch. Well, but harkye, AimwellAim. Aimwell! call me Oroondates. Cesario Amadis, all that romance can in a lover paint, and then I'll answer. Oh, Archer! I read her thousands in her looks; she looked like Ceres in her harvest: corn, wine, and oil, milk, honey, gardens, groves, and purling streams, played on her plenteous face.

Arch. Her face! her pocket, you mean! the corn, wine, and oil, lie there. In short, she has twenty thousand pounds, that's the English on't. Aim. Her eyes

Arch. Are demi-cannons, to be sure; so I wont stand their battery. [Going.

Bon. Mr. Martin, as the saying is-yonder 's an honest fellow below, my Lady Bountiful's butler, who begs the honour that you would go home with him, and see his cellar.

Arch. Do my baise-mains to the gentleman, and tell him I will do myself the honour to wait on him immediately, as the saying is.

Bon. I shall do your worship's commands, as the saying is. [Exit, bowing obsequiously. Aim. What do I hear? soft Orpheus play, and fair Toftida sing!

Arch. Pshaw! Damn your raptures; I tell you here's a pump going to be put into the vessel, and the ship will get into harbour, my life on't. You say there's another lady very handsome,

there.

Aim. Yes, 'faith.

Arch. I'm in love with her already.

Aim. Can't you give me a bill upon Cherry, in the mean time?

Arch. No, no, 'faith; all her corn, wine, and oil, is engrossed to my market.-And once more I warn you to keep your anchorage clear of mine; for if you fall foul of me, by this light, you shall go to the bottom.-What! make a prize of my little frigate, while I am upon the cruise for you. You're a pretty fellow indeed! [Exit.

Enter BONIFACE.

Aim. Well, well, I wont-Landlord, have you any tolerable company in the house? I don't care for dining alone.

Bon. Yes, Sir, there's a captain below, as the saying is, that arrived about an hour ago.

Enter GIBBET.

Gib. Sir, I'm yours.

Aim. 'Tis more than I deserve, Sir, for I don't know you.

Gib. I don't wonder at that, Sir, for you never saw me before-I hope. [Asi

Aim. And pray, Sir, how came I by the nonour of seeing you now?

Gib. Sir, I scorn to intrude upon any gentleman-but my landlord

Aim. O, Sir, I ask your pardon-you're the captain he told me of

Gib. At your service, Sir.

Aim. What regiment, may I be so bold? Gib. A marching regiment, Sir; an old corps Aim. Very old, if your coat be regimental [Aside. You have served abroad, Sir?

Gib. Yes, Sir, in the plantations; 'twas my lot to be sent into the worst service; I would have quitted it indeed, but a man of honour you know -Besides, 'twas for the good of my country that I should be abroad-Any thing for the good of one's country-I'm a Roman for that.

Aim. One of the first, I'll lay my life. [Aside.] You found the West Indies very hot, Sir. Gib. Ay, Sir, too hot for me.

Aim. And where's your company now, cap

tain?

Gib. They a'n't come yet.

Aim. Why, d'ye expect them here?
Gib. They'll be here to-night, Sir.
Aim. Which way do they march?

Gib. Across the country.-The devil's in't if I han't said enough to encourage him to declarebut I'm afraid he's not right, I must tack about.

[Aside.

Aim. Is your company to quarter at Litchfield?
Gib. In this house, Sir.
Aim. What, all?

Gib. My company is but thin, ha, ha, ha! we are but three, ha, ha, ha!

Aim. You're merry, Sir.

Gib. Ay, Sir, you must excuse me. Sir, I understand the world, especially the art of travelling: I don't care for answering questions directly upon the road-for I generally ride with a charge about me.

Aim. Three or four, I believe.

[Aside.

Gib. I am credibly informed that there are highwaymen upon this quarter; not, Sir, that I could suspect a gentleman of your figure-But truly, Sir, I have got such a way of evasion upon the road, that I don't care for speaking truth to

I

any man.

Aim. Your caution may be necessary. Then presume you're no captain.

Bon. I obey your commands, as the saying is. [Exit.

tlemen that travel; it gives a man an air of some thing, and makes the drawers obedient-And thus far I am a captain, and no further.

Aim. And pray, Sir, what is your true profes

sion?

Gib. O, Sir, you must excuse me upon my word, Sir, I don't think it safe to tell you. Aim. Ha, ha! upon my word, I commend you Enter BONIFACE.

Well, Mr. Boniface, what's the news?

Bon. There's another gentleman below, as the

saying is, that hearing you were but two, would be glad to make the third man, if you'd give him leave.

Aim. What is he?

Bon. A clergyman, as the saying is.

Aim. A clergyman! is he really a clergyman? or is it only a travelling name, as my friend the captain has it?

Bon. Oh, Sir, he's a priest, and chaplain to the French officers in town.

Aim. Is he a Frenchman?

Bon. Yes, Sir, born at Brussels.

Gib. A Frenchman, and a priest! I wont be seen in his company, Sir; I have a value for my reputation, Sir.

Aim. Nay, but, captain, since we are by ourselves-Can he speak English, landlord?

Bon. Very well, Sir; you may know him, as the saying is, to be a foreigner, by his accent, and that's all?

Aim. Then he has been in England before? Bon. Never, Sir; but he 's master of languages, as the saying is; he talks Latin! it does one good to hear him talk Latin.

Aim. Then you understand Latin, Mr. Boni

face?

yet.

Aim. Nay, captain, that was too hard upon the doctor; he's a stranger.

Foig. O let him alone, dear joy, I'm of a nation that is not easily put out of countenance. Aim. Come, gentlemen, I'll end the dispute: here, landlord, is dinner ready?

Bon. Upon the table, as the saying is.
Aim. Gentlemen-pray-that door-
Foig. No, no, fait, the captain must lead.
Aim. No, doctor, the church is our guide.
Gib. Ay, ay, so it is.

[Exeunt. SCENE III.—A Gallery in LADY BOUNTIFUL'S

House.

Enter ARCHER and SCRUB, singing and hugging one another; SCRUB with a tankard in his hand, GIPSEY listening at a distance. Scrub. Tall, all, dall. Come, my dear boylet's have a song once more.

Arch. No, no, we shall disturb the familyBut will you be sure to keep the secret?

Scrub. Pho! upon my honour, as I'm a gente man.

Arch. "Tis enough. You must know ther that my master is the Lord Viscount Aimwell, he fought a duel t'other day in London, wounded his man so dangerously, that he thinks fit to with draw till he hears whether the gentleman's wounds be mortal or not; he never was in this part of England before, so he chose to retire to this place, that's all.

[Erit

Gip. And that's enough for me. Scrub. And where were you when your mas ter fought?

Arch. We never know of our master's quarrels Scrub. No! if our masters in the country here receive a challenge, the first thing they do, is to tell their wives; the wives tell the servants, the servants alarm the tenants, and in half an hour, you shall have the whole country up in arms.

Arch. To hinder two men from doing what they have no mind for-But if you should chance to talk now of this business?

Scrub. Talk! Ah, Sir, had I not learned the knack of holding my tongue, I had never lived sc long in a great family.

Arch. Ay, ay, to be sure, there are secrets in all families.

Scrub. Secrets, O lud!-but I'll say no moreCome, sit down, we'll make an end of our tank ard;- Here

Arch. With all my heart; who knows but you and I may come to be better acquainted, eh — think, and to be sure there must be secrets among Here's your ladies' health; you have three I

them.

Scrub. Secrets! ah, friend, friend! I wish I had a friend.

Arch. Am I not your friend? Come, you and I will be sworn brothers.

Scrub. Shall we?

Arch. From this minute--Give me a kissAnd now, brother Scrub

Scrub. And now, brother Martin, I will tell

you a secret, that will make your hair stand on end. You must know that I am consumedly in love.

Arch. That's a terrible secret that's the truth on't.

Scrub. That jade, Gipsey, that was with just now in the cellar, is the arrantest whore that ever wore a petticoat, and I'm dying for love of he

Arch. Ha, ha, ha!-Are you in love with her person or her virtue, brother Scrub?

Scrub. I should like virtue best, because it is with some women long and many a day after more durable than beauty; for virtue holds good they have lost it.

Arch. In the country, I grant ye, where no woman's virtue is lost till a bastard be found.

Scrub. Ay, could I bring her to a bastard, I should have her all to myself; but I dare not put it upon that lay, for fear of being sent for a se dier-Pray, brother, how do you gentlemen in London like that same pressing act?

that ever was made for us; formerly, I remember Arch. Very ill, brother Scrub"Tis the worst the good days when we could dun our masters for our wages, and if they refused to pay us, wo could have a warrant to carry them before a jus tice; but now, if we talk of eating, they have a warrant for us, and carry us before three justices

Scrub. And to be sure we go, if we talk of