Gay. Curse on my Birth! Curse on my faithless Fortune! Curse on my Stars, and curst be all—but Love! That dear, that charming Sin, though t’have pull’d Innumerable Mischiefs on my head, I have not, nor I cannot find Repentance for. Nor let me die despis’d, upbraided, poor: Let Fortune, Friends and all abandon me— But let me hold thee, thou soft smiling God, Close to my heart while Life continues there. Till the last pantings of my vital Blood, Nay, the last spark of Life and Fire be Love’s!

Enter Rag.

—How now, Rag, what’s a Clock?

Rag. My Belly can inform you better than my Tongue.

Gay. Why, you gormandizing Vermin you, what have you done with the Three pence I gave you a fortnight ago.

Rag. Alas, Sir, that’s all gone long since.

Gay. You gutling Rascal, you are enough to breed a Famine in a Land. I have known some industrious Footmen, that have not only gotten their own Livings, but a pretty Livelihood for their Masters too.

Rag. Ay, till they came to the Gallows, Sir.

Gay. Very well, Sirrah, they died in an honourable Calling—but hark ye, Rag,—I have business, very earnest business abroad this Evening; now were you a Rascal of Docity, you wou’d invent a way to get home my last Suit that was laid in Lavender—with the Appurtenances thereunto belonging, as Perriwig, Cravat, and so forth.

Rag. Faith, Master, I must deal in the black Art then, for no human means will do’t—and now I talk of the black Art, Master, try your Power once more with my Landlady.

Gay. Oh! name her not, the thought on’t turns my Stomach—a sight of her is a Vomit; but he’s a bold Hero that dares venture on her for a kiss, and all beyond that sure is Hell it self—yet there’s my last, last Refuge—and I must to this Wedding—I know not what,—but something whispers me,—this Night I shall be happy—and without Julia ’.is impossible!

Rag. Julia, who’s that? my Lady Fulbank, Sir?

Gay. Peace, Sirrah—and call—a—no—Pox on’t, come back—and yet—yes—call my fulsome Landlady.

[Exit Rag.

Sir Cautious knows me not by Name or Person. And I will to this Wedding, I’m sure of seeing Julia there. And what may come of that—but here’s old Nasty coming. I smell her up—hah, my dear Landlady.

_Enter Rag and _Landlady.

Quite out of breath—a Chair there for my Landlady.

Rag. Here’s ne’er a one, Sir.

Land. More of your Money and less of your Civility, good Mr. Wasteall.

Gay. Dear Landlady—

Land. Dear me no Dears, Sir, but let me have my Money—Eight Weeks Rent last Friday; besides Taverns, Ale-houses, Chandlers, Landresses’ Scores, and ready Money out of my Purse; you know it, Sir.

Gay. Ay, but your Husband don’t; speak softly.

Land. My Husband! what, do you think to fright me with my Husband?— I’d have you to know I’m an honest Woman, and care not this—for my Husband. Is this all the thanks I have for my kindness, for patching, borrowing and shifting for you; ‘twas but last Week I pawn’d my best Petticoat, as I hope to wear it again, it cost me six and twenty shillings besides Making; then this Morning my new Norwich Mantua followed, and two postle Spoons, I had the whole dozen when you came first; but they dropt, and dropt, till I had only Judas left for my Husband.

Gay. Hear me, good Landlady.

Land. Then I’ve past my word at the George Tavern, for forty Shillings for you, ten Shillings at my Neighbour Squabs for Ale, besides seven Shillings to Mother Suds for Washing; and do you fob me off with my Husband?

Gay. Here, Rag, run and fetch her a Pint of Sack—there’s no other way of quenching the Fire in her flabber Chops.

[Exit Rag.

—But, my dear Landlady, have a little Patience.

Land. Patience! I scorn your Words, Sir—is this a place to trust in? tell me of Patience, that us’d to have my money before hand; come, come, pay me quickly—or old Gregory Grimes house shall be too hot to hold you.

Gay. Is’t come to this, can I not be heard?

Land. No, Sir, you had good Clothes when you came first, but they dwindled daily, till they dwindled to this old Campaign—with tan’d coloured Lining—once red—but now all Colours of the Rain-bow, a Cloke to sculk in a Nights, and a pair of piss-burn’d shammy Breeches. Nay, your very Badge of Manhood’s gone too.

Gay. How, Landlady! nay then, i’faith, no wonder if you rail so.

Land. Your Silver Sword I mean—transmogrified to this two-handed Basket Hilt—this old Sir Guy of Warwick—which will sell for nothing but old Iron. In fine, I’ll have my money, Sir, or i’faith, Alsatia shall not shelter you.

Enter Rag.

Gay. Well, Landlady—if we must part—let’s drink at parting; here, Landlady, here’s to the Fool—that shall love you better than I have done. [Sighing, drinks.

Land. Rot your Wine—dy’e think to pacify me with Wine, Sir?

[She refusing to drink, he holds open her Jaws, Rag throws a Glass of Wine into her Mouth.

—What, will you force me?—no—give me another Glass, I scorn to be so uncivil to be forced, my service to you, Sir—this shan’t do, Sir.

[She drinks, he, embracing her, sings.

Ah, Cloris, ’.is in vain you scold, Whilst your Eyes kindle such a Fire. Tour Railing cannot make me cold, So fast as they a Warmth inspire.

Land. Well, Sir, you have no reason to complain of my Eyes nor my Tongue neither, if rightly understood. [Weeps.

Gay. I know you are the best of Landladies, As such I drink your Health— [Drinks. But to upbraid a Man in Tribulation—fie—’tis not done like a Woman of Honour, a Man that loves you too.

[She drinks.

Land. I am a little hasty sometimes, but you know my good Nature.

Gay. I do, and therefore trust my little wants with you. I shall be rich again—and then, my dearest Landlady—

Land. Wou’d this Wine might ne’er go through me, if I wou’d not go, as they say, through Fire and Water—by Night or by Day for you. [She drinks.

Gay. And as this is Wine I do believe thee. [He drinks.

Land. Well—you have no money in your Pocket now, I’ll warrant you— here—here’s ten Shillings for you old Greg’ry knows not of. [Opens a great greasy purse.

Gay. I cannot in Conscience take it, good Faith, I cannot—besides, the next Quarrel you’ll hit me in the Teeth with it.

Land. Nay, pray no more of that; forget it, forget it. I own I was to blame—here, Sir, you shall take it.

Gay. Ay,—but what shou’d I do with Money in these damn’d Breeches? —No, put it up—I can’t appear abroad thus—no, I’ll stay at home, and lose my business.

Land. Why, is there no way to redeem one of your Suits?

Gay. None—none—I’ll e’en lay me down and die.

Land. Die—marry, Heavens forbid—I would not for the World—let me see—hum—what does it lie for?

Gay. Alas! dear Landlady, a Sum—a Sum.

Land. Well, say no more, I’ll lay about me.

Gay. By this kiss but you shall not—Assafetida, by this Light.

Land. Shall not? that’s a good one, i’faith: shall you rule, or I?

Gay. But shou’d your Husband know it?—

Land. Husband—marry come up, Husbands know Wives secrets? No, sure, the World’s not so bad yet—where do your things lie? and for what?

Gay. Five Pounds equips me—Rag can conduct you—but I say you shall not go, I’ve sworn.

Land. Meddle with your matters—let me see, the Caudle Cup that Molly’s Grandmother left her, will pawn for about that sum—I’ll sneak it out—well, Sir, you shall have your things presently—trouble not your head, but expect me.

[Ex. Landlady and Rag.

Gay. Was ever man put to such beastly shifts? ‘Sdeath, how she stunk— my senses are most luxuriously regal’d—there’s my perpetual Musick too—

[Knocking of Hammers on a Anvil.

The ringing of Bells is an Ass to’t.

Enter Rag.

Rag. Sir, there’s one in a Coach below wou’d speak to you.

Gay. With me, and in a Coach! who can it be?

Rag. The Devil, I think, for he has a strange Countenance.

Gay. The Devil! shew your self a Rascal of Parts, Sirrah, and wait on him up with Ceremony.

Rag. Who, the Devil, Sir?

Gay. Ay, the Devil, Sir, if you mean to thrive. [Exit Rag. Who can this be—but see he comes to inform me—withdraw.

Enter Bredwel drest like a Devil.

Bred. I come to bring you this— [Gives him a Letter.

Gayman reads.

Receive what Love and Fortune present you with, be grateful and be silent, or ‘twill vanish like a dream, and leave you more wretched that it found You. Adieu.

—Hah— [Gives him a bag of Money.

Bred. Nay, view it, Sir, ‘tis all substantial Gold.

Gay. Now dare not I ask one civil question for fear it vanish all— [Aside. But I may ask, how ‘tis I ought to pay for this great Bounty.

Bred. Sir, all the Pay is Secrecy—

Gay. And is this all that is required, Sir?

Bred. No, you’re invited to the Shades below.

Gay. Hum, Shades below!—I am not prepared for such a Journey, Sir.

Bred. If you have Courage, Youth or Love, you’ll follow me: When Night’s black Curtain’s drawn around the World, And mortal Eyes are safely lockt in sleep, [In feign’d Heroick Tone. And no bold Spy dares view when Gods caress, Then I’ll conduct thee to the Banks of Bliss. —Durst thou not trust me?

Gay. Yes, sure, on such substantial security. [Hugs the Bag.

Bred. Just when the Day is vanish’d into Night, And only twinkling Stars inform the World, Near to the Corner of the silent Wall, In Fields of Lincoln’s-Inn, thy Spirit shall meet thee. —Farewell. [Goes out.

Gay. Hum—I am awake sure, and this is Gold I grasp. I could not see this Devil’s cloven Foot; Nor am I such a Coxcomb to believe, But he was as substantial as his Gold. Spirits, Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Furies, Fiends and Devils, I’ve often heard old Wives fright Fools and Children with, Which, once arriv’d to common Sense, they laugh at. —No, I am for things possible and Natural: Some Female Devil, old and damn’d to Ugliness, And past all Hopes of Courtship and Address, Full of another Devil called Desire, Has seen this Face—this Shape—this Youth, And thinks it’s worth her Hire. It must be so: I must moil on in the damn’d dirty Road, And sure such Pay will make the Journey easy:

And for the Price of the dull drudging Night, All Day I’ll purchase new and fresh Delight.

[Exit.