Sir Cred. Nay, delicious Lady, you may say your Pleasure; but I will justify the Serenade to be as high a piece of Gallantry as was ever practised in our Age, though not comparable to your Charms and celestial Graces, which shou’d I praise as I ought, ’twou’d require more time than the Sun employs in his natural Motion between the Tropicks; that is to say, a whole Year, (for by the way, I am no Copernican) for, Dear Madam, you must know, my Rhetorick Master,—I say, my Rhetorick Master, who was—

Lucr. As great a Coxcomb as your self;—pray leave me, I am serious—I must go seek out Lodwick.

Sir Cred. Leave ye! I thank you for that, i’faith, before I have spoke out my Speech; therefore I say, Divine Lady—because my Rhetorick Master commanded the frequent use of Hypallages, Allegories, and the richest Figures of that beauteous Art,—because my Rhetorick—

Lucr. I must leave the Fool, follow if you dare, for I have no leisure to attend your Nonsense. Goes out.

Enter Lady Knowell.

L. Kno. What, alone, Sir Credulous? I left you with Lucretia.

Sir Cred. Lucretia! I’m sure she makes a very Tarquinius Sextus of me, and all about this Serenade,—I protest and vow, incomparable Lady, I had begun the sweetest Speech to her—though I say’t, such Flowers of Rhetorick—’twou’d have been the very Nosegay of Eloquence, so it wou’d; and like an ungrateful illiterate Woman as she is, she left me in the very middle on’t, so snuffy I’ll warrant.

L. Kno. Be not discourag’d, Sir, I’ll adapt her to a reconciliation: Lovers must sometimes expect these little Belli fugaces; the Grecians therefore truly named Love Glucupicros Eros.

Sir Cred. Nay, bright Lady, I am as little discourag’d as another, but I’m sorry I gave so extraordinary a Serenade to so little purpose.

L. Kno. Name it no more, ’twas only a Gallantry mistaken; but I’ll accelerate your Felicity, and to morrow shall conclude the great dispute, since there is such Volubility and Vicissitude in mundane Affairs. Goes out.

Enter Lodwick, stays Sir Credulous as he is going out the other way.

Lod. Sir Credulous, whither away so fast?

Sir Cred. Zoz, what a Question’s there? dost not know I am to unty the Virgin Zone to morrow, that is, barter Maiden-heads with thy Sister, that is, to be married to her, Man, and I must to Lincolns-Inn to my Counsel about it?

Lod. My Sister just now told me of it; but, Sir, you must not stir.

Sir Cred. Why, what’s the matter?

Lod. Have you made your Will?

Sir Cred. My Will! no, why my Will, Man?

Lod. Then, for the good of your Friends and Posterity, stir not from this place.

Sir Cred. Good Lord, Lodwick, thou art the strangest Man,—what do you mean to fright a body thus?

Lod. You remember the Serenade last night?

Sir Cred. Remember it? Zoz, I think I do, here be the marks on’t sure.— Pulls off his Peruke, and shews his Head broke.

Lod. Ads me, your Head’s broke.

Sir Cred. My Head broke! why, ’twas a hundred to one but my Neck had been broke.

Lod. Faith, not unlikely,—you know the next House is Sir Patient Fancy’s; Isabella too, you know, is his Daughter.

Sir Cred. Yes, yes, she was by when I made my dumb Oration.

Lod. The same,—this Lady has a Lover, a mad, furious, fighting, killing Hector, (as you know there are enough about this Town) this Monsieur supposing you to be a Rival, and that your Serenade was address’d to her—

Sir Cred. Enough, I understand you, set those Rogues on to murder me.

Lod. Wou’d ’twere no worse.

Sir Cred. Worse! Zoz, Man, what the Devil can be worse?

Lod. Why, he has vow’d to kill you himself wherever he meets you, and now waits below to that purpose.

Sir Cred. Sha, sha, if that be all, I’ll to him immediately, and make Affidavit I never had any such design. Madam Isabella! ha, ha, alas, poor man, I have some body else to think on.

Lod. Affidavit! why, he’ll not believe you, should you swear your Heart out: some body has possess’d him that you are a damn’d Fool, and a most egregious Coward, a Fellow that to save your Life will swear any thing.

Sir Cred. What cursed Luck’s this!—why, how came he to know I liv’d here?

Lod. I believe he might have it from Leander, who is his Friend.

Sir Cred. Leander! I must confess I never lik’d that Leander since yesterday.

Lod. He has deceiv’d us all, that’s the truth on’t; for I have lately found out too, that he’s your Rival, and has a kind of a—

Sir Cred. Smattering to my Mistress, hah, and therefore wou’d not be wanting to give me a lift out of this World; but I shall give her such a go-by—my Lady Knowell understands the difference between three Thousand a Year, and—prithee what’s his Estate?

Lod. Shaw—not sufficient to pay Surgeons Bills.

Sir Cred. Alas, poor Rat, how does he live then?

Lod. Hang him, the Ladies keep him; ’tis a good handsome Fellow, and has a pretty Town-Wit.

Sir Cred. He a Wit! what, I’ll warrant he writes Lampoons, rails at Plays, curses all Poetry but his own, and mimicks the Players—ha.

Lod. Some such common Notions he has that deceives the ignorant Rabble, amongst whom he passes for a very smart Fellow,—’life, he’s here.

Enter Leander.

Sir Cred. Why, what shall I do, he will not affront me before Company? hah!

Lod. Not in our House, Sir,—bear up and take no notice on’t. Lod. whispers Lean.

Sir Cred. No notice, quoth he? why, my very Fears will betray me.

Lean. Let me alone—Lodwick, I met just now with an Italian Merchant, who has made me such a Present!

Lod. What is’t prithee?

Lean. A Sort of specifick Poison for all the Senses, especially for that of smelling; so that had I a Rival, and I should see him at any reasonable distance, I could direct a little of this Scent up to his Brain so subtlely, that it shall not fail of Execution in a day or two.

Sir Cred. How—Poison! Shewing great Signs of Fear, and holding his Nose.

Lean. Nay, shou’d I see him in the midst of a thousand People, I can so direct it, that it shall assault my Enemy’s Nostrils only, without any effects on the rest of the Company.

Sir Cred. Oh,—I’m a dead Man!

Lod. Is’t possible?

Lean. Perhaps some little sneezing or so, no harm; but my Enemy’s a dead Man, Sir, kill’d.

Sir Cred. Why, this is the most damn’d Italian Trick I ever heard of; why, this outdoes the famous Poisoner Madam Brenvilliers; well, here’s no jesting, I perceive that, Lodwick.

Lod. Fear nothing, I’ll secure you. Aside to him.

Enter Wittmore.

—Wittmore! how is’t, Friend! thou lookest cloudy.

Wit. You’ll hardly blame me, Gentlemen, when you shall know what a damn’d unfortunate Rascal I am.

Lod. Prithee what’s the matter?

Wit. Why, I am to be marry’d, Gentlemen, marry’d to day.

Lod. How, marry’d! nay, Gad, then thou’st reason; but to whom prithee?

Wit. There’s the Devil on’t again, to a fine young fair, brisk Woman, that has all the Temptations Heaven can give her.

Lod. What pity ’tis they shou’d be bestow’d to so wicked an end! Is this your Intrigue, that has been so long conceal’d from your Friends?

Lean. We thought it had been some kind Amour, something of Love and Honour.

Lod. Is she rich? if she be wondrous rich, we’ll excuse thee.

Wit. Her Fortune will be suitable to the Jointure I shall make her.

Lod. Nay then ’tis like to prove a hopeful Match; what a Pox can provoke thee to this, dost love her?

Wit. No, there’s another Plague, I am cursedly in love elsewhere; and this was but a false Address, to hide that real one.

Lod. How, love another? in what quality and manner?

Wit. As a Man ought to love, with a good substantial Passion, without any design but that of right-down honest Injoyment.

Lod. Ay, now we understand thee, this is something. Ah Friend, I had such an Adventure last Night.—You may talk of your Intrigues and substantial Pleasures, but if any of you can match mine,—Egad, I’ll forswear Womankind.

Lean. An Adventure! prithee where?

Sir Cred. What, last Night, when you rescued me from the Bilbo-Blades! indeed ye look’d a little furiously.

Lod. I had reason, I was just then come out of a Garden from fighting with a Man whom I found with my Mistress; and I had at least known who’t had been, but for the coming of those Rascals that set on you, who parted us, whilst he made his escape in the Croud.

Wit. Death! that was I, who for fear of being known got away: was’t he then that I fought with, and whom I learnt lov’d Isabella? Aside.

Lod. You must know, Gentlemen, I have a sort of a matrimonial Kindness for a very pretty Woman, she whom I tell you I disturb’d in the Garden, and last night she made me an Assignation in her Chamber: when I came to the Garden-door by which I was to have admittance, I found a kind of Necessary call’d a Baudy Waiting-Woman, whom I follow’d, and thought she wou’d have conducted me to the right Woman; but I was luckily and in the dark led into a Lady’s Chamber, who took me for a Lover she expected: I found my happy mistake, and wou’d not undeceive her.

Wit. This could be none but Lucia. Aside.

—Well, Sir, and what did you do there?

Lod. Do! why, what dost think? all that a Man inspir’d by Love cou’d do, I followed all the dictates of Nature, Youth, and Vigor.

Wit. Oh, hold, my Heart—or I shall kill the Traitor. Aside.

Sir Cred. Follow’d all the dictates of Nature, Youth and Vigor! prithee what’s that?

Lod. I kiss’d a thousand times her balmy Lips, and greedily took in the nimble Sighs she breath’d into my Soul.

Wit. Oh, I can scarce contain my self. Aside.

Sir Cred. Pshaw, is that all, Man?

Lod. I clasp’d her lovely Body in my Arms, And laid my Bosom to her panting Breast. Trembling she seem’d all Love and soft Desire, And I all Burnings in a youthful Fire.

Sir Cred. Bless us, the Man’s in a Rapture!

Wit. Damnation on them both.

Sir Cred. Well, to the point, Man: what didst do all this while?

Lean. Faith, I fancy he did not sleep, Sir Credulous.

Lod. No, Friend, she had too many Charms to keep me waking.

Sir Cred. Had she so? I shou’d have beg’d her Charms pardon, I tell her that though.

Wit. Curse on my Sloth, Oh, how shall I dissemble? Aside.

Lean. Thy Adventure was pretty lucky—but, Wittmore, thou dost not relish it.

Wit. My Mind’s upon my Marriage, Sir; if I thought he lov’d Isabella, I wou’d marry her to be reveng’d on him, at least I’ll vex his Soul, as he has tortur’d mine.—Well, Gentlemen, you’ll dine with me,—and give me your opinion of my Wife.

Lod. Where dost thou keep the Ceremony?

Wit. At Sir Patient Fancy’s, my Father-in-law.

Lod. How! Sir Patient Fancy to be your Father-in-law?

Lean. My Uncle?

Wit. He’s fir’d,—’tis his Daughter, Sir, I am to marry.—

Lod. Isabella! Leander, can it be? can she consent to this? and can she love you?

Wit. Why, Sir, what do you see in me, shou’d render me unfit to be belov’d? Angry.

Lod. Marry’d to day! by Heaven, it must not be, Sir. Draws him aside.

Wit. Why, Sir, I hope this is not the kind Lady who was so soft, so sweet and charming last night.

Lod. Hold, Sir,—we yet are Friends.—

Wit. And might have still been so, hadst thou not basely rob’d me of my Interest.

Lod. Death, do you speak my Language? Ready to draw.

Wit. No, take a secret from my angry Heart, which all its Friendship to thee cou’d not make me utter;—it was my Mistress you surpriz’d last night.

Lod. Hah, my Lady Fancy his Mistress? Curse on my prating Tongue. Aside.

Sir Cred. What a Devil’s all this, hard Words, Heart-burnings, Resentments, and all that?

Lean. You are not quarrelling, I hope, my Friends?

Lod. All this, Sir, we suspected, and smok’d your borrowing Money last night; and what I said was to gain the mighty secret that had been so long kept from your Friends:—but thou hast done a baseness— Lays his Hand on his Sword.

Lean. Hold, what’s the matter?

Wit. Did you not rob me of the Victory then I’ve been so long a toiling for?

Lod. If I had, ’twould not have made her guilty, nor me a Criminal; she taking me for one she lov’d, and I her for one that had no Interest in my Friend: and who the Devil wou’d have refus’d so fine a Woman? Nor had I but that I was prevented by her Husband.—But Isabella, Sir, you must resign.

Wit. I will, provided that our Friendship’s safe; I am this day to marry her, and if you can find a means to do’t in my room, I shall resign my Interest to my Friend; for ’tis the lovely Mother I adore.

Lod. And was it you I fought with in the Garden?

Wit. Yes, and thereby hangs a tale of a mistake almost equal to thine, which I’ll at leisure tell you. Talks to Lod. and Lean.

Sir Cred. I’m glad they’re Friends; Zoz, here was like to have been a pretty Business; what damnable work this same Womankind makes in a Nation of Fools that are Lovers?

Wit. Look ye, I am a damn’d dull Fellow at Invention, I’ll therefore leave you to contrive matters by your selves, whilst I’ll go try how kind Fortune will be to me this Morning, and see in what readiness my Bride is. What you do must be thought on suddenly; I’ll wait on you anon, and let you know how matters go.—I’m as impatient to know the truth of this, as for an opportunity to enjoy Lucia. Goes out.

Lod. Leander, what shall I do?

Lean. You were best consult your Mother and Sister; Women are best at Intrigues of this kind: But what becomes of me?

Lod. Let me alone to dispatch this Fool, I long to have him out of the way, he begins to grow troublesome:—but now my Mother expects you.

Lean. Prithee be careful of me.— Exit Lean.

Sir Cred. What was this long Whisper, something about me?

Lod. Why, yes, faith, I was persuading him to speak to his Friend about this Business; but he swears there’s no hopes of a Reconciliation: you are a dead Man, unless some cleanly conveyance of you be soon thought on.

Sir Cred. Why, I’ll keep within doors, and defy Malice and foul Weather.

Lod. Oh, he means to get a Warrant, and search for stolen Goods, prohibited Commodities or Conventicles; there’s a thousand Civil Pretences in this Town to commit Outrages—let me see.— They both pause a while.

Sir Cred. Well, I have thought,—and of such a Business, that the Devil’s in’t if you don’t say I am a man of Intrigue.

Lod. What is’t?

Sir Cred. Ha, ha, ha, I must have leave to laugh to think how neatly I shall defeat this Son of a Whore of a thunder thumping Hector.

Lod. Be serious, Sir, this is no laughing matter; if I might advise, you should steal into the Country, for two or three days, till the Business be blown over.

Sir Cred. Lord, thou art so hasty and conceited of thy own Invention, thou wilt not give a Man leave to think in thy company: why, these were my very thoughts; nay more, I have found a way to get off clever, though he watch me as narrowly as an enraged Serjeant upon an Escape.

Lod. That indeed wou’d be a Master-piece.

Sir Cred. Why, look ye, do you see that great Basket there?

Lod. I do,—this you mean.— Pulls in a Basket.

Sir Cred. Very well, put me into this Basket, and cord me down, send for a couple of Porters, hoist me away with a Direction, to an old Uncle of mine, one Sir Anthony Bubleton at Bubleton-Hall in Essex; and then whip slap-dash, as Nokes says in the Play, I’m gone, and who’s the wiser?

Lod. I like it well.

Sir Cred. Nay, lose no time in applauding, I’ll in, the Carrier goes this Morning; farewel, Lodwick.— Goes Into the Basket.

I’ll be here again on Thursday. Lod. writes a Direction.

Enter Boy.

Lod. By all means, Sir,—Who’s there,—call a couple of Porters. Exit Boy.

Sir Cred. One word more, the Carrier lies at the Bell in Friday-street, pray take care they set me not on my Head.— Pops in again.

Enter Boy and two Porters.

Lod. Come hither, cord up this Basket, and carry it where he shall direct.—Leander will never think he’s free from a Rival, till he have him in his possession—To Mr. Leander Fancy’s at the next door; say ’tis things for him out of the Country.—Write a Direction to him on the Basket-lid. Aside to the Boy.

Porters going to carry off the Basket on a long Pole between ’em.

Enter Lady Knowell.

L. Kno. What’s this? whither goes this Basket?

Sir Cred. Ah Lord! they are come with the Warrant. Peeps out of the Basket.

Lod. Only Books, Madam, offer’d me to buy, but they do not please me.

L. Kno. Books! nay then set down the Basket, Fellows, and let me peruse ’em; who are their Authors, and what their Language?

Sir Cred. A pox of all Learning, I say,—’tis my Mother-in-law. Porters going to set down the Basket.

Lod. Hold, hold, Madam, they are only English and some Law-French.

L. Kno. Oh, faugh, how I hate that vile sort of Reading! up with ’em again, Fellows, and away. The Porters take up and go out.

Lod. God-a-mercy, Law-French. Aside.

L. Kno. Law-French! out upon’t, I cou’d find in my heart to have the Porters bring it back, and have it burnt for a Heresy to Learning.

Lod. Or thrown into the Thames, that it may float back to Normandy, to have the Language new modell’d.

L. Kno. You say well; but what’s all this ad Iphicli bonis, where’s Sir Credulous all this while? his Affairs expect him.

Lod. So does Leander your Ladyship within.

L. Kno. Leander! Hymen, Hymenæ, I’ll wait on him, Lodwick; I am resolv’d you shall marry Isabella too; I have a design in my head that cannot fail to give you the possession of her within this two or three hours.

Lod. Such an Indulgence will make me the happiest of Men, and I have something to say to your Ladyship that will oblige you to hasten the design.

L. Kno. Come in, and let me know it.

Exeunt.