I'm thinking, now good husbands are so few,
To get one like my friend, what I must do.
Camillo ventured hard; yet at the worst,
She stole love's honeymoon, and tried her lover
first.

Many poor damsels, if they dared to tell,

Have done as much, but have not 'scaped so well.
'Tis well the scene's in Spain; thus in the dark,
I should be loath to trust a London spark.
Some accident might, for a private reason,
Silence a female, all this acting season.
Hard fate of woman! Any one would vex,
To think what odds you men have of our sex.
Restraint and customs share our inclination,
You men can try, and run o'er half the nation.
We dare not, even to avoid reproach,

If poor town-ladies steal in here, you rail.
Though like chaste nuns, their modest looks they
With this decorum they can hardly gain [veil;
To be thought virtuous, even in Drury-lane,
Though this you'll not allow, yet sure you may
A plot to snap you, in an honest way.

In love-affairs, one scarce would spare a brother:
All cheat; and married folks may keep a pother,
But look as if they cheated one another.
You may pretend, our sex dissembles most,
But of your truth none have much cause to boast:
You promise bravely; but for all your storming,
We find you're not so valiant at performing.
Then sure Camillo's conduct you'll approve :
Would you not do as much for one you love?
Wedlock's but a blind bargain at the best,

Nor with a friend at night, our fame regarding, With glass drawn up, drive about Covent-garden.

blest.

All, soon or late, that dangerous venture make, And some of you may make a worse mistake.

Enter ERASTUS and his Servant, LISETTA following. Lis. Once more I tell ye, sir, if you have any consideration in the world for her, you must begone this minute.

Erast. My dear Lisetta, let me but speak to her, let me but see her only.

Lis. You may do what you will; but not here, whilst you are in our house. I do believe she's as impatient to see you as you can be to see her; but

Erast. But why won't you give us that satisfaction then?

Lis. Because I know the consequence; for when you once get together, the devil himself is not able to part ye; you will stay so long till you are surprised, and what will become of us then?

Serv. Why, then we shall be thrown out at the window, I suppose.

Lis. No, but I shall be turned out of doors. Erast. How unfortunate am I! these doors are open to all the world, and only shut to me.

Lis. Because you come for a wife, and at our house we do not care for people that come for wives.

Serv. What would you have us come for, child? Lis. Anything but wives; because they cannot be put off without portions.

Serv. Portions! No, no, never talk of portions; my master nor I neither don't want portions; and

if he'd follow my advice, a regiment of fathers should not guard her.

Lis. What say you?

Serv. Why, if you'll contrive that my master may run away with your mistress, I don't much care, faith, if I run away with you.

Lis. Don't you so, rogue's face!

to be better provided for.

But I hope

Erast. Hold your tongues.-But where is Mariamne's brother? He is my bosom friend, and would be willing to serve me.

Lis. I told you before that he has been abroad a-hunting, and we han't seen him these three days; he seldom lies at home, to avoid his father's ill humour; so that it is not your mistress only that our old covetous cuff teases :-there's nobody in the family but feels the effects of his ill humour : -by his good will he would not suffer a creature to come within his doors, or eat at his table ;-and if there be but a rabbit extraordinary for dinner, he thinks himself ruined for ever.

Erast. Then I find you pass your time comfortably in this family.

Lis. Not so bad as you imagine neither, perhaps; for, thank Heaven, we have a mistress that's as bountiful as he is stingy, one that will let him say what he will, and yet does what she will. But hark, here's somebody coming; it is certainly he. Erast. Can't you hide us somewhere?

Lis. Here, here, get you in here as fast as you

can.

Serv. Thrust me in too. [Puts them into the closet.

Lis. Come, lovers, I can allow you but a short bout on't this time; you must do your work with a jirk-one whisper, two sighs, and a kiss; make haste, I say, and I'll stand sentry for ye in the meantime. [Exit.

Mar. Do you know what you expose me to, Erastus? What do you mean?

Erast. To die, madam, since you receive me with so little pleasure.

Mar. Consider what would become of me, if my father should see you here.

Erast. What would you have me do?

Mar. Expect with patience some happy turn of affairs. My mother-in-law is kind and indulgent to a miracle; and her favour, if well managed, may turn to our advantage; and could I prevail upon myself to declare my passion to her, I don't doubt but she'd join in our interest.

Erast. Well, since we've nothing to fear from her, and your brother, you know, is my intimate friend, you may therefore conceal me somewhere about the house for a few days. I'll creep into any hole.

Serv. Ay, but who must have the care of bringing us victuals? [Aside.

Erast. Thrust us into the cellar, or up into the garret I don't care where it is, so that it be but under the same roof with you.

Serv. But I don't say so, for that jade Lisetta will have the feeding of us, and I know what kind of diet she keeps.-I believe we shan't be like the fox in the fable, our bellies won't be so full but we shall be able to creep out at the same hole we got in at. [Aside. Erast. Must I then begone? must I return to Paris?

in-why, the devil himself can't please you boath, I think.

Mon. Barn. But, sirrah, you must obey my orders, not hers.

Col. Why, the gentlefolks asked for her, they did not ask for you-what do you make such a

noise about?

Mon. Barn. For that reason, sirrah, you should not have let 'em in.

Col. Hold, sir, I'd rather see you angry than her, that's true; for when you're angry you have only the devil in ye, but when madam's in a passion she has the devil and his dam both in her belly.

Mon. Barn. You must mind what I say to you, sirrah, and obey my orders..

Col. Ay, ay, measter-but let's not quarrel with one another you're always in such a plaguy humour.

Mon. Barn. What are these people that are just

come?

Col. Nay, that know not I-but as fine volk they are as ever eye beheld, Heaven bless 'em! Mon. Barn. Did you hear their names?

Col. Noa, noa, but in a coach they keam all besmeared with gould, with six breave horses, the man's heart good to look on sike fine beast, measter. like on 'em ne'er did I set eyes on.-'Twould do a

Mon. Barn. How many persons are there?

Col. Vour-two as fine men as ever woman bore, and two as dainty deames as a man would desire to lay his lips to.

Mon. Barn. And all this crew sets up at my house.

Col. Noa, noa, measter, the coachman is gone into the village to set up his coach at some inn, for I told him our coach-house was vull of vaggots, but he'll bring back the six horses, for I told him we had a rare good steable.

Mon. Barn. Did you so, rascal? did you so?

[Beats him. Col. Doant, doant, sir, it would do you good to see sike cattle, i'faith they look as if they had ne'er kept Lent.

Mon. Barn. Then they shall learn religion at my house. Sirrah, do you take care they sup without oats to-night. What will become of me! Since I have bought this damned country-house, I spend more in a summer than would maintain me seven year.

Col. Why, if you do spend money, han't you good things for it? Come they not to see you the whole country raund? Mind how you're beloved,

measter.

Mon. Barn. Pox take such love!

Re-enter LISETTA.

How now, what do you want?

Lis. Sir, there's some company in the garden with my mistress, who desire to see you.

Mon. Barn. The devil take 'em, what business have they here? But who are they?

Lis. Why, sir, there's the fat abbot that always sits so long at dinner, and drinks his two bottles by way of whet.

Mon. Barn. I wish his church was in his belly, that his guts might be half full before he came.And who else?

Lis. Then there's the young marquis that won all my lady's money at cards.

Mon. Barn. Pox take him too!

Lis. Then there's the merry lady that's always in a good humour.

Mon. Barn. Very well.

Lis. Then there's she that threw down all my lady's china t'other day, and laughed at it for a jest. Mon. Barn. Which I paid above fifty pounds for in earnest.-Very well, and pray how did madam receive all this fine company?-With a hearty welcome, and a curtsy with her bum down to the ground, ha?

Lis. No indeed, sir, she was very angry with 'em. Mon. Barn. How, angry with 'em, say you?

Lis. Yes indeed, sir, for she expected they would have staid here a fortnight, but it seems things happen so unluckily that they can't stay here above ten days. [Exit.

Mon. Barn. Ten days! how! what! four persons with a coach and six, and a kennel of hungry hounds in liveries, to live upon me ten days!

morrow.

Mon. Barn. Dine with me! no, no, friend, tell him I don't dine at all to-morrow, it is my fastday, my wife died on't.

Sol. And he has sent you here a pheasant and a couple of partridges.

Mon. Barn. How's that, a pheasant and partridges, say you !-Let's see very fine birds, truly. Let me consider-to-morrow is not my fast-day, I mistook; tell my nephew he shall be welcome.-[To COLIN.] And d'ye hear? do you take these fowl and hang them up in a cool place -and take this soldier in, and make him drink— make him drink, d'ye see-a cup,-ay, a cup of small beer-d'ye hear?

Col. Yes, sir.-Come along; our small beer is reare good. [Exit.

Sol. But, sir, he bade me tell you that he'll bring two or three of his brother officers along with bim.

Mon. Barn. How's that! officers with himhere, come back-take the fowls again; I don't dine to-morrow, and so tell him.-[Gives him the basket.] Go, go! [Thrusting him out.

Sol. Sir, sir, that won't hinder them from coming, for they retired a little distance off the camp, and because your house is near 'em, sir, they resolve to come.

Mon. Barn. Go, begone, sirrah!—[ Thrusts him out.] There's a rogue now, that sends me three lean carrion birds, and brings half-a-dozen varlets to eat them!

Enter Monsieur GRIFFARD.

Mon. Griff. Brother, what is the meaning of these doings? If you don't order your affairs better, you'll have your fowls taken out of your very yard, and carried away before your face.

Mon. Barn. Can I help it, brother? But what's the matter now?

Mon. Griff. There's a parcel of fellows have been hunting about your grounds all this morning, broke down your hedges, and are now coming into your house. Don't you hear them?

Mon. Barn. No, no, I don't hear them: who are they?

Mon. Griff. Three or four rake-helly officers, with your nephew at the head of 'em.

Mon. Barn. O the rogue! he might well send me fowls.-But is it not a vexatious thing, that I must stand still and see myself plundered at this rate, and have a carrion of a wife who thinks I ought to thank all these rogues that come to devour me! But can't you advise me what's to be done in this case?

Mon. Griff. I wish I could, for it goes to my heart to see you thus treated by a crew of vermin, who think they do you a great deal of honour in ruining of you.

Mon. Barn. Can there be no way found to redress this?

Mon. Griff. If I were you, I'd leave this house quite, and go to town.

Mon. Barn. What, and leave my wife behind me? ay that would be mending the matter indeed!

Mon. Griff. Why don't you sell it then? Mon. Barn. Because nobody will buy it; it has got as bad a name as if the plague were in't; it has been sold over and over, and every family that has lived in it has been ruined.

furniture, except what is absolutely necessary for Mon. Griff. Then send away all your beds and your own family; you'll save something by that, for then your guests can't stay with you all night, however.

Mon. Barn. I've tried that already, and it signified nothing:-for they all got drunk and lay in the barn, and next morning laughed it off for a frolic. Mon. Griff. Then there is but one remedy left that I can think off.

Mon. Barn. What's that?

Mon. Griff. You must e'en do what's done when a town's on fire, blow up your house that the mischief may run no further. But who is this gentleman ?

Mon. Barn. I never saw him in my life before, but for all that, I'll hold fifty pound he comes to dine with me.

Enter the Marquis.

Marq. My dear M. Barnard, I'm your most humble servant.

Mon. Barn. I don't doubt it, sir.

Marq. What is the meaning of this, M. Barnard? You look as coldly upon me as if I were a stranger.

Mon. Barn. Why truly, sir, I'm very apt to do so by persons I never saw in my life before.

Marq. You must know, M. Barnard, I'm come on purpose to drink a bottle with you.

Mon. Barn. That may be, sir; but it happens that at this time I'm not at all dry.

Marq. I left the ladies at cards waiting for supper; for my part, I never play; so I came to see my dear M. Barnard; and I'll assure you, I undertook this journey only to have the honour of your acquaintance.

Mon. Barn. You might have spared yourself that trouble, sir.

Marq. Don't you know, M. Barnard, that this house of yours is a little paradise?

Mon. Barn. Then rot me, if it be, sir!
Marq. For my part, I think a pretty retreat in

the country is one of the greatest comforts in life; I suppose you never want good company, M. Barnard ?

Mon. Barn. No, sir, I never want company; for you must know I love very much to be alone. Marq. Good wine you must keep above all things, without good wine and good cheer I would not give a fig for the country.

Mon. Barn. Really, sir, my wine is the worst you ever drank in your life, and you'll find my cheer but very indifferent.

Marq. No matter, no matter, M. Barnard ; I've heard much of your hospitality, there's a plentiful table in your looks-and your wife is certainly one of the best women in the world. Mon. Barn. Rot me if she be, sir!

Baron. Sir, I'm your most humble servant, and ask you a thousand pardons that I should live so long in your neighbourhood, and come upon such an occasion as this to pay you my first respects.

Mon. Barn. It is very well, sir; but I think people may be very good neighbours without visiting one another.

Baron. Pray how do you like our country?

Mon. Barn. Not at all, I am quite tired on't. Marq. Is it not the baron! it is certainly he. Baron. How; my dear marquis! let me embrace you.

Marq. My dear baron, let me kiss you. [They run and embrace.

Baron. We have not seen one another since we were schoolfellows before.

Marq. The happiest rencontre ! Mon. Griff. These gentlemen seem to be very well acquainted.

Mon. Barn. Yes, but I know neither one nor t'other of them.

Marq. Baron, let me present to you one of the best-natured men in the world-M. Barnard here, the flower of hospitality!-I congratulate you upon having so good a neighbour.

Baron. Dear marquis! Marq. Egad, I won't. Baron. Well, since it must be so-but here comes the lady of the family.

Enter Madame BARNARD.

Marq. Madam, let me present you to the flower of France.

Baron. Madam, I shall think myself the happiest person in the world in your ladyship's acquaintance; and the little estate I have in this country I esteem more than all the rest, because it lies so near your ladyship.

Mad. Barn. Sir, your most humble servant.

Marq. Madam, the baron de Messy is the besthumoured man in the world. I've prevailed with him to give us his company a few days.

Mad. Barn. I'm sure you could not oblige M. Barnard or me more.

Mon. Barn. That's a damned lie, I'm sure.

[Aside.

Baron. I'm sorry, madam, I can't accept of the honour for it falls out so unluckily, that I've some ladies at my house that I can't possibly leave.

Marq. No matter, no matter, baron; you have ladies at your house, we have ladies at our houselet's join companies.-Come, let's send for them immediately; the more the merrier.

Mon. Barn. An admirable expedient, truly! Baron. Well, since it must be so, I'll go for them myself.

Marq. Make haste, dear baron, for we shall be impatient for your return.

Baron. Madam, your most humble servant.But I won't take my leave of you-I shall be back again immediately.-Monsieur Barnard, I'm your most humble servant; since you will have it so, I'll return as soon as possible.

[Exeunt Baron DE MESSY and Marquis. Mon. Barn. I have it so! 'sbud, sir, you may stay as long as you please; I'm in no haste for ye. Madam, you are the cause that I am not master of my own house.

Mad. Barn. Will you never learn to be reasonable, husband?

Re-enter the Marquis.

Marq. The baron is the best-humoured man in the world, only a little too ceremonious, that's all. -I love to be free and generous; since I came to Paris I've reformed half the court.

Mad. Barn. You are of the most agreeable humour in the world, marquis.

Marq. Always merry.-But what have you done with the ladies?

Mad. Barn. I left them at cards.

Marq. Well, I'll wait upon 'em. But, madam, let me desire you not to put yourself to any extraordinary expense upon our accounts.-You must consider we have more than one day to live together.

Mad. Barn. You are pleased to be merry, mar