  Enter Fossile, leading Townley. Fos. Welcome, my bride, into the habitation of thy husband. The scruples of the parson—— Town. And the fatigue of the ceremony—— Foss. Are at last well over. Town. These blank licences are wonderful commodious.——The clergy have a noble command, in being rangers of the park of matrimony; produce but a warrant, and they deliver a lady into your possession: but I have no quarrel with them, since they have put me into so good hands. Foss. I now proclaim a solemn suspension of arms between medicine and diseases. Let distempers suspend their malignant influence, and powders, pills, and potions their operations. Be this day sacred to my Town. And I this, than a hand of matadores. Foss. Who knows but your relations may dispute my title to your person? come, my dear, the seal of the matrimonial bond is consummation. Town. Alas! what will become of me! Foss. Why are thy eyes fix'd on the ground? why so slow? and why this trembling? Town. Ah! heedless creature that I was, to quit all my relations, and trust myself alone in the hands of a strange man. Foss. Courage, thou best of my curiosities. Know that in husband, is comprehended all relations; in me thou seest a fond father. Town. Old enough o' my conscience. Foss. You may, you must trust yourself with me. Town. Do with me as you please: Yet sure you cannot so soon forget the office of the church. Marriage is not to be undertaken wantonly, like brute beasts. If you will transgress, the sin be upon your own head. Foss. Great indeed is thy virtue, and laudable is thy modesty. Thou art a virgin, and I a philosopher; but learn, that no animal action, quatenus animal, is unbecoming of either of us. But hold! where am I going? Prithee, my dear, of what age art thou? Town. Almost three and twenty. Foss. And I almost at my grand climacterick. What occasion have I for a double-night at these years? She may be an Alcmena, but alas! I am no thunderer. Town. You seem somewhat disturb'd; I hope you are well, Mr. Fossile. Foss. What business have I in the bed-chamber, when the symptoms of age are upon me? Yet hold, this is the famous corroborative of Crollius; in this vial are included sons and daughters. Oh, for a draught of the aqua magnanimitatis for a vehicle! Enter a Servant. Serv. Sir, your pistachoe-porridge is ready. Foss. Now I think of it, my dear; Venus, which is in the first degree of Capricorn, does not culminate till ten; an hour if astrology is not fallible, successful in generation. Town. I am all obedience, Sir. Foss. How shall I reward thee for so much Goodness? let our wedding as yet be a secret in the family. In the mean time I'll introduce my niece Phoebe Clinket to your acquaintance: but alas, the poor girl has a procidence of the pineal gland, which has occasioned a rupture in her understanding. I took her into my house to regulate my oeconomy; but instead of puddings, she makes pastorals; or when she should be raising paste, is raising some ghost in a new tragedy. In short, my house is haunted by all the underling players, broken booksellers, half-voic'd singing-masters, and disabled dancing-masters in town. In a former will I had left her my estate; but I now resolve that heirs of my own begetting shall inherit. Yonder she comes in her usual occupation. Let us mark her a while. Enter Clinket and her maid bearing a writing-desk on her back. Clinket writing, her head dress stain'd with ink, and pens stuck in her hair. Maid. I had as good carry a raree-show about the streets. Oh! how my back akes! Clink. What are the labours of the back to those of the brain? thou scandal to the muses. I have Maid. Have not I got a crick in my back already, that will make me good for nothing, with lifting your great books? Clink. Folio's, call them, and not great books, thou monster of impropriety: But have patience, and I will remember the three gallery-tickets I promis'd thee at my new tragedy. Maid. I shall never get my head-cloaths clear-starch'd at this rate. Clink. Thou destroyer of learning, thou worse than a book-worm; thou hast put me beyond all patience. Remember how my lyrick ode bound about a tallow-candle; thy wrapping up snuff in an epigram; nay, the unworthy usage of my hymn to Apollo, filthy creature! read me the last lines I writ upon the deluge, and take care to pronounce them as I taught you. Maid. Swell'd with a dropsy, sickly nature lies, Clink. Still without cadence! Maid. Swell'd with a dropsy—— Clink. Hold. I conceive—— Fossile and Townley come forward. What feast for fish! Oh too luxurious treat! Foss. Niece, why niece, niece? oh, Melpomene, thou goddess of tragedy, suspend thy influence for a Clink. Madam, excuse this absence of mind; my animal spirits had deserted the avenues of my senses, and retired to the recesses of the brain, to contemplate a beautiful idea. I could not force the vagrant creatures back again into their posts, to move those parts of the body that express civility. Town. A rare affected creature this! if I mistake not, flattery will make her an useful tool for my purpose. Foss. Her jewels, her strong box, and all her things left behind! if her uncle should discover her marriage, he may lay an embargo upon her goods.——I'll send for them. Enter a boy with a letter. Boy. This is the ho-ho-house. Foss. Child, whom dost thou want? Boy. Mistress Townley's ma-ma-maid. Foss. What is your business? Boy. A l-l-letter. Foss. Who sent this letter? Boy. O-o-one. Foss. Give it me, child. An honest boy. Give it me, and I'll deliver it myself. A very honest boy. Boy. So. Foss. There are now no more secrets between us. Man and wife are one. 'Madam, either I mistake the encouragement I have had, or I am to be happy to-night. I hope the same person will compleat her good offices: I stand to articles. The ring is a fine one; and I shall have the pleasure of putting it on the first time.' This from your impatient, R. P. In the name of Beelzebub, what is this? encouragement! happy to-night! same person! good offices! whom hast thou married, poor Fossile? couldst thou not still divert thyself with the spoils of quarries and coal-pits, thy serpents and thy salamanders, but thou must have a living monster too! 'sdeath! what a jest shall I be to our club! is there no rope among my curiosities? shall I turn her out of doors, and proclaim my infamy; or lock her up and bear my misfortunes? lock her up! impossible. One may shut up volatile spirits, pen up the air, confine bears, lyons and tygers, nay, keep even your gold: but a wanton wife, who can keep? Enter Townley. Town. Mrs. Clinket's play is to be read this morning at the tea-table: will you come and divert yourself, Sir? Foss. No: I want to be alone. Town. I hope my company is not troublesome already. I am as yet a bride; not a wife. [sighs.] What means this sudden change? [Aside.] Consider, Mr. Fossile, you want your natural rest: the bed would refresh you. Let me sit by you. Foss. My head akes, and the bed always makes it worse. Town. Is it hereabouts? Foss. Too sure. Town. Why so fretful, Mr. Fossile? Foss. No, I'll dissemble my passion, and pump her. [Aside.] Excess of joy, my dear, for my good fortune overcomes me. I am somewhat vertiginous, I can hardly stand. Town. I hope I was ordain'd for thy support. Foss. My disorder now begins to dissipate: it was only a little flatulency, occasion'd by something hard of digestion. But pray, my dear, did your uncle shut you up so close from the conversation of mankind? Town. Sarsnet and Shock were my only company. Foss. A very prudent young woman this Sarsnet; she was undoubtedly a good and faithful friend in your solitude. Town. When it was her interest; but I made no intimacies with my chamber-maid. Foss. But was there no lover offer'd his service to a lady in distress. Town. Tongue, be upon thy guard: these questions must be design'd to trap me. [Aside.] A woman of my condition can't well escape importunity. Foss. What was the name of that disagreeable fellow, who, you told me, teaz'd you so? Town. His name? I think he had a thousand names. In one letter he was Myrtillo, in another Corydon, Alexis, and I don't know what. Enter Sarsnet in haste to her mistress: He runs and embraces her with great earnestness. Foss. Dear Mrs. Sarsnet, how am I oblig'd to thee for thy services: thou hast made me happy beyond expression.——I shall find another letter upon her. [He gets his hand into Sarsnet's pocket, as searching for a letter. [Whenever Sarsnet goes to whisper her mistress, he gets between them. Enter Ptisan. Ptis. Mrs. Colloquintida complains still of a dejection of appetite; she says that the genevre is too cold for her stomach. Foss. Give her a quieting draught; but let us not interrupt one another. Good Mr. Ptisan, we are upon business. Ptis. The colonel's spitting is quite suppress'd. Foss. Give him a quieting draught. Come to morrow, Mr. Ptisan; I can see no body till then. Ptis. Lady Varnish finds no benefit of the waters; for the pimple on the tip of her nose still continues. Foss. Give her a quieting draught. Ptis. Mrs. Prudentia's tympany grows bigger and bigger. What, no pearl cordial! must I quiet them all? Foss. Give them all quieting draughts, I say, or blister them all, as you please. Your servant Mr. Ptisan. Ptis. But then lady Giddy's vapours. She calls her chamber-maids nymphs; for she fancies herself Diana, and her husband Acteon. Foss. I can attend no patient till to morrow. Give her a quieting draught, I say. [Whenever Fossile goes to conduct Ptisan to the door, Sarsnet and Townley attempt to whisper; Fossile gets between them, and Ptisan takes that opportunity of coming back. Ptis. Then, sir, there is miss Chitty of the boarding-school has taken in no natural sustenance for this week, but a halfpeny worth of charcoal, and one of her mittens. Foss. Sarsnet, do you wait on Mr Ptisan to the door. To morrow let my patients know I'll visit round. Ptis. Oh, Sir; here is a servant of the countess of Hippokekoana. The emetick has over-wrought and she is in convulsions. Foss. This is unfortunate. Then I must go. Mr. Ptisan, my dear, has some business with me in private. Retire into my closet a moment, and divert yourself with the pictures. There lies your way, madam. Mr. Ptisan, pray, do you run before, and tell them I am just coming. All my distresses come on the neck of one another. Should this fellow get to my bride before I have bedded her, in a collection of cuckolds, what a rarity should I make! what shall I do? I'll lock her up. Lock up my bride? my pace and my honour demand it, and it shall be so. [Locks the door.] Thomas, Thomas! Enter footman. I dream't last night I was robb'd. The town is over-run with rogues. Who knows but the rascal that sent the letter may be now in the house? [Aside.] Look up the chimney, search all the dark closets, the coal hole, the flower-pots, and forget not the empty butt in the cellar. Keep a strict watch at the door, and let no body in till my return. (within.) Who's there?——I'm lock'd in. Murder! fire! Foss. Dear madam, I beg your pardon. [Unlocks the door. Enter Townley.] 'Tis well you call'd. I am so apt to lock this door; an action meerly mechanical, not spontaneous. Town. Your conduct, Mr. Fossile, for this quarter of an hour has been somewhat mysterious. It has suggested to me what I almost blush to name; your locking me up, confirms this suspicion. Pray speak plainly, what has caused this alteration? Is this all? Foss. (reads) Either I mistake the encouragement I have had. What encouragement? Town. From my uncle,——if I must be your interpreter. Foss. Or I am to be happy to night. Town. To be married.——If there can be happiness in that state. Foss. I hope the same person. Town. Parson. Only a word mis-pell'd.——Here's jealousy for you! Foss. Will compleat her good offices. A she-parson, I find! Town. He is a Welshman. And the Welsh always say her instead of his. Foss. I stand to articles. Town. Of jointure. Foss. The ring is a fine one, and I shall have the pleasure of putting it on my self. Town. Who should put on the wedding-ring but the bridegroom. Foss. I beseech thee, pardon thy dear husband. Love and jealousy are often companions, and excess of both had quite obnubilated the eyes of my understanding. Town. Barbarous man! I could forgive thee, if thou hadst poison'd my father, debauch'd my sister, kill'd my lapdog; but to murder my reputation! Foss. Nay, I beseech thee, forgive me. Town. I do: but upon condition your jealous fit never returns. To a jealous man a whisper is evidence, and a dream demonstration. A civil letter Foss. Nay, prithee, my dear; I own I have abused thee. But lest my marriage, and this simple story should take air in the neighbourhood, to morrow we will retire into the country together, till the secret is blown over. I am call'd to a patient. In less than half an hour I'll be with you again, my dear. Town. Plotwell's letter had like to have ruin'd me. 'Twas a neglect in me, not to intrust him with the secret of my marriage. A jealous bridegroom! every poison has its antidote; as credulity is the cause, so it shall be the cure of his jealousy. To morrow I must be spirited away into the country; I'll immediately let Plotwell know of my distress: and this little time with opportunity, even on his wedding-day, shall finish him a compleat husband. Intrigue assist me! and I'll act a revenge that might have been worthy the most celebrated wife in Boccace. Enter Plotwell and Clinket. Hah! Plotwell! which way got he hither? I must caution him to be upon his guard. Plot. Madam, I am agreeably surpriz'd to find you here. Town. Me, Sir? you are certainly mistaken, for I don't remember I ever saw you before. Plot. Madam, I beg your pardon. How like a truth sounds a lye from the tongue of a fine woman. Clink. This, Madam, is Mr. Plotwell; a Gentleman who is so infinitely obliging, as to introduce my play on the theatre, by fathering the unworthy issue of my muse, at the reading it this morning. Plot. I should be proud, madam, to be a real father to any of your productions. Clink. Mighty just. Ha, ha, ha. You know, Mr. Plotwell, that both a parrot and a player can utter human sounds, but we allow neither of them to be a judge of wit. Yet some of those people have had the assurance to deny almost all my performances the privilege of being acted. Ah! what a GoÛt de travers rules the understanding of the illiterate! Plot. There are some, madam, that nauseate the smell of a rose. [Whenever Plotwell and Townley endeavour to talk, she interrupts them. Clink. If this piece be not rais'd to the sublime, let me henceforth be stigmatiz'd as a reptile in the dust of mediocrity. I am persuaded, Sir, your adopted child will do you no dishonour. Town. Pray, madam, what is the subject? Clink. Oh! beyond every thing. So adapted for tragical machines! so proper to excite the passions! not in the least encumber'd with episodes! the vraysemblance and the miraculous are linkt together with such propriety. Town. But the subject, madam? Clink. The universal Deluge, I chose that of Deucalion and Pyrrha, because neither our stage nor actors are hallow'd enough for sacred story. Plot. But, madam—— Clink. What just occasion for noble description! these players are exceeding dilatory. —In the mean time, Sir, shall I be oblig'd to you and this lady for the rehearsal of a scene that I have been just touching up with some lively strokes. Town. I dare assure you, madam, it will be a pleasure to us both. I'll take this occasion to inform you of my present circumstances. Clink. Imagine Deucalion and Pyrrha in their boat. They pass by a promontory, where stands prince HÆmon a former lover of Pyrrah's, ready to Plot. What ho, there sculler! Town. ——HÆmon! Plot. ———Yes, 'tis HÆmon! Town. Thou seest me now sail'd from my former lodgings, Clink. Not a syllable in the part! wrong, all wrong! Plot. Through all the town, with diligent enquiries, Clink. Beyond all patience! the part, Sir, lies before you; you are never to perplex the drama with speeches extempore. Plot. Madam, 'tis what the top players often do. Town. Though love denies, companion bids me save thee. Clink. Fye, Mr. Plotwell; this is against all the decorum of the stage; I will no more allow the libertinism of lip-embraces than the barbarity of killing on the stage; your best tragedians, like the ladies of quality in a visit, never turn beyond the back-part of the cheek to a salute, as thus Mr. Plotwell. Plot. I don't find in Aristotle any precept against killing. Clink. Yet I would not stand upon the brink of an indecorum. Plot. True, madam, the finishing stroke of love and revenge should never shock the eyes of an audience. But I look upon a kiss in a comedy to be upon a par with a box on the ear in a tragedy, which is frequently given and taken by your best authors. Clink. Mighty just! for a lady can no more put up a kiss than a gentleman a box on the ear. ACT II.Plotwell, Townley, Clinket, with Sir Tremendous and two Players, discovered seated round a Table. Plot. Gentlemen, this lady who smiles on my performances, has permitted me to introduce you and my tragedy to her tea-table. Clink. Gentlemen, you do me honour. 1st Play. Suffer us, Sir, to recommend to your acquaintance, the famous Sir Tremendous, the greatest critick of our age. Plot. Sir Tremendous, I rejoice at your presence; though no lady that has an antipathy, so sweats at a cat as some authors at a critick. Sir Tremendous, madam, is a Gentleman who can instruct the town to dislike what has pleased them, and to be pleased with what they disliked. Sir Trem. Alas! what signifies one good palate when the taste of the whole town is viciated. There is not in all this Sodom of ignorance ten righteous criticks, who do not judge things backward, Clink. I perfectly agree with Sir Tremendous: your modern tragedies are such egregious stuff, they neither move terror nor pity. Plot. Yes, madam, the pity of the audience on the first night, and the terror of the author for the third. Sir Tremendous's plays indeed have rais'd a sublimer passion, astonishment. Clink. I perceive here will be a wit-combat between these beaux-esprits. Prue, be sure you set down all the similes. Prue retires to the back part of the stage with pen and ink. Sir Trem. The subjects of most modern plays are as ill chosen as—— Plotw. The patrons of their dedications. Sir Trem. Their plots as shallow—— Plotw. As those of bad poets against new plays Sir Trem. Their episodes as little of a piece to the main action, as—— Clink. A black gown with a pink-colour'd petticoat. Mark that, Prue. Sir Trem. Their sentiments are so very delicate— Plotw. That like whipt syllabub they are lost before they are tasted. Sir Trem. Their diction so low, that—that— Plotw. Why, that their friends are forced to call it simplicity. 1st Play. Sir to the play if you please. 2d Play. We have a rehearsal this morning. Sir Trem. And then their thefts are so open—— Plotw. that the very French taylors can discover them. Sir Trem. O what felony from the ancients! what petty larceny from the moderns! there is the famous Ephigenia of Racine, he stole his Agamemnon from Seneca, who stole it from Euripides, who stole it from Homer, who stole it from all the ancients before him. In short there is nothing so execrable as our most taking tragedies. 1st Play. O! but the immortal Shakespeare, Sir. Sir Trem. He had no judgnent. 2d Play. The famous ben Johmson! Clink. Dry. 1st Play. The tender Otway! Sir Trem. Incorrect. 2d Play. Etheridge! Clink. Mere chit-chat. 1st Play. Dryden! Sir Trem. Nothing but a knack of versifying. Clink. Ah! dear Sir Tremendous, there is that delicatesse in your sentiments! Sir Trem. Ah madam! there is that justness in your notions! Clink. I am so much charm'd with your manly penetration! Sir Trem. I with your profound capacity! Clink. That I am not able— Sir Trem. That it is impossible— Clink. To conceive— Sir Trem. To express— Clink. With what delight I embrace— Sir Trem. With what pleasure I enter into— Clink. Your ideas, most learned Sir Tremendous! Sir Trem. Your sentiments, most divine Mrs. Clinket. 2d Play. The play, for heaven's sake, the play. [A tea-table brought in.] Clink. This finish'd drama is too good for an age like this. Plotw. The Universal Deluge, or the tragedy of Deucalion and Pyrrha. Clink. Mr. Plotwell, I will not be deny'd the pleasure of reading it, you will pardon me. 1st Play. The deluge! the subject seems to be too recherche. Clink. A subject untouch'd either by ancients or moderns, in which are terror and pity in perfection. 1st Play. The stage will never bear it. Can you suppose, Sir, that a box of ladies will sit three hours to see a rainy day, and a feather in a storm; make your best of it, I know it can be nothing else. 2d Play. If you please, madam, let us hear how it opens. Clink. [reads.] The scene opens and discovers the heavens cloudy. A prodigious shower of rain. At a distance appears the top of the mountain Parnassus; all the fields beneath are over-flowed; there are seen cattle and men swimming. The tops of steeples rise above the flood, with men and women perching on their weathercocks—— Sir Trem. Begging your pardon, Sir, I believe it can be proved, that weather-cocks are of a modern invention. Besides, if stones were dissolved, as a late philosopher hath proved, how could steeples stand? Plot. I don't insist upon trifles. Strike it out. Clink. Strike it out! consider what you do. In this they strike at the very foundation of the drama. Don't almost all the persons of your second act start out of stones that Deucalion and Pyrrha threw behind them? This cavil is levell'd at the whole system of the reparation of human race. 1st Play. Then the shower is absurd. Clink. Why should not this gentleman rain, as well as other authors snow and thunder?—— —— [reads.] Enter Deucalion in a sort of waterman's habit, leading his wife Pyrrha to a boat—Her first distress is about her going back to fetch a casket of jewels. Mind, how he imitates your great authors. The first speech has all the fire of Lee. Tho' heav'n wrings all the sponges of the sky, Sir Trem. There were no spring tides in the Mediteranean, and consequently Deucalion could not make that simile. Clink. A man of Deucalion's quality might have travelled beyond the Mediteranean, and so your objection is answered. Observe, Sir Tremendous, the tenderness of Otway, in this answer of Pyrrha. ————— Why do the stays Sir Trem. Ah! Anachronisms! Stays are a modern habit, and the whole scene is monstrous, and against the rules of tragedy. Plot. I submit Sir,—out with it. Clink. Were the play mine, you should gash my flesh, mangle my face, any thing sooner than scratch my play. Plot. Blot and insert wherever you please——I submit myself to your judgment. Plotwell rises and discourses apart with Townley. Sir Trem. Madam, nonsense and I have been at variance from my cradle, it sets my understanding on edge. 2d Play. Indeed, madam, with submission, and I think I have some experience of the stage, this play will hardly take. Clink. The worst lines of it would be sufficiently clapt, if it had been writ by a known author, or recommended by one. Sir Trem. Between you and I, madam, who understand better things, this gentleman knows nothing of poetry. 1st Play. The gentleman may be an honest man, but he is a damn'd writer, and it neither can take, nor ought to take. Sir Trem. If you are the gentleman's friend, and value his reputation, advise him to burn it. Clink. What struggles has an unknown author to vanquish prejudice! Suppose this play acts but six nights, his next may play twenty. Encourage a young author, I know it will be your interest. 2d Play. I would sooner give five hundred pounds than bring some plays on the stage; an audience little considers whether 'tis the author or the actor that is hiss'd, our character suffers. 1st Play. Damn our character—We shall lose money by it. Clink. I'll deposit a sum myself upon the success of it. Well, since it is to be play'd—I will prevail upon him to strike out some few things.—Take the play, Sir Tremendous. Sir Tremendous reads in a muttering tone. Sir Trem. Absurd to the last degree [strikes out.] palpable nonsense! [strikes out.] Clink. What all those lines! spare those for a lady's sake, for those indeed, I gave him. Sir Trem. Such stuff! [strikes out.] abominable! [strikes out.] most execrable! 1st Play. This thought must out. 2d Play. Madam, with submission, this metaphor. 1st Play. This whole speech. Sir Trem. The Fable! Clink. To you I answer,— 1st Play. The characters! Clink. To you I answer— Sir Trem. The diction! Clink. And to you—Ah, hold, hold,—I'm butcher'd, I'm massacred. For mercy's sake! murder, murder! ah! Enter Fossile peeping at the door. Foss. My house turn'd to a stage! and my bride playing her part too! What will become of me? but I'll know the bottom of all this. [aside.] I am surprized to see so many patients here so early. What is your distemper, Sir? 1st Play. The cholic, Sir, by a surfeit of green tea and damn'd verses. Foss. Your pulse is very high, madam. [To Townley.] You sympathize, I perceive, for yours is somewhat feverish. [To Plotwell.] But I believe I shall Clink. Ah! I am an undone woman. Plot. Has he burnt any bank-bills, or a new Mechlin head-dress? Clink. My works! my works! 1st Play. Has he destroyed the writings of an estate, or your billet doux? Clink. A Pindarick ode! five similes! and half an epilogue! 2d Play. Has he thrown a new fan or your pearl necklace into the flames? Clink. Worse, worse! The tag of the acts of a new comedy! a prologue sent by a person of quality three copies of recommendatory verses! and two Greek mottos! Foss. Gentlemen, if you please to walk out. 2d Play. You shall have our positive answer concerning your tragedy, madam, in an hour or two. Foss. Though this affair looks but ill; yet I will not be over-rash: What says Lybanius? 'A false accusation often recoils upon the accuser;' and I have suffered already by too great precipitation. Enter Sarsnet. Town. A narrow escape, Sarsnet! Plotwells letter was intercepted and read by my husband. Sars. I tremble every joint of me. How came you off? Town. Invention flow'd, I ly'd, he believ'd. True wife, true husband! Sars. I have often warned you, madam, against this superfluity of gallants; you ought at least to have clear'd all mortgages upon your person before you leas'd it out for life. Then, besides Plotwell, you are every moment in danger of Underplot, who attends on Plotwell like his shadow; he is unlucky enough to stumble upon your husband, and then I'm sure his shatterbrains would undo us at once. Town. Thy wit and industry, Sarsnet, must help me out. To day is mine, to morrow is my husband's. Sars. But some speedy method must be thought of, to prevent your letters from falling into his hands. Town. I can put no confidence in my landlady Mrs. Chambers, since our quarrel at parting. So I have given orders to her maid to direct all letters and messages hither, and I have plac'd my own trusty servant Hugh at the door to receive them—but see, yonder comes my husband, I'll retire to my closet. Enter Fossile. Foss. O marriage, thou bitterest of potions, and thou strongest of astringents. This Plotwell that I found talking with her must certainly be the person that sent the letter. But if I have a Bristol stone put upon me instead of a diamond, why should I by experiments spoil its lustre? She is handsome, that is certain. Could I but keep her to myself for the future! Cuckoldom is an accute case, it is quickly over; when it takes place, it admits of no remedy but palliatives.——Be it how it will, while my marriage is a secret—— Within. Bless the noble doctor Fossile and his honourable lady. The city musick are come to wish him much joy of his marriage. Foss. Joy and marriage; never were two words so coupled. Within. Much happiness attend the learned doctor Fossile and his worthy and virtuous lady. The drums and trumpets of his majesty's guards are come to salute him—— Foss. Ah, Fossile! wretched Fossile! into what state hast thou brought thy self! thy disgrace proclaim'd by beat of drum! New married men are treated like those bit by a Tarantula, both must have musick: But where are the notes that can expell a wife! ACT III.Enter Fossile in a footman's cloaths, Foss. A Special dog; this footman of my wife's! as mercenary as the porter of a first minister! Why should she place him as a centinal at my door? unquestionably, to carry on her intrigues. Why did I bribe him to lend me his livery? to discover those intrigues. And now, O wretched Fossile, thou hast debas'd thyself into the low character of a footman. What then? gods and demi gods have assum'd viler shapes: they, to make a cuckold; I, to prove myself one. Why then should my metamorphosis be more shameful, when my purpose is more honest? [Knocking at the door, enter footman.] Foot. Ay, this is her livery. Friend, give this to your mistress. Fossile. [reads] 'Madam, you have jilted me. What I gave you cost me dear; what you might have given me, would have cost you nothing. You shall use my next present with more respect. I presented you a fine snuff-box; you gave it to that coxcomb Underplot, and Underplot gave it to my wife. Judge of my surprise. A fine circulation of a snuff-box! in time I shall have the rarest of my shells set off with gold hinges, to make presents to all the fops about town. My ConchÆ Veneris; and perhaps, even my Nautilus. A knocking at the door. Enter an old woman. Old Wom. Can I speak with your good mistress, honest friend? Fos. No, she's busy. Old Wom. Madam Wyburn presents her service and has sent this letter. Fossile. [reads] 'Being taken up with waiting upon merchants ladies this morning, I have sent to acquaint you, my dear sweet Mrs. Townley, that the alderman agrees to every thing but putting away his wife, which he says is not decent at that end of the town. He desires a meeting this evening.' Postscript. 'He does not like the grocer's wife at all.' Bless me! what a libidinous age we live in! neither his own wife! nor the grocer's wife! Will people like nobody's wife but mine! [Knocking at the door. Enter footman, gives a letter, and exit.] Enter another footman gives a letter, and exit. Foss. [reads] 'Sincerely, madam, I cannot spare that sum; especially in monthly payments. My good friend and neighbour Pinch, a quiet sober man, is content to go a third part, only for leave to visit upon sabbath days. ' Well, frugallity is laudable even in iniquity! Now for this other. Opens the second letter. Foss. [reads] 'Madam, I can't make you rich, but I can make you immortal. Verses on Mrs. Susanna Townley, in the front box dress'd in green. In you the beauties of the spring are seen, A poor dog of a poet! I fear him not. Enter a ragged fellow with a letter. Foot. My master is at present under a cloud——He begs you will deliver this letter to your lady. Foss. [reads] 'I am reduced by your favours to ask the thing I formerly deny'd; that you would entertain me as a husband, who can no longer keep you as a mistress. Why did I part with this fellow? This was a proposal indeed, to make both me and himself happy at once! He shall have her, and a twelve-month's fees into the bargain. Where shall I find him?—Why was the mistress of all mankind unknown to thee alone? Why is nature so dark in our greatest concerns? Why are there no external symptoms of defloration, nor any pathognomick of the loss of virginity but a big belly? Why has not lewdness its tokens like the As Townley and Sarsnet enter, Fossile sneaks off. Town. Sarsnet, we are betray'd. I have discovered my husband posted at the door in Hugh's livery, he has intercepted all my letters. I immediately writ this, which is the only thing that can bring us off. Run this moment to Plotwell, get him to copy it, and send it directed to me by his own servant with the utmost expedition. He is now at the chocolate-house in the next street. Sars. I fly, madam; but how will you disengage yourself from the affair with Underplot? Town. Leave it to me. Though he wants sense, he's handsome, and I like the fellow; and if he is lucky enough to come in my husband's absence.——But prithee Sarsenet make haste. [Exit Townley and Sarsenet, upon which Fossile re-enters, to him Underplot.] Underp. Harke'e, friend. I never talk with one of your coat, but I first tip him. Foss. Behold the lucre of a pimp! Between the pox abroad, and my plague at home, I find a man may never want fees. [aside.] Your honour's commands, I pray. I long to serve you. Underp. Ah, boy! thou hast a rare mistress for vails. Come I know thou art a sly dog; can'st thou introduce me to her for a moment's conversation? Foss. Impossible. Underp. What, still impossible? Foss. Still impossible. Underp. Poh, pox. But prithee, friend, by the by, is there any thing in this report that she is marry'd to the doctor here? Foss. I am afraid there is something in it. Underp. What a spirit does a jealous husband give to an intrigue! Pray, is he not a most egregious silly animal? Foss. Not exceeding wise indeed, Underp, Rich? Foss. He has money. Underp. That will save the expence of her gallants. Old? Foss. Ay, too old, heaven knows. Underp. How came it into the puppy's head to marry? Foss. By the instigation of Satan. Underp. I'll help the old fool to an heir. Foss. No doubt on't. If the whole town can do it, he will not want one. Underp. Come, prithee deal freely with me, Has Plotwell been here since the wedding? Foss. He has! too sure: [aside.] He's a dangerous rival to you; if you have a mind to succeed, keep a strict watch upon him, that he may not get admittance before you. Underp. Well since thou hast shown thyself so much my friend, I'll let thee into a secret. Plotwell and I no sooner heard of the wedding, but we made a bett of a hundred guineas, who should dub the doctor first. Remember you go twenty pieces with me. Foss. But here is some body coming. Away you are sure of my interest. Foss. This was well judg'd. I have a small territory coveted by two rival potentates. It is profound policy to make them watch one the other, and so keep the ballance of power in my own hands. Certainly nothing so improves one's politicks, as to have a coquet to on'es wife, Enter a footman with a letter, Foot. This is for your lady, Deliver it safe into her own hands. Fos. [reads.] 'Know, cruel woman, I have discovered the secret of your marriage; you shall have all the plague of a jealous husband, without the pleasure of giving him cause. I have this morning counterfeited billetdoux and letters from bawds; nay, I have sent pimps; some of which, I hope, are fallen into your old coxcomb's hands. If you deny me the pleasure of tipping him a real cuckold, at least, I'll have the resentment to make him an imaginary one. Know that this is not the hundredth part of the revenge that shall be executed upon thee, by Town. [peeping.] So. The letter works as I would have it. Foss. How true is that saying of the philosopher! 'We only know, that we know nothing.' The eruption of those horns which seem'd to make so strong a push is now suppress'd. Is the mystery of all these letters nothing but the revenge of a disappointed lover? The hand and seal are just the same with the Welchman's that I intercepted a while ago. Truly, these Welch are a hot revengeful people. My wife may be virtuous; she may not. Prevention is the safest method with diseases and intrigues. Women are wanton, husbands weak, bawds busy, opportunities dangerous, gallants eager; therefore it behoves honest men to be watchful. But here comes my Wife, I must hide myself; for should I be detected, she might have a just cause of complaint for my impertinent curiosity. Enter Townley; and to her Sarsnet at the other door. Sars. Your orders, madam, have been executed to a tittle, and I hope with success. Town. Extremely well. Just as we could have wish'd. But I can't forgive that rascal Hugh. To turn him away would be dangerous. We will rather take the advantage of the confidence my husband has in him. Leave the husband to me, and do you discipline the footman. Such early curiosity must be crush'd in the bud. Hugh, Hugh, Hugh. [calls aloud, and rings.] What is become of the rogue? Sars. This is not Hugh, madam; a rouge in disguise, got in to rob the house! thieves, thieves! Enter Clinket, Prue with the writing-desk, and servants Foss. St. St—no noise. Prithee, dearee, look upon me. See, see, thy own dear husband. It is I. Town. What an unfortunate woman am I! Could not you pass one day without an intrigue? and with a cookwench too! for you could put on a livery for no other end. You wicked man. Sars. His coldness, madam, is now no longer a mystery. Filthy monster! wer't not thou provided with my mistress as a remedy for thy rampant unchastity? Town. Was all your indeffierence to me for this! you brute you. Foss. Nay, prithee, dearee, judge not rashly. My character is establish'd in the world. There lives not a more sober, chaste, and virtuous person than doctor Fossile. Town. Then why this disguise? Foss, Since it must come out; ha, ha, ha, only a frolick on my wedding day between Hugh and I. We had a mind to exhibit a little mummery. Clink. What joy arises in my soul to see my uncle in a dramatick character! Since your humour lead you to the drama, uncle, why would you not consult a relative muse in your own family? I have always used you as my physician; and why should not you use me as your poet? Foss, Prithee, dear, leave me a moment. This is a scandal to my gravity. I'll be with you, as my self, immediately. [Exeunt omnes, except Fossile and Hugh. As they are changing habits, Fossile says, As a mark of my confidence in thee, I leave thee guardian of my house while I go my rounds. Let none in but patients; wan sickly fellows, no person in the least degree of bodily strength. Hugh. Worthy doctor, you may rely upon my honour. This is not the doctor; but he is dress'd like him, and that shall be my excuse. Town. Hugh, go, wait at the door. Plotw. This disguise gives spirit to my intrigue. Certainly I am the first person that ever enjoy'd a bride without the scandal of matrimony. Town. I have a different relish, Mr. Plotwell, for now I can't abide you, you are so like my husband. Plotw. Underplot, I defy thee. I have laid the wager, and now I hold the stakes. Town. Opportunity Mr. Potwell, has been the downfall of much virtue. Hugh. Ah, madam! the doctor! the doctor! Plot. Fear nothing. I'll stand it. I have my part ready. Enter Fossile. Foss. I promised lady Langfort my eagle-stone. The poor lady is like to miscarry, and 'tis well I thought on't. Ha! who is here! I do not like the aspect of the fellow. But I will not be over censorious. [They make many bows and cringes in advancing to each other. Plot. Illustrissime domine, huc adveni— Foss. Illustrissime domine——non usus, sum loquere Latinum——If you cannot speak English, we can have no lingual conversation. Plot. I can speak but a little Englise. Me ave great deal heard of de fame of de great luminary of all arts and sciences, de illustrious doctor Fossile. I would make commutation (what do you call it) I would exchange some of my tings for some of his tings. Foss. Pray, Sir, what university are you of? Plot. De famous university of Cracow in Polonia minor. I have cured de king of Sweden of de wound. My name be doctor Cornelius Lubomirski. Foss. Your Lubomirskis are a great family. But what Arcana are you master of, Sir? Plot. [Shows a large snuff-box.] See dere, Sir, dat box de snuff. Foss. Snuff-box. Plot. Right. Snuff-box. Dat be de very true gold. Foss. What of that? Plot. Vat of dat? me make dat gold my own self, of de lead of de great church of Crawcow. Foss. By what operations? Plot. By calcination; reverberation; purification; sublimation; amalgamation; precipitation; volitilization. Foss. Have a care what you assert. The volitilization of gold is not an obvious process. It is by great elegance of speech called, fortitudo fortitudinis fortissima. Plot. I need not acquaint de illustrious doctor Fossile, dat all de metals be but unripe gold. Foss. Spoken like a philosopher, And therefore there should be an act of parliament against digging of lead mines, as against felling young timber. But inform me, Sir, what might be your menstruum, snow-water, or May-dew? Plot. Snow-vater. Foss. Right. Snow is the universal pickle of nature for the preservation of her productions in the hyemal season. Plot. If you will go your self, and not trust de servant, to fetch some of de right Thames sand dat be below de bridge, I will show you de naked Diana in your study before I go hence. Foss. Perhaps you might. I am not at present dispos'd for experiments. Plot. This bite wont take to send him out of the way, I'll change my subject. [Aside.] Do you deal in longitudes, Sir? Foss. I deal not in impossibilities. I search only for the grand elixir. Plot. Vat do you tink of de new metode of fluxion? Foss. I know no other but my mercury. Plot. Ha, ha. Me mean de fluxion of de quantity. Foss. The greatest quantity I ever knew, was three quarts a day. Plot. Be dere any secret in the hydrology, zoology, minerology, hydraulicks, acausticks, pneumaticks, logarithmatechny, dat you do want de explanation of? Foss. This is all out of my way. Do you know of any hermaphrodites, monstrous twins, antediluvivian shells, bones, and vegetables? Plot. Vat tink you of an antediluvian knife, spoon, and fork, with the mark of Tubal Cain in Hebrew, dug out of the mine of Babylon? Foss. Of what dimensions, I pray, Sir? Plot. De spoon be bigger dan de modern ladle; de fork, like de great fire-fork; and de knife, like de cleaver. Foss. Bless me! this shows the stature and magnitude of those antidiluvians! Plot. To make you convinced that I tell not de lie, dey are in de Turkey ship at Vapping, just going to be disposed of. Me would go there vid you, but de businss vil not let me. Foss. An extraordinary man this! I'll examine him further. [Aside.] How could your country lose so great a man as you? Plot. Dat be de secret. But because me vil have de fair correspondence with de illustrious doctor Fossile, me vil not deny dat Orpheus and me had near run de same fate for different reason. I was hunted out of my country by de general insurrection of de women. Foss. How so pray? Plot. Because me have prepare a certain liquor which discover whether a woman be a virgin or no. Foss. A curious discovery! have you any of it still? Plot. Dere it is, Sir. It be commonly called de Lapis Lydius Virginitatis, or touch-stone of virginity. Foss. It has the smell of your common hart's-horn. But all your volatile spirits have a near resemblance. Plot. Right, Sir. De distillation be made from the Hippomanes of a young mare. When a deflower'd virgin take ten drops, she will faint and sneeze, and de large red spot appear on the cheek; which we call Enter Hugh. Hugh. Sir here is a patient in a chair. Foss. Doctor Lubomirski, let me conduct you into my study, where we will farther discuss the wonderful virtues of this liquor. Tell the patient I will attend him this instant. Enter Underplot in a chair like a sick man. Hugh. The doctor will wait upon you immediately. Underp. I dogg'd Plotwell to this door in a doctor's habit. If he has admittance as a doctor, why not I as a patient? Now for a lucky decision of our wager! If I can't succeed myself, I will at least spoil his intrigue. Enter Fossile. Underp. Ah! ah! have you no place? Ah! where can I repose a little? I was taken suddenly. Ah! ah! 'tis happy I was so near the house of an eminent physician. Foss. Rest yourself upon that couch. Underp. If I lay a few minutes cover'd up warm in a bed, I believe I might recover. Plot. Underplot in disguise! I'll be his doctor, and cure him of these frolicks. Foss. What are your symptoms, Sir? a very tempestuous pulse, I profess! Underp. Violent head-ach, ah! ah! Foss. All this proceeds from the fumes of the kitchen, the stomachic digester wants reparation for the better concoction of your aliment: But, Sir, is your pain pungitive, tensive, gravitive, or pulsatory? Plot. All together, ah! Foss. Impossible Sir; but I have an eminent physician now in the house, he shall consult. Doctor Lubomirski, here is a person in a most violent cephalalgy, a terrible case! Enter Plotwell. Foss. Feel his pulse. [Plotwell feels it.] You feel it, Sir, strong, hard and labouring. Plot. Great plenitude, Sir. Foss. Feel his belly, Sir; a great tension and heat of the abdomen—A hearty man, his muscles are torose; how soon are the strongest humbled by diseases! let us retire, and consult. Enter Sarsnet in haste. Sars. My mistress approves your design, bear it out bravely, perhaps I shall have a sudden opportunity of conveying you into her bed-chamber, counterfeit a fainting fit and rely upon me. Underp. As yet I find I am undiscover'd by Plotwell; neither is his intrigue in such forwardness as mine, though he made a fair push for it before me. Foss. I am entirely for a glister. Plot. My opinion is for de strong vomit. Foss. Bleed him. Plot. Make de searrification, give me de lancet, me will do it myself, and after dat will put de blister to de sole of de feet, Foss. Your dolor proceeds from a frigid intemperies of the brain, a strong disease! the enemy has invaded the very citadel of your microcosm, the magazine of your vital functions; he has set down before it; yet there seems to be a good garrison of vital spirits, and we don't question to be able to defend it. Plot. Ve will cannonade de enemy with pills, bombard him wid de bolus, blow him up with volatiles, fill up the trenches wid de large innundation of apozems, and dislodge him wid de stink pot; let de apotecary bring up de artillery of medicine immediately. Foss. True, we might unload the stomach by gentle emeticks, and the intestines by clysters stimulative, carminative, and emollient, with strong hydroticks, quiet the spasms of the viscera by paregoricks, draw off the stagnant blood by deep scarrifications, and depurate its fÆculencies by volatiles; after this, let there be numerous blisters and potential cauteries—I consult my patient's ease; I am against much physick—He faints, he is apoplectic, bleed him this moment. Plot. Hoy de servant dere, make hast, bring de pan of hot coals; or de red hot iron to make application to de temples. Enter Hugh. Hugh. Here's the poker red hot from the fire. Plot. Very well make de burn dere, exactly dere. Underp. Hold, hold, am I to be murder'd? [starts up.] I know you, Plotwell, and was I not oblig'd by honour and friendship, I'd expose you to the doctor. Plot. Very lunatick, mad, fetch me de cord to make de tie upon de leg and de arm, take off thirty ounces of blood, and den plunge him into de cold bath. Foss. Your judgment, doctor Lubomirski, is excellent, I will call my servants to assist us. Underp. Hearke'e, old put; I came to take your advice, and not that French son of a whore's scarrifications; and so plague take you both. ACT IV.Enter Dr. Fossile, and Plotwell. Foss. Doctor Lubomirski, this vial that you have intrusted into my custody, shall be with acknowledgment return'd after a few experiments; I must crave your indulgence; diseases, you know, Sir, are impertinent, and will tie themselves to no hours, poor lady Hyppokekoana! Plot. Ah Sir! I beg your pardon, if you make visit to de patient, me will divert myself in your study till you make return. Foss. That cannot be, I have a lady just coming to consult me in a case of secrecy. Plot. Have you not de wife? me will make conversation wid de ladies till you come. Foss. They see no company in the morning, they are all in deshabilleÉ; most learned doctor Lubomirski, your humble servant. Plot. Most illustrious doctor Fossile, me be, with de profoundest adoration Foss. With the greatest admiration Plot. Your most humble Foss. Most obedient servant. Plot. Ah, Monsieur, point de ceremonie. Enter Hugh. Foss. Hugh, bring me a pint of sack; let your mistress know I want to see her. Take care that her Ah Fossile! if the cares of two hours of a married life have so reduc'd thee, how long can'st thou hold out! to watch a wife all day, and have her wake thee all night! 'twill never do. The fitigue of three fevers, six small poxes, and five great ones, is nothing to that of one wife. Now for my touch-stone; I will try it upon her presently. If she bear it to day—I am afraid she will bear it to morrow too. Enter Hugh with a bottle of sack, and after him Townley. Hugh gives the bottle and glass to Fossile and exit. Sit down by me, my dear, I was going to refresh myself with a glass of canary. You look pale. It will do you good. Town. Faugh. Wine in the morning! [Fossile drinks and fills again, and drops some of the liquor into the glass.] What is the meaning of this? am I to be poison'd. Foss. You must drink it. Sack is sacred to Hymen; of it is made the nuptial posset. Town. Don't press me, Mr. Fossile, I nauseate it. It smells strangely. There is something in it. Foss. An ill symptom! she can't bear the smell. [aside.] Pray, my dear, oblige me. Town. I'm for none of your flops. I'll fill myself. Foss. I must own, I have put some restorative drops in it, which are excellent. I may drink it safely. [aside.] [drinks.] The next glass I prepare for you. [Townley drinks. Fossile runs behind to support her; then pores upon her cheek, and touches it with his finger. Town. Your insolence is insupportable. 'Twas but this moment you suspected my virtue; and now my complexion. Put on your spectacles. No red was ever laid upon these cheeks. I'll fly thee, and die a maid, rather than live under the same roof with jealousy and caprice. Foss. O thou spotless innocence! I cannot refrain tears of joy. Forgive me, and I'll tell thee all. These drops have been a secret in our family for many years. They are call'd the touch-stone of virginity. The males administer it to the brides on their wedding-day; and by its virtue have ascertain'd the honour of the Fossiles from generation to generation. There are family customs, which it is almost impious to neglect. Town. Had you married a person of doubtful reputation——But me, Mr. Fossile! Foss. I did not indeed suspect thee. But my mother obliged me to this experiment with her dying words—My wife is chaste: And to preserve her so, 'tis necessary that I have none but chaste servants about her. I'll make the experiment on all my female domesticks. [aside.] I will now, my dear, in thy presence, put all my family to the trial. Here! bid my niece, and all the maid-servants come before me. Enter Clinket, Prue, and Servants. Give ear, all ye virgins: We make proclamation in the name of the chaste Diana, being resolv'd to make a solemn essay of the virtue, virginity, and chastity of all within our walls. We therefore advise, warn and precaution all spinsters, who know themselves blemish'd, not on any pretence whatsoever Clink. I abominate all kind of drops. They interrupt the series of ideas. But have the any power over the virgin's dreams, thoughts, and private meditations? Foss. No. They do not affect the motus Primo-primi, or intentions; only actualities, niece. Clink. Then give it me. I can drink as freely of it as of the waters of Helicon. My love was always Platonick. Foss. Yet I have known a Platonick lady lodge at a mid wife's. [Fossile offers it round.] 1st Wom. I never take physick. Foss. That's one. Stand there. My niece professes herself a Platonick. You are rather a Cartesian. Clink. Ah dear uncle! how do the Platonicks and Cartesians differ. Foss. The Platonicks are for idea's, the Cartesians for matter and motion. Town. Mr. Fossile, you are too severe. 2d Wom. I am not a-dry. [curtsies. Foss. There's two. Stand there. Prue. My mistress can answer for me. She has taken it. Foss. She has. But however stand there, among the Cartesians. 3d Wom. My innocence would protect me, though I trod over red-hot iron. Give me a brimmer. [She takes a mouthful and spits it out again.] Foss. 'Twas a presumptuous thing to gargle with it: but however, madam, if you please——walk among the Cartesians. Clink. Prue, follow me. I have just found a rhime for my Pindarick. Fos. All gone! what no more ladies here? no more ladies! [looking to the audience,] O that I had but a boarding-school, or a middle gallery! Enter Sarsnet, follow'd by two porters bearing a chest. Set down the things here: there is no occasion for carrying them up stairs, since they are to be sent into the country to morrow. What have I done? My marriage, these confounded whimsies, and doctor Lubomirski, have made me quite forget poor lady Hippokekoana. She was in convulsions, and I am afraid dead by this time. Sars. I have brought you a present, madam, make good use of it. So I leave you together. [Townley opens the chest: Plotwell, who was cover'd with a gown and petticoat, gets out.] Town. Never was any thing so lucky. The doctor is just this minute gone to a patient. Plot. I tempt dangers enough in your service. I am almost crippled in this chest-adventure. Oh my knees! Prithee, my dear, lead me to a bed where I may strech myself out. Enter Sarsnet. Sars. Oh madam! yonder is the doctor in deep discourse with Underplot: I fear he has dogg'd me, and betray'd us. The are both coming back together. Plot. I'll shrink snug into my shell again. Town. That he may directly pop upon you. The trunk will be the first place he will examine, have you no presence of mind? You sit for an intrigue! Plot. What shall I do? Town. Fear not, you shall be invisible i th is very spot. Plot. What do you mean? he's just at the door. You intend to discover me. Town. Mistrust me not: You shall walk out before his face at that very door, though he bring in a hundred spies, and not one of them shall perceive you. Plot. Don't trifle. Are you mad? [knocking at the door.] Nay, now 'tis too late. Town. Arm thyself with flounces, and fortify thyself with whalebone; enter beneath the cupulo of this petticoat. Plot. The best security in the world! an old fellow has seldom any thing to do beneath that circumferance. Town. No more but under it immediately. Thus Venus, when approaching foes assail, Enter Fossile. Town. O my dear you come opportunely. How do you like my fancy in this new petticoat? there is something in it so odd! Fos. You have another in your chest much odder. I want to see that. Town. How jaunty the flounces! Fos. Ay, 'tis plain she would lure me from the chest; there I shall find him. Town. The lace! the fringe! Fos. All this is nothing to the embroider'd sattin. Prithee, my dear, give me the key. Town. Sure never was any thing so prettily disposed. Observe but the air of it: So degagee! But the lining is so charming. [She walks to the door, and Fossile to the trunk. Plotwell kisses her out of the top of the petticoat, and then goes off.] [As Fossile is cautiously opening the trunk with his sword drawn, Townley comes up to him.] What, more of your frolicks, Mr. Fossile. What time of the moon is this? Fos. This Underplot is a confounded villain, he would make me jealous of an honest civil gentleman, only for an opportunity to cuckold me himself. [aside.] Come, my dear, forget all that is past. I know——I have proved thee virtuous. But prithee, love, leave me a moment; I expect some Egyptian rarities. ACT V.Enter Fossile with a vial in his hand. Fos. This is all we have for the flying dragon so celebrated by antiquity. A cheap purchase! It cost me but fifteen guineas. But the Jew made it up in the butterfly and the spider. Enter two porters bearing a Mummy. Oh! here's my mummy. Set him down. I am in haste. Tell captain Bantam, I'll talk with him at the coffee-house. Enter two porters bearing an Alligator. A most stupendous animal! set him down. Poor lady Hippokekoana's convulsions! I believe there is fatality in it, that I can never get to her. Who can I trust my house to in my absence? Were my wife as chaste as Lucretia, who knows what an unlucky minute may bring forth! In cuckoldom, the art of attack is prodigiously improved beyond the art of defence. So far it is manifest, Underplot has a design upon my honour. For the ease of my mind, I will lock up my wife in this my musÆum, 'till my return. Enter Townley, and Sarsnet. You will find something here, my dear, to divert yourself. Town. I hate the sight of these strange creatures; but since I am Mr. Fossiles wife, I shall endeavour to conquer my aversion. Foss. Thou may'st safely be here to day, my dear; to-morrow thou shouldst no more enter this room than a pest-house. 'Tis dangerous for women that are impregnated. But poor lady Hippokekoana suffers all this while. Town. Since he has lock'd me in, to be even with him, I'll bolt him out. Plot. Thus trav'ling far from his Egyptian tomb, Town. Thus Cleopatra, in desiring arms, Plot. The play-house can dress mummies, bears, lions, crocodiles, and all the monsters of Lybia. My arms madam are ready to break their past-board prison to embrace you. Town. Not so hasty. Stay till the jealous fool is out of sight. Plot. Our ill stars, and the devil, have brought him back so often Town. He can never parry this blow, nor grow jealous of his mummy. A mummy is his intimate friend. Plot. And a man cannot easily be cuckolded by any body else. Town. Here may'st thou remain the ornament of his study, and the support of his old age. Thou Plot. But madam; before you entertain me as your mummy in ordinary, you ought to be acquainted with my abilities to discharge that office. Let me slip off this habit of death, you shall find I have some symptoms of life.——Thus Jove within the milk-white swan compress'd his Leda. [Underplot in the Alligator crawls forward, then rises up and embraces her.] Underp. Thus Jove within the serpents scaly folds, Town. Ah! [shrieks. Plot. Fear not, madam. This is my evil genius Underplot that still haunts me. How the devil got you here? Underp. Why should not the play-house lend me a crocodile as well as you a mummy? Town. How unlucky is this! [Aside.] Nay, I don't know but I may have twenty lovers in this collection. You snakes, sharks, monkeys, and mantygers, speak, and put in your claim before it is too late. Underp. Mr. Mummy, your humble servant; the lady is pre-engag'd. Plot. Pray, Mr. Crocodile, let the lady make her own choice. Underp. Crocodile as I am, I must be treated with common humanity. You can't, madam, disown the message you sent me. Town. Well! ye pair of Egyptian lovers, agree this matter between you, and I will acquit myself like a person of honour to you both. Plot. Madam! If I don't love you above all your sex, may I be banish'd the studies of virtuoso's; and smoak'd like dutch beef in a chimney—— Underp. If I don't love you more than that stale mummy, may I never more be proclaim'd at a show of monsters, by the sound of a glass-trumpet. Plot. May I be sent to 'Pothecary's-hall, and beat up into venice treacle for the fleet and the army, if this heart—— Underp. May I be stuff'd with straw, and given to a mountebank, if this soul—— Plot. Madam I am a human creature. Taste my balsamick kiss. Underp. A lover in swadling-clouts! What is his kiss, to my embrace? Plot. Look upon me, madam. See how I am embroider'd with hieroglyphicks. Underp. Consider my beautiful row of teeth. Plot. My balmy breath. Underp. The strong joints of my back. Plot. My erect stature. Underp. My long tail. Town. Such a contest of beauty! How shall I decide it? Plot. Take me out of my shell, madam, and I'll make you a present of the kernel. Underp. Then I must be upon a level with him, and be uncrocodil'd. Town. Keep both of you your shapes, and we are in no fear of a surprize from the doctor: If you uncase, his presence would undo us. Sure never was any thing so unlucky—I hear his foot-steps; quick to your posts. Enter Fossile, Dr. Nautilus, and Dr. Possum. Naut. Much joy to the learned Dr. Fossile. To have a mummy, an alligator, and a wife, all in one day, is too great happiness for mortal man! Poss. This an alligator! Alack a day, brother Nautilus, this is a mere lizard, an eft, a shrimp to mine. Naut. How improving would it be to the female understanding, if the closets of the ladies were furnish'd, or, as I may say, ornamented and embellish'd with preserv'd butterflies, and beautiful shells, instead of China jars, and absurd Indian pictures. Town. Now for a stratagem to bring off my unsuccessful pair of gallants. Foss. Ah, Dr. Nautilus, how have I languish'd for your feather of the bird Porphyrion! Naut. But your dart of the Mantichora! Foss. Your haft of the antediluvian trowel, unquestionably the tool of one of the Babel masons! Naut. What's that to your fragment of Seth's pillar? Poss. Gentlemen, I affirm I have a greater curiosity than all of them. I have an entire leaf of Noah's journal aboard the ark, that was hewen out of a porphyry pillar in Palmyra. Naut. By the formation of the muscular parts of the visage, I conjecture that this mummy is male. Pos. Male, brother! I am sorry to observe your ignorance of the symetry of a human body. Do but observe the projection of the hip; besides, the bloom upon the face; 'tis a female beyond all contradiction. Fos. Let us have no rash dispute, brothers; but proceed methodically——Behold the vanity of mankind! [pointing to the mummy.] Some Ptolemy perhaps!—— Naut. Who by his pyramid and pickle thought to secure to himself death immortal. Fos. His pyramid, alas! is now but a wainscot case. Pos. And his pickle can scarce raise him to the dignity of a collar of brawn. Fos. Pardon me, Dr. Possum: The musÆum of the curious is a lasting monument. And I think it no degradation to a dead person of quality, to bear the rank of an anatomy in the learned world. Naut. By your favour, Dr. Possum, a collar of brawn! I affirm, he is better to be taken inwardly than a collar of brawn. Fos. An excellent medicine! he is hot in the first-degree, and exceeding powerful in some diseases of women. Naut. Right, Dr. Fossile; for your Asphaltion. Pos. Pice-Asphaltus, by your leave. Naut. By your leave, doctor Possum, I say, Asphaltion. Pos. And I positively say, Pice-Asphaltus. Naut. If you had read Dioscorides or Pliny— Poss. I have read Dioscorides. And I do affirm Pice-Asphaltus. Foss. Be calm, Gentlemen. Both of you handle this argument with great learning, judgment, and perspicuity. For the present, I beseech you to concord, and turn your speculations on my alligator. Poss. The skin is impenetrable even to a sword. Naut. Dr. Possum I will show you the contrary. Poss. In the mean time I will try the mummy with this knife, on the point of which you shall smell the pitch, and be convinc'd that it is the Pice-Asphaltus. Foss. Hold, Sir: You will not only deface my mummy, but spoil my Roman sacrificing-knife. Enter Townley. Town. I must lure them from this experiment, or we are discover'd. Poss. Only a halo about the sun, I suppose. Naut. Your suppositions, doctor, seem to be groundless. Let me make my observation. Town. Now for your escape: Underp. What an unlucky dog I am! Town. Quick. Back to your posts. Don't move, and rely upon me. I have still another artifice. Naut. I can espy no celestial body but the sun. Poss. Brother Nautilus, your eyes are somewhat dim; your sight is not fit for astronomical observations. Foss. Is the focus of the glass right? hold gentlemen, I see it; about the bigness of Jupiter. Naut. No phenomenon offers itself to my speculation. Poss. Point over yonder chimney. Directly south. Naut. Thitherward, begging your pardon, Dr. Possum, I affirm to be the north. Foss. East. Poss. South. Naut. North. Alas! what an ignorant thing is vanity! I was just making a reflection on the Poss. First, brother Nautilus, convince yourself of the composition of the mummy. Naut. I will insure your alligator from any damage. His skin I affirm once more to be impenetrable. Poss. I will not deface any hieroglyphick. Foss. I never oppose a luciferous experiment. It is the beaten highway to truth. [Plotwell and Underplot leap from their places; the doctors are frighted.] Foss. Speak, I conjure thee. Art thou the ghost of some murder'd Egyptian monarch? Naut. A rational question to a mummy! But this monster can be no less than the devil himself, for crocodiles don't walk. Enter Townley and Clinket. [Townley whispers Clinket. Foss. Gentlemen, wonder at nothing within these walls; for ever since I was married, nothing has happen'd to me in the common course of human life. Clink. Madam, without a compliment, you have a fine imagination. The masquerade of the mummy and crocodile is extremely just; I would not rob you of the merit of the invention, yet since you make me the compliment, I shall be proud to take the whole contrivance of this masquerade upon myself. [To Townley.] Sir, be acquainted with my masqueraders. Foss. Thou female imp of Appollo, more mischievous than Circe, who fed gentlemen of the army in a hog's-stye! What mean you by these gambols? this mummy, this crocodile? Clink. Only a little mummery, uncle? Fos. What an outragious conceit is this! had you contented yourself with the metamorphosis of Jupiter, our skill in the classicks might have prevented our terror. Clink. I glory in the fertility of my invention the more, that it is beyond the imagination of a pagan deity. Besides, it is form'd upon the vraysemblance; for I know you had a mummy and a crocodile to be brought home. Fos. Dr. Nautilus is an infirm tender gentleman; I wish the sudden concussion of his animal spirits may not kindle him into a fever. I myself, I must confess, have an extreme palpitation. Clink. Dear uncle, be pacified. We are both of us the votaries of our great master Appollo. To you he has assign'd the art of healing: Me he has taught to sing; why then should we jangle in our kindred faculties? Fos. Appollo, for ought I know, may be a very fine person; but this I am very sure of, that the skill he has given all his physicians is not sufficient to cure the madness of his poets. Pos. Hark ye, brother Fossile? Your Crocodile has proved a human creature, I wish your wife may not prove a crocodile. Naut. Hark ye, brother Fossile! Your mummy, as you were saying, seemeth to be hot in the first degree, and is powerful in some diseases of women. Fos. You diabolical performers of my niece's masquerade, will it please you to follow those gentlemen? Clink. Nay, Sir, you shall see them dance first. Fos. Dance! the devil! bring me hither a spit, a fire-fork, I'll try whether the monsters are impenetrable or no. Plotw. I hope, Sir, you will not expose us to the fury of the mob, since we came here upon so courteous a design. Foss. Good courteous Mr. Mummy, without more ceremony, will it please you to retire to your subterraneous habitation. And you Mr. Crocodile, about your business this moment, or you shall change your Nile for the next horse-pond. Clink. Spare my masqueraders. Underp. Let it never be said that the famous Dr. Fossile, so renowned for his charity to monsters, should violate the laws of hospitality, and turn a poor alligator naked into the street. Foss. Deposite your exuviÆ then, and assume your human shape. Underp. For that I must beg your excuse. A gentleman would not chuse to be known in these frolicks. Foss. Then out of my doors, here footman, out with him; out, thou hypocrite, of an alligator. Sir, the respect I have for catacombs and pyramids, will not protect you. Enter Prue. Prue. Sir, Sir, lock your doors, or else all your monsters will run home again to the Indies. Your crocodile yonder has made his escape; if he get but to Somerset water-gate, he is gone for ever. Enter a Footman. Foot. The herbwoman swore she knew him to be the devil, for she had met him one dark night in St. Pulchre's church-yard; then the monster call'd a coach, methought with the voice of a christian; but a sailor that came by said he might be a crocodile for all that, for crocodiles could cry like children, and was for killing him outright, for they were good to Enter Prue Prue. Then he was hurry'd a way by the mob. A bull-dog ran away with fix joints of his tail, and the claw of his near foot before: At last by good fortune, to save his life, he fell in with the Hockley in the Hole bull and bear; the master claim'd him for his monster, and so he is now attended by a vast mob, very solemnly marching to Hockley in the Hole, with the bear in his front, the bull in his rear, and a monkey upon each shoulder. Town. Mr. Mummy, you had best draw the curtains of your chair, or the mob's respect for the dead will scarce protect you. Clink. My concern for him obliges me to go see that he gets off safe, lest any further mischief befalls the persons of our masque. Fos. Sweetly, Horace. Nunquam satis, and so forth. A man can never be too cautious. Madam, sit down by me. Pray how long is it since you and I have been married? Town. Near three hours, Sir. Fos. And what anxieties has this time produc'd? the dangers of divorce! calumniatory letters! lewd fellows introduc'd by my niece! groundless jealousies on both sides! even thy virginity put to the touch-stone! but this last danger I plung'd thee in myself; to leave thee in the room with two such robust young fellows. Town. Ay, with two young fellows! but my dear, I know you did it ignorantly. Fos. This is the first blest minute of repose that I have enjoy'd in matrimony. Dost thou know the Town. My face, perhaps. Fos. No. Town. My wit? Fos. No. Town. My virtue and good humour. Fos. No. But for the natural conformity of our constitutions. Because thou art hot and moist in the third degree, and I myself cold and dry in the first. Town. And so nature has coupled us like the elements. Fos. Thou hast nothing to do but to submit thy constitution to my regimen. Town. You shall find me obedient in all things. Foss. It is strange, yet certain, that the intellects of the infant depend upon the suppers of the parents. Diet must be prescrib'd. Town. So the wit of one's posterity is determin'd by the choice of one's cook. Foss. Right. You may observe how French cooks, with their high ragousts, have contaminated our plain English understandings. Our supper to night is extracted from the best authors. How delightful is this minute of tranquility! my soul is at ease. How happy shalt thou make me! thou shalt bring me the finest boy! No mortal shall enter these doors this day. [knocking again.] Oh, it must be the news of poor lady Hippokekoana's death. Poor woman! such is the condition of life, some die, and some are born, and I shall now make some reparation for the mortality of my patients by the fecundity of my wife. My dear thou shalt bring me the finest boy! Enter footman. Foot. Sir, here's a seaman from Deptford must needs speak with you. Foss. Let him come in. One of my retale Indian merchants, I suppose, that always brings me some odd thing. Enter sailor with a child. What hast thou brought me, friend, a young drill? Sail. Look ye d'ye see, master, you know best whether a monkey begot him. Foss. A meer human child. Town. Thy carelessness, Sarsnet, has exposed me, I am lost and ruin'd. O heav'n! heav'n! No, impudence assist me. Foss. Is the child monstrous? or dost thou bring him here to take physick? Sail. I care not what he takes so you take him. Foss. What does the fellow mean? Sail. Fellow me no fellows. My name is Jack Capstone of Deptford, and are not you the man that has the raree-show of oyster-shells and pebble-stones? Fos. What if I am? Sail. Why, then my invoice is right, I must leave my cargo here. Town. Miserable woman that I am! how shall I support this fight! thy bastard brought into thy family as soon as thy bride! Fos. Patience, patience, I beseech you. Indeed I have no posterity. Town. You lascivious brute you. Fos. Passion is but the tempestuous cloud that obscures reason; be calm and I'll convince you. Friend, how come you to bring the infant hither? Sail. My wife, poor woman, could give him suck no longer, for she died yesterday morning. There's a long account, master. It was hard to trace him to the fountain-head. I steer'd my course from Fos. I shall find law for you, sirrah. Call my neighbour Possum, he is a justice of peace, as well as a physician. Town. Call the man back. If you have committed one folly, don't expose yourself by a second. Sail. The gentlewoman says well. Come, master, we all know that there is no boarding a pretty wench, without charges one way or other; you are a doctor, master, and have no surgeons bills to pay; and so can the better afford it. Town. Rather than you should bring a scandal on your character, I will submit to be a kind mother-in-law. Enter Justice Possum, and Clerk. Fos. Mr. justice Possum, for now I must so call you, not brother Possum; here is a troublesome fellow with a child, which he would leave in my house. Pos. Another man's child? he cannot in law. Fos. It seemeth to me to be a child unlawfully begotten. Pos. A bastard! who does he lay it to? Fos. To our family. Pos. Your family, quatenus a family, being a body collective, cannot get a bastard. Is this child a bastard, honest friend? Sail. I was neither by when his mother was show'd, nor when she was unladen; whether he belong to a fair trader, or be run goods, I cannot tell: In short here I was sent, and here I will leave him. Pos. Dost then know his mother, friend? Sail. I am no midwife, master; I did not see him born. Pos. You had best put up this matter, doctor. A man of your years, when he has been wanton, cannot be too cautious. Fos. This is all from the purpose. I was married this morning at seven; let any man in the least acquainted with the powers of nature, judge whether that human creature could be conceiv'd and brought to maturity in one forenoon. Pos. This is but talk, doctor Fossile. It is well for you, though I say it, that you have fallen into the hands of a person, who has study'd the civil and canon law in the point of bastardy. The child is either yours or not yours. Foss. My child, Mr. Justice! Pos. Look ye, doctor Fossile, you confound filiation with legitimation. Lawyers are of opinion, that filiation is necessary to legitimation, but not È contra. Foss. I would not starve any of my own species, get the infant some water-pap. But Mr. Justice—— Pos. The proofs, I say, doctor, of filiation are five. Nomination enunciatively pronounc'd, strong presumptions, and circumstantial proofs— Foss. What is all this to me? I tell you I know nothing of the child. Pos. Signs of paternal piety, similitude of features, and commerce with the mother. And first of the first, nomination. Has the doctor ever been heard to call the infant, son? Town. He has call'd him child, since he came into this room. You have indeed, Mr. Fossile. Pos. Bring hither the doctor's great bible.——Let us examine in the blank leaf whether he be enroll'd among the rest of his children. Foss. I tell you, I never had any children. I shall grow distracted, I shall—— Pos. But did you give any orders against registring the child by the name of Fossile? Foss. How was it possible? Pos. Set down that, clerk. He did not prohibit the registring the child in his own name. We our selves have observed one sign of fatherly tenderness; clerk, set down the water-pap he order'd just now. Come we may—— Foss. What a jargon is this! Pos. Come we now, I say, to that which the lawyers call magnum naturÆ argumentum, similitude of features. Bring hither the child, friend; Dr. Fossile, look upon me. The unequal circle of the infant's face, somewhat resembles the inequality of the circumference of your countenance; he has also the vituline or calf-like concavity of the profile of your visage. Foss. Pish. Pos. And he is somewhat beetle-brow'd, and his nose will rise with time to an equal prominence with the doctor's. Town. Indeed he has somewhat of your nose Mr. Fossile. Foss. Ridiculous! Town. The child is comely. Pos. Consider the large aperture of his mouth. Sail. Nay, the tokens are plain enough. I have the fellow of him at home; but my wife told me two days ago, that this with the wall-eye and splay-foot belong'd to you, Sir. [Prue runs a-cross the stage with a letter, which Fossile snatches from her. Fos. Whither are you going so fast, hussy? I will examine every thing within these walls. [Exit Prue.] Pos. [reads] 'Sir, the child which you father'd is return'd back upon my hands. Your Drury-lane friends have treated me with such rudeness, that they told me in plain terms I should be damn'd. How unfortunate soever my offspring is, I hope you at least will defend the reputation of the unhappy ——As you say, doctor, the case is too plain; every circumstance hits. Enter Clinket. Clink. 'Tis very uncivil, Sir, to break open one's letters. Foss. Would I had not; and that the contents of it had been a secret to me and all mankind for ever. Wretched creature, to what a miserable condition has thy poetry reduc'd thee! Clink. I am not in the least mortified with the accident. I know it has happen'd to many of the most famous daughters of Apollo; and to myself several times. Foss. I am thunderstruck at her impudence! several times! Clink. I have had one returned upon my hands every winter for these five years past. I may perhaps be excell'd by others in judgment and correctness of manners, but for fertility and readiness of conception, I will yield to nobody. Foss. Bless me, whence had she this luxuriant constitution! Pos. Patience, Sir. Perhaps the lady may be married. Town. Tis infamous, Mr. Fossile, to keep her in your house; yet though you turn her out of doors, use her with some humanity; I will take care of the child. Clink. I can find no DenoÜement of all this conversation. Where is the crime, I pray, of writing a tragedy? I sent it to Drury-Lane house to be acted; and here it is return'd by the wrong goÙt of the actors. Pos. This incident has somewhat embarrassed us. But what mean you here, madam, by this expression? Your offspring. Clink. My tragedy, the offspring of my brain. One of his majesty's justices of the peace, and not understand the use of the metaphor! Pos. Doctor, you have used much artifice, and many demurrers; but the child must lie at your door at last. Friend, speak plain what thou knowest of this matter. Foss. Let me relate my story. This morning, I married this lady, and brought her from her lodgings, at Mrs. Chambers's, in King-street, Covent-Garden. Sail. Mrs. Chambers! To that place I was directed, where liv'd the maid that put the bantling out to be nurs'd by my wife for her lady; and who she was, 'tis none of our business to enquire. Pos. Dost thou know the name of this maid? Sail. Let me consider——Lutestring. Foss. Sarsnet, thou mean'st. Sail. Sarsnet, that's right. Town. I'll turn her out of my house this moment, Filthy creature! Pos. The evidence is plain. You have cohabitation with the mother, doctor, currat lex. And you must keep the child. Foss. Your decree is unjust, Sir, and I'll seek my remedy at law. As I never was espoused, I never had carnal knowledge of any woman; and my wife, Mrs. Susanna Townley, is a pure virgin at this hour for me. Pos. Susanna Townley! Susannah Townley! Look how runs the warrant you drew up this morning. Foss. My Lord Chief Justice business with my wife! Pos. To be plain with you, doctor Fossile, you have for these three hours entertain'd another man's wife. Her husband, lieutenant Bengal, is just returned from the Indies, and this morning took out a warrant from me for an elopement; it will be more for your credit to part with her privately, than to suffer her publickly to be carried off by a tipstaff. Foss. Surprizing have been the events of this day; but this, the strangest of all, settles my future repose. Let her go—I have not dishonoured the bed of lieutenant Bengal—Hark ye friend! Do you follow her with that badge of her infamy. Pos. By your favour, doctor, I never reverse my judgment. The child is yours: for it cannot belong to a man who has been three years absent in the East-Indies. Leave the child. Sail. I find you are out of humour, master. So I'll call to-morrow for his clearings. [Sailor lays down the child, and exit with Possum, Clerk, and Townley.] Clink. Uncle, by this day's adventure, every one has got something. Lieutenant Bengal has got his wife again; you a fine child; and I a plot for a comedy; and I'll this moment set about it. Foss. What must be, must be. [takes up the child.] Fossile, thou didst want posterity: Here behold thou hast it. A wife thou didst not want; thou hast none. But thou art caressing a child that is not thy own. What then? a thousand, and a thousand husbands are doing the same thing this very instant; and the knowledge of truth is desirable, and makes thy case the better, What signifies whether a man beget his child or not? How rediculous is the act itself, said the great emperor Antoninus! I now look upon myself as a Roman citizen; it is better that the father should adopt the child, than that the wife should adopt the father. |
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