After the Dance, a Drum beats.

Enter Betty.

Prais. Oh, Mrs. Betty!

Mar. Hold your peace, Mrs. Betty's in haste.

Bet. Fly, Sir, fly; old Whimsical is waked by another wretch, a Fornicator, who has liv'd past the Pleasure and the Sin. These wither'd Cuffs come on, follow'd by a monstrous Rabble, to seize the Lady.

Lady Lo. Alas, I fear.

Fast. Talk not of fear, my Love, while I am by; thou art as safe as if ten thousand Legions were thy Guard. First to the Castle I will take my way, and leave thee there secure; in the mean time my Men fall on upon his mobbish Soldiers, but spare the stubborn old Man, because he is my Father. (Exeunt.

Mar. Now there's his Duty, there's his Duty! D'ye hear that, Mr. Quarelsom!

Mr. Awd. Wondrous Duty! sets the Rabble about his Father's Ears, and bids 'em not hurt him.

Mar. Now, my Lord, and Gentlemen, and Ladies, where are the Ladies?

Mr. Prais. I have miss'd 'em a great while, Madam: But I wou'd not interrupt you to tell you of't.

Mar. Ill-bred Things! who do they expect shou'd have Patience with their dull stuff? But, as I was saying, I must beg you once again to suppose old Lord Whimsical Loveall, is attacking his Son's Castle, and beaten back: Now they are behind the Scenes; found a Storm again, three times; now we'll suppose 'em repuls'd. And from the Castle let the Trumpets and Violins join in a Tune of Victory. So, there's a Battle well over.

L. Whiff. With a very little trouble. But, Madam had not the storming the Castle been as good a Scene as the taking of Jerusalem.

Mar. Granted, my Lord. But I have a Castle taken upon the Stage; and twice, you know, had been Repetition.

Mr. Prais. True; your Ladiship was never in the wrong in your Life, unless it was when you said, I had no Courage.

Mar. Change the Scene to the Orange Grove.

Enter Isabella.

Your Servant Mrs. Cross, I am glad to see you again.

Mrs. Cross. Truly the Gentleman would not be deny'd; tho' really, Madam, 'twas only fear I shou'd not serve you in't, made me backward.

Mar. All's well, and I'm pleas'd. Will you give your self the trouble to enter again? because that will make you look more alone.

Mrs. Cross. Yes, Madam. (Goes out, and Re-enters.

Isab. Methought I heard the sound of War pierce the hollow Groves: Else 'twas my melancholly Fancy chim'd to my sick Brain. Yet it cannot be Delusion; for I am a Prisoner. A surly Fellow, who lookt as if Pity was his Foe, told me, I here must wait my Lord's Commands. Oh, Fastin! if thou art cruel or unkind, thou art justly so: For I came to thy Arms without a Heart, without Love's Flames, or desire to kindle 'em. Oh! why was Amorous sent to my Fathers Castle, to begin the Parly? 'Tis true, he's in the vale of Years; yet Oh! such Charms remain! He found the way to my unguarded Heart; nor need he storm, I could not the least Opposition make; he streight was Lord of all within; yet, Chaste as Fires, which consume in Urns, and vainly warm the Dead, so Useless is my Flame!

Mar. My Lord! wou'd your Lordship imagine Mrs. Cross shou'd dislike the part, when I defie all the Virgins in Europe to make so cold a Simile as that?

L. Wh. Thou'st turn'd me into Marble; I am a Statue upon the Tomb where the Urn's inclos'd.

Mr. Prais. My Teeth chatter in my head.

Mr. Awd. Oh for a Couple of good Cudgels to warm the Coxcombs. (aside.

Mar. Well, dear Isabella, proceed.

Isab. Thou Mother Earth, bear thy wretched Daughter: Open thy all receiving Womb, and take thy groaning burthen in!

Mar. Now You'll see this Act, very full of Business. Come, Lord Whimsicall, and Amorous, hastily.

Enter Lord Whimsicall and Amorous.

L. Whim. Raise thee from Earth, thou most unhappy Wife of my most wicked Son! fly, whilst faithful Amorous and I Protect thee from what his Savage rage has doom'd.

Isab. What has he doom'd? alas, I dare not fly with you and Amorous.

Amo. Then leave me here to Death; follow your Father, and shun approaching Danger.

Is. What Death! what Danger! make me understand you.

Mar. Ay, Poor Lady! she's unwilling Amorous shou'd dye too.

L. Whim. Your Husband loudly proclaims you an Adultress, and means to make War on that fair work of Heav'n, your Face; And Noseless send you back to your own Father.

Amo. Oh, horrid! hasten, Madam, from the brutal Tyrant.

Isa. I must consult my Immortal Honour; that's a Beauty to me, more valued than Nature's Out-work's, a Face. Let me consider, tis my Husband's Father; to retire till I am justifi'd, cannot be a Crime, Sir. I have resolv'd to go.

My Innocence is white as Alpine Snow,
By these Tears, which never cease to flow.

Mar. Your pardon, Mrs. give me leave to instruct you in a moving Cry. Oh! there's a great deal of Art in crying: Hold your Handkerchief thus; let it meet your Eyes, thus; your Head declin'd, thus; now, in a perfect whine, crying out these words,

By these Tears, which never cease to Flow.

Is not that right my Lord?

L. Whim. Oh gad! feelingly Passionate, Madam; were your Ladyship to do it, the whole House wou'd catch the Infection; and as in France they are all in a Tune, they'd here be all in Tears.

Awdwell. Now I fancy 'twou'd have just the contrary effect on me.

Mar. Oh Jehu! how am I tortur'd with your Nonsence! Proceed, for Heav'ns sake; let my Ears be diverted with my own words; for your's grate 'em beyond induring.

Isab. Must I repeat this stuff agen?

Mar. Stuff! my Spirit rises at her: But 'tis in vain to resent it. The truth on't is, Poets are so increas'd, Players value 'em no more than——

Awd. Ballad-singers.

Awd. Spiteful Devils. Well, Mrs. Cross, I'll not trouble you agen; Amorous shall suppose you are going. Come, Mr. Pinkethman.

Amo. Then with this Flaming Sword I'll clear the way, And hunt for Danger in the Face of Day.

Mar. Well, Mr. Pinkethman, I think you are oblig'd to me for choosing you for a Heroe; Pray do it well, that the Town may see, I was not mistaken in my Judgment: Fetch large Strides; walk thus; your Arms strutting; your Voice big, and your Eyes terrible.

Then with this Flaming Sword I'll clear the way.

Amo. Then thus I'll clear your way, (Draws. And hunt for Danger in the Face of Day.

Isa. Alas, does any oppose us?

L. Whim. Only some stragling fellows, which Amorous will scour; and in the Corner of the Grove the Chariot waits. (Exeunt.

Mar. Now will your Ladyship please to conceive these three are got into my Lord Whimsicall's Castle? Whither Fastin, mad with Jealousie and Love, pursues: Now your Lordship shall see the storming of a Fort, not like your Jerusalem, but the modern way; my Men shall go all up thro' a trap door, and ever now and then one drop polt down dead. (talking eagerly, she throws my Lords Snuff-box down.

L. Whim. Like my Snuff-box, Madam. 'Ouns my Snuff cost two Guineas.

Mar. I beg your Lordship's pardon.

Mr. Prais. Two Guineas, it shan't be all lost then.

(Picks up the Snuff.
Mar. Are you ready? (goes to the Scenes. Within.) Yes, yes, Madam.

SCENE

A Castle Storming.

Mar. My Lord, my Lord, this will make you amends for your Snuff! Drums beat; mount, ye Lumpish Dogs: what are you afraid of? you know the Stones are only Wool: Faster, with more Spirit? Brutes. Oh Jehu! I am sorry I had not this Castle taken by women, then t'had been done like my Grotesque Dance there: mount, mount, Rascals.

(Marcilia bustling among 'em, loses her Head-Cloathes.

Patty, Patty, my Head, my Head, the Brutes will trample it to Pieces. Now, Mr. Powel, enter like a Lyon.

Enter Fastin, Followers, Lady Loveall, Betty, &c.

Fast. By Heav'n, I'll tear her from her Lover's Arms, my Father only Spare.

La. Lov. Spare him not: hear my Charge. Aim every arrow, at his Destin'd Head, There is no Peace, 'till that Curst Villain's Dead.

Mar. Look, look my Lord, where Mr. Powell 's got.

La. Lov. Oh, the rash young Man; save him, Gods!

Betty. Protect him, Venus!

Mr. Prais. How heartily Betty prays, and to her own Deity, I dare swear.

Fast. They fly! they fly! sound Trumpets, Sound! let Clemene's Musick joyn confine my Father to yon distant Tower: I'll not see him 'till I have punish'd the Adultress: Set wide the Gates, and let Clemenes know she's Mistress here.

La. Lov. Where is he; Let me fly and bind his Wounds up with my Hair, lull him upon my own Bosom, and sing him into softest ease.

To Feast, and Revels Dedicate the Day.
Let the old Misers stores be all expos'd, and made the Soldiers Prey!
D' ye hear, let the Butler dye, least he tell Tales.

Betty. Madam, he shall then, no body will dare contradict us in the Cellar neither. (Exeunt.

Mr. Prais. Well said, Mrs. Betty; she loves a Cup, I like her the better for't.

Mr. Awd. A hopeful Wife, this! do's she go on thus Triumphant?

Mar. I have sworn to answer you no more Questions.

L. Whiff. Indeed, Madam, you have made her very wicked.

Mar. The woman is a little Mischievous; but your Lordship shall see I'll bring her to Condign Punnishment. My Lord, I will be bold to say, here is a Scene a coming, wherein there is the greatest Distress that ever was seen in a Play: 'tis poor Amorous, and Isabella. Mr. Praisall, do you remember that old Whimsicall was all along a Philosopher? Come let down the Chariot.

Mr. Prais. Lord Madam, do you think I don't, why was not he and I a going to the Moon together?

Mar. Right! you must keep a steady, and a solid Thought to find the Depths of this plot out. Now, my Lord, be pleas'd once again to conceive these poor Lovers hunted above the Castle, at last taking Sanctuary in a high pair of Leads, which adjoyns to the old Man's study; conceive also their Enemies at their Heels; how then can these lost Creatures 'scape?

Mr. Awd. May be they both leapt over the Leads, and broke their Necks.

L. Whiff. That's one way; but pray lets hear the Ladies.

Mar. You must know, my Lord, at first I design'd this for Tragedy; and they were both taken; She was Poyson'd, and dy'd, like an Innocent Lamb, as she was indeed: I was studying a Death for him; once I thought Boys shou'd shoot him to Death with Pot-Guns: for your Lordship may be pleas'd to understand, Amorous had been a Soldier, tho' now he was a Steward of the Family; and that wou'd have been Disgrace enough, you know: But at length I resolv'd to ram him into a great Gun, and scatter him o're the sturdy Plain: This, I say, was my first resolve. But I consider'd, 'twould break the Lady's Heart; so there is nothing in their Parts Tragical but as your Lordship shall see miraculously I turn'd it into an Opera.

L. Whif. Your Ladyship's Wit is Almighty, and produces nothing but Wonders.

Mr. Prais. The Devil take his Lordship, he is always before hand with me, and goes so confounded high, there's no coming after him.

Mar. Your Lordship shall see what, I think, their Opera's have not yet had.

SCENE

The Leads of a Castle.

The Sun seen a little beyond: A Chariot stands upon the Leads.

Enter Isabella, follow'd by Amorous.

Isab. Now Death's in view, methinks I fear the Monster. Is there no God that Pities Innocence? Oh! thou All-seeing Sun, contract thy Glorious Beam's, hide me, in Darkness hide me!

Mr. Awd. I am sorry to find your Heroine Shrink.

Mar. Oh! 'tis more natural for a woman than bold; as an Imprison'd Cat, to fly Death i th Face, as 'twere. Humph, was it you I took pains to convince? Pray no more Interruption of this Scene.

Amor. Ten Massy Doors, all barr'd with wondrous strength impede their Passage: Rest then, thou Milk-white hunted Hind, forget the near Approach of fear, and hear the Story of my Love.

Mr. Awd. Hey boy, little Amorous! He'll loose no opportunity.

Mr. Prais. He is not like to have many; he was a fool, if he did not improve 'em.

Isab. We soon shall mount yon Blisful Seats! Let us be rob'd with Innocence, least we want admittance there.

Amor. All Dreams! meer Dreams! bred from the Fumes of Crabbed Education, and must we for this lose true Substantial Pleasure? By Heav'n, 'twould be a noble Justice to defeat their Malice: they hunt us for imaginary Crimes; and we must dye like Fools for doing nothing.

Mr. Prais. Well urg'd, Amorous.

L. Whiff. Bold, I vow.

Mar. A Lover shou'd be so, my Lord.

Amor. But give me up the Heav'n my ravenous Love requires: Let me fill my Sences with thy Sweetness; then let 'em pour upon me, I cou'd laugh at all their idle Tortures, every pleas'd Limb shou'd dance upon the Wheel.

Mar. Dance upon the Wheel! that's a new thought, I am sure, my Lord.

L. Whiff. Your Tract is all new, and must be uncommon, because others can never find it.

Prais. A Pox on him! he has out-done me agen.

Mar. I am your Lordship's very humble Servant: My Lord, How Amorous gazes on her!

L. Whiff. Piercing Eyes, I confess.

Prais. An irresistible Lere——I got in a word.

Isab. Take off your Eyes; mine shou'd be fix'd above; but Love draws 'em downwards, and almost pulls my Heart along.

Amo. Give me your Heart! your Arms! Oh! give me all! see at your Feet the wretched Amorous falls! Be not more cruel than our Foes. Behold me on the Torture! Fastin cannot Punish me with half the Racks denying Beauty lays on longing Love.

Isab. I recover strength: rise, and begone; Alas, thou can'st not go; then at awful distance, cold as Ice, not dare to let thy hot Breath agen offend my chaste Ears! If thou hast, a Dagger rams thy Passion down thy Throat.

Mar. Won't this be a Surprize, my Lord, to see her have such an Icy Fit?

L. Whiff. When I thought she was just going to melt.

Amor. See, you are obey'd; shivering your er'e-while raging Lover stands; your Words and Looks, like Frost on Flowers, have nipt my Hopes and fierce Desires!

Mr. Prais. Alas, poor Amorous! (A Noise without.

Mar. Do you hear, my Lord? do's not your Heart ake for the poor Lovers?

L. Whif. I am ready to swoon, Madam.

Mr. Prais. Wou'd I had some Cordial-water.

Mr. Awd. Art thou Marsilia? wilt thou confess it? so weak to believe these Coxcombs?

Mar. I always choose to believe what pleases me best. If a School-Boy had been told so often of a Fault, as you have been, of Interruption, he had certainly left it. Make a Noise agen without.

Isab. Alas my fears return; what shall I do? I dare not dye.

Amor. Oh Let not Monstrous Fear deform the Beauties of thy Soul, but brave thy Fate.

Mar. Louder; but brave thy Fate; strain your Voice: I tell you, Mr. Pinkethman, this speaking Loud gets the Clap.

Amo. Pox of this Heroick; I shall tear my Lungs. (Aside. But brave thy Fate.

Mar. Aye, that goes to ones very Heart.

Awd. And rends ones Head.

Isab. I cannot, I dare not; Oh, they come! where shall I hide me? (Gets into the Chariot.

Amo. For Heav'n's sake, Madam, come from hence: This will expose us to all their scorn. (goes in after.

Mar. Now, now, up with it. Here, my Lord, here's the wonder; this very Chariot Whimsical had been making fifty Years, contriv'd beyond all humane Art, for the Sun to draw up to the Moon; at this very Critical minute the Matter's affected. Is not your Lordship surpriz'd?

L. Whif. I know not where I am!

Prais. Oh! this is a plain case; so while the old Cuckold was watching his Chariot, his Wife had Opportunity to make him one.

Mar. Right, right, Mr. Praisall: Now Amorous finds it move.

Amor. Ha! the Chariot moves; a Miracle is known in our Preservation.

Isab. Oh! I dye with fear!

Mar. Now she falls in a Swoon, and never wakes 'till they come into another world.

Mr. Prais. E gad, 'tis well I am not in the Chariot with her.

Mar. You may open the Door, they are out of sight.

Enter Fastin, Lady Loveall and Betty.

Fast. Where is the Hellish Pair? Let my Eyes be fasten'd on 'em, that I may look 'em dead.

Mar. Look dreadfully, sweet Mr. Powell, look dreadfully.

Mr. Awd. Hark'e, Madam, only one thing; did you never hear an old Proverb; He that has a House of Glass shou'd never throw Stones at his Neighbours? I think this young Gentleman is guilty of much the same fault.

Mar. Lord! Lord! I told ye once before, he did not know his Father was marry'd to her, he took her for a pure Virgin. Come, Mr. Powell, go on.

Fast. Where are you hid? in what Lustful Corner?

L. Lov. Alas, I fear they have escap'd, and I have such a Detestation for ill Women, 'twould grieve me much to have 'em go unpunish'd.

Betty. I am sure they took the Stairs that led this way, and must be here; let me ferret 'em.

Mr. Prais. God-a-Mercy, Betty! Let Betty alone.

Bett. A-dad I can't set Eyes on 'em high nor low.

Mr. Prais. No, they are too high for thee, indeed, little Betty.

Mar. Pray, Mr. Praisall, be quiet; here's a great Scene a coming.

Mr. Prais. I am silent as the Grave.

Fast. In vain they think to 'scape my Rage, by thus evading it; for if the Earth holds 'em, they shall be found.

Betty. Why, where's my old Master's Conjuring Chariot, I wonder, that he alway's told us wou'd carry him to Heaven, when we little thought on't? It us'd to stand here.

L. Lov. It did so.

Betty. Perhaps they are gone to Elyzium in it.

L. Lov. No, Fool, Elyzium has no room for Lawless Lovers.

Betty. Then you must never come there, I'm sure. (aside.

Mar. That's the first ill word Betty has given her Mistress; and that was to her self too.

Fast. Let my Chariots be prepar'd, we'll leave this hated place, and in my Castle unlade our Cares. Love shall crown our Hours, and Wine and Musick rob 'em of 'em with delight.

L. Lov. Whilst I weave flowry Chaplets for your Hair,
Revels and Masks to please your Sight prepare:
Feed on your Presence, on your absence grieve,
Love you alone, for you alone I'll live.

Mar. Now quick, quick, get behind her, Mr. least she shou'd resist; the rest disarm Mr. Powell.

Enter Lord Whimsicall and others.

L. Whim. Not fit to live, nor dye! but Death thou best deserv'st. (stabs her.

L. Lov. Oh! thou Impotence, only strong in mischief: That feeble aged Arm has reach'd my youthful Heart.

Fast. Slaves, unhand me! Oh! Clemene, Oh!

L. Lov. Let me come at the Dotard, let me cover the Blood-thirsty Man with Livid Gore.

Mar. D'ye hear, Property-Man, be sure some red Ink is handsomely convey'd to Mrs. Knight.

Fast. Move, Dogs; bear her to me, that I may press her close, and keep in Life.

Mar. Strive and struggle now, Mr. Powell; Lord, you scarce stir; hold me, hold me, some of you. Observe, that I may press her close, and keep in Life:, ye see my Breath's almost gone. Oh! if we Poets did but act, as well as write, the Plays wou'd never miscarry.

Fast. Why, there's enow of you, both Males and Females; entertain the Town when you will, I'll resign the Stage with all my Heart.

Mar. And by my hopes of Cataline I'll propose it. But now pray go on.

Fast. I say, lose your Plebeian Goals, and let me reach my Love.

Mar. Well, that's your own; but 'twill do. You may speak it, Mr. Powell.

L. Whim. What, the Sorceress! thy Father's Wife, rash Boy!

Fast. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Your Wife: I have heard indeed of old Men that wanted Virgins, when vital warmth was gone.

L. Whim. To that Title do's Clemene's Impudence pretend. Speak, lewd Adultress.

La. Lov. Yes, I will speak, and own it all: Why shou'd I mince the matter, now I've lost my hopes of him? For the old Skeleton, sign alone, and shadow of a Man, I might have yet been pure: But whilst gay Youths adorn'd thy Family Clemene wou'd not sigh in vain.

Fast. What's this I hear?

Bet. My Lady dying! I am not yet prepared to bear her Company: I'll e'en shift for one. I wou'd not willingly leave this wicked World, before I have tasted a little more on't.

Mr. Prais. True, Mrs. Betty; slip behind me, and thou art gone.

Mar. See, my Lord, they are all struck in a Maze.

(Exit.

L. Whiff. 'Tis very amazing!

L. Whim. Why, Fastin, stare you thus? Is her wickedness such News? Go, bear her off, and let her die alone.

La. Lov. Do, convey me hence; for not gaping Pipes of burning Sulphur, nor grinning hideous Fiends, can jerk my Soul like that old Husband. Fogh! how he stinks! Set him a fire with all his Chymistry about him, see how he'll blaze on his own Spirits.

Fast. Rage not; it wastes thy precious Life.

Mr. Awd. Then he loves her still.

Mar. Yes; what, you think him hot and cold in a quarter of an hour?

La. Lov. Fastin, farewel. Oh! thou only Youth, whom I can truly say I lov'd, for thee I'd run this mad Risque agen; for thee I die. Away, away! and let me do the work of Children in the dark. (Exit led off.

L. Whim. Where's my Chariot? my Chariot of the Sun, Slaves! who has remov'd it? if it jogg'd but a Hair awry, may set me backwards ten tedious Years. But it is gone! where can it be? (Runs up and down to look it.

Fast. Defeated Love! approaching Shame! Remorse and deathless Infamy! they crowd one Breast too much: Here's to give 'em vent. (Stabs himself.

L. Whim. Oh! 'tis gone! 'tis gone! my Chariot! Oh, my Chariot!

Fast. See, Clemene, see, thy Adorer comes! guiltily fond, and pressing after thee. (Dies.

L. Whim. Have you all lookt below? is there no news of this inestimable Chariot?

Serv. No, my Lord; and here your Son is dead.

L. Whim. Why dost thou tell me of my Son, the blind work of Chance, the sport of Darkness, which produc'd a Monster? I've lost an Engine, the labour'd care of half a hundred Years. It is gone! I shall go mad.

Mar. Good Mr. What-d'-call-'um, this last Speech to the highest pitch of raving.

L. Whim. Ha! the Sun has got it; I see the glorious Tract: But I will mount and yet recover it: The covetous Planet shall not dare to keep it for the use of his Paramour. Bear me, ye Winds, upon your blustring Wings; for I am light as Air, and mad as rowling Tempests.

(Exit

Mar. Is not this passion well exprest?

Mr. Awd. 'Tis indeed all mad Stuff.

Mar. your word neither mends nor mars it, that's one Comfort. Mr. Powell, will you walk off, or be carry'd off?

Mr. Pow. I'll make use of my Legs, if you please, Madam. Your most humble Servant.

Mar. Mr. Powell, yours; I give you ten thousand thanks for your trouble. I hope, Mr. Powell, you are convinc'd this Play won't fail.

Mr. Pow. O Lord! Madam, impossible! (Exit.

Mar. Well, sure by this Play, the Town will perceive what a woman can do. I must own, my Lord, it stomachs me sometimes, to hear young Fops cry, there's nothing like Mr. Such-a-one's Plays, and Mr. Such-a-ones Plays.

L. Whiff. But, Madam, I fear our excellent Entertainment's over; I think all your Actors are kill'd.

Mar. True, my Lord, they are most of 'em dispatch'd. But now, my Lord, comes one of my Surprizes; I make an end of my Play in the World in the Moon.

L. Whiff. In the World in the Moon!

Mr. Prais. Prodigious!

Mar. Scene-Men: Where the Devil are these Blockheads? Scene-Men.

Within.) Here, here.

Mar. Come, one of your finest Scenes, and the very best that ye know must be, when the Emperour and Empress appear.

Scene-Men. How d'ye like this Madam?

Mar. Aye, aye, that will do.

L. Whim. 'Tis every thing the Stage, can afford in perfection.

Mr. Prais. And which no Stage in the World can equal.

Mar. Oh, fie! Mr. Praisall, you go often to Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.

Mr. Prais. I have said it, let t'other House take it how they will.

L. Whif. What, are these Men, or Monsters?

Mar. My Lord, this is very true, I'll believe the Historian, for he was there, my Lord. The World in the Moon is as fine a place as this represents; but the Inhabitants are a little shallow, and go, as you see, upon all four; now I design Amorous and Isabella shall bring in such a Reformation; then all the Hero's of the Moon-world shall fall in love with Isabella, as, you know, in Aurenzebe they are all in love with Indamora: Oh! that's a sweet, a pretty Name; but a Duce on't, my Brother Bay's has scarce left a pretty Name for his Successors?

Mr. Prais. Dear Madam, are these crawling things to speak, or no?

Mar. Patience is a great Vertue, Mr. Praisall.

Mr. Awd. And your Spectators must exercise it, o'my Conscience.

Mar. Pray now, my Lord, be pleas'd to suppose this is the Emperor's Wedding-day. Musick and the Dance.

Dance upon all Four.

SONG.

What's the whispering for?

One of the Men.) Why, Madam, to tell you the truth, in short, we are not able to continue in this Posture any longer, without we break our Backs; so we have unanimously resolv'd to stand upright.

(All the Men and Women stand up, when they're come forward.

Mr. Prais. Hey! heres another Surprize!

Mar. Oh! the Devil; you have spoilt my Plot! you have ruin'd my play, ye Blockheads! ye Villains, I'll kill you all, burn the Book, and hang my self! (Throws down the Book, and stamps upon it.

L. Whiff. Taking up the Book.) Hold, Madam! Don't let Passion provoke you, like the Knight of old, to destroy what After-ages cannot equal.

Mar. Why, my Lord Amorous, and Isabella was to come in, and their wou'd have been such a Scene! Asses! Ideots! Jolts! But they shall never speak a Line of mine, if it wou'd save 'em from in evitable ruine; I'll carry it to t'other House this very Moment.

Mr. Awd. Won't ye go home to Dinner first?

Mar. Dinner be damn'd! I'll never eat more. See too! if any of their impudent People come to beg my Pardon! or appease me! Well, I will go, that's resolv'd.

Mr. Prais. Madam, consider; cou'd they not stoop agen, when Isabella's come in; I'll try how 'tis. (stoops Oun's 'tis Devillish painful.

Mar. Don't tell me, 'tis painful; if they'll do nothing for their Livings, let 'em starve and be hang'd. My Chair there.

L. Whiff. Madam, my Coach is at your Service, it waits without.

Mar. To be seen in my Lord's Coach is some Consolation (aside My Lord, I desire to go directly into Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.

L. Whiff. Where you please, Madam.

Mar. I'll never set my Foot agen upon this confounded Stage. My Opera shall be first, and my Catiline next; which I'd have these to know, shall absolutely break 'em. They may shut up their Doors; strole or starve, or do what ever the Devil puts in their heads; no more of Marsilias Works, I assure 'em. Come, my Lord.

Mr. Awd. You won't go, Madam?

Mar. By my Soul, I will; your damn'd ill Humour began my Misfortunes. Farewel, Momus; farewel, Ideots: Hoarse be your Voices, rotten your Lungs, want of Wit and Humour continue upon your damn'd Poets, and Poverty consume you all. (Exit.

Prais. What, ner'e a word to me! or did she put me among the Ideots? Sir, the Lady's gone.

Awd. And you may go after; there's something to help you forward. (kicks him.

Prais. I intend, Sir, I intend it. (Exit.

Enter Mr. Powell, Mrs. Knight, Mrs. Cross, &c. Laughing

Awd. So, what's the news now?

Mr. Pow. Oh, my Sides! my Sides! the wrathful Lady has run over a Chair, shatter'd the Glasses to pieces: The Chair-Men, to save it, fell pell-mell in with her. She has lost part of her Tail, broke her Fan, tore her Ruffles, and pull'd off half my Lord Whiffle's Wigg, with trying to rise by it: So they are, with a Shagreen Air, and tatter'd Dress, gone into the Coach: Mr. Praisall thrust in after 'em, with the bundle of Fragments, his Care had pick'd up from under the Fellows Feet. Come, to make some Atonement, Entertain this Gentleman with the Dance you are practising for the next new Play.

A DANCE.

Mr. Awd. Mr. Powell, if you'll do me the favour to dine with me. I'll prevent the Dinner I bespoke going to Marsilia's Lodgings, and we'll eat it here.

Mr. Pow. With all my heart: I am at your Service.

Awd. Thus warn'd,
I'll leave the Scribler to her Fops, and Fate;
I find she's neither worth my Love or Hate.

FINIS.