 
To speak for a Play, if it cannot speak for itself, is vain; and if it can, it is needless. For one of these Reasons (I cannot yet tell which, for it is now but the second Day of acting) I resolve to say nothing for Esop, though I know he would be glad of Help; for let the best happen that can, his Journey is up Hill, with a dead English Weight at the Tail of him. At Paris, indeed, he scrambled up something faster (for it was up Hill there, too) than I am afraid he will do here: The French having more Mercury in their Heads, and less Beef and Pudding in their Bellies. Our Solidity may set hard, what their Folly makes easy; for Fools I own they are, you know we have found them so in the Conduct of the War; I wish we may do so in the Management of the Peace; but that is neither Esop's Business nor mine. This Play, Gentlemen (or one not much unlike it), was writ in French about six Years since by one Monsieur Boursaut; it was play'd at Paris by the French Comedians, and this was its Fate. The first Day it appeared, it was routed (People seldom being fond of what they do not understand, their own sweet Persons excepted). The second (by the help of some bold Knights-Errant) it rallied; the third it advanced; the fourth it gave a It is not reasonable to expect Esop should gain so great a Victory here, since it is possible, by fooling with his Sword, I may have turned the Edge on't. For I confess in the Translation I have not at all stuck to the Original; nay, I have gone farther: I have wholly added the fifth Act, and crouded a Country Gentleman into the fourth; for which I ask Monsieur Boursaut's Pardon with all my Heart, but doubt I never shall obtain it for bringing him into such Company. Though, after all, had I been so complaisant to have waited on his Play Word for Word, it is possible, even that might not have ensured the Success of it; for though it swam in France, it might have sunk in England. Their Country abounds in Cork, ours in Lead. ESOP. SCENE, Learchus's House. Enter Learchus, Euphronia, and Doris. Lear. At length I am blest with the sight of the World's Wonder, the Delight of Mankind, the incomparable Esop. You had time to observe him last Night, Daughter, as he sat at Supper with me. Tell me how you like him, Child; is he not a charming Person? Euph. Charming! Lear. What say'st thou to him, Doris? Thou art a good Judge, a Wench of a nice Palate. Dor. You wou'd not have me flatter, Sir? Lear. No, speak thy Thoughts boldly. Dor. Boldly, you say? Lear. Boldly, I say. Dor. Why, then, Sir, my Opinion of the Gentleman is, that he's uglier than an old Beau. Lear. How! Impudence. Dor. Nay, if you are angry, Sir, second Thoughts are Lear. In short, thou art Fool enough not to be pleas'd with him. Dor. Excuse me for that, Sir; I have Wit enough to make myself merry with him—— Lear. If his Body's deform'd, his Soul is beautiful: Would to kind Heaven, as he is, my Daughter cou'd but find the means to please him! Euph. To what End, dear Father? Lear. That he might be your Husband, dear Daughter. Euph. My Husband! Shield me, kind Heaven—— Dor. Psha! he has a mind to make us laugh, that's all. Lear. Esop, then, is not worth her Care, in thy Opinion? Dor. Why, truly, Sir, I'm always for making suitable Matches, and don't much approve of breeding Monsters. I wou'd have nothing marry a Baboon, but what has been got by a Monkey. Lear. How dar'st thou liken so incomparable a Man to so contemptible a Beast? Dor.. Ah, the Inconstancy of this World! Out of sight, out f Mind. Your little Monkey is scarce cold in his Grave, and you have already forgot what you us'd so much to admire: Do but call him to remembrance, Sir, in his red Coat, new Gloves, little Hat, and clean Linen; then discharge your Conscience, utter the Truth from your Heart, and tell us whether he was not the prettier Gentleman of the two—By my Virginity, Sir, (tho' that's but a slippery Oath, you'll say) had they made love to me together, Esop should have worn the Willow. Lear. Since nothing but an Animal will please thee, 'tis pity my Monkey had not that Virginity thou hast sworn by. But I, whom Wisdom charms even in the homeliest Dress, can never think the much-deserving Esop unworthy of my Daughter. Dor. Now, in the Name of Wonder, what is't you so admire in him? Lear. Hark, and thou shalt know; but you, Euphronia, Be you more especially attentive. 'Tis true he's plain; but that's, my Girl, a Trifle. All manly Beauty's seated in the Soul; And that of Esop, Envy's self must own, Outshines whate'er the World has yet produc'd. Croesus, the prosperous Favourite of Heaven; Croesus, the happiest Potentate on Earth; Whose Treasure (tho' immense) is the least Part Of what he holds from Providence's Care, Leans on his Shoulder as his grand Support, Admires his Wisdom, doats upon his Truth, And makes him Pilot to Imperial Sway. But in this elevated Post of Power, What's his Employ? Where does he point his Thoughts? To live in Splendour, Luxury, and Ease, Do endless Mischiefs, by neglecting Good, And build his Family on other's Ruins? No: He serves the Prince, and serves the People too; Is useful to the Rich, and helps the Poor; There's nothing stands neglected, but himself. With constant Pain, and yet with constant Joy, From Place to Place throughout the Realm he goes, With useful Lessons, form'd to every Rank: The People learn Obedience from his Tongue, The Magistrate is guided in Command, The Prince is minded of a Father's Care, The Subjects taught the Duty of a Child. And as 'tis dangerous to be bold with Truth, He often calls for Fable to his Aid, Where, under abject Names of Beasts and Birds, Virtue shines out, and Vice is cloath'd in Shame. And thus, by inoffensive Wisdom's Force, He conquers Folly wheresoe'er he moves: This is his Portrait. Dor. A very good Picture of a very ill Face! Lear. Well, Daughter; what, not a Word? Is it pos Euph. My Duty may make all things possible: But Esop is so ugly, Sir— Lear. His Soul has so much Beauty in't, your Reason ought to blind your Eyes: Besides, my Interest is concern'd; his Power alarms me. I know throughout the Kingdom he's the Scourge of evil Magistrates, turns out Governors when they turn Tyrants; breaks Officers for false Musters; excludes Judges from giving Sentence, when they have been absent during the Trial; hangs Lawyers when they take Fees on both Sides; forbids Physicians to take Money of those they don't cure. 'Tis true, my Innocence ought to banish my Fears: But my Government, Child, is too delicious a Morsel, not to set many a frail Mouth a-watering. Who knows what Accusations Envy may produce? But all wou'd be secure, if thou could'st touch the Heart of Esop. Let me blow up thy Ambition, Girl; the Fire of that will make thy Eyes sparkle at him. [She sighs.]——What's that Sigh for, now? Ha! A young Husband, by my Conscience: Ah Daughter, hadst thou a young Husband, he'd make thee sigh indeed. I'll tell thee what he's compos'd of. He has a Wig full of Pulvilio, a Pocket full of Dice, a Heart full of Treason, a Mouth full of Lyes, a Belly full of Drink, a Carcase full of Plaisters, a Tail full of Pox, and a Head full of——nothing. There's his Picture: wear it at thy Heart, if thou can'st but here comes one of greater Worth. Enter Esop. Lear. Good Morning to my noble Lord; your Excellency—— Esop. Softly, good Governor: I'm a poor Wanderer from Place to Place; too weak to train the Weight of Grandeur with me! The Name of Excellency's not for me. Lear. My noble Lord, 'tis due to your Imploy; your Predecessors all—— Esop. My Predecessors all deserv'd it, Sir; they were Lear. Great Croesus's Gratitude will still support you; his Coffers all are open to your Will, your future Fortune's wholly in your Power. Esop. But 'tis a Power that I shall ne'er employ. Lear. Why so, my Lord? Esop. I'll tell you, Sir. A hungry Goat, who had not eat Some Nights and Days——(for want of Meat) Was kindly brought at last, By Providence's Care, To better Cheer, After a more than penitential Fast. He found a Barn well stor'd with Grain: To enter in requir'd some Pain; But a delicious Bait Makes the Way easy, tho' the Pass is strait. Our Guest observing various Meats, He put on a good modish Face, He takes his Place, He ne'er says Grace, But where he likes, he there falls to and eats. At length, with jaded Teeth and Jaws, He made a Pause; And finding still some room, Fell to as he had done before, For time to come laid in his Store; And when his Guts cou'd hold no more, He thought of going home. But here he met the Glutton's Curse; He found his Belly grown so great, 'Twas vain to think of a Retreat, Till he had render'd all he had eat, And well he far'd no worse. To the Application, Governor. Lear. 'Tis easy to be made, my Lord. Esop. I'm glad on't, Truth can never be too clear. Lear. 'Tis my Daughter, my good Lord: Fair too, if she appears such in the Eyes of the unerring Esop. Esop. [Going up to salute her.] I never saw so beautiful a Creature. Lear. [Aside.] Now's the time; kiss soft, Girl, and fire him. Esop. [Gazing at her.] How partial's Nature 'twixt her Form and mine! Lear. [Aside.] Look, look, look, how he gazes at her!—--Cupid's hard at work, I see that already. Slap; there he hits him—if the Wench would but do her Part. But see, see, how the perverse young Baggage stands biting her Thumbs, and won't give him one kind Glance——Ah the sullen Jade! Had it been a handsome strong Dog, of five-and-twenty, she'd a fall'n a coquetting on't, with every Inch about her. But may be 'tis I that spoils Sport; I'll make a Pretence to leave them together. Will your Lordship please to drink any Coffee this Morning? Esop. With all my Heart, Governor. Lear. Your Lordship will give me leave to go and order it myself; for unless I am by, 'tis never perfect. Esop. Provided you leave me this fair Maid in Hostage for your Return, I consent. Lear. My good Lord does my Daughter too much Honour. Ah that the Wench wou'd but do her Part! [Aside going off.]——Hark, you, Hussy——[Turning back to Euphronia, aside.]——You can give yourself Airs sometimes, you know you can. Do you remember what work you made with yourself at Church t'other Day? Play your Tricks over again, once more, for my Pleasure, and let me have a good Account of this Statesman, or, d'ye hear?——You shall die a Maid; go chew upon that; go. [Exit Lear. Esop. Here I am left, fair Damsel, too much expos'd to your Charms, not to fall your Victim. Euph. Your Fall will then be due to your own Weak Esop. I understand you, Lady; your Heart's already dispos'd of; 'tis seldom otherways, at your Age. Euph. My Heart dispos'd of! Dor. Nay, never mince the Matter, Madam. The Gentleman looks like a civil Gentleman, e'en confess the Truth to him: He has a good Interest with your Father, and no Doubt will employ it to break the Heathenish Match he proposes to you. [To Esop.] Yes, Sir, my young Lady has been in love these two Years, and that with as pretty a Fellow as ever entered a Virgin's Heart; tall, strait, young, vigorous, good Clothes, long Perriwig, clean Linen; in brief, he has every thing that's necessary to set a young Lady a-longing, and to stay it when he has done: but her Father, whose Ambition makes him turn Fool in his old Age, comes with a back Stroke upon us, and spoils all our Sport. Wou'd you believe it, Sir? He has propos'd to her to-day the most confounded ugly Fellow! Look, if the very Thoughts of him don't set the poor Thing a-crying! And you, Sir, have so much Power with the old Gentleman, that one Word from you would set us all right again. If he will have her a Wife, in the Name of Venus, let him provide her a handsome Husband, and not throw her into the Paws of a Thing, that Nature, in a merry Humour, has made half Man, half Monkey. Esop. Pray, what's this Monster's Name, Lady? Euph. No matter for his Name, Sir; my Father will know what you mean, at first Word. Esop. But you shou'd not always chuse by the Outside alone: believe me, fair Damsel, a fine Perriwig keeps many a Fool's Head from the Weather: Have a Care of your young Gallant. Dor. There's no Danger, I have examin'd him; his Inside's as good as his out! I say, he has Wit, and I think I know. Euph. Nay, she says true; he's even a Miracle of Wit and Beauty: Did you but see him, you'd be yourself my Rival. Esop. Then you are resolv'd against the Monster? Dor. Fy, Sir, fy; I wonder you'll put her in Mind of that foul, frightful Thing: We shall have her dream of nothing all Night but Bats and Owls, and Toads and Hedge-hogs; and then we shall have such a squeaking and squalling with her, the whole House will be in an Uproar: Therefore, pray, Sir, name him no more, but use your Interest with her Father, that she may never hear of him again. Esop. But if I shou'd be so generous to save you from the old Gallant, what shall I say for your young one? Euph. O, Sir, you may venture to enlarge upon his Perfections; you need not fear saying too much in his Praise. Dor. And pray, Sir, be as copious upon the Defects of t'other; you need not fear out-running the Text there, neither, say the worst you can. Euph. You may say, the first is the most graceful Man that Asia ever brought forth. Dor. And you may say the latter is the most deform'd Monster that Copulation ever produc'd. Euph. Tell him that Oronces (for that is his dear Name) has all the Virtues that compose a perfect Hero. Dor. And tell him, that Pigmy has all the Vices that go to equip an Attorney. Euph. That to one I cou'd be true to the last Moment of my Life. Dor. That for t'other, she'd cuckold him the very Day of her Marriage. This, Sir, in few Words, is the Theme you are desir'd to preach upon. Esop. I never yet had one that furnish'd me with more Matter. Enter Servant. Ser. My Lord, there's a Lady below desires to speak with your Honour. Esop. What Lady? Ser. 'Tis my Lady—my Lady—[To Doris.] The Lady there, the wise-Lady, the great Scholar, that Nobody can understand. Dor. O ho, is it she? Pray let's withdraw, and oblige her, Madam; she's ready to swoon at the insipid Sight of one of her own Sex. Euph. You'll excuse us, Sir; we leave you to wiser Company. [Exeunt Euph. and Dor. Enter Hortensia. Hort. The Deess, who from Atropos's Breast preserves the Names of Heroes and their Actions, proclaims your Fame throughout this mighty Orb, and—— Esop. [Aside.] Shield me, my Stars! What have you sent me here? For Pity's Sake, good Lady, be more humane: My Capacity is too heavy, to mount to your Style: If you wou'd have me know what you mean, please to come down to my Understanding. Hort. I've something in my Nature soars too high For vulgar Flight, I own; But Esop's Sphere must needs be within Call; Esop and I may sure converse together: I know he's modest, but I likewise know His Intellects are categorical. Esop. Now, by my Faith, Lady, I don't know what Intellect is; and methinks, categorical sounds as if you call'd me Names. Pray, speak that you may be understood: Language was design'd for it; indeed it was. Hort. Of vulgar Things in vulgar Phrase we talk; But when of Esop we must speak, The Theme's too lofty for an humble Style: Esop is sure no common Character. Esop. No, truly; I am something particular. Yet if I am not mistaken, what I have extraordinary about me, may be describ'd in very homely Language. Here was a young Gentlewoman but just now pencil'd me out to a Hair, I thought; and yet, I vow to God, the learned'st Word I heard her make use of, was Monster. Hort. That was a Woman, Sir, a very Woman; Her Cogitations all were on the outward Man: But I strike deeper; 'tis the Mind I view. The Soul's the worthy Object of my Care; The Soul, that Sample of Divinity, that glorious Throne of Thought, that sacred Seat of Contemplation. The Soul, that noble Source of Wisdom, That Fountain of Comfort, That Spring of Joy, that happy Token of eternal Life. The Soul, that—— Esop. Pray, Lady, are you married? Hort. Why that Question, Sir? Esop. Only that I might wait upon your Husband, to wish him Joy. Hort. When People of my Composition would marry, they first find something of their own Species to join with; I never could resolve to take a Thing of common Fabric to my Bed, lest, when his brutish Inclinations prompt him, he shou'd make me Mother to a Form like his own. Esop. Methinks, a Lady so extremely nice should be much at a Loss who to converse with. Hort. I keep my Chamber, and converse with myself; 'tis better being alone, than to mis-ally one's Conversation: Men are scandalous, and Women are insipid: Discourse without Figure makes me sick at my Soul: O the Charms of a Metaphor! What Harmony there is in the Words of Erudition! The Musick of them is inimaginable. Esop. Will you hear a Fable, Lady? Hort. Willingly, Sir; the Apologue pleases me, when the Application of it is just. Esop. It is, I'll answer for it. Once on a Time a Nightingale, Unconstant, fickle, whimsical, (A Female one) Who sung like others of her kind, Hearing a well-taught Linnet's Airs, Had other Matters in her Mind. To imitate him she prepares; Her Fancy strait was on the Wing: I fly, quoth she, As well as he; I don't know why I should not try As well as he to sing. From that Day forth she chang'd her Note, She spoil'd her Voice, she strain'd her Throat: She did, as learned Women do, Till every Thing That heard her sing Wou'd run away from her——as I from you. [Exit Esop running. Hortensia sola. How grossly does this poor World suffer itself to be impos'd upon!—--Esop, a Man of Sense——Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! Alas, poor Wretch! I shou'd not have known him but by his Deformity; his Soul's as nauseous to my Understanding, as his odious Body to my Sense of Feeling. Well, 'Mongst all the Wits that are allow'd to shine, Methinks there's nothing yet approaches mine: Sure I was sent the homely Age t'adorn; } What Star, I know not, rul'd when I was born, } But every Thing besides myself's my Scorn. } [Exit. Enter Euphronia and Doris. Dor. What, in the Name of Jove, 's the matter with you? Speak, for Heaven's sake! Euph. Oh! what shall I do? Doris, I'm undone. Dor. What, ravish'd? Euph. No, ten times worse! Ten times worse! Unlace me, or I shall swoon. Dor. Unlace you? Why, you are not thereabouts, I hope? Euph. No no, worse still; worse than all that. Dor. Nay, then 'tis bad, indeed. [Doris unlaces her. There: How d'ye do now? Euph. So; 'tis going over. Dor. Courage, pluck up your Spirits: Well, now what's the matter? Euph. The matter! Thou shalt hear. Know that—that Cheat—Esop—— Dor. Like enough; speak: What has he done! That ugly ill-boding Cyclops— Euph. Why, instead of keeping his Promise, and speaking for Oronces, he has not said one Word, but what has been for himself. And by my Father's Order, before to-morrow Noon he's to marry me. Dor. He marry you! Euph. Am I in the wrong to be in this Despair? Tell me, Doris, if I am to blame. Dor. To blame? No, by my troth. That ugly, old, treacherous piece of Vermin—that melancholy Mixture of Impotence and Desire—does his Mouth stand to a young Partridge? Ah the old Goat! And your Father! He downright doats at last, then. Euph. Ah, Doris, what a Husband does he give me! And what a Lover does he rob me of! Thou know'st 'em both; think of Oronces, and think of Esop. Dor. [Spitting.] A foul Monster! And yet, now I think on't, I'm almost as angry at t'other too: Methinks he makes but a slow Voyage on't, for a Man in Love: 'Tis now above two Months since he went to Lesbos, to pack up the old Bones of his dead Father; sure he might have made a little more Haste. Enter Oronces. Euph. Oh! my Heart, what do I see? Dor. Talk of the Devil, and he's at your Elbow. Oron. My dear Soul! [Euph. runs and leaps about his Neck. Euph. Why wou'd you stay so long from me? Oron. 'Twas not my Fault, indeed; the Winds—— Dor. The Winds! Will the Winds blow you your Oron. What's the meaning of all this? Dor. There's meaning and mumping too: your Mistress is married: that's all. Oron. Death and Furies—— Euph. [Clinging about him.] Don't you frighten him too much, neither, Doris. No, my Dear, I'm not yet executed, tho' I'm condemn'd. Oron. Condemn'd! To what? Speak! Quick! Dor. To be married. Oron. Married? When? How? Where? To what? To whom? Dor. Esop, Esop, Esop, Esop, Esop. Oron. Fiends and Spectres! What! That piece of Deformity! That Monster! That Crump! Dor. The same, Sir, the same. I find he knows him. You might have come home sooner. Oron. Dear Euphronia, ease me from my Pain. Swear that you neither have nor will consent. I know this comes from your ambitious Father; But you're too generous, too true to leave me: Millions of Kingdoms ne'er wou'd shake my Faith, And I believe your Constancy as firm. Euph. You do me Justice, you shall find you do: For Racks and Tortures, Crowns and Scepters join'd, shall neither fright me from my Truth, nor tempt me to be false. On this you may depend. Dor. Wou'd to the Lord you wou'd find some other Place to make your fine Speeches in! Don't you know that your dear Friend Esop's coming to receive his Visits here? In this great downy Chair, your pretty little Husband Elect is to sit and hear all the Complaints of the Town: One of Wisdom's chief Recompences being to be constantly troubled with the Business of Fools. Pray, Madam, will you take the Gentleman by the Hand, and lead him into your Chamber; and when Euph. But if my Father catch us, we are ruin'd. Dor. By my Conscience, this Love will make us all turn Fools. Before your Father can open the Door, can't he slip down the Back-stairs? I'm sure he may, if you don't hold him; but that's the old Trade. Ah—Well, get you gone, however——Hark——I hear the old Baboon cough; away! [Ex. Oron. and Euph. running.] Here he comes, with his ugly Beak before him. Ah—a luscious Bedfellow, by my troth! Enter Learchus and Esop. Lear. Well, Doris; what News from my Daughter? Is she prudent? Dor. Yes, very prudent. Lear. What says she? What does she do? Dor. Do? What shou'd she do? Tears her Cornet; bites her Thumbs; throws her Fan in the Fire; thinks 'tis dark Night at Noon-day; dreams of Monsters and Hobgoblins; raves in her Sleep of forc'd Marriage and Cuckoldom; cries, Avaunt Deformity; then wakens on a sudden, with fifty Arguments at her Fingers-ends to prove the Lawfulness of Rebellion in a Child, when a Parent turns Tyrant. Lear. Very fine! But all this shan't serve her turn. I have said the Word, and will be obey'd——My Lord does her Honour. Dor. [Aside.] Yes, and that's all he can do to her. [To Lear.] But I can't blame the Gentleman, after all; he loves my Mistress, because she's handsome; and she hates him, because he's ugly. I never saw two People more in the right in my Life. [To Esop.] You'll pardon me, Sir, I'm somewhat free. Esop. Why, a Ceremony wou'd but take up time. But, Governor, methinks I have an admirable Advocate about your Daughter. Lear. Out of the Room, Impudence: be gone, I say. Dor. So I will: But you'll be as much in the wrong when I'm gone, as when I'm here. And your Conscience, I hope, will talk as pertly to you as I can do. Esop. If she treats me thus before my face, I may conclude I'm finely handled behind my Back. Dor. I say the Truth here; and I can say no worse any where. [Exit Doris. Lear. I hope your Lordship won't be concern'd at what this prattling Wench bleats out: my Daughter will be govern'd. She's bred up to Obedience. There may be some small Difficulty in weaning her from her young Lover: But 'twon't be the first time she has been wean'd from a Breast, my Lord. Esop. Does she love him fondly, Sir? Lear. Foolishly, my Lord. Esop. And he her? Lear. The same. Esop. Is he young? Lear. Yes, and vigorous. Esop. Rich? Lear. So, so. Esop. Well-born? Lear. He has good Blood in his Veins. Esop. Has he Wit? Lear. He had, before he was in Love. Esop. And handsome with all this? Lear. Or else we shou'd not have half so much trouble with him. Esop. Why do you, then, make her quit him for me? All the World knows I am neither young, noble, nor rich: And as for my Beauty——Look you, Governor, I'm honest. But when Children cry, they tell 'em Esop's a-coming. Pray, Sir, what is it makes you so earnest to force your Daughter? Lear. Am I, then, to count for nothing the favour you are in at Court? Father-in-law to the great Esop! What Esop. Well, Governor, let it be your Care, then, to make her consent. Lear. This Moment, my Lord, I reduce her either to Obedience, or to Dust and Ashes. [Exit Lear. Esop. Adieu. Now let in the People who come for Audience. [Esop sits in his Chair, reading of Papers. Enter two ordinary Tradesmen. 1 Tra. There he is, Neighbour: Do but look at him. 2 Tra. Aye; one may know him: He's well mark'd. But do'st hear me? What Title must we give him? for if we fail in that point, d'ye see me, we shall never get our Business done. Courtiers love Titles almost as well as they do Money, and that's a bold Word now. 1 Tra. Why, I think we had best call him, his Grandeur. 2 Tra. That will do; thou hast hit on't. Hold still, let me speak. May it please your Grandeur—— Esop. There I interrupt you, Friend; I have a weak Body that will ne'er be able to bear that Title. 2 Tra. D'ye hear that, Neighbour? What shall we call him now? 1 Tra. Why, call him, call him, his Excellency; try what that will do. 2 Tra. May it please your Excellency—— Esop. Excellency's a long Word, it takes up too much time in Business: Tell me what you'd have in few Words. 2 Tra. Neighbour, this Man will never give Ten thousand Pounds to be made a Lord. But what shall I say to him now? He puts me quite out of my play. 1 Tra. Why e'en talk to him as we do to one another. 2 Tra. Shall I? Why, so I will, then. Hem! Neighbour, we want a new Governor, Neighbour. Esop. A new Governor, Friend? 2 Tra. Aye, Friend. Esop. Why, what's the matter with your old one? 2 Tra. What's the matter! Why, he grows rich; that's the matter; And he that's rich can't be innocent; that's all. Esop. Does he use any of you harshly? Or punish you without a Fault? 2 Tra. No, but he grows as rich as a Miser; his Purse is so cramm'd, 'tis ready to burst again. Esop. When 'tis full, 'twill hold no more; a new Governor will have an empty one. 2 Tra. 'Fore Gad, Neighbour, the little Gentleman's in the right on't. 1 Tra. Why, truly, I don't know but he may: For now it comes in my Head, It cost me more Money to fat my Hog, Than to keep him fat when he was so. Pr'ythee tell him we'll keep our old Governor. 2 Tra. I'll do't. Why, look you, Sir, d'ye see me: Having seriously consider'd of the matter, my Neighbour Hobson and I here, we are content to jog on a little longer with him we have: but if you'd do us another Courtesy, you might. Esop. What's that, Friend? 2 Tra. Why, that's this: Our King Croesus is a very good Prince, as a Man may say: But——a——but—Taxes are high, an't please you; and——a——poor Men want Money, d'ye see me: 'Tis very hard, as we think, that the Poor shou'd work to maintain the Rich. If there were no Taxes, we shou'd do pretty well. 1 Tra. Taxes, indeed, are very burdensome. Esop. I'll tell you a Story, Countrymen. Once on a time, the Hands and Feet, They met, caball'd, and talk'd of Treason, They swore by Jove they knew no Reason The Belly shou'd have all the Meat— } It was a damn'd notorious Cheat } They did the Work, and—Death and Hell, they'd eat. } The Belly, who ador'd good Chear, Had like t'have dy'd away for Fear: Quoth he, Good Folks, you little know } What 'tis you are about to do; } If I am starv'd, what will become of you? } We neither know nor care, cry'd they, But this we will be bound to say, We'll see you damn'd Before we'll work, And you receive the Pay. With that the Hands to Pocket went Full Wrist-band deep, The Legs and Feet fell fast asleep: Their Liberty they had redeem'd, And all, except the Belly, seem'd Extremely well content. But mark what follow'd; 'twas not long Before the right became the wrong; The Mutineers were grown so weak, They found 'twas more than time to squeak: They call for work, but 'twas too late. The Stomach (like an aged Maid, } Shrunk up, for want of human Aid) } The common Debt of Nature paid, } And with its Destiny entrain'd their Fate. } Esop. What think you of this Story, Friends, ha? Come, you look like wise Men; I'm sure you understand what's for your good; in giving part of what you have, you secure all the rest: If the King had no Money, there cou'd be no Army; and if there were no Army, your Enemies would be amongst you: One Day's Pillage wou'd be worse than twenty Years' Taxes. What say ye? Is't not so? 2 Tra. By my troth, I think he's in the right on't, again. Who'd think that little Hump-back of his Shou'd have so much Brains in't, Neighbour? Esop. Well, honest Men, is there any thing else that I can serve you in? 1 Tra. D'ye hear that, Humphry?——Why, that was 1 Tra. Why good feath I think so too; for by all I can see, we are like to make no great hond on't. Besides, between thee and me, I began to daubt, whether aur Grievances do us such a plaguy deal of Mischief as we fancy. 2 Tra. Or put the Case they did, Humphry; I'se afraid he that goes to a Courtier, in hope to get fairly rid of 'em, may be said (in our Country Dialect) to take the wrong Sow by the Ear. But here's Neighbour Roger, he's a Wit, let's leave him to him. [Exeunt. Enter Roger, a Country Bumkin, looks seriously upon Esop; then bursts out a laughing. Rog. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Did ever Mon behold the like? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Esop. Hast thou any business with me, Friend? Rog. Yes, by my troth, have I; But if Roger were to be hang'd up for't, Look you now, he cou'd not hold laughing: What I have in my Mind, out it comes: But bar that; I'se on honest Lad as well as another. Esop. My time's dearer to me than yours, Friend; have you any thing to say to me? Rog. Gadswookers, do People use to ask for Folks when they have nothing to say to 'em: I'se tell you my Business. Esop. Let's hear it. Rog. I have, as you see, a little Wit. Esop. True. Rog. I live in a Village hard by, and I'se the best Man in it, tho' I say it that should not say it. I have good Drink in my Cellar, and good Corn in my Barn: I have Cows and Oxen, Hogs and Sheep, Cocks and Hens, and Geese and Turkeys: But the Truth will out, and so let it out. I'se e'en tired of being call'd plain Roger. Esop. I chuse thee a Place! Rog. Yes, I wou'd willingly have it such a sort of a Place, as wou'd cost little, and bring in a great deal; in a Word, much Profit, and nothing to do. Esop. But you must name what Post you think wou'd suit your Humour. Rog. Why I'se pratty indifferent as to that: Secretary of State, or Butler; twenty Shillings more, or twenty Shillings less, is not the thing I stand upon. I'se no Hagler, Godswookers; and he that says I am—'Zbud he lies: There's my Humour now. Esop. But hark you, Friend, you say you are well as you are, why then do you desire to change? Rog. Why what a Question now is there for a Man of your Parts? I'm well, d'ye see me; and what of all that? I desire to be better: There's an Answer for you. [Aside.] Let Roger alone with him. Esop. Very well: This is reasoning; and I love a Man should reason with me. But let us enquire a little whether your Reasons are good or not. You say, at home you want for nothing? Rog. Nothing, 'fore George. Esop. You have good Drink? Rog. 'Zbud, the best i'th' Parish. [Singing.] And Esop. You eat heartily? Rog. I have a noble Stomach. Esop. You sleep well? Rog. Just as I drink, till I can sleep no longer. Esop. You have some honest Neighbours? Rog. Honest! 'Zbud we are all so, the Tawne raund, we live like Breether; when one can sarve another, he does it with all his Heart and Guts; when we have any thing that's good, we eat it together, Holidays and Sundays we play at Nine-pins, tumble upon the Grass with wholesome young Maids, laugh till we split, daunce till we are weary, eat till we burst, drink till we are sleepy, then swap into Bed, and snore till we rise to Breakfast. Esop. And all this thou wou'dst leave to go to Court? I'll tell thee what once happen'd: A Mouse, who long had liv'd at Court, } (Yet ne'er the better Christian for't) } Walking one Day to see some Country Sport, } He met a home-bred Village-Mouse; Who with an awkward Speech and Bow, } That savour'd much of Cart and Plow, } Made a shift, I know not how, } T' invite him to his House. Quoth he, My Lord, I doubt you'll find Our Country Fare of homely kind; But by my troth, you're welcome to't, Y'ave that, and Bread and Cheese to boot: And so they sat and din'd. Rog. Very well. Esop. The Courtier cou'd have eat at least But thought himself oblig'd in Feeding, To shew the difference of Town breeding; He pick'd and cull'd, and turn'd the Meat, He champt and chew'd, and cou'd not eat: No toothless Woman at Fourscore, Was ever seen to mumble more. He made a thousand ugly Faces, } Which (as sometimes in Ladies cases) } Were all design'd for Airs and Graces. } Rog. Ha, ha! Esop. At last he from the Table rose, He pick'd his Teeth and blow'd his Nose, And with an easy Negligence, As tho' he lately came from France, He made a careless sliding Bow: 'Fore Gad, quoth he, I don't know how I shall return your friendly Treat; But if you'll take a bit of Meat In Town with me, You there shall see, How we poor Courtiers eat. Rog. Tit for tat; that was friendly. Esop. There needed no more Invitation To e'er a Country 'Squire i'th' Nation: Exactly to the time he came, Punctual as Woman when she meets A Man between a pair of Sheets, As good a Stomach, and as little Shame. Rog. Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! Esop. To say the Truth, he found good Chear, With Wine, instead of Ale and Beer: But just as they sat down to eat, Came bouncing in a hungry Cat. Rog. O Lord, O Lord, O Lord! Esop. The nimble Courtier skipt from Table, The 'Squire leapt too, as he was able: It can't be said that they were beat, It was no more than a Retreat; Which when an Army, not to fight By Day-light, runs away by Night, Was ever judg'd a great and glorious Feat. Rog. Ever, ever, ever. Esop. The Cat retir'd, our Guests return, The Danger past becomes their Scorn, They fall to eating as before, The Butler rumbles at the Door. Rog. Good Lord! Esop. To Boot and Saddle again they sound. Rog. Ta ra, tan tan ta ra, ra ra tan ta ra. Esop. They frown, as they wou'd stand their Ground, But (like some of our Friends) they found 'Twas safer much to scour. Rog. Tantive, Tantive, Tantive, &c. Esop. At length the 'Squire, who hated Arms, Was so perplext with these Alarms, He rose up in a kind of Heat, Udswookers, quoth he, with all your Meat, I will maintain, a Dish of Pease, A Radish, and a Slice of Cheese, With a good Desert of Ease, Is much a better Treat. However, Since every Man shou'd have his due, I own, Sir, I'm oblig'd to you For your Intentions at your Board: But Pox upon your courtly Crew—— Rog. Amen, I pray the Lord. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Now the De'el cuckold me if this Story be not worth a Sermon. Give me your Hond, Sir.——If it had na' been for your friendly Advice, I was going to be Fool enough to be Secretary of State. Esop. Well, go thy ways home, and be wiser for the future. Rog. And so I will: For that same Mause, your Friend, was a witty Person, gadsbudlikins! and so our Wife Joan shall know: For between you and I, 'tis she has put me upon going to Court. Sir, she has been so praud, so saucy, so rampant, ever since I brought her home a lac'd Pinner, and a pink-colour'd pair of Shoe-strings, from Tickledowne Fair, the Parson o'th' Parish can't rule her; and that you'll say's much. But so much for that. Naw I thank you for your good Counsel, honest little Gentleman; and to shew you that I'se not ungrateful—give me your Hond once more——If you'll take the pains but to walk dawne to our Towne—a Word in [Exit Roger Esop. solus. Farewel, what I both envy and despise! Thy Happiness and Ignorance provoke me. How noble were the thing call'd Knowledge, Did it but lead us to a Bliss like thine! But there's a secret Curse in Wisdom's Train, } Which on its Pleasures stamps perpetual Pain, } And makes the wise Man Loser by his Gain. } [Exit. Enter Esop. Esop. Who waits there? [Enter Servant. If there be any body that has Business with me, let 'em in. Serv. Yes, Sir. [Exit Serv. Enter Quaint, who stands at a distance, making a great many fawning Bows. Esop. Well, Friend, who are you? Quaint. My Name's Quaint, Sir, the profoundest of all your Honour's humble Servants. Esop. And what may your Business be with me, Sir? Quaint. My Business, Sir, with every Man, is first of all to do him Service. Esop. And your next is, I suppose, to be paid for't twice as much as 'tis worth. Quaint. Your Honour's most obedient humble Servant. Esop. Well, Sir, but upon what Account am I going to be oblig'd to you? Quaint. Sir, I'm a Genealogist. Esop. A Genealogist! Quaint. At your Service, Sir. Esop. So, Sir? Quaint. Sir, I am inform'd from common Fame, as well as from some little private familiar Intelligence, that your Wisdom is ent'ring into Treaty with the Primum MobilÈ of Good and Evil, a fine Lady. I have travell'd, Sir; I have read, Sir; I have consider'd, Sir; and I find, Sir, that the Nature of a fine Lady is to be——a fine Lady, Sir; a fine Lady's a fine Lady, Sir, all the World over;——she loves a fine House, fine Furniture, fine Clothes, fine Liveries, fine Petticoats, fine Smocks; and if she stops there—she's a fine Lady indeed, Sir. But to come to my Point. It being the Lydian Custom, that the fair Bride should be presented on her Wedding-day with something that may signify the Merit and the Worth of her dread Lord and Master, I thought the noble Esop's Pedigree might be the welcom'st Gift that he could offer. If his Honour be of the same Opinion—I'll speak a bold Word—there's ne'er a Herald in all Asia shall put better Blood in his Veins, than—Sir, your humble Servant, Jacob Quaint. Esop. Dost thou then know my Father, Friend? For I protest to thee I am a Stranger to him. Quaint. Your Father, Sir? Ha, ha! I know every Man's Father, Sir; and every Man's Grandfather, and every Man's Great Grandfather. Why, Sir, I'm a Herald by Nature, my Mother was a Welchwoman. Esop. A Welchwoman? Pr'ythee of what Country is that? Quaint. That, Sir, is a Country in the World's Backside, where every Man is born a Gentleman and a Genealogist. Sir, I cou'd tell my Mother's Pedigree before I could speak plain; which, to shew you the Depth of my Art, and the Strength of my Memory, I'll trundle you down in an instant. Noah had three Sons, Shem, Ham, and Japhet; Shem—— Esop. Hold, I conjure thee, in the Name of all thy Ancestors. Quaint. Sir, I cou'd take it higher, but I begin at Noah for brevity's sake. Esop. No more on't, I intreat thee. Quaint. Your Honour's impatient, perhaps, to hear your own Descent. A Word to the wise is enough. Hem, hem! Solomon, the wise King of Judea—— Esop. Hold, once more! Quaint. Ha, ha! Your Honour's modest, but——Solomon, the wise King of Judea—— Esop. Was my Ancestor, was he not? Quaint. He was, my Lord, which no one sure can doubt, who observes how much of Prince there hangs about you. Esop. What! Is't in my Mien? Quaint. You have something——wondrous noble in your Air. Esop. Personable too; view me well. Quaint. N——not Tall; but Majestick. Esop. My Shape? Quaint. A World of Symmetry in it. Esop. The Lump upon my Back? Quaint. N——not regular; but agreeable. Esop. Now by my Honesty thou art a Villain, Herald. But Flattery's a Thrust I never fail to parry. 'Tis a Pass thou should'st reserve for young Fencers; with Feints like those they're to be hit: I do not doubt but thou hast found it so; hast not? Quaint. I must confess, Sir, I have sometimes made 'em bleed by't. But I hope your Honour will please to excuse me, since, to speak the Truth, I get my Bread by't, and maintain my Wife and Children: And Industry, you know, Sir, is a commendable Thing. Besides, Sir, I have debated the Business a little with my Conscience; for I'm like the rest of my Neighbours, I'd willingly get Money, and be sav'd too, if the Thing may be done upon any reasonable Terms: And so, Sir, I say, to quiet my Conscience, I have found out at last, that Flattery is a Duty. Esop. A Duty! Quaint. Ay, Sir, a Duty: For the Duty of all Men Esop. Admirable Rogue! What dost thou think of Murder and of Rape, are not they Duties too? Wert not for such vile fawning Things as thou art, young Nobles wou'd not long be what they are: They'd grow asham'd of Luxury and Ease, and rouse up the old Spirit of their Fathers; leave the pursuit of a poor frightned Hare, and make their Foes to tremble in their stead; furnish their Heads with Sciences and Arts, and fill their Hearts with Honour, Truth and Friendship; Be generous to some, and just to all; drive home their Creditors with Bags of Gold, instead of chasing 'em away with Swords and Staves; be faithful to their King and Country both, and stab the Offerer of a Bribe from either; blush even at a wandering Thought of Vice, and boldly own they durst be Friends to Virtue; trembling at nothing but the Frowns of Heaven, and be no more asham'd of Him that made 'em. Quaint. [Aside.] If I stand to hear this Crump preach a little longer, I shall be Fool enough perhaps to be bubbled out of my Livelyhood, and so lose a Bird in the Hand for two in the Bush. Sir, since I have not been able to bring you to a good Opinion of yourself, 'tis very probable I shall scarce prevail with you to have one of me. But if you please to do me the favour to forget me, I shall ever acknowledge myself——Sir, your most obedient, faithful, humble Servant. Esop. Hold; if I let thee go, and give thee nothing, Enter Servant. Quaint. [Aside.] I don't like his Looks, by Gad. Esop. I'll present thee with a Token of my Love. Quaint. A—another time, Sir, will do as well. Esop. No; I love to be out of Debt, tho' 'tis being out of the Fashion. So, d'ye hear! Give this honest Gentleman half a score good Strokes on the Back with a Cudgel. Quaint. By no means in the World, Sir. Esop. Indeed, Sir, you shall take 'em. Quaint. Sir, I don't merit half your Bounty. Esop. O 'tis but a Trifle! Quaint. Your Generosity makes me blush. [Looking about to make his Escape. Esop. That's your Modesty, Sir. Quaint. Sir, you are pleased to compliment. But a——twenty Pedigrees for a clear Coast. [Running off, the Servant after him. Esop. Wait upon him down Stairs, Fellow; I'd do't myself, were I but nimble enough; but he makes haste, to avoid Ceremony. Enter Servant. Serv. Sir, here's a Lady in great haste, desires to speak with you. Esop. Let her come in. Enter Aminta, weeping. Amin. O Sir, if you don't help me, I'm undone. Esop. What, what's the Matter, Lady? Amin. My Daughter, Sir, my Daughter's run away with a filthy Fellow. Esop. A slippery Trick indeed! Amin. For Heaven's sake, Sir, send immediately to pursue 'em, and seize 'em. But 'tis in vain, 'twill be too late, 'twill be too late; I'll warrant at this very Moment they are got together in a Room with a Couch in't; all's gone, all's gone; tho' 'twere made of Gold, 'tis lost: Esop. That indeed was early; but how do you know she's gone with a Fellow? Amin. I have e'en her own insolent Hand-writing for't: Sir, take but the pains to read what a Letter she has left me. Esop. Reads. I love and am belov'd, and that's the Reason I run away. Short, but significant!—--I'm sure there's no Body knows better than your Ladyship what Allowances are to be made to Flesh and Blood; I therefore hope this from your Justice, that what you have done three Times yourself, you'll pardon once in your Daughter. The Dickens! Amin. Now, Sir, what do you think of the Business? Esop. Why truly, Lady, I think it one of the most natural Businesses I have met with a great while. I'll tell you a Story. A Crab-fish once her Daughter told, (In Terms that savour'd much of Scold) She cou'd not bear to see her go Sidle, sidle, to and fro: The Devil's in the Wench, quoth she, When so much Money has been paid To polish you like me, It makes me almost mad to see Y'are still so awkward, an ungainly Jade. Her Daughter smil'd, and look'd a-skew; } She answer'd (for to give her her due) } Pertly, as most Folks Daughters do: } Madam, your Ladyship, quoth she, Is pleas'd to blame in me What, on Enquiry, you may find, Admits a passable Excuse, From a Proverb much in use, That Cat will after kind. Amin. Sir, I took you to be a Man better bred, than to liken a Lady to a Crab-fish. Esop. What I want in Good-breeding, Lady, I have in Truth and Honesty: As what you have wanted in Virtue, you have had in a good Face. Amin. Have had, Sir! What I have had, I have still; and shall have a great while, I hope. I'm no Grandmother, Sir. Esop. But in a fair way for't, Madam. Amin. Thanks to my Daughter's Forwardness then, not my Years. I'd have you to know, Sir, I have never a Wrinkle in my Face. A young pert Slut! Who'd think she shou'd know so much at her Age? Esop. Good Masters make quick Scholars, Lady; she has learn'd her Exercise from you. Amin. But where's the Remedy, Sir? Esop. In trying if a good Example will reclaim her, as an ill one has debauch'd her. Live private, and avoid Scandal. Amin. Never speak it; I can no more retire, than I can go to Church twice on a Sunday. Esop. What, your youthful Blood boils in your Veins, I'll warrant? Amin. I have Warmth enough to endure the Air, old Gentleman. I need not shut myself up in a House these twenty Years. Esop. [Aside.] She takes a long Lease of Lewdness: She'll be an admirable Tenant to Lust. Amin. [Walking hastily to and fro.] People think when a Woman is turn'd Forty, she's old enough to turn out of the World: But I say, when a Woman is turn'd Forty, she's old enough to have more Wit. The most can be said is, her Face is the worse for wearing: I'll answer for all the rest of her Fabrick. The Men wou'd be to be pity'd, by my troth, wou'd they, if we shou'd quit the Stage, and leave 'em nothing but a parcel of young pert Sluts, that neither know how to speak Sense, nor keep themselves clean. But, don't let 'em fear, we a'n't going yet——[Esop stares upon her, and as she turns from him, runs off the Stage.] How now! What left alone! An unmannerly Piece of Deformity! Methinks he might have had Sense enough to have made Love to me. But For let Philosophers say all they can, The Source of Women's Joys is plac'd in Man. [Exit. Enter Learchus and Euphronia, Doris following at a Distance. Lear. [To Euph.] I must tell you, Mistress, I'm too mild with you; Parents shou'd never intreat their Children, nor will I hereafter. Therefore, in a Word, let Esop be lov'd, let Oronces be hated; let one be a Peacock, let t'other be a Bat: I'm Father, you are Daughter; I command, and you shall obey. Euph. I never yet did otherwise; nor shall I now, Sir; but pray let Reason guide you. Lear. So it does: But 'tis my own, not yours, Hussy. Dor. Ah—Well, I'll say no more; but were I in her Place, by the Mass, I'd have a tug for't. Lear. DÆmon, born to distract me! Whence art thou, in the Name of Fire and Brimstone? Have I not satisfy'd thee? Have I not paid thee what's thy due? And have not I turn'd thee out of Doors, with Orders never more to stride my Threshold, ha? Answer, abominable Spirit; what is't that makes thee haunt me? Dor. A foolish Passion to do you good, in spite of your Teeth: Pox on me for my Zeal, I say. Lear. And Pox on thee, and thy Zeal too, I say. Dor. Now if it were not for her Sake more than for yours, I'd leave all to your own Management, to be reveng'd of you. But rather than I'll see that sweet Thing sacrificed—I'll play the Devil in your House. Lear. Patience, I summon thee to my Aid. Dor. Passion, I defy thee; to the last Drop of my Blood I'll maintain my Ground. What have you to charge me with? Speak! I love your Child better than you do, and you can't bear that, ha? Is't not so? Nay, 'tis well y'are asham'd on't; there's some Sign of Grace still. Look you, Sir, in a few Words, you'll make me Lear. How, Strumpet! wou'd any Thing be able to debauch my Daughter? Dor. Your Daughter! Yes, your Daughter, and myself into the Bargain: A Woman's but a Woman; and I'll lay a hundred Pound on Nature's side. Come, Sir, few Words dispatch Business. Let who will be the Wife of Esop, she's a Fool, or he's a Cuckold. But you'll never have a true Notion of this Matter, till you suppose yourself in your Daughter's Place. As thus: You are a pretty, soft, warm, wishing young Lady: I'm a straight, proper, handsome, vigorous, young Fellow. You have a peevish, positive, covetous, old Father, and he forces you to marry a little, lean, crooked, dry, sapless Husband. This Husband's gone abroad, you are left at home. I make you a Visit; find you all alone: the Servant pulls to the Door; the Devil comes in at the Window. I begin to wheedle, you begin to melt: you like my Person, and therefore believe all I say: so first I make you an Atheist, and then I make you a Whore. Thus the World goes, Sir. Lear. Pernicious Pestilence! Has not thy eternal Tongue run down its Larum yet? Dor. Yes. Lear. Then go out of my House, Abomination. Dor. I'll not stir a Foot. Lear. Who waits there? Bring me my great Stick. Dor. Bring you a Stick! Bring you a Head-piece: That you'd call for, if you knew your own wants. Lear. Death and Furies, the Devil and so forth! I shall run distracted. Euph. Pray, Sir, don't be so angry at her. I'm sure she means well, tho' she may have an odd way of expressing herself. Lear. What, you like her meaning? Who doubts it, Offspring of Venus? But I'll make you stay your Stomach with Meat of my chusing, you liquorish young Baggage you. In a Word, Esop's the Man; and to-morrow he shall be your Lord and Master. But since he can't be satisfied unless he has your Heart, as well as all the rest of your Trumpery, let me see you receive him in such a Manner that he may think himself your Choice as well as mine; 'twill make him esteem your Judgment: For we usually guess at other People's Understandings, by their approving our Actions and liking our Faces. See here, the great Man comes! [To Dor.] Follow me, Insolence; and leave 'em to express their Passion to each other. [To Euph.] Remember my last Word to you is, Obey. Dor. [To Euph. aside.] And remember my last Advice to you is, Rebel. [Exit Lear. Dor. following him. Euph. Alas, I'm good-natured; the last Thing that's said to me usually leaves the deepest Impression. Enter Esop; they stand some Time without speaking. Esop.—They say, That Lovers, for want of Words, have Eyes to speak with. I'm afraid you do not understand the Language of mine, since yours, I find, will make no Answer to 'em. But I must tell you, Lady, there is a numerous Train of youthful Virgins, that are endow'd with Wealth and Beauty too, who yet have thought it worth their Pains and Care to point their Darts at Esop's homely Breast; whilst you so much contemn what they pursue, that a young senseless Fop's preferr'd before me. Euph. Did you but know that Fop you dare to term so, his very Looks wou'd fright you into nothing. Esop. A very Bauble. Euph. How! Esop. A Butterfly. Euph. I can't bear it. Esop. A Parroquet can prattle and look gaudy. Euph. It may be so; but let me paint him and you Esop. No, hold; I'm naturally not over-curious; besides, 'tis Pride makes People have their Pictures drawn. Euph. Upon my Word, Sir, you may have yours taken a hundred times before any Body will believe 'tis done upon that Account. Esop. [Aside.] How severe she is upon me! You are resolv'd then to persist, and be fond of your Feather; sigh for a Perriwig, and die for a Cravat string. Euph. Methinks, Sir, you might treat with more respect what I've thought fit to own I value; your Affronts to him are doubly such to me; if you continue your provoking Language, you must expect my Tongue will sally too; and if you are as wise as some would make you, you can't but know I shou'd have Theme enough. Esop. But is it possible you can love so much as you pretend? Euph. Why do you question it? Esop. Because Nobody loves so much as they pretend: But hark you, young Lady: Marriage is to last a long, long Time; and where one Couple bless the sacred Knot, a Train of Wretches curse the Institution. You are in an Age where Hearts are young and tender; a pleasing Object gets Admittance soon. But since to Marriage there's annexed this dreadful Word, For ever, the following Example ought to move you: A Peacock once, of splendid show, Attack'd a fond young Pheasant's Heart With such Success, He pleas'd her, tho' he made her smart; He pierc'd her with so much Address, She smil'd the Moment that he fixt his Dart. A Cuckow in a neighbouring Tree, Rich, honest, ugly, old——like me, Lov'd her as he lov'd his Life: No pamper'd Priest e'er study'd more To make a virtuous Nun a Whore, Than he to get her for his Wife: But all his Offers still were vain, His Limbs were weak, his Face was plain; Beauty, Youth, and Vigour weigh'd With the warm desiring Maid: No Bird, she cry'd, wou'd serve her turn, But what cou'd quench as well as burn; She'd have a young Gallant: so one she had. But 'ere a Month was come and gone, } The Bride began to change her tone, } She found a young Gallant was an inconstant one. } She wander'd to a neighbouring Grove, Where after musing long on Love, She told her Confidant, she found, When for one's Life one must be bound, (Tho' Youth indeed was a delicious Bait) An aged Husband, rich, tho' plain, } Wou'd give a slavish Wife less Pain; } And, what was more, was sooner slain, } Which was a Thing of Weight. Behold, young Lady, here, the Cuckow of the Fable; I'm deform'd, 'tis true, yet I have found the Means to make a Figure amongst Men, that well has recompens'd the Wrongs of Nature; my Rival's Beauty promises you much; perhaps my homely Form might yield you more; at least, consider on't, 'tis worth your Thought. Euph. I must confess, my Fortune wou'd be greater; But what's a Fortune to a Heart like mine? 'Tis true, I'm but a young Philosopher, Yet in that little Space my Glass has run, I've spent some Time in search of Happiness: The fond Pursuit I soon observ'd of Riches, Inclin'd me to enquire into their Worth: I found their Value was not in themselves, But in their Power to grant what we cou'd ask. I then proceeded to my own Desires, To know what State of Life wou'd suit with them: I found 'em moderate in their Demands, They slighted the aspiring Post of Envy: 'Tis true, they trembled at the Name Contempt; A general Esteem was all they wish'd; And that I did not doubt might be obtain'd, If furnish'd but with Virtue and Good-nature; My Fortune prov'd sufficient to afford me Conveniences of Life, and Independence. This, Sir, was the Result of my Enquiry; And by this Scheme of Happiness I build, When I prefer the Man I love to you. Esop. How wise, how witty, and how cleanly, young Women grow, as soon as ever they are in love! Euph. How foppish, how impertinent, and how nauseous are old Men, when they pretend to be so too! Esop. How pert is Youth! Euph. How dull is Age! Esop. Why so sharp, young Lady? Euph. Why so blunt, old Gentleman? Esop. 'Tis enough; I'll to your Father, I know how to deal with him, though I don't know how to deal with you. Before to-morrow Noon, Damsel, Wife shall be written on your Brow. [Exit Esop. Euph. Then before to-morrow Night, Statesman, Husband shall be stampt upon your Forehead. [Exit Euph. Enter Oronces and Doris. Dor. Patience, I beseech you. Oron. Patience! What, and see that lovely Creature thrown into the Arms of that pedantick Monster! 'Sdeath, I'd rather see the World reduc'd to A'toms, Mankind turn'd into Crawfish, and myself an old Woman. Dor. So you think an old Woman a very unfortunate thing, I find; but you are mistaken, Sir; she may plague other Folks, but she's as entertaining to herself, as any one Part of the Creation. Oron. [Walking to and fro.] She's the Devil——and I'm one of the damn'd, I think. But I'll make somebody howl for't; I will so. Dor. You'll e'en do as all the young Fellows in the Town do, spoil your own Sport: Ah——had young Mens Shoulders but old Courtiers Heads upon 'em, what a delicious Time wou'd they have on't! For shame, be wise; for your Mistress's sake at least use some Caution. Oron. For her sake I'll respect, even like a Deity, her Father. He shall strike me, he shall tread upon me, and find me humbler even than a crawling Worm, for I'll not turn again; but for Esop, that unfinish'd Lump, that Chaos of Humanity, I'll use him——nay, expect it, for I'll do it——the first Moment that I'll see him, I'll—— Dor. Not challenge him, I hope——'Twould be a pretty sight, truly, to see Esop drawn up in Battalia! Fye for shame, be wise once in your Life; think of gaining Time, by putting off the Marriage for a Day or two, and not of waging War with a Pigmy. Yonder's the old Gentleman walking by himself in the Gallery; go and wheedle him, you know his weak side; he's good-natur'd in the bottom. Stir up his old fatherly Bowels a little, I'll warrant you'll move him at last: go, get you gone, and play your Part discreetly. Oron. Well, I'll try; but if Words won't do with one, Blows shall with t'other; by Heavens, they shall. [Exit. Oron. Doris sola. Nay, I reckon we shall have rare work on't bye and bye. Shield us, kind Heaven! what Things are Men in love? Now they are Stocks and Stones; then they are Fire and Quick-silver; first whining and crying, then swearing and damning: This Moment they are in Love, and next Moment they are out of Love: Ah—cou'd we but live without 'em—but 'tis in vain to think on't. [Exit. Enter Esop at one side of the Stage, Mrs. Forge-will at t'other. Forg. Sir, I'm your most devoted Servant! What I say is no Compliment, I do assure you. Esop. Madam, as far as you are really mine, I believe I may venture to assure you, I am yours. Forg. I suppose, Sir, you know that I'm a Widow. Esop. Madam, I don't so much as know you are a Woman. Forg. O surprizing! Why, I thought the whole Town had known it. Sir, I have been a Widow this Twelvemonth. Esop. If a Body may guess at your Heart by your Petticoat, Lady, you don't design to be so a Twelvemonth more. Forg. O bless me! Not a Twelvemonth! Why, my Husband has left me four squalling Brats. Besides, Sir, I'm undone. Esop. You seem as chearful an undone Lady as I have met with. Forg. Alas, Sir, I have too great a Spirit ever to let Afflictions spoil my Face. Sir, I'll tell you my Condition; and that will lead me to my Business with you. Sir, my Husband was a Scriviner. Esop. The deuce he was: I thought he had been a Count, at least. Forg. Sir, it is not the first Time I have been taken for a Countess; my Mother us'd to say, as I lay in my Cradle, I had the Air of a Woman of Quality; and truly I have always liv'd like such. My Husband, indeed, had something sneaking in him (as most Husbands have, you know, Sir); but, from the Moment I set Foot in his House, bless me, what a Change was there! His Pewter was turn'd into Silver, his Goloshoes into a Glass Coach, and his little travelling Mare into a Pair of Flanders Horses. Instead of a greasy Cook-maid to wait at Table, I had four tall Footmen in clean Linen; all Things became new and fashionable, and nothing look'd aukward in my Family. My Furniture Esop. A very sad Story, truly! Forg. But now, Sir, to my Business. Having been inform'd this Morning, That the King has appointed a great Sum of Money for the Marriage of young Women who have liv'd well, and are fallen to decay, I am come to acquaint you I have two strapping Daughters, just fit for the Matter, and to desire you'll help 'em to Portions out of the King's Bounty; that they mayn't whine and pine, and be eaten up with the Green-sickness, as half the young Women in the Town are, or wou'd be, if there were not more Helps for the Disease than one. This, Sir, is my Business. Esop. And this, Madam, is my Answer: A crawling Toad, all speckled o'er, Seeing a well-fed Ox hard by, Regards him with an envious Eye, And (as the Poets tell) Ye Gods, I cannot bear't, quoth she, I'll burst, or be as big as he, And so began to swell. Her Friends and Kindred round her came, They shew'd her she was much to blame, The Thing was out of reach. She told 'em they were busy Folk, And when her Husband wou'd have spoke, She bid him kiss her Br——. With that they all e'en gave her o'er, And she persisted as before, Till with a deal of Strife She swell'd at last so much her Spleen, She burst like one that we have seen, Who was a Scrivener's Wife. This, Widow, I take to be your Case, and that of a great many others; for this is an Age where most People get Falls, by clambering too high, to reach at what they should not do. The Shoemaker's Wife reduces her Husband to a Cobler, by endeavouring to be as spruce as the Taylor's: The Taylor's brings hers to a Botcher, by going as fine as the Mercer's: The Mercer's lowers hers to a Foreman, by perking up to the Merchant's: The Merchant's wears hers to a Broker, by strutting up to Quality: And Quality bring theirs to nothing, by striving to out-do one another. If Women were humbler, Men wou'd be honester. Pride brings Want, Want makes Rogues, Rogues come to be hang'd, and the Devil alone's the Gainer. Go your ways home, Woman; and as your Husband maintain'd you by his Pen, maintain yourself by your Needle; put your great Girls to service, Imployment will keep them honest; much Work and plain Diet will cure the Green-Sickness as well as a Husband—— Forg. Why, you pityful Pigmy; preaching, canting, Pickthank; you little, sorry, crooked, dry, wither'd Eunuch, do you know that—— Esop. I know that I'm so deform'd you han't Wit enough to describe me: But I have this good Quality, That a foolish Woman can never make me angry. Forg. Can't she so? I'll try that, I will. [She falls upon him, holds his Hands, and boxes his Ears. Esop. Help, help, help. Enter Servants. She runs off, they after her. Esop. Nay, e'en let her go——let her go——don't bring her back again——I'm for making a Bridge of Gold for my Enemy to retreat upon——I'm quite out of Breath——A terrible Woman, I protest. Enter a Country Gentleman drunk, in a hunting Dress, with a Huntsman, Groom, Falconer, and other Servants; one leading a couple of Hounds, another Grey-Hounds, a third a Spaniel, a fourth a Gun upon his Shoulder, the Falconer a Hawk upon his Fist, &c. Gent. Haux, haux, haux, haux, haux! Joular, there Boy, Joular, Joular, Tinker, Pedlar, Miss, Miss, Miss, Miss, Miss—Blood and Oons—O there he is; that must be he, I have seen his Picture [Reeling upon Esop].—Sir,—if your Name's Esop—I'm your humble Servant. Esop. Sir, my Name is Esop, at your Service. Gent. Why then, Sir—Compliments being past on both sides, with your leave—we'll proceed to Business. Sir, I'm by Profession—a Gentleman of—three thousand Pounds a Year—Sir, I keep a good Pack of Hounds, a good Stable of Horses. [To his Groom.] How many Horses have I, Sirrah?—Sir, this is my Groom. [Presenting him to Esop. Groom. Your Worship has six Coach-horses, (Cut and Long-Tail) two Runners, half a dozen Hunters, four breeding Mares, and two blind Stallions, besides Pads, Routs, and Dog-Horses. Gent. Look you there, Sir, I scorn to tell a Lye. He that questions my Honour—he's a Son of a Whore. But to Business—Having heard, Sir, that you were come to this Town, I have taken the Pains to come hither too, tho' I had a great deal of Business upon my Hands, for I have appointed three Justices of the Peace to hunt with 'em this Morning——and be drunk with 'em in the Afternoon. But the main Chance must be look'd to—and that's this——I desire, Sir, you'll tell the King from me—I don't like these Taxes—in one Word, as well as in twenty—I don't like these Taxes. Esop. Pray, Sir, how high may you be tax'd? Gent. How high may I be tax'd, Sir! Why I may be tax'd, Sir—four Shillings in the Pound, Sir; one half I pay in Money—and t'other half I pay in Perjury, Sir: Esop. Why how wou'd you have the War carry'd on? Gent. War carried on, Sir!—--Why, I had rather have no War carried on at all, Sir, than pay Taxes. I don't desire to be ruin'd, Sir. Esop. Why you say, you have three thousand Pounds a Year. Gent. And so I have, Sir——Lett-Acre!——Sir, this is my Steward. How much Land have I, Lett-Acre? Lett-Acre. Your Worship has three thausand Paunds a Year, as good Lond as any's i'th' Caunty; and two thausand Paunds worth of Wood to cut dawne at your Worship's Pleasure, and put the Money in your Pocket. Gent. Look you there, Sir, what have you to say to that? Esop. I have to say, Sir, that you may pay your Taxes in Money, instead of Perjury, and still have a better Revenue than I'm afraid you deserve. What Service do you do your King, Sir? Gent. None at all, Sir—I'm above it. Esop. What Service may you do your Country, pray? Gent. I'm Justice of the Peace——and Captain of the Militia. Esop. Of what use are you to your Kindred? Gent. I'm the Head of the Family, and have all the Estate. Esop. What Good do you do your Neighbours? Gent. I give them their Bellies full of Beef every time they come to see me; and make 'em so drunk, they spew it up again before they go away. Esop. How do you use your Tenants? Gent. Why, I skrew up their Rents till they break and run away, and if I catch 'em again, I let 'em rot in a Gaol. Esop. How do you treat your Wife? Gent. I treat her all Day with Ill-nature and Tobacco, and all Night with snoring and a dirty Shirt. Esop. How do you breed your Children? Gent. I breed my eldest Son——a Fool; my youngest breed themselves, and my Daughters——have no Breeding at all. Esop. 'Tis very well, Sir; I shall be sure to speak to the King of you; or if you think fit to remonstrate to him, by way of Petition or Address, how reasonable it may be to let Men of your Importance go Scot-free, in the Time of a necessary War, I'll deliver it in Council, and speak to it as I ought. Gent. Why, Sir, I don't disapprove your Advice, but my Clerk is not here, and I can't spell well. Esop. You may get it writ at your leisure, and send it me. But because you are not much used to draw up Addresses, perhaps; I'll tell you in general what kind of one this ought to be. May it please your Majesty—— To the Gent.] You'll excuse me, if I don't know your Name and Title. Gent. Sir Polydorus Hogstye, of Beast-Hall in Swine-County. Esop. Very well. May it please your Majesty; Polydorus Hogstye, of Beast-hall in Swine-County, most humbly represents, That he hates to pay Taxes, the dreadful Consequences of 'em being inevitably these, That he must retrench two Dishes in ten, where not above six of 'em are design'd for Gluttony. Four Bottles out of twenty; where not above fifteen of 'em are for Drunkenness. Six Horses out of thirty; of which not above twenty are kept for State. And four Servants out of a Score; where one half do nothing but make Work for t'other. To this deplorable Condition must your important Subject be reduc'd, or forc'd to cut down his Timber, which he wou'd willingly persevere against an ill run at Dice. And as to the Necessity of the War for the Security of the Kingdom, he neither knows nor cares whether it be necessary or not. He concludes with his Prayers for your Majesty's Life, upon Condition you will protect him and his Fox Hounds at Beast-Hall, without e'er a Penny of Money. To the Gent.] This, Sir, I suppose, is much what you wou'd be at. Gent. Exactly, Sir; I'll be sure to have one drawn up to the self-same purpose: and next Fox-Hunting I'll engage half the Company shall set their Hands to't. Sir, I am your——most devoted Servant; and if you please to let me see you at Beast-Hall, here's my Huntsman, Houndsfoot, will shew you a Fox shall lead you through so many Hedges and Briars, you shall have no more Clothes on your Back in half an Hour's Time—than you had——in the Womb of your Mother. Haux, haux, haux, &c. [Exit shouting. Esop. O Tempora, O Mores! Enter Mr. Fruitful and his Wife. Mr. Fruit. Heavens preserve the noble Esop, grant him long Life and happy Days. Mrs. Fruit. And send him a fruitful Wife, with a hopeful Issue! Esop. And what is it I'm to do for you, good People, to make you amends for all these friendly Wishes? Mr. Fruit. Sir, here's myself and my Wife— Mrs. Fruit. Sir, here's I and my Husband—[To her Husband.] Let me speak in my turn, Goodman Forward. [To Esop.] Sir, here's I and my Husband, I say, think we have as good Pretensions to the King's Favour as ever a Lord in the Land. Esop. If you have no better than some Lords in the Land, I hope you won't expect much for your Service. Mr. Fruit. An't please you, you shall be Judge yourself. Mrs. Fruit. That's as he gives Sentence, Mr. Littlewit; who gave you Power to come to a Reference? If he does not do us right, the King himself shall; what's to be done here! [To Esop.] Sir, I'm forc'd to correct Esop. A goodly Company, upon my Word! Mrs. Fruit. Would all Men take as much Pains for the peopling of the Kingdom, we might tuck up our Aprons, and cry, A Fig for our Enemies; but we have such a Parcel of Drones amongst us——Hold up your Head, Husband——He's a little out of Countenance, Sir, because I chid him; but the Man is a very good Man at the Bottom. But to come to my Business, Sir, I hope his Majesty will think it reasonable to allow me something for the Service I have done him; 'tis pity but Labour shou'd be encourag'd, especially when what one has done, one has done't with a Good-will. Esop. What Profession are you of, good People? Mrs. Fruit. My Husband's an Inn-keeper, Sir; he bears the Name, but I govern the House. Esop. And what Posts are your Sons in, in the Service? Mrs. Fruit.. Sir, there are four Monks. Mr. Fruit. Three Attorneys. Mrs. Fruit. Two Scriveners. Mr. Fruit. And an Exciseman. Esop. The deuce o'the Service; why, I thought they had been all in the Army. Mrs. Fruit. Not one, Sir. Esop. No, so it seems, by my Troth: Ten Sons that serve their Country, quotha! Monks, Attorneys, Scriveners and Excisemen, serve their Country with a Vengeance: you deserve to be rewarded, truly; you deserve to be hang'd, you wicked People, you. Get you gone out of my sight: I never was so angry in my Life. [Exit Esop. Mr. Fruit. to his Wife.] So; who's in the right now, you or I? I told you what wou'd come on't; you must be always a Breeding, and Breeding, and the King wou'd Mrs. Fruit. What, you are a grudging of your Pains now, you lazy, sluggish, flegmatick Drone. You have a Mind to die of a Lethargy, have you? but I'll raise your Spirits for you, I will so. Get you gone home, go; go home, you idle Sot, you; I'll raise your Spirits for you. [Exit, pushing him before her. Re-enter Esop. Esop. solus.] Monks, Attorneys, Scriveners, and Excisemen! Enter Oronces. Oron. O here he is. Sir, I have been searching for you, to say two Words to you. Esop. And now you have found me, Sir, what are they? Oron. They are, Sir——that my Name's Oronces: You comprehend me. Esop. I comprehend your Name. Oron. And not my Business? Esop. Not I, by my Troth. Oron. Then I shall endeavour to teach it you, Monsieur Esop. Esop. And I to learn it, Monsieur Oronces. Oron. Know, Sir——that I admire Euphronia. Esop. Know, Sir——that you are in the right on't. Oron. But I pretend, Sir, that Nobody else shall admire her. Esop. Then I pretend, Sir, she won't admire you. Oron. Why so, Sir? Esop. Because, Sir—— Oron. What, Sir? Esop. She's a Woman, Sir. Oron. What then, Sir? Esop. Why, then, Sir, she desires to be admir'd by every Man she meets. Oron. Sir, you are too familiar. Esop. Sir, you are too haughty; I must soften that harsh Tone of yours: It don't become you, Sir; it makes a Gentleman appear a Porter, Sir: And that you may know the Use of good Language, I'll tell you what once happen'd. Once an a Time—— Oron. I'll have none of your old Wives Fables, Sir, I have no Time to lose; therefore, in a Word—— Esop. In a Word, be mild: For nothing else will do you Service. Good Manners and soft Words have brought many a difficult Thing to pass. Therefore hear me patiently. A Cook one Day, who had been drinking, You spruce, young, witty Beaux will do, To avoid the dreadful Pain of thinking) Had Orders sent him to behead A Goose, like any Chaplain fed. He took such Pains to set his Knife right, 'T had done one good t'have lost one's Life by't. But many Men have many Minds, There's various Tastes in various Kinds: A Swan (who by Mistake he seiz'd) With wretched Life was better pleas'd: For as he went to give the Blow, In tuneful Notes she let him know, She neither was a Goose, nor wish'd To make her Exit so. The Cook (who thought of nought but Blood, Except it were the Grease, For that you know's his Fees) To hear her sing, in great Amazement stood. Cod's fish! quoth he, 'twas well you spoke, For I was just upon the Stroke: Your Feathers have so much of Goose, A drunken Cook cou'd do no less Than think you one: That you'll confess: But y' have a Voice so soft, so sweet, That rather than you shall be eat, The House shall starve for want of Meat: And so he turn'd her loose. To Oron.] Now, Sir, what say you? will you be the Swan, or the Goose? Oron. The Choice can't, sure, be difficult to make; I hope you will excuse my youthful Heat, Young Men and Lovers have a Claim to Pardon: But since the Faults of Age have no such Plea, I hope you'll be more cautious of offending. The Flame that warms Euphronia's Heart and mine, Has long, alas! been kindled in our Breasts: Even Years are past since our two Souls were wed, 'Twou'd be Adultery but to wish to part 'em. And wou'd a Lump of Clay alone content you, A Mistress cold and senseless in your Arms, Without the least Remains or Signs of Life, Except her Sighs to mourn her absent Lover? Whilst you shou'd press her in your eager Arms, With fond Desire and Extasy of Love, Wou'd it not pierce you to the very Soul, To see her Tears run trickling down her Cheeks, And know their Fountain meant 'em all to me? Cou'd you bear this? Yet thus the Gods revenge themselves on those Who stop the happy Course of mutual Love. If you must be unfortunate one way, Choose that where Justice may support your Grief, And shun the weighty Curse of injur'd Lovers. Esop. Why, this is pleading like a Swan, indeed! Were any Thing at Stake but my Euphronia—— Oron. Your Euphronia! Sir—— Esop. The Goose——take heed—— Were any Thing, I say, at Stake but her, Your Plea wou'd be too strong to be refus'd. But our Debate's about a Lady, Sir, That's young, that's beautiful, that's made for Love. ----So am not I, you'll say: But you're mistaken; I have a Heart like yours; I've Folly too: I've every Instrument of Love like others. Oron. But, Sir, you have not been so long a Lover; Your Passion's young and tender, 'Tis easy for you to become its Master: Whilst I shou'd strive in vain; mine's old and fixt. Esop. The older 'tis, the easier to be govern'd; Were mine of as long a standing, 'twere possible I might get the better on't. Old Passions are like old Men; weak, and soon jostled into the Kennel. Oron. Yet Age sometimes is strong, even to the Verge of Life. Esop. Ah, but there our Comparison don't hold. Oron. You are too merry to be much in Love. Esop. And you too sad to be so long. Oron. My grief may end my Days, so quench my Flame, but nothing else can e'er extinguish it. Esop. Don't be discourag'd, Sir, I have seen many a Man outlive his Passion twenty Years. Oron. But I have sworn to die Euphronia's Slave. Esop. A decay'd Face always absolves a Lover's Oath. Oron. Lovers whose Oaths are made to Faces, then; But 'tis Euphronia's Soul that I adore, which never can decay. Esop. I wou'd fain see a young Fellow in love with a Soul of Threescore. Oron. Quit but Euphronia to me, and you shall; At least if Heaven's Bounty will afford us But Years, enow to prove my Constancy, And this is all I ask the Gods and you. [Exit Oron. Esop solus. A good Pretence, however, to beg long Life. How grosly do the Inclinations of the Flesh impose upon the Simplicity of the Spirit! Had this young Fellow but study'd Anatomy, he'd have found the Source of his Passion lay far from his Mistress's Soul. Alas! alas! Had Women no more Charms in their Bodies, than what they have in their Minds, we should see more wise Men in the World, and much fewer Lovers and Poets. [Exit. Enter Euphronia and Doris. Euph. Heavens! what is't you make me do, Doris? Apply myself to the Man I loath; beg Favours from him I hate; seek a Reprieve from him I abhor; 'tis low, 'tis mean, 'tis base in me. Dor. Why, you hate the Devil as much as you do Esop, or within a small Matter, and should you think it a Scandal to pray him to let you alone a Day or two, if he were going to run away with you; ha? Euph. I don't know what I think, nor what I say, nor what I do: But sure thou'rt not my Friend thus to advise me. Dor. I advise! I advise nothing; e'en follow your own way; marry him, and make much of him. I have a mind to see some of his Breed; if you like it, I like it: He shan't breed out of me only; that's all I have to take Care of. Euph. Pr'ythee don't distract me. Dor. Why, to-morrow's the Day, fix'd and firm, you know it; much Meat, little Order, great many Relations, few Friends, Horse-play, Noise, and bawdy Stories; all's ready for a complete Wedding. Euph. Oh! what shall I do? Dor. Nay, I know this makes you tremble; and yet your tender Conscience scruples to drop one hypocritical Curtsy, and say, Pray, Mr. Esop, be so kind to defer it a few Days longer. Euph. Thou know'st I cannot dissemble. Dor. I know you can dissemble well enough, when you shou'd not do't. Do you remember how you us'd to plague your poor Oronces; make him believe you loath'd him, when you cou'd have kiss'd the Ground he Euph. Yes, yes, yes. But, pr'ythee, have some Compassion of me. Come, I'll do any thing thou bid'st me——What shall I say to this Monster? Tell me, and I'll obey thee. Dor. Nay, then there's some hopes of you. Why, you must tell him——'Tis natural to you to dislike Folks at first sight: That since you have consider'd him better, you find your Aversion abated: That tho' perhaps it may be a hard Matter for you ever to think him a Beau, you don't despair, in Time, of finding out his Je-ne-sÇai-quoy. And that on t'other side, tho' you have hitherto thought (as most young Women do) that nothing cou'd remove your first Affection, yet you have very great Hopes in the natural Inconstancy of your Sex. Tell him, 'tis not impossible, a Change may happen, provided he gives you Time: But that if he goes to force you, there's another Piece of Nature peculiar to Women, which may chance to spoil all, and that's Contradiction. Ring that Argument well in his Ears: He's a Philosopher; he knows it has Weight in it. In short, wheedle, whine, flatter, lye, weep, spare nothing; 'tis a moist Age, Women have Tears enow; and when you have melted him down, and gain'd more Time, we'll employ it in Closet-debates, how to cheat him to the end of the Chapter. Euph. But you don't consider, Doris, that by this Means I engage myself to him; and can't afterwards with Honour retreat. Dor. Madam, I know the World—Honour's a Jest, when Jilting's useful. Besides, he that wou'd have you break your Oath with Oronces, can never have the Impudence to blame you, for cracking your Word with himself. But who knows what may happen between the Cup and the Lip? Let either of the old Gentlemen Euph. Thou wicked Wench, wou'd'st poison him? Dor. I don't know what I wou'd do; I think, I study, I invent, and somehow I will get rid of him. I do more for you, I'm sure, than you and your Knight-Errant do together for yourselves. Euph. Alas, both he and I do all we can; thou know'st we do. Dor. Nay, I know y' are willing enough to get together; but y' are a couple of helpless Things, Heaven knows. Euph. Our Stars, thou see'st, are bent to Opposition. Dor. Stars!—I'd fain see the Stars hinder me from running away with a Man I lik'd. Euph. Ay, but thou know'st, should I disoblige my Father, he'd give my Portion to my younger Sister. Dor. Ay, there the Shoe pinches, there's the Love of the Age! Ah!—--to what an Ebb of Passion are Lovers sunk in these Days! Give me a Woman that runs away with a Man, when his whole Estate's pack'd up in his Knap-sack: That tucks up her Coats to her Knees; and thro' thick and thro' thin, from Quarters to Camp, trudges heartily on; with a Child at her Back, another in her Arms, and a Brace in her Belly: There's Flame with a Witness, where this is the Effects on't. But we must have Love in a Feather-bed: Forsooth, a Coach and six Horses, clean Linen, and Cawdle! Fie for shame. O ho! here comes our Man. Now shew yourself a Woman, if you are one. Enter Esop. Esop. I'm told, fair Virgin, you desire to speak with me. Lovers are apt to flatter themselves; I take your Message for a Favour. I hope 'twas meant so. Euph. Favours from Women are so cheap of late, Men may expect 'em truly, without Vanity. Esop. If the Women are so liberal, I think the Men are generous too, on their Side: 'Tis a well-bred Age; Euph. Sir, I have a small Favour to intreat you. Esop. What is't? I don't believe I shall refuse you. Euph. What if you shou'd promise me you won't? Esop. Why then I shou'd make a Divorce between my Good-breeding and my Sense, which ought to be as sacred a Knot as that of Wedlock. Euph. Dare you not trust then, Sir, the Thing you love? Esop. Not when the Thing I love don't love me: Never. Dor. Trust is sometimes the Way to be belov'd. Esop. Ay, but 'tis oftener the way to be cheated. Euph. Pray promise me you'll grant my Suit. Dor. 'Tis a reasonable one, I'll give you my word for't. Esop. If it be so, I do promise to grant it. Dor. That's still leaving yourself Judge. Esop. Why, who's more concern'd in the Trial? Dor. But no Body ought to be Judge in their own Cause. Esop. Yet he that is so, is sure to have no wrong done him. Dor. But if he does wrong to others, that's worse. Esop. Worse for them, but not for him. Dor. True Politician, by my troth! Esop. Men must be so, when they have to do with Sharpers. Euph. If I shou'd tell you then there were a Possibility I might be brought to love you, you'd scarce believe me. Esop. I shou'd hope as a Lover, and suspect as a Statesman. Dor. [Aside.] Love and Wisdom! There's the Passion of the Age again. Euph. You have liv'd long, Sir, and observ'd much: Did you never see Time produce strange Changes? Esop. Amongst Women, I must confess I have. Euph. Why, I'm a Woman, Sir. Esop. Why, truly, that gives me some Hopes. Euph. I'll encrease 'em, Sir; I have already been in Love two Years. Dor. And Time, you know, wears all things to tatters. Esop. Well observ'd. Euph. What, if you shou'd allow me some, to try what I can do? Esop. Why, truly, I would have Patience a Day or two, if there was as much Probability of my being your new Gallant, as perhaps there may be of changing your old one. Dor. She shall give you fair Play for't, Sir; Opportunity and Leave to prattle, and that's what carries most Women in our Days. Nay, she shall do more for you: You shall play with her Fan; squeeze her little Finger; buckle her Shoe; read a Romance to her in the Arbour; and saunter in the Woods on a Moonshiny Night. If this don't melt her, she's no Woman, or you're no Man—— Esop. I'm not a Man to melt a Woman that Way: I know myself, and know what they require. 'Tis thro' a Woman's Eye you pierce her Heart; and I've no Darts can make their Entrance there. Dor. You are a great Statesman, Sir; but I find you know little of our Matters. A Woman's Heart is to be enter'd forty Ways. Every Sense she has about her keeps a Door to it. With a Smock-face, and a Feather, you get in at her Eyes. With powerful Nonsense, in soft Words, you creep in at her Ears. An essenc'd Peruke, and a sweet Handkerchief, lets you in at her Nose. With a Treat, and a Box full of Sweetmeats, you slip in at her Mouth: And if you wou'd enter by her Sense of Feeling, 'tis as beaten a Road as the rest. What think you now, Sir? There are more Ways to the Wood than one, you see. Esop. Why, you're an admirable Pilot; I don't doubt but you have steer'd many a Ship safe to Harbour: But I'm an old stubborn Seaman; I must sail by my own Compass still. Euph. And by your Obstinacy lose your Vessel. Esop. No: I'm just ent'ring into Port; we'll be married to-morrow. Euph. For Heaven's sake defer it some Days longer; I cannot love you yet; indeed, I cannot. Esop. Nor never will, I dare swear. Euph. Why then will you marry me? Esop. Because I love you. Euph. If you lov'd me, you wou'd never make me miserable. Esop. Not if I lov'd you for your sake; but I love you for my own. Dor. [Aside.] There's an old Rogue for you. Euph. [Weeping.] Is there no way left? must I be wretched? Esop. 'Tis but resolving to be pleas'd. You can't imagine the Strength of Resolution. I have seen a Woman resolve to be in the Wrong all the Days of her Life; and by the help of her Resolution, she has kept her Word to a Tittle. Euph. Methinks the Subject we're upon shou'd be of Weight enough to make you serious. Esop. Right: To-morrow Morning pray be ready; you'll find me so: I'm serious. Now I hope you are pleas'd. [Turning away from her. Euph. [Going off weeping, and leaning upon Doris.] Break, Heart! for if than hold'st, I'm miserable. Dor. [To Esop.] Now may the Extravagance of a lewd Wife, with the Insolence of a virtuous one, join hand in hand to bring thy grey Hairs to the Grave. [Exeunt Euphronia and Doris. Esop. My old Friend wishes me well to the last, I see. Enter Learchus hastily, follow'd by Oronces. Oron. Pray hear me, Sir. Lear. 'Tis in vain; I'm resolv'd, I tell you. Most noble Esop, since you are pleas'd to accept of my poor Offspring for your Consort, be so charitable to my old Age, to deliver me from the Impertinence of Youth, by making her your Wife this Instant; for there's a Plot against my Life; they have resolv'd to teaze me to Death to-night, that they may break the Match to-morrow Morning. Marry her this instant, I intreat you. Esop. This instant, say you! Lear. This instant; this very instant. Esop. 'Tis enough; get all things ready; I'll be with you in a Moment. [Exit Esop. Lear. Now, what say you, Mr. Flame-fire? I shall have the Whip-hand of you presently. Oron. Defer it till to-morrow, Sir. Lear. That you may run away with her to-night; ha?——Sir, your most obedient humble Servant. Hey, who waits there? Call my Daughter to me: Quick. I'll give her her Dispatches presently. Enter Euphronia. Euph. D'ye call, Sir. Lear. Yes, I do, Minx. Go shift yourself, and put on your best Clothes. You are to be marry'd. Euph. Marry'd, Sir! Lear. Yes, marry'd, Madam; and that this Instant too. Euph. Dear Sir—— Lear. Not a Word: Obedience and a clean Smock; dispatch. [Exit Euphronia weeping. Learchus going off, turns to Oronces.] Sir, your most obedient humble Servant. Oron. Yet hear what I've to say. Lear. And what have you to say, Sir? Oron. Alas! I know not what I have to say! Lear. Very like so. That's a sure Sign he's in love now. Oron. Have you no Bowels? Lear. Ha, ha! Bowels in a Parent! Here's a young Fellow for you. Hark thee, Stripling; being in a very merry Humour, I don't care if I discover some paternal Secrets to thee. Know then, that how humoursome, how whimsical soever we may appear, there's one fixt Principle that runs thro' almost the whole Race of us; and that's to please ourselves. Why do'st think I got my Daughter? Why, there was something in't that pleased me. Why dost think I marry my Daughter? Why to please myself still. And what is't that pleases me? Why, my Interest; what do'st think it shou'd be? If Esop's my Son-in-Law, he'll make me a Lord: If thou art my Son-in-Law——thou'lt make me a Grandfather. Now I having more Mind to be a Lord than Oron. Then shall her Happiness weigh nothing with you? Lear. Not this.—If it did, I'd give her to thee, and not to him. Oron. Do you think forc'd Marriage the Way to keep Women virtuous? Lear. No; nor I don't Care whether Women are virtuous or not. Oron. You know your Daughter loves me? Lear. I do so. Oron. What, if the Children that Esop may happen to father, shou'd chance to be begot by me? Lear. Why, then Esop wou'd be the Cuckold, not I. Oron. Is that all your Care? Lear. Yes: I speak as a Father. Oron. What think you of your Child's Concern in t'other World? Lear. Why, I think it my Child's Concern, not mine. I speak as a Father. Oron. Do you remember you once gave me your Consent to wed your Daughter? Lear. I did. Oron. Why did you so? Lear. Because you were the best Match that offer'd at that Time. I did like a Father. Oron. Why then, Sir, I'll do like a Lover. I'll make you keep your Word, or cut your Throat. Lear. Who waits there, ha? Enter Servants. Lear. Seize me that Bully there. Carry him to Prison, and keep him safe. [They seize him. Oron. Why, you won't use me thus? Lear. Yes, but I will tho': Away with him. Sir, your most humble Servant: I wish you a good Night's Rest; and as far as a merry Dream goes, my Daughter's at your Service. Oron. Death and Furies! [Exeunt Serv. with Oron. Lear. [singing.] Dol, de tol dol, dol, de tol dol, Lilly Burleighre's lodg'd in a Bough. Enter a Troop of Musicians, Dancers, &c. Lear. How now! What have we got here? Mus. Sir, we are a Troop of trifling Fellows, Fiddlers and Dancers, come to celebrate the Wedding of your fair Daughter, if your Honour pleases to give us Leave. Lear. With all my Heart: But who do you take me for, Sir; ha? 1 Mus. I take your Honour for our noble Governor of Sysicus. Lear. Governor of Sysicus! Governor of a Cheese-Cake! I'm Father-in-Law to the great Esop, Sirrah. [All bow to him.] [Aside.]——I shall be a great Man. Come, tune your Fiddles; shake your Legs; get all things ready. My Son-in-Law will be here presently——I shall be a great Man! [Exit. 1 Mus. A great Marriage, Brother! What do'st think will be the End on't? 2 Mus. Why, I believe we shall see three Turns upon't. This old Fellow here will turn Fool; his Daughter will turn Strumpet; and his Son-in-Law will turn 'em both out of Doors. But that's nothing to thee nor me, so long as we are paid for our Fiddling. So tune away, Gentlemen. 1 Mus. D'ye hear, Trumpets? When the Bride appears, salute her with a melancholy Waft. 'Twill suit her Humour; for I guess she mayn't be over-well pleas'd. Enter Learchus with several Friends, and a Priest. Lear. Gentlemen and Friends, y'are all welcome. I have sent to as many of you as our short Time wou'd give me Leave, to desire you wou'd be Witnesses of the Honour the great Esop designs ourself and Family. Hey; who attends there? Go let my Daughter know I wait for her. [Exit Servant.] 'Tis a vast Honour that is done me, Gentlemen! 2 Gent. It is, indeed, my Lord. Lear. [Aside.] Look you there; if they don't call me my Lord already——I shall be a great Man! Enter Euphronia weeping, and leaning upon Doris, both in deep Mourning. Lear. How now! What's here! All in deep Mourning! Here's a provoking Baggage for you! [The Trumpets sound a melancholy Air till Esop appears; and then the Violins and Hautboys strike up a Lancashire Hornpipe. Enter Esop in a gay foppish Dress, Long Peruke, &c. a gaudy Equipage of Pages and Footmen, all enter in an airy brisk Manner. Esop. in an affected Tone to Euphronia.] Gad take my Soul, Ma'am, I hope I shall please you now——Gentlemen all, I'm your humble Servant. I'm going to be a very happy Man, you see. [To Euph.] When the Heat of the Ceremony's over, if your Ladyship pleases, Ma'am, I'll wait upon you to take the Air in the Park. Hey, Page; let there be a Coach and six Horses ready instantly. [Observing her Dress.]——I vow to Gad, Ma'am, I was so taken up with my good Fortune, I did not observe the extreme Fancy of your Ladyship's Wedding-Clothes——Infinitely pretty! as I hope to be sav'd; a World of Variety, and not at all gaudy.——[To Lear.] My dear Father-in-Law, embrace me. Lear. Your Lordship does me too much Honour. [Aside.]——I shall be a great Man! Esop. Come, Gentlemen, are all things ready? Where's the Priest? Priest. Here, my noble Lord. Esop. Most Reverend——will you please to say Grace that I may fall to, for I am very hungry, and here's very good Meat. But where's my Rival all this while? The least we can do, is to invite him to the Wedding. Lear. My Lord, he's in Prison. Esop. In Prison! How so? Lear. He wou'd have murder'd me. Esop. A bloody Fellow! But let's see him, however. Send for him quickly. Ha! Governor——that handsome Daughter of yours, I will so mumble her—— Lear. I shall be a great Man! Enter Oronces pinion'd and guarded. Esop. O ho, here's my Rival! Then we have all we want. Advance, Sir, if you please. I desire you'll do me the Favour to be a Witness to my Marriage, lest one of these Days you shou'd take a fancy to dispute my Wife with me. Oron. Do you then send for me to insult me? 'Tis base in you. Esop. I have no Time now to throw away upon Points of Generosity; I have hotter Work upon my Hands. Come, Priest, advance. Lear. Pray, hold him fast there; he has the Devil and all of Mischief in's Eye. Esop. [To Euph.] Will your Ladyship please, Ma'am, to give me your fair Hand——Hey-dey! [She refuses her Hand. Lear. I'll give it you, my noble Lord, if she won't. [Aside.] A stubborn, self-will'd, stiff-neck'd Strumpet. [Learchus holds out her Hand to Esop, who takes it; Oronces stands on Esop's left Hand, and the Priest before 'em. Esop. Let my Rival stand next me: Of all Men, I'd have him be satisfy'd. Oron. Barbarous, inhuman Monster! Esop. Now, Priest, do thy Office. [Flourish with the Trumpets. Priest. Since the eternal Laws of Fate decreed, That he thy Husband, she thy Wife shou'd be, May Heaven take you to its Care, May Jupiter look kindly down, } Place on your Heads Contentment's Crown! } And may his Godhead never frown } Upon this happy Pair. [Flourish again of Trumpets. [As the Priest pronounces the last Line, Esop joins Oronces and Euphronia's Hands. Oron. O happy Change! Blessings on Blessings wait on the generous Esop! Esop. Happy, thrice happy, may you ever be, } And if you think there's something due to me, } Pay it in mutual Love and Constancy. } Euph. to Esop.] You'll pardon me, most generous Man, If in the present Transports of my Soul, Which you yourself have by your Bounty caus'd, My willing Tongue is ty'd from uttering The Thoughts that flow from a most grateful Heart. Esop. For what I've done, I merit little Thanks, Since what I've done, my Duty bound me to. I wou'd your Father had acquitted his: But he who's such a Tyrant o'er his Children, To sacrifice their Peace to his Ambition, Is fit to govern nothing but himself. To Lear.] And, therefore, Sir, at my return to Court, I shall take care this City may be sway'd By more Humanity than dwells in you. Lear. aside.] I shall be a great man! Euph. To Esop.] Had I not Reason, from your constant Goodness, To judge your Bounty, Sir, is infinite, I shou'd not dare to sue for farther Favours: But pardon me, if imitating Heaven and you, I easily forgive my aged Father, And beg that Esop would forgive him too. [Kneeling to him. Esop. The Injury he wou'd have done to you was great indeed: But 'twas a Blessing he design'd for me. If, therefore, you can pardon him, I may. [To Lear.] Your injur'd Daughter, Sir, has on her Knees intreated for her cruel, barbarous Father; and by her Goodness has obtain'd her Suit. If, in the Remnant of your Days, you can find out some way to recompense her, do it, that Men and Gods may pardon you, as she and I have done. But, let me see, I have one Quarrel still to make up. Where's my old Friend Doris? Dor. She's here, Sir, at your Service; and as much your Friend as ever; true to her Principles, and firm to her Mistress. But she has a much better Opinion of you now than she had half an Hour ago. Esop. She has reason: For my Soul appear'd then as deform'd as my Body. But I hope now, one may so far mediate for t'other, that, provided I don't make Love, Esop leads the Bride to her Place. All being seated, there's a short Concert of Hautboys, Trumpets, &c. After which a Dance between an old Man and a young Woman, who shuns him still at he comes near her. At last he stops, and begins this Dialogue, which they sing together. Old Man. Why so cold, and why so coy? What I want in Youth and Fire, I have in Love and in Desire: To my Arms, my Love, my Joy! Why so cold, and why so coy? Woman. 'Tis Sympathy, perhaps, with you; You are cold, and I'm so too.. Old Man. My Years alone have froze my Blood; Youthful Heat in Female Charms, Glowing in my aged Arms, Wou'd melt it down once more into a Flood. Woman. Women, alas, like Flints, ne'er burn alone; To make a Virgin know There's Fire within the Stone, Some manly Steel must boldly strike the Blow. Old Man. Assist me only with your Charms, You'll find I'm Man, and still am bold; You'll find I still can strike, tho' old: I only want your Aid to raise my Arms. Enter a Youth, who seizes on the young Woman. Youth. Who talks of Charms, who talks of Aid? I bring an Arm That wants no Charm, To rouze the Fire that's in a flinty Maid. Retire, old Age: ——Winter, begone: Behold the youthful Spring comes gayly on. Here, here's a Torch to light a Virgin's Fire! To my Arms, my Love, my Joy; When Women have what they desire, They're neither cold nor coy. [She takes him in her Arms. The Song and Dances ended, Esop takes Euphronia and Oronces by the Hands, leading them forwards. Esop. By this Time, my young eager Couple, 'tis probable you wou'd be glad to be alone; perhaps you'll have a Mind to go to Bed, even without your Supper; for Brides and Bridegrooms eat little on their Wedding-Night. But since, if Matrimony were worn as it ought to be, it wou'd, perhaps, sit easier about us than it usually does, I'll give you one Word of Counsel, and so I shall release you. When one is out of Humour, let the other be dumb. Let your Diversions be such, as both may have a Share in 'em. Never let Familiarity exclude Respect. Be clean in your Clothes, but nicely so in your Persons. Eat at one Table, lie in one Room, but sleep in two Beds: I'll tell the Ladies why: Turning to the Boxes. In the sprightly Month of May, } And kiss and toy away the Day; } An eager Sparrow and his Mate, } Chirping on a Tree, were sat, } Full of Love——and full of Prate. } They talk'd of nothing but their Fires, Of raging Heats, and strong Desires, How true and faithful they wou'd be; Of eternal Constancy; Of this and that, and endless Joys, And a thousand more such Toys: Only Thing they apprehended, Was that their Lives wou'd be so short, They cou'd not finish half their Sport Before their Days were ended. But as from Bough to Bough they rove, They chanc'd at last In furious haste, On a Twig with Birdlime spread, (Want of a more downy Bed) To act a Scene of Love. Fatal it proved to both their Fires. For tho' at length they broke away, } And baulk'd the School-Boy of his Prey, } Which made him weep the live-long Day, } The Bridegroom, in the hasty strife, Was stuck so fast to his dear Wife, That tho' he us'd his utmost Art, He quickly found it was in vain, To put himself to further Pain, They never more must part. A gloomy Shade o'ercast his Brow; } He found himself——I know not how: } He look'd as Husbands often do. } Where-e'er he mov'd, he felt her still, She kiss'd him oft against his Will: Abroad, at Home, at Bed and Board, With favours she o'erwhelm'd her Lord. Oft he turn'd his Head away, } And seldom had a Word to say, } Which absolutely spoil'd her Play, } For she was better stor'd. Howe'er, at length, her stock was spent, (For Female Fires sometimes may be Subject to Mortality;) So Back to Back they sit, and sullenly repent. But the mute Scene was quickly ended, The Lady, for her share, pretended The Want of Love lay at his Door; } For her part, she had still in store } Enough for him and twenty more, } Which cou'd not be contended. He answer'd her in homely Words, (For Sparrows are but ill-bred Birds) That he already had enjoy'd So much, that truly he was cloy'd. Which so provok'd her Spleen, That after some good hearty Prayers, } A Jostle, and some spiteful Tears, } They fell together by the Ears, } And ne'er were fond again. ESOP. Enter Players. Esop. Well, good People, who are all you? Omnes. Sir, we are Players. Esop. Players! What Players? Play. Why, Sir, we are Stage-Players, that's our Calling: Tho' we play upon other Things too; some of us play upon the Fiddle; some play upon the Flute; we play upon one another; we play upon the Town; and we play upon the Patentees. Esop. Patentees! Pr'ythee, what are they? Play. Why, they are, Sir——Sir, they are——'Cod I don't know what they are——Fish or Flesh——Masters or Servants——Sometimes one——Sometimes t'other, I think——Just as we are in the Mood. Esop. Why, I thought they had a lawful Authority over you. Play. Lawful Authority, Sir!—--Sir, we are free-born Englishmen, we care not for Law nor Authority neither, when we are out of Humour. Esop. But I think they pretended at least to an Authority over you; pray, upon what Foundation was it built? Play. Upon a rotten one——if you'll believe us. Sir, I'll tell you what the Projectors did: They imbark'd twenty thousand Pound upon a leaky Vessel——She was built at Whitehall; I think they call'd her——the Patent——ay, the Patent: Her Keel was made of a Broad Seal——and the King gave 'em a white Staff for their Main-Mast. She was a pretty light Frigate to Esop. A very sad Story, this! But what became of the Ship's Company? Play. Why, Sir, your humble Servants here, who were the Officers, and the best of the Sailors——(little Ben amongst the rest) seiz'd on a small Bark that lay to our Hand, and away we put to Sea again. To say the truth, we were better mann'd than rigg'd, and Ammunition was plaguy scarce amongst us.——However, a cruising we went, and some petty small Prizes we have made; but the Blessing of Heaven not being among us——or how the Devil 'tis, I cannot tell; but we are not rich. Esop. Well, but what became of the rest of the Crew? Play. Why, Sir, as for the Scoundrels, they, poor Dogs, stuck by the Wreck. The Captain gave them Bread and Cheese, and good Words——He told them, if they wou'd patch her up, and venture t'other Cruise, he'd prefer 'em all; so to work they went, and to Sea they got her. Esop. I hope he kept his Word with 'em. Play. That he did; he made the Boatswain's Mate Lieutenant; he made the Cook Doctor: He was forc'd to be Purser and Pilot, and Gunner himself; and the Swabber took Orders to be Chaplain. Esop. But with such unskilful Officers, I'm afraid, they'll hardly keep above Water long. Play. Why truly, Sir, we care not how soon they are under: But curst Folks thrive, I think. I know nothing else that makes 'em swim. I'm sure, by the Rules of Navigation, they ought to have over-set long since; for they carry a great deal of Sail, and have very little Ballast. Esop. I'm afraid you ruin one another. I fancy if you Play. Ah, Sir——we are resolv'd we'll never sail under Captain Patentee again. Esop. Pr'ythee, why so? Play. Sir, he has us'd us like Dogs. Wom.——And Bitches too, Sir. Esop. I'm sorry to hear that; pray, how was't he treated you? Play. Sir, 'tis impossible to tell; he us'd us like the English at Amboyna—— Esop. But I wou'd know some Particulars: Tell me what 'twas he did to you? Play. What he did, Sir?——Why, he did in the first Place, Sir——In the first Place, Sir, he did——I'cod I don't know what he did——Can you tell, Wife? Wom. Yes, marry can I; and a burning Shame it was too. Play. O, I remember now, Sir, he wou'd not give us Plums enough in our Pudding. Esop. That indeed was very hard; but did he give you as many as he promis'd you? Play. Yes, and more; but what of all that? We had not as many as we had a mind to—— 1 Wom. Sir, my Husband tells you Truth— Esop. I believe he may; but what other Wrongs did he do you? 1 Wom. Why, Sir, he did not treat me with Respect; 'twas not one Day an three he would so much as bid me good-morrow— 2 Wom. Sir, he invited me to Dinner, and never drank my Health. 1 Wom. Then he cock'd his Hat at Mrs. Pert. 2 Wom. Yes, and told Mrs. Slippery he had as good a Face as she had. Esop. Why, these were insufferable Abuses— 2 Play. Then, Sir, I did but come to him one Day—and tell him I wanted fifty Pound, and what do you think he did by me, Sir?—Sir, he turn'd round upon his Heel like a Top— 1 Play. But that was nothing to the Affront he put Esop. Pr'ythee how? 1 Play. Why, he walk'd off, and answered me never a Word. Esop. How had you Patience? 1 Play. Sir, I had not Patience. I sent him a Challenge; and what do you think his answer was?—He sent me Word I was a scoundrel Son of a Whore, and he wou'd only fight me by Proxy—— Esop. Very fine! 1 Play. At this rate, Sir, were we poor Dogs us'd—till one frosty Morning down he comes amongst us—and very roundly tells us——That for the future, no Purchase, no Pay. They that wou'd not work, shou'd not eat——Sir, we at first ask'd him coolly and civilly——Why? His answer was, Because the Town wanted Diversion, and he wanted Money——Our Reply to this, Sir, was very short; but I think to the purpose. Esop. What was it? 1 Play. It was, Sir, that so we wallow'd in Plenty and Ease——the Town and he might be damn'd——This, Sir, is the true History of our Separation——and we hope you'll stand our Friend—— Esop. I'll tell you what, Sirs—— I once a Pack of Beagles knew—— With a good Huntsman at their Tail, In full Command, With Whip in Hand, They'd run apace The chearful Chace, And of their Game were seldom known to fail. But being at length their chance to find A Huntsman of a gentler Kind, They soon perceiv'd the Rein was slack; The Word went quickly thro' the Pack—— They one and all cry'd Liberty; This happy Moment we are free; We'll range the Woods, Like Nymphs and Gods, And spend our Mouths in Praise of Mutiny. With that, old Jowler trots away, And Bowman singles out his Prey; Thunder bellow'd thro' the Wood, And swore he'd burst his Guts with Blood; Venus tript it o'er the Plain, With boundless Hopes of boundless Gain; ——Juno, she slipt down the Hedge, But left her sacred Word for Pledge, That all she pickt up by the by—— Shou'd to the public Treasury; And well they might rely upon her; For Juno was a Bitch of Honour. In short, they all had Hopes to see A heavenly Crop of Mutiny. And so to reaping fell. But in a little Time they found, It was the Devil had till'd the Ground, And brought the Seed from Hell. The Pack divided, nothing throve: Discord seiz'd the Throne of Love. Want and Misery all endure; All take pains, and all grow poor. When they had toil'd the live-long Day, And came at Night to view their Prey, Oft, alas, so ill they'd sped, That half went Supperless to Bed. At length they all in Council sate, Where at a very fair Debate, It was agreed at last, That Slavery with Ease and Plenty, When Hounds were something turn'd of twenty, Was much a better Fate, Than 'twas to work and fast. 1 Play. Well, Sir——and what did they do then? Esop. Why they all went home to their Kennel again. If you think they did wisely, you'll do well to follow their Example. [Exit Esop. 1 Play. Well, Beagles, what think you of the little Gentleman's Advice? 2 Wom. I think he's a little ugly Philosopher, and talks like a Fool. 1 Play. Ay, why there 'tis now! If he had been a tall Handsome Blockhead, he had talk'd like a wise Man. 2 Wom. Why, do you think, Mr. Jowler, that we'll ever join again? 1 Play. I do think, sweet Mrs. Juno, that if we do not join again, you must be a little freer of your Carcase than you are, or you must bring down your Pride to a Serge Petticoat. 1 Wom. And do you think, Sir, after the Affronts I have receiv'd, the Patent and I can ever be Friends? 1 Play. I do think, Madam, that if my interest had not been more affronted than your Face, the Patent and you had never been Foes. 1 Wom. And so, Sir, then you have serious Thoughts of a Reconciliation! 1 Play. Madam, I do believe I may. 1 Wom. Why then, Sir, give me Leave to tell you, that—make it my Interest, and I'll have serious Thoughts on't too. 2 Wom. Nay, if you are thereabouts, I desire to come into the Treaty. 3 Play. And I. 4 Play. And I. 1 Play. And I. No separate Peace. None of your Turin Play, I beseech you. 1 Play. Why then, since you are all so Christianly dispos'd——I think we had best adjourn immediately to our Council-Chamber, choose some potent Prince for Mediator and Guarantee——fix upon the Place of Treaty, dispatch our Plenipo's, and whip up the Peace like an Oyster. For, under the Rose, my Confederates, here [Exeunt. Enter Esop; and a Country Gentleman, who walks to and fro, looking angrily upon Esop. Esop. Have you any Business with me, Sir? Gent.—I can't tell whether I have or not. Esop. You seem disturb'd, Sir? Gent. I'm always so at the Sight of a Courtier. Esop. Pray what may it be, that gives you so great an Antipathy to 'em? Gent. My Profession. Esop. What's that? Gent. Honesty. Esop. 'Tis an honest Profession. I hope, Sir, for the general Good of Mankind, you are in some public Employment? Gent. So I am, Sir——no Thanks to the Court. Esop. You are then, I suppose, employ'd by—— Gent. My Country. Esop. Who have made you—— Gent. A Senator. Esop. Sir, I reverence you. [Bowing. Gent. Sir, you may reverence as low as you please; but I shall spare none of you. Sir, I am intrusted by my Country with above ten Thousand of their Grievances, and, in order to redress them, my Design is to hang ten thousand Courtiers. Esop. Why, 'tis making short Work, I must confess; but are you sure, Sir, that wou'd do't? Gent. Sure,——Ay, sure. Esop. How do you know? Gent. Why, the whole Country says so, and I at the Head of 'em. Now let me see who dares say the contrary. Esop. Not I, truly. But, Sir, if you won't take it ill, I'll ask you a Question or two. Gent. Sir, I shall take ill what I please. And if you, or e'er a Courtier of you all pretend the contrary, I say, 'tis a Breach of Privilege——Now put your Question, if you think fit. Esop. Why then, Sir, with all due regard to your Character, and your Privilege too, I wou'd be glad to know what you chiefly complain of? Gent. Why, Sir, I do chiefly complain, that we have A great many Ships, and very little Trade; A great many Tenants, and very little Money; A great many Soldiers, and very little fighting; A great many Gazettes, and little good News; A great many Statesmen, and very little Wisdom; A great many Parsons, and not an Ounce of Religion. Esop. Why truly, Sir, I do confess these are Grievances very well worth your redressing. And I perceive you are truly sensible of our Diseases, but I'm afraid you are a little out in the Cure. Gent. Sir, I perceive you take me for a Country-Physician: but you shall find, Sir, that a Country-Doctor is able to deal with a Court-Quack; and to shew you that I do understand something of the State of the Body-Politic, I will tell you, Sir, that I have heard a wise Man say, the Court is the Stomach of the Nation, in which, if the Business be not thoroughly digested, the whole Carcase will be in Disorder. Now, Sir, I do find by the Feebleness of the Members, and the Vapours that fly into the Head, that this same Stomach is full of indigestions, which must be remov'd: And therefore, Sir, I am come Post to Town with my Head full of Crocus Metallorum, and design to give the Court a Vomit. Esop. Sir, the Physic you mention, tho' necessary sometimes, is of too violent a Nature to be us'd without a great deal of Caution. I'm afraid, you are a little too rash in your Prescriptions. Is it not possible you may be mistaken in the Cause of the Distemper? Gent. Sir, I do not think it possible I shou'd be mistaken in any thing. Esop. Have you been long a Senator? Gent. No, Sir. Esop. Have you been much about Town? Gent. No, Sir. Esop. Have you convers'd much with Men of Business? Gent. No, Sir. Esop. Have you made any serious Enquiry into the present Disorders of the Nation? Gent. No, Sir. Esop. Have you ever heard what the Men now employ'd in Business have to say for themselves? Gent. No, Sir. Esop. How then do you know they deserve to be punish'd for the present Disorders in your Affairs? Gent. I'll tell you how I know. Esop. I would be glad to hear. Gent. Why, I know by this——I know it, I say, by this——that I'm sure on't——And to give you Demonstration that I'm sure on't, there is not one Man in a good Post in the Nation—but I'd give my Vote to hang him: Now I hope you are convinc'd. Esop. As for Example: The first Minister of State, why wou'd you hang him? Gent. Because he gives bad Counsel. Esop. How do you know? Gent. Why, they say so. Esop. And who would you put in his Room? Gent. One that would give better. Esop. Who's that? Gent. Myself. Esop. The Secretary of State, why wou'd you hang him? Gent. Because he has not good Intelligence. Esop. How do you know? Gent. I have heard so. Esop. And who would you put in his Place? Gent. My Father. Esop. The Treasurer, why would you hang him? Gent. Because he does not understand his Business. Esop. How do you know? Gent. I dreamt so. Esop. And who would you have succeed him? Gent. My Uncle. Esop. The Admiral, why would you hang him? Gent. Because he has not destroy'd the Enemies Ships. Esop. How do you know he could do it? Gent. Why, I believe so. Esop. And who would you have command in his Stead? Gent. My Brother. Esop. And the General, why would you hang him? Gent. Because he took ne'er a Town last Campaign. Esop. And how you do know it was in his Power? Gent. Why, I don't care a Souss whether 'twas in his power or not. But I have a Son at home, a brave chopping Lad; he has been Captain in the Militia these twelve Months, and I'd be glad to see him in his Place. What do ye stare for, Sir? Ha! I'gad I tell you he'd scour all to the Devil. He's none of your Fencers, none of your sa-sa Men. Numps is downright, that's his Play. You may see his Courage in his Face: He has a Pair of Cheeks like two Bladders, a Nose as flat as your Hand, and a Forehead like a Bull. Esop. In short, Sir, I find if you and your Family were provided for, Things would soon grow better than they do. Gent. And so they wou'd, Sir. Clap me at the Head of the State, and Numps at the Head of the Army: He with his Club-Musquet, and I with my Club Head-Piece, we'd soon put an End to your Business. Esop. I believe you wou'd indeed. And therefore, since I happen to be acquainted with your extraordinary Abilities, I am resolv'd to give the King an Account of you, and employ my Interest with him, that you and your Son may have the Posts you desire. Gent. Will you, by the Lord?—Give me your Fist, Sir—the only honest Courtier that ever I met with in my Life. Esop. But, Sir, when I have done you this mighty Piece of Service, I shall have a small Request to beg of you, which I hope you won't refuse me. Gent. What's that? Esop. Why, 'tis in behalf of the two Officers who are to be displac'd to make Room for you and your Son. Gent. The Secretary and the General? Esop. The same. 'Tis pity they shou'd be quite out of Business: I must therefore desire you'll let me recommend one of 'em to you for your Bailiff, and t'other for your Huntsman. Gent. My Bailiff and my Huntsman!—--Sir, that's not to be granted. Esop. Pray, why? Gent. Why?——Because one wou'd ruin my Land, and t'other wou'd spoil my Fox-Hounds. Esop. Why do you think so? Gent. Why do I think so!—--These Courtiers will ask the strangest Questions!—--Why, Sir, do you think that Men bred up to the State or the Army, can understand the Business of Ploughing and Hunting? Esop. I did not know but they might. Gent. How cou'd you think so? Esop. Because I see Men bred up to Ploughing and Hunting, understand the Business of the State and the Army. Gent. I'm shot——I ha'n't one Word to say for myself——I never was so caught in my Life. Esop. I perceive, Sir, by your Looks, what I have said has made some Impression upon you; and would, perhaps do more, if you wou'd give it leave. [Taking his Hand.] Come, Sir, tho' I am a Stranger to you, I can be your Friend; my Favour at Court does not hinder me from being a Lover of my Country. 'Tis my Nature, as well as Principle, to be pleas'd with the Prosperity of Mankind. I wish all Things happy, and my Study is to make them so. The Distempers of the Government (which I own are great) have employ'd the Stretch of my Understanding, and the deepest of my Thoughts, to penetrate the Cause, and to find out the Remedy. But alas! All the Product of my Study is this, That I find there is too near a Resemblance between the Diseases of the State and those of the Body, for the most expert Minister to become a greater Master in one than the College is in t'other: And how far their Skill extends, you may see by this Lump upon my Back. Allowances in all Professions there must be, You'd see, perhaps, a venerable Statesman sit fast asleep in a great downy Chair; whilst, in that soft Vacation of his Thought, blind Chance (or what at least we blindly call so) shall so dispose a thousand secret Wheels, that when he awakes, he needs but write his Name, to publish to the World some blest Event, for which his Statue shall be rais'd in Brass. Perhaps a Moment thence, you shall behold him torturing his Brain; his Thoughts all stretcht upon the Rack for publick Service. The live-long Night, when all the World's at rest, consum'd in Care, and watching for their Safety, then by a Whirlwind in his Fate, in spight of him, some Mischief shall befall 'em, for which a furious Sentence strait shall pass, and they shall vote him to the Scaffold. Even thus uncertain are Rewards and Punishments; and even thus little do the People know, when 'tis the Statesman merits one or t'other. Gent. Now I do believe I am beginning to be a wise Man; for I never till now perceived I was a Fool. But do you then really believe, Sir, our Men in Business do the best they can? Esop. Many of 'em do: Some perhaps do not. But this you may depend upon; he that is out of Business is the worst Judge in the World of him that is in: First, Because he seldom knows any Thing of the Matter: And, Secondly, Because he always desires to get his Place. Gent. And so, Sir, you turn the Tables upon the Plaintiff, and lay the Fool and Knave at his Door. Esop. If I do him wrong, I'm sorry for't. Let him examine himself, he'll find whether I do or not. [Exit Esop. Gent.——Examine!—--I think I have had enough of that already. There's nothing left, that I know of, but to give Sentence: And truly I think, there's no great [Exit. Enter a young, gay, airy Beau, who stands smiling contemptibly upon Esop. Esop. Well, Sir, what are you? Beau. A Fool. Esop. That's impossible!—--for if thou wert, thou'd'st think thyself a wise Man. Beau. So I do—This is my own Opinion——the t'other's my Neighbour's. [Walking airily about. Esop. gazing after him.] Have you any Business with me, Sir? Beau. Sir, I have Business with nobody, Pleasure's my Study. Esop. [Aside.] An odd Fellow this!—--Pray, Sir, who are you? Beau. I can't tell—— Esop.——Do you know who I am? Beau. No, Sir: I'm a Favourite at Court, and I neither know myself, nor any body else. Esop. Are you in any Employment? Beau. Yes. Esop. What is't? Beau. I don't know the Name on't. Esop. You know the Business on't, I hope? Beau. That I do—the Business of it is——to——put in a Deputy and receive the Money. Esop.——Pray, what may be your Name? Beau. Empty. Esop. Where do you live? Beau. In the Side-Box. Esop. What do you do there? Beau. I ogle the Ladies. Esop. To what Purpose? Beau. To no Purpose. Esop. Why then do you do it? Beau. Because they like it, and I like it. Esop. Wherein consists the Pleasure? Beau. In playing the Fool. Esop.——Pray, Sir, what Age are you? Beau. Five and twenty my Body; my Head's about fifteen. Esop. Is your Father living? Beau. Dead, thank God. Esop. Has he been long so? Beau. Positively, yes. Esop. Where were you brought up? Beau. At School. Esop. What School? Beau. The School of Venus. Esop. Were you ever at the University? Beau. Yes. Esop. What Study did you follow there? Beau. My Bed-maker. Esop. How long did you stay? Beau. Till I had lost my Maidenhead. Esop. Why did you come away? Beau. Because I was expell'd. Esop. Where did you go then? Beau. To Court. Esop. Who took Care of your Education there? Beau. A Whore and a Dancing-Master. Esop. What did you gain by them? Beau. A Minuet, and the Pox. Esop. Have you an Estate? Beau. I had. Esop. What's become on't? Beau. Spent. Esop. In what? Beau. In a Twelvemonth. Esop. But how? Beau. Why, in Dressing, Drinking, Whoring, Claps, Dice, and Scriveners. What do you think of me now, old Gentleman? Esop. Pray, what do you think of yourself? Beau. I don't think at all: I know how to bestow my Time better. Esop. Are you married? Beau. No——have you ever a Daughter to bestow upon me? Esop. She wou'd be well bestow'd. Beau. Why, I'm a strong young Dog, you old Put, you: She may be worse coupled—— Esop. Have you then a Mind to a Wife, Sir? Beau. Yaw, Mynheer. Esop. What wou'd you do with her? Beau. Why, I'd take Care of her Affairs, rid her of all her Troubles, her Maidenhead, and her Portion. Esop. And, pray, what Sort of Wife wou'd you be willing to throw yourself away upon? Beau. Why, upon one that has Youth, Beauty, Quality, Virtue, Wit and Money. Esop. And how may you be qualified yourself, to back you in your Pretensions to such a one? Beau. Why, I am qualified with——a Perriwig——a Snuff-box—a Feather——a——smooth Face——a Fool's Head——and a Patch. Esop. But one Question more: What Settlements can you make? Beau. Settlements!—Why, if she be a very great Heiress, indeed, I believe I may settle——myself upon her for Life, and my Pox upon her Children for ever. Esop. 'Tis enough; you may expect I'll serve you, if it lies in my Way. But I wou'd not have you rely too much upon your Success, because People sometimes are mistaken—— As for Example—— An Ape there was of nimble Parts, As brisk, and gay, and full of Air, As you or I, or any here; Rich in his Dress, of splendid Shew, And with an Head like any Beau: Eternal Mirth was in his Face; Where'er he went, He was content, So Fortune had but kindly sent Some Ladies——and a Looking-glass. Encouragement they always gave him, Encouragement to play the Fool; For soon they found it was a Tool Wou'd hardly be so much in Love, But that the mumbling of a Glove, Or tearing of a Fan, wou'd save him. These Bounties he accepts as Proof Of Feats done by his Wit and Youth; He gives their Freedom gone for ever, Concludes each Female Heart undone, Except that very Happy One To which he'd please to do the Favour. In short, so smooth his Matters went, He guess'd, where'er his Thoughts were bent, The Lady he must carry: So put on a fine new Cravat, He comb'd his Wig, he cock'd his Hat, And gave it out he'd marry. But here, alas! he found to 's Cost, He had reckon'd long without his Host: For wheresoe'er he made th' Attack, Poor Pug with Shame was beaten back. The first fair She he had in Chace, Was a young Cat, extremely rich, Her Mother was a noted Witch; So, had the Daughter prov'd but civil, He'd been related to the Devil. But when he came To urge his Flame, She scratch'd him o'er the Face. With that he went among the Bitches, Such as had Beauty, Wit and Riches, And swore Miss Maulkin, to her Cost, Shou'd quickly see what she had lost: But the poor, unlucky Swain Miss'd his Shepherdess again; His Fate was to miscarry. It was his Destiny to find, That Cats and Dogs are of a Mind, When Monkies come to marry. Beau. 'Tis very well;——'tis very well, old Spark; I say, 'tis very well. Because I han't a Pair of plaid Shoes, and a dirty Shirt, you think a Woman won't venture upon me for a Husband——Why, now to shew you, old Father, how little you Philosophers know of the Ladies, I'll tell you an Adventure of a Friend of mine. A Band, a Bob-Wig, and a Feather, The Band, in a most learned Plea, Made up of deep Philosophy, Told her, if she wou'd please to wed A Reverend Beard, and take, instead Of vigorous Youth, Old solemn Truth, With Books and Morals into Bed, How happy she wou'd be. The Bob, he talk'd of Management, What wondrous Blessings Heaven sent On Care, and Pains, and Industry; And, truly, he must be so free To own, he thought your airy Beaux, With powder'd Wigs, and dancing Shoes, Were good for nothing (mend his Soul!), But prate, and talk, and play the Fool. He said, 'twas Wealth gave Joy and Mirth; And that to be the dearest Wife Of one, who labour'd all his Life, To make a Mine of Gold his own, And not spend Sixpence when he'd done, Was Heaven upon Earth. When these two Blades had done, d' ye see, The Feather (as it might be me) Steps out, Sir, from behind the Skreen, With such an Air, and such a Mien, Look you, old Gentleman, in short, He quickly spoil'd the Statesman's Sport. It prov'd such Sunshine Weather, That you must know, at the first Beck The Lady leapt about his Neck, And off they went together. To Esop.] There's a Tale for your Tale, old Dad, and so——Serviteur. [Exeunt.
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