Enter Mrs. CAUTION.

Mrs. Caut. What's all this giggling here? Mons. Hey! do you tinke we'll tell you? no, fait, I warrant you, teste non!-ha! ha! ha!

Hip. My cousin is overjoyed, I suppose, that my father is to come to-night.

Mrs. Caut I am afraid he will not come tonight: but you'll stay and see, nephew?

Mons. Non, non: I am to sup at t'other end of the town to-night-La, la, la—Ra, ra, ra—

[Exit singing. Mrs. Caut. I wish the French levity of this young man may agree with your father's Spanish gravity.

Hip. Just as your crabbed old age and my youth agree.

Mrs. Caut. Well, malapert, I know you hate me, because I have been the guardian of your reputation: but your husband may thank me one day.

Hip. If he be not a fool, he would rather be obliged to me for my virtue than to you, since, at long run, he must, whether he will or no.

Mrs. Caut. So, so!

Mrs. Caut. Yes, yes, when I cannot sleep. Hip. Ha ha!-I believe it. But know, I have had those thoughts sleeping and waking; for I have dreamt of a man.

Mrs. Caut. No matter, no matter, so that it was but a dream: I have dreamt myself. For you must know, widows are mightily given to dream; insomuch that a dream is waggishly called the Widow's Comfort.

Hip But I did not only dream in- [Sighs. Mrs. Caut. How, how! did you more than dream? speak, young harlotry! confess; did you more than dream? How could you do more than dream in this house? speak, confess!

Hip. Well, I will then. Indeed, aunt, I did not only dream, but I was pleased with my dream when I awaked.

Mrs. Caut. Oh, is that all?-Nay, if a dream only will please you, you are a modest young woman still but have a care of a vision.

Hip. Ay; but to be delighted when we wake with a naughty dream, is a sin, aunt; and I am so very scrupulous, that I would as soon consent to a naughty man as to a naughty dream.

Mrs. Caut. I do believe you.

Hip. I am for going into the throng of temptations.

Mrs. Caul. There I believe you again.

Hip. And making myself so familiar with them, that I would not be concerned for 'em a whit. Mrs. Caut. There I do not believe you. Hip. And would take all the innocent liberty of the town-to tattle to your men under a vizard in the playhouses, and meet 'em at night in masquerade.

Mrs. Caut. There I do believe you again; I know you would be masquerading: but worse would come on't, as it has done to others who have been in a masquerade, and are now virgins but in mas. querade, and will not be their own women again as long as they live. The children of this age must be wise children indeed if they know their fathers, since their mothers themselves cannot inform 'em! O, the fatal liberty of this masquerading age! when I was a young woman

Hip. Come, come, do not blaspheme this masquerading age, like an ill-bred city-dame, whose husband is half broke by living in Covent-garden, or who has been turned out of the Temple or Lincoln's-Inn upon a masquerading night. By what I've heard, 'tis a pleasant, well-bred, complaisant, free, frolic, good-natured, pretty age: and if you do not like it, leave it to us that do.

Mrs. Caut. Lord, how impudently you talk, niece! I'm sure I remember when I was a maidHip. Can you remember it, reverend aunt?

Mrs. Caut. Yes, modest niece,-that a raw young thing, though almost at woman's estate, (that was then at thirty or thirty-five years of age,) would not so much as have looked upon a man

Hip. Above her father's butler or coachman. Mrs. Caut. Still taking me up! Well, thou art a mad girl; and so good night. We may go to bed; for I suppose now your father will not come to-night. [Exit.

Hip. I'm sorry for it; for I long to see him.— [Aside.] But I lie: I had rather see Gerrard here; and yet I know not how I shall like him. If he has wit, he will come; and if he has none, he would not be welcome. [Excunt.

SCENE II.-The French-House.-A Table, Bottles, and Candles.

Enter Mr. GERRARD, MARTIN, and MONSIEUR DE PARIS. Mons. 'Tis ver veritable, jarnie! what the French say of you Englis: you use the debauch so much, it cannot have with you the French operation; you are never enjoyee. But come, let us for once be enfinement galliard, and sing a French sonnet.

[Sings,-La boutelle, la boutelle, glou, glou. Mar. [To GERRARD.] What a melodious fop it is!

Mons. Auh! you have no complaisance. Ger. No, we can't sing; but we'll drink to you the lady's health, whom (you say) I have so long courted at her window.

Mons. Ay, there is your complaisance: all your Englis complaisance is pledging complaisance, ventre! But if I do you reason here, [takes the glass.]-will you do me reason to a little French chanson à boire I shall begin to you?-La boutelle, la boutelle, la— [Sings.

Mar. [To GERRARD.] I had rather keep company with a set of wide-mouthed, drunken cathedral choristers.

Ger. Come, sir lrink; and he shall do you reason to your French song, since you stand upon't. -Sing him Arthur of Bradley, or, I am the Duke of Norfolk.

Mons. Auh, teste bleu !-an Englis catch! fy! fy! ventre!

Ger. He can sing no damned French song. Mons. Nor can I drink the damned Englis wine. [Sets down the glass.

Ger. Yes, to that lady's health, who has commanded me to wait upon her to morrow at her window, which looks (yon say) into the inwari yard of the Ship tavern, near the end of what-d'yecall't street.

Mons. Ay, ay; do you not know her ? not you! vert bleu !

Ger. But, pray repeat again what she said.

Mons. Why, she said she is to be married tomorrow to a person of honour, a brave gentleman, that shall be nameless, and so, and so forth.-[Aside.] Little does he think who 'tis !

Mons. I won't tell him all she said, lest he should not go: I would fain have him go for the jest's sake-Ha! ha! ha! [Aside.

Ger. Her name is, you say, Hippolita, daughter to a rich Spanish merchant.

Mons. Ay, ay, you don't know her, not you! à d'autre, à d'autre, ma foy !-ha! ha! ha! Ger. Well, I will be an easy fool for once. Mar. By all means go.

Mons. Ay, ay, by all means go-ha! ha! ha! Ger. [Aside.] To be caught in a fool's trap-❘ I'll venture it. [Drinks to him.] Come, 'tis her health.

Mons. And to your good reception-teste bleu ! -ha ha ha!

Ger. Well, Monsieur, I'll say this for thee, thou hast made the best use of three months at Paris as ever English 'squire did.

Mons. Considering I was in a dam Englis pension

too.

Mar. Yet you have conversed with some French, I see; footmen, I suppose, at the fencing-school? I judge it by your oaths.

Monus. French footmen ! well, well, I had rather have the conversation of a French footman than of an Englis 'squire; there's for you, da—

Mar. I beg your pardon, Monsieur; I did not think the French footmen had been so much your friends.

Ger. Yes, yes, I warrant they have obliged him at Paris much more than any of their masters did. Well, there shall be no more said against the French footmen.

Mons. Non, de grace !—you are always turning the nation Francez into ridicule, dat nation so accomplie, dat nation which you imitate so, dat in the conclusion, you butte turn yourself into ridicule, ma foy! If you are for de raillery, abuse the Dutch, why not abuse the Dutch? les grosses villains, pendards, insolents; but here in your England, ma foy! you have more honeur, respecte,

Ger. That is, always.

Mons. But dey are never honest wen dey are drunkee; dey are de only rogue in de varlde who are not honeste when dey are drunk-ma foy!

Ger. I find you are well acquainted with them, Monsieur.

Mons. Ay, ay, I have made the toure of Holland, but it was en poste, dere was no staying for me, teste non!-for de gentleman can no more live dere den de toad in Ir'land, ma foy! for I did not see on chevalier in de whole countree: alway, you know, de rebel hate de gens de quality. Besides, I had make sufficient observation of the canaille barbare de first nightee of my arrival at Amsterdamme: I did visit, you must know, one of de principal of de State-General, to whom I had recommendation from England, and did find his excellence weighing soap, jarnie!-ha! ha! ha! Ger. Weighing soap!

Mons. Weighing soap, ma foy! for he was a wholesale chandeleer; and his lady was taking de tale of chandels wid her own witer hands, ma foy! and de young lady, his excellence daughter, stringing harring, stringing harring, jarnie!—

Ger. So!-and what were his sons doing?

Mons. Augh-his son (for he had but one) was making the tour of France, Espagne, Italy, and Germany, in a coach and six; or rader, now I tink on't, gone of an embassy hider to dere master Cromwell, whom they did love and fear, because he was someting de greater rebel. Bute now I talk of de rebelle, none but de rebel can love de rebelle. And so much for you and your friend the Dushe; I'll say no more, and pray do you say no more of my friend de Franch, not so mush as of my friend de Franch footman-da

Ger. No, no;-but, Monsieur, now give me leave to admire thee, that in three months at Paris you could renounce your language, drinking, and your country, (for which we are not angry with you,) as I said, and come home so perfect a Frenchman, that the draymen of your father's own brewhouse would be ready to knock thee on the head.

Mons. Vel, vel, my father was a merchant of his own beer, as the noblesse of Franch of their own wine. But I can forgive you that raillery, that bob, since you say I have the eyre Francez : –but have I the eyre Francez ?

Ger. As much as any French footman of 'em all.
Mons. And do I speak agreeable ill Englis enough?
Ger. Very ill.

Mons. Veritablement ?

Ger. Veritablement.

Mons. For you must know, 'tis as ill breeding now to speak good Englis as to write good Englis, good sense, or a good hand.

Ger. But, indeed, methinks you are not slovenly enough for a Frenchman.

Mons. Slovenly! you mean negligent?
Ger. No, I mean slovenly.

Mons. Then I will be more slovenly.

Ger. You know, to be a perfect Frenchman, you must never be silent, never sit still, and never be clean.

Mar. But you have forgot one main qualification of a true Frenchman, he should never be sound, that is, be very pocky too.

Mons. Oh if dat be all, I am very pocky; pocky enough, jarnie! that is the only French qualification may be had without going to Paris, mon foy !

Enter Waiter.

Wait. Here are a couple of ladies coming up to you, sir.

Ger. To us!-did you appoint any to come hither, Martin?

Mar. Not I.

Ger. Nor you, Monsieur ?

Mons. Nor I.

Ger. Sirrah, tell your master, if he cannot protect us from the constable, and these midnight coursers, 'tis not a house for us.

Mar. Tell 'em you have nobody in the house, and shut the doors.

Wait. They'll not be satisfied with that, they'll break open the door. They searched last night all over the house for my lord Fisk, and sir Jeffery Jantee, who were fain to hide themselves in the bar under my mistress's chair and petticoats.

Mons. Wat, do the women hunt out the men so now?

Mar. Ay, ay, things are altered since you went to Paris; there's hardly a young man in town dares be known of his lodging for 'em.

Ger. Bailiffs, pursuivants, or a city constable, are modest people in comparison of them.

Mar. And we are not so much afraid to be taken up by the watch as by the tearing midnight ramblers, or huzza women.

Mons. Jarnie!-ha! ba! ha!

Ger. Where are they? I hope they are gone again.

Wait. No, sir, they are below at the stair-foot, only swearing at their coachman.

Ger. Come, you rogue, they are in fee with you waiters, and no gentleman can come hither, but they have the intelligence straight.

Wait. Intelligence from us, sir! they should never come here, if we could help it. I am sure we wish 'em choked when we see them come in ; for they bring such good stomachs from St. James's Park, or rambling about in the streets, that we poor waiters have not a bit left; 'tis well if we can keep our money in our pockets for 'em. I am sure I bave paid seventeen and sixpence in half-crowns for coach-hire at several times for a little damned tearing lady, and when I asked her for it again one morning in her chamber, she bid me pay myself, for she had no money; but I wanted the courage of a gentleman; besides, the lord that kept her was a good customer to our house and my friend, and I made a conscience of wronging him.

Ger. Go, go, sirrah, shut the door, I hear 'em coming up.

Wait. Indeed I dare not; they'll kick me down stairs, if I should.

Ger. Go, you rascal, I say.

[The Waiter shuts the Door, 'tis thrust open again. Enter FLOUNCE and FLIRT in Vizards, striking the Waiter, and come up to the table.

Ger. [Aside.] Flounce and Flirt, upon my life! -[Aloud.] Ladies, I am sorry you have no volunteers in your service; this is mere pressing, and argues a great necessity you have for men.

Flou. You need not be afraid, sir; we will use no violence to you; you are not fit for our service: we know you.

Flirt. The hot service you have been in formerly makes you unfit for ours now; besides, you begin to be something too old for us; we are for the brisk huzzas of seventeen or eighteen.

Ger. Nay, faith, I am not too old yet; but an old acquaintance will make any man old :-besides, to tell you the truth, you are come a little too early for me, for I am not drunk yet. But there are your brisk young men, who are always drunk, and, perhaps, have the happiness not to know you. Flou. The happiness not to know us! Flirt. The happiness not to know us!

Ger. Be not angry, ladies; 'tis rather happiness to have pleasure to come than to have it past, and therefore these gentlemen are happy in not knowing you.

Mar. I'd have you to know, I do know the ladies too, and I will not lose the honour of the ladies' acquaintance for anything.

Flou. Not for the pleasure of beginning an acquaintance with us, as Mr. Gerrard says: but it is the general vanity of you town fops to lay claim to all good acquaintance and persons of honour; you cannot let a woman pass in the Mall at midnight, but, damn you, you know her straight, you know her; but you would be damned before you would say so much for one in a mercer's shop.

Ger. He has spoken it in a French-house, where he has very good credit, and I dare swear you may

to sup with you; for you would be sure to tell

on't.

Ger. And we are young men who stand upon our reputations.

Flou. You are very pleasant, gentlemen.

Mar. For my part I am to be married shortly, and know 'twould quickly come to my mistress's

ear.

Ger. And for my part I must go visit to-morrow morning betimes a new city mistress; and you know they are as inquisitive as precise in the city.

Flirt Come, come, pray leave this fooling; sit down again, and let us bespeak supper.

Ger. No, faith, I dare not.

Mar. Besides, we have supped.

Flou. No matter, we only desire you should look on while we eat, and put the glass about, or so. [GERRARD and MARTIN offer to go.

Flirt. Pray, stay.
Ger. Upon my life I dare not.
Flou. Upon our honours we will not tell, if you

are in earnest.

Ger. Pshaw! pshaw!-I know the vanity of you women; you could not contain yourselves from bragging.

Mons. Ma foy! is it certain? ha ha! ha!Hark you, madame, can't you fare well but you must cry roast-meat?

You spoil your trade by bragging of your gains; The silent sow (madam) does eat most grains.da

Flirt. Your servant, monsieur fop.

Flou. Nay, faith, do not go, we will no more tell

Mons. Than you would of a clap, if you had it; dat's the only secret you can keep, jarnie!

Mar. I am glad we are rid of these jilts.

Ger. And we have taken a very ridiculous occasion.

Mons. Wat! must we leave the lady then? dis is dam civility Englis, ma foy!

Flirt. Nay, sir, you have too much of the French air, to have so little honour and good breeding. [Pulling him back.

Mons. Dee you tinke so then, sweet madam, I have mush of de French eyre?

Flirt. More than any Frenchman breathing. Mons. Auh, you are the curtoise dame; mor. bleu! I shall stay then, if you think so. Monsieur Gerrard, you will be certain to see the lady to-morrow? pray not forget, ha; ha! ha!

Ger. No, no, sir.

Mar. You will go then?

Ger. I will go on a fool's errand for once. [Exeunt GERRARD and MARTIN.

Flou. What will you eat, sir?

Mons. Wat you please, madame.

Flou. D'ye hear, waiter? then some young

partridge.

Wait. What else, madam!

Mons. Wat else, madam, agen!-call up the French waiter.

Wait. What else, madam?

Mons. Again!-call up the French waiter or quisinier, mon-teste! ventre! vite!-Auh, madam, the stupidity of the Englis waiter! I hate the Englis waiter, ma foy! [Exit Waiter. Flirt. Be not in passion, dear monsieur. Mons. I kiss your hand, obligeante madam. Enter a French Scullion.

Chere Pierot, serviteur, serviteur.-[Kisses the
Scullion.]-Orca à manger?

Scull. En voulez vous de cram schiquin
Flou. Yes.

Scull. De partrish, de faysan, de quailles? Mons. [Aside.] This bougre vil ruine me too; but he speak wit dat bel eyre and grace, I cannot bid him hold his tongue, ventre! C'est assez, Pierot, vat-en.

Exit Scullion, and returns.

Scull. And de litel plate deMons. Jarnie! vat-en.

Scull. And de litel deMons. De fromage de Brie, vat-en!-go, go. Flou. What's that? cheese that stinks? Mons. Ay, ay, be sure it stinke extremente. Pierot, vat-en; but stay till I drink dy health :— here's to dat pretty fellow's health, madam.

Flirt. Must we drink the scullion's health? Mons. Auh, you will not be disobligeante, madam; he is the quisinier for a king, nay, for a cardinal French abbot. Drinks. Exit Scullion. Flou. But how shall we divertise ourselves till supper be ready?

Flirt. Can we have better divertisement than this gentleman?

Flou. But I think we had better carry the gentleman home with us, and because it is already late, sup at home, and divertise the gentleman at cards, till it be ready.-D'ye hear, waiter? let it be brought, when 'tis ready, to my lodging hard by, in Mustard-alley, at the sign of the Crookedbillet.

Mons. At the Crooked-billet!
Flirt. Come, sir, come.

Mons. Morbleu! I have take the vow (since my last clap) never to go again to the bourdel. Flou. What is the bourdel?

Mons. How call you the name of your house? Flirt. The Crooked-billet.

Mons. No, no, the-bawdy-house, vert and bleu !

Flirt. How, our lodging! we'd have you to know

Mons. Auh, morbleu! I would not know it; de Crooked-billet, ha ha!

Flirt. Come, sir.

Mons. Besides, if I go wit you to the bourdel, you will tell, morbleu !

Flou. Fy! fy! come along.

Mons. Beside, I am to be married within these two days; if you should tell now

Flirt. Come, come along, we will not tell. Mons. But will you promise then to have the care of my honour? pray, good madam, have de care of iny honour, pray have de care of my honour