Spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle.

Mi

OORS have this Way (as Story tells) to know
Whether their Brats are truly got, or no;

Into the Sea the New-born Babe is thrown,
There, as Inftinct directs, to fwim, or drown.
Abarbarous Device, to try if Spouse
Has kept religiously her Nuptial Vows.

Such are the Trials, Poets make of Plays :
Only they trust to more inconftant Seas;
So does our Author, this his Child commit
To the tempestuous Mercy of the Pit,
To know if it be truly born of Wit.

Criticks avaunt; for you are Fifh of preys
And feed, like Sharks, upon an Infant Play.
Be ev'ry Monster of the Deep away;
Let's have a fair Trial and a clear Sea.

Let Nature work, and do not damn too soon,
For Life will (truggle long, e're it fink down:
And will at least rife thrice, before it drown.
Let us confider, had it been our Fate,
Thus hardly to be prov'd Legitimate!
I will not fay, we'd all in Danger been,
Were each to fuffer for his Mothers Sin:
But by my Troth Icannot avoid thinking

}

How nearly fome good Men might have 'cap'd finking.
But, Heav'n be prais'd, this Custom is confin'd
Alone to th' Offspring of the Mujes kind.
Our Chriftian Cuckolds are more bent to Pitys
I know not one Moor-Husband in the City.

I'th good Mans Arms the Chopping Bastard thrives,
For he thinks all his own, that is his Wives.
Whatever Fate is for this Play defign'd,
The Poet's fure he jhall fome Comfort find:

For

For if his Mufe has play'd him falfe, the worst
That can befal him, is, to be divorc'd;
You Husbands judge, if that, be to be Curs'd.

DRAMATIS

PERSON Æ.

MEN.

MASKWELL, A Villain; pretended Friend to Mellefont, Gallant to Lady Touchwood, and in Love with Cynthia.

LORD TOUCHWOOD, Uncle to Mellefont. MELLEFONT, promised to and in Love with

Cynthia.

CARELESS, his Friend.

LORD FORTH, A Solemn Coxcomb.
BRISK, A pert Coxcomb.

SIR PAUL PLYANT, An Uxorious, Foolish; old Knight; Brother to Lady Touchwood, and Fa ther to Cynthia.

WOMEN.

LADY TOUCHWOOD, In Love with Mellefont. CYNTHIA, Daughter to Sir Paulby a former Wife, promifed to Mellefont.

LADY FROTH, A great Cocquet; pretender to Poetry,Wit, and Learning.

LADY PLYANT, Infolent to her Husband, and cafie to any Pretender.

Chaplain, Boy, Footmen, and Attendants.

The SCENE, A Gallery in the Lord Touchwoods Houle, with Chambers adjoining.

THE

A Gallery in the Lord Touchwoods Honfe with Chambers adjoining.

Enter Careless, Croffing the Stage, with his Hat, Gloves, and Sword in his Hands; as just risen from Table: Mellefont following bim.

N

MELLEFONT.

ED, Ned, whither fo faft? What, turn'd Flincher! Why, you wo' not leave us? Care. Where are the Women? I'm weary of guzling, and begin to think them the better Company.

Mel. Then thy Reason ftaggers, and thou'rt al

moft Drunk.

Cate

Care. No Faith, but Fools your grow noifie and if a Man muft endure the Noife of Words without Senfe, I think the Women have more Mufical Voices, and become Nonsense better.

Mel. Why, they are at the end of the Gallery; retir'd to their Tea, and Scandal; according to their Ancient Custom, after Dinner.. But I made a Pretence to follow you, because I had fomething to fay to you in private, and I am not like to have many Opportunities this Evening.

Care. And here's this Coxcomb most critically come to interrupt you.

SCENE II.

[To them] BRISK.

B R Í SK.

OYS, Boys, Lads, where are you? What do you give ground? Mortgage for a Bottle, ha? Careless, this is your Trick; you're always Spoiling Company by leaving it.

Care. And thou art always fpoiling Company, by coming into't.

vy

Brisk. Pooh, ha, ha, ha, I know you envy me. Spite, proud Spite, by the Gods! and burning EnI'll be judg'd by Mellefont here, who gives and takes Raillery better, you or I. Phaw, Man, when I fay you fpoil Company by leaving it, I mean you leave no Body for the Company to laugh at. I think there I was with you, ha? Mellefont. Mell. O' my Word, Brisk, that was a home thruft; you have filenc'd him.

Brisk. Oh, my Dear Mellefont, let me perish, if

thou

very Ef

The Deuce.

or

thou art not the Soul of Conversation, the fence of Wit, and Spirit of Wine, take me if there were three good things said, one understood, fince thy Amputation from the Body of our Society. He! I think that's pretty and Metaphorical enough: I'Gad I could not have faid it out of thy Company,

Care. Hum, ay, what is't?

Careless, ha?

Brisk. O, Men Cour! What is't! Nay gad I'll punish you for want of Apprehenfion: The Deuce take me ifitell you.

Mel. No, no, hang him, he has no Taste, But, dear Brisk, excuse me, I have a little Business. Care. Prithee get thee gone; thou fee'ft we are

ferious.

Mel. We'll come immediately, if you'll but go in and keep up good Humour and Sense in the Company: Prithee do, they'll fall asleep elfe.

Brisk. Igad fo they will Well I will, I will. Gad you fhall command me from the Zenith to the Nadir. But the duce take me if I fay a good thing 'till you come. But prithee dear Rogue, make hafte, prithee make hafte, I fhall burft elle.. And yonder your Uncle, my Lord Touchwood, fwears he'll difinherit you; and Sir Paul Plyant threatens to disclaim you for a Son-in-Law; and my Lord Froth won't dance at your Wedding to Morrow; nor the Duce take me, I won't write your Epithalamium and fee what a Condition you're like to be

brought to.

Mel. Well, I'll fpeak but three Words, and follow you.

Brisk. Enough, enough: Careless, bring your Apprehenfion along with you.

SCE