THE DOUBLE DEAL E R. A C T. I. SCENE I. A Gallery in the Lord Touchwoods Houfe with Chambers adjoining. Enter Careless, Croffing the Stage, with his Hat, Gloves, and Sword in his Hands; as just rifen 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 staggers, and thou'rt almoft Drunk. Care. Care. No Faith, but your Fools grow noificand 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. BRIS K. BOYS, Boys, Lads, where are you? Whe do you give ground? Mortgage for a Bottle, ha? Careless, this is your Trick; you're always fpoiling 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. P(haw, Man, when I fay you spoil 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 or thou art not the Soul of Conversation, the very Efence of Wit, and Spirit of Wine, -The Deuce take me if there were three good things faid, 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, Careless, ha? Care. Hum, ay, what is't? Brisk. O, Mon 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, excufe me, I have a little Bufinels. 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 Senfe in the Company: Prithee do, they'll fall asleep else. 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 elfe.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 fol low you. Brisk. Enough, enough: Careless, bring your Apprehenfion along with you. SCENE III. MELLEFONT, CARELESS, CARELESS. ERT Coxcomb. PER Mel. Faith 'tis a good natur'd Coxcomb, and bas very entertaining Follies. You must be more humane to him; at this Juncture, it will do me Service. I'll tell you, I would have Mirth continued this Day at any rate; tho' Patience purchase Folly, and Attention be paid with Noife: There are Times when Senfe may be unfeasonable, as well as Truth. Prithee do thou wear none to Day; but allow Brisk to have Wit, that thou may'st seem a Fool. Care. Why, how now; why this extravagant Propofition? Mel. O, Iwould have no room for ferious Defign; for I am jealous of a Plot. I would have Noise and Impertinence keep my Lady Touchwoods Head from working: For Hell is not more bufie than her Brain, nor contains more Devils, than that Imaginations. Care. I thought your Fear of her had been overIs not to Morrow appointed for your Marriage with Cynthia? And her Father, Sir Paul Plyant, come to fettle the Writings this Day, on purpose? Mel. True; but you fhall judge whether I have not reafon to be allarm'd. None befides you, and Maskwell, are acquainted with the Secret of my Aunt Touchwocds violent Paffion for me. Since my firft Refufal of her Addreffes, fhe has endeavour'd to do me all ill Offices with my Uncle; yet has ma -managed 'em with that Subtilty, that to him they have born the Face of Kindness; while her Malice, like a dark Lanthorn, only fhone upon me, where it was directed. Still it gave me lefs Perplexity to prevent the Success of her Difpleasure, than to avoid the Importunities of her Love; and of two Evils, I thought my felf favour'd in her Averfion. But whether urg'd by her Defpair, and the fhort Profpect of Time the faw, to accomplish her Defigns; whether the Hopes of Revenge, or of her Love, terminated in the View of this my Marriage with Cynthia, Iknow not; but this Morning the furpriz'd me in my Bed. Care. Was there ever fuch a Fury! 'tis well Nature has not put it into her Sexes Power to ravish. Well, blefs us! proceed. What follow'd? In Mel. What at firft amaz'd me; for I look'd to have seen her in all the Tranfports of a flighted and revengeful Woman: But when I expected Thunder from her Voice, and Lightning in her Eyes, I faw her melted into Tears, and hufh'd into a Sigh. It was long before either of us spoke, Paffion had ty'd her Tongue, and Amazement mine. — fhort, the Confequence was thus The omitted nothing that the most violent Love could urge, or tender Words exprefs; which when the faw had no effect, but still I pleaded Honour and Nearness of Blood to my Uncie; then came the Storm I fear'd at firft: For starting from my Bed-fide like a Fury, fhe flew to my Sword, and with much ado I prevented her doing me or her felf a Mischief. Having difarm'd her, in a Guft of Paffion fhe left me, and in a Refolution, confirm'd by a thousand Curfes, not to close her Eyes, 'till they had feen my Ruin. Care. Exquifite Woman! But what the Devil, does fhe think thou haft no more Senfe, than to get an Heir upon her Body to difinherit thy felf: for |