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THE

DOUBLE

DEALER.

ACT. I.

SCENE I.

A Gallery in the Lord Touchwoods House, with Chambers adjoining.

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

N

MELLEFONT.

ED, Ned, whither so faft? What, turn'd
Flincher! Why, you wo' not leave us?
Care. Where are the Women? I'm wea-
ry 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 noifieand if a Man must endure the Noise of Words without Sense, 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 say 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.

B

SCENE II.
[To them] BRISK.

BRISK.

ΟΥΣ, 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 spoiling Company, by coming into't.

Brisk. Pooh, ha, ha, ha, I know you envy me. Spite, proud Spite, by the Gods! and burning Envy

I'll be judg'd by Mellefont here, who gives and takes Raillery better, you or I. Pshaw, Man, when I say 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 thrust; you have filenc'd him.

Brisk. Oh, my Dear Mellefont, let me perish, if thou thou art not the Soul of Conversation, the very Effence of Wit, and Spirit of Wine, - The Deuce take me if there were three good things said, or one understood, since 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 Cœur! What is't! Nay gad I'll punish you for want of Apprehenfion: The Deuce take me if i tell 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 see'st 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 afleep else.

Brisk. I'gad so they will - Well I will, I will. Gad you shall command me from the Zenith to the Nadir. But the duce take me if I say a good thing 'till you come. - But prithee dear Rogue, make hafte, prithee make hafte, I shall burstelse. And yonder your Uncle, my Lord Touchwood swears he'll disinherit 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 speak but three Words, and follow you. Brisk. Enough, enough: Careless, bring your Apprehenfion along with you.

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P

SCENE III.

MELLEFONT, CARELESS,

CARELESS.

ERT Coxcomb.

Mel. Faith 'tisagood natur'd Coxcomb, and has 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 Sense may be unseasonable, 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, I would have no room for serious Design; 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 busie than her Brain, nor contains more Devils, than that Imaginations.

Care. I thought your Fear of her had been over Is 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 shall judge whether I have not reason to be allarm'd. None besides you, and Maskwell, are acquainted with the Secret of my Aunt Touchwoods violent Passion for me. Since my first Refusal of her Addresses, she 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 shone upon me, where it was directed. Still it gave me less Perplexity to prevent the Success of her Displeasure, than to avoid the Importunities of her Love; and of two Evils, I thought my self favour'd in her Averfion. whether urg'd by her Despair, and the short Profpect of Time she saw, to accomplish her Designs; whether the Hopes of Revenge, or of her Love, terminated in the View of this my Marriage with Cynthia, Iknow not; but this Morning she surpriz'd me in my Bed.

But

Care. Was there ever such a Fury! 'tis well Nature has not put it into her Sexes Power to ravish. Well, bless us! proceed. What follow'd?

In

Mel. What at first amaz'd me; for I look'd to have seen her in all the Transports of a flighted and revengeful Woman: But when I expected Thunder from her Voice, and Lightning in her Eyes, Isaw her melted into Tears, and hush'd into a Sigh. It was long before either of us spoke, Paffion had ty'd her Tongue, and Amazement mine. short, the Consequence was thus, the omitted nothing that the most violent Love could urge, or tender Words express; which when she saw had noeffect, but still I pleaded Honour and Nearness of Blood to my Uncle; then came the Storm I fear'd at first: For starting from my Bed-side like a Fury, the flew to my Sword, and with much ado I prevented her doing me or her self a Mischief. Having disarm'd her, ina Gust of Passion she left me, and in a Resolution, confirm'd by a thousand Curses, not to close her Eyes, 'till they had seen my Ruin.

Care. Exquifite Woman! But what the Devil, does the think thou haft no more Sense, than to get an Heir upon her Body to disinherit thy felf: for

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