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 would, sir. Clap me at the head of the state, and Numphs at the head of the army; he with his club-musket, and I with my club-headpiece, we'd soon put an end to your business.

Æsop. I believe you would indeed. And therefore since I happen to be acquainted with your extraordinary abilities, I am resolved 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 displaced to make room for you and your son.

Gent. The secretary and the general?

sop. The same. 'Tis pity they should 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.

sop. Pray, why?

Gent. Why!-because one would ruin my land, and t'other would spoil my fox-hounds.

Asop. 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 and the army, can understand the business of ploughing and hunting?

Æsop. I did not know but they might. Gent. How could you think so? Æsop. 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'nt 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 would give it leave.-[Taking his hand.] Come, sir, though 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 principles to be pleased 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 employed 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, since 'tis weak man that is the weak professor. Believe me, senator, for I have seen the proof on't; the longest beard amongst us is a fool. Could you but stand behind the curtain, and there observe the secret springs of state, you'd see in all the good or evil that attends it, ten ounces of chance for one grain either of wisdom or roguery. 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 wakes he needs but write his name, To publish to the world some bless'd event, For which his statue shall be raised in brass. Perhaps a moment thence you shall behold him Torturing his brain; his thoughts all stretch'd upon The rack for public service: the livelong night, When all the world's at rest,

Consumed in care, and watching for their safety,
When by a whirlwind in his fate,

In spite of him some mischief shall befal 'em,
For which a furious sentence straight 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 anything of the matter: and, secondly, because he always desires to get his place.

Gent. And so, sir you turn the tables upon the plantiff, and lay the fool and knave at his door.

sop. If I do him wrong, I'm sorry for't. Let him examine himself, he'll find whether I do [Exit.

or not.

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 difficulty in that. A very pretty fellow I am indeed! Here am I come bellowing and roaring two hundred miles post to find myself an ass; when with one quarter of an hour's consideration I might have made the self-same discovery, without going over my threshold. Well! if ever they send me on their errand to reform the state again, I'll be damned. But this I'll do: I'll go home and reform my family if I can: them I'm sure I know. There's my father's a peevish old coxcomb: there's my uncle's a drunken old sot: there's my brother's a cowardly bully: son Numphs is a lubberly whelp I've a great ramping daughter, that stares like a heifer; and a wife's that's slatternly sow. [Exit.

SCENE III.

Enter a young, gay, airy Beau, who stands smiling contemptibly upon Æsor.

Esop. Well, sir, what are you?
Beau. A fool.

Esop. That's impossible;-for if thou wer't thou'dst think thyself a wise man.

Beau. To no purpose.

Æsop. 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.

Æsop. Is your father living?

Beau. Dead, thank God.

Æsop. And pray what sort of wife would 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 periwig-å 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.

Æsop. 'Tis enough; you may expect I'll serve you, if it lies in my way. But I would not have you rely too much upon your success, because people sometimes are mistaken; as for example

An ape there was of nimble parts,
A great intruder into hearts,
As brisk, and gay, and full of air,
As you, or I, or any here;
Rich in his dress, of splendid show,
And with a 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,
Would hardly be so much in love,
But that the mumbling of a glove,
Or tearing of a fan, would 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 the 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 proved but civil,
He had 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 Maulken, to her cost, Should 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 monkeys come to marry.

Beau. 'Tis very well ;-'tis very well, old spark; I say 'tis very well. Because I han't a pair of plod shoes and a dirty shirt, you think a woman won't' venture upon me for a husband. Why now to show 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,
Attack'd a lady's heart together;
The band in a most learned plea,
Made up of deep philosophy,

Told her, if she would please to wed
A reverend beard, and take instead
Of vigorous youth,

Old solemn truth.

With books and morals into bed,
How happy she would be.

The Bob he talk'd of management,
What wondrous blessings heaven sent
On care, and pains, and industry;
And truly be 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 screen,
With such an air, and such a mien,
Look you, old gentleman, in short,
He quickly spoil'd the statesman's sport.
It proved such sunshine weather,
That you must know, at the first beck
The lady leap'd about his neck,
And off they went together.

There's a tale for your tale, old dad, and so

You dread reformers of an impious age,
You awful cat-a-nine tails to the stage,
This once be just, and in our cause engage.
To gain your favour, we your rules obey,
And treat you with a moral piece to-day;
So moral, we're afraid 'twill damn the play.
For though ye have long been leagued (as people
tell)

To reduce the power exorbitant of hell;
No troops you send, to abate it in this field,
But leave us still exposed, to starve or yield.
Your scouts indeed sometimes come stealing in,
To observe this formidable camp of sin,
And whisper, if we'll piously declare,

What aids you then will send to help us through

the war.

To this we answer, We're a feeble state,
And cannot well afford to love or hate,
So should not meddle much in your debate.

But since your cause is good, thus far we'll go,

When Portugal declares, we'll do so too.
Our cases, as we think, are much alike,
And on the same conditions we should strike;
Send to their aid a hundred men-of-war,
To ours a hundred squadrons of the fair;

Rig out your wives and daughters all around,
(I mean who are fit for service, tight and sound
And for a proof our meaning is sincere,
See but the ships are good, and if you fear
A want of equipage, we'll man them here.

These are the terms, on which you may engage
The poet's fire, to batter from the stage.
Useful ally! whose friendship lets you in
Upon the weak and naked side of sin;
Against your old attack, the foe's prepared,
Well fortified, and always on his guard;
The sacred shot you send are flung in vain ;
By impious hands, with insolent disdain,
They're gather'd up, and fired at you again.
Through baffled toils, and unsuccessful cares,
In slaughter, blood, and wounds, and pious snares,
Ye have made a Flanders war these fifteen hundred
years.

Change then your scheme, if you'd your foe annoy,
And the infernal Bajazet destroy:
Our aid accept,

We have gentler stratagems which may succeed;
We'll tickle 'em, where you would make 'em bleed:
In sounds less harsh we'll teach 'em to obey:
In softer strains the evil spirit lay,

And steal their immorality away.

Lop. Your patience, sir, indeed is great; I feel at this time forty proofs on't upon my shoulders. But really, sir, I would advise you to

Don John. Again! I can bear thee no longer. Here, pen and ink, I'll give thee thy discharge. Did I take you for a valet, or a privy-counsellor, sir?

Lop. 'Tis confessed, sir, you took me but for humble employment; but my intention was agreeably to surprise you with some superior gifts of nature, to your faithful slave. I profess, my noble master, a most perfect knowledge of men and manners. Yours, gracious sir, (with all respect I speak it) are not irreprehensible. And I'm afraid in time, sir, I am indeed, they'll wriggle you into some ill-favoured affair, whence with all my understanding I shall be puzzled to bring you off.

Don John. Very well, sir.

Lop. And therefore, sir, it is, that I (poor Lopez as I am) sometimes take leave to moralise.

Don John. Go, go, moralise in the market-place; I'm quite worn out. Once more, march. Lop. Is the sentence definitive?

Don John. Positive.

Lop. Then pray let us come to account, and see what wages are due.

Don John. Wages! Refund what you have had, you rascal you, for the plague you have given me.

Lop. Nay, if I must lose my money, then let me claim another right; losers have leave to speak. Therefore advance, my tongue, and say thy pleasure; tell this master of mine, he should die with shame at the life he leads: so much unworthy of a man of honour. Tell him

Don John. I'll hear no more.
Lop. You shall indeed, sir.

Don John. Here, take thy money and begone. Lop. Counters all; adieu you glistering spangles of the world! farewell ye tempters of the great ; not me! Tell him

Don John. Stay.

Lop. Go on.-Tell him he's worse among the women than a ferret among the rabbits; at one and all, from the princess to the tripe-woman; handsome, ugly, old women and children, all go down. Don John. Very well.

Lop. It is indeed, sir, and so are the stories you tell them to bring them to your matters. The handsome, she's all divinity to be sure; the ugly, she's so agreeable, were it not for her virtue, she'd be overrun with lovers; the light airy flipflap, she kills him with her motions; the dull heavy-tailed maukin melts him down with her modesty; the scragged lean pale face has a shape for destruction; the fat overgrown sow has an air of importance; the tall awkward trapes with her majesty wounds; the little short trundle-tail shoots a je-ne-sais-quoi: in a word, they have all something for him-and he has something for 'em all.

Don John. And thus, you fool, by a general attack, keep my heart my own; lie with them that like me, and care not sixpence for them that don't.

Lop. Well said, well said, a very pretty amusement truly! But pray, sir, by your leave (ceremony aside) since you are pleased to clear up into conversation, what mighty matters do you expect from boarding a woman you know is already heart and soul engaged to another?

Don John. Why I expect her heart and soul

should disengage in a week. If you live a little longer with me, sirrah, you'll know how to instruct your next master to the purpose: and therefore that I may charitably equip you for a new service, now I'm turning you out of my own, I'll let you know, that when a woman loves a man best, she's in the most hopeful way of betraying him; for love, like fortune, turns upon a wheel, and is very much given to rising and falling.

Lop. Like enough. But as much upon the weathercock as the ladies are, there are some the wind must blow hard to fetch them about. When such a sturdy hussy falls in your honour's way, what account may things turn to then, an't please ye e?

Don John. They turn to a bottle, you puppy. Lop. I find they'll always turn to something; but when you pursue a poor woman only to make her lover jealous, what pleasure can you take in

that?

Don John. That pleasure.

Lop. Look you there again!

Don John. Why, sirrah, d'you think there's no pleasure in spoiling their sport, when I can't make my own?

Lop. Oh! to a good-natured man, be sure there must; but suppose, instead of fending and proving with his mistress, he should come to-a-parrying and thrusting with you; what becomes of your joy then, my noble master?

Don John. Why do you think I'm afraid to fight, you rascal?

Lop. I thought we were talking of what we loved, not what we feared, sir.

Don John. Sir, I love everything that leads to what I love most.

Lop. I know, sir, you have often fought upon these occasions.

Don John. Therefore that has been no stop to my pleasures.

Lop. But you have never been killed once, sir; and when that happens, you will for ever lose the pleasure of—

Don John. [Striking him.] Breaking your head, you rascal, which will afflict me heartily. -[Knocking at the door.] See who knocks so hard.

Lop. Somebody that thinks I can hear no better than you think I can feel.

Enter DoN GUZMAN.

Don Guz. Don John de Alvarada, is he here? Lop. There's the man.-[Aside.] Show me such another if you can find him.

Don Guz. Don John, I desire to speak with you alone.

Don John. You may speak before this fellow, sir; he's trusty.

Don Guz. 'Tis an affair of honour, sir.
Don John. Withdraw, Lopez.

Lop. [Aside.] Behind the door I will, and no farther. This fellow looks as if he came to save me a broken head. [Retires.

Don Guz. I call myself Don Guzman de Torrellas, you know what blood I spring from; I am a cadet, and by consequence not rich; but I am esteemed by men of honour: I have been forward to expose myself in battles abroad, and I have met with applause in our feasts at home.

Lop. So much by way of introduction. Aside.