D. Man. Sir! don't stare so, old gentleman; let us have a little conversation with you. Æs. I would know if you have any thing oppresses your mind, and makes you unhappy. D. Man. You are certainly a very great fool, old gentleman; did you ever know a man drunk and unhappy at the same time? Es. Never otherwise, for a man who has lost his senses after my journey-Suppose now you introduce me to Proserpine, who knows how far my figure is over nice, shew me but her maids of honour, and address may tempt her; and if her majesty and I'll warrant you, they'll snap at a bit of fresh mortality. Es. Monstrous! D. Man. Well, well, if it is monstrous, I say no more; if her majesty and retinue are so very virtuous, I say no more; but I'll tell you what, old friend, if you'll lend me your wife for half an hour; when you make a visit above, you shall have mine as long as you please; and if upon trial, you should like mine better than your own, you shall carry her away to the devil with you, and ten thousand thanks into the bargain. Æs. This is not to be borne; either be silent, or you'll repent this drunken insolence. D. Man. What a cross old fool it is !-I presume, sir, from the information of your hump, and your wisdom, that your name is-is-what the devil is it? Es. Esop, at your service. D. Man. The same, the same-I knew you well enough, you old sensible pimp you—many a time has my flesh felt birch upon your account; pr'ythee, what possessed thee to write such foolish old stories of a cock and a bull, and I don't know what, to plague poor innocent lads with? It was damned cruel in you, let me tell you that. Es. I am now convinced, sir, I have written them to very little purpose. D. Man. To very little, I assure you: but never mind it-Damn it, you are a fine old Grecian, for all that-[Claps him on the back.] Come here, Snip-is not he a fine old Grecian? And though he is not the handsomest, or best dressed man in the world, he has ten times more sense than either you or I have. Tai. Pray, neighbour introduce me. D. Man. I'll do it—Mr. Æsop, this sneaking gentleman is my tailor, and an honest man he was, while he loved his bottle; but since he D. Man. Has lost the most troublesome com- turned methodist, and took to preaching, he has panions in the world, next to wives and bum-cabbaged one yard in six from all his customers. bailiffs. Es. But, pray, what is your business with me? Now you know him, hear what he has to say, while I go and pick up in the wood here. Upon my soul, you are a fine old Grecian! [Exit Drunken Man. Es. [To Tailor.] Come, friend, don't be dejected; what is your business? Tai. I am troubled in mind. Es. Is your case particular, friend? Tai. No, indeed, I believe it is pretty general in our parish. am Æs. What is it? speak out, friend. Tai. It runs continually in my head, that I Es. What? Tai. A cuckold. Æs. Have a care, friend? jealousy is a rank Tai. A great deal more, sir; and that is one reason for my believing myself dishonoured— Es. Though your reason has some weight in it, yet it does not amount to a conviction. Tai I have more to say for myself, if your worship will but hear me. Es. I shall attend to you. Tai. My wife has such very high blood in her, that she has lately turned papist, and is always railing at me and the government. The priest and she are continually laying their heads together, and I am afraid he has persuaded her, that it will save her precious soul, if she cuckolds a heretic tailor. Æs. Oh, don't think so hardly of them. Tai. Lord, sir, you don't know what tricks are going forward above! Religion indeed is the outside stuff, but wickedness is the lining. Es. Why, you are in a passion, friend; if you would but exert yourself thus at a proper time, you might keep the fox from your poultry. Tai. Lord, sir, my wife has as much passion again as I have; and whenever she's up, I curb my temper, sit down, and say nothing. Es. What remedy have you to propose this misfortune? for Tai. I would propose to dip my head in the river, to wash away my fancies; and if you'll let me take a few bottles to my wife, if the water is of a cooling nature, I may perhaps be easy that way; but I shall do as your worship pleases. Es. I am afraid this method won't answer, friend: suppose therefore you drink to forget your suspicions, for they are nothing more; and let your wife drink to forget your uneasiness-a mutual confidence will succeed, and consequently mutual happiness. Tai. I have such a spirit, I can never bear to be dishonoured in my bed. Æs. The water will cool your spirit, and if it can but lower your wife's, the business is doneGo for a moment to your companion, and you shall drink presently; but do nothing rashly. Tai. I can't help it, rashness is my fault, sir; but age and more experience, I hope, will cure me-your servant, sir-Indeed he is a fine old Grecian! [Exit Tailor. Es. Poor fellow, I pity him. Enter MERCURY. I per Mer. What can be the meaning, Æsop, that there are no more mortals coming over. ceive there is a great bustle on the other side the Styx, and Charon has brought his boat over without passengers. Es. Here he is to answer for himself. Enter CHARON, laughing. Char. Oh! oh! oh! Mer. What diverts you so, Charon! Char. Why, there's the devil to do among the mortals yonder; they are altogether by the ears. Es. What's the matter? Char. There are some ladies who have been disputing so long and so loud about taking place and precedency, that they have set their relations a tilting at one another, to support their vanity: the standers-by are some of them so frightened, and some of them so diverted at the quarrel, that they have not time to think of their misfortunes; so I e'en left them to settle their prerogatives by themselves, and be friends at their leisure. Mer. What's to be done, Esop? Es. Discharge these we have, and finish the business of the day. Enter Drunken Man and MRS. RIOT. D. Man. I never went to pick up a whore in my life, but the first woman I laid hold of was my dear virtuous wife, and here she is Es. Is that lady your wife? D. Man. Yes, sir; and yours, if you please to accept her. Es. Though she has formerly given too much into fashionable follies, she now repents, and will be more prudent for the future. D. Man. Look'e, Mr. Esop, all your preaching and morality signifies nothing at all; but since your wisdom seems bent upon our reformation, I'll tell you the only way, old boy, to bring it about. Let me have enough of your water to settle my head; and throw madam into the river. Es. 'Tis in vain to reason with such beings: therefore, Mercury, summon the mortals from the grove, and we'll dismiss them to earth, as happy as Lethe can make them— SONG. BY MERCURY. Come mortals, come, come follow me, Come follow, follow, follow me, To mirth, and joy, and jollity; Hark! hark! the call, come, come and drink, And leave your cares by Lethe's brink. CHORUS. Away then come, come, come away, To Lethe's brink then follow all, CHORUS. Away then come, come, come away, [During the song, the characters enter vice Then Es. Now, mortals, attend; I have perceived, are totally forgotten and neglected. from your examinations, that you have mis- follow me, and drink to the forgetfulness of taken the effects of your distempers for the cause; you would willingly be relieved from many things which interfere with your passions and affections; while your vices, from which all your cares and misfortunes arise, 'Tis vice alone disturbs the human breast; Care dies with guilt-be virtuous, and be blest. SCENE I.-A Room. ACT I. Enter ARABELLA, and SOPHIA in Men's clothes. Ara. Indeed, my dear, you'll repent this frolic. Sop. Indeed, my dear, then it will be the first frolic I ever repented in all my life. Look ye, Bell, 'tis in vain to oppose me, for I am resolved. The only way to find out his character, is to see him thus, and converse freely with him. If he is the wretch he is reported to be, I shall away with him at once; and if he is not, he will thank me for the trial, and our union will be the stronger. Ara. I never knew a woman yet, who had prudence enough to turn off a pretty fellow, be cause he had a little more wickedness than the rest of his neighbours. Sop. Then I will be the first to set a better example.-If I did not think a man's character was of some consequence, I should not now run such risks, and encounter such difficulties, to be better acquainted with it. Ara. Ah, Sophy! if you have love enough to be jealous, and jealousy enough to try these experiments- -don't imagine, though you should make terrible discoveries, that you can immediately quit your inclinations, with your breeches; and return so very philosophically to your petticoats again, ha, ha! with my weaknes Sop. You may be as merry ses, as you please, madam : but I know my own heart, and can rely upon it. Ara. We are great bullies by nature; but courage and swaggering are two things, cousin. Sop. Since you are as little to be convinced, as I am to be persuaded-your servant [Going. Ara. Nay, Sophy, this is unfriendly-if you are resolved upon your scheme, open to me without reserve, and I'll assist you. Sop. Imprimis, then; I confess to you, that I have a kind of whimsical attachment to Daffodil; not but I can see his vanities and laugh at them. Ara. And like him better for themSop. Pshaw! don't plague me, Bell-my other lover, the jealous Mr. Tukely Ara. Who loves you too well to be successful Sop. And whom I really esteem Ara. As a good sort of a man, ha, ha, ha! Sop. Nay, should have loved him Ara. Had not a prettier fellow stept in between, who perhaps does not care a farthing for you Sop. That's the question, my dear-Tukely, I say, either stung by jealousy, or unwilling to lose me, without a struggle, has intreated me to know more of his rival, before I engage too far with him-Many strange things he has told me, which have piqued me, I must confess, and I am now prepared for the proof. Ara. You'll certainly be discovered, and put to shame. Sop. I have secured my success already. Sop. I have seen him, conversed with him, and am to meet him again to day, by his own appointment. Ara. Madness! it can't be. Ara. How? how? Quickly, quickly, dear So phy? Sop. When you went to Lady Fanny's last night, and left me, as you thought, little disposed for a frolic, I dressed me as you see, called a chair, and went to the King's Arms, asked for my gentleman, and was shewn into a room; he immediately left the company, and came to me. Ara. I tremble for you. acts of rebellion against him, yet I fear he is a traitor at heart-and then such vanity!—but I had no time to make great discoveries—it was merely the prologue-The play is to come. Ara. Act your part well, or we shall hiss you. Sop. Never fear me; you don't know what a mad, raking, wild young devil I can be, if I set my mind to it, Bell. [Laying hold of her. Ara. You fright me !-you shall positively be no bed-fellow of mine any longer. Sop. I am resolved to ruin my woman, and kill my man, before I get into petticoats again. Ara. Take care of a quarrel though—a rival may be too rough with you. Sop. No, no, fighting is not the 'vice of these times; and, as for a little swaggering, damn it, I can do it as well as the best of them. Ara. Hush, hush! Mr. Tukely is here Sop. Now for a trial of skill; if I deceive him, you'll allow, that half of my business is done. [She walks aside, takes out a glass, and looks at the pictures. Enter TUKELY. Tuke. Your servant, Miss Bell-I need not ask if Miss Sophy is at home, for I believe I have seen her since you did. Ara. Have you, sir? You seem disconcerted. Mr. Tukely: Has any thing happened? Tuke. A trifle, madam-but I was born to be trifled with, and to be made uneasy at trifles. Ara. Pray, what trifling affair has disturbed you thus? [Aside. Sop. What's the matter now? Tuke. I met Miss Sophy this moment in a hackney chair at the end of the street: I knew her by the pink negligee; but, upon my crossing the way to speak to her, she turned her head away, laughed violently, and drew the curtain in my face. Sop. So, so! well said, jealousy. [Aside. Ara. She was in haste, I suppose, to get to her engagement. Tuke. Yes, yes, madam; I imagine she had some engagement upon her hands-But sure, madam, her great desire to see her more agreeable friends, need not be attended with contempt and disregard to the rest of her acquaint ance. Ara. Indeed, Mr. Tukely, I have so many caSop. I introduced myself as an Italian noble-prices, and follies of my own, that I can't possiman, just arrived: Il Marchese di Macaroni-bly answer for my cousin's too. Ara. Ridiculous! ha, ha! Sop. An intimate of Sir Charles Vainlove's, who is now at Rome--I told him my letters were with my baggage, at the custom-houseHe received me with all the openness imaginable, and would have introduced me to his friends. I begged to be excused, but promised to attend him to-day, and am now ready, as you see, to keep my word. Ara. Astonishing!-and what did you talk about? Sop. Of various things-women among the rest; and though I have not absolutely any open Sop. Well said, Bell! [Aside. Tuke. Answer, miss! No, Heaven forbid you should!-for my part, I have given up all my hopes as a lover, and only, now, feel for her as a friend—and indeed as a friend, a sincere friend, I can't but say, that going out in a hackney chair, without a servant, and endeavouring to conceal herself, is somewhat incompatible with Miss Sophy's rank and reputation. This I speak as a friend, not as a lover, Miss Bell! pray mind that. Ara. I see it very plainly, Mr. Tukely, and it gives me great pleasure, that you can be so in |