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<h4>THE</h4> <h1>BUSIE BODY:</h1> <h4>A</h4> <div class = "biggest">COMEDY.</div> <hr class = "smaller"> <h4>Written by Mrs. Susanna Centlivre.</h4> <hr class = "smaller"> <table align = "center"> <tr> <td class = "cast"> <div class = "verse"> Quem tulit ad scenam ventoso Gloria curru, Exanimat lentus Spectator, sedulus inflat. Sic Leve, sic parvum est, animum quod laudis avarum Subruit aut reficit—</div> Horat. Epist. Lib. II. Ep. 1. </td> </tr> </table> <hr> <h5>TO THE</h5> <h4>RIGHT HONOURABLE</h4> <h3>JOHN Lord SOMMERS,</h3> <h4>Lord-President of Her Hajesty's most Honourable Privy-Council.</h4> May it please Your Lordship, AS it's an Establish'd Custom in these latter Ages, for all Writers, particularly the Poetical, to shelter their Productions under the Protection of the most Distinguish'd, whose Approbation produces a kind of Inspiration, much superior to that which the Heathenish Poets pretended to derive from their Fictitious Apollo: So it was my Ambition to Address one of my weak Performances to Your Lordship, who, by Universal Consent, are justly allow'd to be the best Judge of all kinds of Writing. I was indeed at first deterr'd from my Design, by a Thought that it might be accounted unpardonable Rudeness to obtrude a Trifle of this Nature to a Person, whose sublime Wisdom moderates that Council, which at this Critical Juncture, over-rules the Fate of all Europe. But then I was encourag'd by Reflecting, that Lelius and Scipio, the two greatest Men in their Time, among the Romans, both for Political and Military Virtues, in the height of their important Affairs, thought the Perusal and Improving of Terence's Comedies the noblest way of Unbinding their Minds. I own I were guilty of the highest Vanity, should I presume to put my Composures in Parallel with those of that Celebrated Dramatist. But then again, I hope that Your Lordship's native Goodness and Generosity, in Condescension to the Taste of the Best and Fairest part of the Town, who have been pleas'd to be diverted by the following Scenes, will excuse and overlook such Faults as your nicer Judgment might discern. And here, my Lord, the Occasion seems fair for me to engage in a Panegyrick upon those Natural and Acquired Abilities, which so brightly Adorn your Person: But I shall resist that Temptation, being conscious of the Inequality of a Female Pen to so Masculine an Attempt; and having no other Ambition, than to Subscribe my self, <table align = "center"> <tr> <td class = "dedic" colspan = "4">My Lord,</td> </tr> <tr> <td class = "filler"> </td> <td class = "dedic" colspan = "3">Your Lordship's</td> </tr> <tr> <td class = "filler"> </td> <td class = "filler"> </td> <td class = "dedic" colspan = "2">Most Humble and</td> </tr> <tr> <td class = "filler"> </td> <td class = "filler"> </td> <td class = "filler"> </td> <td class = "dedic">Most Obedient Servant,</td> </tr> <tr> <td class = "filler"> </td> <td class = "filler"> </td> <td class = "dedic" colspan = "2">Susanna Centlivre.</td> </tr> </table> <hr> <h1>PROLOGUE.</h1> <h4>By the Author of Tunbridge-Walks.</h4> <div class = "verse"> THO' modern Prophets were expos'd of late, The Author cou'd not Prophesie his Fate; If with such Scenes an Audience had been Fir'd, The Poet must have really been Inspir'd. But these, alas! are Melancholy Days For Modern Prophets, and for Modern Plays. Yet since Prophetick Lyes please Fools o'Fashion, And Women are so fond of Agitation; To Men of Sense, I'll Prophesie anew, And tell you wond'rous things, that will prove true:</div> <div class = "plainverse"> Undaunted Collonels will to Camps repair, Assur'd, there'll be no Skirmishes this Year;</div> <div class = "verse"> On our own Terms will flow the wish'd-for Peace, All Wars, except 'twixt Man and Wife, will cease. The Grand Monarch may wish his Son a Throne, But hardly will advance to lose his own. This Season most things bear a smiling Face; But Play'rs in Summer have a dismal Case, Since your Appearance only is our Act of Grace. Court Ladies will to Country Seats be gone, My Lord can't all the Year live Great in Town, Where wanting Opera's, Basset, and a Play, They'll Sigh and stitch a Gown, to pass the time away. Gay City-Wives at Tunbridge will appear, Whose Husbands long have laboured for an Heir; Where many a Courtier may their Wants relieve, But by the Waters only they Conceive. The Fleet-street Sempstress—Toast of Temple Sparks, That runs Spruce Neckcloths for Attorney's Clerks; At Cupid's Gardens will her Hours regale, Sing fair Dorinda, and drink Bottl'd Ale. At all Assemblies, Rakes are up and down, And Gamesters, where they think they are not known.</div> <div class = "verse1"> Shou'd I denounce our Author's fate to Day, To cry down Prophecies, you'd damn the Play: Yet Whims like these have sometimes made you Laugh; 'Tis Tattling all, like Isaac Bickerstaff.</div> <div class = "verse1"> Since War, and Places claim the Bards that write, Be kind, and bear a Woman's Treat to-Night; Let your Indulgence all her Fears allay, And none but Woman-Haters damn this Play.</div> <hr> <h1>Dramatis Personæ.</h1> <h4>MEN.</h4> <table> <tr> <td class = "cast"> Sir George Airy. A Gentleman of Four Thousand a Year in Love with Miranda</td> <td class = "actors"> Acted by Mr. Wilks.</td> </tr> <tr> <td class = "cast"> Sir Francis Gripe. Guardian to Miranda and Marplot, Father to Charles, in Love with Miranda. </td> <td class = "actors"> Mr. Estcourt.</td> </tr> <tr> <td class = "cast"> Charles. Friend to Sir George, in Love with Isabinda. </td> <td class = "actors"> Mr. Mills.</td> </tr> <tr> <td class = "cast"> Sir Jealous Traffick. A Merchant that had liv'd sometime in Spain, a great Admirer of the Spanish Customs, Father to Isabinda. </td> <td class = "actors"> Mr. Bullock.</td> </tr> <tr> <td class = "cast"> Marplot. A sort of a silly Fellow, Cowardly, but very Inquisitive to know every Body's Business, generally spoils all he undertakes, yet without Design. </td> <td class = "actors"> Mr. Pack.</td> </tr> <tr> <td class = "cast"> Whisper. Servant to Charles. </td> <td class = "actors"> Mr. Bullock jun.</td> </tr> </table> <h4>WOMEN.</h4> <table> <tr> <td class = "cast"> Miranda. An Heiress, worth Thirty Thousand Pound, really in Love with Sir George, but pretends to be so with her Guardian Sir Francis. </td> <td class = "actors"> Mrs. Cross.</td> </tr> <tr> <td class = "cast"> Isabinda. Daughter to Sir Jealous, in Love with Charles, but design'd for a Spanish Merchant by her Father, and kept up from the sight of all Men. </td> <td class = "actors"> Mrs. Rogers.</td> </tr> <tr> <td class = "cast"> Patch. Her Woman. </td> <td class = "actors"> Mrs. Saunders.</td> </tr> <tr> <td class = "cast"> Scentwell. Woman to Miranda. </td> <td class = "actors"> Mrs. Mills.</td> </tr> </table> <hr> 1 B <h3>THE</h3> <h1>BUSIE BODY.</h1> <div class = "act">ACT I. SCENE The Park.</div> <div class = "scenedesc">Sir George Airy meeting Charles.</div> Cha. HA! Sir George Airy! A Birding thus early, what forbidden Game rouz'd you so soon? For no lawful Occasion cou'd invite a Person of your Figure abroad at such unfashionable Hours. Sir Geo. There are some Men, Charles, whom Fortune has left free from Inquietudes, who are diligently Studious to find out Ways and Means to make themselves uneasie. Cha. Is it possible that any thing in Nature can ruffle the Temper of a Man, whom the four Seasons of the Year compliment with as many Thousand Pounds, nay! and a Father at Rest with his Ancestors. Sir Geo. Why there 'tis now! a Man that wants Money thinks none can be unhappy that has it; but my Affairs are in such a whimsical Posture, that it will require a Calculation of my Nativity to find if my Gold will relieve me or not. Cha. Ha, ha, ha, never consult the Stars about that; Gold has a Power beyond them; Gold unlocks the Midnight Councils; Gold out-does the Wind, becalms the Ship, or fills her Sails; Gold is omnipotent below; it makes whole Armies fight, or fly; It buys even Souls, and bribes the Wretches to 2 betray their Country: Then what can thy Business be, that Gold won't serve thee in? Sir Geo. Why, I'm in Love. Cha. In Love— Ha, ha, ha, ha; In Love, Ha, ha, ha, with what, prithee, a Cherubin! Sir Geo. No, with a Woman. Cha. A Woman, Good, Ha, ha, ha, and Gold not help thee? Sir Geo. But suppose I'm in Love with two— Cha. Ay, if thou'rt in Love with two hundred, Gold will fetch 'em, I warrant thee, Boy. But who are they? who are they? come. Sir Geo. One is a Lady, whose Face I never saw, but Witty as an Angel; the other Beautiful as Venus— Cha. And a Fool— Sir Geo. For ought I know, for I never spoke to her, but you can inform me; I am charm'd by the Wit of One, and dye for the Beauty of the Other? Cha. And pray, which are you in Quest of now? Sir Geo. I prefer the Sensual Pleasure, I'm for her I've seen, who is thy Father's Ward Miranda. Cha. Nay then, I pity you; for the Jew my Father will no more part with her, and 30000 Pound, than he wou'd with a Guinea to keep me from starving. Sir Geo. Now you see Gold can't do every thing, Charles. Cha. Yes, for 'tis her Gold that bars my Father's Gate against you. Sir Geo. Why, if he is this avaricious Wretch, how cam'st thou by such a Liberal Education? Cha. Not a Souse out of his Pocket, I assure you; I had an Uncle who defray'd that Charge, but for some litte Wildnesses of Youth, tho' he made me his Heir, left Dad my Guardian till I came to Years of Discretion, which I presume the old Gentleman will never think I am; and now he has got the Estate into his Clutches, it does me no more good, than if it lay in Prester John's Dominions. Sir Geo. What can'st thou find no Stratagem to redeem it? 3 B2 Cha. I have made many Essays to no purpose; tho' Want, the Mistress of Invention, still tempts me on, yet still the old Fox is too cunning for me— I am upon my last Project, which if it fails, then for my last Refuge, a Brown Musquet. Sir Geo. What is't, can I assist thee? Cha. Not yet, when you can, I have Confidence enough in you to ask it. Sir Geo. I am always ready, but what do's he intend to do with Miranda? Is she to be sold in private? or will he put her up by way of Auction, at who bids most? If so, Egad, I'm for him: my Gold, as you say, shall be subservient to my Pleasure. Cha. To deal ingeniously with you, Sir George, I know very little of Her, or Home; for since my Uncle's Death, and my Return from Travel, I have never been well with my Father; he thinks my Expences too great, and I his Allowance too little; he never sees me, but he quarrels; and to avoid that, I shun his House as much as possible. The Report is, he intends to marry her himself. Sir Geo. Can she consent to it? Cha. Yes faith, so they say; but I tell you, I am wholly ignorant of the matter. Miranda and I are like two violent Members of a contrary Party, I can scarce allow her Beauty, tho' all the World do's; nor she me Civility, for that Contempt, I fancy she plays the Mother-in-law already, and sets the old Gentleman on to do mischief. Sir Geo. Then I've your free Consent to get her. Cha. Ay and my helping-hand, if occasion be. Sir Geo. Pugh, yonder's a Fool coming this way, let's avoid him. Cha. What Marplot, no no, he's my Instrument; there's a thousand Conveniences in him, he'll lend me his Money when he has any, run of my Errands and be proud on't; in short, he'll Pimp for me, Lye for me, Drink for me, do any thing but Fight for me, and that I trust to my own Arm for. Sir Geo. Nay then he's to be endur'd; I never knew his Qualifications before. 4 <div class = "entrance">Enter Marplot with a Patch cross his Face.</div> Marpl. Dear Charles, your's,— Ha! Sir George Airy, the Man in the World, I have an Ambition to be known to (aside.) Give me thy Hand, dear Boy— Cha. A good Assurance! But heark ye, how came your Beautiful Countenance clouded in the wrong place? Marpl. I must confess 'tis a little Mal-a-propos, but no matter for that; a Word with you, Charles; Prithee, introduce me to Sir George— he is a Man of Wit, and I'd give ten Guinea's to— Cha. When you have 'em, you mean. Marpl. Ay, when I have 'em; pugh, pox, you cut the Thread of my Discourse— I wou'd give ten Guinea's, I say, to be rank'd in his Acquaintance: Well, 'tis a vast Addition to a Man's Fortune, according to the Rout of the World, to be seen in the Company of Leading Men; for then we are all thought to be Politicians, or Whigs, or Jacks, or High-Flyers, or Low-Flyers, or Levellers—and so forth; for you must know, we all herd in Parties now. Cha. Then a Fool for Diversion is out of Fashion, I find. Marpl. Yes, without it be a mimicking Fool, and they are Darlings every where; but prithee introduce me. Cha. Well, on Condition you'll give us a true Account how you came by that Mourning Nose, I will. Marpl. I'll do it. Cha. Sir George, here's a Gentleman has a passionate Desire to kiss your Hand. Sir Geo. Oh, I honour Men of the Sword, and I presume this Gentleman is lately come from Spain or Portugal—by his Scars. Marpl. No really, Sir George, mine sprung from civil Fury, happening last Night into the Groom-Porters—I had a strong Inclination to go ten Guineas with a sort of a, sort of a—kind of a Milk Sop, as I thought: A Pox of the Dice he flung out, and my Pockets being empty as Charles 5 knows they sometimes are, he prov'd a surly North-Britain, and broke my Face for my Deficiency. Sir Geo. Ha! ha! and did not you draw? Marpl. Draw, Sir, why, I did but lay my Hand upon my Sword to make a swift Retreat, and he roar'd out. Now the Deel a Ma sol, Sir, gin ye touch yer Steel, Ise whip mine through yer Wem. Sir Geo. Ha, ha, ha, Cha. Ha, ha, ha, ha, fase was the Word, so you walk'd off, I suppose. Marp. Yes, for I avoid fighting, purely to be serviceable to my Friends you know— Sir Geo. Your Friends are much oblig'd to you, Sir, I hope you'll rank me in that Number. Marpl. Sir George, a Bow from the side Box, or to be seen in your Chariot, binds me ever yours. Sir Geo. Trifles, you may command 'em when you please. Cha. Provided he may command you— Marpl. Me! why I live for no other purpose— Sir George, I have the Honour to be carest by most of the reigning Toasts of the Town, I'll tell 'em you are the finest Gentleman— Sir Geo. No, no, prithee let me alone to tell the Ladies—my Parts—can you convey a Letter upon Occasion, or deliver a Message with an Air of Business, Ha! Marpl. With the Assurance of a Page and the Gravity of a Statesman. Sir Geo. You know Miranda! Marpl. What, my Sister Ward? Why, her Guardian is mine, we are Fellow Sufferers: Ah! he is a covetous, cheating, sanctify'd Curmudgeon; that Sir Francis Gripe is a damn'd old— Char. I suppose, Friend, you forget that he is my Father— Marpl. I ask your Pardon, Charles, but it is for your sake I hate him. Well, I say, the World is mistaken in him, his Out-side Piety, makes him every Man's Executor, and his Inside Cunning, makes him every Heir's Jaylor. Egad, Charles, I'm half persuaded that thou'rt some Ward too, and never of 6 his getting: For thou art as honest a Debauchee as ever Cuckolded Man of Quality. Sir Geo. A pleasant Fellow. Cha. The Dog is Diverting sometimes, or there wou'd be no enduring his Impertinence: He is pressing to be employ'd and willing to execute, but some ill Fate generally attends all he undertakes, and he oftner spoils an Intreague than helps it— Marpl. If I miscarry 'tis none of my Fault, I follow my Instructions. Cha. Yes, witness the Merchant's Wife. Marpl. Pish, Pox, that was an Accident. Sir Geo. What was it, prithee? Ch. Why, you must know, I had lent a certain Merchant my hunting Horses, and was to have met his Wife in his Absence: Sending him along with my Groom to make the Complement, and to deliver a Letter to the Lady at the same time; what does he do, but gives the Husband the Letter, and offers her the Horses. Marpl. I remember you was even with me, for you deny'd the Letter to be yours, and swore I had a design upon her, which my Bones paid for. Cha. Come, Sir George, let's walk round, if you are not ingag'd, for I have sent my Man upon a little earnest Business, and have order'd him to bring me the Answer into the Park. Marpl. Business, and I not know it, Egad I'll watch him. Sir Geo. I must beg your Pardon, Charles, I am to meet your Father here. Ch. My Father! Sir Geo. Aye! and about the oddest Bargain perhaps you ever heard off; but I'll not impart till I know the Success. Marpl. What can his Business be with Sir Francis? Now wou'd I give all the World to know it; why the Devil should not one know every Man's Concern. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Cha. Prosperity to't whate'er it be, I have private Affairs too; over a Bottle we'll compare Notes. 7 Marpl. Charles knows I love a Glass as well as any Man, I'll make one; shall it be to Night? <ins class = "correction" title = "correct as printed">Ad</ins> I long to know their Secrets. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> <div class = "entrance">Enter Whisper.</div> Whis. Sir, Sir, Mis Patch says, Isabinda's Spanish Father has quite spoil'd the Plot, and she can't meet you in the Park, but he infallibly will go out this Afternoon, she says; but I must step again to know the Hour. Marpl. What did Whisper say now? I shall go stark Mad, if I'm not let into this Secret. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Cha. Curst Misfortune, come along with me, my Heart feels Pleasure at her Name. Sir George, yours; we'll meet at the old place the usual Hour. Sir Geo. Agreed; I think I see Sir Francis yonder. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> Cha. Marplot, you must excuse me, I am engag'd. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> Marpl. Engag'd, Egad I'll engage my Life, I'll know what your Engagement is. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> Miran. (Coming out of a Chair.) Let the Chair wait: My Servant, That dog'd Sir George said he was in the Park. <div class = "entrance">Enter Patch.</div> Ha! Mis Patch alone, did not you tell me you had contriv'd a way to bring Isabinda to the Park? Patch. Oh, Madam, your Ladiship can't imagine what a wretched Disappointment we have met with: Just as I had fetch'd a Suit of my Cloaths for a Disguise: comes my old Master into his Closet, which is right against her Chamber Door; this struck us into a terrible Fright— At length I put on a Grave Face, and ask'd him if he was at leisure for his Chocolate, in hopes to draw him out of his Hole; but he snap'd my Nose off, No, I shall be busie here this two Hours; at which my poor Mistress seeing no way of Escape, order'd me to wait on your Ladiship with the sad Relation. Miran. Unhappy Isabinda! Was ever any thing so unaccountable as the Humour of Sir <ins class = "correction" title = "so in original">Jealousie</ins> Traffick. 8 Patch. Oh, Madam, it's his living so long in Spain, he vows he'll spend half his Estate, but he'll be a Parliament-Man, on purpose to bring in a Bill for Women to wear Veils, and the other odious Spanish Customs— He swears it is the height of Impudence to have a Woman seen Bare-fac'd even at Church, and scarce believes there's a true begotten Child in the City. Miran. Ha, ha, ha, how the old Fool torments himself! Suppose he could introduce his rigid Rules—does he think we cou'd not match them in Contrivance? No, no; Let the Tyrant Man make what Laws he will, if there's a Woman under the Government, I warrant she finds a way to break 'em: Is his Mind set upon the Spaniard for his Son-in-law still? Patch. Ay, and he expects him by the next Fleet, which drives his Daughter to Melancholy and Despair: But, Madam, I find you retain the same gay, cheerful Spirit you had, when I waited on your Ladiship.— My Lady is mighty good-humour'd too, and I have found a way to make Sir <ins class = "correction" title = "so in original">Jealousie</ins> believe I am wholly in his Interest, when my real Design is to serve her; he makes me her Jaylor, and I set her at Liberty. Miran. I know thy Prolifick Brain wou'd be of singular Service to her, or I had not parted with thee to her Father. Patch. But, Madam, the Report is that you are going to marry your Guardian. Miran. It is necessary such a Report shou'd be, Patch. Patch. But is it true, Madam? Miran. That's not absolutely necessary. Patch. I thought it was only the old Strain, coaxing him still for your own, and railing at all the young Fellows about Town; in my Mind now, you are as ill plagu'd with your Guardian, Madam, as my Lady is with her Father. Miran. No, I have Liberty, Wench, that she wants; what would she give now to be in this dissabilee in the—open Air, nay more, in pursuit of the young Fellow she likes; for that's my Case, I assure thee. Patch. As for that, Madam, she's even with you; for tho' 9 C she can't come abroad, we have a way to bring him home in spight of old Argus. Miran. Now Patch, your Opinion of my Choice, for here he comes— Ha! my Guardian with him; what can be the meaning of this? I'm sure Sir Francis can't know me in this Dress— Let's observe 'em. <div class = "stagedir">(They withdraw.</div> <div class = "entrance">Enter Sir Francis Gripe and Sir George Airy.</div> Sir Fran. Verily, Sir George, thou wilt repent throwing away thy Money so, for I tell thee sincerely, Miranda, my Charge do's not love a young Fellow, they are all vicious, and seldom make good Husbands; in sober Sadness she cannot abide 'em. Miran. (Peeping.) In sober Sadness you are mistaken—what can this mean? Sir Geo. Look ye, Sir Francis, whether she can or cannot abide young Fellows is not the Business; will you take the fifty Guineas? Sir Fran. In good truth— I will not, for I knew thy Father, he was a hearty wary Man, and I cannot consent that his Son should squander away what he sav'd, to no purpose. Mirand. (Peeping.) Now, in the Name of Wonder, what Bargain can he be driving about me for fifty Guineas? Patch. I wish it ben't for the first Night's Lodging, Madam. Sir Geo. Well, Sir Francis, since you are so conscientious for my Father's sake, then permit me the Favour, Gratis. Miran. (Peeping.) The Favour! Oh my Life! I believe 'tis as you said, Patch. Sir Fran. No verily, if thou dost not buy thy Experience, thou wou'd never be wise; therefore give me a Hundred and try Fortune. Sir Geo. The Scruples arose, I find, from the scanty Sum— Let me see—a Hundred Guineas— (Takes 'em out of a Purse and chinks 'em.) Ha! they have a very pretty Sound, and a very pleasing Look— But then, Miranda— But if she should be cruel— Miran. (Peeping.) As Ten to One I shall— 10 Sir Fran. Ay, do consider on't, He, he, he, he. Sir Geo. No, I'll do't. Patch. Do't, what, whether you will or no, Madam? Sir Geo. Come to the Point, here's the Gold, sum up the Conditions— Sir Fran. (Pulling out a Paper.) Miran. (Peeping.) Ay for Heaven's sake do, for my Expectation is on the Rack. Sir Fran. Well at your own Peril be it. Sir Geo. Aye, aye, go on. Sir Fran. Imprimis, you are to be admitted into my House in order to move your Suit to Miranda, for the space of Ten Minutes, without Lett or Molestation, provided I remain in the same Room. Sir Geo. But out of Ear shot— Sir Fran. Well, well, I don't desire to hear what you say, Ha, ha, ha, in consideration I am to have that Purse and a hundred Guineas. Sir Geo. Take it— <div class = "stagedir">(Gives him the Purse.</div> Miran. (Peeping.) So, 'tis well it's no worse, I'll fit you both— Sir Geo. And this Agreement is to be perform'd to Day. Sir Fran. Aye, aye, the sooner the better, poor Fool, how Miranda and I shall laugh at him— Well, Sir George, Ha, ha, ha, take the last sound of your Guineas, Ha, ha, ha. <div class = "stagedir">(Chinks 'em.)(Exit.</div> Miran. (Peeping.) Sure he does not know I am Miranda. Sir Geo. A very extraordinary Bargain I have made truly, if she should be really in Love with this old Cuff now— Psha, that's morally impossible—but then what hopes have I to succeed, I never spoke to her— Miran. (Peeping.) Say you so? Then I am safe. Sir Geo. What tho' my Tongue never spoke, my Eyes said a thousand Things, and my Hopes flatter'd me hers answer'd 'em. If I'm lucky—if not, 'tis but a hundred Guineas thrown away. <div class = "stagedir">(Miranda and Patch come forwards.</div> Miran. Upon what Sir George? 11 C2 Sir Geo. Ha! my Incognito—upon a Woman, Madam. Miran. They are the worst Things you can deal in, and damage the soonest; your very Breath destroys 'em, and I fear you'll never see your Return, Sir George, Ha, ha! Sir Geo. Were they more brittle than China, and drop'd to pieces with a Touch, every Atom of her I have ventur'd at, if she is but Mistress of thy Wit, ballances Ten times the Sum— Prithee let me see thy Face. Miran. By no means, that may spoil your Opinion of my Sense— Sir Geo. Rather confirm it, Madam. Patch. So rob the Lady of your Gallantry, Sir. Sir Geo. No Child, a Dish of Chocolate in the Morning never spoils my Dinner; the other Lady, I design a set Meal; so there's no danger— Miran. Matrimony! Ha, ha, ha; what Crimes have you committed against the God of Love, that he should revenge 'em so severely to stamp Husband upon your Forehead— Sir Geo. For my Folly in having so often met you here, without pursuing the Laws of Nature, and exercising her command— But I resolve e'er we part now, to know who you are, where you live, and what kind of Flesh and Blood your Face is; therefore unmask and don't put me to the trouble of doing it for you. Miran. My Face is the same Flesh and Blood with my Hand, Sir George, which if you'll be so rude to provoke. Sir Geo. You'll apply it to my Cheek— The Ladies Favours are always Welcome; but I must have that Cloud withdrawn. (Taking hold of her.) Remember you are in the Park, Child, and what a terrible thing would it be to lose this pretty white Hand. Miran. And how will it sound in a Chocolate-House, that Sir George Airy rudely pull'd off a Ladies Mask, when he had given her his Honour, that he never would, directly or indirectly endeavour to know her till she gave him Leave. Patch. I wish we were safe out. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Geo. But if that Lady thinks fit to pursue and meet me at every turn like some troubl'd Spirit, shall I be blam'd 12 if I inquire into the Reality? I would have nothing dissatisfy'd in a Female Shape. Miran. What shall I do? <div class = "stagedir">(Pause.</div> Sir Geo. Ay, prithee consider, for thou shalt find me very much at thy Service. Patch. Suppose, Sir, the Lady shou'd be in Love with you. Sir Geo. Oh! I'll return the Obligation in a Moment. Patch. And marry her? Sir Geo. Ha, ha, ha, that's not the way to Love her Child. Miran. If he discovers me, I shall die— Which way shall I escape?— Let me see. <div class = "stagedir">(Pauses.</div> Sir Geo. Well, Madam— Miran. I have it— Sir George, 'tis fit you should allow something; if you'll excuse my Face, and turn your Back (if you look upon me I shall sink, even mask'd as I am) I will confess why I have engag'd you so often, who I am, and where I live? Sir Geo. Well, to show you I'm a Man of Honour I accept the Conditions. Let me but once know those, and the Face won't be long a Secret to me. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Patch. What mean you, Madam? Miran. To get off. Sir Geo. 'Tis something indecent to turn ones Back upon a Lady; but you command and I obey. (Turns his Back.) Come, Madam, begin— Miran. First then it was my unhappy Lot to see you at Paris (Draws back a little while and speaks) at a Ball upon a Birth-Day; your Shape and Air charm'd my Eyes; your Wit and Complaisance my Soul, and from that fatal Night I lov'd you. (Drawing back.) And when you left the Place, Grief seiz'd me so— No Rest my Heart, no Sleep my Eyes cou'd know.— <div class = "verse"> Last I resolv'd a hazardous Point to try, And quit the Place in search of Liberty.</div> <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> 13 Sir Geo. Excellent— I hope she's Handsome— Well, Now, Madam, to the other two Things: Your Name, and where you live?— I am a Gentleman, and this Confession will not be lost upon me.— Nay, prithee don't weep, but go on—for I find my Heart melts in thy Behalf—speak quickly or I shall turn about— Not yet.— Poor Lady, she expects I shou'd comfort her; and to do her Justice, she has said enough to encourage me. (Turns about.) Ha? gone! The Devil, jilted? Why, what a Tale has she invented—of Paris, Balls, and Birth-Days.— Egad I'd give Ten Guineas to know who this Gipsie is.— A Curse of my Folly— I deserve to lose her; what Woman can forgive a Man that turns his Back. <div class = "versespace"> The Bold and Resolute, in Love and War, To Conquer take the Right, and swiftest way; The boldest Lover soonest gains the Fair, As Courage makes the rudest Force obey, Take no denial, and the Dames adore ye, Closely pursue them and they fall before ye.</div> <div class = "sceneplain">The End of the First ACT.</div> 14 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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