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<div class = "act">ACT the Fourth.</div> <div class = "sceneplain">SCENE the Out-side of Sir Jealous Traffick's House, Patch peeping out of Door.</div> <div class = "scenedesc">Enter Whisper.</div> Whisp. HA, Mrs. Patch, this is a lucky Minute, to find you so readily, my Master dies with Impatience. Patch. My Lady imagin'd so, and by her Orders I have been scouting this hour in search of you, to inform you that Sir Jealous has invited some Friends to Supper with him to Night, which gives an Opportunity to your Master to make use of his Ladder of Ropes: The Closet Window shall be open, and Isabinda ready to receive him; bid him come immediately. Whisp. Excellent, He'll not disappoint I warrant him: But hold, I have a Letter here, which I'm to carry an Answer of: I can't think what Language the Direction is. Patch. Pho, 'tis no Language, but a Character which the Lovers invented to avert Discovery: Ha, I hear my old Master coming down Stairs, it is impossible you shou'd have an Answer; away, and bid him come himself for that—begone we are ruined if you're seen, for he has doubl'd his Care since the last Accident. Whisp. I go, I go. <div class = "stagedir">[Exit.</div> Patch. There, go thou into my Pocket. [Puts it besides, and it falls down.] Now I'll up the back Stairs, lest I meet him. Well, a dexterous Chamber-maid is the Ladies best Utensil, I say. <div class = "stagedir">[Exit.</div> <div class = "entrance">Enter Sir Jealous with a Letter in his Hand.</div> Sir Jeal. So, this is some Comfort, this tells me that Seignior Don Diego Babinetto is safely arriv'd, he shall marry my Daughter the Minute he comes, ha. What's here [takes up the Letter Patch drop'd] a Letter! I don't know what to 44 make of the Superscription. I'll see what's within side, [opens it] humph; 'tis Hebrew I think. What can this mean. There must be some trick in it; this was certainly design'd for my Daughter, but I don't know that she can speak any Language but her Mother-Tongue. No matter for that, this may be one of Love's Hieroglyphicks, and I fancy I saw Patch's Tail sweep by. That Wench may be a Slut, and instead of guarding my Honour, betray it; I'll find it out I'm resolv'd; who's there? What Answer did you bring from the Gentlemen I sent you to invite? Serv. That they'd all wait of you, Sir, as I told you before, but I suppose you forget, Sir. Sir Jeal. Did I so, Sir, but I shan't forget to break your Head, if any of 'em come, Sir. Serv. Come, Sir, why did not you send me to desire their Company, Sir? Sir Jeal. But I send you now to desire their Absence; say I have something extraordinary fallen out, which calls me abroad, contrary to Expectation, and ask their Pardon, and d'ye hear, send the Butler to me. Serv. Yes, Sir. <div class = "stagedir">[Exit.</div> <div class = "entrance">Enter Butler.</div> Sir Jeal. If this Paper has a Meaning I'll find it. Lay the Cloath in my Daughter's Chamber, and bid the Cook send Supper thither presently. Butl. Yes, Sir,—hey day, what's the Matter now? <div class = "stagedir">[Exit.</div> Sir Jeal. He wants the Eyes of Argus, that has a young handsome Daughter in this Town, but my Comfort is, I shall not be troubl'd long with her. He that pretends to rule a Girl once in her Teens, had better be at Sea in a Storm, and would be in less Danger. <div class = "verse"> For let him do, or Counsel all he can, She thinks and dreams of nothing else but Man.</div> <div class = "stagedir">[Exit.</div> 45 <div class = "sceneplain">SCENE Isabinda's Chamber, Isabinda and Patch.</div> Isab. Are you sure, no Body saw you speak to Whisper? Patch. Yes, very sure Madam, but I heard Sir Jealous coming down Stairs, so I clap'd this Letter into my Pocket. <div class = "stagedir">(Feels for the Letter.</div> Isab. A Letter! give it me quickly. Patch. Bless me! what's become on't— I'm sure I put it— <div class = "stagedir">(Searching still.</div> Isab. Is it possible, thou could'st be so Careless— Oh! I'm undone for ever if it be lost. Patch. I must have drop'd it upon the Stairs. But why are you so much alarm'd, if the worst happens no body can read it, Madam, nor find out whom it was design'd for. Isab. If it falls into my Father's Hands the very Figure of a Letter will produce ill Consequences. Run and look for it upon the Stairs this Moment. Patch. Nay, I'm sure it can be no where else.— (As she's going out of the Door meets the Butler.) How now, what do you want? Butl. My Master order'd me to lay the Cloth here for his Supper. Isab. Ruin'd past Redemption— <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Patch. You mistake sure; what shall we do? Isab. I thought he expected Company to Night— Oh! poor Charles— Oh! unfortunate Isabinda. Butl. I thought so too Madam, but I suppose he has alter'd his Mind. <div class = "stagedir">(Lays the Cloth, and Exit.</div> Isab. The Letter is the Cause; this heedless Action has undone me: Fly and fasten the Closet-window, which will give Charles notice to retire. Ha, my Father, oh! Confusion. <div class = "entrance">Enter Sir Jealous.</div> Sir Jeal. Hold, hold, Patch, whither are you going. I'll have no body stir out of the Room till after Supper. Patch. Sir, I was only going to reach your easie Chair— Oh! wretched Accident! 46 Sir Jeal. I'll have no body stir out of the Room. I don't want my easie Chair. Isab. What will be the event of this? <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Jeal. Hark ye Daughter, do you know this Hand? Isab. As I suspected— Hand do you call it, Sir? 'Tis some School-boy's Scraul. Patch. Oh! Invention, thou Chamber-maid's best Friend, assist me. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Jeal. Are you sure you don't understand it? <div class = "entrance">(Patch. Feels in her Bosom, and shakes her Coats.)</div> Isab. Do you understand it, Sir? Sir Jeal. I wish I did. Isab. Thank Heaven you do not. (aside) Then I know no more of it than you do indeed, Sir. Patch. Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have you done, Sir? Why the Paper is mine, I drop'd it out of my Bosom. <div class = "stagedir">(Snatching it from him.</div> Sir Jeal. Ha! yours, Mistress. Isab. What does she mean by owning it. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Patch. Yes, Sir, it is. Sir Jeal. What is it? Speak. Patch. Why, Sir, it is a Charm for the Tooth-ach— I have worn it this seven Year, 'twas given me by an Angel for ought I know, when I was raving with the Pain; for no body knew from whence he came, nor whither he went, he charg'd me never to open it, lest some dire Vengeance befal me, and Heaven knows what will be the Event. Oh! cruel Misfortune that I should drop it, and you should open it— If you had not open'd it— Isab. Excellent Wench. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Jeal. Pox of your Charms, and Whims for me, if that be all 'tis well enough; there, there, burn it, and I warrant you no Vengeance will follow. Patch. So, all's right again thus far. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Isab. I would not lose Patch for the World— I'll take courage a little. (aside) Is this Usage for your Daughter, Sir, must my Virtue and Conduct be suspected? For every Trifle, you immure me like some dire Offender here, and deny me 47 all Recreations which my Sex enjoy, and the Custom of the Country and Modesty allow; yet not content with that you make my Confinement more intolerable by your Mistrusts and Jealousies; wou'd I were dead, so I were free from this. <div class = "stagedir">(Weeps.</div> Sir Jeal. To morrow rids you of this tiresome Load,—Don Diego Babinetto will be here, and then my Care ends and his begins. Isab. Is he come then! Oh how shall I avoid this hated Marriage? <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> <div class = "entrance">Enter Servants with Supper.</div> Sir Jeal. Come will you sit down? Isab. I can't eat, Sir. Patch. No, I dare swear he has given her Supper enough. I wish I cou'd get into the Closet— <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Jeal. Well, if you can't eat, then give me a Song whilst I do. Isab. I have such a Cold I can scarce speak, Sir, much less sing. How shall I prevent Charles coming in. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Jeal. I hope you have the Use of your Fingers, Madam. Play a Tune upon your Spinnet, whilst your Woman sings me a Song. Patch. I'm as much out of Tune as my Lady, if he knew all. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Isab. I shall make excellent Musick. <div class = "stagedir">(Sits down to play.</div> Patch. Really, Sir, I'm so frighted about your opening this Charm, that I can't remember one Song. Sir Jeal. Pish, hang your Charm; come, come, sing any thing. Patch. Yes, I'm likely to sing truly (aside) humph, humph, bless me, Sir, I cannot raise my Voice, my Heart pants so. Sir Jeal. Why, what does your Heart pant so that you can't play neither? Pray what Key are you in, ha? Patch. Ah, wou'd the Key was turn'd of you once. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Jeal. Why don't you sing, I say! Patch. When Madam has put her Spinnet in Tune, Sir, humph, humph.— 48 Isab. I cannot play, Sir, whatever ails me. <div class = "stagedir">(Rising.</div> Sir Jeal. Zounds sit down, and play me a Tune, or I'll break the Spinnet about your Ears. Isab. What will become of me? <div class = "stagedir">(Sits down and plays.</div> Sir Jeal. Come, Mistress. <div class = "stagedir">(To Patch</div> Patch. Yes, Sir. <div class = "stagedir">(Sings, but horribly out of Tune.</div> Sir Jeal. Hey, hey, why you are a top of the House, and you are down in the Cellar. What is the meaning of this? Is it on purpose to cross me, ha? Patch. Pray Madam, take it a little lower, I cannot reach that Note—nor any Note I fear. Isab. Well, begin— Oh! Patch we shall be discover'd. Patch. I sink with the Apprehension, Madam,—humph, humph— <div class = "stagedir">(Sings)(Charles pulls open the Closet Door.</div> Char. Musick and Singing <div class = "verse"> 'Tis thus the bright Coelestial Court above, Beguiles the Hours with Musick and with Love.</div> Death! her Father there, (The Women shriek) then I must fly— <div class = "stagedir">(Exit into the Closet)</div> <div class = "stagedir">(Sir Jealous rises up hastily, seeing Charles slip back into the Closet.</div> Sir Jeal. Hell and Furies, a Man in the Closet— Patch. Ah! a Ghost, a Ghost—he must not enter the Closet— <div class = "stagedir">(Isabinda throws her self down before the Closet-door as in a <ins class = "correction" title = "so in original: swound?">Sound</ins>.</div> Sir Jeal. The Devil! I'll make a Ghost of him I warrant you. <div class = "stagedir">(Strives to get by.</div> Patch. Oh hold, Sir, have a care, you'l tread upon my Lady— who waits there? Bring some Water: Oh! this comes of your opening the Charm: Oh, oh, oh, oh. <div class = "stagedir">(Weeps aloud.</div> Sir Jeal. I'll Charm you, House-wife, here lies the Charm, that conjur'd this Fellow in I'm sure on't, come out you Rascal, do so: Zounds take her from the Door, or I'll spurn her from it, and break your Neck down Stairs. Isab. Oh, oh, where am I— He's gone, I heard him leap down. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside to Patch.</div> Patch. Nay, then let him enter—here, here Madam, smell to this; come give me your Hand; come nearer to the Window, the Air will do you good. 49 H Sir Jeal. I wou'd she were in her Grave. Where are you, Sirrah, Villain, Robber of my Honour; I'll pull you out of your Nest. <div class = "stagedir">(Goes into the Closet.</div> Patch. You'l be mistaken, old Gentleman, the Bird is flown. Isab. I'm glad I have 'scap'd so well. I was almost dead in earnest with the Fright. <div class = "entrance">Re-enter Sir Jealous out of the Closet.</div> Sir Jeal. Whoever the Dog were he has escap'd out of the Window, for the Sash is up. But tho' he is got out of my Reach, you are not: And first Mrs. Pandor, with your Charms for Tooth-ach, get out of my House, go, troop; yet hold, stay, I'll see you out of my Doors my self, but I'll secure your Charge e'er I go. Isab. What do you mean, Sir? Was she not a Creature of your own providing? Sir Jeal. She was of the Devil's providing for ought I know. Patch. What have I done, Sir to merit your Displeasure? Sir Jeal. I don't know which of you have done it; but you shall both suffer for it, till I can discover whose Guilt it is: Go get in there, I'll move you from this side of the House (Pushes Isabinda in at the other Door, and locks it; puts the Key in his Pocket.) I'll keep the Key my self: I'll try what Ghost will get into that Room. And now forsooth I'll wait on you down Stairs. Patch. Ah, my poor Lady— Down Stairs, Sir, but I won't go out, Sir, till I have look'd up my Cloaths. Sir Jeal. If thou wer't as naked as thou wer't born, thou should'st not stay to put on a Smock. Come along, I say, when your Mistress is marry'd you shall have your Rags, and every thing that belongs to you; but till then— <div class = "stagedir">(Exit, pulling her out.</div> Patch. Oh! barbarous Usage for nothing. <div class = "entrance">Re-enter at the lower Door.</div> Sir Jeal. There, go, and, come no more within sight of my Habitation, these three Days, I charge you. <div class = "stagedir">(Slaps the Door after her.</div> 50 Patch. Did ever any Body see such an old Monster! <div class = "entrance">Enter Charles.</div> Patch. Oh! Mr. Charles your Affairs and mine are in an ill Posture. Char. I am immur'd to the Frowns of Fortune: But what has befal'n thee? Patch. Sir Jealous, whose suspicious Nature's always on the Watch; nay, even whilst one Eye sleeps, the other keeps Sentinel: Upon sight of you, flew into such a violent Passion, that I cou'd find no Stratagem to appease him, but in spight of all Arguments, lock'd his Daughter into his own Apartment, and turn'd me out of Doors. Char. Ha! oh, Isabinda. Patch. And swears she shall neither see Sun nor Moon, till she is Don Diego Babinetto's Wife, who arrived last Night, and is expected with impatience. Char. He dies, yes, by all the Wrongs of Love he shall; here will I plant my self, and thro' my Breast he shall make his Passage, if he enters. Patch. A most heroick Resolution. There might be ways found out more to your Advantage. Policy is often preferr'd to open force. Char. I apprehend you not. Patch. What think you of personating this Spaniard, imposing upon the Father, and marrying your Mistress by his own Consent. Char. Say'st thou so my Angel! Oh cou'd that be done, my Life to come wou'd be too short to recompence thee: But how can I do that, when I neither know what Ship he came in, nor from what part of Spain; who recommends him, nor how attended. Patch. I can solve all this. He is from Madrid, his Father's Name Don Pedro Questo Portento Babinetto. Here's a Letter of his to Sir Jealous, which he drop'd one Day; you understand Spanish, and the Hand may be counterfeited: You conceive me, Sir. 51 H2 Char. My better Genius, thou hast reviv'd my drooping Soul: I'll about it instantly. Come to my Lodgings, and we'll concert Matters. <div class = "stagedir">(Exeunt.</div> <div class = "sceneplain">SCENE a Garden Gate open, Scentwell waiting within.</div> <div class = "scenedesc">Enter Sir George Airy.</div> Sir Geo. So, this is the Gate, and most invitingly open: If there shou'd be a Blunderbuss here now, what a dreadful Ditty wou'd my Fall make for Fools; and what a Jest for the Wits; how my Name wou'd be roar'd about Streets. Well I'll venture all. Scentw. Hist, hist, Sir George Airy— <div class = "stagedir">(Enters.</div> Sir Geo. A Female Voice, thus far I'm safe, my Dear. Scentw. No, I'm not your Dear, but I'll conduct you to her, give me your Hand; you must go thro' many a dark Passage and dirty Step before you arrive— Sir Geo. I know I must before I arrive at Paradise; therefore be quick my charming Guide. Scentw. For ought you know; come, come your Hand and away. Sir Geo. Here, here Child, you can't be half so swift as my Desires. <div class = "stagedir">(Exeunt.</div> <div class = "sceneplain">SCENE the House.</div> <div class = "scenedesc">Enter Miranda.</div> Miran. Well, let me reason a little with my mad self. Now don't I transgress all Rules to venture upon a Man, without the Advice of the Grave and Wise; but then a rigid knavish Guardian who wou'd have marry'd me. To whom? Even to his nauseous self, or no Body: Sir George is what I have try'd in Conversation, inquir'd into his Character, am satisfied in both. Then his Love; who wou'd have given a hundred Pound only to have seen a Woman he had not infinitely loved? So I find my liking him has furnish'd me with Arguments enough of his side; and now the only Doubt remains whether he will come or no. 52 <div class = "entrance">Enter Scentwell.</div> Scentw. That's resolv'd, Madam, for here's the Knight. <div class = "stagedir">Exit Scentwell.</div> Sir Geo. And do I once more behold that lovely Object, whose Idea fills my Mind, and forms my pleasing Dreams! Miran. What beginning again in Heroicks!— Sir George, don't you remember how little Fruit your last Prodigal Oration produced, not one bare single Word in answer. Sir Geo. Ha! the Voice of my Incognita— Why did you take Ten Thousand ways to captivate a Heart your Eyes alone had vanquish'd? Miran. Prithee, no more of these Flights; for our Time's but short, and we must fall into Business: Do you think we can agree on that same terrible Bugbear, Matrimony, without heartily Repenting on both sides. Sir Geo. It has been my wish since first my longing Eyes beheld ye. Miran. And your happy Ears drank in the pleasing News, I had Thirty Thousand Pound. Sir Geo. Unkind! Did I not offer you in those purchas'd Minutes to run the Risque of your Fortune, so you wou'd but secure that lovely Person to my Arms. Miran. Well, if you have such Love and Tenderness, (since our Woing has been short) pray reserve it for our future Days, to let the World see we are Lovers after Wedlock; 'twill be a Novelty— Sir Geo. Haste then, and let us tye the Knot, and prove the envy'd Pair— Miran. Hold! not so fast, I have provided better than to venture on dangerous Experiments headlong— My Guardian, trusting to my dissembled Love, has given up my Fortune to my own dispose; but with this Proviso, that he to Morrow morning weds me. He is now gone to Doctors Commons for a License. Sir Geo. Ha, a License! Miran. But I have planted Emissaries that infallibly take him down to Epsom, under pretence that a Brother Usurer of 53 his, is to make him his Executor; the thing on Earth he covets. Sir Geo. 'Tis his known Character. Miran. Now my Instruments confirm him, this Man is dying, and he sends me word he goes this Minute; it must be to Morrow e'er he can be undeceiv'd. That time is ours. Sir Geo. Let us improve it then, and settle on our coming Years, endless, endless Happiness. Miran. I dare not stir till I hear he's on the Road—then I and my Writings, the most material point, are soon removed. Sir Geo. I have one Favour to ask, if it lies in your power, you wou'd be a Friend to poor Charles, tho' the Son of this tenacious Man: He is as free from all his Vices, as Nature and a good Education can make him; and what now I have vanity enough to hope will induce you, he is the Man on Earth I love. Miran. I never was his Enemy, and only put it on as it help'd my Designs on his Father. If his Uncle's Estate ought to be in his Possession, which I shrewdly suspect, I may do him a singular piece of Service. Sir Geo. You are all Goodness. <div class = "entrance">Enter Scentwell.</div> Scentw. Oh, Madam, my Master and Mr. Marplot are just coming into the House. Miran. Undone, undone! if he finds you here in this Crisis, all my Plots are unravell'd. Sir Geo. What shall I do! can't I get back into the Garden? Scentw. Oh, no! he comes up those Stairs. Miran. Here, here, here! can you condescend to stand behind this Chimney-Board, Sir George? Sir Geo. Any where, any where, dear Madam, without Ceremony. Scentw. Come, come, Sir; lie close— <div class = "stagedir">(They put him behind the Chimney-Board.</div> 54 <div class = "entrance">Enter Sir Francis and <ins class = "correction" title = "text reads 'Marplott'">Marplot</ins>: Sir Francis peeling an Orange.</div> Sir Fran. I cou'd not go, tho' 'tis upon Life and Death, without taking leave of dear Chargee. Besides, this Fellow buz'd in my Ears, that thou might'st be so desperate to shoot that wild Rake which haunts the Garden-Gate; and that wou'd bring us into Trouble, dear— Miran. So, Marplot brought you back then: I am oblig'd to him for that, I'm sure— <div class = "stagedir">(Frowning at Marplot aside.</div> Marpl. By her Looks she means she is not oblig'd to me. I have done some Mischief now, but what I can't imagine. Sir Fran. Well, Chargee, I have had three Messengers to come to Epsom to my Neighbour Squeezum's who, for all his vast Riches, is departing. <div class = "stagedir">(Sighs.</div> Marpl. Ay, see what all you Usurers must come to. Sir Fran. Peace, ye young Knave! Some Forty Years hence I may think on't— But, Chargee, I'll be with thee to Morrow, before those pretty Eyes are open; I will, I will, Chargee, I'll rouze you, I saith.— Here Mrs. Scentwell, lift up your Lady's Chimney-Board, that I may throw my Peel in, and not litter her Chamber. Miran. Oh my Stars! what will become of us now? Scentw. Oh, pray Sir, give it me; I love it above all things in Nature, indeed I do. Sir Fran. No, no, Hussy; you have the Green Pip already, I'll have no more Apothecary's Bills. <div class = "stagedir">(Goes towards the Chimney.</div> Miran. Hold, hold, hold, dear Gardee, I have a, a, a, a, a Monkey shut up there; and if you open it before the Man comes that is to tame it, 'tis so wild 'twill break all my China, or get away, and that wou'd break my Heart; for I am fond on't to Distraction, next thee, dear Gardee. <div class = "stagedir">(In a flattering Tone.</div> Sir Fran. Well, well, Chargee, I wont open it; she shall have her Monkey, poor Rogue; here throw this Peel out of the Window. <div class = "entrance">(Exit Scentwell.</div> Marpl. A Monkey, dear Madam, let me see it; I can tame 55 a Monkey as well as the best of them all. Oh how I love the little Minatures of Man. Miran. Be quiet, Mischief, and stand farther from the Chimney— You shall not see my Monkey—why sure— <div class = "stagedir">(Striving with him.</div> Marpl. For Heaven's sake, dear Madam, let me but peep, to see if it be as pretty as my Lady Fiddle-Faddle's. Has it got a Chain? Miran. Not yet, but I design it one shall last its Life-time: Nay, you shall not see it— Look, Gardee, how he teazes me! Sir Fran. (Getting between him and the Chimney.) Sirrah, Sirrah, let my Chargee's Monkey alone, or Bambo shall fly about your Ears. What is there no dealing with you? Marpl. Pugh, pox of the Monkey! here's a Rout: I wish he may Rival you. <div class = "entrance">Enter a Servant.</div> Serv. Sir, they put two more Horses in the Coach, as you order'd, and 'tis ready at the Door. Sir Fran. Well, I'm going to be Executor, better for thee, Jewel. B'ye Chargee, one Buss!— I'm glad thou hast got a a Monkey to divert thee a little. Miran. Thank'e, dear Gardee.— Nay, I'll see you to the Coach. Sir Fran. That's kind, adod. Miran. Come along, Impertinence. <div class = "stagedir">(To Marplot.</div> Marpl. (Stepping back.) Egad, I will see the Monkey: Now (Lifts up the Board, and discovers Sir George.) Oh Lord, Oh Lord! Thieves, Thieves, Murder! Sir Geo. Dam'e, you unlucky Dog! 'tis I, which way shall I get out, shew me instantly, or I'll cut your Throat. Marpl. Undone, undone! At that Door there. But hold, hold, break that China, and I'll bring you off. <div class = "stagedir">(He runs off at the Corner, and throws down some China.</div> <div class = "entrance">Re-enter Sir Francis, Miranda, and Scentwell.</div> Sir Fran. Mercy on me! what's the matter? Miran. Oh, you Toad! what have you done? 56 Marpl. No great harm, I beg of you to forgive me: Longing to see the Monkey, I did but just raise up the Board, and it flew over my Shoulders, scratch'd all my Face, broke yon' China, and whisk'd out of the Window. Sir Fran. Was ever such an unlucky Rogue! Sirrah, I forbid you my House. Call the Servants to get the Monkey again; I wou'd stay my self to look it, but that you know my earnest Business. Scentw. Oh my Lady will be the best to lure it back; all them Creatures love my Lady extremely. Miran. Go, go, dear Gardee; I hope I shall recover it. Sir Fran. B'ye, by'e, Dear'e. Ah, Mischief, how you look now! B'ye, b'ye. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> Miran. Scentwell, see him in the Coach, and bring me word. Scentw. Yes, Madam. Miran. So, Sir, you have done your Friend a signal piece of Service, I suppose. Marpl. Why look you, Madam! if I have committed a fault, thank your self; no Man is more Serviceable when I am let into a Secret, nor none more Unlucky at finding it out. Who cou'd divine your Meaning, when you talk'd of a Blunderbuss, who thought of a Rendevous? and when you talk'd of a Monkey, who the Devil dreamt of Sir George? Miran. A sign you converse but little with our Sex, when you can't reconcile Contradictions. <div class = "entrance">Enter Scentwell.</div> Scentw. He's gone, Madam, as fast as the Coach, and Six can carry him. <div class = "entrance">Enter Sir George.</div> Sir Geo. Then I may appear. Marpl. Dear, Sir George, make my Peace! On my Soul, I did not think of you. Sir Geo. I dare swear thou didst not. Madam, I beg you to forgive him. Miran. Well, Sir George, if he can be secret. 57 I Marpl. Ods heart, Madam, I'm as secret as a Priest when I'm trusted. Sir Geo. Why 'tis with a Priest our Business is at present. Scentw. Madam, here's Mrs. Isabinda's Woman to wait on you. Miran. Bring her up. <div class = "entrance">Enter Patch.</div> How do'e, Mrs. Patch, what News from your Lady? Patch. That's for your private Ear, Madam. Sir George, there's a Friend of yours has an urgent Occasion for your Assistance. Sir Geo. His Name. Patch. Charles. Marpl. Ha! then there is something a-foot that I know nothing of. I'll wait on you, Sir George. Sir Geo. A third Person may not be proper perhaps; as soon as I have dispatch'd my own Affairs, I am at his Service. I'll send my Servant to tell him, I'll wait upon him in half an Hour. Miran. How come you employ'd in this Message, Mrs. Patch? Patch. Want of Business, Madam. I am discharg'd by my Master, but hope to serve my Lady still. Miran. How discharg'd! you must tell me the whole Story within. Patch. With all my Heart, Madam. Marpl. Pish! Pox, I wish I were fairly out of the House. I find Marriage is the end of this Secret: And now I am half mad to know what Charles wants him for. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Geo. Madam, I'm doubly press'd, by Love and Friendship: This Exigence admits of no delay. Shall we make Marplot of the Party? Miran. If you'll run the Hazard, Sir George; I believe he means well. Marpl. Nay, nay, for my part, I desire to be let into nothing: I'll begon, therefore pray don't mistrust me. <div class = "stagedir">(Going.</div> Sir Geo. So now has he a mind to be gone to Charles: but not knowing what Affairs he may have upon his Hands at 58 present, I'm resolv'd he sha'n't stir: No, Mr. Marplot, you must not leave us, we want a third Person. <div class = "stagedir">(Takes hold of him.</div> Marpl. I never had more mind to be gone in my Life. Miran. Come along then; if we fail in the Voyage, thank your self for taking this ill starr'd Gentleman on Board. Sir Geo. <div class = "verse"> That Vessel ne'er can Unsuccessful prove, Whose Freight is Beauty, and whose Pilot Love.</div> <div class = "sceneplain">The End of the Fourth ACT.</div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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