Aur. My life on 't, Sir.

Pun. I'Í out; Uncle Father your Blessing-my little Matchivil, I knew well enough 'twas you; what did you think I knew not Cross from Pile?

Aur.

Did you i' faith?

Pun. I, by this kiss of Amber-grees, or I'm a Cabbage. Aur. Why then you out-witted me, and I'm content. Pun. A pox upon you Merchant Folly, are you there? Joll. But stay, how come you, Niece, to be marri'd to Mr. Truman?

Luc. I know not, Sir, as I was walking in the Garden. Trum. j. I thought 't had been . . . but blest be the mistake,

What ever prove the Consequence to all

The less important fortunes of my life.

Foll. Nay, there's no hurt done here neither

Trum. s. No hurt, Colonel? I'l see him hang'd at my door before he shall have a beggarly

Foll. Hark you, Mr. Truman, one word aside [Talk aside.] (for it is not necessary yet my wife should know so much.)

Aur. This foolish Jane (as I perceive by the story) has lost a Husband by staying for a Black patch.

Joll. Though I in rigour by my brothers Will might claim the forfeiture of her Estate, yet I assure you she shall have it all to the utmost farthing; in a day like this, when Heaven bestows on me and on my daughter so unexpected and so fair a fortune, it were an ill return to rob an Orphan committed to my Charge.

Aur. My father's in the right.

And as he clears her Fortune, so will I

Her Honor. Hark you, Sir.

Trum. s. Why you speak, Sir, like a Vertuous Noble Gentleman, and do just as I should do my self in the same case; it is

Aur. 'Twas I upon my credit in a Veil; [to Trum. jun. I'l tell, if you please, all that you said, when you had read the Letter. But d' you hear, Mr. Truman, do not you believe now that I had a design to lie with you (if you had consented to my coming at midnight) for upon my faith I had not, but

did it purely to try upon what terms your two Romantique Loves stood.

Cut. Ha, ha, ha! but your Farce was not right methinks at the end.

Pun. Why how, pray?

Cut. Why there should ha' been a Beating, a lusty Cudgeling to make it come off smartly with a twang at the tail.

Wor. Say you so? h' as got a set of damnable brawny Servingmen.

Cut. At least John Pudding here should ha' been basted. Wor. A curse upon him, he sav'd himself like a Rat behind the Hangings.

Trum. j. O Lucia, how shall I beg thy pardon For my unjust suspitions of thy Virtue?

Can you forgive a very Repentant sinner?

Will a whole life of Penitence absolve me?

Trum. s. 'Tis enough, good noble Colonel, I'm satisfi'd; Come, Dick, I see 'twas Heaven's will, and she's a very worthy virtuous Gentlewoman; I'm old and testy, but 'tis quickly over; my blessing upon you both.

Cut. Why so, all's well of all sides then; let me see, here's a brave Coupling day, onely poor Worm must lead a Monkish life of 't.

Aur. I'l have a Wife for him too, if you will, fine Mrs. Jane within; [aside.] I'le undertake for her, I ha' set her a gog to day for a husband, the first comer has her sure.

Wor. I, but what Portion has she, Mrs. Puny? for we Captains o' the King's side ha' no need o' Wives with nothing. Aur. Why Lozenges, and Half-moons, and a pair of Silverlac'd Shoes; but that Tropes lost to you; well, we'l see among us what may be done for her.

Foll. Come, let's go in to Supper; there never was such a day of Intrigues as this in one Family. If my true Brother had come in at last too after his being five years dead, 'twould ha' been a very Play.

[Exeunt.

FINIS.

M

EPILOGUE,
Spoken by

CUTTER.

[Without his Peruique.

E-thinks a Vision bids me silence break,

And some words to this Congregation speak,

So great and gay a one I ne'er did meet

At the Fifth Monarch's Court in Coleman-street.
But yet I wonder much not to espy a

Brother in all this Court call'd Zephaniah.

Bless me! where are we? What may this place be?
For I begin by Vision now to see

That this is a meer Theater; well then,

If't be e'en so I'l Cutter be again.

Not Cutter the pretended Cavaleer:
For to confess ingenuously here

[Puts on his Peruique.

To you who always of that Party were,
I never was of any; up and down

I rowld, a very Rakehell of this Town.
But now my

Follies and my Faults are ended,
My Fortune and my Mind are both amended,

And if we may believe one who has fail'd before,

Our Author says He'l mend, that is, He'l write no more.

Th

EPILOGUE.

At Court.

He Madness of your People, and the Rage,
You've seen too long upon the Publique Stage,
'Tis time at last (great Sir)'tis time to see
Their Tragique Follies brought to Comedy.
If any blame the Lowness of our Scene,
We humbly think some Persons there have been
On the World's Theatre not long ago,

Much more too High, than here they are too Low.
And well we know that Comedy of old,

Did her Plebeian rank with so much Honour hold,
That it appear'd not then too Base or Light,
For the Great Scipio's Conquering hand to Write.
How ere, if such mean Persons seem too rude,
When into Royal presence they intrude,

Yet we shall hope a pardon to receive

From you, a Prince so practis'd to forgive;

A Prince, who with th' applause of Ear[t]h and Heaven, The rudeness of the Vulgar has Forgiven.

FINIS.

A

DISCOURSE

By way of

VISION,

Concerning the Government of Oliver Cromwell.

IT

T was the Funeral day of the late man who made himself to be called Protectour. And though I bore but little affection, either to the memory of him, or to the trouble and folly of all publick Pageantry, yet I was forced by the importunity of my company to go along with them, and be a Spectator of that solemnity, the expectation of which had been so great, that it was said to have brought some very curious persons (and no doubt singular Virtuoso's) as far as from the Mount in Cornwall, and from the Orcades. I found there had been much more cost bestowed than either the dead man, or indeed Death it self could deserve. There was a mighty train of black assistants, among which too divers Princes in the persons of their Ambassadors (being infinitely afflicted for the loss of their Brother) were pleased to attend; the Herse was Magnificent, the Idol Crowned, and (not to mention all other Ceremonies which are practised at Royal interments, and therefore by no means could be omitted here) the vast multitude of Spectators made up, as it uses to do, no small part of the Spectacle it self. But yet I know not how, the whole was so managed, that, methoughts, it somewhat represented the life of him for whom it was made; Much noise, much tumult, much expence, much magnificence, much vainglory; briefly, a great show, and yet after all this, but an ill sight. At last, (for it seemed long to me, and like his short