all.

Sir Mart. So I will, sir, without your bidding: Her father and she are come up already, that's the truth on't, and are to lodge by my contrivance in yon house; the master of which is a cunning rascal as any in town——him I have made my own, for I lodge there.

Warn. You do ill, sir, to speak so scandalously of my landlord.

Sir Mart. Peace, or I'll break your fool's head; so, that by his means I shall have free egress and regress when I please, sir, without her father's knowledge.

Warn. I am out of patience to hear this.

Sir John. Methinks you might do well, sir, to speak openly to her father.

Sir Mart. Thank you for that, i'faith; in speaking to old Moody, I may soon spoil all.

Warn. So, now he has told her father's name, 'tis past recovery.

Sir John. Is her father's name Moody, say you?

Sir Mart. Is he of your acquaintance?

Sir John. Yes, sir; I know him for a man who is too wise for you to over-reach; I am certain he will never marry his daughter to you.

Sir Mart. Why, there's the jest of it: He shall never know it: 'Tis but your keeping of my counsel; I'll do as much for you, mun.

Sir John. No, sir, I'll give you better; trouble not yourself about this lady; her affections are otherwise engaged to my knowledge——hark in your ear——her father hates a gamester like a devil: I'll keep your counsel for that too.

Sir Mart. Nay, but this is not all, dear Sir John?

Sir John. This is all, I assure you: Only I will make bold to seek your mistress out another lodging.
[Exit Sir John.

Warn. Your affairs are now put into an excellent posture, thank your incomparable discretion; this was a stratagem my shallow wit could never have reached, to make a confident of my rival.

Sir Mart. I hope thou art not in earnest, man! Is he my rival?

Warn. 'Slife, he has not found it out all this while! well, sir, for a quick apprehension let you alone.

Sir Mart. How the devil camest thou to know on't? and why the devil didst thou not tell me on't?

Warn. To the first of your devils I answer, her maid, Rose, told me on't: To the second, I wish a thousand devils take him that would not hear me.

Sir Mart. O unparallelled misfortune!

Warn. O unparallelled ignorance! why he left her father at the water-side, while he led the daughter to her lodging, whither I directed him; so that if you had not laboured to the contrary, fortune had placed you in the same house with your mistress, without the least suspicion of your rival, or of her father. But 'tis well you have satisfied your talkative humour: I hope you have some new project of your own to set all right again: For my part, I confess all my designs for you are wholly ruined; the very foundations of them are blown up.

Sir Mart. Pr'ythee insult not over the destiny of a poor undone lover; I am punished enough for my indiscretion in my despair, and have nothing to hope for now but death.

Warn. Death is a bug-word; things are not brought to that extremity; I'll cast about to save all yet.

Enter Lady Dupe.

L. Dupe. O, Sir Martin! yonder has been such a stir within; Sir John, I fear, smokes your design, and by all means would have the old man remove his lodging; pray God, your man has not played false.

Warn. Like enough I have: I am coxcomb sufficient to do it; my master knows, that none but such a great calf as I could have done it, such an overgrown ass, a self-conceited idiot as I.

Sir Mart. Nay, Warner.

Warn. Pray, sir, let me alone: What is it to you if I rail upon myself? Now could I break my own logger-head.

Sir Mart. Nay, sweet Warner.

Warn. What a good master have I, and I to ruin him: O beast!

L. Dupe. Not to discourage you wholly, Sir Martin, this storm is partly over.

Sir Mart. As how, dear cousin?

L. Dupe. When I heard Sir John complain of the landlord, I took the first hint of it, and joined with him, saying, if he were such an one, I would have nothing to do with him: In short, I rattled him so well, that Sir John was the first who did desire they might be lodged with me, not knowing that I was your kinswoman.

Sir Mart. Pox on't, now I think on't, I could have found out this myself.

Warn. Are you there again, sir? Now, as I have a soul——

Sir Mart. Mum, good Warner, I did but forget myself a little; I leave myself wholly to you, and my cousin: get but my mistress for me, and claim whatever reward you can desire.

Warn. Hope of reward will diligence beget, Find you the money, and I'll find the wit.
[Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Enter Lady Dupe, and Mrs Christian.

Chr. It happened, madam, just as you said it would; but was he so concerned for my feigned sickness?

L. Dupe. So much, that Moody and his daughter, our new guests, take notice of the trouble; but the cause was kept too close for strangers to divine.

Chr. Heaven grant he be but deep enough in love, and then——

L. Dupe. And then thou shalt distil him into gold, my girl. Yonder he comes, I'll not be seen: you know your lesson, child.
[Exit.

Chr. I warrant you.

Enter Lord Dartmouth.

Lord. Pretty mistress Christian, how glad am I to meet you thus alone!

Chr. O the father! what will become of me now?

Lord. No harm, I warrant you; but why are you so afraid?

Chr. A poor weak innocent creature as I am, heaven of his mercy, how I quake and tremble! I have not yet clawed off your last ill usage, and now I feel my old fit come again; my ears tingle already, and my back shuts and opens; ay, just so it began before.

Lord. Nay, my sweet mistress, be not so unjust to suspect any new attempt: I am too penitent for my last fault, so soon to sin again. I hope you did not tell it to your aunt.

Chr. The more fool I, I did not.

Lord. You never shall repent your goodness to me; but may not I presume there was some little kindness in it, which moved you to conceal my crime?

Chr. Methought I would not have mine aunt angry with you, for all this earthly good; but yet I'll never be alone with you again.

Lord. Pretty innocence! let me sit nearer to you: You do not understand what love I bear you. I vow it is so pure, my soul's not sullied with one spot of sin: Were you a sister, or a daughter to me, with a more holy flame I could not burn.

Chr. Nay, now you speak high words; I cannot understand you.

Lord. The business of my life shall be but how to make your fortune, and my care and study to advance and see you settled in the world.

Chr. I humbly thank your lordship.

Lord. Thus I would sacrifice my life and fortunes, and in return you cruelly destroy me.

Chr. I never meant you any harm, not I.

Lord. Then what does this white enemy so near me? [Touching her hand gloved.] Sure 'tis your champion, and you arm it thus to bid defiance to me.

Chr. Nay, fie, my lord! In faith, you are to blame.
[Pulling her