ACT I.
SCENE I. The Street.
Enter Carlos, Antonio and Guzman.
Car. By all that’s good, I’m mad, stark raving mad,
To have a Woman young, rich, beautiful,
Just on the point of yielding to my Love,
Snatcht from my Arms by such a Beast as this;
An old ridiculous Buffoon, past Pleasure,
Past Love, or any thing that tends that way;
Ill-favour’d, ill-bred, and ill-qualify’d,
With more Diseases than a Horse past Service;
And only blest with Fortune and my Julia;
For him, I say, this Miser, to obtain her,
After my tedious nights and days of Love,
My midnight Watchings, Quarrels, Wounds and Dangers;
—My Person not unhandsom too,
By Heav’n, ‘twas wondrous strange!
Ant. And old Francisco, without the expence of an hour’s Courtship, a Billet-Doux, or scarce a sight of her, could gain her in a day; and yet ‘tis wonder, your Fortune and your Quality, should be refus’d by Don Baltazer her Father.
Car. A Pox upon’t, I went the wrong way to work, and courted the Daughter; but indeed my Father, the late Governour of Cadiz, whose Estate and Honour I now enjoy, was then living; and, fearing he would not consent to my Passion, I endeavoured to keep it secret, though sacred Vows had past between us two.
Ant. Did she not tell you of this Marriage with old Francisco?
Car. The night before, she did; but only by a Letter from her Window dropt; which when by the help of a dark Lanthorn, I had read, I was struck dead with Grief. [Gives him the Letter.
Ant. [reads.]
Expect to morrow night to hear I’m dead, since the next
Sun will guide me to a fatal Marriage with old Francisco.
Your Julia.
Car. Judge, dear Antonio, my Surprize and Grief;
A-while I stood unmov’d, thoughtless, and silent,
But soon Rage wak’d me to new Life again;
But what I said and did, I leave to raging Lovers,
Like disappointed me, to guess and judge;
She heard—and only answer’d me in Tears,
Nor could I beg one tender Word from her,
She sigh’d, and shut the Window too, and vanish’d.
Ant. And she accordingly next day was married.
Car. She was—and I have since endeavoured all the Arts and Ways I can to cuckold him; ‘tis now two months since the Wedding, and I hear he keeps her as close as a Relict, jealous as Age and Impotence can make him. She hitherto has been absent at Sevil, but Expectation of her Daughter-in-law’s Wedding with you has brought ‘em hither,—and, I ask your Pardon, Antonio, for raillying your Father-in-law that shall be, old Francisco.
Ant. I hope you are mistaken, Sir.
Car. How, are you not to marry his Daughter, Isabella?
Ant. Not if I can help it, Sir,—the Honour you have done me in your Friendship to me, a Person so much above me in Title and Birth, makes me think it my Duty to conceal no part of my Heart to you,—Know then this Isabella, Daughter to old Francisco, and your Cuckold that shall be I hope, is, though fair, most ridiculously proud, vain and fantastical; as all of her Birth and Education, grown rich, are.
Car. Prithee, what was her Birth?
Ant. Why, her Father, old Francisco, was in his youth an English Cordwainer, that is to say, a Shoemaker, which he improv’d in time to a Merchant; and the Devil and his Knavery helping him to a considerable Estate, he set up for Gentleman; and being naturally a stingey, hide-bound Rascal, and in the Humour of Jealousy even out-doing the most rigid of us Spaniards, he came over into Spain, to settle with his whole Family, where his Wife dying, to heighten the Vice, marries this young Julia, your Mistress, Sir;—and now this Daughter of his having wholly forgot her original Dunghill, sets up for a Viscountess at least, though her Father has design’d me the Blessing; but I have fixt my Heart and Eyes else-where, Clara, the young Sister of your Mistress, Sir, commands my Liberty.
Car. I’ve seen her, she has Youth and Beauty capable to make a Conquest any where,—but does she know your Love?
Ant. She does, and makes me think my Love return’d.
Car. Then know, Antonio, I must be your Rival.
Ant. How, Sir!
Car. You said but now you were my Friend, Antonio; If true, you must assist in my design.
Ant. I listen, Sir, impatiently.
Car. Then thus; before I knew she was your Mistress, I had resolv’d upon Addresses to her, in order to’t, have treated with her Father about a Marriage.
Ant. How! and wou’d the false, forsworn, receive your Vows?
Car. No; but with Tears implores her Father daily, whene’er he speaks to her about my Passion; nor can I undeceive her, for indeed I have but feign’d a Love, (she living in the same house with Julia whilst here at Cadiz) to get an opportunity with that dear, charming Creature; for, coming as a Brother, sure they’ll admit me kindly; nor will Francisco, who has heard of what has past ‘twixt me and Julia, suspect me any more.
Ant. I knew I had a Rival, Sir, whom Clara lov’d not; but ne’er cou’d get it from her who he was, for fear of mischief: I have often the Liberty to see her, under the name and pretence of Isabella’s Lover.
Car. And I visit her only to get a sight of Julia, which hitherto has been impossible, though I have oft endeavour’d it. I beg you’ll not be jealous; for this, by Heav’n, is only my Design.
Ant. I’ll trust my Life, my Honour and my Mistress in so good hands at any time.
Car. You oblige me; but though I find your Clara cold and cruel, Isabella would invite me to her Love, and makes so many kind advances to me—
Ant. So would she for your Title, were you deform’d, and had no shape of Man about you; but me, because a little Citizen and Merchant, she so reviles, calling me base Mechanick, saucy Fellow; and wonders where I got the Impudence to speak of Love to her—in fine, I am resolved to be reveng’d on all her Pride and Scorn; by Heav’n, I will invent some dire Revenge:—I’m bent upon’t, and will about it instantly.
Car. And would you do it home and handsomly, and have a good occasion of being disengaged from her, and make her self the instrument?
Ant. Ay, such a Plot were worth the Prosecution.
Car. And such a one I have in my head: Guzman, my Servant, knows a fellow here in Cadiz, whom for his pleasant humour I have oft observ’d, as I have past the Streets, but too mean to be convers’d with, by almost any human thing, by Trade a Chimney-Sweeper.
Ant. On, Sir, I beseech you.
Car. This Fellow’s of a quick Wit and good Apprehension, though possibly he cannot act the Don so well, yet that which makes up the best part of our young Gallants now a-days, he shall not want; that is, good Clothes, Money, and an Equipage,—and a little Instruction will serve turn.
Ant. I’m ravisht with the Fancy;—let me see—he shall be an English Lord, or a French Count.
Car. Either, we’ll furnish him with Bills on Signior Don Francisco, —Men and Baggage, and the business is done—he shall make Love to her.
Ant. Most excellent.
Car. Guzman, have you not observ’d this Fellow I am speaking of.
Guz. Observ’d him, Sir! I know him particularly, I’ll fetch him to you now, Sir; he always stands for new Imployment with the rest of his Gang under St. Jago’s Church-wall.
Car. Bring him anon to my Lodgings, where we’ll prepare him for the Adventure.
Ant. And if the proud Isabella bite not at so gay a bait, I’ll be bound to be married to her.
Car. And if she do not, possibly that may be your Fate—but in return, you must let Clara know the Design I have, and, undeceiving her opinion of my Love, make her of our Party.
Ant. Trust my Friendship, Sir, and Management. I’ll to her instantly, that is, make a visit to Isabella, and get an opportunity to speak with Clara.
Car. And I must write a Letter to Julia, to undeceive her Fears too, could I but get it to her.
Guz. For that let me alone.
[Exeunt severally, bowing.
SCENE II. A Chamber.
Enter Julia and Jacinta.
Jac. Lord, Madam, you are as melancholy as a sick Parrot.
Jul. And can you blame me, Jacinta? have I not many Reasons to be sad? first have I not lost the only Man on earth in Don Carlos, that I cou’d love? and worse than that, am married to a Thing, fit only for his Tomb; a Brute, who wanting sense to value me, treats me more like a Prisoner than a Wife?—and his Pretence is, because I should not see nor hear from Don Carlos.
Jac. Wou’d I were in your room, Madam, I’d cut him out work enough, I’d warrant him; and if he durst impose on me, i’faith, I’d transform both his Shape and his Manners; in short, I’d try what Woman-hood cou’d do. And indeed, the Revenge wou’d be so pleasant, I wou’d not be without a jealous Husband for all the World; and really, Madam, Don Carlos is so sweet a Gentleman.
Jul. Ay, but the Sin, Jacinta!
Jac. O’ my Conscience, Heav’n wou’d forgive it; for this match of yours, with old Francisco, was never made there.
Jul. Then if I wou’d, alas, what opportunities have I, for I confess since his first Vows made him mine—
Jac. Right—that lying with old Francisco is flat Adultery.
Jul. I might, with some excuse, give my self away to Carlos—But oh, he’s false, he takes unjustly all the Vows he paid me, and gives ‘em to my Sister Clara now.
Jac. Indeed that’s something uncivil, Madam, if it be true.
Jul. True! my Father has with joy consented to it, and he has leave to visit her; and can I live to see’t? No, Mischief will ensue, my Love’s too high, too nicely true to brook Affronts like that.
Jac. Yet you first broke with him.
Jul. Not I; be witness, Heav’n, with what reluctancy I forc’d my breaking heart; and can I see that charming Body in my Sister’s Arms! that Mouth that has so oft sworn Love to me kist by another’s Lips! no, Jacinta, that night that gives him to another Woman, shall see him dead between the Charmer’s Arms. My Life I hate, and when I live no more for Carlos, I’ll cease to be at all; it is resolv’d.
Jac. Faith, Madam, I hope to live to see a more comical end of your Amours—but see where your amiable Spouse comes with Don Baltazer your Father.
Enter Francisco and Baltazer.
Fran. So—you two are damnable close together, ‘tis for no goodness I’ll warrant, you have your trade betimes.
Jac. Meaning me, Sir?
Fran. Yes, you, one of my Wife’s evil Counsellors,—go, get you up both to your respective Chambers, go—
[Ex. both.
Bal. Barring your Compliments, good Son, give me leave to speak.
Fran. Shaw, I know as well as your self what you wou’d say now; you wou’d assure me I am sole Master of your House, and may command; that you are heartily glad to see me at Cadiz, and that you desire I wou’d resolve upon a Week’s stay, or so; that you’ll spare nothing for my entertainment: why, I know all this, and therefore pray take my word, good Father-in-Law, without any more ado.
Bal. Well, Sir, pray answer me one question, what drew you to Cadiz?
Fran. Why, I’ll tell you; in the first place, a Pox of all Lovers, I say; for my Daughter Isabella is to be married, as you know, to Antonio, a young rich Merchant of this Town; in the second place, my Wife, with a Vengeance, must be gadding to visit you and her Sister, whom we heard also was to be married to the young Governor Don Carlos; ’.is shreudly against my will, Heav’n knows, for my Wits are in an uproar already about this business—your Gallants, Father, your young Gallants,—I wish my Wife were secure at home again.
Bal. Pray, why so?
Fran. Alas, I see the Trick, Sir, a mere Trick put upon a Man, a married Man, and a married Man to a handsome young Woman,—you apprehend me.
Bal. Not I, Sir.
Fran. Not you, Sir! why, look ye, your young Governor who now is, made most desperate love to her who is now my Wife, d’ye mind me?—but you, being a Man of an exact Judgment, to her great grief, gave her to me, who best deserv’d her, both for my civil Behaviour, and comely Personage, d’ye understand me? but now this Carlos, by his Father’s death, being made Governor, d’ye see? is to marry me your other daughter Clara, and to exasperate me, wou’d never let me be at quiet till he had got both of us hither to Cadiz, to grace his Wedding; a Pox of his Invitation, was I so civil to invite him to mine?
Bal. If this be your Affliction, you may avoid it.
Fran. No, no, I’ll try to force Nature a little, and be civil, or so; but as soon as the Ceremony’s over, I’ll steal out of Town, whip a way, presto, i’faith.
Bal. But shou’d you do so rude a thing to your new Brother, your Wife wou’d think you were jealous of her. No, dissemble that Fault, I beseech you, ‘twill make you odious to her and all the world, when ‘tis needless, ’.is natural for Women to hate what they fear.
Fran. Say you so, then I will hide it as much as I can in words, I can dissemble too upon occasion.
Bal. Let her remain awhile amongst us.
Fran. The Devil a bit she shall, good Father mine, no, no, I have more years than you, Sir Father, and understand what Women are, especially when married to ancient Men, and have the Conversation of young Men—whose Eyes like Basilisks destroy Modesty with looking on ‘em; the very Thought on’t has rais’d a Bump in my Forehead already.
Bal. I am sorry you should suspect my Daughter’s Virtue.
Fran. May be you are, Sir—but Youth you know— Opportunity—Occasion—or so—there are Winks, and Nods, and Signs, and Twirs—and—well—in short I am satisfied, and they that are not may go whistle: and so I’ll to my Wife, whom I have left too long alone, evil thoughts will grow upon her—Wife, Love—Duckling— [Calls her.
Enter Julia and Jacinta.
Bal. Wou’d I had never married her to this Sot.
Jul. Your pleasure, Sir.
Fran. Only to see thee, Love.
Jul. I have a Suit to you.
Fran. What is’t, my Chicken.
Jul. I wou’d go make a Visit to my Aunt, my Sister Clara’s there, and I’ll go fetch her home.
Fran. Hum—perhaps the Governor’s there too?
Jul. What if he be? we ought to make him a visit too, who so kindly sent for us to Cadiz.
Fran. How! Make a visit to the Governor? What have I to do with the
Governor, or what have you to do with the Governor? you are no Soldier,
Love. As for a Visit to your Aunt, there’s some reason in’t; but for the
Governor, think no more upon him, I say no more.
Jul. Since he’s to marry my Sister, why shou’d you refuse him that Civility.
Fran. Your Sister, so much the worse.
Jul. So much the worse?
Fran. I, so much the worse, I tell you; for mark me, you have been Lovers lately; and old Stories may arise that are not yet forgotten; and having under the Cloke of a Husband both Sisters at command, one for a Wife, t’other for a Mistress, hoyte toyte, there will be mad work, i’faith; What a mixture of Brother by the Father’s side, and Uncle by the Mother’s side there will be; Aunt by the Mother’s side, and Sister by the Father’s side; a man may find as good kindred amongst a kennel of Beagles.—No, no, no Visits to the Governor, I beseech you, fair Madam.
Bal. So, you are at your Jealousy again.
Fran. Come, come, I love plain dealing; besides, when she named the Governor, Flesh and Blood could not contain.
Jul. I spoke in reference to his Quality.
Fran. A Pox of your Civility; I tell you, I scorn my Wife should be civil. Why, what a Coil’s here about a Governor! I’ll stand to’t, a Man had better have a Mule to his Wife than a Woman, and ‘twere easier govern’d.
Bal. But hear reason, Son.
Fran. What, from a Woman and a Wife? Lord, Lord, where are your Wits, good Father-in-Law? Why, what a Devil, shall I be made ridiculous, a Coxcomb, Cuckold, to shew my Wife? No, no, there’s no Necessity of your Civility, Mistress; leave that to me who understand the due Punctilios of it.
Bal. Harkye, Son, Harkye!
Fran. Father mine, every Man to his business, I say, therefore say no more of this; for I’ll give my Mother’s Son to the Devil, when any Wife of mine ever makes a Visit to the Governor; and there’s an end on’t. Was ever so horrid a Plot contriv’d against her own lawful Husband? Visit the Governor with a Pox!
Bal. ‘Tis an Honour due to all Men of his Rank.
Fran. I care not for that, my opinion is, my Wife’s my Slave, and let him keep his Rank to himself.
Enter Guzman.
[Fran. gets his Wife behind him, and fences her with his Cloke.
Guz. He’s here, and with his Wife; how shall I do to deliver my Letter to her;—Sir, by the order of my Master, Don Carlos, the Governour, I am commanded to come hither to the end that, going from hence, and returning to my Master, I may be able to inform him—
Fran. That I am in health,—very well, I was afraid he wou’d have been harping upon my Wife in the first place—the Devil take her, she looks for’t. [Makes signs to have her gone.
Guz. Farther, Sir, he kisses your hand, with a more than ordinary friendship.
Fran. A Pox of his Compliments.— [Aside.
Guz. But he charg’d me, Sir, most passionately to present his Service to your Lady.
Fran. Yes, yes; I thought as much.
Guz.—In a more particular manner.
Fran. Friend, my Wife, or Lady, has no need of his Service in a more particular manner, and so you may return it.
Jac. Indeed, but she has great need of his service in a very particular manner.
Guz. Sir, I meant no hurt, but ‘tis always the fashion of your true bred Courtier, to be more ceremonious in his Civilities to Ladies than Men;—and he desires to know how she does.
Fran. How strong this Carlos smells of the Devil—Friend, tell your Master she’s very well, but since she was married, she has forgot her gentile Civility and good Manners, and never returns any Compliments to Men.
Guz.—How shall I get it to her?—Sir, the Governor hopes he shall have the honour of entertaining you both at his House. He’s impatient of your coming, and waits at home on purpose.
Fran. Friend, let your Master know we are here in very good quarters already, and he does us both too much honour; and that if we have notice of the Wedding-day, and I have nothing else to do, we’ll certainly wait on him, and the next morning we intend to take our leaves, which I send him word of beforehand to prevent surprize.
Guz. But, Sir—
[Approaching him, he puts his Wife farther.
Fran. Go, Sir, and deliver your Message.
Guz. But I have order, Sir—
Fran. There’s no such thing in this World.
Guz. I’m resolv’d to teaze him, if I can do nothing else, in revenge;—But, Sir, he most earnestly desires to entertain your fair Lady in his own house.
Fran. Yes, yes; I know he does; but I’ll give him to the Devil first.—Troth, Sir, this Cadiz Air does not agree with my fair Lady, she has ventured out but once, and has got an Ague already.
Guz. Agues, Sir, are kind Diseases, they allow of Truces and Cessations.
Fran. No, no; she has no Cessation, Friend, her Ague takes her night and day, it shakes her most unmercifully, and it shall shake her till the Wedding-day.
Guz. Were this Fellow to be tried by a Jury of Women, I would not be in his Coat to lie with his Lady.—What shall I do to deliver this Letter?—Well, Sir, since I see you are so averse to what the Governor desires, I’ll return—but, Sir, I must tell you as a Friend, a Secret; that to a man of your temper may concern you;—Sir,—he’s resolv’d when he comes next to visit his Mistress, to make another visit to your Apartment, to your Lady too.
[Goes to whisper him, and gives Julia the Letter over his Shoulder.
Fran. Is he so, pray tell him he need not take that pains; there’s no occasion for’t; besides ‘twill be but in vain; for the Doctors have prescribed her Silence and Loneliness, ‘tis good against the Fit; how this damn’d Fellow of a Rival torments me! honest Friend, adieu.
Guz. Now is this Fellow so afraid of being made a Cuckold that he fears his own Shadow, and dares not go into his Wife’s Chamber if the Sun do but shine into the room— [Ex. Guz.
Fran. So, your Mercury’s gone; Lord, how simply you look now, as if you knew nothing of the matter!
Jul. Matter! what matter? I heard the civil Message the Governor sent, and the uncivil Answer you return’d back.
Fran. Very good; did that grieve your heart? alas, what pity ‘twas I carried you not in my hand, presented you to him my self, and beg’d him to favour me so much to do my office a little for me, or the like; hah,—
Jul. And there’s need enough, and the truth were known.
Jac. Well said, Madam.
Fran. Peace, thou wicked Limb of Satan—but for you, Gentlewoman, since you are so tarmagant, that your own natural Husband cannot please you, who, though I say it, am as quiet a Bed-fellow, and sleep as sweetly, for one of my years, as any in Spain—I’ll keep you to hard meat, i’faith.
Jul. I find no fault with your sleeping, ‘tis the best quality you have a-bed.
Fran. Why so then, is the Devil in an unmerciful Woman? Come, come, ’.is a good Tenant that pays once a quarter.
Jac. Of an hour do you mean, Sir?—
Fran. Peace, I say—thou damnable Tormentor, this is the Doctrine you preach to your Mistress, but you shall do’t it private, for I’m resolv’d to lock ye both up, and carry the Keys in my Pocket.
Jul. Well, I am a wicked Creature to teaze thee so, Dear; but I’ll do what thou wilt; come, come, be friends, I vow, I care not for the Governor, not I, no more than I do for my—own Soul.
Fran. Why so, this is something; Come, come your ways in,—who have we here? a Man! ad’s my life, away, away.
Jul. Yes, up to my Chamber, to write an answer to this dear Letter. [Ex Julia.
Enter Isabella.
Fran. No, ‘tis not a Man, but my Daughter Isabella.
Jac. Now will I stay, and set her on to teaze the Dotard: wou’d I could teaze him to Death, that my Mistress might be rid of him.
Fran. How now, what makes you look so scurvily to day? Sure the Devil rides once a day through a Woman, that she may be sure to be inspired with some ill Qualities—what wou’d you have now?
Isa. Something.
Fran. Something? what thing? have I not provided you a Husband whom you are to marry within a day or two.
Isa. There’s a Husband indeed, pray keep him to your self, if you please; I’ll marry none of him, I’ll see him hanged first.
Fran. Hey day;—what, is he not young and handsome enough, forsooth?
Isa. Young and handsome; is there no more than that goes to the making up of a Husband—Yes, there’s Quality.
Fran. Quality!—Why, is he not one of the richest Merchants of his standing in all Cadiz.
Isa. Merchant! a pretty Character! a Woman of my Beauty, and five Thousand Pound, marry a Merchant—a little, petty, dirty-heel’d Merchant; faugh, I’d rather live a Maid all the days of my life, or be sent to a Nunnery, and that’s Plague enough I’m sure.
Jac. Have a care of a Nunnery, lest he take you at your word.
Isa. I would not for the world; no, Jacinta, when ever thou seest me in holy Orders, the World will be at an end.
Fran. Merchant! why, what Husband do you expect?
Isa. A Cavalier at least, if not a Nobleman.
Fran. A Nobleman, marry come up, your Father, Huswife, meaning my self, was a Leather-seller at first, till, growing rich, I set up for a Merchant, and left that mechanick Trade; and since turned Gentleman; and Heav’n blest my Endeavours so as I have an Estate for a Spanish Grandee; and, are you so proud, forsooth, that a Merchant won’t down with you, but you must be gaping after a Cap and Feather, a Silver Sword with a more dreadful Ribbon at the hilt?—Come, come, I fear me, Huswise, you are one that puff’s her up with Pride thus;—but lay thy hand upon thy Conscience now.— [To Jacinta.
Jac. Who, I, Sir? No, no, I am for marrying her out of hand to any reasonable Husband, except a Merchant; for Maids will long, and that’s Probatum est against the prevailing distemper of Longing. Hitherto I dare answer for her, but Batteries will be made, and I dare not be always responsible for frail Mortality.
Fran. Well, I have provided her one that I like, but if she be so squeamish, let her fast, with a Murrain to her.
Isa. Dear Father.
Fran. Dear me no Dears: wou’d your old Mother were alive, she wou’d have strapt your Just-au-corps, for puleing after Cavaliers and Nobleman, i’faith, that wou’d she; a Citizen’s Daughter, and would be a Madona—in good time.
_Isa. Why, Father, the Gentry and Nobility now-a-days frequently marry Citizens Daughters.
Fran. Come, come, Mistress, I got by the City, and I love and honour the City; I confess ‘tis the Fashion now-a-days, if a Citizen get but a little Money, one goes to building Houses, and brick Walls; another must buy an Office for his Son, a third hoists up his Daughter’s Topsail, and flaunts it away, much above her breeding; and these things make so many break, and cause the decay of Trading: but I am for the honest Dutch way of breeding their Children, according to their Fathers Calling.
Isa. That’s very hard, because you are a laborious, ill-bred Tradesman, I must be bound to be a mean Citizen’s Wife.
Fran. Why, what are you better than I, forsooth, that you must be a Lady, and have your Petticoats lac’d four Stories high; wear your false Towers, and cool your self with your Spanish Fan? Come, come, Baggage, wear me your best Clothes a Sunday, and brush ‘em up a Monday Mornings, and follow your Needle all the Week after; that was your good old Mother’s way, and your Grandmother’s before her; and as for the Husband, take no care about it, I have designed it Antonio, and Antonio you are like to wed, or beat the hoof, Gentlewoman, or turn poor Clare, and die a begging Nun, and there’s an end on’t—see where he comes—I’ll leave you to ponder upon the business. [Exit.]
Enter Antonio. Isabella weeps.
Ant. What, in Tears, Isabella? what is’t can force that tribute from your Eyes?
Isa. A Trifle, hardly worth the naming, your self.—
Ant. Do I? pray, for what Sin of mine must your fair Eyes be punish’d?
Isa. For the Sin of your odious Addresses to me, I have told you my mind often enough, methinks your Equals should be fitter for you, and sute more with your Plebeian Humour.
Ant. My Equals! ‘Tis true, you are fair; but if there be any Inequality in our births, the advantage is on my side.
Isa. Saucy Impertinent, you shew your City breeding; you understand what’s due to Ladys! you understand your Pen and Ink, how to count your dirty Money, trudge to and fro chaffering of base commodities, and cozening those you deal with, till you sweat and stink again like an o’er heated Cook, faugh, I smell him hither.
Ant. I must confess I am not perfum’d as you are, to stifle Stinks you commonly have by Nature; but I have wholesom, cleanly Linen on; and for my Habit wore I but a Sword, I see no difference between your Don and me, only, perhaps, he knows less how to use it.
Isa. Ah, name not a Don, the very sound from the Mouth of a little Cit is disagreeable—Bargain and Sale, Bills, Money, Traffick, Trade, are words become you better.
Jac. Well said, use him scurvily that Mrs. Clara may have him. [Aside.
Ant. The best of those you think I should not name, dare hardly tell me this.
Isa. Good Lord, you think your self a very fine Fellow now, and finical your self up to be thought so; but there’s as much difference between a Citizen and a true bred Cavalier—
Ant. As between you and a true bred Woman of Honour.
Isa. Oh, Sir, you rail, and you may long enough, before you rail me out of my Opinion, whilst there are Dons with Coaches and fine Lackeys, and I have Youth and Beauty, with a Fortune able to merit one, so farewel, Cit. [Ex.
Ant. Farewel, proud Fool.
Jac. Sir, be this Evening at the Door, Donna Clara has something to say to you.
Ant. Bless thee for this Tidings, dear Jacinta.
[Ex. Jacinta.
—I find let Man be brave, or good, or wise,
His Virtue gains no Smiles from Woman’s Eyes;
‘Tis the gay Fool alone that takes the Heart,
Foppery and Finery still guide the Dart.
[Ex.