had married a statue? or a motion only? one of the French puppets, with the eyes turn'd with a wire? or fome innocent out of the hofpital, that would ftand with her hands thus-and a plaifemouth, and look upon you.

Mor. Oh, immodefty! a manifest woman! a downright virago! What, Cutberd! Where's Cutberd?

Epi. Nay, never quarrel with Cutberd, Sir; it is too late now. I confefs it doth bate fomewhat of the modefty I had, when I wrote fimply maid; but I hope to make it a stock ftill competent to the estate and dignity of your wife.

Mor. She can talk!

Epi. Yes, indeed, Sir. Did you ever know a woman that could not?

Mor. What, firrah! none of my knaves there? Where is this impoftor, Cutberd?

Enter Servant. (Makes figns.)

Epi. Speak to him, fellow; fpeak to him. I'l have none of this forc'd unnatural dumbness in my house, in a family where I govern.

Mor, Govern! She is my regent already! I have married a Penthefilea, a Semiramis; fold my liberty to a distaff. But I'll be master ftill-I'll void my

: house

houfe of this company, and bar up my doors. Where are all my eaters, my mouths now?

Enter Servants.

Void my house, and bar up my doors, you varlets!

Epi. He is a varlet that ftirs to fuch an office. Let 'em ftand open! Shall I have a barricado made against my friends, or be robbed of any pleasure they can give me by their honourable vifitation? Mor. Oh, Amazonian impudence!

Epi. Nay, in troth, in this, Sir, I speak but modeftly, and am more reasonable than you. Are not these our nuptials? and is it not meet to give the day to pleasures, Sir? We'll have jollities of feafting, mufick, dancing, revels and difcourfe: We'll have all, Sir, that may make the celebration of our marriage high and happy. In, in, and be jovial, ladies! In; I follow you.

[Exit, with ladies, Daw, and La-Foole.

Manent Morofe, Dauphine, and Truewit. Mor. Oh, my curfed angel, that inftructed me to this fate!

Dau. Why, Sir?

Mor. That I fhould be feduc'd by fo foolish a devil as a barber will make!

Dau.

1

Dau. I would I had been worthy, Sir, to have partaken your counfel; you should never have trufted it to fuch a minifter.

Mor. 'Would I could redeem it with the loss of an eye, nephew!

Dau. I hope there fhall be no fuch need, Sir. Take patience, good uncle. This is but a day, and 'tis well worn too now.

Mor. Oh, 'twill be fo for ever, nephew; I forefee it, for ever. Strife and tumult are the dowry that comes with a wife.

Tru. I told you fo, Sir, and you would not believe me.

Mor. Alas, do not rub thofe wounds, mafter Truewit, to blood again; 'twas my negligence. Add not affliction to affliction. I have perceiv'd the effect of it, too late, in madam Otter.

Re-enter Epicone, &c.

My executioner here again! oh, misery!

Epi. How do you, Sir?

Mor. Did you ever hear a more unnecessary queftion? As if she did not fee! Why, I do as you fee, emprefs, empress!

Epi. They fay you are run mad, Sir.

Mor. Not for love, I affure you, of you, do you fee?

Epi.

Epi. Oh, lord, gentlemen! lay hold on him, for Heaven's fake. What fhall I do? Who's his phy fician (can you tell) that knows the ftate of his body beft, that I might fend for him? Good Sir, fpeak: I'll fend for one of my doctors elfe.

Mor. What, to poifon me, that I might die inteftate, and leave you poffefs'd of all?

Epi. Lord, how idly he talks, and how his eyes fparkle! He looks green about the temples! Do you see what blue spots he has?

Cler. Ay, it is melancholy.

Epi. Gentlemen, for Heaven's fake, counsel me! Daw. The disease in Greek is called María, in Latin, Infania.

Mor. Shall I have a lecture read upon me alive?

Epi. But what is this to the cure? we are sure enough of the disease.

Mor. Let me go!

Tru. Why, we'll entreat her to hold her peace, Sir.

Mor. Oh, no; labour not to stop her. She is like a conduit-pipe, that will gush out with more force when she opens again. Oh, oh!

Epi. Sure he would do well enough, if he could fleep.

Mor. No, I fhould do well enough, if you could

fleep.

1

fleep. Have I no friend, that will make her drunk, or give her a little laudanum, or opium?

Tru. Why, Sir, fhe talks ten times worse in her fleep.

Mor. How!

Cler. Do you know that, Sir? never ceases all night.

Tru. And fnores like a pig.

Mor. Oh, redeem me, Fate; redeem me, Fate! For how many causes may a man be divorc'd, nephew?

Dau. I know not, truly, Sir.

Tru. Some divine muft refolve you in that, Sir, or canon-lawyer.

Mor. I will not reft, I will not think of any other hope or comfort, till I know. So it would rid me of her, I would do penance in a bellfry, with a ring of ten bells; in a cockpit; at the death of a ftag; the Tower-Wharf, London-Bridge; Billingsgate, when the noises are at their height and loudeft. Nay, I would fit out a play, that were nothing but fights at fea, drums, trumpets, and target. [Exit with Dau.

Cler. Alas, poor man!

Tru. You'll make him mad indeed, ladies, if you pursue this.

VOL. III.

U

Hau.