that did not deserve to be pilloried; twenty to one if half of them can read, and yet they will venture at learning as familiarly, as if they had been bred in the Vatican. One of them told me one day, he thought Plutarch well done would make the best English heroick poem in the world. Besides, they will rail, cavil, censure, and, what is worst of all, make jests; the dull rogues will jest, though they do it as awkwardly as a tarpawling would ride the great horse. I hate a pert, dull, jesting rogue from the bottom of my heart.

Beau. But above all, the most abominable is your witty squire, your young heir that is very witty; who having newly been discharged from the discretion of a governor and come to keep his own money, gets into a cabal of coxcombs of the third form, who will be sure to cry him up for a fine person, that he may think all them so.

Cour. Oh, your asses know one another's nature exactly, and are always ready to nabble, because it is the certain way to be nabbled again: But, above all the rest, what think you of the Atheist?

Beau. By this good light, thou hast prevented me: I have one for thee of that kind, the most inimitable varlet, and the most insufferable stinkard living; one that has doubts enough to turn to all religions, and yet would fain pretend to be of none: in short, a cheat, that would have you of opinion that he believes neither heaven nor hell, and yet never feels so much as an ague fit, but he is afraid of being damned.

Cour. That must be a very noble champion, and certainly an original.

Beau. The villain has less sincerity than a bawd, less courage than a hector, less good-nature than a hangman, and less charity than a fanatick; talks of religion and church-worship as familiarly as a little

courtier does of the maids of honour; and swears the king deserves to be chained out of the city, for suffering zealous fools to build Paul's again, when it would make so proper a place for a citadel.

Cour. A very worthy member of a Christian commonwealth, that is the truth on't.

Beau. I am intimately acquainted with him. Cour. I honour you for it with all my heart, sir. Beau. After all, the rogue has some other little tiny vices, that are not very ungrateful.

Cour. Very probable.

Beau. He makes a very good-odd man at ballum rancum, or so; that is, when the rest of the company is coupled, will take care to see there is good attendance paid; and when we have a mind to make a ballum of it indeed, there is no lewdness so scandalous that he will not be very proud to have the honour to be put upon.

Cour. A very necessary instrument of damnation, truly.

Beau. Besides, to give the devil his due, he is seldom impertinent; but, barring his darling topic, blasphemy, a companion pleasant enough. Shall I recommend him to thy service? I'll enter into bonds of five hundred pounds, that he teaches thee as good a way to get rid of that whip and a bell, called thy wife, as thy heart would wish for. Cour. And that is no small temptation, I assure

you.

Boy. Sir!

Enter a boy with a letter.

Beau. My child!

Cour. A pimp, for a guinea, he speaks so gently

to him.

Beau. Tell her she has undone me, she has chosen the only way to enslave me utterly; tell her, my

soul, my life, my future happiness, my present fortune, are only what she'll make them. Boy. At seven, sir.

Beau. Most infallibly.

Cour. Ay, ay, 'tis so: Now what a damned country-itch have I to dive into the secret! Beaugard! Beaugard, are all things in a readiness? the husband out of the way, the family disposed of? Come, come, come, no trifling; be free-hearted and friendly.

Beau. You are married, Ned, you are married; that is all I have to say: you are married.

Cour. Let a man do a foolish thing once in his life-time, and he shall always hear of it-Married, quoth 'a; pr'ythee be patient: I was married about a twelve month ago, but that is past and forgotten. Come, come, communicate, communicate, if thou art a friend, communicate.

Beau. Not a tittle. I have conscience, Ned, conscience; though I must confess it is not altogether so gentleman-like a companion: but what a scandal would it be upon a man of my sober demeanor and character, to have the unmerciful tongue of thy legitimate spouse roaring against me, for debauching her natural husband!

Cour. It has been otherwise, sir.

Beau. Ay, ay, the time has been, Courtine, when thou wert in possession of thy natural freedom, and mightest be trusted with a secret of this dear nature; when I might have opened this billet, and shewed thee this bewitching name at the bottom: but woe and alas! O matrimony, matrimony! what a blot art thou in an honest fellow's scutcheon!

Cour. No more to be said; I'll into the country again, like any discontented statesman; get drunk every night with an adjacent schoolmaster; beat my wife to a downright housekeeper; get all my

maid-servants every year with bastards, till I command a seraglio five miles round my own palace, and be beholding to no man of two thousand pounds a-year for a whore, when I want one.

Beau. Good words, Ned, good words, let me advise you; none of your marriage-qualities of scolding and railing, now you are got out of the turbulent element. Come hither, come; but first let us capitulate; Will you promise me upon your conjugal credit, to be very governable, and very civil?

Cour. As any made spaniel, or hang me up for

a cur.

Beau. Then this note, this very billet, Ned, comes from a woman, who, when I was strolling very pensively last Sunday to church, watched her opportunity, and poached me up for the service of Satan. Cour. Is she very handsome, Beaugard?

Beau. These country squires, when they get up to town, are as termagant after a wench, as a tiedup hungry cur, got loose from kennel, is after crusts. Very handsome, said you? Let me see: no, not very handsome neither; but she'll pass, Ned, she'll pass. Cour. Young?

Beau. About eighteen.

Cour. Oh Lord!

Beau. Her complexion fair, with a glowing blush always ready in her cheeks, that looks as nature were watching every opportunity to seize and run away with her.

Cour. Oh the devil, the devil! this is intolerable. Beau. Her eyes black, sparkling, sprightful, hot, and piercing.

Cour. The very description of her shoots me through my liver.

Beau. Her hair of a delicate light amber-brown, curling in huge rings, and of a great quantity. Cour. So.

Beau. Her forehead large, majestic, and
Cour. Very well.

generous.

Beau. Her nose neat, and well-fashioned.
Cour. Good.

Beau. With a delicious, little, pretty, smiling

mouth.

Cour. Oh!

Beau. Teeth whiter than so many little pearls; a bewitching neck, and tempting, rising, swelling breasts.

Cour. Ah hhhh

Beau. Then such a proportion, such a shape, such a waist

Cour. Hold: Go no lower, if thou lov'st me.

Beau. But, by your leave, friend, I hope to go something lower,. if she loves me.

Cour. But art thou, certain, Beaugard, she is all this thou hast told me So fair, so tempting, so lovely, so bewitching?

Beau. No; for, you must know, I never saw her face in my life: but I love my own pleasure so well, that I'll imagine all this, and ten times more, if it be possible.

Cour. Where lives she?

Beau. That I know not neither; but my orders are to meet her fairly and squarely this evening by seven, at a certain civil person's shop in the upper walk, at the New Exchange, where she promises to be very good-natured, and let me know more of her mind. Cour. I'll e'en go home, like a miserable blockhead as I am, to my lodging, and sleep.

Beau. No, Ned: thou knowest my good chances have always been lucky to thee: who can tell but this lady-errant that has seized upon my person may have a straggling companion, or so, not unworthy my friend.