_Aw'dw._ Tho' I thought not of your Play?

_Mars._ That's worse.

_Aw'dw._ Your Carriage, your cruel Carriage, was the thing I meant. If there shou'd be a Man of Quality, as you call 'em, I must not dare to own I know you.

_Mars._ And well remembred. My Lord Duke promis'd he'd be there.--Oh Heav'ns! I wou'd not stay another moment, No, not to finish a Speech in _Catiline_. What a Monster was I to forget it! Oh Jehu! My Lord Duke, and Sir _Thomas_! _Pat._ another Chair, Sir _Thomas_ and my Lord Duke both stay.--[_Exit running._

_Aw'dw._ Follow, follow. Fool, be gorg'd and glutted with Abuses, then throw up them and Love together.--[_Exit._

SCENE the Play-House.

_Enter Mr._ Johnson, _Mr._ Pinkethman, _Mrs._ Lucas, _and Miss_ Cross.

Mrs. _Cross_. Good morrow Mrs. _Lucas_; why what's the Whim, that we must be all dress'd at Rehearsal, as if we play'd?

Mrs. _Lucas_, 'Tis by the Desire of Madam _Maggot_ the Poetess, I suppose.

Mrs. _Cross_. She is a little whimsical, I think, indeed; for this is the most incomprehensible Part I ever had in my Life; and when I complain, all the Answer I get is, 'tis New, and 'tis odd; and nothing but new things and odd things will do--Where's Mr. _Powell_, that we may try a little before she comes.

Mr. _Johnson_. At the Tavern, Madam.

Mrs. _Cross_. At the Tavern in a Morning?

Mr. _Johns._ Why, how long have you been a Member of this Congregation, pretty _Miss_, and not know honest _George_ regards neither Times nor Seasons in Drinking?

_Enter Mrs._ Wellfed.

Mrs. _Cross_. O! Here comes Mrs. _Wellfed_. Your Servant Madam.

Mrs. _Wellf._ Your Servant Gentlemen and Ladies.

Mrs. _Lucas_. Sit down, Mrs. _Wellfed_, you are out of Breath.

Mrs. _Wellf._ Walking a Pace, and this ugly Cough--[_Coughs._ Well the Lady's a coming, and a couple of Beaus, but I perceive you need not care who comes, you are all dress'd.

Mrs. _Cross_. So it seems. I think they talk she expects a Duke.

Mrs. _Wellf._ Here's two of the Company.

_Enter Mr._ Praiseall _and_ Calista.

_Prais._ Dear Mrs. _Cross_, your Beauties Slave.

Mrs. _Cross_. Upon Condition, 'tis then, if I have no Beauty, you are no Slave; and the matter is just as 'twas.

_Prais._ Sharp, Sharp.--Charming _Isabella_, let me kiss the Strap of your Shoe, or the Tongue of your Buckle.

Mrs. _Cross_. Now have I such a mind to kick him i'th' Chops.-- [_Aside._ Oh fye, Sir, What d'ye mean?

_Calista._ So, now he's got among the Players, I may hang my self for a Spark.

Mr. _Pink._ Prithee _Johnson_, who is that?

Mr. _Johns._ He belongs to one of the Inns of Chancery.

Mr. _Pink._ A Lawyer?

Mr. _Johns._ I can't say that of the Man neither, tho' he sweats hard in Term-time, and always is as much at _Westminster_, as he that has most to do.

Mr. _Pink._ Does he practice?

Mr. _Johns._ Walking there, much.

Mr. _Pink._ But I mean, the Laws?

Mr. _Johns._ How to avoid its Penalty only. The Men are quite tir'd with him, for you shall generally see him oagling after the Women. He makes a shift to saunter away his Hours till the Play begins; after you shall be sure to behold his ill-favour'd Phyz, peeping out behind the Scenes, at both Houses.

Mr. _Pink._ What, at one time?

Mr. _Johns._ No, Faith, 'tis his moving from one House to 'tother takes up his time, which is the Commodity sticks of his Hands, for he has neither Sense nor Patience to hear a Play out.

Mr. _Pink._ I have enough of him, I thank you Sir.

_Calista._ How d'ye Madam? [_To Mrs._ Wellfed.

Mrs. _Wellf._ At your Service, Madam.

_Calista._ _Marsilia_ committed me to the Care of Mr. _Praiseall_; but more powerful Charms have robb'd me of my Gallant.

Mrs. _Wellf._ I thank Heav'n, I'm big enough to take care of myself.

Indeed to neglect a young pretty Lady, expose her unmask'd amongst a Company of wild Players, is very dangerous.

_Calist._ Unmask'd! Humph! I'll be ev'n with you for that. [_Aside._ Madam, I have read all your excellent Works, and I dare say, by the regular Correction, you are a Latinist, tho' _Marsilia_ laught at it.

Mrs. _Wellf._ _Marsilia_ shews her Folly, in laughing at what she don't understand. Faith, Madam, I must own my ignorance, I can go no further than the eight Parts of Speech.

_Calist._ Then I cannot but take the Freedom to say, you, or whoever writes, imposes upon the Town.

Mrs. _Wellf._ 'Tis no imposition, Madam, when ev'ry Body's inclination's free to like, or dislike a thing.

_Calist._ Your Pardon, Madam.

_Prais._ How's this? Whilst I am making Love, I shall have my two Heroines wage War. Ladies, what's your Dispute?

Mrs. _Wellf._ Not worth appealing to a Judge, in my Opinion.

_Calista._ I'll maintain it with my Life. Learning is absolutely necessary to all who pretend to Poetry.