ed from the Fool! then she's expensive, and for
want of Alimony, jilts all the believing Block-heads that she meets
with.

_Oliv._ But this is a Maid, Sir.

_Wel._ Worse still! At every turn she's raving on her Honour; then if
she have a Kinsman, or a Brother, I must be challeng'd.

_Oliv._ Sir, you mistake, my Lady is for Matrimony.

_Wel._ How!

_Oliv._ You have not forsworn it, I hope.

_Wel._ Not so--but--

_Oliv._ If a Lady, young and handsom, and Ten Thousand Pounds--

_Wel._ Nay, I am not positive--

Enter Sir _Morgan_, and Sir _Merlin_, drunk, singing.

_Wise Coxcombs be damn'd, here's a health to the Man,
That since Life is but short, lives as long as he can._

Sir _Morg._ Where is my Lady _Mirtilla_, Rogues?

Sir _Mer._ And my Mistress, Rascals? For we are resolv'd to shew our
selves in Triumph to our Wives and Mistresses.

L. _Youth._ Your Mistress, Sir _Merlin_? mistake not your Mark.

Sir _Mer._ Ha! Art thou there, old Cathedral? Why, thou look'st as
magnificiently as old Queen _Bess_ in the _Westminster_-Cupboard.

Sir _Morg._ Lookye as de see, when _Adam_ wore a Beard, she was in her
Prime, or so, de see.
[Sings.

L. _Youth._ Sir, you are a saucy _Jack_, and your Father shall correct
you.

Sir _Mer._ My Father! my Father's an old Toast, de see; and I hope to
see him hang'd.

Sir _Row._ Here's a Heathen-Christian! see his Father hang'd!

Sir _Mer._ Ay, hang'd, and all the old Fathers in _Christendom_. Why,
what a Pox shou'd Fathers trouble the World for? when I come to reign in
Parliament, I will enact it Felony, for any Father to have so little
Grace to live, that has a Son at Years of Discretion.

Sir _Row._ A damn'd Rogue, I'll disinherit him immediately.

L. _Blun._ Is it so great a Crime, Brother, for a Gentleman to be drunk?

Sir _Mer._ You lye like a Son of a Whore--I have been drinking Confusion
to all the Fathers and Husbands in _England_.

Sir _Morg._ How, Sir, Confusion to Husbands! Look ye, de see, Sir,
swallow me that Word, or I'll make you deposit all the conjugal Wine you
have drunk.

Sir _Mer._ I deposit all your Wine! Sirrah, you're a Blunderbuss.

Sir _Morg._ Sirrah, you are a diminutive Bully.

Sir _Mer._ Sirrah, you're the Whore of _Babylon_, and I defy you.

Sir _Morg._ Lookye, de see, I scorn to draw upon a drunken Man, or so,
I being sober; but I boldly challenge you into the Cellar, where thou
shalt drink till thou renounce thy Characte