the Wit so poor, as Wonder, nor Birth so mean, as Pride.

_Doct_. I humbly thank your Admonition, Sir, and shall, in all I can,
struggle with human Frailty.

[_Brings_ Char. _to the Door bare. Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Scaramouch, _peeping at the other Door_.

_Scar_. So, so, all things go gloriously forward, but my own Amour, and
there is no convincing this obstinate Woman, that 'twas that Rogue
_Harlequin_ in Disguise, claim'd me; so that I cannot so much as come to
deliver the young Ladies their Letters from their Lovers. I must get in
with this damn'd Mistress of mine, or all our Plot will be spoil'd for
want of Intelligence.
--Hum, the Devil does not use to fail me at a dead Lift. I must deliver
these Letters, and I must have this Wench--though but to be reveng'd on
her for abusing me--Let me see--she is resolv'd for the Apothecary or
the Farmer. Well, say no more, honest _Scaramouch_; thou shalt find a
Friend at need of me--and if I do not fit you with a Spouse, say that a
Woman has out-witted me.

[_Exit_.

_The End of the Second Act_.

ACT III.

SCENE I. _The Street, with the Town-Gate, where an Officer stands with a
Staff like a_ London _Constable_.

_Enter_ Harlequin _riding in a Calash, comes through the Gate
towards the Stage, dress'd like a Gentleman sitting in it. The_
Officer _lays hold of his Horse_.

_Off_. Hold, hold, Sir, you I suppose know the Customs that are due to
this City of _Naples_, from all Persons that pass the Gates in Coach,
Chariot, Calash, or _Siege Volant_.

_Har_. I am not ignorant of the Custom, Sir, but what's that to me.

_Off_. Not to you, Sir! why, what Privilege have you above the rest?

_Har_. Privilege, for what, Sir?

_Off_. Why, for passing, Sir, with any of the before-named Carriages.

_Har_. Art mad?--Dost not see I am a plain Baker, and this my Cart, that
comes to carry Bread for the Vice-Roy's, and the City's Use?--ha.

_Off_. Are you mad, Sir, to think I cannot see a Gentleman Farmer and a
Calash, from a Baker and a Cart.

_Har_. Drunk by this Day--and so early too? Oh, you're a special
Officer? unhand my Horse, Sirrah, or you shall pay for all the Damage
you do me.

_Off_. Hey Day! here's a fine Cheat upon the Vice-Roy: Sir, pay me, or
I'll seize your Horse.
[Har. _strikes him. They scuffle a little_.
--Nay, and you be so brisk, I'll call the Clerk fro