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May meet me at the nearest: Your son, my Seb. Humh, humh!

[spoilld. master,

Tbim Discretion? Is it come to that the boy's Or Monsieur Thomas, (for so his travel stiles Tho. Sirrah, you rogue, look for't! for I Thro' many foreign plots that virtue meets will make thee with,

Tentimes more miserable than thou thought'st And dangers (I beseech you give attention) thyself Is at the last arriv'd,

[ly) | Before thou travell’dst : Thou hast told my To ask yor (as the Frenchman calls it sweet father Benediction de jour en jour.

(I know it, and I find it) all my rogueries, Seb. Sirrah, don't conjure me with your By mere way of prevention, to undo me. French furies 6.

Laun. Sir, as I speak eight languages, I only Luun. Che ditl'a tou, monsieur?

Told bim you came to ask his benediction, Scb. Che duga rou, rascal ! [plain!y, Dejour en jour ! Leave me your rotten language, and tell me Tho. But that I must be civil, And quickly, sirral, lest I crack your French I'd beat thee like a dog.–Sir, howsoever crown,

tain'd | The time I have mispent, may make you What your good master means. I have main doubtful,

[sion You and your Monsieur, as I take it, Laun Nay, harden your belief 'gainst my convercelot,

Ljours !

Šeb. A pox o'travel, I say! These two years at your dirty vous, your Tho. Yet, dear father, Jour me no more; for not another penny Your own experience in my after-coursesShall pass my purse, Laun. Your worship is erroneous;

Enter Dorothea. For, as I told you, your son Tom, or Thomas, Seb. Prithec no more; 'tis scurvy! There's My master and your son, is now arriv’d

tly sister.

[picks; To ask you (as our language bears it nearest) Indone, without redemption! he ents with Your quotidian blessing; and here he is in Utterly spoil'd, his spirit baffled in him ! person.

Ilow have I sin'd, that this affliction
Enter Thomas.

Should light so heavy or me? I've no more Scb. What, Tom, boy ! weleome with all sons,

(nature my heart, bov!

And this no more mine own; no spark of Welcome, 'faith! thou hast gladded me at Allows him mine now; he's grown tame. My soul, boy!

grand curse Infinite glad I am. I have pray’d too, Thomas, Ilang o'er his head that thus transform’d For you, wild Thomas. Tom, I thank thee thee! Travel!

sicur ! For coming home.

[heartily I'll send iny horse to travel next!- 'We MonTho. Sir, I du find your pravers

Now will my most canonical dear neiglsbours Have much prevail'd above my sins

Sav, I have found my son, and rejoice with me, Seb. How's this?

(rudeness, Because he has mew'd his mad tricks off. Tho. Else certain I had perish'd with my

I know not,

[tleman, Ere I had won myself to that discretion, But I am sure this Monsieur, this fine geaI hope you shall bereafter find.

Will never be in my books,like mad Thomas7 a Duri't conjure me with your French furies,] The old man not understanding the expression de jour en jour, repeats the English words that are nearest it in sound; and in the old quarto of this play, it is hard to distinguish whether the last word be juries or furies : [ prefer the former, and think the similitude of sounds more in character than any allusion between the furies and conjuration. Seward.

Furies is tiie visible lection of the old quarto, and every edition prior to Mr. Seward's; it is also good sevise and natural; and conjure me is play enough upon Launcelot's de jour en jour.

? Will never be in my books, like med Thomas.] In Slakespeare's Much Ado about Nothing this expression occurs :

• I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books;' upon which Dr. Johnson and Nir. Steevens liarc thus coimmented:

• This is a phrase used, I believe, by more than understand it. To be in one's books is to be in one's codicils or will, to be among friends set down for legacies.'

Johnson. I rather think that the books alluced to are memorandum books, like the visiting-books of the present age. Such another expression occurs in Middleton's Comedy of Blurt Master Constable, 1602 :

Td scratch her eyes out, if my man stood in her tubles.' Again, in Shirley's School of Compliment, 1637 :

- There's a man in her tables more than I look'd for.'

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Hamlet says,

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-My tables, mect it is I set it down when he pulls out his pocket-bwwk.


see thee!

father's sorry


I must go seek an heir; for

inheritance Dor. But how long?

[right? Must not turn secretary. My name and Tho. Wouldst thou have me lose my birthquality

[madness : For yond old thing will disinherit me, Flare kept my land three hundred years in If I grow too demure. Good sweet Doll, An it slip now, may't sink ! [Exit. prithee, Tho. Excellent sister,

[father? Prithee, dear sister, let me see her! I'm glad to see thee well-But where's my Dur. No. Dor. Gone discontent, it seems.

Tho. Nay, I beseech thee. By this lightTho. lle did ill in it,

Dor. Ay, swagger. As he does all; for I was uttering [dying Tho. Kiss me, and be my friend; we two A handsome speech or two, I bave been stu were twins, E’er since I came froin Paris. How glad to And shall we now grow strangers ?

[love too, Dor. 'Tis not my fault. Dor. I'm gladder to see you (with more Tho. Well, there be other women; and I dare maintain it) than my remember you,

(lands too, To sce (as he supposes) your conversion; You were the cause of this; there be more And I am sure he's vex'd; nay more, I know sind better people in ’em; tare ye well!

[sir, And other loves. What sball become of me, H’has pray'd against it mainly: But it appcars, And of my vanities, because they grieve you? You'd rather blind him with that poor opinion Dor. Come hither, come; d' you see that Than in yourself correct it. Dearest brother, cloud that flies there? Since there is in our uniform resemblance So light are you, and blown with every fanNo more to make us two but our bare sexes, cy

[vil? Aud since one happy birth produc'd us hither, Will you but make me hope you may be ciLet one more happy mind

I know your nature's sweet enough, and tenTho. It shail be, sister;


mistress ? For I can do it when I list, and yet, wench, Not grated on, nor curb’d: D’you love your Be mad too when I please; I have the trick Tho. Ile lies that says I do not. Beware a traveller.


Dur. Would you see her? Dor. Leave that trick too.

Tho. If you please, for it must be so. Tho. Not for the world. But where's my Dor. And appear to her inistress?

[her, A thing to be belov’d? And prithee say how does she? I melt to see Tho. Yes. And presently: I must away.

Dor. Change then Dor. Then do so,

A liitle of your wildness into wisdom, For o' my faith she will not see you, brother

And put ou a more smoothness. Tho. Not see jne? I'll.

I'll do the best I can to help you; yet Dor. Now you play your true self; I do protest she swore, and swore it deeply, How would my faiher love this! I'll assure She would ne'er see you more. Where's your

(loudly) man's heart now? She will not see you; she has hcard (and What, do you faint at this? The gambols that you play'd since your de Tho. She is a woman : parture,

[chiefs, But he she entertains next for a servant, In every town you cane, your several mis I shall be bold to quarter! Your rouses and your wenches; all your Dor. No thought of tighting. [rul'd, quarrels,

Go in, and there we'll talk more; be but And the no-causes of lem; these, I take it, Aud what lies in my power, ye shall be sure Altho' she love you well, to modest ears,


[Ereunt. To one that waited for your reformation, To which end travel was propounded by her


Enter Alice and Mary.
Must peeds, and reason for it, be examin'd,
And by her modesty; and fear'd too light too,

Alice. He cannot be so wild still!
Tonle with her affections: You have lost her, Mary. Tis mosi certain;
For any thing I sie, exild yourself.

I've now beard ail, and all the truth,
Tho. No more of that, sweet Doll; I will Alice. Grant all that;
be civil.

Is be the first that has been giv'n a lost man,


Probably the phrase was originally adopted from the tradesman's language. “To be in trutesman's books' inight formerly have been an expression in common conversation for ulrusi ot'any other kind. Seward.

& Not for the world. But where's my mistress.] This line balting a little, Mr. Seward, with admirable precision, reads,

Not for the world; but where's my misteress'

And yet come fairly home? He's young and Mary. All this tender,

You only use to make me say I lore bim: And fit for that impression your affections I do confess I do; but that my fondness Shall stamp upon hiin. Age brings ou discre Should Aing itself upon his desperate foltion ;

(sess bim

lies A year hence, these mad toys that now pos Alice. I do not counsel that; see him rewill shew like bugbears to him, shapes to

claim'd first, fright him ;

Which will not prove a miracle: Yet, Mary, Marriage dissolves all these like mists. I am afraid 'twill vex thee horribly Mary. They're grounded

To stay so long. Hereditary in him, from bis father,

Mary. No, no, aunt; no, bclicve me. And to his grave they'll haunt him.

Alice. What was your dream to-night) Alice. 'Tis your fear,

for Lobserv'd you

Turn!' Which is a wise part in you; yet your love, Hugging of me, with, 'Good, dear, sweet However you may seem to lessen it

Mary. Ty, aunt! With these dislikes, and choak it with these Upon my conscienceerrors,

[him : Alice. On my word 'tis true, wench. Do what you can, will break out to excuse

And then you


me, Mary, more than You have hiin in your heart, and planted, once too, cousin,

(cretion, And sigli'd, and 'Oh, sweet Tom'! again. From whence the power of reason, nor dis Nay, do not blush; Can ever root him.

You have it at the heart, wench. Mary. Planted in my heart, aunt?

Mury. I'll be hang'd first; Believe it, no; I never was so liberal. But


inust have your way. What tho' he shew a so-so-comely fellow, Which we call pretty, or say it may be hand

Enter Dorothea.

Alice. And so will you too, some; What tho' his promises may stumble at Or break down hedges for it. Dorothea! The power of goodness in hin, sometimes The welcom'st woman living. How does thy use too


(man, Alice. How willingly thy heart betrays I hear he's turn'd a wondrous civil genue thee! Cousin,

(power since his short travel. Cozen thysclf no more: Th' hast no more Dor. 'Pray Ileav'n he make it good, Alice. To leave of loving him, than he that's thirsty Mary. How do you, friend? I have a quarHas to abstain from drink standing before bip.

You stole away and left my company. His mind is not so monstrous; for his shape, Dor. Oh, pardon me, dear friend; it was If I have eyes, I have not seen his better;

to welcome A bandsome brown complexion-----

A brother, that I have some cause to love Mary. Reasonable,


(truth. Inclining to a tawny.

Mury. Prithee how is lie? thou speak'st Alice. Had I said so

Dor. Not perfect; You would have wish'd iny tongue out. Then I hope he will be. his making

Mary. Never. Il' bas forgot me, Mary. Wbich may be mended; I have seen I hear, wench, and his hot love toolegs straighter,

Alice. Thou wouldst howl then. And cleaner made.

Mary. And I am glad it should be so: Alice. A body too--

llis travels Mary. Far neater,

Flave yielded him variety of mistresses, And better set together.

Fairer in his


far. Alice. God forgive thee!

Cly. Alice. Oh, cogging rascal! For'gainst thy conscience thouliest stubborn Mary. I was a fool, but better thoughts, Mury. I grant 'tis neat enough.

thank Heav'oAlice. 'Tis excellent;

[lovely, Dor. 'Pray do not think so, for he loves you And where the outward parts are fair and dearly,

you. (Which are but moulds o' th’ mind) what Upon my troch, most firmly; would fain see must the soul be?

Nury. See me, friend! Do you think it fit? Put case youth bas his swing, and fiery nature Dor. It inay be, Flames to inad uses many times.

Without the loss of credit too: Ile's not 9 What was your dream, &c.] We have had occasion to observe before, that Congreve was much obliged to our Authors upon several occasions; and we cannot but think he had been reading this scene before he wrote the third scene in the second act of The Old Batcheior. R.

rel to you;

Such a prodigious thing, so monstrous, The least distemper pulls 'em back again, To Ning from all society.

And seats 'em in their old course : Fear her Mury. He's so much contrary

Unless he be a devil.

[not, To my desires, such an antipathy,

Mary. Now Heav'n bless me! That I must sooner see my grave.

Dor. What has he writ? Dor. Dear friend,

Mary. Out, out upon hiin! Ile was not so before he went.

Dor. Ha! what has the madman done? Jlary. I grant it,

Mary. Worse, worse, and worse still! For then I daily hop'd his fair conversion. Alice. Some Northern toy, a little broad. Alice. Come, do not mask yourself, but Mury. Still fouler! see him freely;

Hey, hey, boys! Goodness keep me! Oh! You have a mind.

Dor. What ail you? Mary. That mind I'll master then.

Mury. Here, take your spell again; it Dor. And is your hate so mortal?

burns my fingers. Mary. Not to his person,

Was ever lover writ so sweet a letter,
But to his qualities, his mad-cap follies, So elegant a stile? 'Pray look upon't;
Which still like Hydra's heads grow thicker The rarest inventory of rank oaths
on hiin.

That ever cut-purse cast.
I have a credit, friend; and maids of my sort Alice. What a mad boy is this !
Love where their modesties may live un Mury. Only i'th' bottom

A little julep gently sprinkled over [ters; Dor. I give up that hope then: 'Pray, for To cool his mouth, lest it break out in blis. your friend's sake,

. Indeed law, yours for ever.' If I have

interest within you,

Dor. I am sorry.
Do but this courtesy, accept this letter. Mary. You shall be welcome to me, come
Mary. From him?

[ing; when you please, Dor. The same. 'Tis but a minute's read And ever may cominan: me virtuously; And, as we look on shapes of painted devils, But for your brother, you must pardon me : Which for the present may disturb our fancy, 'Till I am of his nature, nu access, friend, But with the next new object lose 'em; so, No word of visitation, as you love me. If this be foul, you may forget it. 'Pray! And so for now I'll leave

you, [Erit. Alury. Have you seen it, friend?

Alice. What a letter

[thunder! Dor. I will not lie, I have not;

Has this thing written! how it roars like But I presume, so much he honours you, With what a state he enters into stile ! The worst part of himself was cast away

• Dear mistress!' When to his best part he writ this,

Dor. Out upon him, bedlamn! Mary. For

Alice. Well, there he ways to reach her Not that I any way shall like his scribbling

yet: Such likeness Alice. A shrewd dissembling quean!

As you two carry, methinksDor. I thank you, dear friend.

Dor. I am mad too, I know she loves hiin.

And yet can apprehend you. Fare you well! Alice. Yes, and will not lose him,

The fool shall now fish for himself. Unless he leap into the moon, believe that, Alice. Be sure then And then she'll scramble too. Young wenches' Ilis tewgh be tith and strong; and next, no Joves

[shift, swearing; Are like the course of quartans; they may

He'll catch no tish else. Farewell, Doll! And seem to cease sometimes, and yet we see Dor. Farewell, Alice! [Excunt.

your sake;


on now


How does my sweet? Our blessed hour comes Enter Valentine, Alice, and Cellide.

Apace, my Cellide, (it knocks at door) Cel. INDEED he is much chany'd, extreme In which our loves and long desires, lhe rily alter'd,

Rising asunder tar, shall fall together. [vers His colour faded strangely tuo.

Within these two days, dear------Val. The air,

Cel. When Heav'n and you, sir, [vern'd.
The sharp and nipping air of our new climate, Still think it fit; for by your wills I'm go-
I hope, is all, which will as well restore Alice. 'Twere good some preparation---
To health again th' affected body by it,
And make it stronger far, as leave it danger-

Enter Francis.

Val. All that may be ;




It shall be na blind wedding: And all the joy Alice. He grows fainter. [A romit; Of all our friends, I hope. He looks worse l'ul. Come, lead bin in; he shall to bed. hourly :

[coldly; I'll have a vomit for him.
How does my friend ? myself? Ile sivcats tou Alice. A purge tirst;
llis pulse, like the slow dropping of a spout, And if he breath'd a vein-.
Scarce gives his function. "llow is't, man? lal. No, no, no bleeding;
Alas, sir,

A clyster will cool all.
You look extreme ill: Is it any old grief, Cel. Be of good chear, sir!
The weiglic ot' which-

Alice. He's loth to speak.
Fran. None, gentle sir, that I feel;

Cel. How hard he holds my hand, aunt! Your love is too, too tender. Nay, believe, Alice. I do not like that siyn. sir

(health: Val, Away to's chamber, Cel. You cannot be the master of your Sotuly; he's full of pain; be diligent, Either some fever lies in wait to catch you, With all the care ye have. 'Would I had W hose harbingers already in your face

'scus'd binn!

[Ereunt. We sef preparing, or some discontent, Which, if it lie in this house, (I dare say,

Both for this noble gentleman, and all
That live within it) shall as readily send,

Enter Dorothea and Thomas.
Be purg'd away, and with as much care sott-

Dor. Why do you rail at me? Do I dwell And where the cause is,

in her, Fran. 'Tis a joy to be ill,

To force her to do this or that? Your letter ! Where such a virtuous fair physician A wild-tire on your letter, your sweet letter! Is ready to relieve : Your puble cares

You are so learned in your writs! You stand I must, and ever slı:ıls, be thankful tor;

(uppet, And would my service-(I dare not look upon As if y' had worried sheep. You must turn her)

And suddenly, and truly, and discreetly, But be not fearful; I feel nothing dangerous; Put on the shape of order and humanity, A grudging, caus’d by th' alteration

Or you must marry Malkyn the May-lady; Of air, may hang upon me: My heart's You must, dear brother. Do you make me I would it were !

(whole.Vul. I knew the cause to be so.

Of your coufound-me's, and your culverins
Fran. No, you shall never know it. Am I a seemly agent for your oaths ?
Alice. Some warm broths,

Who would have writ such a deboshid-
To purge the blood, and keep your bed a day, Tho. Your patience;
And sweat it out.

[sir, May not a man profess his love? Cel. I have such cordials,

Dor. In blasphemics?

[devils ? That, if

you will bot promise me to take'em, Rack a maid's iender cars with damns and Indeed


shall be well, and very quickly. Out'', out upon thee! I'll be your doctor; you shall see how tinely Tho. How would you have me write! l'll fetch yon up again.

Begin with My love premised; surely, l'al. He swcats extremely; [now.

And by my truly, mistress?' Ilot, very hot: Ilis pulse beats like a drum Dor. Take your own course, Feel, sister, feel! feel, sweet!

For I see all persuasion's lost upon you, Frun. Ilow that touch stung me! Humanity all drown'd: From this hour fairly l'ut. Ny gown there!

l'll wash my hands of all you do. Farewell, Cel. And those juleps in the window! Tho. Thou art not mad?

[sir ! Alice. Some see his bed made.

Dor. No; if I were, dear brother, Val. This is most unhappy!

I would keep you company, Get a new misTake courage, man; 'tis nothing but an ague. tress,

oaths Cel. And this shall be the last tit.

Sone suburb saint", that sixpence and somo Fran. Not by thousands !

Will draw to parley ; carouse ber health in Now what 'tis to be truly iniserable,

beauty; I feel at full experience.

And candles' ends", and quarrel for her 10 Tho. Out, out upon thec!] This secms the conclusion of Dorothea's speech, not the beginning of Thomas's, whose stile widely differs from this. Seward. 11 Sume suburb saint, that sixpence and some others

Will draw to purley.] The necessity of reading oaths here instead of others is too evident to need a proof. The mistake probably arose from spelling oaths with an othes, which 'I have often inet with in our Authors, and in other writings of their age.

-Carouse her health in cans
And candles' ends.]

* To drink off candles' ends for flap-dragons,' is one of the qualifications which Falstaff assigns for Prince Heury's love for Poins. It seems



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