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To ask your (as the Frenchman calls it sweet-
Benediction de jour en jour.

Seb. Sirrah, don't conjure me with your
French furies 6.

Laun. Che ditt'a cou, monsieur?
Seb. Che duga vou, rascal ! [plainly,
Leave me your rotten language, and tell me
And quickly, sirrah, lest I crack your French

crown,

[tain'd
What your good master means. I have main-
You and your Monsieur, as I take it, Laun-
celot,
[jours!

These two years at your ditty vous, your
Jour me no more; for not another penny
Shall pass my purse.

Laun. Your worship is erroneous;
For, as I told you, your son Tom, or Thomas,
My master and your son, is now arriv'd
To ask you (as our language bears it nearest)
Your quotidian blessing; and here he is in
person.

Enter Thomas.

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(I know it, and I find it) all my rogueries, By mere way of prevention, to undo me.

Laun. Sir, as I speak eight languages, I only Told him you came to ask his benediction, De jour en jour!

Tho. But that I must be civil,

I'd beat thee like a dog.-Sir, howsoever
The time I have mispent, may make you
doubtful,
[sion-
Nay, harden your belief 'gainst my conver-
Seb. A pox o' travel, I say!
Tho. Yet, dear father,

Your own experience in my after-courses

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Don'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 the visible lection of the old quarto, and every edition prior to Mr. Seward's ; it is also good sense and natural; and conjure me is play enough upon Launcelot's de jour en jour. 7 Will never be in my books, like mad Thomas.] In Shakespeare's Much Ado about Nothing this expression occurs:

I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books ;' upon which Dr. Johnson and Mr. Steevens have thus commented:

This is a phrase used, I believe, by more than understand it. To be in one's books is to be Johnson.

' in one's codicils or will, to be among friends set down for legacies.'
I rather think that the books alluded 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:
I'd 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.'

Hamlet says,

-My tables, meet it is I set it down

when he pulls out his pocket-book.

Probably

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As he does all; for I was uttering [dying A handsome speech or two, I have been stuE'er since I came from Paris. How glad to see thee! [love too,

Dor. I'm gladder to see you (with more I dare maintain it) than my father's sorry To see (as he supposes) your conversion; And I am sure he's vex'd; nay more, I know it;

[sir, H'has pray'd against it mainly: But it appears, You'd rather blind him with that poor opinion Than in yourself correct it. Dearest brother, Since there is in our uniform resemblance No more to make us two but our bare sexes, And since one happy birth produc'd us hither, Let one more happy mind

Tho. It shail be, sister;

For I can do it when I list, and yet, wench, Be mad too when I please; I have the trick Beware a traveller.

Dor. Leave that trick too.

[on't:

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Dor. Now you play your true self; How would my father love this! I'll assure [loudly) She will not see you; she has heard (and The gambols that you play'd since your de[chiefs, In every town you came, your several misYour rouses and your wenches; all your quarrels,

parture,

And the no-causes of 'em; these, I take it,
Altho' she love you well, to modest ears,
To one that waited for your reformation,
To which end travel was propounded by her
uncle,

Must needs, and reason for it, be examin'd,
And by her modesty; and fear'd too light too,
Tohle with her affections: You have lost her,
For any thing I see, exil'd yourself.

Tho. No more of that, sweet Doll; I will be civil.

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So light are you, and blown with every fan[vil? Will you but make me hope you may be ciI know your nature's sweet enough, and tender, [mistress? Not grated on, nor curb'd: D'you love your Tho. He lies that says I do not.

Dor. Would you see her?

Tho. If you please, for it must be so.
Dor. And appear to her

A thing to be belov'd?

Tho. Yes.

Dor. Change then

A little of your wildness into wisdom,
And put on a more smoothness.

I'll do the best I can to help you; yet

I do protest she swore, and swore it deeply, She would ne'er see you more. Where's your man's heart now?

What, do you faint at this?

Tho. She is a woman:

But he she entertains next for a servant,
I shall be bold to quarter!

Dor. No thought of fighting. [rul'd, Go in, and there we'll talk more; be but And what lies in my power, ye shall be sure of. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.
Enter Alice and Mary.

Alice. He cannot be so wild still!
Mary. Tis most certain;

I've now heard all, and all the truth.
Alice. Grant all that ;

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 tradesman's books' might formerly have been an expression in common conversation for

a trust of any other kind.

Seward.

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

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

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Mary. All this

You only use to make me say I love him:
I do confess I do; but that my fondness
Should fling itself upon his desperate fol-
lies-

Alice. I do not counsel that; see him reclaim'd first,

Which will not prove a miracle: Yet, Mary,
I am afraid 'twill vex thee horribly
To stay so long.

Mary. No, no, aunt; no, believe me. Alice. What was your dream to-night ?? for I observ'd you [Tom!' Hugging of me, with, Good, dear, sweet Mary. Fy, aunt!

Upon my conscience

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Alice. On my word 'tis true, wench. And then you kiss'd me, Mary, more than

once too,

And sigh'd, and 'Oh, sweet Tom'! again. Nay, do not blush;

You have it at the heart, wench.

Mary. I'll be hang'd first; But you must have your way.

Enter Dorothea.

Alice. And so will you too,

Or break down hedges for it. Dorothea! The welcom'st woman living. How does thy brother? [man, I hear he's turn'd a wondrous civil gentie Since his short travel.

Dor. 'Pray Heav'n he make it good, Alice. Mary. How do you, friend? I have a quarrel to you;

You stole away and left my company.

Dor. Oh, pardon me, dear friend; it was to welcome

A brother, that I have some cause to love well. [truth. Mary. Prithee how is he? thou speak'st Dor. Not perfect;

I hope he will be.

Mary. Never. H' has forgot me,

I hear, wench, and his hot love too-
Alice. Thou wouldst howl then.

Mary. And I am glad it should be so:
His travels

Have yielded him variety of mistresses,

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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 Batchelor. R.

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You have a mind.

Mary. That mind I'll master then.
Dor. And is your hate so mortal?
Mary. Not to his person,

But to his qualities, his mad-cap follies, Which still like Hydra's heads grow thicker on him.

I have a credit, friend; and maids of my sort Love where their modesties may live untainted.

Dor. I give up that hope then: 'Pray, for
your friend's sake,

If I have any interest within you,
Do but this courtesy, accept this letter.
Mary. From him?

[ing;

Dor. The same. 'Tis but a minute's readAnd, as we look on shapes of painted devils, Which for the present may disturb our fancy, But with the next new object lose 'em ; so, If this be foul, you may forget it. 'Pray! Mary. Have you seen it, friend? Dor. I will not lie, I have not; But I presume, so much he honours you, The worst part of himself was cast away When to his best part he writ this,

Mary. For your sake;

Not that I any way shall like his scribbling-
Alice. A shrewd dissembling quean!
Dor. I thank you, dear friend.

I know she loves him.

Alice. Yes, and will not lose him, Unless he leap into the moon, believe that, And then she'll scramble too. Young wenches'

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Dor. Ha! what has the madman done? Mary. Worse, worse, and worse still! Alice. Some Northern toy, a little broad. Mary. Still fouler!

Hey, hey, boys! Goodness keep me! Oh! Dor. What ail you?

Mary. Here, take your spell again; it
burns my fingers.

Was ever lover writ so sweet a letter,
So elegant a stile? 'Pray look upon't;
The rarest inventory of rank oaths
That ever cut-purse cast.

Alice. What a mad boy is this!
Mary. Only i' th' bottom

[ters;

A little julep gently sprinkled over To cool his mouth, lest it break out in blis'Indeed law, yours for ever.'

Dor. I am sorry.

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His tewgh be tith and strong; and next, no swearing;

He'll catch no fish else. Farewell, Doll! Dor. Farewell, Alice! [Exeunt.

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Cel. You cannot be the master of your Either some fever lies in wait to catch you, Whose harbingers already in your face We see 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 Be purg'd away, and with as much care softAnd where the cause is

Fran. Tis a joy to be ill,

feu'd,

Where such a virtuous fair physician
Is ready to relieve: Your noble cares
I must, and ever shall, be thankful for;
And would my service- (I dare not look upon
her)-

But be not fearful; I feel nothing dangerous;
A grudging, caus'd by th' alteration
Of air, may hang upon me: My heart's
I would it were!-
[whole.-

Val. I knew the cause to be so.
Fran. No, you shall never know it.
Alice. Some warm broths,

To purge the blood, and keep your bed a day,
And sweat it out.

Cel. I have such cordials,

[sir,

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Val. Come, lead him in; he shall to bed. I'll have a vomit for him.

Alice. A purge first;
And if he breath'd a vein-
Val. No, no, no bleeding;
A clyster will cool all.

Cel. Be of good chear, sir!
Alice. He's loth to speak.

Cel. How hard he holds my hand, aunt!
Alice. I do not like that sign.
Val. Away to's chamber,

Softly; he's full of pain; be diligent,

With all the care ye have. 'Would I had 'scus'd him!

SCENE II.

[Exeunt.

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Tho. Your patience;

May not a man profess his love?

Dor. In blasphemies?

[devils?

Rack a maid's tender ears with damns and Out 1o, out upon thee!

Tho. How would you have me write? Begin with My love premised; surely, And by my truly, mistress?'

Dor. Take your own course,

For I see all persuasion's lost upon you, Humanity all drown'd: From this hour fairly I'll wash my hands of all you do. Farewell, Tho. Thou art not mad?

[sir!

Dor. No; if I were, dear brother, I would keep you company. Get a new mis

tress, [oaths Some suburb saint", that sixpence and some Will draw to parley; carouse her health in [beauty; And candles' ends, and quarrel for her

cans

10 Tho. Out, out upon thee!] This seems the conclusion of Dorothea's speech, not the beginning of Thomas's, whose stile widely differs from this.

11 Some suburb saint, that sixpence and some others

Seward.

Will draw to parley.] 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 met with in our Authors, and in other writings of their age.

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-Carouse her health in cans

And candles' ends.]

To drink off candles' ends for flap-dragons,'

Seward.

is one of the qualifications which Falstaff assigns for Prince Heury's love for Poins. It seems

to

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