_Bel_. From the _Hague_! Now have I a curiosity to see it--I am his Servant--give it me--[_Gives it him, and Exit_.--Perhaps here may be the second part of my Tragedy, I'm full of Mischief, _Charles_--and have a mind to see this Fellow's Secrets. For from this hour I'll be his evil Genius, haunt him at Bed and Board; he shall not sleep nor eat; disturb him at his Prayers, in his Embraces; and teaze him into Madness. Help me, Invention, Malice, Love, and Wit: [_Opening the Letter_.
Ye Gods, and little Fiends, instruct my Mischief. [_Reads_.
Dear Brother,
_According to your desire I have sent for my Son from _St. Omer's_, whom I have sent to wait on you in_ England; _he is a very good Accountant, and fit for Business, and much pleased he shall see that Uncle to whom he's so obliged, and which is so gratefully acknowledged by--Dear Brother, your affectionate Brother_, Francis Fainwou'd.
--Hum--hark ye, _Charles_, do you know who I am now?
_Gay_. Why, I hope a very honest Friend of mine, _Harry Bellmour_.
_Bel_. No, Sir, you are mistaken in your Man.
_Gay_. It may be so.
_Bel_. I am, d'ye see, _Charles_, this very individual, numerical young Mr.--_what ye call 'um Fainwou'd_, just come from _St. Omers_ into _England_--to my Uncle the Alderman. I am, _Charles_, this very Man.
_Gay_. I know you are, and will swear't upon occasion.
_Bel_. This lucky Thought has almost calm'd my mind.
And if I don't fit you, my dear Uncle, May I never lie with my Aunt.
_Gay_. Ah, Rogue--but prithee what care have you taken about your Pardon? 'twere good you should secure that.
_Bel_. There's the Devil, _Charles_,--had I but that--but I have had a very good Friend at work, a thousand Guyneys, that seldom fails; but yet in vain, I being the first Transgressor since the Act against Duelling.
But I impatient to see this dear delight of my Soul, and hearing from none of you this six weeks, came from _Brussels_ in this disguise--for the _Hague_ I have not seen, though hang'd there--but come--let's away, and compleat me a right _St. Omer's_ Spark, that I may present my self as soon as they come from Church.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE II. _Sir_ Cautious Fulbank's _House_.
_Enter Lady_ Fulbank, Pert _and_ Bredwel. Bredwel _gives her a Letter_.
_Lady_ Fulbank _reads_.
_Did my_ Julia _know how I languish in this cruel Separation, she would afford me her pity, and write oftner. If only the Expectation of two thousand a year kept me from you, ah!_ Julia, _how easily would I abandon that Trifle for your more valued sight; but that I know a fortune will render me more agreeable to the charming_ Julia, _I should quit all my Interest here, to throw my self at her Feet, to make her sensible how I am intirely her Adorer_.
Charles Gayman.
--Faith, _Charles_, you lie--you are as welcome to me now, Now when I doubt thy Fortune is declining, As if the Universe were thine.
_Pert_. That, Madam, is a noble Gratitude. For if his Fortune be declining, 'tis sacrificed to his Passion for your Ladyship.
--'Tis all laid out on Love.
L. _Ful_. I prize my Honour more than Life, Yet I had rather have given him all he wish'd of me, Than be guilty of his Undoing.
_Pert_. And I think the Sin were less.
L. _Ful_. I must confess, such Jewels, Rings and Presents as he made me, must needs decay his Fortune.
_Bred_. Ay, Madam, his very Coach at last was turned into a Jewel for your Ladyship. Then, Madam, what Expences his Despair have run him on --As Drinking and Gaming, to divert the Thought of your marrying my old Master.
L. _Ful_. And put in Wenching too.--
_Bred_. No, assure your self, Madam--
L. _Ful_. Of that I would be better satisfied--and you too must assist me, as e'er you hope I should be kind to you in gaining you _Diana_.
[_To_ Bredwel.
_Bred_. Madam, I'll die to serve you.
_Pert_. Nor will I be behind in my Duty.
L. _Ful_. Oh, how fatal are forc'd Marriages!
How many Ruins one such Match pulls on!
Had I but kept my Sacred Vows to _Gayman_, How happy had I been--how prosperous he!
Whilst now I languish in a loath'd embrace, Pine out my Life with Age--Consumptions, Coughs.
--But dost thou fear that Gayman is declining?
_Bred_. You are my Lady, and the best of Mistresses-- Therefore I would not grieve you, for I know You love this best--but most unhappy Man.
L. _Ful_. You shall not grieve me--prithee on.
_Bred_. My Master sent me yesterday to Mr. _Crap_, his Scrivener, to send to one Mr. _Wasteall_, to tell him his first Mortgage was out, which is two hundred pounds a Year--and who has since ingaged five or six hundred more to my Master; but if this first be not redeem'd, he'll take the Forfeit on't, as he says a wise Man ought.
L. _Ful_. That is to say, a Knave, according to his Notion of a wise Man.
_Bred_. Mr. _Crap_, being busy with a borrowing Lord, sent me to Mr.
_Wasteall_, whose Lodging is in a nasty Place called _Alsatia_, at a Black-Smith's.
L. _Ful_. But what's all this to _Gayman_?
_Bred_. Madam, this _Wasteall_ was Mr. _Gayman_.
L. _Ful_. _Gayman_! Saw'st thou _Gayman_?
_Bred_. Madam, Mr. _Gayman_, yesterday.
L. _Ful_. When came he to Town?
_Bred_. Madam, he has not been out of it.
L. _Ful_. Not at his Uncle's in _Northamptonshire_?
_Bred_. Your Ladyship was wont to credit me.
L. _Ful_. Forgive me--you went to a Black-Smith's--