O here she is.—Madam, I'm come to let you know—

Lucil.

Peace, Blockhead, and leave me to my solitary Thoughts.

Jocu.

O! with all my Heart, Madam.—Yes, yes, I only thought that I ought to inform you how the Lord Bellario— but I humbly beg your Ladyship's Pardon; since you don't care to hear of it I'll pocket up my News, and be gone as I came.

Lucil.

What's that you say, Joculo? Come back.

Jocu.

No, Madam, I leave you to your solitary Thoughts.

Lucil.

Stay, I tell you, come hither: What did you say?

Jocu.

I, Madam! nothing at all—one's sometimes over-busy in pretending to inform great People; but I'll be wiser for the future.

Lucil.

I'll be trifl'd with no longer, Sir; what did you come to tell me?

Jocu.

You'd fain know it then, would you, Madam?

Lucil.

Yes, make haste—what have you to say about the Lord Bellario?

Jocu.

A wonderful Accident, Madam! But I'm afraid 'twill disturb your solitary Thoughts—I had better put it off 'till another Opportunity.

Lucil.

Speak quickly, Sir—or—

Jocu.

Why, as your Father, Madam, was walking in the Forest a couple of horrible Ruffians, in Masks, darted out upon him: There were but two pitiful Wretches of us with

him, each of whom immediately gain'd his Tree, and your Father was left alone to take care of himself—

Lucil.

And then—

Jocu.

No, hold, Madam—before I go any farther I must needs say how foolish 'tis in People to expose themselves and those that are about 'em to such kind of Dangers: 'Tis what I don't understand, and what—

Lucil.

Will you dare, Sir, to tempt my Resentment any longer?

Jocu.

Well, then, to resume the Thread of my Discourse— Whereabouts did I break off tho'?

Lucil.

You said my Father was left alone to encounter the Ruffians.

Jocu.

Ay, ay, 'tis true, true—When that Moment, Madam, the Lord Bellario appear'd just as if he had been drop'd out of the Clouds to save him.

Lucil.

And so—

Jocu.

Why, one of the Villains, Madam, was immediately laid welt'ring in his Blood, and the other fled for't—Your Father, full of Joy, as you may imagine, embrac'd the valiant Bellario, proclaim'd him his present Deliverer, and your future Husband.

Lucil.

Ay, Liberia, since Heaven speaks so plainly in his Favour 'twou'd be Presumption in me to reject its Choice.

Lib. [Aside.]

Yes, yes, I know it would—you'll not attempt any such thing I'm certain—Why, truly Cousin, I think 'tis your Duty now to make a Curtsy, and say, As it please you; and yet for all that, if it were not a Fellow I lik'd, I would make another Curtsy, and say, As it pleases me.

Lucil.

But, if his Disdain still continue, I'll sooner—

Jocu.

O, no, no, Madam, he was in Excess of Transport at your Father's Declaration—but see, here he comes, let him answer for himself.

Grati.

Daughter, you have heard already all that I can tell you; Heaven, you see, has explain'd it self in favour of this Lord, and sure, my dear Child, you'll not refuse the Recompense of your Smiles to one who sav'd your Father's Life.

Lucil.

My Lord, that's not a Recompense which Bellario, desires.

Bell.

Forgive me, Madam, if I have Ambition enough to

aspire so high—I have too long deceiv'd you, Madam, but now throw off the Veil, and speak the real Language of my Soul; all that Disguise was the last Shift of a despairing Passion; I languish'd, I dy'd for Love all the while: And if this Stratagem offends you, Madam, I'm ready to expiate the Crime of it any way you shall command me.

Lucil.

My Lord, if it be the Will of Heav'n and my Father, I must submit; and at the same time must confess that I can't blame your Stratagem, and am better pleas'd that what you said to me was only a Pretence, than if it had been Truth.

Bell.

Silence is the perfectest Herald of Joy, Madam—I were but little happy, if I could say how much—As you consent to be mine I'll for ever be solely yours; I give away my self for you, and dote on the Exchange.

Grati.

My dear Child you so transport me with this Goodness and Duty, that Joy can't shew it self modest enough without a Badge of Bitterness.

Lib.

Soh! thus goes every one to the World but I, and I am Sun-burnt; I may sit in a Corner and cry heigh-ho for a Husband.

Grati.

Well, Neice, I hope to see you in a short time fitted with one.

Lib.

Not till Heaven make Men of some other Mould. Would not it grieve a Woman to be over-master'd by a Piece of valiant Dust; to give an Account of her Life to a Clod of wayward Marl?

Bell.

You have a merry Heart, fair Lady.

Lib.

Yes, my Lord, I thank it poor Fool, it keeps on the windy side of Care.

Bell.

I'll get a Husband to your Mind, Lady Liberia.

Lib.

You—[Aside.] I had rather have one of your Father's getting—Hath your Lordship ne'er a Brother like your self— he'd make an excellent Husband, if a Maid could but come by him.

Lucil.

Ay, my Dear, Protheus must be the Man after all—

Lib.

Not unless I might have another for change, Cousin— He's too costly to wear every Day—My Lord, you promis'd to take nothing amiss that I say.

Grati.

No, sweet Neice, they must be dull Dotards indeed that did—but they tell me you have lost Lord Protheus' Heart by your Rallery.

Lib.

He lent it me for a while, indeed, and I gave him Use for it; a double Heart for a single one.

Bell.

I'll tell him what you say, Lady!

Lib.

Do, do, he'll but break a Comparison or two on me, which if not taken notice of, and laugh'd at, strikes him at once into Melancholy; and then there's a Partridge' Wing sav'd, for the Fool will eat no Supper that Night.

Lucil.

Look'e, my Dear, you two must never be separated; your Humours tally to the greatest nicety.

Lib.

He, roast him, there's no Appearance of Humour in him, unless it be the Humour he has for strange Disguises: As to be a German to-day, and a Frenchman to-morrow; and next Day in the Shape of two Countries at once, a Dutchman from the Waste downward, all Trowsers; and a Spaniard from the Hip upward, no Doublet.

Omnes.

Ha, ha, ha!

Lib.

Well, Cousins, Fortune give you Joy with one another— I'll go and prepare things necessary for your Nuptials.

Bell.

An entertaining chearful Creature!

Lucil.

She has little of the melancholy Element in her, indeed.

Grati.

No, she's never grave but when she sleeps—Nay, not then neither, for I have heard my Daughter say that she hath often dreamt of something merry, and wak'd herself with laughing.

Bell.

She'd make an excellent Wife for Protheus.

Lucil.

Lack-a-day, if they were but a Week marry'd they'd talk themselves mad.

Grati.

However, my Lord, as your Nuptials cannot be celebrated ere to-morrow; and as Time seems to go on Crutches to youthful Lovers, 'till Hymen's Rites are all fulfil'd, let us in the Interim, to pass it over the pleasanter, undertake to bring those two Reprobates together: I would fain have it a Match, methinks.

Jocu.

O that will be no difficult Task, for they are above half Man and Wife already.

Bell.

How so?

Jocu.

Because they are always abusing one another; so Matrimony will be only a proper License to do it for the future.

Bell.

'Tis no uncommon thing indeed for People to rally one another into Matrimony, and I'm apt to think that will be their Case.

Grati.

I make no question of accomplishing it if you'll lend your Assistance in the Way I shall direct.

Jocu.

I am for you, my Lord, tho' it cost me ten Nights Watching, and ten Meals fasting.

Delia.

And I, my Lord, to the utmost.

Grati.

What say you, Daughter?

Lucil.

I'll do any modest Office, my Lord, to help my Cousin to a good Husband.

Bell.

And Protheus will make no bad one, I'll answer for him.

Grati.

I'll teach you how to humour your Cousin, that she shall fall in love with him—and I, with your Helps, will so practise on Protheus that, in spite of his quick Wit and queasy Stomach, he shall dote upon Liberia—Come in with me, Daughter, and you Lord Bellario, and I'll acquaint you with my Intention.