Fran.  I’ll not give her a farthing.

Guil.  No matter, her Love’s worth a million; and, that’s so great, that I’m sure she’ll be content to carry my Soot basket after me.

Isa.  Ah!  I die, I die.

Guil.  What, and I so kind?
                 [Goes and kisses her, and blacks her face.

Isa.  Help! murder, murder!

Guil.  Well, Gentlemen, I am something a better fortune than you believe me, by some thousands.
[Shows Car. his Writings.

Car.  Substantial and good! faith, Sir, I know not where you’ll find a better fortune for your Daughter, as cases stand. [To Francisco.

Guil.  And, for the Viscount, Sir, gay Clothes, Money and Confidence will set me up for one, in any ground in Christendom.

Car.  Faith, Sir, he’s i’th’ right; take him home to Sevil, your Neighbours know him not, and he may pass for what you please to make him; the Fellow’s honest, witty and handsom.

Fran.  Well, I have considered the matter:  I was but a Leather-seller my self, and am grown up to a Gentleman; and, who knows but he, being a Chimney-sweeper, may, in time, grow up to a Lord?  Faith, I’ll trust to Fortune, for once—­here—­take her and rid me of one Plague, as you, I thank you, Sir, have done of another. [To Carlos.

Guil.  Prithee be pacified, thou shalt see me within this hour as pretty a fluttering Spark as any’s in Town.—­My noble Lord, I give you thanks and joy; for, you are happy too.

Car.  As Love and Beauty can make me.

Fran.  And I, as no damn’d Wife, proud Daughter, or tormenting Chamber-maid can make me.

Ant.  And I, as Heaven and Clara can. _—­You base-born Beauties, whose ill-manner’d Pride, Th’industrious noble Citizens deride.  May you all meet with_ Isabella’s doom.

Guil. _—­And all such Husbands as the Count_ Guiliome.

EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Mrs. Barry, made by a Person of Quality.

I Come not a Petitioner to sue,
This Play the Author has writ down to you;
’Tis a slight Farce, five Days brought forth with ease,
So very foolish that it needs must please;
For though each day good Judges take offence, |
And Satir arms in Comedy’s defence, |
You are still true to your Jack-Pudding_ Sense. |
No Buffoonry can miss your Approbation,
You love it as you do a new_ French Fashion: 
Thus in true hate of Sense, and Wit’s despite,
Bantring and Shamming is your dear delight. 
Thus among all the Folly’s here abounding,
None took like the new Ape-trick of Dumfounding. 
If to make People laugh the business be, |
You Sparks better Comedians are than we; |