The Female Wits Part 5

_Aw'dw._ 'Tis pity your Ladyship does not carry a Commonplace Book.

_Mars._ For your self 'twou'd be more useful.----But, as I was going to tell you, Mr. _Praiseall_, since I saw you, I have laid a Design to alter _Cateline's Conspiracy_.

_Prais._ An Undertaking fit for so great a Hand.

_Mars._ Nay, I intend to make use only of the first Speech.

_Aw'dw._ That will be an Alteration indeed!

_Mars._ Your Opinion was not ask'd. Nor wou'd I meddle with that, but to let the World, that is so partial to those old Fellows, see the difference of a modern Genius.----You know that Speech, Mr. _Praiseall_, and the Ladies too, I presume.

_Calista._ I know it so well, as to have turn'd it into _Latin_.

_Prais._ That was extraordinary. But let me tell you, Madam _Calista_, 'tis a harder Task to mend it in _English_.

_Mars._ True, true, Mr. _Praiseall_; That all the Universe must own.----Patty. Give me another Gla.s.s of Sherry, that I may speak loud and clear.----Mr. _Praiseall_, my Service to you.

_Prais._ I kiss your unequall'd Hand.

Mrs. _Wellfed._ This drinking is the best part of the Entertainment in my Opinion. [_Aside._

_Mars._ Now, Mr. _Praiseall_.

_Prais._ I am all Ear.

_Mars._ I wou'd you were----I was just beginning to speak.

_Prais._ Mum, I ha' done a Fault.

_Aw'dw._ Sure this Scene will chace her from my Soul. [_Aside._

_Mars._ Thy Head! Thy Head! Proud City!--I'll say no more of his; I don't love to repeat other Peoples Works;--now my own.--Thy solid Stones, and thy cemented Walls, this Arm shall scatter into Atoms; then on thy Ruins will I mount! Mount my aspiring Spirit mount! Hit yon Azure Roof, and justle G.o.ds;--[_Ex._ Patty. My Fan, my Fan, _Patty_.--[_All clap._

_Prais._ Ah! Poor _Ben_! Poor _Ben_! You know, Madam, there was a famous Poet pick'd many a Hole in his Coat in several Prefaces.--He found fault, but never mended the Matter--Your Ladyship has lay'd his Honour in the Dust.--Poor _Ben_! 'Tis well thou art dead; this News had broke thy Heart.

_Mars._ Then in the _Conspiracy_, I make _Fulvia_ a Woman of the nicest Honour; and such Scenes!

Mrs. _Wellf._ Madam, you forget the Rehearsal.

_Mars._ Oh G.o.ds! That I could live in a Cave! Ecchoes wou'd repeat, but not interrupt me; Madam, if you are beholden to those Creatures, I am not; let 'em wait, let 'em wait, or live without me if they can.

_Enter_ Patty.

_Pat._ Madam, your Chair Men are come.

_Mars._ Let them wait, they are paid for't.

_Pat._ Not yet to my Knowledge, what ever they be after the third Day; there's a long Bill I'm sure.--[_Aside._

_Mars._ How do you think to go Mrs. _Wellfed_? Shall _Pat._ call you another Chair?

Mrs. _Wellf._ I have no Inclination to break poor Mens Backs; I thank you, Madam, I'll go a Foot.

_Calist._ A Foot!

Mrs. _Wellf._ Ay, a Foot, 'tis not far, 'twill make me leaner. Your Servant Ladies. [_Exit._

_Mars._ Your Servant.

_Prais._ A bouncing Dame! But she has done some things well enough.

_Mars._ Fye, Mr. _Praiseall_! That you shou'd wrong your Judgment thus!

Don't do it, because you think her my Friend: I profess, I can't forbear saying, her Heroicks want Beautiful Uniformity as much as her Person; and her Comedies are as void of Jests as her Conversation.

_Prais._ I submit to your Ladyship.

_Aw'dw._ Madam, shall I crave leave to speak a few Words with you before you go?

_Mars._ I must gratify you, tho' 'tis to my Prejudice.--My Dear _Calista_, be pleas'd to take my Chair to the Play-House, and I'll follow you presently.

_Calist._ I will; but make haste.

_Mars._ Fear not, yours waits below, I suppose, Sir.

_Prais._ Yes Madam.

_Mars._ Pray take Care of the Lady 'till I come.

_Prais._ Most willingly. [_Exit._

_Mars._ What a ridiculous conceited thing it is!--A witty Woman conceited, looks like a handsome Woman set out with Frippery:

_Aw'dw._ Railing shou'd be my part: But, _Marsilia_, I'll give it a genteeler Name, and call it complaining.

_Mars._ Pshaw! You are always a complaining I think. Don't put me out of Humour, now I am just going to the Rehearsal.

_Aw'dw._ Why are you so ungrateful? Is it from your Lands water'd by _Helicon_, or my honest dirty Acres, your maintenance proceeds? Yet I must stand like a Foot-boy, unregarded, whilst a noisy Fool takes up your Eyes, your Ears, your every Sense.

_Mars._ Now, Mr. _Aw'dwell_, I'll tell you a strange thing: The difference between you and I, shall create a Peace.--As thus: You have a mind to quarrel, I have not; so that there must be a Peace, or only War on your side. Then again, you have a mind to stay here, I have a mind to go, which will be a Truce at least.--[_Is going._

_Aw'dw._ Hold, Madam, do not teaze me thus; tho' you know my Follies and your Power, yet the ill-us'd Slave may break his Chain.

_Mars._ What wou'd the Man have? If you'll be good humour'd, and go to the Play-house, do; if not, stay here. Ask my Maid Questions, increase your Jealousie, be dogged and be d.a.m.n'd.

_Aw'dw._ Obliging? If I shou'd go, I know my Fate; 'twou'd be like standing on the Rack.

_Mars._ While my Play's Rehearsing! That's an Affront I shall never forgive whilst I breath.