Scene 3

SCENE a Chamber, Nicholas snoring in a Corner.

Enter Pantalone, with a Light.

Pan.

Oh! deliver me from the Devil and his Ape's Tricks! Nicholas! The Clown snores so loud, I wonder the Noise of his own snoring don't wake him, Why Nicholas!

Pushes him.

Nic.

Can't you let a Body sleep, you old fat Sow?

Pushes Pantalone again.

Pan.

He dreams! Why Nicholas, I've seen the Devil in the Shape of an old Woman, just like an over-grown Monkey.

Nicholas all along answers yawning, and rubbing his Eyes.

Nic.

What, d'you say, you're as apish as an old Monkey? I know it, Dame: I can say no more to you now. You've had enough for one Night, I think.

Pan.

Why, you dreaming Sot; I'll awake you.

Pant. strikes him.

Nic.

What's that for? Can't you let me make an end of my Dream?

Pan.

I've seen the Devil.

Nic.

Why, then, bid him good Night for me.

Pan.

He's a coming.

Nic.

Let him, o' God's Name. I've the Key of the Door in my Pocket.

Pan.

But he'll get in through the Key-hole.

Nic.

What do I care? I ha'n't sold my self to the Devil.

Pan.

How long must you be awaking, you Dolt?

Nic.

Ay, ay, Forsooth.

Rises, rubs his Eyes, and answers still yawning.

Pan.

The Looby sleeps as he stands.

Nic.

Ay, and stands as he sleeps.—To Morrow, Dame, upon a Hay-Cock.

Pan.

Go to Bed, you Lump.

Nic.

Ay, and thank you too; I'll go sleep out my Sleep, and make an end of my Dream.

Nic. gets into Bed.

Pan.

I'll go to Bed too; but I'll not venture to strip. I'll lay by me my Dagger, my Pistol, and my Holy-water Pot. [Lays them on a Stool by the Bed-side.] Thus, like a prudent modern Zealot, I'll trust to the Spiritual Arms, when the Carnal Weapon's by.

Enter Pasquarel with a dark Lanthorn, he blows out the Candle.

Pan.

Bless me, my Candle's out! I must crawl to the Chimny for a Fire-brand.

He goes to get a Brand.

Pas.

Hah! I'll secure these dangerous Tools: Exchange is no Robbery. [He looks about and takes up a Bolonia Sawcidge, a Mouse-trap, and a Pot of Mustard; then lays 'em in the Place of the Dagger, Pistol, and Holy-water.]

Re-enter Pantalone with a Fire-brand.

Pan.

So, I've got one; I'll blow to light the Candle.

Pas.

I'll spare you that Labour.

He gets his Head through Pantalone's Arms blows the Cole, and lights the Candle

Pan.

Mercy o' me! What's that? [He sees Pasquarel, who having lighted the Candle stares him in the Face, making strange Grimaces, as he withdraws his Head from under Pantalone's Arms.] Oh! the Devil blows the Coal. [He lets it fall, and lays the Candle down.] My Guitar's yonder; I'll try to play a Tune; perhaps that will drive away the Evil Spirit. Here's a Chair. I'll sit; for I tremble so I can't stand. [Pasquarel jumps into the Chair, and places himself like a Chair; and Pan∣talone takes the Guitar, sits on him; and then strikes the strings.] 'Tis out of Tune, and so am I too. [Pasquarel untunes it as fast as he tunes it.] What ails the Guitar? One String gives all manner of Sounds! Oh, now 'tis pretty well. [Pasquarel puts his Arms under those of Pantalone, and plays.] Oh! oh! 'tis bewitcht I think. [He rises, looks about, shakes the Guitar, looks under the Chair, and shakes it; and in the mean time Pasquarel gets out.] I can see nothing. [He sits again, plays a little; and Pasquarel walks on his Hands, and frights him.] Oh! I play, and the Devil Dances; sure the Devil has ne're a Head, or 'tis where the Tail should be.

Exit Pasq. having first blow'd out the Candle.

Mezzetin 

[within, in a hollow Voice.] Thus shalt thou be plagu'd while alive; and then thou shalt burn for ever, unless thou restorest the Deeds to Cynthio.

Pan.

Oh good, Mr. Devil, I'll do't, if I live— [Aside.] till Doomsday.

Mez.

Then I'll haunt thee no more.

Pan.

Nicholas!

Nic.

Hush! I'm asleep.

Pan. 

[Within] Why Nicholas.

Enter Nicholas.

Nic.

Odsooks, don't I tell you, I'm asleep? What's the matter now?

Pan.

Oh the Devil has been here! Is he gone?

Nic.

Nay, look your self: I dont care to look after the Devil.

Pan.

He's gone.

Nic.

Well, this same Devil is a main honest Man; thus he always comes, they say, to make Folks honest, and destroy his own Religion.

Pan.

Why, thou Fool, dost thou think I'll give up an Estate of Two thousand Ducats a Year, for a little Imp's Tricks? No, Nicholas; he can't do me so much harm, as this Land will do me good. I dare him, I defy him. Oh law! Is not that he? No. I scorn to fear him— [Mezzetin like a Ghost, hid under a Shroud, peeps in.] That is, when he is far enough off.

Enter Mezzetin, like a Ghost, with a Torch in his Hand.

Mez.

Give me up my Deeds.

Exit Mezzet.

Pan.

Ah, sure, that's old Cynthio's Ghost. I must guard my self from that Enemy of mine, with this good Dagger. [He gropes about in the dark for the Table, snatches up the Saucidge, and finds his Mistake.] Bless me! the Dagger's chang'd into a Bolonia-Saucidge! However, I'll venture to keep that for my Breakfast! But I think I feel my Pistol, I'll keep him off with that. [His Fingers are caught in the Mousetrap.] Oh! hoh! the Devil bites my Fingers off! Hah, what's this? My Pissel's turn'd to a Mousetrap! But, sure he dares not meddle with the Holy Ele∣ment! Oh no! here 'tis. I'll cross my self. [Crosses himself out of the Mustard-pot.] Pshah! what's this? It offends my Nose. Deliver me! 'Tis Mustard, or something worse! Oh, I'm dead with Fear.

Nic.

Oh say your Prayers, Sir; say your Prayers.

Pan.

So I wou'd; but it is so long since I said 'em, that I've quite forgot 'em. Say yours.

Nic.

I can't; I have trusted to our Curate, who lost to me ten Years-prayers at All-Fours. Oh, I've been a great Sinner; but Yesternight I thresh'd little black Mary in the Stable, while her poor Husband was threshing in the Barn.

Pan.

Oh!

Re-enter Mezzetin, like a Ghost.

Mez.

If thou restorest not the Land to Cynthio, to Morrow, thou shalt be like me.

Pan.

Oh I will, I will, Mr. Ghost, and fourfold what I've cheated others of.

Exit Ghost.

Nic.

Hold, Master! Wowns! don't promise so much; you'll be undone.

Pan.

Tush, Fool; now the Danger's over, I'll not give up the worth of a Notch'd Hoop-stick, or a cast Poet's day. No, not a single Piece—

A Figure like a Devil arises.

Pan.

For I'll give up a great many. Oh! save me!

Nic.

Oh! this is the ugliest Thing we've had yet. He's coming! Oh, if he shou'd kill me, I ne're shall be my own Man again. Oh let me alone, Mr. Devil; as I hope to be shav'd, I'll be bound to pray for your Worship all Days of my Life. Confession! Absolution! Oh good Devil, give me but three or fourscore Years to Repent, and take any Body else: There are a great many Whores and Whoremon∣gers, hereabouts.

Devil.

Give up the Deeds to Cynthio; or prepare to meet me to Morrow at this Time, for I'll Fight with thee for them.

Sinks with a Flash.

Pan.

Oh, he's gone: I was sadly afraid he would have left his Glove.

Nic.

Why, will you Fight him?

Pan.

No, I'm old; then he's no Gentleman! Do thou meet him, I'll reward thee to Heart's Content.

Nic.

Not I; I a'n't of his Match. Do you! I fancy an old Usurer's a Match for the Devil.

Enter Mezzetinin his own Dress, and Colombina.

Mez.

Oh, Sir! We dare not go to Bed: There have been strange Doings since we left you: Rattlings of Chains; Flashes of Light: Some Imps, or sucking Devils overturn'd all the Pewter, Bottles, Glasses, Pans and Kettles; laugh'd aloud, and throw'd each of us a piece of Mony, went away, and broke—Nothing.

Pan.

Make me thankful. Let's see the Piece. Sirrah, you shall keep nothing of theirs.

Mez.

They hit me half a dosen Slaps o' the Face too, thus and thus: Make you thankful, Sir.

Pan.

How, you Rogue?

Mez.

Sir, you'll have me keep nothing; and then this is to show you how they did. But, Sir; there's a Spanish Capitan, who has been seeking Mischief and the Devil in Savoy, Catalonia and Flanders, very unluckily these Eight Years, and comes here to find him: Here he comes.

Enter Pasquarel, like a Capitan: He stalks along in strange Postures, with large Strides.

Pas.

Senor, I am the renown'd Don Mezzamorto de los Rodomontados: Glory's my Chace; Fighting my Business; and Killing, my Diversion. Travelling in the Dark (for I defy Danger) I lost my Men, and my way. I have been seeking the Devil both in the Old World and the New, resolv'd to find him in This, or in the Next—I am for Rome; for that, they say, is the likeliest Place to find him; but, hearing you have him in this House, I honour it with my Presence; to let that Devil know, he's a Son of a Whore, to make me seek him thus long: I, who send him such Crowds of Souls; the whole College of Physicians scarce send him more.

Pan.

Nay, he's an uncivil Person, that's the Truth on't.

Pas.

Tell that Devil, I'm more a Devil than he.

Pan.

Oh, Sir, you're most heartily welcome. Wou'd you had been here a little sooner; you might have told him so your self. But by to Morrow you'll have your Wish; nay, perhaps to Night.

Pas.

I'll stay, and Face him; and with this Sword, with which I kill'd Catinat—

Pan.

Why Catinat is alive still, Sir.

Pas.

Blood and Death! not the Catinat I kill'd.

Pan.

Very true, Sir: I beg your Excellence's Pardon.— [Aside.] A bloody Fellow. — Signore, to refresh you, my People shall serve a Collation. Mezzetin, some Fruit, some Liquors and Sweat-meats, to refresh the Capitan; quick.

Exit Mezzet.

Pas.

Hold! If I stay, I must have a Thing that's pretty hard to be got, to stay with me.

Pan.

What's that, Sir?

Pas.

A Virgin! Such a one she must be, that the Devil may have no Power over her.

Pan.

Dost hear, Colombina?

Col.

Not I; but what shou'd I stand here for?

Going.

Pan.

The Capitan wants a Virgin.

Col.

Why, he does not want me.

Pas.

Art thou a Virgin?

Col.

I—I—am—not—to resolve you.

Pas.

Death and Blood! Draw, some Body; for I will have Satisfaction.

Col.

Indeed, Sir, I don't know, I am hard to be awak'd sometimes; I don't know what may be done, when I sleep. Let me go.

Ex. Col. Nic. and Pan.

Pas.

Well, be or be not; I'll act like all Husbands: At a venture, I'll secure thee.

Exit Pasquarel, after her. Re-enter Mezzetin, with a Table and a Collation.

Mez.

I must watch this Spaniard: I fear, this is rather a Plot to trick me out of my Mistress, than my old Master out of the Deeds. Here's a Table with Fruit; I'll place my Head in it through this Hole, so as to observe him. She may well think him half mad; and I'll palt him unseen, and put something in his Drink, shall make her think him quite so. But hush! they're coming.

Re-enter Pasquarel, with Colombina.

Col.

Be pleas'd to sit, Sir.

Pas.

Do you sit too. [Aside.] I hope she does not know me in this Garb.

Col.

In Obedience, I will. Be pleas'd to taste of this, Sir.

Pas.

By my Sword, dear Creature, there's nothing here I would taste of but you.

Col.

Sure, Sir, you would not eat me?

Pas.

Yes, with Kisses.

Mez.

Are you so sharp set? I'll spoil your Stomach! [In the Table, aside.] There's a Rogue! He's for taking my Copy-hold over my Head.

Pas.

Come, we're in Italy, where Opportunities are as welcome as they're scarce.

Col.

Oh! Sir; but what if the Devil should come this moment?

Pas.

Why, then I'd make that Devil hold the Candle to me, hold his Life of me, hold the Door for me; and hold himself contented. I'd make him tremble, like—

Mezzetin shakes the Table, and hoots like an Owl.

Mez.

Who, who, who, whoop!

Pas.

Hah! what's that?

Col.

Nothing but a silly Owl. What, does that make you tremble?

Pas.

What I? I' scorn to tremble. I must confess, it made me shake. But 'twas as the I you does; nothing but the Rousing up of my Courage; and now 'tis up, have at you.

Offers to kiss and smuggle her.

Col.

Nicholas! Mezzetin! [softly.] I vow, Sir, I'll call louder! Nicholas!

Pas.

Pox, that last was too loud: Now a well-bred Woman would have cry'd out so softly, that no Body would have heard her.

Enter Nicholas.

Nic.

What's the matter there?

Col.

Oh! nothing: I was only afraid of the Devil. Yet stay, or I'll go too.

Nic.

I will, and thank you too.

He sits on the Table rustically, and falls a munching.

Pas.

Why, do you fear? Does not this Sword secure you?

Nic. 

[Looks on't.] With this Nursing-Mother of Surgeons in my Hand, I took the Grand Visit, thus! [Takes Nicholas by the Nose.] I'll tell you how, at the Battle of Argos, my Courage and Conduct got the Day. There lay the Christians—There the Turks. These Sugar-plumbs the one; and these the other. Thus did I charge their Right; pow, pow, pow! There's a Colonel kill'd, with three Captains. Thus, they're taken off, and the Ranks clos'd. Then their Left comes on, pow, pow! There lie two Men slain; I take 'em off! Then thus I charge their main Body, pow, pow, pow, pow; and I rout and take 'em all Prisoners.

He takes most of the Plumbs off; and from time to time Mezzetin pelts him, at which he starts, and makes Grimaces.

Nic.

Ay, but thus pow, pow, pow, you eat all. This is new-fashion'd Justice; some all, some none.

Pas.

No, Fellow, tho' thou art Clay. I'll fairly give thee half. There's one for Me, one for Thee, and one for Me. One for Me, One for Thee, and one for Me. One for Me, one for Thee, and one for me.

Nic.

Why, you take Two for my One; is this your fair half?

Pas.

Ay, was ever the King's Moyety otherwise paid in? Come, now let's drink a Glass.

Mez.

There I watch'd you.

As he lies hid in the Table, under the Fruit, he pours something out of a Viol into Pasquatel's Wine.

Pas.

Confusion to all Cowards.

He drinks.

Nic.

Hold, Master, don't curse your best Friends.

Col.

Ay, were it not for Cowards, how wou'd half of you Men pass for Valiant?

Mez. 

[Aside.] Just as, were it not for Fools, half of you Women would pass for honest.

Pas.

[He starts up suddenly, and makes strange Faces.] I'm hot, I'll take the Air. To Horse, to Horse! Thus vaults the Soldier in his Landlord's Saddle. [He jumps on Nicholas's Back, taking him for a Horse. Nicholas Neighs and Winses.] See, see, how fast the brave Dutch Squadrons gallop. Bear me, Bucephalus, among the Billows! Oh! 'tis a noble Beast. What's that? I'll alight and catch it. A Maidenhead! Whip, 'tis gone! 'Twas nothing. Thus it went. Hey! Presto pass. [He passes very swiftly through the back of the Chair, then struts out.] As if the old World modestly withdrew, and here in private had brought forth a new.

Nic.

He's stark staring Mad; he raves and heaves and winds himself, like any Wench in Fits. Sure the Devil's got into his Wemb. He's a playing's Christmas-Gambols! Let's scamper and tell our Master.

Ex. Nic. and Colomb.

Mez. 

[Aside.] Wou'd I were well off now.

Pas.

Hah! I burn! Where am I? What Place is this? A Conventicle? How crowded 'tis with Whoremasters! Hah! Sure 'tis Hell. I know it by their Grin∣ning. How! Vanity here! Vanity there! Vanity every where! What's that lean Thing? Poor Matrimony! See, see! Repentance treads on his Heels, and Cuckoldom rubs his Forehead. Hah! hah! hah! Who's that with a Face of the Colour of a Stock-jobbers Conscience? Hypocrisy! No, she's at Church. I know her now; 'tis Proserpine. I'll have her, and make the Devil a Cuckold. Stay, I'll treat her first with Fruit. [Mezzetin, afraid of being seen and hurt, stirs in the Table, creeping off with it.] How! The Table moves. 'Tis Tantalus's Feast. Now by the Gods, by Pasquarel I swear, I'll be reveng'd and put out all Hells Fires, Till Fiends meet Fiends, and justle in the Dark.

Exit.

Mezzetin runs cross the Stage with the Table about his Neck, and Exit.

Enter Pantalone with a Blunderbuss, and Nicholas meeting.

Pan.

What's the matter? Is any Body robbing me here?

Nic.

Oh, Sir, the Devil (God bless us) is certainly got into that same huffy Fellow, and he's driving him for ought I know into the next Pond, like any mad Swine.

Pan.

I'm glad on't; then I hope we're rid of him.

Nic.

Ay, Sir, I warrant you he's far enough by this Time. But there's a Neighbour of ours without says, he has a Bargain for your Worship.

Pan.

What, at this time of Night? Bid him come in tho'. [Exit Nicholas.] [Aside.] It must be some good Bargain, by the Hour 'tis brought at.

Re-enter Nicholas, with a large parcel of Plate up in a Cloth.

Nic.

He won't be seen, Sir; but here's a parcel of Silver-Plate he wish'd me to bring you.

Pan.

Leave it, and tell him, I thank him.

Nic.

Not so fast, Robin; I bring it to be sold, Man. Why, there's enough of it to buy a score of Lordships, and debauch a whole County.

Pan.

Sold! But where's there Mony to buy it?

Nic. opens the Cloth, and Pan. looks on't, during a good part of the Scene.

Nic.

Thus it is now with these Mony-mongers! They'll all tell you there's no Mony, yet they're always laying out.

Pan.

Hark you; your Ear: Was it stolen? For then I must give accordingly.

Nic.

No mary wa'nt it: 'Twas my Neighbour's old Master's, such another old Thief as your Worship: He damn'd himself to get, and his Heir wants to sell it to buy Earthen Ware, I think.

Pan.

Oh! if 'tis a young Heirs, he'll afford as good a Pennyworth, as if 'twere stolen. A prudent Age! Men part with their solid Metal, to purchase brittle Earth! What do you ask for't?

Nic.

Cheap enough! Threescore and two Pence an Ounce.

Pan.

Is that cheap?

Nic.

Ay, mary, is it: Some wou'd give Threescore and ten, yet can't get enough on't.

Pan.

Ay, but we Men of Mony know better Things: Come, I'll give you Fifty Crowns for't, all at a Lump.

Nic.

Why, I cou'd have more at the Mint.

Pantalone ties up the Plate again in the Cloth.

Nic.

Ay, but when, my Friend?

Nic.

When? Why not to Night, 'tis somewhat of the latest; but after to Morrow. Good by t'yee. [Going.]

Pan.

Come back, I'll give you Thirty Pistols for't.

Nic.

No, I'll take no less than Forty.

Pan.

Come then, I'll advance—Six-pence.

Nic.

Keep your single Sice to buy a Halter. I'll take no less than Fourscore Crowns.

Pan.

Well, come back, and take 'em. [Aside.] This Fellow's a Fool, and takes much less in Silver, than I bid him in Gold. --Here's the Mony.

Gives him Mony.

Nic.

Ay, but where's my Pair of Gloves? Don't I know there's no good Jobb got now-a-days, but the Procurer gets a Spel?

Pan.

Ay, a Peasecods on't! That sometimes amounts to half on both sides.

As.

Come, I'll give thee—I'll give thee—

Nic.

What will you gi' me?

Pan.

Thanks—And that's more than some will give for a good Turn.

Nic.

Farewel and be Hang'd, that's twice Go'd buy.

Goes towards the Door, and changes the Cloth and the Plate for a Cloth just like it, full of Earthen Ware, so dextrously, that the Audience cannot perceive it.

Pan.

Come, there's a Crown for thee.

Nic.

A Crown! I'll have Forty in one Word; or you shan't have it.

Pan.

Forty!

Nic.

Ay, now I bargain for my self, Man.

Pan.

Hang it! Come, take 'em, here's the whole Sum.

Gives him the Mony.

Nic.

And there's the whole Plate. [Gives him the Bundle.] 

Exit Nic.

Pan.

What lumping Bargain's we get, now Mony's scarce! Let's see mine again! That's half the Pleasure of an Usurer. Sure 'tis worth above six hundred Crowns. [He opens the Cloth, and finds it full of course Earthen Ware.] Bless me! Do I see, or no?—No, sure I Dream—No, but I don't—Oh! this is another of the Devil's Tricks. I'm undone! I'll hang my self strait, to avoid Shame and Sorrow.

Enter Cynthio, like an Infernal Deity.

Cyn.

Hold, Mortal! Behold Mammon, that dread Power that makes Men great, the God thou serv'st and worship'st. I'll now make up thy Loss ten thousand Fold. Some Fiends, set on by Cynthio, have this Night disturb'd and threaten'd thee, but fear 'em not. I'm their Superiour, and will make them serve thee: For, what withstands Almighty Mammon's Power? I'll force 'em now to fill this Chest with Gold. But they're of dismal Shapes, and their Sight hurtful; then turn thy Back, and as thou lov'st thy Life, or dearer Wealth, till they've perform'd my Will, cast not an Eye this way. When thrice thou'rt call'd, then, turn, see, wonder, and still serve Great Mammon.

Pan.

Dread Mammon, I obey; and if I turn before, may I then lose whatever I have here.

Cyn.

Spirits of Earth and Fire, appear

Swift as Thought, Great Mammon's here.

Take this Chest, and all that's in it,

And here return it in a Minute,

As full of Gold,

As it can hold.

Enter Two Men drest like Devils.

1 Devil.

Shall we, for want of Time to make it,

At the Bank of Venice take it?

Cyn.

No, you must not, lest you break it.

1 Devil.

Shall we to that of London run?

Cyn.

No; much of its Gold is gone.

1 Devil.

To Amsterdam we'll fly with Speed.

Cyn.

Ay, There you'll find enough indeed,

But kept so close you scarce wou'd speed.

Fly to Cales; there, like silly Elves,

They get it, but keep none themselves.

1 Devil.

Swifter than Sight we fly through Air;

And in a moment will be there.

Exeunt Cynthio, and Devils with the Chest.

Pan.

Well, I'm made for ever. My Lord Mammon is like all the World, and is kindest to those that keep Mony by them; and I'll keep mine so, that 'tis not not Forty in the Hundred Discount shall decoy me to part with it. I've a great Mind to turn, and make my Court to the Spirits, that they may bring me more hereafter. But I must not. Wou'd they were come! Methinks they out-stay their Time.—What if this damn'd Fiend that haunts me, has chang'd Shapes to plague me more? What need they have taken the Chest? There my Deeds are, and ten thousand Ducats! Oh! I'm in a cold Sweat—Shall I look back? What shall I do?

Enter Nicholas.

Nic.

Oh! here's the old Craven dares not go to Roost without me. He sleeps standing. I'll call him—Master! Signore Pantalone!

Pan.

Oh! I beg Great Mammon's Pardon! They are come.

Nic.

Why, Signore Pantalone!

Pan.

Hah! I've been called twice.

Nic.

Hey, Signore Pantalone!

Pan.

Now do I turn to look on my Gold, and thank Great Mammon. [Falls on his Knees before Nicholas, e're he sees him; then seeing him is startled.] Hah!

Nic.

Nay, why d'you kneel to me for? I a'n't your God-father.

Pan.

Where's my Chest, my Mony, my Deeds?

Nic.

Nay, the Devil and you know best.

Pan.

Undone! Ruin'd! Let me curse my self into the Ground, for I ha'n't enough left to bury me! Run, Cry, Ride, charge a Constable with them.

Nic.

With whom? With the Devil?

Pan.

Run to a Conjurer. Cast a Figure! I'll have it again, tho' he has me for't. Stay, I'll be reveng'd on my self. Get me some Poyson.

Nic.

How much, Sir? We buy it of 'Pothecaries at Half a Crown a Glass; but you may have it at the Vintners at Eighteen Pence a Bottle.

Pan.

No, not so dear! All my Mony's gone! Two penny-worth of Ratsbane will do—Stay, I'll save the Mony. There's a Rope yonder, I'll e'en hang my self. Oh my Chest! My dear Chest! I'll not survive thy Loss. Thou art gone to the Devil! Oh my Chest! my dear Chest! I'll follow thee.

He claps a Rope about his Neck, and steps out, as if 'twere to hang himself.

Nic.

Wowns! He's hanging himself. 'Tis like to be a blessed Time, tho', when Usurers hang themselves! But what a Pity 'tis! I came to tell him how he might ha' lick'd himself whole, by lending a well-landed Heir a Sum of Mony. 

He puts his Hands between the Rope and his Neck on a sudden, peeps in, and speaks as if half choak'd.

Pan.

Is he of Age?

Nic.

Mercy o' me! I fancy, the hopes of chousing a young Squire, wou'd raise an Usurer from the Dead. You're welcome from Hell, Sir! Of Age, say you? Mary, many of his Age have spent two or three times more than they're worth— Stay, an' he lives to see the First of April come Twelve-months, he'll be—just Two and twenty. Bless'd be the Day when it comes.

Pan.

Oh he's a Minor. Nothing to be done! And more cause of hanging my self.

Nic.

But, Sir!

Pan.

Lard! Can't you let a Man hang himself in Peace.

He goes in, and hangs himself.

Nic.

Wowns! I must go get a good Knife, or his Soul will burst out at the Bunghole.

Exit Nicholas. Enter Cynthio and Mezzetin.

Cyn.

Signore Pantalone hang'd. I'll cut him down.

Cuts him down.

Mez.

Lard, Sir, cou'd not you let him alone? He'll have an Action against you for spoiling his Rope.

Cyn.

He's not dead! His Pulse beats! He's but in a Swoon.

Mez.

Let's keep the Room dark, and when he wakes make him believe he's in Hell: This may do you and him some good.

Cyn.

So it may—But what have you done with my Spaniard?

Mez.

Sir, he's come to his Senses: The Dose which I pour'd into his Glass never works above a quarter of an Hour.

Cyn.

Then he may be further useful. Bring our Spirits hither, while I order Things to bring him before us, who'll represent Lucifer's Court of Justice. Oh they're here.

Enter Two Men like Devils.

Cyn.

Apply this Essence to his Nostrils; and when he revives, tell him he's in Hell.

Exeunt Cynthio and Mezzetin, who first puts out the Candle.

Pan.

Where am I?

1 Dev.

In Hell, wretched Soul!

Pan.

Hah! Defend me! What are you?

1 Dev.

We are the Sheriff's Officers of Hell: You must come to be try'd and sentenc'd.

Pan.

Oh hoh! But am I then dead?

1 Dev.

Yes, and damn'd: Were you not an Usurer?

Pan.

No indeed; I only lent Mony to Friends, on Land, or other good Security, at Twenty in the Hundred—And that's but a National Rate you know. Oh hoh! I should ha' thought I had been alive, but that I remember I hang'd my self; methinks I am no more dead than e're I was in my Life.

The Scene opens, and discovers Mezzetin like Minos, attended by other Devils in Gowns, and some with Torches; Cynthio, Isabella, Colombina, and Nicholas, as some of 'em, disguis'd and mark'd.

Mez.

Bring the Criminals to the Bar to receive Sentence. Make haste, I'm hungry, and consequently as out of Humour as my Brother-Judges above, at a tedious Quarter-Sessions.

1 Dev.

Bear back there! Make way for the Quack Doctor.

Enter Quack Doctor.

Quack.

Transportation, my Lord! I've sent more People to Hell last Year, than did a whole Army in Flanders.

Mez.

That was but against your Will. Hearken to your Sentence. I'm in haste, and wave Method. You shall swallow every Day a Peck of your own Pills! Twelve Vomits, Sixteen Purges, Fourteen Bolus's, and Six and thirty Clysters of Aqua Fortis.

1 Dev.

Make way for the Vintner.

Enter a Vintner.

Vintner.

My Lord, I've kill'd my self in your Service; and have sent you more People than the modern Broachers of Heresies in Physic and Divinity; and that's whole Legions, my Lord.

Mez.

Against your Will too. You shall set up a Hedge-Tavern for Bullies and Night-walkers; never Ride nor Tipple abroad, sell in seal'd Measures at the Statute-price, be boyl'd in slumm'd Claret, and drink your own Wines over again.

1 Dev.

Room for an old Maid.

Enter Old Maid.

Old Maid

My Lord, I'm not fit for Hell.

Mez.

How? And an old Maid?

Old Maid.

There must be gnashing of Teeth: Now I have none, my Lord: Then there must be Weeping; and I wept so much, first, for having refus'd, and then for being refus'd, that I'm as dry as Tinder, my Lord.

Mez.

Her Crimes are too enormous for Hell to punish—Let her be—Stay, what shall she be?—Still an old Maid.

O. Maid.

My Lord, let me have the Benefit of the Clergy.

Mez.

'Tis too late. Take her away; cut her into Matches, and lay her up in Pluto's Tinder-box.

O. Maid.

I'm quick with Child, my Lord. I plead my Belly.

Mez.

Away with her; I'll hear no more.

1 Dev.

May it please your Lordship, here's a Criminal to be try'd.

Shows Pant.

Mez.

Dam him! I'm in hasle. Let him be hang'd on Tantalus's s'ree.

Pan.

My Lord, I've been hang'd already.

Mez.

What art thou?

Pan.

An Usurer, as they'll have it, an't please your Diabolity.

Mez.

Hell's full of them. This makes People want Mony so damnably above. What wert thou damn'd for?

Pan.

For nothing, my Lord: Only for thinking too well of the World. I cheated, as every Body does; I was cheated again, and so suspended my self.

Mez.

Hearken to your Sentence. You shall for ever lend Mony, without Secu∣curity or Interest, to Prodigals, Projectors, and Poets; receive as many Lashes as you've got Pence by Extortion, be sindg'd with your best Bonds, and the Laird of Hell roast your Sole.

Pant.

Mercy, My good Lord-Devil! I have neither Bonds, nor Mony. Mercy! Mercy!

Mez.

How! No Bonds! No Mony! Produce the Chest.

1 Dev.

Here 'tis produc'd in Court.

The Chest is produc'd.

Pan.

My Lord, I've no right in 'em. These are only some Deeds that belong to a Gentleman, whose Father I wrong'd; his Name's Cynthio: Let him have 'em. And the Ten thousand Ducats are my Niece Isabella's: I was her Guardian, and cheated her of 'em. Let 'em take 'em among 'em, and Marry when they will, and do you have Mercy my Lord-Judge. Transportation! Mercy!

Mez.

Mercy, upon an empty Stomach? Yet what shall we do with this wicked Fellow? He'll but spoil these worthy Gentlemen here.

1 Dev.

Let him set his Hand to this Paper to make good what he says, and send him to his World again, without Mony. He'll be miserable enough thus. There's no Room for him here; no not among the Proctors, Taylors, Overseers of the Poor, nor the Pawn-brokers. 

Pantalone takes a Paper which is show'd him, looks on't, and then signs it.

Pan.

Stay, is it stamp'd Paper? [Aside.] Yes! Hah wou'd it wer'nt. There, my good Lord! I deliver this as my Act and Deed, for the use of the Persons therein mention'd.

He gives the Paper to Cynthio, who sits disguis'd like the Clerk of the Court.

Mez.

And I adjourn the Court—These Gentlemen may go Sup where they can: As for you, Signore Pantalone, you shall be our Guest. 

Mezzetin jumps off suddenly from his Judgment-seat; the black Cloth, that cover'd it, at once draws for∣ward with him, and discovers a Table with Plates and a Banquet. Cynthio, Isabella, Colombina and Nicholas, pull off their Disguises.

Pan.

Bless me! Are you all in Hell? Or am I out of it? Oh I have been cheated, gull'd, made an Ass, and what's worse, a Beggar!

All.

Hah, hah, hah!

They laugh at him.

Cyn.

Come, Sir, you've enough left: You've parted with nothing but what was not yours; and 'tis to your Niece, and to me, to whom you owe more; since you owe me your Life; for, had I not cut the Rope, you had been dead, and damn'd as you thought your self just now. Thank Providence, and learn to make a better use of what you enjoy.

Pan.

Well, the Advice is good. Heav'n forgive me, and bless you together! Since you have sav'd a Life that stood between an Estate and your Mistress, you show you deserve it, and you shall have all, when I die: For now I'll right those I've wrong'd, and, tho' late, begin to lead a new Life.

Nic.

Look you, Master of mine, so wou'd I too. I borrow'd some Plate of our Neighbour, Sir John's Steward, and sold it you; then chang'd it and the Cloth, thinking you'd fancy the Devil had don't in this Hurly-burly: Since that they brought me into this Plot here, for I knew nothing on't before; but take your Muck again, 'tis Usurer's Mony, the Widow's and Fatherless's Blood, and the poor Man's Curse; 'twoud not thrive with me.

Pan.

No, to show I'm no more such, keep it; I give it thee freely, honest Fellow.

Nic.

Well, now I dare keep it. There's a Wonder come to pass! A Pinch∣penny grown Free-hearted. Covetousness routed out. Well,

To cure all Misers of that cursed Evil,

I fancy there's no Doctor like the Devil.

FINIS.