came over but in the last Ship.

_Ran._ What, from _Newgate_ or _Bridewell_? from shoveing the Tumbler,
Sirrah, lifting or filing the Cly?

_Boy._ I don't understand this Country Language, forsooth, yet.

_Ran._ You Rogue, 'tis what we transport from _England_ first--go, ye
Dog, go tell your Lady the Widow _Ranter_ is come to dine with her--
[Exit _Boy_.] I hope I shall not find that Rogue _Daring_ here sniveling
after Mrs. _Chrisante_: If I do, by the Lord, I'll lay him thick. Pox on
him, why shou'd I love the Dog, unless it be a Judgment upon me.

Enter _Surelove_ and _Chrisante_.

--My dear Jewel, how do'st do?--as for you, Gentlewoman, you are my
Rival, and I am in Rancour against you till you have renounc'd my
_Daring_.

_Chris._ All the Interest I have in him, Madam, I resign to you.

_Ran._ Ay, but your House lying so near the Camp, gives me mortal
Fears--but prithee how thrives thy Amour with honest _Friendly_?

_Chris._ As well as an Amour can that is absolutely forbid by a Father
on one side, and pursued by a good Resolution on the other.

_Ran._ Hay Gad, I'll warrant for _Friendly's_ Resolution, what though
his Fortune be not answerable to yours, we are bound to help one
another.--Here, Boy, some Pipes and a Bowl of Punch; you know my Humour,
Madam, I must smoak and drink in a Morning, or I am maukish all day.

_Sure._ But will you drink Punch in a Morning?

_Ran._ Punch! 'tis my Morning's Draught, my Table-drink, my Treat, my
Regalio, my every thing; ah, my dear _Surelove_, if thou wou'd but
refresh and cheer thy Heart with Punch in a Morning, thou wou'dst not
look thus cloudy all the day.

Enter Pipes and a great Bowl, she falls to smoaking.

_Sure._ I have reason, Madam, to be melancholy, I have receiv'd a Letter
from my Husband, who gives me an account that he is worse in _England_
than when he was here, so that I fear I shall see him no more, the
Doctors can do no good on him.

_Ran._ A very good hearing. I wonder what the Devil thou hast done with
him so long? an old fusty weatherbeaten Skeleton, as dried as
Stock-fish, and much of the Hue.--Come, come, here's to the next, may he
be young, Heaven, I beseech thee.
[Drinks.

_Sure._ You have reason to praise an old Man, who dy'd and left you
worth fifty thousand Pound.

_Ran._ Ay, Gad--and what's better, Sweetheart, dy'd in good time too,
and left me young enough to spend this fifty thousand Pound in better
Company--rest h