ily and
impudently enough. Moll Davis is in one box, and my Lady Castlemaine,
with the king, in another. Moll makes eyes at the king, and he at her.
My Lady Castlemaine detects the interchange of glances, and "when she
saw Moll Davies she looked like fire, which troubled me," said Mr.
Pepys, who, to do him justice, was often needlessly troubled about
matters with which, in truth, he had very little concern. There were
brawls in the theatre, and tipsiness, and much license generally. In
1682 two gentlemen, disagreeing in the pit, drew their swords and
climbed to the stage. There they fought furiously until a sudden
sword-thrust stretched one of the combatants upon the boards. The
wound was not mortal, however, and the duellists, after a brief
confinement by order of the authorities, were duly set at liberty.

The fop of the Restoration was a different creature to the Elizabethan
gallant. Etherege satirised him in his "Man of Mode; or, Sir Fopling
Flutter," Dryden supplying the comedy with an epilogue, in which he
fully described certain of the prevailing follies of the time in
regard to dress and manners. The audience are informed that

None Sir Fopling him or him can call,
He's knight of the shire and represents you all!
From each he meets he culls whate'er he can;
Legion's his name, a people in a man.

* * * * *

His various modes from various fathers follow;
One taught the toss, and one the new French wallow;
His sword-knot this, his cravat that designed;
And this the yard-long snake he twirls behind.
From one the sacred periwig he gained,
Which wind ne'er blew nor touch of hat profaned.
Another's diving bow he did adore,
Which, with a shog, casts all the hair before,
Till he with full decorum brings it back,
And rises with a water-spaniel shake.

Upon another occasion the poet writes:

But only fools, and they of vast estate,
The extremity of modes will imitate,
The dangling knee-fringe and the bib-cravat.

While the fops were thus equipped, the ladies wore vizard-masks, and
upon the appearance of one of these in the pit--

Straight every man who thinks himself a wit,
Perks up, and managing his comb with grace,
With his white wig sets off his nut-brown face.

For it was the fashion of the gentlemen to toy with their soaring,
large-curled periwigs, smoothing them with a comb. Betwe