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Show 58 Love and a Bottle. Mock. My Epithalamium ! my Epitaph, Screech-Owl, for I'm buried alive. But I hope you'll return m y hundred Pound I gave you for marrying me. Lyr. "T ; but for five hundred more Til unmarry you. Thefe are hard Times, ar. 1 M - n of Ind-.irtry muft make Money. I Mock. Here's the Money, by the Univerfe, Sir; a Bill of five hundred Pound Steding upon Mr. Ditto the Mercer ill Cheapfide. Bring m e a Reprieve, and'tis yours. Lyr. Lay it in that Gentleman's hands. (Gives Roebuck the Bit The Executioner fhall cut the Rope. (Goes to^ the Door, brings in Bullfinch drefs'd like a Parfon* Here's Revelation for you! (Pulls open the Gown. Mock. O h thou damn'd Whore of Babylon! Lov. What, Pope Joan the Second! Were you the Prieft? Bull. O f the Poet's Ordination. Lyr. Ay, ay, before the time of Chriftianity the Poets were Priefts. Mock. N o wonder then that all the World were Heathens. Lyr. H o w d'ye like the Plot? Wou'd it not do well for a Play ? My Money, Sir. (To Roebuck. Roeb. N o , Sir; it belongs to this Gentlewoman. (Gives it to Trudge) you have divore'd her, and muft give her feparate Maintenance. There's another turn of Plot you were not aware of, Mr. Lyrick. Enter Lucinda, Leanthe, and Pindrefs. Luc. You have told me Wonders. Lean. Here are thefe can teftifie the Truth. This Gentlem a n is the real Mr. Mockmode, and much fuch another Per-fon as your Dream reprefented. Roeb. I hope, Madam, you'll pardon m y difTembling, fince only the hopes of fo great a-purchafe cou d caufe it. Luc. Let m y wifhing you much Joy and Happinefs in your Bride teftifie m y Reconciliation; and at the Requeft of your Sifter, Mr. Lovewell, I pardon your paft Jealoufies. You threatned me, Mr. Lovewell, with an Irifh Entertainment at m y Wedding. I wifh it prefent now, to affift at your Sifter's Nuptials. Lean. At m y lalt going hence, I fent for em, and they re ready. Uv |
