dozen pair of laced shoes, bought from court at second hand.

Aldo. Before George, there is not enough to rig out a mournival of whores: They'll think me grown a mere curmudgeon. Mercy on me, how will this glorious trade be carried on, with such a miserable stock!

Geoff. I hear a coach already stopping at the door. Aldo. Well, somewhat in ornament for the body, somewhat in counsel for the mind; one thing must help out another, in this bad world: Whoring must go on.

Enter Mrs OVERDON, and her Daughter PRUE. Mrs Over. Ask blessing, Prue: He is the best father you ever had.

Aldo. Bless thee, and make thee a substantial, thriving whore. Have your mother in your eye, Prue; it is good to follow good example. How old are you, Prue? Hold up your head, child.

Pru. Going o'my sixteen, father Aldo.

Aldo. And you have been initiated but these two years: Loss of time, loss of precious time! Mrs Overdon, how much have you made of Prue, since she has been man's meat?

Mrs Over. A very small matter, by my troth; considering the charges I have been at in her education Poor Prue was born under an unlucky planet; I despair of a coach for her. Her first maiden-head brought me in but little, the weatherbeaten old knight, that bought her of me, beat down the price so low. I held her at an hundred guineas, and he bid ten; and higher than thirty would not rise.

Aldo. A pox of his unlucky handsel! He can but fumble, and will not pay neither.

. Pru. Hang him; I could never endure him, fa

ther: He is the filthiest old goat; and then he comes every day to our house, and eats out his thirty guineas; and at three months end, he threw me off.

Mrs Over. And since then, the poor child has dwindled, and dwindled away. Her next maidenhead brought me but ten; and from ten she fell to five; and at last to a single guinea: She has no luck to keeping; they all leave her, the more my

sorrow.

Aldo. We must get her a husband then in the city; they bite rarely at a stale whore at this end of the town, new furbished up in a tawdry

manteau,

Mrs Over. No: Pray let her try her fortune a little longer in the world first; By my troth, I should be loth to be at all this cost, in her French, and her singing, to have her thrown away upon a husband.

Aldo. Before George, there can come no good of your swearing, Mrs Overdon: Say your prayers, Prue, and go duly to church o' Sundays, you'll thrive the better all the week. Come, have a good heart, child; I will keep thee myself: Thou shalt do my little business; and I'll find thee an able young fellow to do thine.

Enter Mrs PAD,

Daughter Pad, you are welcome: What, you have performed the last Christian office to your keeper; I saw you follow him up the heavy hill to Tyburn. Have you had never a business since his death?

Mrs Pad. No indeed, father; never since execu tion-day. The night before, we lay together most lovingly in Newgate; and the next morning he lift up his eyes, and prepared his soul with a pray

er, while one might tell twenty; and then mounted the cart as merrily, as if he had been going for a

purse.

Aldo. You are a sorrowful widow, daughter Pad; but I'll take care of you.-Geoffery, see her rigged out immediately for a new voyage: Look in figure 9., in the upper drawer, and give her out the flowered justacorps, with the petticoat belonging to it.

Mrs Pad. Could you not help to prefer me, fa

ther?

Aldo. Let me see-let me see:-Before George, I' have it, and it comes as pat too! Go me to the very judge that sate upon him; it is an amorous, impotent old magistrate, and keeps admirably. I saw him leer upon you from the bench: He will tell you what is sweeter than strawberries and cream, before you part.

Enter Mrs TERMAGANT.

Mrs Term. O father, I think I shall go mad. Aldo. You are of the violentest temper, daughter Termagant! When had you a business last?

Mrs Term. The last I had was with young Caster, that son-of-a-whore gamester: he brought me to taverns, to draw in young cullies, while he bubbled them at play; and, when he had picked up a considerable sum, and should divide, the cheating dog would sink my share, and swear,-Damn him, he won nothing.

Aldo. Unconscionable villain, to cozen you in your own calling!

Mrs Term. When he loses upon the square, he comes home zoundsing and blooding; first beats me unmercifully, and then squeezes me to the last penny. He has used me so, that, Gad forgive me, I could almost forswear my trade. The rogue starves me too: He made me keep Lent last year till Whitsun

tide, and out-faced me with oaths it was but Easter. And what mads me most, I carry a bastard of the rogue's in my belly; and now he turns me off, and will not own it.

Mrs Over. Lord, how it quops! you are half a year gone, madam.- [Laying her hand on her belly. Mrs Term. I feel the young rascal kicking already, like his father.-Oh, there is an elbow thrusting out: I think, in my conscience, he is palming and topping in my belly; and practising for a livelihood, before he comes into the world.

Aldo. Geoffery, set her down in the register, that I may provide her a mid-wife, and a dry and wet nurse: When you are up again, as heaven send you a good hour, we will pay him off at law, i'faith. You have him under black and white, I hope?

Mrs Term. Yes, I have a note under his hand for two hundred pounds.

Aldo. A note under his hand! that is a chip in porridge; it is just nothing.-Look, Geoffery, to the figure 12, for old half-shirts for childbed linen.

Enter Mrs HACKNEY.

Hack. O, madam Termagant, are you here? Justice, father Aldo, justice!

Aldo. Why, what is the matter, daughter Hack

ney?

Hack. She has violated the law of nations; for yesterday she inveigled my own natural cully from me, a married lord, and made him fasle to my bed, father.

Term. Come, you are an illiterate whore. He is my lord now; and, though you call him fool, it is well known he is a critic, gentlewoman. You never read a play in all your life; and I gained him by my wit, and so I'll keep him.

Hack. My comfort is, I have had the best of him;

he can take up no more, till his father dies: And so, much good may do you with my cully, and my clap into the bargain.

Aldo. Then there is a father for your child, my lord's son and heir by Mr Caster. But henceforward, to preserve peace betwixt you, I ordain, that you shall ply no more in my daughter Hackney's quarters: You shall have the city, from White-Chapel to Temple-Bar, and she shall have to CoventGarden downwards: At the play-houses, she shall ply the boxes, because she has the better face; and you shall have the pit, because you can prattle best out of a vizor mask.

Mrs Pad. Then all friends, and confederates. Now let us have father Aldo's delight, and so adjourn the house.

Aldo. Well said, daughter.-Lift up your voices, and sing like nightingales, you tory rory jades. Courage, I say; as long as the merry pence hold out, you shall none of you die in Shoreditch.

Enter WOODALL,

A hey, boys, a hey! here he comes, that will swinge you all! down, you little jades, and worship him; it is the genius of whoring,

Wood. And down went chairs and table, and out went every candle. Ho, brave old patriarch in the middle of the church militant! whores of all sorts; forkers and ruin-tailed: Now come I gingling in with my bells, and fly at the whole covey.

Aldo. A hey, a hey, boys! the town's thy own; burn, ravish, and destroy!

Wood. We will have a night of it, like Alexander, when he burnt Persepolis: tuez, tuez, tuez! point de quartier.

[He runs in amongst them, and they scuttle about the room.