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Dryden, John, 1631-1700

"The works of John Dryden, $c now first collected in eighteen volumes. $p Volume 02"


_Non_. Was't got by miracle? Who was the father?
_Const_. Who got your money, sir, that you have lost?
_Non_. Nay, Heaven knows who got that.
_Const_. And, Heaven knows who got this: for, on my conscience,
he, that had your money, was the father on't.
_Non_. The devil it was as soon.
_Const_. That's all I fear, sir.
_Isa_. 'Tis strange;--and yet 'twere hard, sir, to suspect my
cousin's virtue, since we know the house is haunted.
_Non_. 'Tis true, that nothing can be laid, though under lock and
key, but it miscarries.
_Isa_. 'Tis not to be believed, what these villainous spirits can
do: they go invisible.
_Const_. First, they stole away my prayer-book; and, a little
after that, a small treatise I had against temptation; and when they
were gone, you know, sir--
_Isa_. If there be such doings, pray heaven we are not all with
child. 'Tis certain, that none live within these walls, but they have
power of: I have reared Toby, the coachman, any time this fortnight.
_Non_. Out, impudence! A man with child! why 'tis unnatural.
_Isa_. Ay, so is he that got it.
_Non_. Thou art not in earnest?
_Isa_. I would I were not:--Hark! I hear him groan hither. Come
in, poor Toby.
_Enter_ TOBY, _the coachman, with an urinal_.


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