SCENE I.

THIS fellow, Lounge, ſleeps till noon.

Aye, he ſleeps all day. His maſter has a pretty ſervant of him.

His maſter Young Sadboy, is beating his rounds; he no longer wears the broad brim of a Quaker; he has already been to one play, and begins to ſwear, Zounds! He is between the character of a Buck and a Quaker, in a con⯑tinual ſee-ſaw of diſſipation.

My Fare is One Shilling and Sixpence.

I tell thee, friend, thee art paid. Thou art full of guile.

I full of guile! It is no ſuch thing; I drink nothing but right good beer.

I will give thee a crooked bit of ſilver called a Sixpence.

I will have my Fare.

Another word, you raſcal, and I'll break your pate!—Go, friend.

Was there any gold or ſilver left in paper for me, or any one called for me?

There was a gentleman who deſires you would call on him.

If I do, damn me.—What, my ſervant aſleep when he ſhould watch?

I will ſmite his Holofernes with the hand of Judith.

You did ſmite him hard.

Old Sadboy is arrived.

Though my father would not ſuffer me to take Primroſe's daughter in Philadelphia, as the wife of my boſom, be⯑cauſe her father was gone off—but now I am in London, and as I have a tempting purſe of gold in my pocket, I will take my round of pleaſure. With the weight of much gold is my purſe weighed down.

Preſently you ſhall ſee the weight paid of Araminta.

My attachment to my poor Dinah, was the reaſon of my father ſending me to England.

Do thou take my two horſes from the ſtable, unto the leathern vehicle, and drive it unto the porch of my dwell⯑ing.

Yes, Sir.

Here is a letter from Araminta. Where is Captain Ambuſh? I muſt give it into his own hand.

So you want to give this letter into his hand, that he may ſlip half a guinea into yours.

My miſtreſs, I hear, will marry a rich man, if ſhe mar⯑ries your maſter the Captain.

What, my maſter rich! why he is only a Lieutenant.

Lieutenants and Enſigns they are called Captains. They are all great officers.

Here is a letter from Araminta.

Going to Chronicle's! how unlucky!—Where does Chronicle live?

In Groſvenor-ſtreet.

That is an odd place for a Stock-broker.

Chronicle lives in the houſe in Groſvenor-ſtreet.

What token am I to carry to my miſtreſs?

By the ſame token take this.

I know poor Spatt. has nothing elſe to give: but the Captain might have given him ſomething elſe.—Well, ply us home with that, and I'll enſure you ſucceſs.

SCENE II.

I would have you to think of Mr. Chronicle.

My father never enjoined me to do any thing againſt my own will.

Chronicle is a man of good fortune.

It is much better to go to church with a young gentle⯑man, than go hobbling there with an old one. It is ſuf⯑ficient where two fond hearts unite.

‘Gang down the bourne, Davy love, and I'll follow thee.’

Your duty and gratitude ſhould induce you to follow my advice.

My heart was ever ſwayed by duty and gratitude. I thank you for your paſt care of me; but prudence will lead me to be the guardian to my own happineſs.

What have you been about?

Who I?—I have been about the town.—I gave the letter.

Have you been carrying letters then?

Not I.

Has he ſent no anſwer?

Not a line.

I will ſtay at home this evening, and will ſee Mr. Chro⯑nicle.

This is indeed kind of you. I beg you will receive him reſpectfully.

My mother has no power over me.

But if I loſe my place by this affair, I muſt look out for better place than depending on little Cupids.

Did he ſend me a token?

He did ſend a token—but here is his man.

I muſt have this token.

I have ventured into the enemy's lines: if I ſhould ſee Lady Rounciful, what ſhall I do?

I hope Mr. Godfrey is well?

Mr. Godfrey! hum!—My maſter is well.

I hope you have brought the token. What was the token your maſter gave my maid?

Oh, oh!—I have a great mind—She wants to have a kiſs.

Why did you ſcream?

This ſervant wanted to ſalute me.

Whoſe ſervant is he?

Mr. Chronicle's—Say your Chronicle's ſervant, if ever you expect favour from me.

I am Mr. Chronicle's ſervant.

What meſſage have you brought me?

He begs you will be at his houſe this evening, inſtead of he coming to yours.

We expected him here: are you ſure you are right?

I inſiſt on it that I am right: he deſires you to come to his houſe.

Give our compliments to him, and we ſhall do ourſelves the honour of waiting on him.

Had you the impudence to offer to kiſs the lady?

I knew the token that was given was only a kiſs.

Deſire your maſter to bear his own tokens another time himſelf.

I hope you will not tell my maſter.

Indeed I will not.—Here, go with this card.

"Lady Rounciful will wait on Mr. Chronicle this even⯑ing."—Chronicle will certainly hang himſelf to-morrow,

SCENE I.

MY maſter gets the tenants ſons from the country, and then ſtarves them, as he has me.

Starve!—How is it poſſible that a ſervant could ſtarve in ſuch a fine houſe as this?

Let who will be a ſervant to the old ſtingy Curmudgeon for me—I will go and ſlip into my own cloaths.

Oh! here's my maſter.

I ſhall be too late for my viſit; my buckles are rather dull, but cleaning them wears the ſilver—I will go in my blue and ſilver, but I will keep the paper on to the laſt moment, for fear of tarniſhing the embroidery. My white and ſilver I will keep for my wedding cloaths.

Are you there, Clod?

Yes, Sir, I's be come.

Your livery muſt be let out—

—Go your ways, you are in fine running order—

What makes you laugh?

You look in that great white wig, all the world like the ſign of the White Lion in our village.

—Here the poſtman has left that letter,

but he did not wait an an⯑ſwer.

Hah! a letter from my old friend Shadrach Boaz.—He ſays he is juſt arrived in town, and requeſts I will meet him at the Swan with Two Necks, in Lad-lane; he ſays he has brought a pretty girl with him from Dover, and he is re⯑ſolved not to loſe ſight of her. Come along, Clod.—This fellow's looks will ſave me half a muffin every morning.

Welcome to your own houſe.

How came you in poſſeſſion?

By the means of ready money—Shadrach's name is in the mortgage.

Where is Shadrach?

At Hamburgh or Spa—I know not where he is.

Damn you and Sadrach—I am troubled leſt thou be⯑come a bye-word with thy neighbours—What, would you turn a gentleman out of his own houſe?

Captain march out of your own houſe.

Were I a Captain, I would collar that man.—I would kill that man.

I will ſettle my affairs myſelf.

Is this the ſon of old Sadboy?

What would you ſay to ſee him dance a cotillon?

Zounds! I can hardly refrain from kicking him.

I would give a ball in your own houſe to ſee him dance, and you ſhall figure in—Come, Captain, I deſire you will march out.

Here is a ſervant from Araminta, with a piece of paſte⯑board written on.

A card, you blockhead.

This is to Mr. Chronicle from Araminta.

What are you about here?

I am Lady Rounciful's ſervant.—I come here, in order to bring about an interview with a young gentleman that Araminta loves beſt.

"Lady Rounciful's compliments to Mr. Chronicle, and [13]ſhall do herſelf the honour to pay him a viſit, inſtead of ſeeing him at her houſe."

She thought Spatterdaſh belonged to Chronicle. Old Square-toes is finely taken in.

Come to my houſe—Well, Shadrich ſhall give up the mortgage of the houſe to-morrow.

Won't you entertain the ladies?—you cannot get off.

What brought this expence on me?

We will be of the party.

No, you will not.

I'll bet you five guineas of it.

Well, if you like a briſk widow—I will let you be at the whole expence of this evening's entertainment, and then you will ſee her.

I don't value a few guineas.

You won't lay out, you ſay—

Not a ſhilling.—Are you who wears the king's cloth afraid?

Afraid!—Afraid of what?

Of being at the whole expence of this entertain⯑ment yourſelf. You need not lay out more than 40 or 50 guineas.

Well, Captain, you will pay it I am ſure—Honour is the characteriſtic of a Britiſh ſoldier.

SCENE II.

Shew the young woman who came in the diligence in.

I find ſhe knows no one in this town. A young woman without friends or moneys in London, cannot long ſubſiſt on virtues.—This is her trunk:—Perhaps the contents of that trunk may keep her honeſt for ſome ſmall time.

Oh! where is the young woman's trunk? ſomebody has cut it away from behind the diligence.

So, we are ſafe arrived.

You have been very civil to me during our voyage: is there any thing I can do for you?

You are come over to ſee your friends, you ſay. I am ſure you have one friend, and that is myſelf: you have no moneys—You was brought up in America, and was leſt an infant, to the care of Old Sadboy, you ſay, and your name is Dinah Primroſe—Is your father alive?

I believe my father is alive, and lives in London; his name is Primroſe—I do not know my parents.

Have you any moneys?

No.

There is no ſubſiſting in London without the caſh—If you will go with me to my friend in the Old Jury, you muſt be mighty cautious. This is a wicked town; there are ſo many ſnares laid—I ſhall have her all to myſelf.

Have you any luggage?

None left; I was robbed of it.—I was directed to Mrs. Primroſe in London.

She ſaid ſomething about Primroſe being in London—You know me capable of friendſhip.

Yes, thee art very good to me.

She comes from Philadelphia, ſhe ſays, and came over to paſs as a relation. I was ſhocked at her ſtory.

I dare ſay—I dare ſay.

I told her on the road, when ſhe found I was your very particular friend, that I would get your conſent to be mar⯑ried to her.

Where are you going?

To get two conſtables.

You muſt not go—Cannot you give your conſent, while my love is going on?

She is ſo very pretty—ſhe is juſt what I ſhould ſuppoſe my poor daughter to be, if ſhe knew I was Primroſe. But I muſt give up my houſe in Goſvenor⯑ſtreet. I will have a ſnug box in Hackney—

—Take care of the goods.

You know my way.

SCENE I.

I Believe I am Chronicle's ſervant now.

I ſee they are ſumptuous in this entertainment. Here is Champagne and Burgundy; of theſe I will carry off three flaſks—I have had a bottle of each ſince dinner.—Cham⯑pagne is delicious—

—But if I drink too much I may come to ſhame; I am cautious in making too free with the juice of the grape; I hate a man who tipples in company with the ladies. A man that is drunk to women is always diſpleaſing.

When you ſee me making too free with the bottle, give me the wink.

Indeed I will, Sir.—

How came this wine decanted? Well, ſince it is decanted, I muſt decant it again. I ſup⯑poſe I ſhall find a bottle of Burgundy decanted by and by.

Here am I to watch Sadboy—here is a great deal of buſineſs on my hands. I am to hinder Sadboy from ex⯑poſing himſelf to the ladies.

Here is love and long-life.

I have a great deal of buſineſs on my hands.

I am quite diſappointed—Could I imagine ſuch a figure as that, the maſter of ſuch a manſion as this—Where did you get this taſte? You have the moſt elegant taſte I ever ob⯑ſerved: To ſee you in this houſe looks like an Owl in a Jay's dreſs.

Here is Captain Rambuſh below.

Captain Ambuſh, you raſcal! Admit him.

This is Lady Rounciful; this is Araminta, my intended ſpouſe.

Madam, you do me a great deal of honour.

Madam, I have ſome pictures here to ſhew you, ſome of which are originals, and ſo black.

Whoſe picture is this?

Mr Godfrey's.

What a reſemblance to Captain Ambuſh!

Theſe are pictures of perſons of rank and condition.

If the original of that picture falls in my way, I ſhall certainly fall in love with him.

There is a ſtrong reſemblance to your humble admirer.

I have a few pictures, but they are good. I will ſpeak a good word for you to the widow.

Here is Mr. Badboy below.

Mr. Sadboy, you mean; this fellow always miſtakes people's names.

Send the Quaker to Philadelphia, and be the gentleman for half an hour: take off your beaver to the ladies.

Damn you; Chronicle has, inſtead of the wiſdom of years, a head like a ball ſtuffed with hair, and covered with leather.

Hear how he curſes and ſwears. Oh! you are a pro⯑fligate.

Did you call, Sir? I have laid in the wine.

You have laid in the wine indeed.

I have nothing to do in the world: I want for nothing, only a little impudence.

If he was not your ſervant, I would—

He brought me a meſſage from you.

He brought me a meſſage from you.

Who are you?

I am a man very well known among the ladies.

Be gone.

I won't go till my maſter commands me.

I muſt not ſpeak to him.

I muſt watch Mr. Sadboy, to prevent his getting drunk. He is getting monſtrous drunk. I muſt get him away.

Come out, you are drunk, Sir—

It was Chronicle you was deſired to watch, and not me.

Out you go; you're drunk.

I am not drunk. Will no one help me?

You will thank me for this hereafter,—you will but ex⯑poſe yourſelf. Out you go, out you go. He is going to be amorous.

SCENE II.

Yeo hoix! my beagles; yeo hillo! where are my beagles?

I want an apartment for a young lady; but I hope you have no gentlemen lodging here.

I have none but ladies lodges here.

Sings—"And a hunting we will go, we'll go, and a hunt⯑img we will go."

Does your maid go a hunting?

It is a hunting Quaker in the houſe.

I never knew of hunting Quakers.

This man giveth himſelf much trouble on my account—What could I have done had I not met with ſuch a friend? Heavens! what will become of me? How could Old Sad⯑boy draw his affection from me! I did not encourage his ſon to love me—Perhaps I may never ſee him more; but if my dear father lives, I may ſtill be happy.

They are very pretty lodgings indeed—I will be your friend.

Thou ſhalt always expect my gratitude.

You have nobody to depend upon but me; thou art poor, and I did lend thee moneys, therefore we will ſettle ac⯑counts upon your beauty; you ſhall accept my draft upon your virtue, and pay me with your honour—I will take you into keeping.

I did look upon thee as a ſtar of light—but now, you want to flatter me into the wilderneſs of infamy—I will preſerve my virtue with my life!

This is fine talking.

Begone! and doo not ſeek my ruin.

I will take you into keeping.

I will ne'er conſent.

Nay, then I muſt have you.

What noiſe is this?

Who ſent for you?

I was willing to hinder thee from doing that which would bring thee to be hanged.

I think I may venture to ſtrike him, for Quakers never fight.

Strikes him—Take that and that.

Thou ſhalt be rewarded tenfold.

Oh! you a Quaker—You are the devil of a Quaker.—What will become of me to be beat in this manner?—I thought you would have turned the other cheek.

Friend, begone! — Here, Goliah, Goliah, turn this man down ſtairs out of the porch.

He now calls Goliah to me. I ſuppoſe this Goliah is a Coloſſus.—Art thou Goliah?

I am called Goliah.

He ſpeaks very faint. I'll face him—Oh, ho! if you are Goliah, I will whip you with a birch red.

What did you mean by hauling me out of the company?

I did as I was ordered. I am no longer your ſervant or your repreſentative.

If every one in P— was to be hauled out by their conſtituents, there would be ſome empty benches.

Now I have theſe lodgings for a fortnight rent-free, but I long to get back to the city.

Is my maſter's dreſs come here yet, young man?

Do you know who you talk to, fellow—I deſire in future you will learn how to addreſs me.

I learn how to dreſs you.

There is ſome difference between me and you, fellow.

I called you a young man; ſhall I call you a middle aged man then?

I am my maſter's own gentleman, damn me! Leſs of you familiarity, ſarrah, or I will kick you down ſtairs, damn me.

I will kick you down ſtairs, damn me!

Is this Clod?

Do you know who you are talking to? You muſt learn how to dreſs me.

Me learn how to dreſs you!

There is ſome difference between you and me, damn me!—I am my maſter's own gentleman, damn me!

You are a pretty ſort of a gentleman.

Leſs of your familiarity, or I will kick you down ſtairs, damn me!

I will not live with Chro⯑nicle any longer—indeed I do not live with him, I only ſtarve with him. It is as good to be out of bread as have nothing to eat.

Here, Clod.

I am a true-born Engliſh ſervant, I will not live with you any longer.

Old Mr. Sadboy is below.

His name is Rubens Sadboy—is he at home?

Quite at home here I aſſure you—Why he is ſo ſerved, he eats of the beſt in London.

Why ſojourneth he at this end of the town? why dwell⯑eth he not in Leadenhall-ſtreet? or Threadneedle-ſtreet? nigh unto the Exchange called Royal, and reſorteth with the merchants? I am told that he doth ſhine in gold and ſilver, and drinketh wine from Madeira and France, and doth ride in a chariot, yea in a Tim Whiſkey;—for theſe [24]evil doings I do repent me that I ſent him from Philadelphia. Oh! America, America, I find the ſpirit of anger doth ariſe up within me againſt my ſon.

Thou doſt wax exceeding ſtrong in anger.

I will peradventure examine his trunks, and of his gar⯑ments of ſilk and ſilver will I deſpoil him. Humph! Neither bolts nor bars ſhall prevent me from knowing the thing which I do wiſh to know.

Here is needle⯑work of gold, and of ſilver, made in the vanity of his heart; theſe garment will I burn, and I will leave my property to the faithful in Philadelphia, yea, even to the ſtrangers to my blood.

I will take care of you in my houſe.

Though this woman be not among the faithful, yet I will do every thing I can in return for her kindneſs.

Is Mr. Godfrey here?

Godfrey! I know no ſuch man.

You ſay you know no ſuch man, marry come up indeed.

I perceive there are many in theſe lodgings.

Only one word with the young woman.

You have no buſineſs here.

Oh ſhe is damned bad goods; ſhe has robbed me, and then ran away from me.

Had you not perſonal ſecurity?

No matter for dat.

Oh, I am robbed, and the key in my pocket!

I hope you are not robbed, Mr. Chronicle.

Yes, I am robbed, I am robbed.

I am glad of it,

—I be ſorry for dat.

What is all this noiſe about?

I am robbed, I am robbed. She has robbed me of my laced cloaths.

She robbed you! She is an innocent creature! if ſhe could find her father all would be well.

I have let Mr. Primroſe into your whole ſtory.

Tell me where is my father, my heart bleeds for him!

I could wiſh you honeſt.

She muſt not get out of my hands. Give me my moneys, 23l. 2s. 9d. I did lend thee.

Well, if I have 2s. 9d. I will pay it.

It is 23l. 2s. 9d. I have the officers of juſtice below to take her.

Officers in my houſe! I'll go ſee into this.

Here is a receipt for the money. Oh! the dear young creature, Mr. Sadboy, the moment he heard of her diſtreſs, diſcharged the debt.

That was damned impertinent in him.

Oh, you damned infernal raſcal!

My poor be⯑loved Dinah.

My name is Primroſe. I am thy father, child. Oh my child! my child!

Oh my father!

Do I then live to ſee my father.

Thou art indeed my child.—But where is my white and ſilver.

The bailiff's are gone, and go thou likewiſe.

So you have diſcharged them, did you? She was no re⯑lation of your's.

I heard ſhe was in diſtreſs, and that to me is claim ſuf⯑ficient.

My dear daughter will learn to thank you.—O how you are changed.

I will introduce you to Lord Belmore.

SCENE I.

I Will go court Araminta myſelf.

I am determined to propoſe myſelf to her as Lieutenant Ambuſh, and in the mean time will ſend this letter to Lady Rounciful.

My wife, whoever I marry, muſt honour me for no title but that of an honeſt heart.

I muſt call on Dinah, in my habit of Alexander the Great, as I go to the maſquerade.

You are ſure of your love.

SCENE II.

My late huſband was always ſo willing to oblige, ſo ready at the tea-table, he was happy to ſerve the ladies; he had a ſmile to one, a nod to another, a bow to the third, a bon⯑mot to the fourth, and a joke with fifth.—It was he that could do it.

This picture of Captain Ambuſh muſt be of my Godfrey; he muſt be the original; "For a ſoldier he is for the ladies."

Here is Mr. Chronicle.

We are at home to him.

Soon I ſhall be your dutiful ſon-in law; when the chap⯑lain has read the ceremony, then on I go the happy journey for life.

Did you ſay journey?

I dare ſay ſhe will make a very agreeable gallopping dreary dun.

Well ſaid, my old buck.

You will ſoon have a right to her chamber. Why don't you follow her there? Take my word for it, ſhe will not like you the worſe for it.

A letter to your ladyſhip.

This is a much more advantageous match for my daughter, than Chronicle—I muſt break this intended match with her and Chronicle.

Oh the knowing rogue, ſhe would not let me in.

Had you the aſſurance to follow my daughter to her chamber? What encouragement did ever you receive from her or me to warrant your taking ſuch a liberty?

Madam!

Sir, what have you ever ſeen in me or my daughter, to countenance ſuch an intruſion?

Take notice that in future, that whenever this gentle⯑man comes to me or my daughter, we are never at home to him.

Whew! I am not awake ſure! Clod, come, and ſhake me by the ſhoulder, leſt I fall into a lethargy.

Are my eyes open?

They are wide open.

Hit my back.

There and there.

Now I believe I am awake

When are we to wiſh you joy?

Don't torment me.

Why what has been the matter here?

Could you believe it, my maſter has fell into a fit of lethargy!

If Araminta is altered in her love by a title, ſhe prefers me not for my ſincerity.

My mother believes you are Lord Belmont. There was a letter came to my mother.

That letter I ſigned.

He made propoſals as Lord Belmont.

If ſhe fixed on the title inſtead of diſintereſted love, my hopes are blaſted. Every hope of happineſs is loſt for ever.

Did you conſent to give your hand to another?

I thought I gave my conſent to you.

My charming Araminta, you have too fond a partiality for me.

What, do you refuſe me then?

In conſenting to my happineſs, you are the only perſon impoſed on. I did this to prove the diſintereſtedneſs of your love—I am the perſon you would wiſh me to be.

I would prefer being the wife of Lieutenant Ambuſh, to being the lady of the firſt peer of the realm.—Be you who you will, a lord or a lieutenant, I am happy in being your wife.

Know, then, I am Lord Belmont—May the fate of every generous woman be thus decided.

And thus rewarded with the man ſhe loves.

Oh! I wiſh I could be a gentleman to a lord.

My fellow is always out of the way—Do you live with Chronicle friend?

I do not live with Chronicle, but I ſtarve with him.

Is that the caſe?

The caſe is good enough, but where is the lining—Lord, he would make a choice maſter for me.

Lord, Sir, what a bad ſervant you have. Sir, I am a very good one; I never would neglect a gentleman who would take me into his ſervice; I never ſtay when my maſter calls.

Did you ever dreſs an Alexander?

Yes, twenty of them.

In this habit of Alexander the Great, will I viſit my dear Dinah.

Help to attire me.

You will never be tired of me.

Bring the helmit to my room.

Did he not bid me bring ſomething to him? It muſt be this hermit.

Here Clod.

I can't go

—I am coming

—I can't go—I am coming.

Here, friend.—

What! ſtop a man in the road to preferment.

Doth my ſon Rubens walk with the righteous?

He walks and rides with lords and the beſt people in town.

What has he to do with lords?

To be ſure he might keep better company—He is pretty good.

It was told me he went after vanities.

He is a good boy, a pious boy, and a holy lad.—I muſt ſpeak well of him, as he is to marry my daughter.

Thou rejoiceth my heart.

Art thou my ſon Rubens?

I am thy ſon Rubens.

I ſent thee over to England to tranſact buſineſs for the faithful in Philadelphia; haſt thou been among the mer⯑chants and the tobacco ſellers?

No.

Thou haſt been among wine-bibbers and horſe-racers.

Yea, I confeſs mine iniquities.

Little did I look for this: I have cut him off with a ſhill⯑ing; that holy man! he is dreſt now to go to the wicked places about town.—You are feathered now, you are juſt fit to be tarred.

I will be good, very good.

I do lament my choler: I will forgive him.

Forgive him! but what will you give him?

I will give him my vineyard, my houſe, my plantations, and my ſlaves.

I will accept of the houſe and plantations, on behalf of myſelf and my brethren in America; but as to ſlaves, I de⯑clare that every ſlave of mine ſhall henceforth be as free as air. Liberty ſhall no longer be conſidered as the peculiar bleſſing of England; it ſhall be extended to America; and may him only be deprived of it, who can make a ſlave of any one.

I wiſh you joy!

Poor Godfrey is become your ſon-in-law.

Well, miſers above all human beings are the worſt ene⯑mies to mankind. How can he feel for others, who can⯑not feel for himſelf? The tear of ſenſibility can never have poſſeſſion of his breaſt. He never does good to any, nor never gains himſelf a friend.

I will be hanged but that is a good ſermon, and coſts me nothing.