ACT I.

O We are ruined, Lucy!—We are undone!

Speak for yourſelf, Frank, heigho!— I am neither ruined nor undone.

Here's a paragraph confirms all

"We hear that a great houſe not one hundred miles from Leadenhall-ſtreet, ſtopped payment yeſterday for a conſiderable ſum."—It muſt be our houſe!

Yes, it muſt be our houſe;—but pray, Frank, who is this we, who pretends to know ſo much about maſter's affairs?

Who is we?—Why in truth, Lucy, I don't rightly know who we is; but we is ſomebody [12] who knows, or pretends to know, every body, and every thing—we uſed to abuſe oppoſition—we now are come over with miniſtry—we writes againſt men on one ſide, and we writes againſt meaſures on the other—we attacks majority in one paper, and we cuts up minority in another—we puffs admirals and demireps—we ridicules generals and women of character—we is an critic who tears authors to pieces—it is we who ſtrives to write players out of their bread.

Then is we an ill-natured, crabbed, un⯑conſcionable fellow—I love play actors in my heart—they ſay ſo many good things I can't think they do any thing bad.

As I live here comes Mr. Trueman—

And Miſs Amelia with him—there will be a match, Frank.

Your hand, honeſt Frank—the Weſt-India fleet's arrived!

Bravo!

And the homeward-bound Eaſt-Indiamen are all ſafe in port.

Braviſſimo!

And Mr. Fairport has traced the report of our houſe's failure up to old Rebate, the money⯑lender.

What motive could have urged his malice to ſuch premeditated villainy?

The worſt of motives, madam, reſentment and avarice—your uncle reſcued a diſtreſſed young gentleman from his uſurious demands, and is indebted to him eleven thouſand pounds.

But what brings him here?

Your uncle being denied to him in town, he left a memorandum that he ſhould come here [13] to ſeek him; and I am commiſſioned to give the raſcal an anſwer to one of the moſt impudent propoſals that ever inſolence dictated.

Pray what is it, Mr. Trueman?

Ah! dear ſir, what is it?

No leſs than a written propoſal of mar⯑riage, between his ſon and your couſin Auguſta

O! Mercy!

Accompanied with a threat to lay on an execution immediately, in caſe of a refuſal; and a diſcharge in full of all demands, as a bribe, in caſe of compliance.

I know Praecipe his ſon well, ſir—he's as precious a twig of the law as ever ſwitched a client through Weſtminſter hall.

The old man knows, I ſuppoſe, that my couſin's fortune is independent of her father—

But for Heaven's ſake, ſir, how did my young lady receive the propoſal?

Laughed at it—ſhe is a generous-hearted girl, and offered the whole of her fortune to ſup⯑port her father's credit.

This is city ſentiment—the uncourtly citizens, not only ſpeak as they think, but act as they ſpeak.

And I wiſh, madam, every other claſs of men, would make their public actions the criterion of their public profeſſions.—Take care Lucy, old Rebate's a terrible fellow, tormented with as inſa⯑tiable an appetite for young girls as for money —the monſter would devour a virgin every morn⯑ing for breakfaſt.

I remember when he was partner in a re⯑giſter-office, for the purpoſe of ruining young creatures out of place.

And though he'd impoſe upon his neareſt friend to obtain money, he'd laviſh the earnings of his avarice with prodigality to deſtroy inno⯑cence.

And ſhan't we be reveng'd on him?— Suppoſe I was to throw myſelf in his way, and ſe⯑duce him into an intrigue.

If you do, I'll take a part in the farce, and we'll retaliate on him with a vengeance.

And leave the young lawyer to me—ne⯑ver fear, I'll bring him to the ſtool of repen⯑tance

Perhaps here they come.

Then, I'll let them in, and give the anti⯑quated Adonis a moſt encouraging reception— Come, Mr. Trueman.

I attend you, madam.

Strike him at once, madam, with a lan⯑guiſhing look.

La, Frank, there's a ſcheme in my head—but I'm aſhamed to tell you—Well, I'll hide my face

Suppoſe you were to introduce me to the young attorney as my lady.

An excellent thought, my ſprightly girl! —run and communicate it to Mr. Trueman and Miſs Amelia—But I muſt have a kiſs.

To her! to her! Hey! hey! Egad, tho' the circulation of caſh has ſtopped here, the circulation of the blood flows in a warm tide of wantonneſs.

Neat limbed—ſlender waiſted—elaſtic in her feet, with a noble protuberance in front, and a moſt entic⯑ing rotunda in the rear; no cork or whalebone in her compoſition, I warrant.—Your ſervant, young [15] man, your ſervant—Pray who is the elegant young lady who gave me admittance?

I ſuppoſe it was Miſs Amelia, ſir, my maſter's niece—I thought you knew her.

No, I'm unacquainted with the females of your family. She is really a charming girl, with a pair of as piercing, ſparkling rogueiſh eyes, as ever ſported in amorous glance—A good fortune, I ſup⯑poſe?

Not a ſhilling, ſir; Miſs Amelia is de⯑pendent on my maſter.

Poor girl—a delicious morſel! but muſt now ſeek for a new protector.—Your maſ⯑ter's broke, young man—Have you ſeen the pub⯑lic prints?

The public prints, ſir—there's no believ⯑ing the public prints! It was but the other day the General Advertiſer made the combined fleets ſixty-ſix ſail of the line—the Courant encreaſed them to eighty ſail—the Poſt anchored them in Nu⯑bibus—the Herald wind-bound them in Breſt har⯑bour—the Gazetteer loſt them in a fog—the Pub⯑lic Advertiſer brought them into Plymouth Sound —the Chronicle ſent them to the Land's-end, and the Ledger aſſured us they were not ſhips, but ſixty whales, which had made the coaſt, and that the expreſs had been brought up to London-Bridge by Lieutenant Grampus.

Ah! ha! ha! ha! You're a wag—but there's no joke in the loſs of the Eaſt and Weſt-India ſhips—You're maſter's ruined by it, and I have his bond for eleven thouſand.

On which I have adviſed you repeat⯑edly, that you may take out a fi. fa. ad ſatisfa⯑ciendum—for it is laid down in Viner's Abridgement of the Law, volume the thirty-ſixth, page one thouſand and ſeventy nine, letter A. that —

Silence, I ſay,

You ſhould never command ſilence, but with an oyez! oyez! oyez!

O! confound your tongue—its your mother's to an inch—I'll cut it out, you dog.

Cut out my tongue!—mayhem—death by the Coventry act.

But do you think, Sir, we ſhall be de⯑clared bankrupt?

I hope not; for as your bankrupt com⯑miſſion buſineſs falls into the hands of the lawyers, it generally conſumes the beſt part of the effects.

Actionable words—let me ſee—to call a lawyer ambodexter, or double handed, is—

Calling him by his right name, you raſcal.

Mr. Trueman—Sir, my maſter's clerk, requeſts your company in the parlor.

Mr. Trueman, my buſineſs is with your maſter, not with his clerk; and in his preſent in⯑digent circumſtances, it was his duty to have at⯑tended me—but I'll follow you.

You live in ſplendor here, young man,

a noble houſe—magnificent furniture—Heavens! what luxury!—The Augſburgh merchant, who lent half a million to an emperor on his bond, and [17] afterwards, at an entertainment, burned his ſecu⯑rity in a fire of cinnamon, had not a more ſuperb dwelling. — Mercy! What a ſide-board of plate!

My walk down here, as a body may ſay, has created me a voracious appetite—but I never travel without belly munition

and yet, as the ſaying is, I'm thin as parchment.

And it being as neceſſary to moiſten the clay, as to manure the ſoil—what think you, Sir, of a glaſs of nice Madeira?

A good motion for ſtaying—as my Maſter Stripclient ſays, it's all the ſame to me, whether I drink at the ſuit of the plaintiff, or at the ſuit of the defendant.

Here's Madeira has croſſed the Line twice, bright as a topaz,

and generous as an old maid on the day of marriage.

Marriage—that's in point—I am come down, do you ſee me, to marry Miſs Fairport; that is, to file a declaration of love, over-rule her demurrer, and ſo join iſſue.

You have ſeen her, I ſuppoſe?

No, never ſaw her.

Why ſhe left the room juſt as you came in.

Is that ſhe? Egad, ſhe's a fine girl, and ſaluted me with a moſt condeſcending ſmile.

Lucy, I ſee, has begun the attack.

Another glaſs—Mr. Praecipe, you're a man of gallantry no doubt.

I plead guilty to the indictment— Keep as ſmart a piece as you'd lay eye on in a whole circuit.

And live pleaſantly.

In a funny ſtile, as a body may ſay— Poll lodges at Iſlington, ſo I travel down to her every Saturday afternoon—take tea with Poll, ſpend my evening at the Angel—Next morning riſe from Poll, ſwallow rum and milk at the Angel—breakfaſt with Poll, take my whet and jill at the Angel—Dine with Poll, ſpend my after⯑noon at the Angel—Take tea with Poll, ſpend my evening at the Angel—Sup with Poll, take my Punch at the Angel—So on Monday morning, leave Poll betimes, take the ſtage at the Angel, and am at chambers by eight.

Really, Sir, between Miſs Poll and the Angel, you lead a deviliſh angelic life—But I fear, Mr. Praecipe, there is a fatal objection to your marrying Miſs Fairport.

You mean my connection with Poll; but I can ſoon get rid of her, and provide for her into the bargain—Mark a writ againſt her, move her by Habeas Corpus into the King's Bench, and there, though wives are not permitted to live with their huſbands, a demirep may make a fortune.

You miſtake my young lady's objection —ſhe has vowed never to marry a lawyer.

Aye!

True indeed—But if you're not afraid of a frolic, I'll put you in a way of carrying her.

Afraid! Never fear me, I love a frolic in my heart; nevertheleſs, and always providing, that the ſaid frolic is not contrary to law—Caveat actor, do you underſtand me, is my maxim.

Then your father muſt not know a word of the buſineſs.

Right—we'll ouſt him from the ſuit, and then he'll have no concern in the fortune.

A Quaker-man, Mr. Frank, deſires to ſpeak with Mr. Rebate, or his ſon.

Shew him in. I know his buſineſs.

I'll ſtep into the next room and lay out a cold veniſon-paſty, and if you're the man of ſpirit I take you for, Miſs Fairport and her fortune will be both your own.

I'll be with you in a twinkling, as the ſaying is

Ah friend Ezekiel Spotleſs, welcome from Am⯑ſterdam—What news? Eh.

There's no time to ſpeak of news—I have a large ſum to pay unto thy father.

Or to me—It is the ſame in law, friend Ezekiel, whether you pay the attorney, or the prin⯑cipal.

True, true, friend Praecipe, but that is where the attorney hath a principle. The clerk informed me at thy houſe of thy coming here—But where's thy father.

My father—why—my father—O my father's gone a little farther into the country with the gentleman of the houſe.

Then will I deliver the monies to thee, being obliged to go for Oſtend this night, having collected ſome material intelligence. Here read —

Signed "Primitive Tribula⯑tion" dated "Amſterdam, March 26 1782" Friend [20] Rebate, I take the opportunity of the bearer, Eze⯑kiel Spotleſs, to inform thee, that the copper and gunpowder, conſigned by thee unto my care, on board the good ſhip Contraband from Corke, ar⯑rived in due time, and, according to thy directions, I remit unto thee the amount of the ſales thereof, in Bank of England notes, which I found difficult to procure here. The bearer will alſo deliver un⯑to thy hands the diamonds, which I adviſed thee of, ſome time ago, and which thou art to diſpoſe of for my account.—Thy Friend.

Here are the notes, and here are the diamonds—Sign this receipt

fare⯑well, peace be to thy ſpirit.

Here are the notes—here are the diamonds,

and poſſeſſion, as the ſaying is, is the eleventh point of the law—The devil a ſhilling ſhall my honeſt father ever touch of theſe bills—And the devil a ſhilling ſhall his honeſt correſpondent. Tribulation, ever touch of the produce of theſe diamonds.

He, he, he, egad, there's more argument in the brilli⯑ancy of their ſparkle, than in the tongues of the whole bar, and they ſhall be my counſel with Miſs Fairport—This letter will keep my father ſi⯑lent—high treaſon to correſpond with the enemy— but this is loſing time, and I long to be up to the elbows in the veniſon-paſty.

And ſo, this young lady, this Miſs Amelia, Mr Fairport's niece, is entirely depen⯑dant on his bounty.

Yes, poor lady; her father, on his re⯑turn from India, died at Amſterdam; he had con⯑verted his effects into diamonds, but it could never be diſcovered what became of them.

No.

No, Sir—But there is a ſtrong ſuſpi⯑cion that they were ſtolen by a Quaker, at whoſe houſe he lodged.

Aye—Theſe diamonds muſt be the very ſame of which Primitive Tribulation has adviſed me

—So you ſay her fortune was in dia⯑monds—well, well—but to the buſineſs I'm come upon—I am ready to ſettle your maſter's affairs, if he agrees to marry his daughter to my ſon.

And if not, you are ready to ſeize upon his effects.

I am ready to ſecure my property, young man—will he accede to my propoſal, he can have no doubt upon my ſufficiency, he knows me to be a good man.

A good man, Sir—Yes, you are a good man, Sir, and I wiſh many whom I know to be good men, in money tranſactions, were good men in the diſcharge of every other moral obligation.

I don't comprehend you, young man.

Then I'll be explicit, old gentleman— What good does your boaſted goodneſs ariſe from —Is it from tranſacting buſineſs with the neceſſi⯑tous, [22] upon ſuch terms of hardſhip, as cramp every effort of induſtry? Is it from advancing money on the jointures of diſtreſſed widows—the com⯑miſſions of reduced officers—and the livings of poor clergymen?

Eh.

Do you conſider yourſelf a good man, becauſe you can make good bargains? or is it be⯑cauſe you can laugh with good humour at every man's diſtreſs? I have known the enormous wealth of ſuch good men, who while living never did a generous action, bequeathed at the hour of death to build an hoſpital, wherein the poor have languiſhed for want of common neceſſaries, while the ſtewards and domeſtics have feaſted and fat⯑tened upon the revenues.

Do you forget I have your maſter's bond for eleven thouſand, and could overwhelm him with ruin?

I tell you, Sir, Mr. Fairport rejects your propoſal with contempt—What would the world ſay, ſhould a Britiſh merchant act with ſuch diſhonor.

Diſhonor! Why, man, there is no ſuch thing as diſhonor in a tranſaction of traffic; this is the golden age, in which every thing is bought and ſold.

But conſcience, Mr. Rebate—conſci⯑ence the eſtimate of juſtice—ſhe is a judge whoſe admonitions are not to be ſilenced, and rectitude alone can ſave us from the poignancy of her ſtings.

Conſcience may be a judge for aught I know; but eleven thouſand pounds would effectu⯑ally ſilence her accuſations—many a judge has held his tongue for half the money—But I ſhall [23] wait to ſee your maſter, young man, ſo will take a turn in the garden, and, no doubt, will find the elegance of his improvements equal to the mag⯑nificence of his manſion.

Sir, your ſervant.

Your moſt obedient ſweet-ſcented Sir

What an impudent moralizing raſcal—this fellow is not one of your cloven-tongued gentry, with one tongue for his public, and another tongue for his private principles—he ſhould have been bred to the church—But how am I to act? intereſt and paſſion poſſeſs me—This Amelia mo⯑nopolizes my mind—Let me conſider; her father died at Amſterdam in the houſe of a Quaker—aye, it's plain my correſpondent, Tribulation, was the plunderer of his diamonds, and theſe diamonds he was to conſign to me for ſale—the uncle's ruined, and could I perſuade the niece to come under my protection, this would turn out an Argonaut ex⯑pedition, and I ſhould have the ſheering of a golden fleece—Let me ſee—

So! here he is—Have at you, old rogue —Hem! hem!

Ah! ha! my girl

Egad, you are all beauties in this houſe.

Beauties, Sir—Miſs Amelia, my maſter's niece, is beautiful indeed.

And a witty rogue, I dare ſay.

A fool, your honor; for I have heard her ſay, ſhe'd prefer an old man to a young one.

You joke, huſſey; you joke.

Not I indeed, Sir—Then ſometimes ſhe's half mad.

Fooliſh and inſane!—Both in my fa⯑vour.

Then to be ſure, Sir, as ſhe is fooliſh and maddiſh, if ſhe was to marry an old gentleman, now ſuppoſe ſuch a healthy old gentleman as you, Sir, he might lock her up, you know, to preſerve her from young gallants.

Egad you're a wit, my girl.

Who I? No, indeed, your honor—I am but young, fooliſh, and flighty myſelf; yet I think if a huſband was to lock me up, to preſerve my virtue, I'd be tempted to turn ſo troubleſome a companion out of my company.—But as I was going to ſay, I do think Miſs Amelia has as deli⯑cate a ſhape as any lady in England.

So ſhe has, ſo ſhe has, you baggage, and as inticing a look.—Could you now contrive to introduce me to this fooliſh, half-mad Amelia? Eh.—

La, Sir, if I was found out in ſuch a buſineſs, it would for ever ruin my reputation.

But it would get you money, huſſey— and thoſe who have money are above reputation, or what would become of parties in crim. con.?

Then, your honor, my conſcience.

Conſcience! Why conſcience, child, is expelled from both ends of the town, or we ſhould not get an enemy's ſhip inſured for love or money; the whole ſyſtem of ſtock-jobbing would be over⯑turned; the lottery offices might put out their lamps, and the deluded people would no longer be led to deſtruction by authorized jack-a-lanterns.

But my honeſty.

Honeſty! Honeſty, my lamb, is a ma⯑terial drawback on pleaſure and profit. Thoſe who never deviate from the paths of honeſty, move like ſnails through the world; they leave a ſhining track behind, but make a very ſlow progreſs in the road to preferment.

But what right have you to expect I ſhould be your friend with the lady?

When I have given you nothing.—Eh! Well, well; here, here's a retainer for you.

O dear, your honor

I ſee the matter now quite in a new light.

And don't let me find you one of thoſe voluble advocates who ſay a great deal to little purpoſe, or one of thoſe tacit pleaders who pocket their clients fee, and ſay nothing.

Well, Sir, ſtep into the parlour on the left ſide of the hall, I'll attend you immediately, and will render you every ſervice in my power

but, Sir, remember now you muſt be very ſecret— There's no lover a woman admires ſo much as a ſecret one.

Secret! never fear me, I'm ſilent as an air gun, which does execution without making a report—But before you go, egad, I muſt have—

A kiſs, your honor—

O dear! dear! I ſee you'll carry the lady.

Well, I'll wait in the parlor—and ſee, find out my ſon, and tell him I deſire he may re⯑turn to London—How ſweet the little huſſey kiſſes! —nothing ſo renovating to age, as the breath of a young female—its more vivifying than the per⯑fumes [26] of the Spice Iſlands, or the odoriſerous breezes of Arabia Felix.

Oh! here come the lovers—

Nay, prithee peace now—ſurely this is no time to ſpeak of love.

Indeed, Ma'am, but it is—the preſent time is al⯑ways the beſt to ſpeak of love, and I know the cap⯑tain loves you in his ſoul.

The captain! Lucy—What captain?

What captain but yourſelf—are you not in the military 'ſociation? Well I never thought the 'ſociators would grow ſo ſtout—Indeed, Madam, they ſhoot cannons—

O how Mr. Trueman loves you! don't bluſh, Ma'am—"Would ſhe but marry me, my dear Lucy" ſaid he, when he gave me this ring—"If I had but the good fortune to gain her conſent"—

La', don't look ſo ſheepiſh, Mr. Trueman—Now I'd leave nothing to Fortune.

You are right, Lucy, Fortune's a gay coquet, and neglects the ſoldier or lover, who de⯑pends too much upon her ſmiles. My dear Amelia, will you give me an anſwer?

An anſwer—You have'nt aſked me the queſtion.

Lord! Lord! Ma'am, can you look in his face and ſay ſo? are not his eyes twinkling out this very inſtant, will you marry me, will you mar⯑ry me? Take her hand, Mr. Trueman; ſhe told me this very day you had her heart.

And I ſaid true—

but you muſt procure my uncle's conſent. I have ever [27] found in him the attention and affection of a fa⯑ther, and am bound to obey him from gratitude, as well as duty.

My dear Amelia, I admire your can⯑dor—When a woman approves the honeſt addreſſes of a man who loves her, ſure there can be no in⯑delicacy in confeſſing that ſhe's ſenſible of his paſ⯑ſion.

O! O! O! there's no ſtanding this ten⯑der ſcene— may, may, may heaven bleſs you both!—

I'm as full of intelligence as an Extraor⯑dinary Gazette!

Pray don't be a Gazette on the occa⯑ſion, let us have the whole truth.

I have left Maſter Praecipe in the pantry, where he gormandizes with the appetite of a cor⯑morant, and drinks like a fiſh. I have fully per⯑ſuaded him that Lucy is your couſin Auguſta, and ſhall preſently introduce him to an interview with her, quite in a new character.

The old gentleman has ſwallowed every thing I've told him, and believes you, Ma'am, to be a half witted kind of a flighty hair-brained gen⯑tlewoman—his paſſion has made a fool of him, and as this is a trial of ſkill between Frank and me, I'll try if I can't get him to take up a new charac⯑ter, as well as his ſon.

Why, Lucy, you're a perfect miſtreſs of intrigue.

I lived two years at a French boarding-ſchool, Sir—beſides, women were always better negotia⯑tors than men; and were half a dozen briſk girls [28] like me, ſent out commiſſioners to America, we'd ſoon ſettle buſineſs with the Congreſs.

I have no doubt of your ability.

Doubt, Sir—La! I wiſh we had the ſettling of the Iriſh affairs.

Come, let us retire to our ſeveral du⯑ties.

I'll go prepare the old man.

And I the young one.

And never fear, they ſhall both have a ſurfeit of amours.

ACT II.

YOUR ſon, Sir, is gone to town, and ſo is Mr. Trueman; and my maſter has ſent word he won't be here this evening, and I've put all the ſervants out of the way; and ſo we'll have a clear coaſt to ourſelves.

Well, well, that's right, my girl, that's right—But, Lucy, I can ſcarcely credit what you tell me of Amelia's diſpoſition.

Indeed, Sir, it is true; ſhe loves the army above all things, and will ſometimes ſpeak for an hour together, particularly in the full of the moon, Sir, about battles, and ſoldiers, and cutting of throats. Here are Mr. Trueman's 'ſociation regimentals—pay your addreſſes to her in them, Sir, and you'll carry the day.

Then leave them on the chair, and as there's no one in the houſe to ſee me play the fool with this mad girl, egad I'll e'en attack her a la militaire.

And while you're dreſſing, I'll prepare your miſtreſs to receive you—

But remember, you are to perſuade Miſs Amelia, that you've loved her a long time, and that hear⯑ing of her uncle's failure, you're come to offer her your heart and fortune.

Fooliſh and inſane as this young lady may be, it is rather extraordinary that ſhe ſhould [30] prefer age to youth.

As to her liking ſoldiers better than men of any other profeſ⯑ſion, that's common—your green-girls bite as voraciouſly at a red rag as mackarel.

But what ſhould become of me, if in her madneſs ſhe ſhould take a ſudden aver⯑ſion to ſcarlet, and fly at me like a turkey-cock?

I cannot think ſhe has preference for old man

yet why not? Love is a capricious paſſion, and not always the con⯑ſequence of beauty or aſſiduity—This dreſs really becomes me—

and I have known one lucky moment often produce, what years of ſolicitation, rivers of tears, and ſtorms of ſighs, could never bring about.

La, Sir!—You are quite the thing! I have prepared Miſs Amelia, and indeed—O! ſhe looks charming.

But have you been feeling the pulſe of her affections, how do they beat? Eh, Lucy— eh, eh—

Mercy, Sir, let go my hand—La, Sir, why are you ſo warm?

Warm! I'm all fire!—irritation, like rubbing a dry ſtick, ſets me in a blaze!—Let us be going—

Yes, Sir, but remember you muſt uſe her gently—ſhe's of a mild, religious diſpo⯑ſition.

Religious! That's fuel to my fire—No pleaſure gives ſuch exquiſite ſatisfaction to a man of gallantry, as ruining a devotee—

But how do I look, Lucy? eh!

Look! your honour looks killingly—

Theſe light-horſemen are ſo ſmart about the head, ſo ſpurred upon the heel, wear their cloaths ſo neat to their ſhapes, and have their ſkirts ſo trimmed to their hips, they always appear ready for action, like ſo many game-cocks cut out of feather for fighting—But your cheeks are not half red, Sir—

And your eye-brows muſt be blackened—

Now, your honour, you've a noble ſoldierly appearance.

Theſe ſwingeing eye-brows give me too fierce a countenance—but then, they ſet off a ſmile

Good-day, how amiable you look! But you muſt hold up your head thus—

And wear your helmet over your left eye thus—

And keep your arms thus—

And I muſt tighten your ſtock.

Zounds! Lucy, you'll ſtrangle me!

Never fear, your honour—A ſoldier ſhould always wear his ſtock tight enough to force a colour into his face—a tight ſtock is a ſol⯑dier's dram—You ſee the guards appear as ruddy in the face, and as ſtiff in the ſhoulders as if they had been exerciſed in a pillory—You muſt turn out your toes

Keep your breaſt full out thus—

March thus—

To the right about—

—Aye, now you appear perfectly at eaſe.

At eaſe!—Egad, my muſcles are cracking with exquiſite torture. But I like this maſque⯑rading, it ſeaſons an amour to the higheſt goüt, and is the very ſpice, the poignant ſauce of an intrigue—I ſhall reward you liberally!

And I ſha'n't oppoſe your honour's libe⯑rality—to be proof againſt a bribe, would ſhew a vulgar education—

True—And perſons of the firſt rank are rewarded under the head of ſecret ſervice. But here—

You have no more ſcruples now, I hope, about conſcience, honour, and honeſty.

No indeed, your honour, they are your's, you have bought them, and may diſpoſe of them as you think proper.

Then I'll give them to thoſe who want them—Honour to the Gamblers—Conſcience to the Methodiſts—and Honeſty to the Jews.

Nay, your honour, keep a little of each for us poor chriſtians.

Egad, my girl, I ſee you're no novice.

A novice at eighteen! No no, we have more experience at that age in London, than country girls at twenty-five. City roſes blow apace, and it's generally ſummer with us, before it ſhould be ſpring—I ſhot my firſt arrow at ſixteen, hit my man, and he turning falſe, I have ever ſince carried two ſtrings to my bow— But it's time, colonel, I ſhould introduce you.

Lead on, I follow—

This uniform fits you exactly, Sir, I borrowed it from an old ſea officer in the neigh⯑bourhood—You really look as brave, and ſea⯑man-like, as if you were one of the Admirals in [33] Weſtminſter Abbey, deſcended from his monu⯑ment.

I wiſh ſome of them had deſcended, they have been wanting Maſter Frank—But I object to this black patch on my eye, it brings me under ſtatute ninth of George the firſt, chap⯑ter twenty-ſecond, which makes it felony with⯑out clergy to go with the face diſguiſed.

That act muſt have loſt its force, Sir, or what would become of the painted beauties of London?

Then, as a body may ſay, I am only a ſeaman by fiction; but the law ſays, fictions are beneficial—But then, ſays the law again, no fiction ſhall work an injury. Very well, there can be no injury in my marrying a woman of fortune.

True, Sir.

Let us moot the caſe—In fiction ſub⯑ſiſts equity and juſtice, ſay the books—then will I marry Miſs Fairport in the equity of fiction, and afterwards be happy.—

In reality, Sir?—

If not happy, we can ſeparate by fiction—I'll ſtate you a caſe in point—A brings his action of crim. con. againſt B; now though the cauſe of action had been tranſacted in the moſt loving manner between B, and the wife of A, yet muſt A ſtate in his declaration, that the ſaid B did wickedly and maliciouſly, with force and arms, that is to ſay, with ſticks, clubs, ſtaves, ſwords, guns, and other offenſive weapons, ſe⯑duce and—et caetera, the wife of the ſaid A— Do you underſtand me?

Perfectly.

But this is not all—for though A and wife had lived together, like cat and dog, as the ſaying is, yet muſt A aver, that B deprived [34] him of all worldly comfort. —Oh, Maſter Frank, many a good fortune has been made by the fiction of crim. con. but now a plaintiff can ſcarce recover a ſhilling.

And is this law, Sir?

Yes, it is law, but nothing to what they do at the Admiralty, where the whole ocean's brought upon dry land—It was but the other day a pirate was tried for feloniouſly robbing the good ſhip St. Joſeph, on the high ſeas, four leagues off Cape St. Vincent, in the county of Norfolk.

Now you joke indeed, Mr. Praecipe!

Joke! The devil a joke! Why man it has been proved to the ſatisfaction of the ci⯑vilians and the bar, that the Thirteen Colonies of America are ſituate in, and part of the county of Kent.

I think I hear Miſs Fairport's foot coming down ſtairs.

Then I'm off—You'll break the ice for me—

Never fear—She's a good creature, and as familiar with me as if I was her fellow-ſervant.

But won't it ſeem odd if I don't court her myſelf?

Bleſs me! —no—it's quite faſhionable to make love by proxy.

Well then, be my amicus curiae, and I'll take another glaſs or two—a man ſhould always appear full of ſpirits before his miſtreſs.

Ha, ha, ha, I've had a peep at my ſwain, and he looks as tremendous as the head of a Dutch ſhip—

Formidable as he looks, Lucy, if you regard your own intereſt you'll make your fortune of him—I ſay marry him, marry him!

Marry him!

Yes you ſhall marry him—I ſay you ſhall marry him—Mr.Trueman ſays you ſhall marry him —and Miſs Amelia ſays you ſhall marry him— Come, no denial, I have ſent to town for a ſpecial licence and the Curate will be here preſently to tack you together.

La Frank! why the fellow's a fool.

No ſuch thing;—the gentleman has wit.

In his cups—drinking is of the ſame uſe to his brain, as travelling to a blockhead; it heightens his impertinence, and transforms him from a drowſy fool into a prating coxcomb.

Or, it improves his underſtanding as bottling improves ſmall beer, which then becomes briſk without growing ſtronger.

And you inſiſt on my marrying him?

I do—

Then ſhall you be my father on the oc⯑caſion;—and ſee, Frank I'll learn French and cotillions, and dance perhaps with an Alderman, at a Lord Mayor's ball.—Then I'll pretend to be half blind, and ſpy at the play-actors through my glaſs

and I'll walk as if I wanted the uſe of my limbs

and ſpeak ſo nice, that no one ſhall underſtand me.

Nay, but this is loſing time, Lucy.

And I'll blacken my eye-brows, pinkify my hair, rouge my cheeks, and pearl powder my neck—Then I'll flaunt every ſummer at the re⯑views in the artillery ground, and go up the river every autumn a ſwan hopping.

A brave girl, faith, come I'll bring you to your lover, and make the beſt uſe of your time.

Ha! ha! ha! Egad, madam you are a perfect ſoldier, and have given me as accurate a deſcription of a camp, as I could have given my⯑ſelf who have ſeen ſervice.

Seen ſervice!—to me, ſir, you appear a veteran, worn out in the ſervice;—but are you really a colonel? Colonels are in general ſo young, and ſubalterns ſo old, that from your age I took you to be a lieutenant.

We were ſpeaking of the qualities neceſ⯑ſary to form a commander, madam.

True, I was going to communicate to you a receipt for making commanders; I had it from a learned phyſician, who though not diploma'd from a Univerſity to kill by the regular rules of art—

Is a licenſed quack, I ſuppoſe, madam, and murders under the authority of letters pa⯑tent.

A ceſſation of wit, and liſten to my re⯑ceipt, ſir.—Take ten drops of Marlborough ſpirit —one ounce flower of Ligonier—two drams pow⯑der of Granby—one ſcruple of Wolfe's laurel, and a ſingle grain of Cumberland oak bark; let theſe ingredients be put in a braſs mortar, mix them up with oil of Andrè, marine eſſence of Farmer and alkaline ſalt of Pierſon, and they'll produce an in⯑ſpiring draught, of ſufficient power to infuſe a courageous ſoul into the moſt inanimate body.

Why, madam you are a perfect political Eſculapius!

Yes, colonel, and our new ſtate phyſicians have ordered my preſcription to be taken in large doſes by every commander at ſea and land.

Let us return to my ſuit, fair creature— your uncle is undone—you have no friend;—put yourſelf under my protection, and we'll live—

In the country! For I am enraptured with the ſports of the field, and glory in the pleaſures of the chace—Not a fortnight ſince I rode a day's ſport after twenty couple of hounds, ſtaunch tartars as ever yelp'd or run a drag—took a flying leap acroſs a ſtream—daſhed thro' two quickſets, and leaped three five bar gates.

Aye!

We unkennelled Reynard before eight, had a view hollow by ten—Tallee ho, ho ho ho— hoick forward—wind him, the villain, wind him. At eleven he took the water, we plunged after— croſſed the Thames—at twelve the whole pack cloſe in with him, you could cover them with a ſheet, and we killed him exactly at nineteen mi⯑nutes three ſeconds after one.

Why, madam you're not only an Ama⯑zon, but a Diana.

Then I can ſhoot ſitting or flying—kill a trout or ſalmon with a ſingle hair—bit a horſe for the field, break him in for the carriage—ſtaunch a pointer, and underſtand the odds and chances at horſe-racing, cards, hazard, paſs-dice, Pharoah and E O, as well as any black-leg of the turf, or judge in the ſtand at Newmarket.

Egad, madam, all the amiable qualities of a modern high-blooded fine lady ſeem to be centered in you.

Dear Colonel you don't know half—In driving a phaeton I'll back my ſkill againſt any ti⯑tled or untitled female in the kingdom, and am ready to lay you three to two, play or pay, that I drive four hunters from London to Bath, without [38] once loſing the whip-hand of the road, and turn them on the breadth of a ſhilling's edge.

Why! you're an Olympic charioteer, ma⯑dam.

And I ſay done firſt.

It will do—it will do—aye, aye, ſhe's half mad, and when wearied of her I'll ſoon find a doctor ſhall make her compleatly ſo.

News! madam, news! I bring news will delight your ear, and charm your heart: Mr. Trueman is returned from town, and brings word, that the Weſt India fleet's arrived, that the Eaſt Indiamen are in port;—but, madam, he is here, and there, and every where, foaming with rage, and roaring out horrid vengeance againſt old Re⯑bate.

O! Mercy! I'm loſt.

Do you know that old villain, Rebate, Colonel?

No, madam, I'm acquainted with no old villains.

And one of the ſervants, madam, has told Mr. Trueman that this officer's with you, and he's mad jealous,

Lord your honour, I would not be in your coat for a thouſand pounds; ſo to prevent two murders, I'll ſeek old Rebate, and get him out of the way.

I'll lock myſelf up in this cloſet.

And I'll follow you—

Not for the world—you muſt ſtay here and defend me.

Sir—Sir—you can't come in here—

Frank, I will have entrance—

Mercy here he comes!

So I'm to be aſſaſſinated!—is there no place of retreat?

Put up your ſword, dear ſir.

Inſiſt upon fighting him with piſtols, colonel;—at ſwords, its nothing with him, but ha, ha, ha, and he whips his antago⯑niſt, quart over the arm, through the lungs.

Quart over the arm, and through the lungs!—with a ha!—O my lungs!

what will become of me?

And, Colonel, don't fight him with his own piſtols, with them he can ſtrike the ſpot out of an ace of diamonds, or kill a ſwallow flying with a ſingle ball.

Kill a ſwallow flying—then if he kills me it ſhall be flying.

They are of one length, ſir, take your choice;

you have injured me in the tendereſt point, injured me in my love —knowing I was a citizen, you preſumed I would not reſent an affront from a ſoldier; but I will con⯑vince you, ſir, that in this country, a ſoldier and a citizen are one character.

Sir,

Sir—

Sir—hem—ſir—Having unfortunately re⯑ceived a wound in this arm—I—hem—hem—I—I cannot hold a ſword.

Then, ſir, take your choice of theſe

they are Tower-proof, and kill point-blank at thirty yards.

I am an old man—I've been uſed to fight for my countrymen not againſt them

If you have not ſpirit to meet a man, how dare you face a woman.— Heavens, what a figure! withered like a winter apple

ſhrivelled and decayed like an autumnal pear—weak and bowed down by in⯑firmities—a living hoſpital of old diſorders—a martyr to diſeaſes, cramps, aches, pains, ſpaſms, agues, contractions, rheums, and paroxyſms.

I know of nothing that ails me but a little cough

pray let me paſs.

Are you not taped, ſpliced, ſpiced, and glewed together like an Egyptian mummy?

What you pleaſe—what you pleaſe.

Are you not a burden to yourſelf, a nui⯑ſance to your acquaintance, an evil example to youth, and a ſcandal to old age?

A nuiſance!—then pray let me remove the nuiſance.

Get home, purchaſe flannel, and engage a nurſe to ſwaddle you. But if I ever catch you again poaching on this ground, I'll ſhow you no more mercy than a country juſtice ſhews a peaſant who kills partridge—I'll truſs you up as warreners truſs up kites, a horrid ſcarecrow to birds of prey.

Truſs me up!—O you damned villain.

Yes, raſcal! If ever you catch me here again, you may truſs me up, and quarter me into the bargain—O plague on this lobſter's ſhell!

I ſhall be [41] the laughing ſtock of the whole town. But ſoftly, let me ſee, he miſtakes me for an officer; ſo I'll ſeek Lucy, change my cloaths, and make my eſ⯑cape to town.—O woman! woman! you make idiots of the wiſeſt and oldeſt of us—Why can't I ſhake off this paſſion for the ſex? Surely! ſure⯑ly! the greateſt curſe under heaven is to be afflict⯑ed with an appetite we can neither ſatisfy nor get rid of.

And ſo you've deceived me? I have mar⯑ried an attorney and not a captain?

There's no difference I tell you between them. I've a caſe in point—Styles, verſus Nokes on the Game Laws. John a Nokes was indicted by Tom a Styles for having a hare in his poſſeſſion. Nokes gave in evidence that the hare was killed in his garden by a hog, and the judge would have non-proſs'd Styles, had not a learned ſerjeant ar⯑gued contra, that the game laws were not made againſt hogs, nor made againſt dogs, but were made againſt perſons having game in their poſſeſ⯑ſion, and therefore quo ad hoc a hog was a dog, and a dog was a hog—

What! would you make a hog or a dog of me?—

No—no—I am only proving, do you ſee me, that as captains and attornies have the ſame end in marrying, ſo in our caſe, as in the caſe of the hog and the dog, caeteris paribus, with a quo ad hoc, an attorney is a captain and a captain is an attorney.

But my father, I fear, will be dreadfully angry—

Never mind your father; your fortune is in your own poſſeſſion—your father never aſked your conſent to marry, and why ſhould you aſk his?— [42] But here my dear Auguſta Fairport—alias Au⯑guſta Rebate—alias my love—alias my charmer— I endow you with theſe diamonds, and bank notes

and take care of this letter; it contains evidence to hang my father, if he ſhould take exceptions:

Well Mr. Frank, we have made up every thing, and we have determined to ſport a vis a vis of the brimſtone, and a tim whiſkey of the em⯑peror's eye.

Yes; we will have a vis and a timmy, and never be without wine in the cellar, and cold meat in the pantry—and now I am married, I'll drink—

Bravo, Sir. But, Madam, it is time you ſhould introduce the old gentleman, Mr. Praecipe's prepared, I hope.

Yes, yes, I have inſtructed him. Well, adieu!—Heigh-ho!

Adieu! Heigh-ho!—your hand honeſt Frank—I have been drinking moſt devoutly— toaſting on my knees, drinking and courting—and ſmoaking and kiſſing—and every thing goes round.

‘Round the world thus we march with merry glee.’ You ſhall always be welcome to victuals and drink at our houſe—I play as merry a knife and fork as an overſeer of the poor.

Remember you are to paſs upon your father as lieutenant of a man of war, ſpeak loud, diſguiſe your voice, and flouriſh your ſtick.

Never fear me. Then I have been drinking, as my ſchool-maſter uſed to ſay, gram⯑matically—drinking through the tenſes—drinking like a camel, for the time paſt, the time preſent, and the time to come.

Here comes the old gentleman raving with anger—My love, ſtand you here.

My cloaths gone—O fool! fool!

Keep your tem⯑per, colonel; here's a lieutenant of the navy as furious as a hurricane, and unrelenting as a great gun—he is your rival too, and half drunk.

O blockhead, blockhead, blockhead.

Blockhead! Let him keep a civil tongue or I'll make him ſkip—it was me he called blockhead,

Indeed, lieutenant, it is not you the co⯑lonel calls blockhead—begin—begin,

Noble lieutenant, don't draw blood here.

The fellow muſt be a coward by his noiſe—ſuppoſe you put his mettle to the proof.

I ſee you don't know me, Frank— O ſhame! ſhame!—I am Old Rebate.

Bleſs me! Mr. Re⯑bate.

Let me at him, I ſay,

Protect me from that bloody-minded ſea⯑monſter— here, here,

Keep up your ſpirits, Sir, and I will.

See, old codger, if paſſion has kicked up a riot in your brain, you had beſt call in your prudence as a conſtable to keep the peace.

You really miſtake me, noble lieu⯑tenant,

That won't do—you ſhan't get at the blind ſide of me—I have but one eye, 'tis true; but it's an eye would frighten the French, the Dutch and the Spaniards—it's a Hawke's eye—damn me, it's a Hawke's eye—it's a Hawke's eye.

Here, Sir, now defend your⯑ſelf, it's charged up to the muzzle with ſwan ſhot.

Fire and ſtorms.

Out of the way and let me paſs, or I'll make a riddle of your carcaſe.

Murder! mercy! ſpare me;

conſider, dear father, it you fire, though you ſhould miſs me, the very intention is death by the black act.

My graceleſs ſon in conſpiracy againſt me!—O you unnatural villain!—But here comes another tormenter,

What, colonel! I thought you had left the houſe.

I'll make affidavit he's no more a co⯑lonel than I am.

And who are you, Sir?

Praecipe Rebate, at your ſervice— ſpare me, and hereafter I'll live an honeſt attorney.

Live an honeſt attorney!—No, no, my love, you ſhan't live an original character.

Which deſerves chaſtiſement moſt, the father or ſon?

You are equally deſerving; for I know of none who merit ſeverer puniſhment than thoſe who aſſume his majeſty's livery, and put on the inſignia of a ſoldier, without poſſeſſing that dignity, honor and courage, which are eſſential to a military cha⯑racter.

And heaven knows, Sir, there are plenty of ſuch uncommiſſioned coxcombs about town. But pray riſe, your honor,

this is ho⯑neſt Mr. Rebate, equipt in your 'ſociation uni⯑form.

Caught with the maner—that is to ſay, with the property upon you

But ſee, I have done my buſineſs without your aſſiſtance. I have married Miſs Fairport

here ſhe ſtands; her for⯑tune's mine, I am her baron, ſhe's my feme, and under my coverture.

It is true, indeed, Sir, I am your daughter, but not Miſs Fairport; and as to fortune, mine lies in a deal-box.

So—I have ſtultified myſelf in open court—But father I'm not an old fool—and we have money enough, and diamonds too—and give me your hand, bone of my bone.

In marriage you know a captain's an attorney, and an attorney's a captain— So by the ſame rule a gentlewoman's a waiting maid, and a waiting maid a gentlewoman.

A clear caſe, caeteris paribus, with a quo ad hoc.

My dear Mr. Trueman, read this letter.

Which I received from my ſpouſe.

Here is evidence of the blackeſt crime can be committed by a ſubject againſt his king and country—giving ſuccour to their enemies.

High-treaſon! as I always told you father when you quoted the Dutch as a precedent for having, when at war, ſold powder and ball to the enemy to pepper their own carcaſes.

Mr. Rebate—This letter is directed to you, Sir, and from its contents, I have reaſon to conclude, that the diamonds you have received from Amſterdam, are the property of this lady.

Diamonds!

Yes Sir, diamonds—This letter is cer⯑tainly written by the Quaker, at whoſe houſe my father lodged.

O! I ſhall run mad.

Here are the diamonds, Madam

And did you, idiot, give a receipt for thoſe monies and diamonds in my name?

I am an Engliſhman, and not bound to anſwer perſonal interrogatories.

I'll hang you for the forgery, you dog.

I defy your indictment—I acted as your lawful attorney; or if I had not, a Quaker is your only witneſs; and your Quakers are ſo conſcientious, they would let the worſt of rogues eſcape, ſooner than take an oath.

Oh! you raſcal—Peter the Great was right, when having but two lawyers in his domi⯑nions, he hung one as an example to the other.

You may abuſe the law, father; but we ſhould not have impoſing lawyers, if there were not litigious clients.

Remember your advice to me, ‘be aſhamed of nothing, Lucy, but being poor—the rich are above ſhame.’

And re⯑member, that the credit of a merchant, like the virtue of a woman, or the courage of a ſoldier, is his point of honor; and that as no recompenſe can ſatisfy the loſs of credit, no puniſhment is too ſe⯑vere for the villain who dares to traduce it.

I'll ſtay no longer—I'll convert all my effects into caſh, and fly to Holland, where every man who has money may be ſure of protection.

Wait for your cloaths, father—my wife ſhall recover your ſuit—.

What we have experienced will, I hope, teach us this moral—that while virtue guides our paſſions, happineſs is the certain conſequence, and that miſery is ever the reſult of ſubmitting to vicious habits. May every Briton bring theſe pre⯑cepts into practice—and may every Briton alſo re⯑member, that as the credit, the wealth, the ſtrength, the dignity of the Britiſh empire flow from com⯑merce, to ſupport and extend commerce is the in⯑diſpenſible duty of every Britiſh ſubject.