ACT I. SCENE I.

WHAT will the world ſay of me, but that I was a very prudent man?

The World! the world will applaud you, eſpe⯑cially when they know what ſort of lovers they are, and that the ſole motive of their affection is the Ladies for⯑tune. No poor girl ſure was ever plagued with ſuch a brood as I am.—The firſt upon my liſt is a high minded North-britiſh Knight, who ſets up for a wit, a man of learning and ſentiment: He bears himſelf fair while you are preſent, but abuſes the whole world when their backs are turn'd, and withal, has ſo high a notion of the dignity of his family, that he would, no doubt, think he laid me under a great obligation, in honouring me with his hand.—The ſecond is a downright ideot, a fluttering, frivolous thing, well known in moſt public places by the name of Beau Mordecai, an Engliſh Jew, —The next in Cupid's train, is your Nephew, whoſe Iriſh voice and military aſpect, make me fancy that he was not only born in a ſiege, but that Belona alone cou'd be his nurſe, Mars his preceptor, and the camp the a⯑cadamy where he receiv'd the firſt rudiments of his education.

My dear Charlotte, you ſhould not be ſo ſevere upon my Nephew; what can you expect from a mere rough hewn ſoldier, who muſt needs go from his [6] friends a volunteer, and has lived theſe ſeveral years within the circuit of a camp; ſo that I don't believe he has ſix ideas diſtinct from his profeſſion.

Let me ſee his name is —

Sir Callogan O'Bralagan.

Sir Callaghan O'Brallagan! It is enough to choak me.—If I have him I muſt have an Iriſh interpre⯑ter to make me underſtand what he ſays.

Well I muſt go and ſee about your ſuit; the coach waits.—They all dine here I think?

All but Squire Groom, and he is to ride a match, that, I ſuppoſe no charms could perſwade him to be ab⯑ſent from.

Well, make yourſelf what ſport you pleaſe with them.—I ſhall certainly be back to dinner.— Good-morrow to you my dear

Sir Theodore, your ſervant.—Is Miſs Charlotte this way?

She is Sir, Good-morrow to you.

You'll dine with us, Sir Theodore.

Certainly.

Thus, let me pay my ſofteſt adoration, and thus, and thus, and thus, in amorous tranſports breathe my laſt.

Not ſo faſt Mr Mordecai; you are very gallant Sir; and I proteſt I never ſaw you better dreſt.

It is well enough Madam, juſt as my taylor fancies: do you like it!

Oh! it is quite elegent; but, if I miſtake not, you are ſo remarkable for a taſte in dreſs, that you are known all over the City, by the name of the Change-Alley Beau.

They do diſtinguiſh me by that title, but I de⯑clare, I have not the vanity to think I deſerve it.

Oh Mr Mordecai! well remembred. I heard of your amour at the Opera with Miſs Sprightly.

Dear Madam, how can you be ſo ſevere? That the lady has deſigns, I ſtedfaſtly believe; but as for me—But pray Madam, who told you ſo?

Sir Archy Macſarcaſm.

Oh! what a creature have you nam'd; the very abſtract of filth and naſtineſs; he takes ſuch a quan⯑tity of Scotch ſnuff, that he ſmells worſe than a Tallow Chandlers ſhop in the dog-days; there is not one word of truth out of five that he ſays; and he utters his ſimilies with all the gravity imaginable; after the moderate al⯑lowance of four bottles of port, three ounces of Scotch ſnuff, and twelve pipes of tobacco.

What a character has he drawn of the knight!

Why Madam, I vow to Gad, he is the daily ſport of every coffee-houſe in town; all his own country⯑men of any character conſtantly avoid him, and Oh, the devil! here he comes.

Sawny, bid Donald bring the cha⯑riot at aught o'clock exactly.

My dear knight, I am ſincerly glad to ſee you; and have the honour at all times, and upon all oc⯑caſions, to be your moſt obedient humble ſervant.

What, my child of circumciſion, how do you do my bonny Girgiſite? Gi'e us a wag o' your lufe lad. Why, ye are as diligent in the ſervice o' your miſtreſs as in the ſervice o' your looking-glaſs, for your een or your thoughts are ay turn'd upo' the ane or the ither.

And your wit, I find Sir Archy, like a courtier's tongue, will always retain its uſual politeneſs

Civil and witty on both ſides, Sir Archy, your ſervant.

Ten thouſand pardons, Madam, I did not obſerve you; I hope, I ſee, your Ladyſhip weel. Ah! Madam, you lurk like a divinity.—I ſee friend Mor⯑decai is determined to bear awa the prize fra us aw; he is trick'd out in all the colours o' the rainbow.

Mr Mordecai is always well dreſs'd, Sir Archy.

Upon my word he is as fine as a ſay.—Step alang man, turn you round, and let us ſee your ſhape. Ah, he ſtands very well, vera well indeed. What's this in his hat? a feather! vera elegant, vera elegant, I pro⯑teſt.—I never ſaw a tooth-drawer better dreſt aw my life.

Upon my word, I am your moſt humble ſervant Sir Archy.

Weel Mordecai, ye hae been whiſpering your love-ſick tale in the lady's lug; do ye ken that ſhe is inclinable to your paſſion?

From the converſation I have had with her, I begin to think, that my figure and addreſs, has made an impreſſion upon her.

Vera weel, that's right, that's right.— I mun ken that your ladyſhip has been entertain'd vera weel by my friend Mordecai, before I broke in upon you: he's a guid ane at a tale, when the ſtocks is at one end and the lottery at the ither; ha! ha! ha! But ye maun ken that I hae news for you that canna fail to gie muckle ſport,

What is it pray, Sir Archy?

Why, ye maun ken that in my way to your Ladyſhip's manſion, I pick'd up my bonny Hibernian— as fine—upon my honour, as fine as little Mordecai here.

But you have not left him behind you? I expec⯑ted him here ere this.

Left him! ye maun ken that I hae brought him wi' me; for I am like the monarchs of auld. I never travel without my fuil, he is as good as a Comedy or a Farce: but he has made a Jargon, which he ſtiles aſon⯑net, upon his bewitching Charlotte; as he calls you ma⯑dam, he is now altering it, and ye mann expect ſic an epiſtle as has na' been pen'd ſin' the days of Don Qixote. You have heard him ſing it Mordecai.

I beg your pardon Sir Archy, I have heard him roar it! Egad! we have had him juſt now madam, at a tavern, and made him give it us in an Iriſh bowl, that might be heard from here to Weſt Cheſter.

Why Mordecai, you have a deviliſh deal of wit man, ay, that's what ye hae.

Your moſt obedient, Sir Archy, I am afraid you flatter me; but I muſt be going.—Madam, I kiſs your hands.

You are not going to leave us Mr Mordecai!

Only to have a ſlice of Sir Callaghan before din⯑ner, by way of a whet; that's all madam, only by way of a whet.

Not a word of the ſonnet man?

Never fear, Sir Archy, never fear.

What a fantaſtical Baboon this little Iſrae⯑lite makes of himſelf!

He is very entertaining, Sir Archy.

The follow's vera ridiculous, and therefore vera uſefu' in ſociety, for wharever he gangs there maun be laughter: but, now madam, a word or twa to our ain matters.—Madam, I lovè you, and gin I didna, I wad ſcorn to ſay it:—concerning theſe creatures wha call themſelves your lovers, there are three of them about your ladyſhip's perſon, as unfit for you as a wande⯑ring Arab: and whaſe ſentiments are as wide o' true felicity, as the north and ſouth poles: [Reptiles and beggars, wha can boaſt of naething, but a knowledge of ſic things as wad mak 'um be kend by aw judicious, e'en as the outcaſto' the warld.] And firſt, this Mordecai, to be ſure the fellow's wealthy; yes he's wealthy, but then a reptile; Madam, he's a reptile! whaſe common place notions, are o' nae farther extent than Change-alley, or the Coffee-houſes, and whaſe only ideas are cent per cent ſchemes, ſtocks, annuities, and ſouth ſea bubbles.

Ay, Sir Archy! you are above ſuch groveling thoughts.—Your ambition is to adorn your mind.

Then madam, as to ſquire Groom; to be ſure he's a great ſportſman, but he's a beggar.—A beggar! and nae doubt but your fortune would be very acceptable.—'Twould enable him to redeem his ſtead o' horſes, put him on his legs again, and according till his ain phraſe, he would be bottom, madam, he would be bottom; but in a few years madam, your whole fortune, the wiſe ſcraping of your anceſtors, would be wantonly ſquandered away upon cock-fighting, horſe-racing, grooms, jockeys, and ſic-like ſpend-thrift amuſements; and your ladyſhip not hae a blanket left to cover you. Then, as to Sir Callaghan O'Brallaghan, the fellow's [10] well enough to laugh at; but ye maun look about you there, for your guardian is his uncle; and to my certain knowledge, there is a deſign upon your fortune in that quarter; depend upon it, there is a deſign upon your fortune.

I believe indeed, a lady's fortune is the princi⯑pal object of every lover.

I grant ye, madam, wi' Sir Calloghan O'Bralaghan, Squire Groom, and ſic-like fallows; but men of honour have ither principles: I aſſure ye, madam, 'tis not for the pecuniary, but for the divine graces o' your mind, and the mental perfections of your ſoul and body, which are more to me than all the riches of Peru and Mexico.

O Sir Archy!

Beſides madam, gin ye marry me, ye will marry a man of ſobriety and oeconomy.—It is true, I am not in the hey-day of my bluid; yet far frae the vale of years, as the poet ſays.—I am nor like the young Whip⯑ſters of this age, wha are aw ſpirits at the firſt onſet, but gang aff like a ſqui [...], or a cracker on a rejoicing night, and are never heard o' mair.—The young men, now a-days, madam, are mere baubles, abſolute baubles.

Now, I think old men, Sir Archy, are but baubles.

Beſides, madam, conſider the dignity and antiquity of our family: Madam, in our family there are three Viſcounts, four barons, ſix earls, ſeven mar⯑quiſſes and two dukes: the families of the ſouth arena to be compared to families of the north.—There is as muckle difference as between a hound of blood and a mongrel.

And, why ſo ſir?

I'll tell you madam, the noblility of Scot⯑land are aw deſcended frae renowned warriors, and he⯑roes of glorious atchievements, wha diſdain'd to mak alliances, or contaminate their bluid wi' ony that were na' as great as their ain. But here in the ſouth, ye o' the ſouth, ye are aw ſprung frae naething in the warld, [11] but wool packs, hop ſacks, ſugar kiſts, tar barrels and rum puncheons.

Ha! ha! ha!

What gars you laugh, madam?

The opinion you have of our nobility.

Guid troth, madam, its true: aw we fami⯑lies of the north are of another kidney than ye o' the ſouth. We are of another kidney quite: we diſdain a mixture of bluid, that is na' as pure as our ain. Where⯑as, here, ye are a ſtrange amphibious breed, being a compoſition of Turks, Jews, Nabobs and Refugees.

We are indeed, a ſtrange mixture. Sir Archy.

Vera true, vera true, my family is a fami⯑ly of rank and conſequence; which, if ye marry into, will purify your blood, and refine it frae the lees, and draps of trade, with which it is contaminated: which your money cannot do for you, were it as meikle as the bank of Edinburgh.

Sir Archy, he is juſt without, he is coming.

Is the lady this way, do you ſay young man?

She is Sir,

Then, I'll trouble you with no farther cere⯑mony.

Madam I am your moſt obedient humble ſervant.

I am very ſorry to hear we ſhall ſoon be de⯑priv'd of your company, Sir Calloghan, I thought the war in Germany had been all over.

Yes, madam, it was all over, but it began again; a ſoldier never lives in quiet, till he has nothing to do; then he quits the field with more ſafety

The lady was juſt ſaying, ſhe would be glad if you would favour her with a ſlight narrative of what happen'd in Germany.

Pray, madam, don't ax me; I am afraid it would look like gaſconading in me; and I will aſſure you there is no ſuch thing in nature, as giving a deſcription of a fiery battle; for there is ſo much done every where, that no body knows what is done any where, Then, [12] there is ſuch drumming and trumpeting, and ſuch delight⯑ful confuſion altogether, that you can no more give an ac⯑count of it, than you can of the ſtars in the ſky.

It is a vera good account he gives of it.

Let us ſmoke him, and ſee if we can get a little fun with him.—Try if he will give you ſome account of the battle.

Pray, Sir Calloghan, how many might you kill in any one battle you have been at?

I'll tell you, I generally kill more in a battle than a coward would chuſe to look upon, or than an impertinent fellow would be able to eat. Are you anſwer'd Mr Mordecai?

You was deviliſh ſharp upon him, faith.

Waſn't I?

Yes, but have another cut at him.—The Iſraelite will bring himſelf intil a damn'd ſcrap.

Sir Calloghan, give me leave to tell you, if I was a general—

A general! upon my ſoul, and you would make a fine general.—Oh! madam, look upon the ge⯑neral—Mr Mordecai, do not look upon being a general as ſo light a matter. It is a very difficult trade to learn, to be able to rejoice, with danger on the one ſide, and death on the other; and a great many more things, that you know no more of than I do of being high prieſt to a ſynagogue ſo hold your tongue, my dear Mr Mordecai, about that and go mind your Cent per Cent and your lot⯑tery tickets in Change-Alley.

A'ha! ha! By the Lord, he has tickled up the Iſraelite; he has given it to the Moabite on baith ſides o' the head.

But you have been frequently in danger ſir.

Danger, madam, is the ſoldiers profeſſion, and death his beſt reward.

A bull! a bull! pray, how do you make that out? you ſay death is the ſoldiers beſt reward.

I'll tell you how: a general dead in the field of battle, is a monument of fame, that makes him as much alive as Caeſer, or Alexander, or any dead heroe [13] of them all: and when the Hiſtory of America comes to be written; there is your brave young general, that died in the battle before Quebec, will be alive to the end of the world.

True, Sir Calloghan, the actions of that day will be remember'd while Britain or Britiſh gratitude have a name.

Wha was it did the buſineſs at Quebec? Oh! the Highlanders bore the bell that day. Had you but ſeen them with their Andrew Ferraras, how they cut them, and ſlaſh'd them about: they did the buſineſs, and gain'd imortal fame upon the ſpot.

Sir Archy, give me your hand: I aſſure you, your countrymen are brave ſoldiers; and ſo are mine too.

I think I hear Sir Theodore's coach ſtop.

Madam, Sir Theodore waits for you, and dinner is almoſt ready.

Madam, will you honour me with the tip of your wedding finger.—Adieu, Sir Calloghan.—Sir Archy, your ſervant.—Adieu, Sir Calloghan.

A very impudent fellow this, Mr Mordecai: if it had not been for the Lady, I would have been a little upon the Cavee with him.

Becauſe the raſcal has been let into our company at Bath, he intrudes upon you wherever you go: but have you written the letter to the lady?

Faith I have not! for I thought it would not be right to make my addreſſes to the lady, till I had made my affections known to her guardian; ſo I have indited the letter to him.

That's right, that's right, for ſo as ye do but write, it matters not to whom,—But where is it?

Here it is,

I warrant 'tis a bonny epiſtle.

‘SIR, As I have the honour to bear the character of a ſoldier, and to call Sir Theo⯑dore Goodchild uncle, I do not think it would be conſiſtent [14] for a man of honour, to behave like a ſcoundrel’

That's an excellent remark; an excellent remark, and vera new.

‘Therefore I thought proper before I pro⯑ceeded any further, (for I have done nothing as yet) to open my mind to you before I gain the affections of the lady,’ You ſee Sir Archy, I was for carrying on my approaches like a ſoldier, A-la-militaire, as we ſay abroad.— ‘You are ſenſible my family is as old as any in the three kingdoms, and older too; I ſhall therefore come to the point at once.’ —You ſee I have given him a little rub by way of a hint about our family, becauſe Sir Theodore is a bit of a relation by the mother's-ſide, only which is a little upſtart family, that came in with one ſtrong bow t' other day, not above ſix or ſeven hundred years ago: Now my father's family are all related to the O'Strickeſſes, the O'Cannakans, the O'Calloghans, and I myſelf am an O'Bralaghan, which is the oldeſt of them all.

Yes Sir, I beleive ye are of a very ancient family, but ye're out in ae point.

What's that, Sir Arcy?

Why ſir, where ye ſaid, ye was as auld as ony family in the three kingdoms.

Why then, I ſaid no more than is true, Sir Archy.

Hout awa' man, ye dinna conſider the fa⯑milies o' the north; ye of Hibernia, are as low as the buſhy bramble, wha took refuge frae a' corners in that wild ſpot where ye liv'd, pen'd up like a ſet of outcaſts, and as ſuch, you remain until this hour.

I beg your pardon, Sir Archy, that's the Scotch account which never ſpeaks truth becauſe it is partial; but the Iriſh account, which muſt be true, be⯑cauſe it was written by one of my own family, ſays, the Scotch are all Iriſhmens baſtards.

Baſtards! what, do ye make us illegiti⯑mate,—illegitimate, Sir?

Why, little Ference Flaerty O'Bralaghan was the man who went over from Carrickfergus, and peopled all Scotland with his own hands.

Sir Calloghan, tho' your ignorance and vanity would make raviſhers of your anceſtors, and har⯑lots, and ſabines of our mothers, yet ye ſhall find in me—

Harkee, Sir Archy, what was that you ſaid juſt now about ignorance and vanity?

Sir I denounce you baith ignorant and vain, and mak your maiſt o'd.

Faith I can make nothing at all of it, becauſe they are not words that a gentleman is us'd to; there⯑fore you muſt unſay them again.

How ſir, eat my words, a North Britain eat his words!

By my ſoul you muſt, and that immediately.

Sir, you ſhall eat a piece of my weapon firſt.

Put up for ſhame, Sir Archy: Conſider draw⯑ing a ſword is a very ſerious piece of buſineſs, and ſhould be done in private.

Defend yourſelf, for by the ſacred Croſs of St Andrew, I'll have ſatisfaction for making us ille⯑gitimate.

Now, by the Croſs of St Patrick, you are a very fooliſh man, but if you have a mind for a little of that ſport come away to the right ſpot.

No equivocation ſir; dinna think you have gotten Beaux Mordecai to cope with.

Come on then for the honour the ſod, Oh! you are as welcome as the flowers in May.

For heaven's ſake what's the matter? what is all this about?

It is about Sir Archy's great-grand-mother, madam,

Sir Archy's great-grand-mother!

Madam, he has caſt an affront upon a hail nation.

I am ſure if I did, it was more than I inten⯑ded: it was only to prove the antiquity of my family.

Pray, let me make peace between you.

Sir, as ye ſay, ye didna intend the affront I am ſatisfied.

Sir Archy, there are two things I am always afraid of; the one is of being affronted myſelf, and the other, of affronting any man.

A very generous diſpoſition, Sir Calloghan, but I hope this afair is over.

I am ſatisfied, madam, but let me tell you Sir Calloghan as a friend, as a friend man, you ſhould never enter into diſputes about hiſtory, literature or antiquity of families, for you have got ſuch a curſed wicked jargon upon your tongue—

Oh I beg your pardon, Sir Archy, 'tis you have got ſuch a damn'd twiſt of Scotch brogue, that you don't underſtand good Engliſh when I ſpeak it.

Very weel, very weel, but you are out a⯑gain, for every body kens that I ſpeak the ſouth country dialect ſae weel, that wharever I gang I am always ta⯑ken for an Engliſhman—but we'll appeal to the lady which of us twa has the brogue.

With, all my heart.—Pray madam, have I the brogue?

No ſir.

I am ſure I never could perceive it.

Neither have a brogue, neither, you both ſpeak very good Engliſh.—But come, dinner waits, gen⯑tlemen.

We'll follow you, madam.

Pray don't be long.

Weel, now dinna gie o'er the deſign of the letter.

Sir Archy, never fear me, for as the old ſong goes,

ACT II.

WAUNS madam! ſtep intil us for a few minutes; you will crack your ſides with laughing.—We hae gotten anither fool, come to divert us unexpectedly; which, I think the higheſt fool that the age has produced.

Who is it you mean Sir Archy?

Squire Groom, madam, the fineſt you ever beheld; in little boots half up his leg, a cap, his jockey-dreſs, and a' his pontificalibus, juſt as he rode his match yeſterday in York. Antiquity in a' its records of Greek and Roman folly, never produced a Senator viſiting his miſtreſs in ſo compleat a fool's garb.

This is ſome new ſtroke of humours.

Ha! ha! I ſhall burſt; I have left the Iriſhman and Squire Groom at a challenge.

I hope not.

Ha! ha! that is guid, that is guid; I thought it would come to action! ha! ha! that's clear: we ſal hae ane o' them pink'd.

O madam, the challenge need not terrify you: 'tis only in half-pints of claret to your ladyſhips health.

Lord! Mr Mordecai, how can you ſtartle one ſo?

I am very ſorry for that; guid troth I was in hopes they had a mind to ſhow their proweſs before the lady, their miſtreſs: or that we ſhould hae a little Iriſh or New-market blood-ſpilt. But what was the cauſe of the challenge, madam,

Why, their paſſion for this lady, till the diſ⯑pute riſing high, they determined to decide it in a caſ⯑cade of claret.

Oh, I am afraid they will kill themſelves!

Never fear, madam, noughts never in danger.

Look, look, the Champion comes.

Hoicks, hoicks,—hark, forewards my little princeſs! foreward, foreward! hoicks—heaugh, madam, I beg of million of pardons for not being with you at dinner; it was not my fault, 'pon honour.—I ſat up all night, and propoſed to ſet out betimes; but about eleven o'clock laſt night, at York—we were all damn'd jolly, and toſs'd off ſix flaſks of Burgundy a-piece. But, that Booby, Sir Rodger Bumper borrowed my ſtop watch to ſet his by it.—Here it is, look at it, madam, it corrects the ſun; they all go by it, madam, at New-market; and ſo, madam, as I was telling you—the drunken block⯑head put mine back two hours o' purpoſe to deceive me; otherways it was fifty to one, I could have been here to a ſecond.

Pray ſir, What is the meaning of this extraordi⯑nary dreſs▪

Not a peer in England could have one more taſty, the true turf taſte; you muſt know, madam, I rode my match in this very dreſs yeſterday, and Jack Buck, Roger Bumper, Frank Fudge and a few more of them laid me a hundred each, that I would not ride to London and viſit you in it, madam, ha! ha! but I've taken them all in, damme; ha! han't I, madam.

Pray, what time do you take to ride from York to London?

Ha! time, madam; why, bar a neck, a leg, or an arm, ſixteen hours, ſeven minutes, and thirty two ſeconds, ſometimes three or four ſeconds under, that is, to the Stones, not to my own houſe.

No, no, not till your own houſe, that would be too much.

No, no, only to the Stones end; but then I have my own Hacks, that are all ſteel to the bottom—all blood-ſtickers and lappers every ſuch of them, my dear; that will come through if they have but one leg out of the four. I never keep any thing, madam, that is not bottom—Game, game, to the laſt! Game, ay, ay, you'll find every thing that belongs to me game!

Weel ſaid, Squire Groom, Yes, yes, he is game to the bottom, he is game, madam.—There, walk about man and ſhaw us your ſhapes; what a fine figure, and has ſae good an underſtanding that 'tis a pity, he e⯑ver ſhould do any thing but ride horſe-races—What a fool, don't you think he is a curſed ideot.

Well enough for a country Squire.

Well, madam, which of us muſt be the happy man? madam, you know I love you—you know I do: may I never croſs Joſtle if I don't.

Oh Sir, I ſee your paſſion in your eyes.

Weel, but Squire you have given us no account how your match went.

What was your match, ſir!

Our ſubſcription and our ſweepſtakes.—There are ſeven of us, madam, Jack Buck, Lord Brainleſs, Rob Rattle. You know Bob, madam?—Bob's a damn'd ho⯑neſt fellow. Sir Harry Idle, Dick Riot, Sir Rodge Bum⯑per and myſelf. We put in L. 500 a piece, all to ride ourſelves, and to carry my weight—all to carry my weight; the odds at ſtarting, were ſeven to four againſt me the field round; and the field ten, fifteen and twenty to one; for you muſt know, madam, they thought that they had me at a dead wind; for the thing I was to ride was let down in the back ſinews, ha! ha! do you mind me let down in his exerciſe?

Ah! that was unlucky.

Damn'd unlucky! but that, my groom had him gired, and he ſtood ſound; was in fine condition; ſleek as your ladyſhip's ſkin: We ſtarted off ſcore, by Jupiter; and for the firſt half mile you might have cover'd us all with your under petticoat.—I ſaw I had them in hand, but your friend Bob, madam, ha! ha! I ſhall never for⯑get it: Poor Bob's gelding took the reſt, flew out of the courſe and run over two attorneys,—a quack doctor,— a methodiſt parſon,—an exciſe man, and a little Beau Jew Mordecai, friend, madam, that you us'd to laugh at ſo immoderately at Bath,—a little dirty thing with a chocolate coloured phiz, juſt like Mordecai.

There he had the little Girgiſite upon the hip.

The people were in hopes he had killed the lawyers, and were damnably diſappointed when they found he had only broke the leg o' the one, and the back of the other.

Well Sir, pray inform us who won the ſub⯑ſcription?

It lay between me and Dick Riot madam; we were neck and neck for three miles, as hard as we could lay leg to ground, and running every inch, but at the firſt, I felt for him, found I had the foot—knew my bot⯑tom—pull'd up—pretended to dig;—but all Fudge, all Fudge gave the ſignal to Tom Ticklepurſe to lay it on thick: I had the whip hand all the way.—Lay with my noſe in the neck under the wind, thus, ſnug, ſnug, ſnug my dear,—had him quite in hand, while Riot was dig⯑ging and lapping right and left, but it would not do my dear againſt foot, and bottom, and head.—I let go, darted by him like an arrow—ſo—within a hundred yards of the diſtance poſt. Poor Dick was blown to de⯑ſtruction, knock'd up as ſtiff as a turnpike, and left me to canter in by myſelf Madam, and I twitch'd them all round, grip'd the gamblers, broke the blackleſs, for I took all the odds before ſtarting, ſplit me! ha! was'nt I right old Shardrach; ha! took all the odds! took all the odds old dirt colour,

Ha! ha! well 'tis wonderful to think at [21] what a pitch of excellency our nobility are arriv'd at in the art of ſportitg.—I believe we excell all the nobility of Europe in that ſcience, eſpecially in Jockeyſhip.

Sir Archy, I'll tell you what I'll do—I'll ſtart a horſe, fight a man, hunt a pack of hounds, ride a match or fox chace, drive a ſet of horſes, or hold a toaſt with any nobleman in the kingdom for a thouſand each, and I ſay done firſt Damme.

Ha! ha! the Squires the keeneſt ſportſman in a' Europe madam, there is naething comes amiſs to him, madam he is a perfect Nimrod, he hunts a' things from the Flea in the blanket, to the Elephant in the forreſt,—he is at a' a perfect Nimrod—are you not Squire?

Yes, I am a Nimrod at all, at any thing! Why I ran a ſnail with His Grace the other day for L. 500— there was nothing in it—won it hollow, quite hollow, half a horns length.

Half a horns length! ah that was hollow indeed.

Was it not hollow?

Oh deviliſh hollow indeed, Squire Groom —but where is Sir Theodore a' this time?

Oh! he's with Sir Calloghan, joking him about drinking bumpers with me and his paſſion for you madam.

You maun ken Gentlemen, this lady and I have laid a ſcheme to hae a little ſport wi' Sir Calloghan: If you will a' ſtep behin' this ſcreen, I'll gang and fetch him, and you ſhall hear him mak love as fierce as Alexan⯑der, or ony hero in tragedy.

Sir Archy, I'll be as ſilent as a hound at fault.

Then madam, do you retire and come in till him as if you came for the purpoſe, I'll fetch him in an inſtant.

I will be ready Sir Archy.

Get you behin' gentlemen—get you behin'▪

Ay, ay, well ſquat—never fear, Sir Archy— an Iriſhman make love. I ſhall be glad to hear what an Iriſhman can ſay when he makes love.—What do you think he'll ſay, little Shadrach? do you think he'll make love in Iriſh?

Huſh, huſh, Square they are come.

Speak bawldly man, ye ken the auld pro⯑verb: "Faint heart,

Oh that's true "never won fair lady". Bu [...] you ſhall ſee I will ſoon bring it to an ecclairciſſment.

Oh that's right man, ſtick to that. She will be wi' you in a twinkling.—I wiſh you good ſucceſs

I will follow my friend Sir Archy's advice and attack the dear creature with vigour at once.—Upon my conſcience ſhe's here in the midſt of my ſoliloquy.

Sir Calloghan your's; I beg your Pardon, I ex⯑pected to find the other Gentlemen here.

Dear lady your pardon you eaſily command, and as I am at war with the force of your charms, and mean to attack you inſtantly, will beg a truce before I come to action.

He begins vera weel—he hath got intil the heart of the battle already.

But I am told Sir Calloghan you dedicate ſome part of your time to the muſes.—May I intreat the favour of a ſong.

Why madam, I own I have been guilty of torturing one of the muſes in the ſhape of a ſong, and I hope you'll excuſe my putting your name to it.

Upon condition that you will let me hear it.

Oh dear madam, don't aſk me, it's a very fooliſh ſong,—a mere bagatelle.

Oh! Sir Calloghan I will admit of no excuſe.

Well madam ſince you deſire it, you ſhall have it, were it ten times worſe. Tol, de, rol, ral, dol.—I don't know when I ſhall come at the right ſide of my voice. Tol, lol. rol.

Ha! ha! now for it—you ſhall hear ſic a ſang as has na been pen'd ſin' the days they firſt clipt the wings of the wild Iriſh.

Dear ſir, I am quite impatient.

Now madam. I'll tell you before hand—you muſt not expect fine ſinging from me as you hear at the Opera, becauſe we Iriſhmen are not cut out for it like the Italians.

Come now the ſangs o'er let us ſteal awa'.

He's a damn'd droll fellow: Inſtead of your lap⯑dog take me to your arms, ha! ha! ha!

Huſh, [...]a [...]tly, dinna let him hear us ſteal off—He's an excellent droll fellow, as guid as a farce or a comedy—a deviliſh comical cheel

But Sir Calloghan, I fear no lady can boaſt of allurements ſufficient to make you quit the army.

Why madam, when in my very early years, my good king was my friend in diſtreſs, and now he's in war when he wants my aſſiſtance, I ſhould be a patroon to leave him.

Why then Sir Calloghan, your ſervant, war is your miſtreſs, and to her charms I reſign you.

Upon my conſcience I feel very fooliſh — Oh but I will make a general attack, give the coup de main, raiſe the ſiege, ſet off for Germany to-morrow morning.—Tell her my paſſion, and take my leave with⯑out ſaying a word.

Why Sir Archy from what I can at preſent per⯑ [...]eive, by the dejected looks of Sir Theodore, the lady [...]erſe [...]f▪ and in ſhort the behaviour of the whole family [...]rtainly ſomething wrong in their affairs has juſt hap⯑pened.

Your conjectures are very right Mr Morde⯑cai—'tis a' over with him—he's an undone beggar, and ſae is the girl.

Sir you aſtoniſh me.

'Tis an unexpected buſineſs, but 'tis a fact, I aſſure you—here he is himſelf poor devil, how wae he looks!

This unexpected blow from abroad affects me indeed ſincerely! what my friend to fail in whom I plac'd ſuch an implicit faith.—Not only to venture my own, but unfortunately my dear girls fortune.—Her misfortunes touch me more than my own; however I will endeavour to bear this ſhock as well as I can, collect my ſpirits and break this affair to my poor Charlotte.

Fore Gad, this is ſurpriſing! Sir Archy what has occaſion'd all this?

Faith Mordecai, I dinna ken the particulars; but it ſeems by the words of Sir Theodore himſelf, a rich merchant in Holland, his partners and he the—guardian over this lady are both bankrupts, and as the Lawyer there without confirms have fail'd for above L. 100,000 more than they can anſwer.

And how does that affect the young lady?

Why ſir the greateſt part of her fortune it ſeems was in trade with Sir Theodore.—Beſides the ſuit in chancery for above the L. 40,000 has been determined againſt her this very day, ſo that they are a' undone.

You ſurprize me Sir Archy. I thought the 40,000 was prov'd clearly in her ſavour.

O ye dinna ken the law; the law is a ſort of hocus pocus that ſmiles in your face although it pick your pocket; and the glorious uncertainty of it is more uſe to the profeſſors than the juſtice of it. Here they come and ſeemingly in great affection.

My dear guardian and parent let me call you, for indeed ſuch you have ever been, give not yourſelf up to grief on my account.

It is only on your account that I can be miſe⯑rable; [25] and yet for you there is a beam of hope: I think we can with ſafety rely upon the honour and integrity of Sir Archibald M'Sarcaſm, who will marry and ſnatch you from all misfortunes.

Gin ye rely upon me, ye rely upon a broken ſtaff; ye may as well rely upon the philoſophers [...]a [...]e. What! would you marry me to make me a mender of broken fortunes of Citizens; but I will ſpeak till them, and end the diſpute at anes.—I am concern'd to ſee you in this diſorder Sir Theodore.

Oh! Sir Archy if all the vows you ever profeſs'd and ſo laviſhly beſtow'd were real, I am ſure this change of fortune will make no alteration in your ſentiments of honour. Now let the truth be ſeen.

Madam I am ſorry to be the meſſenger o' ill news; but a' our connections is at an end. Our houſe has heard of my connections wi' you—and I have had let⯑ters frae ſix Dukes, five Marquiſſes, four Earls, three Barons, and other dignitaries o' the family remonſtra⯑ting, nay expreſly prohibiting my contaminating, the blood of the Macſarcaſms wi' any thing ſprung frae a hogſhead or a compring houſe.—I aſſure you madam, my paſſion for you is mighty ſtrong, but I canna bring diſ⯑grace upon an honourable family.

There is no truth, no virtue in man.

Guid troth, nor in woman neither that has nae fortune; here is Mordecai, a wandering Iſraelite, a vagabond Hebrew, that's a very caſuality, ſprung frae annuities, bulls, bears, and lottery tickets, and can hae nae family objections.—He is paſſionatly fond o' you and till this offſpring of accident and mammon, I reſign my intereſt in ye.

I beg your pardon Sir Archy, I beg your pardon, marriage is a thing I have not thoroughly conſider'd, and I muſt take ſometime before I can determine upon ſo in⯑extricable a ſubject; and I aſſure you my affairs at preſent madam, are not in a matrimonical poſture.

I deſpiſe both them and you.

Haux, haugh, heagh—why what's the matter here? what are we all at fault? is this true Sir Theo⯑dore? [26] Zounds, I hear that you and the filly both run a wrong ſide the poſt.

Squire, this is no time to joke and triffle: On ſo ſerious and ſeverely affecting a ſtroke to make an attempt to diſguiſe our feelings. However, Sir, this is a charming girl, whoſe virtues deſerve a noble fortune; but the loſs of it will ſurely make no abatement in your affections.

Hark, Sir Theodore, I always make a match agreeable to the ſpeed or age of my cattle, or the weight my things can carry, when I offer'd to match her give and take, the filly was neither piper nor blinker—cheſt bound nor ſpavin'd; but I hear now her winds touch'd; if ſo I would not back her for a ſhilling.—I'll take her into my ſtead if you will.—She has a fine forehand—ſhe moves her paſterns well, gets on a good pace, a deal of faſhion and ſome blood, and will do well enough to breed out of; but I won't keep her in training tho', for ſhe can't carry weight ſufficient to come thro'; matrimony ſir, is a curſed long courſe—deviliſh heavy and ſharp turnings; it won't do—ſhe can't come thro'—no damme ſhe can't come thro'!

I think Squire, ye judge right in my thoughts —the beſt thing the lady can do is to ſnap the Iriſhman.

Well obſerved Sir Archy.

Ay, ay, Archy has an excellent noſe, and hits aff a fault as well as any hound I ever follow'd.

He's ſic a luiver as a lady in her circumſtan⯑ces could wiſh.

Thou wretch whoſe ſentiments of honour are ſtill more deſpicable than your ſentiments of love But tho' I am to fortune loſt, my mind ſhall never be guilty of principles of baſeneſs.

Huſh! huſh! he's here.

What my guid friend, Sir Calloghan, I kiſs your hand.—I hae been ſpeaking to the lady in your be⯑half wi' a' the eloquence I hae—ſhe is enamour'd of your perſon, and ye are juſt come in the nick o' time to receive her heart and her hand.

'Pon my conſcience Sir Archy I ſhould he [27] prouder to receive that lady's hand than a generals ſtaff, or the greateſt honour the army could beſtow upon me madam.

'Twou'd be a deviliſh lucky match for her. —The fellow has a good fortune, is a great block⯑head and loves her vehemently—three excellent qualities, come, come, madam, true-love is impatient, and deſpi⯑ſes ceremony—gie him your hand at anes.

No ſir, I cannot impoſe myſelf upon Sir Calloghan tho' unworthy of his eſteem and deſtitute of friends and fortune.

What means all this?

Why nephew, this lady here my unfortunate ward this morning was poſſeſs'd of a legacy, as we thought, fit to make happy the firſt of families, but by my ill conduct and want of care, her fortune is loſt a⯑broad which I had ventured in trade, and the law ſuit loſt at home.—Therefore her virtue not fortune muſt now be the object of your affections.

I aſſure you ſir Theodore I rejoice at her diſ⯑treſs—for when ſhe was rich I approach'd her with fear and trembling, becauſe I was not her equal. But now ſhe is poor and has nobody to defend her, I fell ſomething warm about my heart, that tells me I love her better than when I thought ſhe was rich; and if my life and fortune will be of any ſervice to her, ſhe ſhall command them for ever and ever.

Generous man!

And will you take her for life?

Ay and for death too! which is a great deal longer than life you know

Then take her ſir, and with her an ample for⯑tune—my bankruptcy was entirely feigned—it was only to try the ſincerity of theſe gentlemen who call them⯑ſelves lovers.

How's this?

A helliſh croſs upon us ſlung by heavens—diſ⯑tanc'd to damnation.

Gently, gently, whiſt—he's only taking him in—the bubbles bit.

Why do you now pauſe, dear nephew? It [28] was only a ſcheme to try the mean, the mercenary, illi⯑beral arts of thoſe who are a diſgrace to mankind, their country and themſelves.

Why, this is ſomething like what thoſe little jackanapes about town call Humbugging a man.—Firſt, ſhe has no fortune, and then ſhe has a fortune; and then ſhe has no fortune again.

What I now tell you is a ſacred truth. Take her ſir, and with her a heart worthy your acceptance— take her as a reward for your diſintereſted affection.

Take her—the devil take me if I don't.

And I yield ſir to your diſpoſal with unfeigned pleaſure.

By the glory of a ſoldier I had rather be at her foot, than at the head of a regiment—and now ſhe's mine by all the rules of war—I have a right to lay her under contribution, for her kiſſes are lawful plunder

O ye are a little tight creature.—'Pon honour her breath is as ſweet as the ſound of a trumpet.

Why the knowing ones are all taken in here— ſtripp'd and double diſtanc'd.—Zounds the filly has run a crimp upon us.

Damn it ſhe has jilted us moſt confoundedly.

By the croſs of St Andrew I'll be reveng'd. —I ken a lad of an honourable family, wha under⯑ſtands the ancient claſſics in a' perfection.—He is now compoſing a comedy, and he ſhall inſinuate baith their Characters intil it.

And I'll write a lampoon, where ſhe ſhall have an intrigue with a life-guard-man, a grenadier, and an opera-ſinger.

I have a hedge yet.—I can't write, but I'll tell you what I'll do—I'll poiſon her Parrot, kill her Monkey, and cut off her ſquirrels tail, damme.

Harkee gentlemen, I hope you'll aſk my leave for all this. If you offer to write any of your nonſenſicals; or if you touch a hair of the Parrot's head, or a feather of the Monkey's tail, or a hair of any thing belonging to this lady, I'll be after making a few remarks upon your books. Look ye, I have an excellent pen by my ſide [29] that is a good critic, and writes a legible hand upon im⯑pertinent authors.

Hout awa'! hout awa' man, dinna talk in that idle manner, ſir our ſwords are as ſharp and as re⯑ſponſible as the ſwords of ither men; but this is nae time [...] matters—Ye hae got the lady, and we hae got the [...]. I am only ſorrow for the little Gargaſite Beau [...]; for he has beſpoken the nuptial chariot and [...] liveries, and my friend Squire Groom I fear is [...] lock'd in wi' the turf; and guid troth I am ſorry for the lady, for ſhe has loſt being match'd into the great houſe of the Macſarcaſms, which is the greateſt loſs of a"

This is ſomething like the caſtrophe of a ſtage play, where knaves and fools are diſappointed.

And an honeſt man rewarded.