SCENE I.

LORD, Miſs Maria, not dreſſed yet! —Why, there'll be a world of folks here, preſently,—eſpecially as my maſter has given it out that he in⯑tends keeping open houſe till the day of Election, in favour of Sir Harry Simple.

Don't talk to me of dreſs, nor Sir Harry nei⯑ther; I hate him;—I wiſh he had been fixed to a ſtake, and burnt yeſterday inſtead of his effigy.

O fie Miſs, you ſhould not wiſh ſuch cruel wiſhes as that.

Indeed I do. But prithee trouble me no more about him; have you ſeen Mr. Trueman to-day?

Love, as the ſaying is, has given him wings: I ſaw him fly by the houſe, once or twice, but [4]could not get to ſpeak to him. He's purely buſy, in Squire Artful's cauſe, not indeed out of any reſpect to him, but merely to oppoſe that gooſe Simple.—Well, I do think it a whimſical notion of my maſter, not to marry his daughter, but to one of thoſe yea-and-nay creatures, called a Mem⯑ber of Parliament.

Marry, Betty!—Why, if he carries his Elec⯑tion, I won't have him.—I'd run to Scotland firſt; —a poor ſhallow-pated fop; ſo he may ſave him⯑ſelf both the trouble and expence.

So ſay I, Miſs. To be ſure, Mr. Trueman is a much more properer man, and, as we ſay in our country, has got ſome guts in his brains.

If it was not for my mamma, my pappa would be well enough, but, ſhe's always dinging in his ears, family, places, intereſt, and ſuch ſtuff. For my part, I don't ſee what intereſt ſhe'd have, if all her relations were in parliament, unleſs it were to frank her nonſenſe into every part of the king⯑dom, which now ſhe can't convey, without adding ſomething to the revenue.

Why there would be ſomething in that, and not the worſe for us; for, the more ſhe'd write, the leſs ſhe'd talk. But—bleſs me; who comes yonder! If Mr. Trueman is not coming thro' the hall, in diſguiſe, with ſome of the folks!

Is he indeed!—run, then, Betty, and take care, neither my pappa and mamma comes into the room while he is here.

Make good uſe of your time, for, depend upon it, you can't be long together.

Hiſt!—Maria,—are we alone?

I would not for the world, Mr. Trueman, any of the family ſhould ſee you here; I ſhould lead a weary life, if they did.

It happens very fortunately for us, that your father now keeps open houſe, as I can ſlip in and out unperceived; I provided this dreſs on pur⯑poſe, as in caſe we ſhould be ſeen together, I may paſs off undiſcovered.

'Twas a good thought; but, tell me, how have you ſped?

As well as I could wiſh. I do believe the day's our own: Artful readily accepted of my ſervices, and I have been indefatigable in his intereſt; up, night and day; you ſee my life, what you can ſpur me to. I ſhall think my labour well repaid, if but at laſt I call Maria, mine.

I make no doubt, but both my pappa and mam⯑ma may be brought to give their conſent, if we can but upſet this ſcheme of Simple's.

Never doubt it. I'll try my beſt for it. I hav'n't been within a pair of ſheets theſe ſix nights; no [6]meſſenger, or mail-carrier, has rid at once more miles, with greater expedition than I, in canvaſ⯑ſing this country for Votes. But, when Love dictates, its votaries muſt obey.

Indeed, Mr. Trueman, I am greatly obliged to you, and, heartily wiſh you may ſucceed.

Pray heaven, we may! but, believe me, 'tis hot work. Simple, tho' a mere fool, ſeems to have plenty of money, which he makes fly, like wild fire, and, gold, Maria, in this, as well as in every other caſe, is the moſt prevailing argument a man can uſe. I could get no admittance any where, without firſt ſhewing my ticket. Indeed, Artful's tongue being ſo well oiled, ſaves him many a guinea: the women are all in his intereſt, and then, you know, the men, they follow of courſe.

If gaining the favour of the women, Mr. True⯑man is neceſſary, he could not have a better friend, on this occaſion than you.

Gad ſo, your mother!

Miſs Maria's in the next room, Ma'am, ſhall I call her?

No, no, I'll go to her.

I am perſuaded, Sir, your giving your vote to Sir Harry, will greatly oblige my father.

Who is this man, daughter?

He tells me he belongs to the next pariſh, mam⯑ma, that he is a freeholder, and has influenced ſeveral neighbours in favour of Sir Harry.

An I had twenty Votes, I'd gee um aal to he; if t'were only on Squoire Wealthy's account.

Faith, leave him alone for a ſcheme! O, he's a charming man!

My good neighbour, I beg your pardon,—I thought it had been ſome—Indeed, Sir, I thank you, and, when Mr. Wealthy ſees you, he ſhall thank you too. I aſſure you, Sir Harry is a very fine gentleman, and more than that, is determin⯑ed, if choſe, right or wrong, always to vote againſt the court.

I tell him ſo, you know, tho' that would not be the way to ſwell our intereſt, and get a place for your couſin Tom.

For the court—Well, go back⯑ward friend, into the ſaloon, (you will ſee many of your acquaintance there) and get ſomething to refreſh you, for you ſeem almoſt choaked with duſt.

A lucky eſcape, indeed!

Come, girl, go get your cap on; at preſent, you are hardly fit to be ſeen, I expect Sir Har⯑ry here ſhortly. 'Twill be a charming thing, Ma⯑ria, if he gets choſe for the county, 'twill be the [8]making of us all. Your father ſhall have a place in the Chequer, for he loves to be counting of money; I'll be miſtreſs of the robes, you ſhall be a woman of the bedchamber, and, as for couſin Tom, he ſhall be—What ſhall he be?—No matter, I'll think for him by-and-by.

And I, Madam; you have forgot me?

Behave but well, and you ſhall be—let me ſee —you ſhall be—ſweeper of the Mall.

Ay, but mamma—

Come, away, away, don't ſtand talking, I have always told you one talker in a family's enough; go get yourſelf dreſſed.

And that ſhe's determined ſhall be herſelf, for ſhe'll let nobody hardly edge in a word.—Sweeper of the Mall!

Betty.

Ma'am.

Is the drawing room fit to receive company?

Yes, Ma'am.

Go, then, tell your maſter to make haſte into the ſaloon to his gueſts,

and d'ye hear?

tell John to hang the ſilver ciſ⯑tern up in the ſaloon, and let it run with port

and— ſtay—

let me ſee—tell Will—are the two ventilators fixed? I am ſure we ſhall have need of them, for the whole houſe ſmells now as hot and frouzy as a beggar's bedchamber, with theſe dirty fellows in it.—Hah? why don't you anſwer me?

They are, Ma'am.

Well—then, you may go.

But heark'ye,

tell Will, I'd have him wait above,

and —

let that new, ſleepy fellow, with the ſcripture name there—

Hezekiah.

Ay, I don't know what you call him—tell him to attend the door, keep both his eyes open, and watch that nothing is taken out of the houſe,

and—

ſee that every thing is as it ſhould be.

If every thing was as it ſhould be, one would think your tongue ſhould be tired, but that's out of the nature of things.

SCENE II. A Village.

I know not how Trueman is, but, egad, Land⯑lord, I am almoſt worn out with riding: 'tis well this is the laſt place.

The folks ſay as how Maiſter Trueman was all about the neighbouring pariſhes the laſt week.

Timothy Blunt,—farmer,—a wife,—three chil⯑dren, Sarah, Mary and Thomas.—What ſort of a man is he?

A huge, ſurly hunks, but has a notable woman to's wife, as ever trod in ſhoe leather.

Well, I have had pretty good ſucceſs hitherto. Who comes here?

Pleaſe your Worſhip's honour, Ned Smut, our blackſmith, he has a Vote, your honour, and will gee it you, your honour, as free as a'r'a man in the county.

Edward Smut—Blackſmith! he is not upon my liſt;—this was a miſtake.—Is he married?

Yeas, along while, your honour.

My dear friend, Mr Smut, it gives me great pleaſure to ſee you, I was juſt going to your houſe; pray how does your good wife?

Squoire Artful, Neighbour Smut.

Thank your honour, ſhe is not main well, ſhe has been mortally bad with an agur.

Odd ſo, I am very ſorry to hear it; I hope not long; I'll make it my buſineſs to go to ſee her— If I recollect right, you have children, Mr. Smut?

Yes, your honour, I am father of two, a boy, and a girl that can near run alone.

Is not your ſon's name Thomas?

No, your honour, Richard—and Suſan, uncle and mother's names.

Ay, Ay,—Richard,—I meant Richard, tho' I ſaid Thomas; I thought I remember'd 'em.

Faith I'd like to have been out there.

How does little Dick do? Sukey grows a great girl I ſuppoſe?—But, I'll call and ſee 'em very ſoon, I ſhould have called before now, if this Election had not taken up my time.

I hope as how your honour will be choſe, I have one vote at your ſervice, an I had ten, they be the ſame.

My beſt friend, I thank you, and aſſure you, I take it extremely kind; make my compliments to your good wife, and tell her, I wiſh her better, and beg ſhe will accept of that trifle

to buy her a little tea and ſugar.

I humbly thank your honour.—Your ſervant, Sir.

Mr. Smut, good day to you,

and pray let her know I'll certainly call and ſee her.—

Well, a crown has ſecured his vote: eaſy enough. How eſſential a quality is hypocriſy to a man upon his canvaſs!

a mighty ho⯑neſt man that Landlord!

Ay, your honour, as ever broke bread.

Now which is Farmer Blunt's?

That right againſt us.

I had like to have forgotten my cue,

Is Mr. Blunt within?

My huſband, Mr. Bluffer, is juſt gone to your houſe.

Gad ſo;—you are Mrs. Blunt,—I proteſt I had almoſt forgot you, you are grown ſo florid in the face,

My dear good wo⯑man, I hope I ſee you well. How does the little folks within?

Lord, Sir,—a—thank your honour—pretty well —a—you are ſo good!—a—pray—pleaſe to walk [13]in,—'tis but a dirty houſe, Sir,—but—a—do, Sir, —I hope Madam's well?

I thank you, Mrs. Blunt, for your kind en⯑quiry, ſhe is very well, and, I aſſure you, won⯑ders you don't come and ſee her.

I give you and Madam many thanks, Sir,—

Oh! he's a good gentleman!—People in our way of life have not much time to go abroad, —beſides, Sir, to tell you the truth, my huſband don't like I ſhould.

Not like you ſhould? Sure he does not pretend to controul you. I always look upon the women as goddeſſes, and think 'tis man's greateſt happi⯑neſs, when they are ſuffered to worſhip them.

Ay, Sir,—I would it were ſo,—but a—I would not ſay it,—'tis quite the contrary, Mr. Bluffer here, and all

the pariſh knows it; 'tis he's the god, and I am forced to obey him.

'Tis ſo indeed, the more's the pity.

I'm ſorry to hear it—I ſhould think ſo pretty, ſo agreeable, ſo good a woman as Mrs. Blunt, would have power ſufficient to melt his rigour, and mould him into what form ſhe pleaſes.

Oh! dear Sir,—you are ſo good—

Ay, he's fit for a Parliament Man!—

No, [14]Sir,—he moulds me, indeed, much oftener than I like.

Ha, ha, ha, but why do you let him?

Oh, here are the little folks—How do you do, Tommy? how do you do my little dears?

Where's your bow, Tom?—don't you ſee the gentleman, girls?—I hope your honour will ex⯑cuſe 'em, they forget their manners;—don't ſtare in the gentleman's face ſo, Tommy,—one would think you was bred on a common.

Let 'em have their way, I love to ſee 'em,— here my little man,—there my pretty maids

go buy yourſelves ſome cakes—fine, pretty children, indeed, Mrs. Blunt.

You are very good, Sir;

ſay, thank your honour;—but do, Sir, walk in, I'm quite aſhamed to ſee you ſtand at the door, I'll ſend for my huſband immediately.

No, no, my good woman, you ſhan't trouble yourſelf; I have a houſe or two to call at, after which ſhall go back to my Landlord's, where I ſhall probably meet with him.

Well, Sir, uſe your own pleaſure:—if he ſhould come home before you get back, I'll ſend him to you.

Do ſo; but—let me ſee, I preſume you know Wedneſday next is the day of Election, let me beg the favour of you to wear that favour

in honour of it.

Ay, Sir, if all Parliament Members were like your honour, we ſhould never have been plagued with the militia, nor the cyder bill neither. I heartily wiſh you ſucceſs, Sir.

Thank you, Mrs. Blunt, good morning to you.

Your ſervant, Sir; your ſervant, Mr. Bluffer.

Your ſervant.

A very good ſort of a woman; Blunt, you ſay, is a covetous ſurly fellow?

Yeas, your honour, the quite avarſe of her.

He's a worthy gentleman!—but, a plague on't, I forgot to aſk him to drink any thing; 'twas your faults ye brats;—go, get ye in, for what you're good for—Aye, this is ſomething like a Parliament Man!

SCENE III. A Country Town.

Sir Harry Simple for ever; Huzza.

I ſay Sir Harry's an honourable gem'man, let who dare ſay to the contrary.

I'm ſure I ought to think ſo, for I've had a main deal of his money; I'd go fifty mile an end to vote for 'en.

Ay, damn Artful; here's Sir Harry for ever, huzza.

Huzza.

Zounds, there's ſuch good living here; I'll not go home one while again. Sir Harry Simple for ever I ſay, huzza.

Egad, Will, this fever, as you caal it, will make Mall, as foin as a Dutcheſs; here's Sir Har⯑ry for ever.

Huzza.

So ſoon as ever he's choſe, they hoiſt him on their ſhoulders you ſay, and fling money about, go⯑lore?—damn it, we ſhall have rare ſport—huzza.

Zounekins,—Mall will be main vexed, if ſhe does not come.

This is rare ſtuff. Simple for ever I ſay, and the firſt man that contradicts it—I'll break his head,—damn me.

Artful for ever. Huzza.

Simple for ever. Huzza.

I ſay Sir Harry Simple's the beſt gem'man.

I ſay, you lie.

No quarrelling, no quarrelling; let both have fair play;—now, pray friend, tell us, why Squire Artful's a better man, than Sir Harry Simple?

Becauſe—he is.—For experiment, he is not above ſpeaking to us, but talks to any of us, as if, as how, we was his acquaintance.

He went to ſee my dame, and was ſo lovingly fond of her, as thoff ſhe'd been madam: he ſqueezed her ſo cloſe, and hugged her and kiſſed her, as thoff he would have eat her up. Sue was ready to die away in his arms for joy.

If that's the caſe, the Squire is a good gentle⯑man.

Zounds, what argufies all his kiſſing and ſlob⯑bering, will he take off the militia bill? Has he gee you any of his money?

What's that to you whether he has, or nay?

Then damn Artful, here's Simple for ever.

Huzza.

Knock 'em down.—Artful for ever, huzza.

No thickſculs, no Simple's; Artful for ever, huzza.

Here my lads,

break their heads, a parcel of ſcoundrels!

'Fore Gad, nothing like a little gold to make one beloved.

If gold will do, and, faith, I never knew it fail yet, we ſhall carry it, in ſpite of Artful's deviliſh hypocriſy.

I never was fond of clandeſtine proceedings, —but,—however, of two evils, we are to chooſe the leaſt; now, bribery alone, is not ſo bad as bri⯑bery and hypocriſy together.

Let Artful ſalve over the matter as he pleaſes; if he gives but a penny, he comes within the oath, as much as if he gave a pound.

And, let him give it under what pretence he will, in foro conſcientiae, 'tis bribery nevertheleſs; therefore we have this ſatisfaction, that if we are no better than other people, thank heaven and our own virtue, we are no worſe.

Have you ordered the muſic and cleavers to meet us in Cockſheet-Hollow, on Wedneſday morning, in time?

I have appointed them there by ten, leſt Art⯑ful's party ſhould parade it into town before us.

Confound Artful and his party too. Double my numbers, Quirk, and not ſuffer the ſcoundrels to enter the town at all.

No;—that won't do;—that won't do; were we to carry it under thoſe circumſtances, it would be deemed no election: they'd bring it into the houſe, and ſwear their voters could not poll, for fear of their lives.

Well, gentlemen, I ſhall leave theſe matters wholly to you; I hope there is not much doubt of ſucceſs?

Nothing is certain, but, by what I can ſee, we have as good as, if not better of it, than Artful.

You muſt ſpare no expence; if you do, in my opinion, 'tis over with you. Artful's plea upon all occaſions, is, I'm no Courtier, tho' 'twas but the other day I ſaw him following the breech of my Lord M'Sawney, into the great houſe at the bottom of St. James's Street.

You ſhould tell ſome deviliſh lie or another.— Can't you ſay that I'll get the militia bill and the beer act repealed? or,—tell 'em I'll get an act paſſed that every man ſhall be at liberty to leave his wife, at the expiration of three years, if he does not like her, and marry again.

Ha, ha, ha, I don't know what that indeed might do, but as to the militia bill, and the beer act, they'll now go no more down with the peo⯑ple, than ſtale ſmall beer, to a man that is not thirſty.

'Twill be confounded hard to loſe it, after ſpending ſo much money!—Loſe it!—I muſt not think of it.—If I do, I'm ruined.—I have been now obliged to borrow a conſiderable ſum. However, if I get the girl, ſhe has fortune enough to ſet all to rights again.

Who ſhall touch him for the next five hun⯑dred? you or I?

No matter which.—I will, you had the laſt.

Why ſo thoughtful, Sir Harry? keep up your ſpirits man, or, we loſe the cauſe.

I have been conſidering, gentlemen, how much I am obliged to you. What could I have done without you? Should I ſucceed, you ſhall not find me ungrateful.

Should!—Let us not ſuppoſe a doubt.—Money muſt certainly carry it. The generality of free⯑holders, eſpecially the lower ſort, would not only ſell their country, but, they'd part with their wives and children could they get any thing for 'em.

The great inconſiſtency of theſe people, often makes me ſmile: they ſell themſelves, and then wonder, and are diſpleaſed at being ſold.

'Fore Gad! that's true enough.

How have you done in the lower part of the county?

Damn the lower part; I found 'em as merce⯑nary and venal, as they could well be. Many of them turned up their noſes at five pieces; I was obliged to give them ten, and, at one place, I was under a neceſſity of entertaining the girls with the humours of Mr. Punch; that coſt me fifty; I ſhould have done nothing if I had'nt; for the tongues of the men and women in that place are, like the ſtrings of a fiddle equally tuned, in per⯑fect uniſon. What one cries, the other anſwers.

The women in ſome places have a wonderful attraction, ha, ha, ha. Have you Crafty, finiſh⯑ed in the upper part?

Not quite; I have a pariſh or two to canvaſs yet; indeed, I ſhould not have been here, had'nt I got to the bottom of my purſe.—I muſt have another five hundred.

Muſt you! Bleſſings go with it, then! No⯑thing venture they ſay, nothing have. A day or two now will determine all. My friend Wealthy has opened his houſe in my intereſt, and I have promiſed to attend him every day between this and Wedneſday; therefore you muſt excuſe me; I preſume I ſhall ſee you ſome time to-morrow, you will find me either there or at the old place.

Now we are alone, tell me, Crafty, how you ſucceeded laſt week.

I'll deal frankly with you; for rogues are ge⯑nerally honeſt to one another.—I made a com⯑plete thouſand.—I got a cool hundred out of one pariſh.

Then you have done better than I, for what with preſents, balls, feaſting and puppet-ſhews, I hav'n't been able to ſave quite ſeven hundred; and, when I gave him in the account, he thought I had been too profuſe.

Zounds, man, you don't take the right ſtep. Did you make the landlords of public houſes your friends? tip them but a piece or two extraordi⯑nary, and they'll give you a receipt for double [23]the money you ſpend. They daren't cry out for fear of betraying themſelves.

All that I took care to do.

Did you enter in your account, ſo much to ringers, ſo much to fidlers, ſo much to tatlers?

Tatlers? who are they?

Why, the old women.

Indeed, I never thought of them.

Not fee the old women! then you hav'n't done either Sir Harry, or yourſelf, juſtice.—It would not only have ſwelled the account, but tip an old woman's tongue with gold, and, ſhe'll talk you off, in ſuch gilded ſtrains, as ſhall do you more eſſen⯑tial ſervice, than all you give beſides. Oh!— the old women, the tatlers as I call them, have a power of talking you black or white, juſt as diſ⯑poſition leads 'em. Whatever you do,—ſecure the old women.

Live and learn's an old proverb.—I preſume you include the parſon, and the apothecary, in the number of the old women.

Doubtleſs.—They are the belweathers of a pariſh, they are the main ſprings that ſet the fe⯑male tongue a-going. Nothing in this point can ever be done, without the parſon and the apothe⯑cary.

'Tis impoſſible, Simple could have employed a better man in this buſineſs than you, Crafty; you ſeem perfectly acquainted with it, and can fall in with the taſte of all ranks of people.—I'll be bold to ſay, you will eat, drink, lie, ſwear and whore, with any man in the three kingdoms.

Ha, ha, ha. Neceſſity has no law; there's no carrying the point without it. The better we keep up the ſpirit of the thing, the greater ad⯑vantage we ſhall reap. I'd ſee Simple at the de⯑vil, before I'd take ſo much pains, if I hadn't a feeling in it. If he is returned, he marries the girl, her fortune is paid, and I hope we ſhall have ſome of the fingering it. If not, as we ſhall have the bonds he has given us ready in force, we'll execute the writs, and ſecure the mo⯑ney, while he has any to pay.

I have been conſidering, gentlemen, how much I amobliged to you.—Hah, Quirk?—but, come let's away, we'll defer our ſettling till the buſineſs is done.

SCENE IV. A Room in an Ale-houſe.

I hope ſhe'll ſend him back again, Landlord?

No fear, your honour,—I never knew her ge'an to falſifications in my born days.

Well, make us a bowl of your beſt punch; probably he may be here by that time.

Never was I more at a loſs in my life, than I am at preſent, how I ſhall heat this ſurly wretch: apply to him I muſt, as I am told he has great influence among his neighbours.—'Tis ac⯑cording as it hits!—I ſhall be heartily glad when this day's over.

Meaſter Blunt's juſt come, your honour.

Oh, he is?—pray deſire him to walk in,—and bring the liquor.

Now muſt I have all my wits about me.

running and ſqueezing Blunt by the hand.] My dear friend, Mr. Blunt, I am heartily glad to ſee you.

Mayhap ſo; but, 'tis for his own ends I ſup⯑poſe.—Why hadn't he kiſſed me as he did my wife?

Your ſervant, Sir, What is your buſineſs with me?

As to buſineſs, Mr. Blunt,—we'll leave that alone, I never talk of buſineſs ſo abruptly.— Come, ſit down and take a glaſs of punch.

I never am againſt that.

You have no objections to our Landlord's company, I hope?

None at all; Bluffer's an honeſt fellow.

Here's your good health, Mr. Blunt.

Thank you, Sir—to yours.

Landlord, fill your glaſs, and drink to our good friend here.

Meaſter Blunt, my ſervice to you.

All this won't do.

Meaſter Bluf⯑fer, I thank you.

What's the beſt news Mr. Blunt, in this part of the country?

News, quother!—This damn'd militia bill con⯑tinues to make ſuch confuſion in this place, that I wiſh that man's tail had been on fire, that firſt propoſed it.

I am very ſorry you ſhould entertain ſo bad an opinion....

Sorry!—bad an opinion!—pox on't—don't tell me that we're to maintain the brats of a parcel of lazy, idle ſcoundrels; that, at certain times, make it their buſineſs to loiter about the country, pilfering and ſtealing every thing they can lay their hands on. No, no, Mr. Artful.—Sir Har⯑ry Simple thinks as I do.

Whatever Sir Harry may think, I am convinc⯑ed, the act has now been ſo long eſtabliſhed, 'tis out of any man's power to alter it.

And then there's your beer and cyder act;— add to that the exorbitant price of proviſions— look about, look about, the poor are ſtarving every where.

Starving! Mr. Blunt!

Starving! Mr. Blunt!—yes ſtarving.—Would you have 'em eat horſe-dung?

Bread ſeems to be the moſt material thing, and I cannot ſee how they can lower the price of that, without injuring the farmer. Rents are dear, taxes are high, and hands ſcarce.

Indeed they are. No one can tell where the ſhoe pinches ſo well as he that wears it. I hav'n't above ten acres, and yet I can feel it.

Bread, neighbour Bluffer's the leaſt on't, let 'em take the taxes off other articles, and then we ſhall ſee who's to fault; the Parliament or the farmer.

Nothing would make me happier than to have it in my power, to be inſtrumental to the good of my countrymen. Give me leave to drink to your good families health. Landlord, here's Mrs. Blunt and her little ones.

[28]You have three mighty pretty children, Mr. Blunt.

They are well enough,—they're as God made 'em.

You mentioned Sir Harry Simple, Meaſter Blunt, ha' you ſeen any thing o' en?

Hav'n't you?—He came to aſk me for my vote.

An' ha' you promis'd it him?

May hap, I have,—and, mayhap, I hav'n't; —that's nothing to no body.

Mr. Blunt is right; a freeholder, in that reſ⯑pect, is a free man, and I have this opinion of Mr. Blunt, that no money or intereſt will induce him to give his vote from his friend.

But you're damnably miſtaken.

And I flatter myſelf, my good man, that I have always lived in ſuch repute as to have the voice of every one in this place, and, among the reſt, that of yours.

Adod!—That's flattery, with a vengeance!—

But come, my friend, drink t'other glaſs.

Here's proſperity to this place!—

I don't know.... You called on my wife, ſhe tells me.

About two hours ago, and was pleaſed to ſee her look ſo well.

Yes!—

And I told her, Mrs. Artful takes it ill, ſhe does not come and ſee her.

May hap ſo —

Ay,—you was civil to her?—you ſay?—

I am always glad to ſee my friends.

So I ſuppoſe... Didn't you kiſs her?—

I did teſtify my joy in ſeeing her by a ſalute.

Then you might have teſtified your joy (as you call it) in ſeeing me the ſame way.

Gad ſo, where were my thoughts.

I aſſure you, my good friend, I am hear⯑tily glad to ſee you.

Ay,—well—

Now you may teſtify your joy to my Breech, for to be plain with you, I have promiſed Sir Harry my vote and [30]intereſt, and he has it, if I can crawl to town; ſo Mr. Artful, your ſervant.

Unparallelled impudence!

Didn't I tell your honour, as how he was a ſur⯑ly chap?

Surly chap!—I never met with ſo much inſo⯑lence in my life. I was very civil to him, why ſhould he affront me? had he told me at firſt he was engaged, I ſhould'n't have been diſpleaſed; but, I'll think no more on't, it vexes me; be ſo good, Landlord, as to bring my horſe to the door.

Yeas, your honour.

A raſcal!—I'd have horſe-whipped him, if it hadn't been at this time. Drinks my liquor!— votes againſt me!—takes my money!—laughs in my face, and bids me kiſs his breech! very frank indeed!—but as I often ſay, He that plays at bowls, muſt expect ſome rubs.

SCENE I.

The continual noiſe and hurry in this houſe, ever ſince my maſter has opened his doors, has almoſt made me diſtracted. There's nothing done but running backwards and forwards, all day long. I never ſaw ſo much eating and drinking in any houſe, ſince I've been a ſervant. Guttle, guttle, guttle; and then as to liquor, .... in my mind, as faſt as they pour it in, it runs out... I do believe John hasn't emptied our large pewter jordan leſs than twenty times this morning!—

A letter from Mr. Trueman, Miſs.

Is any one waiting?

The man that brought it ſaid, it did not require an anſwer.

'Tis only to tell me, he'll take the firſt oppor⯑tunity of ſeeing me to-morrow, after the election is over.—I hope Simple will loſe it, both for my ſake, and the ſake of this poor county; for ſuch a repreſentative he'd make, as was never ſeen be⯑fore.

Pray fortune he may!—tho' he could ſay, aye— or—no;—as well as the beſt; and few of them ever ſay more.—Heaven's be praiſed, this is the laſt day! for I am ſure the houſe has been topſy turvy for this week paſt.

Where's my pappa?

Making a beaſt of himſelf, with the bears, in the great room.

I peeped in as I paſſed the door, but could hardly ſee any thing for ſmoke.—Has Sir Harry been here to-day?

I fancy not, or the whole neighbourhood muſt have known it, they'd have roared ſo loud.

Should he come and enquire for me, ſay I'm gone out, for I'm determined not to ſee the fool.

D'ye hear the brutes?—They're drinking now, confuſion to the Scotch, or ſome ſuch nonſenſe.

Let's get out of the hearing of it, for it lowers my ſpirits.

Away, away, there's another ſtorm.

SCENE II. opens, and diſcovers Mr. WEAL⯑THY, and a number of Freeholders at a table, eat⯑ing and drinking, a collation being ſpread, with pipes, &c.

Pray gentleman be free.—There's a cold paſ⯑ty; I have not taſted it, but believe 'tis very good.

Faith, Jan, my chops water at yon pudden.

An' I have a duced inclination to taſte thoſe red things.

Do then ... here.

Zookers, 'tis rare good: I'll carry this whame to Nell.

Suppoſe we have a ſong?

A ſong, a ſong.

Oh, here are the cockades.—Come, gentle⯑men, put them into your hats. Here, give me your hat.

there, Sir,

I enliſt you under my friend Sir Harry Simple's banner.

Hah?—Liſt me!—No, by George—

—Not ſo faſt.—I didn't [34]come here to be liſted.—

If that's the caſe, Sir Harry may go to the devil for me.—It coſt me three pound the other day to get off the mili⯑tia, and I ſhan't go for a ſoldier now.

Ha, ha, ha.—Sha,—you fool, what are you about? Put it in again—I don't enliſt you for a ſoldier, only to follow Sir Harry, to-morrow morning in triumph.

If that be all—I thought you mought have been going to liſt me in right earneſt.

That would ha' been a pretty joke —

We have been impatient, Sir Harry, for your coming; you ſee how I have been labouring for you; if the reſt of your friends work as hard, we ſhall make a pretty ſhew to-morrow morning.

I hope we ſhall; but muſt confeſs you will ex⯑ceed us all.

Indeed, my good Sir, I am greatly indebted to you.

Help, Sir Harry to a glaſs of wine.

Silence, ſilence.

Gentlemen, hem .... Gentlemen,—I think myſelf greatly happy ... honoured I would have ſaid. Hem .... I ſay, gentlemen, I think my⯑ſelf greatly honoured, in this numberous ... nu⯑merous appearance of friends, in my intereſt. Though I'm a ſtranger in this county; that is, I mean, not born in it, for to be ſure, I have been often in all parts of it, tho' I'm a ſtranger, I beg leave to ſay, I have it as much at heart as any repreſentative you ever had,

and that God knows is very little, and will be bold to af⯑firm, aver and declare, that if I am ſo happy, ſo highly honoured as to be choſe, I'll do you as much ſervice as I can ... as I can . hem ... and, be aſſured, gentlemen, that while I have life and ſpirits, I will oppoſe every thing in the Houſe, that every individual ſhall diſlike; your cauſe, ſhall be my cauſe, your proſperity, my proſperity.

Give me leave, then to drink to your good healths. Gentlemen, I have the honour to drink proſperity to you all, and this county in particular.

Huzza,—huzza,—huzza.

I can aſſure you, Sir Harry, every man here is as much your friend, as I am. Come, gentle⯑men, let us fill a bumper to our worthy friend.

Sir Harry Simple for ever.

Sir Harry Simple for ever

Huzza.

Again.

Huzza.

Once more.

Huzza.

Huzza. I wiſh, with all my ſoul, I was a few years younger, I'd drink and hollow till to-mor⯑row this time.

You do excellently well as 'tis.

If it's agreeable to you, Sir Harry, we'll adjourn.

Pray, gentlemen, be free; I'll be with you again ſhortly.

Huzza.

SCENE III.

Blunt by name,—Blunt by nature!—I never heard of ſo much impudence before!—Sure there muſt be ſomething infatuating in the Houſe of Com⯑mons, or gentlemen, would not take ſo much pains, and degrade themſelves as they do, to ob⯑tain a ſeat there.

You ſhall know the ſweets of it, when once 'tis in my power to inform you.

Sooner than I'd take this trouble for myſelf, I'd forego the honour of ſitting there to all eternity.

Then, Trueman, I'm the more obliged to you.

Honour did I call it?—It was an honour once, when honeſty and patriotiſm were the reigning principles; but, now, ſince venality has found a way into the breaſt, and tainted that integrity our fathers gloried in,—Honour is become a phantom, and patriotiſm little better than a ſhadow.

Let us not deſpair, but hope to ſee thoſe days again. You're glad, I preſume your work is done?

In very truth, I am. None but he who has ex⯑perienced it, can tell the fatigue and trouble that attends it—Up night and day for weeks together, fawning on, kiſſing and flattering the women all day, ſmoking, boozing, and licking the very ſpit⯑tle of the men, all night.

'Twould be well enough at particular times, and with particular perſons, but, to be obliged to do it with all ranks and degrees of people, and ſo long together; Taylors, Barbers, Shoemakers, Tinkers and Blackſmiths; and to be forced to be obſequious to thoſe, whom you hate the ſight of. ... Faith, Trueman, I'm aſhamed of it.—

The times, my friend, the times are ſuch,— there's no getting into the houſe without it?

What's the place of our rendezvous?

Ivy Common. As we're to be upon the huſtings by twelve, 'tis neceſſary we ſhould repair thither immediately, for the clock has ſtruck nine.

I received a card yeſterday from the mayor (no doubt Simple had the ſame) deſiring us to enter into town on foot, leſt any accident ſhould happen from the horſes.

No bad precaution that, I thought of it myſelf.

Are there houſes enough of entertainment open?

That we might err on the right ſide, I have juſt opened the Bell. I ought to have done it ſooner, for it has put the landlord into a confounded buſ⯑tle. How did you ſucceed in your canvaſs, with the clergy?

They, at preſent, declare themſelves neuter, however, I doubt not but at dinner time, I ſhall have the greateſt ſhew of them, for I have ſent in a pair of bucks, and have ordered my table to be ſerved with French wines; whereas, I hear Sir Harry's is ſerved up cold.

There's many at the Bull I'm told, already; funking one another with tobacco, even before dinner. They're in reſerve, I preſume, in caſe of tight work.

There's a number of gentlemen on horſeback at the door, waiting your coming, Sir.

Well,—bring our horſes to the fore-gate.

Now to the field.

SCENE IV.

A number of ſigns are ſeen with boards hanging to the bottom of them, on ſome is written ARTFUL, on ſome SIMPLE, intimating, in whoſe intereſt each houſe is open.

Various people croſs the ſtage, ſome ſick, ſome lame, ſome blind, going as to the poll, among theſe is a Puritan accompanied by his wife, and two Emiſſaries of different parties diſtributing hills, &c.

Who do you vote for, friend?

My conſcience bids me poll for the Squire, but my wiſe ſays, I muſtn't... I don't know what to do.

For Sir Harry, to be ſure ... If you'd do your country any ſervice, give your vote to Sir Harry. He expects you to dinner at the George ... Here's a bill of the houſe.

I never takes no bribes; ... my conſcience won't let me.

Plague o' your conſcience!—ſo much fuſs about a trumpery thing!—Will conſcience buy you a dinner? take it, there's gold in it.

So much the worſe, wife, ſo much the worſe .... Satan wrapt up in it!—avaunt, tempter, avaunt.—

You ſhould gild your conſcience as the doctors do their pills, to make 'em go down.

Take it I ſay, Will, this minute, or—you ſhall never hear the laſt on't ...

you are very good, Sir, I'll take it for'n, and make him vote for Sir Harry

You fooliſh blockhead,—you refus'd it ſo often, I thought we ſhould ha' loſt it.—Now, you may vote according to your Conſcience.

Mind wife, it was not I that took it, it was not I that took it.

Shall I ſhew you to the Crown and thiſtle;

Pox o' your Crown and thiſtle; ... I'm not for the court.... Liberty and property for ever! —Damme.

Your vote is deſired for Squire Artful, and your company requeſted at the Bell.

The George is the beſt houſe;—your friends are at the George...

Which of you two, am I to believe?

Whoſe intereſt are you in?

My own.

Well ſaid, countryman; then you'll dine with Sir Harry; every man that ſtudies his own intereſt, gives his vote to Sir Harry.

I ar'n't right ſure of that. Where's the beſt living?

At the Bell, beſides,

Sir Harry's a courtier;—the Squire is not.

Sir Harry will give you a guinea every child you have.

The Squire will ſtand for 'em.

He'll lower the taxes.

He hates the Scotch.

Sir Harry for ever, Sir Harry Simple for ever, huzza, huzza.

Pray, gentlemen, make way there.

Sir Harry for ever, huzza.

Wouns, he's main foinly dreſſed.

Did you obſarve, Jan; how mannerly he was?

Yeas, moſt tediouſly ſo; I warnt you he took us all for his friends.

'Tis aal pocriſy, like our farmers, when land⯑lord comes, they're cap in hand; but as ſoon as his back is turned, he may go to the devil for what they care.

Stand out of the way,—here comes the Squoire's party.

No Simple's, no Simple's, Artful for ever, huzza, huzza.

By your leave, gentlemen.

Liberty, property, and no exciſe!—Huzza.

Nicodemus!—Nicode—mus!

Here, here—

More rum and tobacco for the clergy.—

Coming, com-ing.

SCENE V.

I'm all upon the fidgets to know how this mat⯑ter goes; Mr. Wealthy had my particular orders to diſpatch a meſſenger every ten minutes. Betty— [calls] why, Betty.—

Lord, how quiet the houſe is, ſince thoſe bears have left it; I can hardly here my Miſtreſs now.

Betty.

Madam.

Is there no expreſs arriv'd?—No account from the huſtings?

None that I know of, Ma'am.—I hear Sir Harry will loſe it.

Peace baggage;—better you loſe your tongue firſt.

A neighbour paſſed the door this inſtant, and told me ſquire Artful had it five to three.

'Tis impoſſible, varlet.—And, yet I fear there's ſomething in it, as no body's been here.

Oh, 'tis certainly ſo.

Run to the door, and ſee if any one's coming.

Mercy, how ſtill the houſe is! I hardly know where I am.

Maria, is it not very unaccountable that your father ſhould ſend no kind of word?

Perhaps it goes hard againſt Sir Harry, and my Papa waits till the poll takes a better turn.

Tell me not of better or worſe; I believe in my heart, if he does not carry it I ſhall go diſtracted.

I'm ſorry, mamma, to ſee you ſo much con⯑cerned about it; what advantage will it be to you if he is returned?

How can you aſk that nonſenſical queſtion?— Will it be no advantage to have the diſpoſal of [45]many places about the Court? Will it be no ad⯑vantage to be importuned for our intereſt? Will it be no advantage to have one's daughter the wife of a member of parliament?—

Mamma, you quite aſtoniſh me; do you think....

If he does not gain it, I'll have nothing to ſay to him;—you ſhan't have him, let Mr. Wealthy ſay what he will.

With reſpect to that, you may be perfectly eaſy; for I would not be the wife of ſo illiterate a fop, was he poſſeſſed of the firſt ſeat in the Houſe of Lords.

You're thinking of that low bred fellow, True⯑man, now.

Mr. Trueman is a gentleman, a man of ſome honour, and had he ſtood for the county, would have carried it in ſpite of fate, but Sir Harry is ſuch an ignorant coxcomb, that had he ſpent ten times the ſum he has, I'm perſuaded it muſt have been to little purpoſe...I fear you have only diſ⯑graced yourſelves in eſpouſing his cauſe.

Girl ceaſe your impertinence.

If you and my pappa are determined your ſon⯑in-law ſhall be a knight of the ſhire, you need only conſent to my marriage with Mr. Trueman, ſupport him as heartily as you have done Sir Har⯑ry, and I'll be bound you'll ſucceed.

How's that, Maria?

I ſay, mamma; as I am an only child, and my pappa does not want for money, let him conſent to my marrying Mr. Trueman, put him up for the county the next vacancy; ſupport him as he has done Sir Harry, and there's no doubt he'll carry it; for in his canvaſs for Mr. Artful, he has won the hearts of all the people.

She talks a little reaſonable.—But it muſt not be.... Sir Harry cannot loſe it... Run to the upper windows, and ſee if any of our fellows are coming. That wench ſtays an age, I'll go out into the road myſelf.

Good fortune be my friend, and I may be bleſſed at laſt!—

SCENE VI.

Artful for ever. Artful for ever. Huzza, huzza.

SCENE VII.

You need not tell us, you need not tell us; ill news flies apace; we've heard it all.

To be ſo widely thrown out!—I never was more out in my calculations in my life.

Some of 'em ſurely muſt have turned tail, or, Artful could never have carried it two to one.

Trueman was the means of his ſucceeding; had he oppoſed 'em, he'd have thrown 'em both.

Juſt as I ſaid, mamma.

Said,—you fool?—I hav'n'r patience... Where's Sir Harry?

There, I ſuppoſe.—I left him among 'em.— We made a pretty appearance too—but—Fortune was perverſe!

Here's a man deſires to ſee you, Sir, he's brought a letter.

Bid him come in.

Who can this be from?—

What could poſſeſs Mr. Trueman to come here at this unſeaſonable time!

It's from Sir Harry,—there,—he's ruined, and charges me with his undoing; he ſays, he was obliged to borrow a large ſum on account of this election, that he depended on ſucceſs, and thought to have repaid it, with my daughter's fortune; that he has been betrayed by Quirk and Crafty, that bonds he's given, are put in execution againſt him, that he has not a farthing left, has therefore gone out of the way, and ſays nothing can re⯑trieve him but an alliance with my family—a mighty pretty ſcoundrel!—This, wife, is your do⯑ing.—

My doing, Mr. Wealthy? You know as how we thought he was a man of fortune, or, I never ſhould have conſented to his marrying my daugh⯑ter.

'Tis well, pappa, 'tis no worſe; I am deliver⯑ed from a bad huſband, and you freed from a wicked villain.

I queſtion whether the ſcoundrel's a Baronet.

If report ſpeaks true, he's all that's bad. Ma⯑ny an honeſt man in town will be a loſer by him; the publican's bills, I fear, will come ſhort of payment.—

'Tis an ill wind that blows no body good.

All the praiſes of the day, have been in favour of that Trueman; had I ſtirred as much for him, [49]as I've done for t'other, we ſhould not have ſet down under this diſgrace.

You may do that next time, for your daugh⯑ter's determined to have him, and I'm reſolved my ſon-in-law ſhall be in parliament.

Indeed, pappa, Mr. Trueman is poſſeſſed of ſuch good qualities as do honour to the gentle⯑man; tho' he is not ſo rich as ſome, you are ſen⯑ſible a fortune with us is not ſo great an object of attention, as honour and honeſty.

All that without book, huzzy?—

Beſides, Sir, my future happineſs is wrapt up in him, and, I have always had reaſon to believe you wiſh for nothing more, than to ſee your only child ſettled happily in the world.

I have given my conſent to the match, ever ſince I heard of Artful's being returned; and would have you do ſo too; —

beſides I would do it purely to be revenged of Simple— c [...]ing us with his ruin!—a paltry fellow!—

Well, I'll hear what he has to ſay, one of theſe days.

Then, let that day be now.—See, Sir, before you, that Trueman you have been pleaſed to think ſo favourably of, and ſuffer him to ſay, that if he could obtain your conſent

to marry miſs Maria, the daily ſtudy of his life, ſhould be to make her happy, and repay your kindneſs with filial gratitude.

How's all this?—

Meeting with the man appointed to deliver that letter, and deſiring to ſee the object of my love, I procured this upper habit at the expence of a crown, promiſing to deliver it for him.—He is waiting at the next public houſe for an anſwer.

We'll ſend him an anſwer, preſently.

That man muſt be an unaccountable being, that does not reſpect one, of whom the whole country ſpeaks ſo well. Let us then repair a broken alliance, which muſt have been dreadful in its conſequences, by that of one, which bodes a deal of good. Take my girl

with all a father's wiſhes; make her a good huſband, and teach the world, that honeſty is the beſt policy, and that 'tis more no⯑ble to eſpouſe integrity, than to ſtand forth in the cauſe of iniquity.