SCENE I. Diſcovers Three Witches.

Ah! the Ghoſt of Vinegar! my Soul turns ſow'r within me—'tis gone—now I am an Hercules again. A Second! Trotplaid! ah! ſhake not thy goary Locks at me, thou wert a Jacobite—A Third and like the former—Filthy Hags—why do you ſhew me this?—Ano⯑ther! I'll ſee no more.

SCENE II. A Coffee-Houſe, Covent-Garden.

Antony—Antony—ſit down and read the News papers—Boy, what are you gaping at? —Why the Lad's a Nizey I think—what do you ſtare at?

Father, Father, do but look at that fine Gentleman there, all over Silver amoſt—why he's as fine again as I am—I warrant his Father muſt be a Lord.

A Lord! Antony—no—no; may be not a Parliament Man.

No! why you told me Father, when you gi'n me a new Coat at your Election, that I was as fine as any Parliament Man's Son in the Na⯑tion.

Ay! ay!—well, well he may be a Lord's Son then, for aught I know;—or a Lord's Baſtard may be—who knows?

Ho! ho! who? So may I Father, I may be a Lord's Baſtard too, for aught I know— neither you nor I know that, you know. Ha! ha! ha!

What do you make of your Mother then, you Dog, ha!

O Lord! O Lord! O Lord!

What's the Matter, Gentlemen? What's the Matter?—Ha! Sir Nackadil Trunnion! I am very glad to ſee you.

I don't recollect, Sir, that—

What have you forgot your Nephew— my Name is Bullyboy—I am the youngeſt Son of the Family of the Bloods.

God ſo—I beg your Pardon Kinſ⯑man —I had indeed almoſt forgot you—you are grown almoſt out of Knowlege ſince you came down to Tumbledown-hall—about five years ago, you was not much higher than this. I think —Humph—quite a Man! tho' I heard as much from your Mother—well I am very glad to ſee you—here Antony—this, Sir, is my Son Antony—come hold up your Head, and let's have none of your Snuffling—why how you ſtand ſucking your Orange, as if you were going to be hang'd.

Sir, your humble Servant, I am very proud to ſee you.

Your Servant, Sir—I don't care how proud you are, not I.

Ay Sir, this Son Sir, I intend to make a great Man—I have brought him up to Lon⯑don with me for that Purpoſe.—You heard I [11] ſuppoſe, I was choſen Member for our Borough, and that obliges me you know to attend the Par⯑liament.

Undoubtedly, Sir.

Now Sir, as hereafter, as things may happen and turn out, if ſo be, I ſhould come to be at the Head of Affairs; I ſhall want, you know, a good clever Fellow, with a ready Wit, to write your—what do ye call 'em, Pamphlets and News-papers on my Side, when I want to carry a Point you know.—I am told your great Men have them always in Pay.—Now if I could bring my Son Antony to this, I could truſt him better than any body elſe you know, and he might ſave me Money too.

Right, Sir,

I wont do't.

You wont, Sirrah?

No, I wont.

Not aſſiſt your Father, Sirrah!—why wont you?

'Cauſe I, wont.

Oh Sir! but it is your Duty.

What did he beat me for then?

You muſt have offended him, I ſuppoſe very groſsly.

Not I—I only ſaid I might be a Lord's Baſtard for what I knew.—What Harm was [12] there in that you know, when he ſaid the ſame of you juſt before?

Of me Sir!

As I did not then know you, Nephew, you know—

O Lord Sir! I am not at all offended!

Well then, why ſhould Father be of⯑fended?

Very true.

Well then—Humph.

I'll tell you Sir Nackadil—my Couſin Antony has the Seeds of ready Wit in his Nature, and only wants a little good Inſtruction to fit him for the Taſk you intend him;—if you'll leave him to me, I'll en⯑gage myſelf to give you a good Account of him: —We have Academies here in Town, where he may learn to be a Wit, a Writer, and a Poli⯑tician in a few Hours.

Indeed! well, I am glad to hear that, and as you are ſo happily related to him, I am ſatisfied you will uſe your utmoſt Endeavours for his Improvement.—Antony!

Well, what do you ſay?

Come, be a good Boy, Sirrah, for the Future; I'll forgive you.

With all my Heart, forget and forgive I ſay;—I never lov'd to bear Malice in my Life.

[13]to Bul. Well Sir, I'll leave him entirely to your Experience, and ſhall be glad if you'll accompany him to my Lodgings;—Antony will give you Directions.—Antony, I ſhall leave you to keep your Couſin Company.

Couſin!—what are you my Couſin?

Ay—my Heart.

Cod, I took you to be ſome young Lord, you are ſo woundy fine.

O Couſin Antony, if you ſtay in Town and keep Company with us Bloods, you muſt leave off that Suit, and loſe theſe lanky Locks of yours.

Bloods! Couſin, why what are they? Bloods! Bloods!

Why Sir, I have the Honour to be a Blood.

O Cod! I ſhould like to be ſuch another as you very well;—why you look amoſt as well again as I do—tho', tho'f I ſay't, I'm a clever Fellow in the Main too.

Oh! a very clever Fellow, and will be much cleverer if you'll be rul'd by me.

Gauſh, I'll do any Thing you bid me.

Well then, you ſhall be a Blood:—In the firſt Place then, you muſt learn to hate that dry old Dog, that left us juſt now.

What Father! Oh Cod! I learned that a good while ago.

And then you muſt laugh at all he ſays to you.

O gauſh! but he'll break my Head for that tho'.

Pho! pho! you muſt not mind that,— if he does, you muſt laugh at him again.

So I will, now I think on't, or ſuppoſe I break his Head too: Ha!—hang me if I don't think I could beat him.

Bravo! that will do.—And then you muſt be witty upon ev'ry body.

What, cut Jokes upon 'em, ha!—oh! I am a Dab at that.

Ay Sir, but your Country Jokes are no⯑thing, —you muſt be witty the right Way, or elſe you're Nobody;—you muſt learn to bully, pull People by the Noſe, trip up their Heels, break their Heads, and ſo forth.

Ay, but then they muſt not be ſo big as I.

No, no, you muſt always take Care of that—but you may hum any body ſafely.

Hum—ah! pray what's that?

Why; ſuppoſe now I was to meet your Father:—I go up to him, and, with a very ſerious Countenance, ſay, Lord Sir, I wonder you can ſeem ſo unconcern'd, —do you know that your Son Antony is juſt now drop'd down dead in [15] an Apoplectick Fit?—Upon my Honour 'tis true. —So, putting him into the utmoſt Conſter⯑nation, go away, and laugh at the old Dog.

Cod, this is good Fun enough, and then he'd run home frighted out of his Wits, and find it all a Joke:—Ha! ha! gauſh I like that. —And will this make me a Blood?

O Lord Sir, no! theſe are but half the Qualifications. You muſt learn Humour—

O Sir, I am of a very good Humour al⯑ready.

Oh! that you muſt break yourſelf of— and learn to box, talk Baudy, roar and look big.

Oh! I can roar and look big—you ſhall ſee now.

O Lord Sir! that will never do—This Sir, is the way.

O Lord! O Lord!

And then to be truly humorous, you muſt ſteal Trinkets and Pocket-books from the Ladies, which you are to keep for the Jeſt's ſake;— then Sir, you are to bilk Taverns, —tumble the Waiters down Stairs, —break all the Glaſſes in your Way, —ſally into the Street, —take all the young Women you meet for Whores, and kick the old ones into the Ken⯑nel, —knock down the Watch, —lie all Night in Covent-garden Round-houſe, —be carried before the Juſtice, where you have nothing to [16] do but to prove your Father a Gentleman, and the old Dog his Worſhip will ſtand by you in abuſing all the World.—This, my Boy, is true Humour.—You muſt alſo be a Critic.

A Critic! ha! that's ſomething harder ſtill—is'nt.

No Sir, nothing eaſier—you can read, I ſuppoſe.

O yes, I can read.

Ay, well, but that's not very material,— if you can do any thing more than tell your Let⯑ters it will be ſufficient.

My Letters! oh! I could tell my Letters at 4 Years old.

That's more than ſome Critics can do at thirty.

And then I can write very well, and talk Latin:—Quid agis? What are you doing?— Repeto mecum, I am repeating by myſelf. Quid repetis.

Faith, my Boy, you are a better Scholar than half the Critics at Sam's, George's; or the Bedford.—But this is not much to the Pur⯑poſe, Sir, you may criticiſe upon Authors very well, without ever reading, or even being able to read, them at all.

Ah! like enough, —criticiſe, —ah.

Ay, that's no more than this, Sir, —you muſt affect to have read every thing.—Then [17] you muſt frequent all the Coffee-houſes where Wit is pretended to; and whenever a Performance is mention'd you muſt ſtand thus, and cry with an Air of Diſdain;— Oh Sir, Stuff Sir, Damnation Stuff Sir, ſtupid Stuff by G—d, —the Author's an Aſs, damme.

Ah!

And then at the Appearance of a new Piece upon the Stage, you are to go, becauſe ev'ry body does—Before the Curtain riſes, you put the Houſe in a Riot, and afterwards you muſt groan and cry Augh, off, no more, no more, Damnation low!—Oh, and then Sir, you muſt whip ſuch a Machine as this out of your Pocket, and—

Ho! ho! ho! well, that's well enough, —let me try.—Damnation low!—

Goles, I believe I ſhall ſoon learn,— Well, and will this make me a Blood like you, ha!

This is all the Inſtruction you will re⯑quire, the reſt will come eaſily of itſelf.

Will it?—Then I'll be a Blood, damme.

Well, you'll remember what I have told you, and I'll ſee you again in the Afternoon.— Here's an Acquaintance of mine coming, that I ſhall want to talk with.

Well, well, I won't tell any body what you ſay.

No Sir, you muſt leave me.

[18]But I'll keep this.

Ay, ay, take it with you to practice.

So I will.—Damnation low.

Ha! ha! ha! high Humbug! ha! ha! ha!

Sir, a Porter has brought this for your Honour.

A Letter from Jack Riot?

Have among you, my Boys.

SCENE III. Doctor Mountain, reading a Paper.

SCENE IV. The Brazen Heap.
A Specimen of TRUE ORATORY.

Old Women the Peſts of the Creation—what conſtitutes them? Ignorance and a College Edu⯑cation —Univerſity itſelf an old Woman — Want of Impudence want of Senſe— no Man beſide myſelf e'er dar'd to ſay ſo—Nonſenſe —Puns—Quibbles—Conundrums —Smart Sayings—St. Paul's Church-yard and, Grub-ſtreet, the ſame Place—Puffs— Horſes, the Conſumers of Oats, gone to draw the Aſſes to Mother Midnight's Oratory—long Ears beſt to taſte the Muſic of the Salt-box— In my humble Opinion they are got on the wrong Side of the Poſt there—Mary Midnight not herſelf—See the Old Woman's Dunciad—what [23] ſignifies her pretending to ſtand up for her own Exiſtence? She don't exiſt at all—I can prove it.—

Roxana Termagant, an old Apple Woman, who is ſhe? Who's afraid? Not I—I don't ſcreen myſelf under Petticoats—none but Fools and Villains oppoſe Juſtice.—Who's a Fa⯑vourite at Court?—I am—they can't per⯑ſuade me to be a Biſhop for all that—Subſidies ſubſide—Who's King then?—I ſhall write my own Memoirs ſoon—or ſet up a Daily⯑paper —the Clare-market Journal—who'll ſmoke then?—Proteſtants—who?—Pope a Pop—who ſays ſo?—No honeſt Man— I am an honeſt Man—Nobody'l deny that— whoever could prove me a Rogue?

It is neceſſary Women ſhould have maſculine Epithets when Men creep into Petticoats—why ſhould not a Woman be call'd a Rogue, Raſcal, Scoundrel, Villain—no Proof to the contrary— Sauce for Gooſe Sauce for a Gander—I ſay it— prove it—New Aſtronomy, no Aſtronomy; Greſham College an Old Woman—Man in the Moon ſet up there by Moſes. Moſes a much greater Man than Sir Iſaac Newton—a Comet, what?— Neither a Catherine Pear nor a Cheſhire Cheeſe.

Mother Midnight made Uſe of unfair Weapons —Salt-boxes! why does a Salt-box make her a better Man? Why I can get five Salt-boxes, and [24] then I am five times as good as ſhe—Solo on a Broom-ſtick—did you ever hear a Dog ſing— Signor Canini from Bologna—come forth—now truſt your Ears—

There's the maſterly—the grand Coup— the ev'ry Thing— Muſic itſelf no more than Sound, Sound no more than Noiſe—I myſelf a good Muſician—perhaps a little harſh to old Women or ſo—but come—Signor Canini renew the Strain—

—Conviction! now who's Conqueror? Epa⯑minondas a great Man—I much like him —have been up long enough ſince I go down unconquer'd.—

SCENE V.

Well, Sir, and what Buſineſs do you Follow? Your Name is File you ſay—do you never attend the Play-houſe Door, to ſee the Com⯑pany ſafe out?

No Sir.

I believe, Fellow, you don't ſtrictly confine yourſelf to Truth—did you never ſee my Face before?

No Sir—nor do I ever deſire to ſee it again.

What's that you mutter about?— Who has any Thing to lay to the Charge of this Man?

I, Sir—he aſſaulted and robbed me, as my Servants can witneſs.

Your Servants! Man—why, who are you, Fellow?

Sir.

Sir, I ſay, Man—Fellow—who are you?

I am call'd Mountain, Sir.

Mountain! alias Dunghill, ay—ay I know you—the vileſt Fellow that ever wore a [26] Head.—Well, and you have been robb'd, you ſay, by this Fellow:—Very well, I have done with you, —you may go down—Man— you are not to go away—do ye mind?—You ſhall be bound to proſecute, and if you ſtir out of the Houſe I ſhall ſend a Warrant after you—Ay, for all you look ſo, —you're a Gentleman, and as ſuch I uſe you.—

Inſolent Raſcal!

To File—ſtand you aſide, Fellow— I ſhall talk to you preſently.—

Well, Miſtreſs, who are you? What have you to ſay?

My Name is Brindle, if it pleaſe your Worſhip, —this young Gentleman here is a vile Fellow, and laſt Night broke into my Bed-chamber and raviſh'd me, without giving me any thing for it;—which your Worſhip knows is a cruel Thing—when I have kept Houſe in the Pariſh and paid Taxes this two Years— under your Worſhip's Protection and Favour.— But theſe young Fellows think they may do any Thing with any body, becauſe, as how, we are civil and obliging to our Cuſtomers, and all that, if it pleaſe your Worſhip.—So therefore, I beg your Worſhip will make out a Mittimus and ſend him to Newgate, and have him ſcragg'd;— for indeed 'twas a Rape, if it pleaſe your Wor⯑ſhip, [27] and he ought to be hang'd as much as Penlez or Maclaine.

It is very well, Madam, we are acquain⯑ted with you, and conſequently know you to be a creditable Woman—you ſhall have Juſtice done you.—Well, Sir, what do you ſay to this?

Damme Sir!—a Bitch of Bitches— damn my Blood!

That, Sir, is nothing at all to the Pur⯑poſe.

I very ſeldom do talk to the Purpoſe, Sir — does your Worſhip always do that? That, Sir, is a damnation Failing of mine.

Sir, I ſhall make you ſpeak to the Pur⯑poſe.

Will you by the Lord? Then you'll make me do more than body elſe can.

Sir, do you know that I am a Juſtice of Peace?

Not I Sir, but I judge ſo by your Stu⯑pidity and Inſolence.

Dare you affront a Magiſtrate, Sir, in his Office? Do you know, Sir, that I ſhall ſend you to the Gatehouſe?

Not I—damn my Blood! if I know any ſuch thing.

Do you know, Sir, that it is in my Power to commit you to Newgate?

[28]Nay—nay, none of your Hum, my dear Barriſter—but diſmiſs me—I muſt go to the Bedford—damme!

This muſt be ſome young Fellow of Quality by his Impudence; I muſt take Care how I act with him.—I'll try him a little further however—[Aſide] Do you know, Sir, the Con⯑ſequence of a Rape?

The Conſequence of a Rape, old Boy! —a Baſtard, a Baſtard, or two at moſt— but there's no Danger with Peg there; ſhe'll breed nothing but the Conſumption of Mer⯑cury.

Indeed, if it pleaſe your Worſhip, I am as honeſt a Woman, in my Way, as ever broke Bread.

Only in a damn'd bad Way, Peg— I'll tell you, Bobadil—your Worſhip would do well by putting her in a better, by ſending her to Bridewell, damme!

It muſt be ſo—he's ſome Spawn of Quality—Pray, Sir, may I have the Ho⯑nour to know who you are?

As you begin to grow a little civil and intelligible, I'll tell you, Sir—I have the Ho⯑nour to be Son and Heir to Lord Riot.

Lord Riot! let me ſee—whereabouts doth he lie?—In or out—Riot—Riot— out—ay; but then he's Brother to Bacon Hope [29] that married Viſcount Dangle's Neice, who was Siſter to Viſcount Favour, that married the Earl of Place's Daughter, who is Son to his Grace of Promiſe; and ſo it is poſſible I may offend ſome⯑where, —[Aſide.] Though I have not the Ho⯑nour to know you, Sir, I ſhall nevertheleſs be⯑have in this Affair according to Juſtice—Do you know, Miſtreſs, the Conſequence of bringing ſuch a Charge as you were going, againſt the noble Gentleman?

Indeed, if it pleaſe your Worſhip, he did—

No—Woman, he did not.

I'll take my Oath.

Ha! Woman—do you contradict me? How do you ſay it was?

—Why—if it pleaſe your Wor⯑ſhip —I goes up Stairs—

How, Woman! I GOES up Stairs— falſe Engliſh, Woman, falſe Engliſh, and conſe⯑quently what you ſay muſt be falſe—your Mittimus ſhall be made out immediately.

No—no—damn the Bitch, I have abus'd her, let her go about her Buſineſs.

If 'twill oblige your Lordſhip that ſhe be diſmiſs'd—or elſe it is proper theſe Peo⯑ple be made Examples for the Good of Community— Woman, I believe you are a ſad Creature; but as I have a great deal of the Milk of Human Kind⯑neſs [30] in my Nature; and am in Hopes you will amend, you may go.—I am very ſorry I have given your Lordſhip ſo much Trouble; your Lordſhip is at Liberty whenever your Lordſhip pleaſes.

Servile Dog! Ha! ha! ha!

Hold, Sir, a Moment, perhaps I have not ſuch a Veneration for your Quality as his Worſhip; therefore I ſhall charge Mr. Conſtable with you for the Inſult you put on me laſt Night in your Way to the Round-houſe, and expect you find Bail, before his Worſhip, to anſwer me in a proper Place—I attended you here this Morn⯑ing for that very Purpoſe.

Why, faith, thou art a very comical old Fellow, damme—Do you know now I don't remember I ever ſaw your Face before?

That may be, Sir—I muſt aſſiſt your Memory then.

Why thou art an odd Bitch—what ſhall I ſay to this Fellow, Bobadil?

Oh! I'll deal with him for your Lord⯑ſhip preſently—pray, Sir, who are you? What are you? Whence do ye come? As the Man can give no Account of himſelf, I ſhall ſend him to the Gatehouſe, my Lord.

Me to the Gatehouſe, Mr. Juſtice! do you know, Sir, that I am in the Commiſſion of the Peace, and of the Quorum! and that I am Repreſentative in Parliament?

[31]How!

For the Borough of Muddletown.

I had like to have gone too far here.

Send Sir Nackadil Trunnion to the Gatehouſe, indeed!

I beg Sir Nackadil Trunnion's Pardon in the moſt ſubmiſſive Manner, but I hope a Miſtake, ariſing from the many Deceptions People of the poorer, and conſequently of the viler, Claſs put on us, will find an Excuſe—And I hope alſo, the Error his Lordſhip might poſſibly, unknow⯑ingly, and I am confident unwillingly, committed, is not of ſuch a Nature in itſelf, as to make either of you ſlight a Reconciliation. As nothing is more conducive to the Promotion of Juſtice and the Good of Community, than the perfect Amity of People of Power and Fortune, and which it is neceſſary they ſhould preſerve, in order that the lower Part of Mankind ſhould meet with the Pu⯑niſhment due to their Offences—if you will do me the Honour, with his Lordſhip, to ſtep into the next Room, a Moment, I will attempt to clear up this Affair, in which I am ſure, as you are Men of Fortune, there is not, on either Side, any thing contrary to the niceſt Points of Honour, Juſtice and Good-manners.

As you are ſo perfectly obliging, Sir, and ſeem to come to a right Underſtanding [32] of Things, I will hear what you have to ſay to't.

A dry troubleſome old Bitch, this!— I believe I had better make it up with him, damn my Blood!—

SCENE VI.

SCENE VII.

Cod, here comes Father—now I'll have ſome Fun with him—I'll hum him, damme.

Well, Antony, what's the matter, Boy? What do you cry for? What are you blubbering about?

O Lord! Father, O Lord! O Lord! our Houſe at Tumbledown-hall is burn'd down to the Ground, and every thing deſtroy'd—here has been Steward Poundage to look for you, and tell you of it—he's gone to ſee about for you.

Tumbledown-hall burn'd to the Ground, and all the rich Furniture and Plate gone to the Dogs! oh I am ruin'd! undone! I had rather have loſt half my Eſtate. Where, where is Mr. Poundage gone? What is there nothing ſav'd at [35] all?—Where did the Fire begin? What part of the Houſe?—Is your Mother ſafe? Oh I ſhall run diſtracted.

Ho! ho! ha! a Hum—Ha! ha! ha!

What do you laugh at your Father's Misfortunes?

Why Father you're humm'd—Ho!

Humm'd! you Dog, what do you mean by that?

Ho! ho! why 'tis all a Joke—Ho! ho! I don't know any thing about Tumbledown⯑ball, not I.

You don't—and a'nt you a pretty Fellow to make Game of your Father, ha! Sir.

Ho! ho! ho! I don't mind that— damme—I muſt not heed that—there—

that's for you—hang me if I don't think I could beat you, at dry Boxing, —if 'twas n't for that Cane.

Amazing Impudence! you do, Sir! then there, and there, and there. [Beats him.

OLord! OLord! OLord! no indeed I don't—pray Father. [Falls on his Knees.

O! have I brought you to Reaſon young Gentleman, and pray who has been tutor⯑ing you to this?—Who ſet you on to abuſe your Father, Sirrah, ah! come, get up and tell me— where have you been?

[36]Couſin, you leſt me with, told me I ſhould hate you, and not mind what you ſaid to me, and then he ſaid it was witty to hum any body.

A mighty pretty Fellow, that! I ſhall go and acquaint my Brother Bullyboy of this Be⯑haviour of his—and you, I ſee Sir, have pro⯑fited more by his Inſtructions in half an Hour, than you have done by mine theſe eighteen Years. —I wanted you to turn over a new Leaf, and this is the Way you was going to do it; but, Sirrah! I ſhall turn you back again to your old Chapter—Well, and did you learn no more of theſe goodly Tricks of him? What more did he tell you?

Yes, he ſaid I muſt learn to bully and ſwear and look big and ſo, and then I muſt learn to be a Critic, and to cry Stuff, Damnation low! and to whiſtle thus—and that would make me a great Man.

Mighty pretty! a fine Fellow, that!— I had intruſted my Son with a fine Raſcal—he would give me a good Account of him—a very good Account indeed, and this was the Way you was to become a great Man—Come along, Sir, and if ever I ſee you converſing with that Couſin of your's again, I ſhall wring your Noſe off for you—Come, Sir, I ſhall take another Courſe with you—I am now going to Greſham Col⯑lege —Come along, Sir—let me ſee if you can learn nothing better there.

SCENE VIII. Drawcanſir ſoulus—reading at a Table.