SCENE I.

LET me ſee; half paſt five—enough for this evening.—To-morrow by dinner time we ſhall beat up the quarters of my old friend Jack Soakwell; reſt with him two or three days, and then for York⯑ſhire.—What think you at preſent of a bottle of ma⯑deira and a pipe or two of Oroonoko to entertain us till ſupper time?

I would rather be excuſed from drink⯑ing any thing Sir John.

From paying any thing you mean—rot the money old boy, what was it made for but circula⯑tion? why, you have more of it than you can count, and yet take as little enjoyment of life as if you was not worth a ſingle ſhilling.

Oeconomy—oeconomy is a very fine thing Sir John.

Ay, ay, we have heard of that doctrine ſufficiently of late—but for my own part, I would have every man live according to his ſtation and cir⯑cumſtances—not diſgrace and ſtarve himſelf for the ſake of hoarding raſcally pelf—therefore now I have got you out of the ſmoke of London you ſhall bleed a little.—Here, houſe!—

I never loved bleeding in my life; nei⯑ther from my veins nor pockets.

Coming, Sir!—What would you pleaſe to have gentlemen?

A bottle of madeira—clean pipes, and a paper of mild.

You ſhall have them in a moment, Sir!

A ſmart well looking fellow that.

Smart enough. I'll warrant him!—how the coxcomb's hair is plaiſtered with flour, which, I ſuppoſe, we muſt pay for!—Ah! no wonder money is ſcarce and proviſions dear, when ſuch a fellow as this waſtes, on his empty noddle, what would make a two-penny cake.

At it again!—the ſame dull theme over-again!—Oons, ſo much of it, is worſe than a metho⯑diſt ſermon an hour long, or a ſcolding wife when a man has got the head-ach.—Take a glaſs of Lethe, to the forgetfulneſs of care, old cent per cent, and live for this evening at leaſt.

Lethe!—pray how much is that a bottle?

A bottle!—ha! ha! ha!—ſtep into the other world and you may have hogſhead's for nothing.—But here comes my Lethe.

An honeſt ſoldier's bottle, faith!—Is it the right ſort friend?

Good as ever was tipped.—Neat as imported, Sir.—Vintage ſixty two, five years in caſk and two in bottles.

It has the right ſmack.—And how long have you lived here?

Only two days, Sir.—Monſ. Fricaſſée, a ce⯑lebrated French cook—the beſt hand at a turtle in Europe—and myſelf, came down from London in a poſt chaiſe and four laſt Saturday to aſſiſt at this here Jubilee.

Jubilee! what's that?

Good eating and drinking to the memory of Shakeſpeare, I believe.

Shakeſpeare! what was he? the firſt wool⯑comber!

Woolcomber! what do not you know Shakeſpeare, Sir?

No!—how the devil ſhould we—he never lived in our neighbourhood.

Nor the ſign of him in Covent-Garden, where I have the honour to reſide?

No truly.

What a couple of rum prigs!—I ſhall laugh in their faces.—

You muſt know, gentle⯑men, this Shakeſpeare was a writer of plays.

I hate plays.

Now I like them!—There's Whitting⯑ton and his cat.—Captain Bateman.—Punch in the ſuds, and two or three more make me laugh by the hour;—and ſo becauſe this Shakeſpeare wrote ſuch things, the corporation meet to get drunk for joy.—Jolly dogs, I warrant then!

Corporation!—what, Sir, do you think—a dozen French cooks, and fifty of the ſmarteſt wai⯑ters London can produce, would come to accommo⯑date a pitiful country corporation!—No, no, gentle⯑men, all the world will be here!

The Devil it will!

True, upon my honour.—I'll engage you might fire cannon from the Royal Exchange to St. James's to morrow, without killing any thing but hackney-coachmen or apple-women:—London will be quite empty—entirely populated!—

You lie—you lie, ſcape grace; Change-Al⯑ley won't be empty; and that's the beſt part of Lon⯑don!—A very fine thing indeed, if Eaſt India ſtock; South Sea; three per cents conſols and lottery tickets, were left for Jubilee, which, as I have heard, is a rank piece of popery, Sir John.

Popery! adſo if that's the caſe it's time for me to look about!—I'll call a Bench upon it—I'll—but I am not of the peace for this county; however, at our quarter ſeſſions I can move for a petition againſt ſuch things.

Lack-a-day, gentlemen, you need not be ſo angry!—Do you think if there was any religion in the matter, ſo many perſons of faſhion and quality would be concerned with it?

Well ſaid, boy! I think there's no great danger!

Quite innocent and polite, I aſſure you, Sir; if you want a deſcription, I can ſing you a new ſong juſt made upon the occaſion.

With all my heart, honeſty.—Here wet the way firſt.

A mighty hopeful deſcription, I muſt con⯑feſs.

Ay, ay, the ſong's well enough; but there's a blind fiddler that plays at my houſe who ſings three times as loud; he rattles away old Roger, the hunting of the Fox, Bumper ſquire Jones, and Roaſt Beef, till he makes my great hall ring again.—Body o'me it would do any body good to hear him.

Ah, ſir John, there's nothing better than old ſongs—but old gold.

Well friend you muſt order us a couple of beds with well aired ſheets and we'll think of ſome⯑what for ſupper preſently.

Supper you may have gentlemen, from five ſhillings to five guineas, but as to a bed in this houſe you could not have one for any ſum.

Not a bed!—how ſo, fellow?

Lord ſir, they have been all beſpoke theſe ſix-weeks; would you believe it; lord Blazingſtar has engaged the rooſt of one of our chambermaids four ſtory high, and lady Betty Soylainet is obliged to con⯑tent herſelf with an oſtler's apartment over the ſtables.

Very pretty accommodation truly!—look ye, firrah, beds we muſt and will have.

Ay or we'll ſtop them out of the bill.

Muſt and will have!—So you may gentlemen if you can get them.—Let me ſee—I would oblige you if I could—there is an alderman of the town who has one bed diſengaged, and I believe you may have it three nights for five guineas.

Five guineas, coxcomb!—I had rather paſs three nights in purgatory; what do you think we coin or find our money, Scapegrace? Jubilee, quotha! give it the right name, the High Seaſon at Bath, where the Extravagants eat ſilver

Hold! they ſhan't rob us, old Truepenny—we'll prime our noddles and when they can hold up no longer e'en take a nap in our chairs; ſo there's bite the biter.—The devil's in it if Yorkſhire and Change-alley can't be a match for Stratford upon Avon at any time.

Why that is true, yet I wiſh we had gone the other road, and miſſed this confounded Ju⯑bilee.—Egad there is an excellent thought come into my head, couſin; I'll go inquire if any body deals in Lottery Tickets, and if I meet with a chap, it ſhall go hard if I do not tickle his ſoft ſide out of as much as will pay our thieviſh expences.

Well ſaid old Two-and-go-three, in the mean time I will remove to the garden for air, here Jack, Tom, Jonathan, what is your name? carry the remains of that bottle, into an arbour, or ſummer houſe and I will follow you.

This way, this way, Sir;—what a couple of bears they are!

Succeſs, old Main-chance.

Ah ſomebody had need mind the main chance; or elſe your Jubilee folks, would ſoon turn the world topſy turvy.

So at length we have gained, this occa⯑ſional ſeat of mimic elegance.—How long have we been coming the laſt fifty miles?

Exactly four hours, ten minutes and thirty-fire ſeconds by my ſtop watch, my lord.

Pretty tolerable driving—though the mi⯑nutes and ſeconds were quite unneceſſary.—Don't you think I may lay the odds upon doing it under three and a half?

Moſt certainly, my lord, with relays of your nag tailed bays, the full tailed blacks, and the ſwitched roans.

Mum then—ſay no more—now muſt I lay myſelf out for one of Moore's flying Phaetons without horſes, and then brother knowing ones have at ye.—Ring the bell Toupee; order my baggage to the lodgings and afterwards attend me here.

Did you call, Sir!—oh, my lord—I beg your lordſhip ten thouſand pardons.

Lord! prithee fellow haſt thou ever ſeen me before? or doſt thou read nobility in my face?

Ah my lord many a half crown have I touched of your money.

Ay! my glaſs to recognize this old ac⯑quaintance.—What Longcork from the Piazzas?

The very fame and entirely at your lordſhip's ſervice.

Thou haſt been ſerviceable in the affairs of love, and may'ſt be ſo again.—Any of the game expected here

Great plenty my lord, of practiſed ladies for country gentlemen; and I make no doubt but there will be rare poaching for experienced ſportſmen among unfluſh'd game; we ſhipped off from Bow-ſtreet and the garden three waggon loads laſt week:—Forty-five, as we call Bet Tawdry, is to paſs here for a baronet's daughter—Sall Bottlenoſe for a young cler⯑gyman's widow, Suky Trapes for a country girl, and Peggy Nimwell, all your lordſhip's acquaintances—for an Eaſt-India captain's lady.

Excellent!—the game hunted down by us gallants of faſhion do well enough for miſtreſſes, or even wives, for fellows in this part of the world, but have you fixed your eye on nothing freſh yet Longcork: no ſoft, blooming, languiſhing fair, on whom a few ſoft words a few promiſes with a ſilk gown or two could prevail; point out ſuch a one, and ten gold-finches in one cage ſhall chirp a moſt engaging piece of muſic to reward thee.

I am bound to you, my lord, and ſhall have a ſharp look out.

But ſnug let it be; for the impertinent hungry news writers do ſo ſearch out and baſtinado the modiſh failings of nobility; that a peer can not debauch his neighbour's wife or daughter with any ſafety; and hypocriſy is become almoſt as eſſential to us as to a Moorfields preacher.

Inſolent villains! their pens ſhould be crammed down their throats: I ſhall be as ſecret as a free-ma⯑ſon my lord—not even a ſign ſhall blab.

Enough: nature deſigned thee for a ſuc⯑ceſsful miniſter of intrigues and in due time I'll re⯑commend thee to a ſnug place in the cuſtoms.—Men of merit ſhould be rewarded.

I thank your lordſhip; but I would not give up my preſent perquiſites to be any thing under a comptroller? beſides I can only juſt ſcrawl my name.

That's hard!—then thou art fit for nothing but a commiſſioner.—Hey day, either my glaſs deceives me, or that ſpirited fair-one, lady Span⯑ker, approaches;—'tis ſee faith.

What no people of faſhion yet!—no real Jubilee!—oh, my lord Spangle, your preſence has relieved me from the deplorable apprehenſions that I was the only per⯑ſon of condition arrived.

Your ladyſhip's moſt obedient: Strat⯑ford has on Shakeſpeare's account been always admit⯑ted the region of poetry; bur, enlightened by lady Spanker's preſence, it ſhines forth the hemiſphere of beauty.

Politely, flattering, I confeſs, my lord; bur perhaps at preſent I am fluſhed with a little ac⯑cidental beauty; for about half an hour ſince, as I was driving my phaeton and four, at the rate of four⯑teen miles an hour; an odious chimney ſweeper's ſa⯑vage aſs, ſet up his horrid bray, ſtarted my cream co⯑lours, turned them out of the road, and tipped me head-foremoſt into a ditch.

Alarming chance! both the two legged and the four legged aſs ſhould have been ſacrificed to your hardſhip's perilous ſituation: I am determined to bring in an act next ſeſſions to prevent any ſuch ani⯑mals from appearing by day-light.

Why indeed my lord it is a pity that creatures who have no adequate idea of quality, ſhould exiſt at all.—I will requeſt my uncle, ſir Toby [11] Hubblebubble, to ſupport your patriotic motion.—Has your lordſhip any thing at Newmarket for the next meeting.

Nothing, madam—my roan by Regulus broke down in a trial ſweat laſt week and muſt for⯑feit two hundred—my grey filly has put out a ſpavin and my bay by Sampſon has ſlipped a ſhoulder.

Quite unfortunate; I am matched againſt captain Clumſy a three mile heat which I expect to win hollow; for you know he rides like a woolpack.

True madam—ha! ha! ha!

I have a match depending alſo with lord Scapegrace for five hundred a ſide on leaping five barred gates—bets run pretty even.

I will back your ladyſhip in both—ſix to four for any ſum.

That is encouragement however—and I have been in cloſe training theſe ſix weeks—do not you think my lord the Sampſons have ſhewn more bottom than Foot of late?—little Gimcrack he is the ſtar of the turf, I would freely give two thouſand for him; then as a groom theres Singleton beats the globe; I hope when he dies, for he muſt fall as well as Alex⯑ander, Marlborough, and other great men; I hope there will be a Jubilee of commemoration appoint⯑ed for him at Newmarket.—I am ſure he deſerves it much better than the old muſty ſcribbler Shakeſpeare; ſo fine a finger, ſo ſteady a hand, ſo firm a ſeat; in ſhort he rides ſo well that if the fellow had but genteel blood in his veins I think no lady could refuſe him for a huſband.

Your ladyſhip's approbation does his merit ſingular honour and the preference given againſt Shakeſpeare is moſt happily Judicious; no critic of [12] any delicacy, can bear the fellow's hum drum pieces now.

Quite intolerable.—Though if ſome of them were turned into ſinging affairs they might be endured well enough, the opera of Hamlet; the opera of Othello; the opera of Richard; in ſhort, the opera of ever thing, to baniſh that antiquated barbarous word Tragedy.—But my Lord, have you fixed upon your character for the maſquerade yet.

Not yet, madam; if your Ladyſhip, as in real life, will perſonate Venus; I muſt conſequently attempt the character of Adonis.

Infinitely polite! but my choice rather bends to the Queen of the Amazons.

Then madam you will metamorphoſe me into Alexander, who was her admirer.

Well, ſince I find there is no eſcape from your exceſſive gallantry it ſhall be ſo—that valuable creature Mr. Paſquin the habit-man, from Taviſtock-Street is to be here with at infinite variety; if it is agree⯑able to your lordſhip we will have a view.

It is happineſs to attend Lady Spanker any where.

Then we will ſtep firſt to the ſtable; give ſome directions about my cream colours and pro⯑ceed immediately.

Well I vow, Jackonet, this flying from place to place is pure. What would my old papa ſay now if he knew that I was come to the Jubilee?

Say! why the ſame that all ſuch old cuffs as he would ſay upon the ſame occaſion; that you was a wild mad-headed girl, that you was a flaunting [13] baggage, that you did not know the pains required to get money, nor the value of it when got; that your head runs upon whirligigs and that you think of no⯑thing but plays, aſſemblies fine cloaths and fine ſweet⯑hearts.

Ha! ha! ha! well I vow you take him off to a hair; if it was not for my aunt Fiddle-de-dee, I ſhould have known no circumſtance of polite life I ſhould have been fit for nothing but mending ſtockings and making pies, if it was not for her I ſhould not have you to wait on me, Jackonet.—He would have brought me up juſt ſuch an unfaſhionable creature as himſelf; but nature has given me ſpirit, and my aunt has gi⯑ven me taſte; ſo I am reſolved not to be ſhut up in the horrid ſmoke of Watling ſtreet any longer.

You are perfectly in the right of it, madam; get yourſelf tranlplanted to Groſvenor, Berkley, or Cavendiſh Square as ſoon as poſſible; ſet up a vis-a-vis beſpeak an elegant ſedan of four hundred guin⯑eas price; hire two of the handſomeſt chairmen, and ſix of the genteeleſt footmen than can be found; with every other article of a grand houſehold, keep viſi⯑ting days, routs, &c. and ſhine forth an ornament of the gay world.

Raviſhing picture!—What an unreaſonable mortal is this Papa of mine to think I would give up ſuch a round of delights; for that hateful creature Om⯑nium, the change broker, and his country houſe at Iſlington. Did I ever ſing you a ſong I made upon be⯑ing plagued to have him, Jackonet?

Not that I recollect, madam.

Then you ſhall have it.

A good reſolution and well expreſſed, ma⯑dam; I recollect a ſhort ballad much to the ſame, purpoſe; I'll endeavour to give it you as well as I can,

I long to hear it of all things.

Admirable! Jackonet, you ſhall be firſt lady of my bed-chamber, and ſhall have my wedding cloaths.—Sir Charles promiſed to meet me here this evening, and, when the enchanting Jubilee is over, we ſhall fly for Scotland immediately.

A charming convenient country that, for matrimonial affairs, madam,—heigh ho!—I wiſh I was taking a trip there with one I know, upon the ſame occaſion.—The invitation which carried your father into Yorkſhire at this critical time was very fortunate.

The luckieſt thing in the world, the very name of a Jubilee would have frightened him out of his ſenſes!—But, Jackonet—what would you have me get for the maſquerade?

Lard, madam! there is ſuch a variety, that it is almoſt impoſſible to adviſe. When I lived with lady Bab. Rattle, ſhe employed ſix hours a day for three months, and could ſcarce fix upon any thing at laſt;—one day ſhe would be a Turk; the next a Chriſtian; the third a Chineſe; the fourth a Dutch woman; next a Heathen, Goddeſs; then a Savoyard; ſoon after a gipſy, a witch, and twenty others:—at laſt ſhe thought of transforming herſelf into a moving bee-hive, intimating that beauty is pregnant with the ſtings of love—but, alas! upon entering the ball⯑room, ſhe ſaw two other bee-hives dancing a cotilion with the ſun, the moon, a bear, an oſtrich, Hamlet's ghoſt, and an animated butter-caſk.—This had ſuch an effect upon her, that ſhe retired immediately, and almoſt fretted herſelf into a conſumption.

Poor lady! ſuch terrible ſhocks muſt hurt any conſtitution; I have cauſe enough myſelf; but a [16] good heart and pleaſing hopes bear me up.—I would have a dreſs odd and whimſical—I'll make a bargain with you, Jackonet; you ſhall chuſe for me and I'll chuſe for you.

As you pleaſe, madam!—Bleſs me, yonder's one of Sir Charles's men come poſt haſte into the yard—his maſter muſt be near at hand!

Oh dear! I am ſo tumbled and toſſed with the journey—my head is in ſuch terrible diſorder,—I can't ſee Sir Charles in this pickle, poſitively.

If you pleaſe, madam, I'll call the chamber⯑maid to ſhew a private room and put you to rights: in a quarter of an hour you ſhall look ſo killingly, that the baronet's impatience for Scotland ſhall make him think the Jubilee ſeven years long.

Come then, dear Jackonet—do make me look very killingly, and every ſilk ſack and petticoat I have at preſent, ſhall be your's when we return from Scotland.

SCENE THE FIRST.

WHAT! no lottery gudgeons in this town?

No no, Sir John; I could pick up nothing but a premium of ten ſhillings for number forty-five—they are all jubilee gudgeons here.—When I aſked a bookſelling fellow, who dabbles a little that way, whether he wanted any tickets—he anſwered—Shakeſpeare is to be crowned to-morrow; and his wife, before I could open my mouth again, ſaid, there was to be a maſquerade to-morrow, which eve⯑ry-body would be at.—For my part, I think they are all Shakeſpeare-mad, and I wiſh we were fairly out of the town.

Body o'me, why ſo? Can't people be merry and wiſe?—For my own part, I ſhould like to ſtay and ſee the fun—ay and we will, old True-penny.—When it is over, I'll take you to ſuch gardens, groves, and purling ſtreams in Yorkſhire, as ſhall make you young again.

With your leave, Sir John, I had rather go back to London.—Pray where can you find a garden of equal value to that of Covent Garden?—Where can you match the golden grove of Lombard ſtreet?—Where meet more delightful retreats than the arbours of the Alley?—Where more comfortable walks than thoſe of the Exchange, or a ſtream equal to the Thames between Bridge and Deptford? Beſides, I am very uneaſy about my girl, ſhe's at the tickliſh age of nineteen, has twenty thouſand pounds at her own diſpoſal, when of age, beſides the inheritance of all my eſtate.

What, then, friend, touch and take, ten to one, do all you can, ſhe'll pleaſe herſelf at laſt, and throw herſelf away upon ſome poverty-ſtruck lord, who, being out at the elbows, will marry her money to mend bad circumſtances; then keep a miſtreſs to pleaſe his inclinations.

I am no friend to popery, yet I wiſh we had nunneries amongſt us to lock up head-ſtrong young huſſies.—Ah, why had not I a ſon? by this time he might have been thoroughly educated in thoſe ſchools of uſeful knowledge, Lloyd's and Jonathan's—I might have lived to ſee him double my fortune.

Why, then, old boy, ſince you can't be ſure who will get it, or how it may go, take my advice and [19] regale yourſelf with a little of it before you are ſhipped off for the other world.—Now I am here, I'm reſolved to ſee what ſort of an affair this jubilee is—though I ſuppoſe it won't be half ſo good as a country feaſt or a fox chace.

No, nor half ſo fine as my Lord Mayor's ſhow, which may be ſeen for nothing into the bargain.

Nothing! prithee don't grumble ſo in the giz⯑zard—it is my humour to ſee what all this buſtle's about; and if you'll promiſe to throw off your melan⯑choly face, body o'me, I'll bring you off ſcot free—I'll pay for both; I have three hundred pounds a quarter, and don't wiſh to ſave a ſhilling of it.

As you pleaſe, Sir John.—What a prodigal old fool it is.

Beſides, man, I never ſaw a coronation in my life; and, for aught I know, the crowning of king Shakeſpeare may be as pretty a piece of diverſion as the crowning of any other king—ſo bruſh up your phiz, and we'll ſally forth to ſee what's ſtirring.

I follow, Sir John—I wiſh I knew how Eaſt-India ſtock was done to-day; and what news there is from the Nabobs.

SCENE II. A Maſquerade Shop.

Well, if every freedom preſented in a mulberry-box was to produce a maſquerade, I could wiſh all the authors, actors, and critics in England were made burgeſſes of Stratford—I ſhall love the name of Shakeſpeare as long as I live. What a delightful buſtle does this jubilee make! ſo many country 'ſquires and their ladies, who know nothing of the matter, apply for dreſſes, that we can fleece them genteelly—but what of that? they, in return, will rack their tenants; and the tenants conſequently raiſe proviſions; ſo that, upon the whole, no-body is affected but the low mechanical vulgar, whom nature has formed as mere neceſſary utenſils for the ſport and profit of us in polite ſpheres of life.

Why, Sir, this promiſes fair to beat the royal maſquerade.

Moſt certainly—we had too many of the know⯑ing ones there—here we ſhall have well-fledged tame pigeons to pluck in plenty.—Let me hear how arti⯑cles ſtand in the memorandum-book for to day.

Touchſtone's dreſs for Alderman Numſkull.

Never were the cap and bells more happily adapt⯑ed; though in chuſing the dreſs, his worſhip obſerv⯑ed, that as the world thought him a wiſe man, he was for once reſolved to look and play the fool—which in reality he does every day of his life.

For Mr. Alderman—

Pſhaw, pſhaw, ſkip all the corporation—I furniſh them and their wives for nothing, which is a little hard; but as they have countenanced this polite ſheep ſhearing, I muſt make other people pay for them, and the unconſcionable long credit expected by moſt of my quality cuſtomers.

Lady Giggle the habit of a veſtal.

A veſtal! ha! ha! ha! ha!—moſt admirable, as Numſkull's outſide will deſcribe exactly what he is—her ladyſhip's garment will ſhow what ſhe abſolutely is not.—Go on.

The veſt, drawers and axe of an execution for Mr. Whim—the maſk to be truly diſmal.

How! what! an executioner and an axe!—who the devil ever heard of ſuch a character in a maſque⯑rade?—You might as well introduce a rope at St. [22] Giles's.—Scratch it out immediately—why, it would not only frighten all the ladies, but half the noble⯑men preſent out of their ſenſes.—Out with it, I'll lend no memento mori, unleſs it be Hamlet's ghoſt.

Nancy Pickup, from the Garden—a nun's dreſs.

Very good, the reverſe of reality again—a wolf in lamb's cloathing.—This article goes on tick, but Nancy's a girl of honour, and will pay well if the bait takes.

Mr. Eitherſide, a Nabob's dreſs.

What, Dick Eitherſide, the Swiſs news-paper ſcribbler—the compoſer of ghoſts, bloody murders, and barbarous ballads, the fellow that dives for a din⯑ner four days a week, and faſts the other three—that would kill or marry any-body with his pen for ſix-pence—he a Nabob!

Sir, he ſays he has written ſix letters, dated Avon, to the Public Advertiſer; ſix copies of verſes, four epigrams, and twenty puff paragraphs to raiſe pub⯑lic curioſity; ſo he claims it gratis as a right, and ſays, if you don't comply, he'll anatomize you; but if you do, he promiſes to recommend and promote maſquerades as much as poſſible.

Well, let the poor raſcal have his humour this once.—What's next?

Sir John Aſiaticus, the apparatus of a blind fid⯑dler.

Hey-day!—Hey-day! why this is maſquerading with a witneſs. Nabob turned beggar, and a beggar turned Nabob.—Go on.

Mrs. Lapell, a ſultana.

Oh the advertiſing taylor's wife—let her be charg⯑ed double price, becauſe the ſcoundrel her huſband works ſo low as fifteen per cent. profit; the ne—oh, I hear ſome cuſtomers—mind, Sleekem, your beſt bow, a ſmooth tongue and a right ſmirking Tavi⯑ſtock-ſtreet countenance.

Are you the perſon who furniſhes maſquerade affairs?

Yes, Madam; and tho' I ſay it, can produce the richeſt variety in England: I have habits from one guinea to ten for the night, with Venetian and cari⯑catura maſks in abundance. My ſhop, in the jocu⯑lar [24] ſtile, Madam, may be called a mill to grind old people young.—Pleaſe to look over my book of fi⯑gures, Madam—you'll find them a moſt noble collec⯑tion from Cleopatra to Mother Shipton; from Pe⯑kin in China, to John a Groat's houſe in Scotland. You have every thing remarkable in that volume—look it over, Madam, and, in the mean time, I'll conſult the young gentleman's taſte, that we may accomodate him agreeably.

Very well, friend—the boy may pleaſe himſelf,—he has a good taſte—and is as ſharp as a needle?

Ay, ay, moother, ſharp enough for matter o'that—Toby Dumplin knows which ſide his bread's butter⯑ed on, tho'f he has never getten to London yet.

That's a pity indeed, young gentleman, though from your politeneſs and faſhionable appearance I ſhould not have ſuſpected ſo much.

Iſe very mickle obliged to your good-natures. To be ſeere all voaks in our town ſay as how I be a pratty lad, and almoſt as woiſe as parſon, potecary, or exciſeman.

No doubt of it, Sir; but as time will rather preſs, let us to buſineſs: What would you chooſe to appear in?

Nay, I know not.

Suppoſe then as a Turk?

Then I mun have a turbut on my head and whiſkers on my face.

What did you ſay, a Turk?—No, no, you ſhan't make an infidel of my child neither—any thing elſe he pleaſes.

Do, moother, let me have wiſkers; I ſhall look ſo pure and ſo comical.—He! he! he!

It muſt not be.—Any thing elſe, I ſay.

What think you of a cardinal's dreſs then, to make him a very good Chriſtian?

By no means; I hate the Pope as much as I do Mahomet. Any thing elſe the boy likes.

As you ſeem to like the comic ſtrain, ſuppoſe you perſonate a Dutchman, with a ſhort pipe in your mouth?

Whoy, well enough; but not ſo well as wiſkers though.

A Dutchman! Oh, frightful! ſpoil the boy's fine ſhape with filthy great breeches! make him all bot⯑tom and no top!—No, no; any thing elſe.

Why, moother, I thinks as how this any thing elſe, will come to nothing at laſt.

Well ſaid, young gentleman; I think ſo too.

Well, to cut the matter ſhort, I'll chooſe for him. Let me ſee, as my dear Mr. Dumplin is not above two months dead, I would pay ſome reſpect to his memory in my appearance.—Can you make me re⯑preſent Niobe, Sir?

Exactly, Madam; I have the fineſt weeping maſk in the world.

Tolerable features, I hope.

Exquiſitely delicate; a moſt attractive picture of beauty in diſtreſs.

Enough: though my heart is buried with my huſband, one would not appear deformed, you know.

Moother! moother! here's a feace now for all the world like auld Cicely's, our black-pooding wife:—and here's one as like the vicar as two peaſe; what a rare handle it has! For my part, I think they ha' getten half our town here.

Madam, your moſt obedient—Sir, I'm yours alſo.

Upon my word, a handſome portly figure!

You muſt know, I come by long ſea, over land.

I hope you have had a pleaſant journey.

Well enough for that, only I was like to be ſhip⯑wrecked ſix miles off.

Six miles off! Why, we have not the ſea within many miles of this place, Sir.

Sea! by my ſoul it was the turnpike-road.—I'll tell you about it, honeys.—As my horſe was trotting along, in a fine eaſy walk, a ſpalpeen thief catches hold of the bridle, and ſays, Your money, or your life!—Ara, nabackleſh, ſays I, why would you de⯑poſe upon a ſtranger? I am going to the jubilee, and this is not ſo civil now. Oh, devil burn you, ſays he, Terence, (it is my name ſure enough) if you go to the jubilee, you'll be robb'd there, ſo you may as well be robbed here; and if you don't, I'll ſhoot you through the head.

Oh dear, what a terrible fellow! You was in great danger, Sir.

Ara, nothing at all when a body's us'd to it!—And ſo, as I was after telling you, cuſh la ma cree, when I would not give my ſplenters to the Raparee, he fired his piſtol ſtrait at me of one ſide: though as luck would have it, it did not go off neither; ſo I ups with little ſweet lips, ſhillela, that never miſs'd fire in its life, and giving him a ſtouter on the nog⯑gin, I laid him as flat as a flounder, agra.

Bravely done, upon my word, Sir.

Upon my word, Sir, it is very happy he did not get up again and murder you.

Oh, by my ſoul, he's ſafe enough for that; he's as dead as Henry the Eighth. Why, he told me himſelf that he was dead; and ſo I ſaid, if he did not like it, he might carry himſelf to a ſurgeon, and get his head heel-tapp'd.

Very witty and clever, I vow.

I am glad you like it—Glogha too ſneeſhen—Muſha, upon my ſoul, Madam, you're a very engage⯑ing perſon, and Captain Terence Blarney (meaning myſelf) would be very glad of a better acquaintance with you.

Your are very polite, Sir; but the loſs of a good huſband ſo lately, makes me indifferent to all the world.

Upon my ſoul now, if you have had one good huſband, it is a very good reaſon you ſhould get an⯑other. My poor Sheela was buried at Monaghan laſt Friday ſe'nnight was five weeks, ſo I came to this Jubilee to look out for another; and, if your lady⯑ſhip's not engaged, what's the reaſon but we may join giblets without any balderdaſh pribble-prabble?

Well ſaid, Captain; a right widow's man.

Lard, Sir, you overpower me;—ſo ſudden,—ſo ſhort an acquaintance.

Ara, what magnifies that; muſt not every acquaint⯑ance be ſhort before it is long?—I'm a gentleman, every inch of me; I have a pretty little eſtate, after the man that owns it is dead: and you ſee I'm as well timbered about the legs and face, as one can meet in a long ſummer's day.

Your perſon is unexceptionable, Sir; and your manner very agreeable; but I muſt not think of marriage; I muſt not, indeed, Sir.

By my ſoul, Gra ma cree, you may go further and fare worſe.

Oh, dear, Sir, defend me from that ugly crea⯑ture!

By my ſoul, and that I will, as long as there's a rag of ſhilleta together.

Do you know me?

Bleſs us! the thing ſpeaks!

Do you know me, Captain?

Captain, ara; by what the devil relationſhip are we acquainted?

I knows you, but you don't know me.

Keep off your fore foots; or, devil burn me, but I'll crack your noggin for you.

Ha! ha! ha!—Admirably performed, young gen⯑tleman! There's a dreſs! there's a maſk! as natu⯑ral as any Eaſt-India jacko that ever came over.

Nay, now you have ſpoiled the maſquerading fro⯑lic; that young man told me what to ſay.—Is'n't it pure and comical, moother?

What, my graceleſs turned into a monkey! Would you make me mother of a baboon!—I'll teach you, ſirrah!

Och, never heed it, it's only a trick of youth; he'll forget it when he grows old.

A trick of youth! Ill trick him: take this, ſirrah! and this! and this!

Fine maſquerading this, Iſe ſure.

Oh dear, this mad-headed boy will run out of doors, and have all the dogs in the ſtreet after his monkey's tail.

Oh, bleſs me, I'm ſo fluſtered, that I forgot to tell you, Sir, I lodge at the White Hart, where I ſhall be glad to ſee you at breakfaſt to-morrow morning.

Och, and that I will, my jewel; and put a clumſey piece of toaſt under my girdle. But would not you let me touch your fair lips for good fellow⯑ſhip? Och, 'pon my ſoul they're ſweet as the honey of by-bla.

You flatter me.—I ſhall expect you, Sir.

Never fear, little Terence; don't you think, Mr. Maſcarade, the lady's in love with my parſon?

It looks very like it; but conſidering your coun⯑try and addreſs, it is not at all ſurpriſing, Sir.

Why, as you ſay it's very nat'ral for us Hiber⯑nians. A word in your ear: if ſhe has the mopus's, I'll have her as ſnug as a bug in a rug. You could not take part of a bottle, could you?

Buſineſs won't permit.

Muſha, you ſhould be as welcome as flowers in May; you muſt get me ſome dreſs, either a cardi⯑nal, or a miller, or a ſweep-chimney, or any thing you like beſt yourſelf.

Very well, Sir, I ſhall endeavour to pleaſe you.

Sir, your moſt obedient.

I beg your pardon, young man; but if my ears had not ſeen you before you was in ſight, 'pon my ſoul I ſhould have walked on top of you.

What an over-grown Iriſh bear! Sure the crea⯑ture has not been to hire a diſguiſe, Mr. Paſquin! Nature has made his whole figure a maſk of huma⯑nity.

Your Lordſhip's wit, like the ſun, will break out. He has ordered me to chuſe for him.

Then pray provide a bull's hide, horns and all, that the monſter may have characteriſtic cloathing—Ha! ha! ha!

Brilliant to the laſt degree; quite the diamond cut—Ha! ha! ha!

My Lord, I beg ten thouſand pardons, but I have been quite fluſtered ſince you left me; for that eter⯑nal talker, lady Mary Tattle, faſt held me ſo long by the ears, that I loſt all patience; then, tripping one foot as I came up ſtairs, an officious Iriſhman laid hold of this arm, and graſped it in ſuch a man⯑ner with his monſtrous paw, that I don't know whether it will recover ſtrength time enough to ride my October match at Newmarket.

Provoking as well as painful.

Mr. Paſquin, your ſervant; is this affair like to be tolerably brilliant?

Entirely to your Ladyſhip's taſte, I believe.

Well, poſitively we of the turf muſt eſtabliſh a Newmarket Jubilee: I'll mention it to the Ducheſs of Foxchaſe, at our next meeting.

A deſign worthy ſuch ſpirited ladies.

And I'll mention it in the Jockey-Club.

Then, my Lord, I'll lay ſix to four, the thing takes; we ſhall carry it quite hollow, and double diſtance Diſappointment.

Black! black! what melancholy tales do theſe bring?—Your Lordſhip's excuſe—Um—um—your ſiſter, lady Charlotte, died this afternoon.—Poor Charlotte! ſhe was a good-natured girl, but wanted ſpirit: ſhe fell in love with a young fellow of in⯑ferior ſtation, and being croſſed, pined herſelf into a conſumption, which carried her off. Well, that's better than diſgracing the family.

Your ladyſhip's bay hunter, Buck, was ſeized [35] with the ſtaggers, and died in five minutes.—Un⯑fortunate chance! inſupportable loſs!—ſo fine a creature!—beſides, there will be two hundred and fifty forfeit on my play or pay Bargate Match; I can never endure it.—Miſerable woman!

Madam, I allow the ſtroke to be very affecting; but, as ſome alleviation, permit me to preſent you with my roan colt, Stag; as the phraſe is, he can ſnuff the moon, and will take the knowing-ones in deeply,

Your Lordſhip is the very eſſence of conſolation: I'll have Stag to my leaping-bar, and throw him into training next week.—Now, if you pleaſe to divert my mind from poor Buck, we'll go into the inner warehouſe-room, and fix upon our maſquerade habi⯑liments.—Come, Mr. Paſquin.

I attend your Ladyſhip.

So, after hard limping of your ſide, cuz, we have reached the place at laſt; and now we'll ſee what they have got.

Ay, ay, foolery enough, I warrant.

Hey-day!

pray what's this young man?

A cuckold's cap, at your ſervice.

My ſervice! Will you wear it, ſquare-toes? Nay, you need not ſtart ſo: "Caeſar and Pompey," as the old ſong ſays—What are all theſe?

Maſks to cover the faces, and mark characters.

Characters! I believe you deal in very ſuſpicious characters. Why theſe baubles can only be fit for ſuch as are, or ſhould be aſhamed to ſhow their faces.

Body o'me, here's one grins like a monkey; and there's ſo many, I don't know how to chooſe.

If you pleaſe to walk that way, gentlemen, my maſter will help you to a choice immediately.

Well ſaid, lad. Come, old Multiplication.

Ah, ſtocks muſt fall at this rate.

A rare trade this of ours; it takes in all from ſixty to ſixteen.

My dear Emmeline, the cordial punctuality of this meeting has confirmed me yours for ever.

I aſſure you, Sir Charles, Jackonet has been an active and ſtedfaſt friend in your favour.

I hope I have not been ungrateful; and if ſhe has an inclination to follow your example, Madam, I'll endeavour to procure her a good huſband.

I thank you, Sir; but, according to the old pro⯑verb, I muſt pleaſe my eyes, though I plague my heart.

Then to our buſineſs.—Here, ſhew your book of dreſſes, young man.

Poſitively, Sir John, I'll ſtay no longer. What! ſix guineas for two dreſſes one night? Why it is abſolute robbery.

Now, I think, Sir Charles, this infinitely pretty.

Bleſs me, what's this! my Emmy?

Oh la, papa! what, what ſhall I do?

Pretty! ay, it is pretty, huſſey, to meet you here without my conſent, without my knowledge, without my—Ad, I have loſt all patience. And who is this fellow? I'll make an example of him for running away with an heireſs.

Why don't you think ſhe able and willing enough to run away with herſelf, Sir?

Is ſhe ſo, Mrs. Prate-a-pace! Ay, you're a hope⯑ful maid of her aunt's providing: I know you well, ſauce-box, and I'll turn over a new leaf. But who are you, ſcape-grace?

I am a gentleman, Sir, and not uſed to abuſive language. To ſpeak of myſelf may not be ſo pro⯑per, but my father, Sir Robert Planwell, was [39] generally known and eſteemed in the North of England.

What, are you Bob Planwell's ſon of Lincoln⯑ſhire? As honeſt a fellow, couſin Scrapeall, as ever toſſed off a tankard!

But did he know any thing of the Alley?

If he did not, I do, Sir; I have employed all my ſpare caſh theſe five years in the ſtocks. Why, Sir, I have wrote two letters, dated India, to come over land, by Holland, one of which will raiſe that ſtock twenty per cent. and the other fall it thirty. Now, Sir, if you will countenance my pretenſions to your daughter, I'll kill Heyder Ally, and make him conquer Madraſs, as often as you pleaſe to ſell out or buy in.

Nay, if that's the caſe, you may be a hopeful young fellow: but I hate a title. Howevever, if you can make what you ſay appear—

If not, Sir, I requeſt no favour.

Why, that's honeſt; and ſince you have all met together, I'll take care to bring you to a right [40] underſtanding. I wear a title myſelf, and I'm no rogue for all that. We'll ſee what's to be ſeen here, and then all for Yorkſhire, where we'll be as mer⯑ry as grigs. But, d'ye hear, no more objections to titles, for