SCENE I. A Street in Bagdat. The Baſſa's Palace in View.

LET me give juſt one look at my bill of fare.

Let's ſee at which of the tradeſmen's ſhops do I firſt touch in my voyage; to lay in every deli⯑cacy for our grand entertainment

Eh! the courier with the diſpatches from Conſtantinople.

By'r leave! Letters for his Highneſs, one of the great Officers, to—

Stop, I am a great Officer, Prime Caterer to the Baſſa—he cou'dn't live without me, for I provide him his dinner every day.

Perhaps you've provided a dinner for me too.—A long poſt this laſt from Rabba—ſo I'll beat up your palace pantries if you'll give theſe two letters to Babouc the Aga, for his Highneſs the Baſſa.

Babouc the Black-a-moor! No; I will deliver them to his Highneſs myſelf, and that will ſhew my great care and diligence.

Lie you there ſafe and ſnug; here comes my nephew, Abſalom [2]—the villain is going to marry with a chriſtian womans, after my bringing him up ſo genteely; and binding him 'prentice to a barber. Ah, here's the raſcal, witn the very dow'rleſs damſel, and that hungry beggarman, Croſs-Leg the taylor; I've a mind—but let me contain my paſſion.

So nephew Abſalom, you're about to marry?

Yes, Sir.

And, Miſs Dora, you're going to be married?

Yes, Sir.

You have monies?

No, Sir.

You bring a portion?

No, Sir.

Where do you eat your wedding ſupper?

At my houſe.

Is it bought?

Yes; when you give a little money to buy it.

Oh! then I'm to buy it.

Will you—Gad, old Zebede's growing kind.

I thought you wou'd; none can do it better, as you're his Highneſs the Baſſa's Caterer; no man, in Bagdad, genteeler knows how to provide, and this is only a neat little bit of ſupper for a poor young couple and their few friends.

Eh!

Yes, Sir, you know a poor couple have but few friends.

Now if you'd only take a pretty little walk (you ſee its a very pleaſant evening) juſt round to the Baſſa's butcher, poult'rer, fiſhmonger, confectioner, and wine merchant, and order us in a ſmall joint, two capons, a brace of carp, a cream tart, and a hamper of Cyprus wine; you, the generous founder, ſhall be toaſted in noble bumpers by us the grateful confoun⯑ders.

Thank'ee, Timothy Croſs-Leg. Then as it is a very pleaſant evening, why I will take a pretty little walk, and deſire the poulterer, butcher, fiſhmonger, confectioner, and wine merchant—

Good Sir!

Kind Uncle!

Moſt comfortable Caterer!

If the've got a ſmall joint, two capons, a brace of carp, a cream tart, and an hamper of Cyprus wine, that they take particular care to—

What good nature!

Generous Uncle!

Plentiful Purveyor!

To keep them ſafe in their ſhops.

Eh!

Then, my poor young couple, I wiſh you joy of your wedding ſupper. Ha! ha! ha! Eh! ſo you'll marry a Chriſtian you wicked reprobate.

Oh! I wiſh I had only an order from the grand Signor to ſew up your ugly mouth, I'd do it with as much pleaſure as ever I ſtich'd a button-hole.

I'm not diſappointed.

So, becauſe your Uncle won't have you marry the daughter of a Chriſtian, and your ſtep-father won't let you have the ſon of a Jew, you muſt both ſtarve poor things! You ſhan't this night, however, for a wedding ſupper you ſhall have, though I pawn my gooſe for the price of it. Heark'ee—hasn't Father Anſelm, the Armenian Friar, promiſed to marry you.

Appointed Dora and I to come to his cell, by the Fountain of Palms, at eight.

Then go you, boy, and dreſs in your belt; Dora ſhall meet you there. As ſhe cannot go home to her father's, my wife, Juggy, ſhall trick her out nicely. There they'll conſult about the cookery. Tol, lol, lol! Courage, my young folks. Come Dora!

Then, my dear Abſalom, don't let us be caſt down by the cruelty of thoſe who ſhould be kind to us. True love is the beſt of good chear!

You ſhall have ſomewhat more ſubſtan⯑tial, I warrant! My Juggy will toſs us up a comfortable morſel, without the help of—Hang me if I ſhould think a chriſtan wedding lucky, if the ſupper was provided by a Jew. Ha! ha! ha! chear up, I am but a poor taylor to be ſure; but an honeſt mind is my workſhop; there Content ſings all day to the muſic of a good Conſcience.

It goes curſedly againſt my ſpirit to lay all the expences of my wedding on my honeſt friend the taylor! What to do now to raiſe but a little money. Oh! for a few beards to mow, even at an aſper a chin. If I—What's this

‘For his Highneſs the Baſſa of Bagdad,’ trod under foot. [4]Now if I could deliver this letter to the Baſſa myſelf, he'd probably give me a reward ſufficient to defray the charges of my wedding. How the deuce ſhall I get ad⯑miſſion though? My old Uncle has always kept me at ſuch a diſtance, that I'm not even known at the palace; and the attendants there are ſo ſaucy—No, they'll never let a poor ſtrange barber paſs the antichamber.

Odſo! here comes little Crumpy, the Baſſa's favourite Hunch-back jeſter; he's a good-natur'd fellow; and from my ſaving him from a beating in the ſtreet quarrel, that his jokes brought him into the other night—If I could prevail on him—he has high intereſt at court, and—

How do you do, Mr. Crumpy?

Fellow!

Ha! my gay ſpirited—my little finger

don't ſlip my ring off. Your proweſs in that re-encounter, when thoſe villains attacked me the other night, ſaved—Did you ever ſee the like? The fellows threſh'd me as if I was a wheat-ſheaf; had I the lives of ſeven cats they'd have hammered them out, for there I lay like a little anvil, and the raſcals laid on me like ſo many Cyclops, turn'd me about as if was a three-penny nail—only for your paſſing by juſt at the nick, thoſe ruffians would have broke my bones. Yes, they'd have crack'd my ivory; their heads were ſo hard, and their fiſts ſo heavy, that my great wit and little body—Oh dear!

Going to the palace, I preſume, Sir?

Ay, his Highneſs has got into a merry mood, and juſt ſent for me.

Then, Sir, that horſe with the fine trappings, that I ſaw the ſlaves take by juſt now, was to carry you to court?

Yes; they had the inſolence to think I'd peck upon a poney; but if I muſt ride to court, it ſhall be on an elephant.

Certainly, Sir.

By virtue of my high office, lord chief juſ⯑tice joker, I am obliged, when called upon, to be pro⯑vided with ſome comical ſtory to divert him, entre nous, though my wit is as ready as any man's, I am ſome times plaguily put to it; but as I'm determined to keep my place to pick up novelty and character, I get upon thoſe night rambles in the ſtreet, which often, with a little of my ingenuity in dreſſing up, furniſh a good merry tale or pleaſant incident for the Baſſa to laugh at the next morning.

I thought, Sir, you ſtateſmen was too wiſe to laugh?

He that's wiſe enough to refuſe a good hearty laugh in this world, will be curſedly bob'd, if there ſhould be no laughing in the next. Here he has ſent for me now, takes me a little unprovided, ſo I'll go make my bow, and retire.

What a prodigious favourite you are, Sir.

Ay, ay; the Circaſſian beauties dance am⯑baſſadories; black, blue and yellow pay compliments; courtiers ſmile, cringe and tell lies, but no life at court without little Crumpy

Oh, barber, could you ſupply me with a decent, faſhionable, flourishing whiſker?

Why, Sir, you've a very handſome pair al⯑ready.

Only one real, t'other was pluck'd off by the roots in that affray; this is falſe, a favourite lock fell from the forehead of a celebrated beauty at the laſt ball, I pick'd it up, and ſtuck it on with a little gum, and it graces the lip of her humble admirer. Ha! ha! ha!

How gallant.

Yet the courtiers ſmil'd, the ladies teehee'd, but Honi ſoit,—I ſhould not wonder if the circumſtance gave birth to an order of knighthood, and the black eagle and golden fleece give way to the knights of the whiſker.

Ha! ha! ha! Sir, I've a letter here for the Baſſa, and—

A petition? Give it me; I'll deliver it into his Highneſs's own hand?

Ah, Sir, if you'd only procure me the honour of laying it at his Highneſs's own feet?

You ſerv'd me; I will be grateful; you ſhall have an audience; come along my noble ſhaver.

Ay, but will his Highneſs condeſcend to liſten to ſo poor a fellow as I?

What, don't you know our Baſſa has tra⯑velled through Europe, been at the Engliſh court, whoſe king has been the model for all his nobleſt actions, like their gracious monarch, the father of his people, he is above the little conſideration of the co⯑lour of a face, or the ſod where a man firſt drew breath, when diftreſs is to be relieved or merit rewarded.

But, Sir, if any of the grand officers in waiting ſhould ſtop me?

What! when I take you by the hand.

Theſe court eunuchs are ſuch great men—

They great men; the raſcals, ſlaves, ah, hah; trip, ſkip; come, tol, lol, lol.

SCENE II. An Antichamber of the Palace.

Oh, ruin Habby! I'm undone for ever.

Hey, what's the matter, maſter?

I have loſt (I don't know how) one of the letters the courier gave me for the Baſſa. Oh, I ſhall loſe may place that I have held ſo long with credit. I have been prime Purveyor to him, ay, fifteen years next Pentecoſt.

But this truſt, how diſcharge?

Diſcharg'd, you dog! I have charg'd and over charg'd; take that, you ſcoundrel.

What's that for?

You, my clerk, throw out your inuendo's againſt my honeſty when you ſee me diſtreſſed and en⯑rag'd—get out of my ſight.

Good maſter, I'll give you a blow worth two of this.

Oh, this letter; what will become of me? If I confeſs I loſt it, I may not only loſe my place but my life too. I will deny that I did receive any letters; and, even if the courier do ſay he did give me them, my word will be taken before his oath: yes, that will ſave me; 'tis a good thought.

Zebede, the Baſſa deſires his letters; he'd learn if—

His Highneſs wants to learn his letters.

His di [...]patches, the expreſs.

Well, expreſs.

Pſha; the letters for him?

Me; I did get no letters for him.

No! Why his highneſs himſelf ſaw from his window the courier give them to you.

The devil! what eyes he has got! he ſaw! I quite forgot, my memory is diſtracted with my ac⯑compts and marketings. Lord—yes, here they are—What ſhall I do

I wiſh Mr. Crumpy would come on, I'm afraid to—

My nephew! How dare you put your face into the palace? You graceleſs vagabond.

Go, go, friend; what brings you here?

No; I have buſineſs.

You buſineſs, you impudent—

Guards, thruſt him out.

Very well; you may all depend upon my influence and intereſt.

Do ſtand out of the way fellow. Here comes the Baſſa's firſt favourite, and if he ſees ſuch ſhabby rogues as you here, he'll order you to the whipping poſt.

Eh! what noiſe is here? Babouc, I'll have none of theſe doings.

Sir, my ſtation and rank demands—

Rank! don't I allow you to be the greateſt black in the palace? Ha! my good friend, I aſk you millions of pardons for making you wait.

Eh! good friend!

How did my ne⯑phew do this.

Sir!

Come, come along! Fling open the fold⯑ing doors there. I proteſt a man has ſcarce room to paſs. Come.

Yes, Sir, but theſe gentlemen may have ſome objections.

Gentlemen! Give me your hand.

Room there, ye ſlaves—ſtand by.

Room there for Mr. Crumpy.

You muſt ſtop, Zebede, till Mr. Crumpy has his au⯑dience.

And my poor raſcally nephew. Dear me, what is all this?

SCENE III. An magnificent Apartment in the Palace.

Zebede is bringing your Highneſs the diſ⯑patches from Conſtantinople.

Oh, Babouc! happy is the wife of a Baſſa whoſe government is at a diſtance from the ſublime Port, and good was my friend, the Vizier, to appoint me Baſſa of Bagdad. While the ſeraglio there is diſtracted with cabal and faction; here, an Emperor in epitome, I enjoy all the pleaſures of peace and ſecurity, my nod gives death, and my ſmiles preferment; have you ordered ihe dance, the banquet, and ſent for my little Hunch⯑back Jeſter? My ſoul, and every ſenſe, are this evening devoted to laugh, love, and joy.

Here is Crumpy, pleaſe your Hihgneſs.

Approach my man of whim and frolick.

Stand aſide, make way there.

Ha! ha! ha! he has got introducing ſome cf the Meſopotamian Plenipo's.

Room—hem! Sir, permit me the honor of introducing to your Highneſs this moſt magnificently—magnanimous—Come in Barber.

Impertinence! your office is to pleaſe; a ſtep beyond that and you offend, remember Crumpy—

I wiſh you'd remember Crumpy when there's a good place to give away.

Leave me!

When I go I ſhan't take you with me; this humble barber comes with an humble petition.

A petition, I were indeed unworthy of the luxuries of life myſelf, did I loſe an opportunity of dif⯑fuſing the comforts of it to all around me—What's your grievance.

That's his grievance, and he delivers it to your Highneſs.

How came you by this? the grand Vizier's hand!

Sir, I found it in the ſtreet.

Yes, Sir, the grand Vizier's hand was at a poor barber's foot.

‘The joys of a long and happy life attend my dear Abdallah, the fucceſs of our Ruſſian and Auſtrian enemy has ſet Conſtantinople in a cla⯑mour againſt the chriſtians, the rumour of your par⯑tiality for this ſect has reach'd the Emperor, who, [9]to appeaſe the Divan, was compell'd to ſend you the dreadful letter you receive with this.’—Eh! this is part of the diſpatch the courier gave Zebede for me; how careleſs muſt he have been to loſe it!

‘The orders for your death, contain'd in that mandate, being meerly a matter of ſtate policy, you may ſafely diſobey, your mind may be ſatisfied, as I incloſe you the copy of your pardon; but the condi⯑tions are, that in future, you treat the chriſtians un⯑der your government with the utmoſt rigour. Your friend for ever, SELIM, Vizier.’

Yes; Zebede drop'd this; and here, hadn't it been found by the meereſt accident—Had I received only the other, from what I imagine the contents to be, my life was gone,

Ah! you have done me a ſignal ſervice!.

Eh! What's that?

You found this letter in the ſtreet?

Yes, Sir, he found it in the ſtreet, upon my honour!—Did you?

Yes, my Lord, and thought it my duty to de⯑liver it to your Highneſs.

Of ſuch conſequence! then I'll come in for my ſhare

. Yes, my Lord, I thought it my duty to ſee it delivered to your Highneſs; the young man here was for running back in a vaſt hurry to finiſh dreſſing a lady, daughter of a grand French merchant; but, ſays I, man alive, never mind her; bring this to the Baſſa directly: for, my Lord, ſays I, is the moſt generous, liberal, prince-conditioned—he won't matter what he gives you and I for this piece of ſervice. Well, Sir, he would go, I inſiſted he ſhould come; he brandiſhes his curling tongs; I whip'd out my ſabre, tuck'd him under my arm, and in five ſtrides of a game cock, daſh'd into the palace, cut, kick'd, ſhuffled and elbow'd my way through the guards, mutes, janizaries.—Here I've' have brought him, while poor mademoiſelle waits, her hair half papered, half friz'd, fretting like an affronted porcu⯑pine, ha! ha! ha!

For which the three firſt requeſts you make, if in my power, I grant them

Oh, Sir, I thank you, hem!—you'll grant us our three firſt requeſts!—So, here we have a brace and a half of promiſes from a Lord; but one perform⯑ance we'll get the Lord knows when!

Here

take this young man

cloath him ſplendidly.

Aye, take me, and cloath me ſplendidly.

You! its the—

Pſha!—His Highneſs calls me young man; you know he's always complimenting me.

And let my treaſurer inſtantly pay him down 1000 zingerlees.

My good, bountiful Lord!—it is really too much! 3000 is full ſufficient for me.

You!

I mean—

I know you mean every thing that's good for me. As to the ſplendour of the robes, the more gold lace the better; they'll fit me: and I have a little bag for the 5000 zingerlees. Come along barber, you ſhall have a hundred and fifty for your trouble; and the reſt ſhall reſt with me.

Why, I mean it all for—

Me. I know it—but I will be generous—I will give the lad the fifty, as I ſaid I would—Come, I am good myſelf, and I do good; but till I am big myſelf I will be good for little. Shaver follow me.

Finding this letter was a moſt fortunate circumſtance! Yes, here's my pardon

the conditions of it, ſeverity to the Chriſtians. Perſecution is againſt my nature; but to diſobey, would be ingratitude to my prince. I'll do it by proclamation through the city, order the Cadi here, ha! ha! ha! Here comes Zebede. How will he bring himſelf off for loſing this; as yet I don't think he knows it has been brought to me.

This letter for your Highneſs.

From Conſtantinople, ſigned by the Empe⯑ror himſelf.—Ay, this is the dreadful mandate; but now it brings no terrors

‘Truſty and well-beloved, greeting: We do command you, that within three hours after the receipt of this, you have yourſelf ſtrangled; but firſt leave orders for your head to be cut off—and ſent to us. This fail not to do, on pain of our high diſpleaſure.’ Ha! ha! ha!

Well; I did not think that ſtrangling and be⯑heading was ſo good a joke.

Yes; he does not know that I am in poſ⯑ſeſſion of this other letter, that countermands this order.

‘Given at our Sublime Port, 1 [...]67th year of the Hegira, ACI [...]T.’ Since my Emperor thinks I ſhould die, I obey,

and this night I ſup with Mahomet—to [...] my very careful ſteward

I'll firſt ſettle my worldly affairs, inſtantly prepare your accounts for my inſpection.

Oh! the devil! I have cheated him ſo dam⯑nably that my head goes off, if he finds out my rogue⯑ries

Sir, you'd beſt think of nothing now but obeying the Emperor's command, he may be angry, indeed; he ſays, inſtantly ſend me your head, on pain of our high diſpleasure.

Now I'll put his fidelity to the full proof

I am ſurpriſed my friend the Vizier would not inter⯑poſe in my behalf, not even to condole or comfort me. Pray was there no other letter came with this?

No; as I am an honeſt man, this is all the letter I got—Except the one I dropp'd

Then I muſt die!

Do, my Lord, it will prove your great loyalty, and your readineſs to oblige the Grand Signior, dear, yes, my Lord, and here your Lordſhip may have all done in your own houſe, ſo comfortable every thing; all the conveniencies of death here within yourſelf; your own truſty mutes, with a fine ſoft ſilk ſtring, will choak you ſo gently; and then you have your own faithful black Babouc, with his ſhining ſcimeter of Damaſcus too—he'll ſlive off your head I warrant; he'll do it ſo neatly, that you'll never ſay after, Babouc, you did hurt me that time. I'll order them to pre⯑pare

But, my good ſteward, prepare your own accounts, I'll look over your book.

Oh! the devil! then Babouc will have the firſt ſlice at my head

I'll leave a fair name behind me; bring hither your accounts,

Oh! my dear lord, you and your head are old acquaintance, and ſince you're ſo ſoon to part for ever, at ſuch a time don't think of troubling it with my fooliſh totums of ſugar, rice, coffee, ſoap, and candles. You mutes, you miniſters of death pre⯑pare

Prepare ſupper

You forget your Highneſs was engaged to ſup above with Mahomet.

Ha! ha! ha! Why no; I'll ſend him an apology.

Apology!

Ay, and you ſhall take it.

Me!

Or ſuppoſe, Zebede, you go ſup with him in my ſtead?

Thank you, Sir; but I eat no ſupper now-a-days.

Refuſe the honour of ſupping above with our great prophet!

'Tis a great honour, but I'd rather eat even a pork chop here below, than partake of the fineſt feaſt that was ever prepar'd above for Mahomet's table.

Where's the other letter you received for me.

Ruin'd! Somebody's told him.

Oh! mercy, my lord; as I hope for heaven I dropt it out of my pocket.

Then heaven ſhall be your reward; firſt for your negligence of ſuch a precious charge, next your perfidy in denying you received it. Diſpatch him.

Oh! Lord! where, where is this letter?

Here

brought to me by my guar⯑dian angel.

Ay; brought to him by me and his other—You ſee what a pair of fine angels we are. Come, my friend—

Perform your duty

Oh! ſave my life!

My uncle in the hands of the mutes! Dread Lord, I claim as one of the three requeſts you pro⯑mis'd me. Whatever be his crime pardon it.

Half the promiſes were mine; ſo let him be half choak'd.

Hold.

Be quiet; his crime deſerves death. Pray what has he done, my Lord?

This my nephew!

The important ſervice of bringing me that letter, loſt by his negligence, has a claim much beyond that promiſe. Live.

Gracious Highneſs

Oh! my dear nephew—you damn'd ſcoundrel; what, did you give him the letter?

my beloved lad, you have ſav'd my life—I'll hang you; you pick'd my pocket, you thief.

Inſtantly let me ſee your accounts; then quit my ſervice and my ſight for ever.

Now, why would you interfere? One little ſqueeze of the bow-ſtring would have done no harm to a Jew.

What brought my uncle into this ſcrape?

Your's! Well, I wou'dn't ſuffer ſuch a rogue to be an uncle of mine, even my father—tho' according to the preſent ſtate of things, no man can be born before his father; yet if mine was a bad man, I'd diſinherit him, I would by—he's as great a little old robber—Since now you've money, damn it, never own ſuch a raſcally relation. I and my guitar are tun'd for a frolic. I muſt ſally now into the ſtreets in ſearch of a night adventure, to lay in a morning's hearty laugh for the Baſſa. You'll come. When I'm in my joking humour I like to have one in company that's able to fight for me. I can fight myſelf, but I'd as leave let it alone, Indeed I have never been matched; bigger than myſelf won't fight me; leſs than myſelf I ſcorn to fight; and a man exactly my own ſize muſt be ſuch a microcoſm, ſuch a neat picture of perfection, that I could not find in my heart to hurt him. Come.

I'm engag'd. Near my time to meet Dora at the Friar's, and then to ſupper with the taylor.

Nay, do come boy.

You muſt excuſe me to-night—Every expence poor Croſs-Leg may be at I am now able to reimburſe.

Good bye, generous Sir, I humbly thank you for the honour you have procur'd me.

Aye, but don't, like other great men, for⯑get the friend that raiſed you; ſo as I'm going to-night [14] [...] perhaps ſome dangerous frolick, if in your walks you [...]hould find any hard fiſts rais'd over my fine head, remember, my brave barber, my ſword and ſhield are your [...] and baſon. Tol! lol! lol!

SCENE II. Inſide of Croſs-Leg's.

Ha! ha! ha!

That's the handſomeſt ſong, Sir, I ever heard.

Then you like my ſinging?

Much.

So do I. Ha! ha! ha!

What comical things you jokers ſay.

Jokers ſhould ſay comical things.

And you can dance—do Sir, pray—

Dance! pray excuſe me?

Excuſe me, Ha! ha! ha! Lord, if I don't delight in you; you're ſo jocobus.

Yes, Sir; as my wife Juggy ſays, you're quite jocobus. Ha! ha! ha! But I'm to equip you with a ſuit. I'll cut a meaſure, Juggy, the parchment.

Parchment! you'll not put me into a law⯑ſuit? Ha! ha! ha!

Oh! you courtiers, Ha! ha! ha! Do you know, Sir, I'd try to be one myſelf; that's—in the ſmall way.

What, like me?

Yes, Sir; only I'm ſo much afraid I might have my head chopp'd off. Ha! ha! ha!

Oh, ho! maſter taylor, you've an eye to your upper button. Ha! ha! ha!

Right, Sir. Ha! ha! ha!

I tell you I was all right 'till put wrong, by accident, when an infant. I was the prettieſt, plumpeſt little rogue—why I was named the Bloſſom of Beauty, and Bud of Delight.

Lord! how odd!

I was an abſolute cherry on the tree.

Then the birds have been pecking at you a good deal, Sir?

But one unlucky day, my mother's maid, ſtarting upon the ſudden ſight of her ſweetheart, ſtruck out my firſt two teeth with may coral; ſlapp'd one of the bells into this left eye; knock'd me off the nurſery-table, and, breaking my back, made me—regardez—I'effet—

Ha! ha! ha!

Ay, you may laugh; but this hunch props my fortune at court; but, Ha ha! ha! Do you know, that by the help of a ſecond looking-glaſs, I often ſtand and laugh at it myſelf?

Ha! ha! ha! Yes, Sir; and in the front glaſs, you, and your hunch peeping over, muſt look the picture of the ape and her brat in the fable. Ha! ha! ha!

Ay; but if it even griev'd me—there's a noſe, what ſay you to that feature?

So much beauty before—I reflect that with my hunch—I leave all my ſorrows behind me—

and then there's a leg.

So it is, Sir. Look, Juggy, his honour ſtands upon a moſt fine turn'd pedeſtal—

A beautiful calf!

For all this, I'll lay the price of my new ſuit of cloaths, I ſhew as good a leg in company as this.

Oh, no, Sir! No, no; you don't!

That's as good. Gad I've won! They're fellows, and good follows too. Ha! ha! ha!

Very handſome—beautiful—

Did you ever ſee ſuch a bandy raſcal? but he's a great man, and we muſt flatter him.

But I proteſt huſband I will wait no longer for Abſalom and Dora; our little ſupper will be quite ſpoil'd; and ſince you have invited this gentleman, and prevented his getting a better elſewhere, if he will condeſcend to partake of our homely meal—

It's certainly very bold of ſuch lowly folks as us to expect that his highneſs, the Baſſa's chief fa⯑vourite, would humble himſelf to—

Hold your tongue, for here's the ſupper.

Supper!—then I'll ſtop my mouth.

It's as pretty a little bit—Come, pray, Sir, make free; you know, if fiſh get's cold—

It's a nice morſel!—Juggy, help the gentleman, and hold your clack.

Why, faith, you ſeem to live very com⯑fortable here—and your morſel does look ſo nicely tempting—Egad, I will.

Do, pray, Sir; we had this prepar'd for a young couple.

Ay; by their ſtay father Anſelm has brought them in to ſup with his brethren in their refectory;—thoſe holy fathers, Sir, love to live well.

If it's holy to live well, this is the moſt pious diſh I ever taſted.

Then do, Sir, pray eat heartily?

Juggy, fill a glaſs—Sir,

Why, right; fiſh ſhould ſwim three times; water, ſauce, and wine.

As I'm Mahometan I'm forbid wine; but when I'm amongſt you Chriſtians—Ha! ha! ha!

Right, Sir; at Rome do as Rome does.

That's a neat morſel, Sir.

I'll taſte it with attention.

Oh! Sir! I don't wonder at the Baſſa putting you into office, or giving you a fine penſion—I'd do juſt the ſame; and I think you'd do ſo by me. You might get a body a ſkirt of ſomething pretty at court though?

Will you never ha'done with your bodies and ſkirts? Always ſhewing the taylor!

I won't.

My wife, Sir, is as ſharp as a needle; but, Sir, as I was ſaying, what a place would I give ſuch a witty gentleman as you, was I a Beglarbeg, or a Walachian deſpot, I'd give you the fineſt place—

I believe you are a Holland ſtadholder, for you've given me a very fine Dutch plaice; (all laugh) but I muſt try to kick up ſome frolick here to night, to [22] make out a joke for the Baſſa, that bill

ſets the taylor and Zebede by the ears, that's ſome miſchief

Aye, now you talk of us Chriſtians, Mr. Crumpy, as you are ſuch a great man at court, if you'd only uſe your intereſt to get this cruel new law againſt us repeal'd—

New law, what! Oh! true the procla⯑mation. Oh! oh! Now I have it.

Sir, that's what made my good man at firſt ſo much afraid of aſking you in.

For, Sir, if you ſhould, which is im⯑poſſible, be affronted, or receive the ſmalleſt hurt un⯑der this poor Chriſtian roof, what wou'd become of me and my dear orthodox ſpouſy?

Eh! this promiſes a joke

This fiſh is very ſweet, but it has a great many bones!

Bones; a good hint

—and ſo you were afraid if any thing ſhould happen to me in your houſe, 'twould bring you into the clutches of the Cadi, and his bailiffs and terrible catchpoles

That we were, Sir.

As you ſay, this fiſh is very ſweet, but it has a damn'd deal of bones indeed; and as I have a curs'd narrow ſwallow—Egad! I muſt take care—

Pray do, Sir; but don't ſpoil your meal.

I was ſaying, Sir, this ſeverity to us is rather hard; for, was I the Baſſa of Bagdad

You ſee how you get yourſelf laugh'd at, with your Beglarbegs and Baſhaw, you noodle

Now, Sir, am I a noodle?

Cluck!—Cluck!—

Ay, Sir, laugh; for ha! ha! ha! I can't help laughing at it myſelf, ha! ha! ha! and yet, Sir, if you look into hiſtory, as unlikely things have hap⯑pen'd.

I vow, huſband, your folly makes the gentle⯑man laugh ſo, that he can't eat—

Why, Sir, now recollect pray, wasn't the Grand Vizier to Mahomet the Second a cobler?—And the great Prince Menzikoff was a paſtry-cook.

Entertaining gentlemen with coblers and paſtry-cooks.

Cluck!—Cluck!—

Ha! ha! ha! Well, Sir, to be ſure it was a good joke, ha! ha! ha! and I'm glad it makes you ſo merry; but if I'm not allow'd to be a Baſhaw, don't let us have our fiſh cold

Why, huſband, you're ſo very ridiculous, that I vow to heaven, if you haven't ſet the gentleman into convulſions, laughing at you! Do pray, Sir, eat your ſupper, and never mind him.

Oh! well, Sir, with ſubmiſſion to your great wit and grand quality—yet for a man to be laugh'd at, at one's own table, tho' one's poor!—

Why ſure the gentleman can't ſpeak!

I've heard ſay, a fit of laug⯑hing is as bad as a fit of crying—Eh!—Oh, Lord! huſ⯑band, ſomething's the matter! Do, Sir, take a glaſs of wine!

No, then I will—Sir, your health

which of us now is the laugh againſt? Ha! ha! ha!

Mercy!—

the fiſh!—a bone ſtuck in his throat—hit him on the back.

Zounds! wife, you'll knock his hump off, and then he'll loſe his place at court

Will you let the bottle alone, and do ſome⯑thing—

Oh! very well! but I thought I could not do better—

Dear Sir, have you finiſh'd your ſupper?

No; but his ſupper has finiſh'd him!

Yes, he's choak'd!

In our houſe!—a Mahometan!—then we ſhall be choak'd!

Oh dear! good Sir,—if you can't ſpeak, do tell us?

Wife, be quiet,

he's quiet!—not only a Muſſulman, but the Baſſa's prime favourite!—if he's found dead in our houſe, you and I are thrown over a croſs ſtick and hang'd like a pair of breeches.

He's dead!

As Adam, the firſt taylor.

Ah?

The devil!—have you a mind to bring the Janizary's patrol upon us?

This comes of your peeping in the ſtreets at night—you can't ſit to your ſupper without muſic, and be curs'd to your fine ears!

I'll try ſome wine down his gullet.

We were happy and well, and you cou'dn't quietly wait for Abſalom and Dora, but you muſt bring your great turbans, and your Crumpy's and Humpy's in upon us.

I think ſtill there's life—Abſalom's a barber, if he was come, he ſhould bleed him!—Stay, I'll cut open a vein with my ſhears.

Do.

Was that you, Juggy?

No; you devil! 'twas the man you kill'd—you wou'd aſk a Turk to eat fiſh of a Friday, and then talk of bleeding him with your ſhears.

Zounds! I'd bleed him with a pick-axe, if it could bring him to life

Did you hear? Tim, ſuppoſe you try to thruſt the bone down with a horn ſpoon,

No; I'll pull it up with theſe nut-crackers—but hold, we may ſqueeze out the little life he has left—Juggy, my dear, do you ſtep down ſtairs, and open the ſtreet door ſoftly, Doctor Quinquina's houſe is not ſix doors off: if his ſoul has not got out of hear⯑ing, the Doctor may whiſtle it back again: liſten; is the ſtreet clear.

Yes; there's a moon tho'.

Our ſide of the way, to the Doctor's, is all in the ſhadow, I'll take Crumpy on my back

Come along, you moſt ugly ſon of a broken back!—I wiſh my back had been broke before I had aſk'd you up my ſtairs.

A pretty thing, that honeſt women muſt go to market to buy fiſh for you to choak yourſelf with; you moſt abominable freight!

Zounds! Have you pluck'd off his eye⯑brow? By the Lord ſhe'll pull him to pieces before I can get him off my back!

This little Turk is not as big as half a Chriſtian, and yet he is as heavy as two popes. Oh, dear:

SCENE III. The ſtreet before Croſs-Leg's houſe.

Nobody in the way; and if there ſhould, what will become of us? Will you make haſte, you Tim Croſs-Leg!

Now, Juggy, you will leave our pat⯑tens in the entry.

Come, quick!

Any one in the ſtreet?—If the patrol catches us!

Stop! Is not that a watchman's ſtaff ſticking out?

Yes; keep back

—Oh! no; its only a barber's pole.

Do you think there's any life?

Hold your tongue. Give juſt one knock at the Doctor's door.

What the devil do you want to alarm the town?

Lord, how I tremble! I've given five knocks inſtead of one!

If this ſame doctor cures him, why then he'll be well—may be—and if he kills him, its only another death added to the doctor's liſt; and I ſhift the danger off my ſhoulders

that cloud comes acroſs the moon rarely.

Who's there?

It's only Dominique the doctor's man-wife. Do you anſwer?

Can't you?

Anſwer, I tell you.

Indeed I ſhan't.

And I'm ſure I won't then.

Who's there?

It's I!

And who are you knocking at peoples doors at night? Go along, or I'll call the patrol.

Oh, Lord!

I tell you Tim Croſs-Leg, fling Mr. Crumpy down, and let us run away!

Qui eſt la, Who is dat? You, Dominique ſtand here. I ſay, who are you? It's ſo dark I can⯑not know any man's face!

I'm glad of that; I'll darken my voice too.

Speak what you want, or I'll knock your viſage

Lord, Sir, it is I! Here is the man.

Here, Sir; here is the man

An't pleaſe you, maſter Doctor, I and my mother here—

Mother—Sirrah!—upon my word

She's a midwife, Sir, and having been call'd up to a poor woman that was ſuddenly taken ill, I thought I'd ſee her ſafe—ſo coming along, ſhe deſired me—Billy, ſays ſhe, what is that leaning againſt that there poſteſs? I directly went to look—for I'm a very dutiful boy—an't I mammy?

Diable!—Vat you call me out in de cold ſtreet chattering about you and your mammy

But, Sir, I've brought you a patient—and he brings you a fee.

You are de patient vid de fee; dat is quite anoder ting!

Yes, Sir, 'twas this gentleman—

Sacre Dieu! vat is dat?

Yes, Sir, 'twas this gentleman we ſaw lean⯑ing; he ſeem'd to have been taken ill—

And knowing you to be a doctor—

Ceſt vrai—dat all de town knows—I'm a very great doctor—

Finding him ſo bad, we brought him to you in hopes—

Ventre Bleau! you tink I am to take into my houſe all de bad vagabond you pick out of the ſtreet? Allez—bring him to the vatch-houſe for to-night, and in de morning dey will ſend him to de hoſpital—take de man from my door!

Lord, Sir, he's no man but a gentleman.

Noble Sir, only look cloſe at him; his fine cloths prove he's ſome very great perſonage.

Eh! bygar his coat do ſhine vid gold!

Yes, Sir, if the lining agrees with the outſide, he may turn out a good patient!

I vil never turn out a good patient; bring de gentleman in, I vil cure him in half of tree minutes.

Move him gently, there—take care of his leg, Juggy.

Oui, take care of his jug, legge!

You, Dominique, aſſiſt to help the gen⯑tleman up to my laboratory.

Good doctor, there you have him; and now, kill or cure him as you can—Come Juggy.

Run for it

The twelfth hour; all's well,

Get in!

All's well!

SCENE IV. Doctor's ſtudy, with books, phials and anatomical ſubjects.

Lud! I've got into ſtep-father's ſtudy, ſur⯑rounded by his horrid ſkeletons near one!—then no chance of the ſtreet door being open'd again to-night—How ſhall I get out! perhaps my Abſalom and Habby are waiting for me.

The Doctor's up! ſure ſomebody's come in below—ſince I have got my jewels

—I muſt only watch patiently for the firſt opening of the hall door.

Bring him up

Oh, Lord!—they've been robbing the church-yard!

Help my patient up here.

No; it's not a dead man!

Quick, you Dominique, then lock the ſtreet door.

Then I muſt be quick and firſt get out, if I can

Help the gentilhomme up to my laboratory

Here! place him in my own eaſy grand chaiſe

We will ſee what ve cannot do for him. Come Depechez vous Dominique.

Sit you down, Sir.

Ah! you're much malade! very bad!

Not I, Sir! I'm very well.

Diable! What, Dominique! Get you out of my grand chaiſe

What you mean? Where is the ſick gentleman, my patient?

Patiently waiting below, Sir.

And vy you and de midwife no bring him up, Sire!

Lord, Sir! the midwife and her ſon Billy are gone—they flung the gentleman into the hall, ſlap'd the door, and run away.

Then the door's not lock'd yet!

Dey are rogues!—dey have firſt pick'd his pocket—if ſo, he can't pay me my fee; but he ſeems nobleſſe from his gold coat, ſo I will cure him at a venture—Sir, vil you pleaſe to walk up?

He's weak—Dominique, you go aſſiſt him.

I vil hold de light for you myſelf; I am not too proud for dat.

Now is my time to get out before the door is faſten'd for the night.

Dominique, bring the gentil⯑homme up gently. You ſee you muſt carry him—don't knock his head vid de banniſters—he is very weak—ah! pouvre?—very well?—bien!—ſoftly!—up vid him—ah, hah!

Dere, now he is ſafe, and vel up—ſet him on his leg on de land⯑ing—Comment vous portez vous, Monſieur?

Ay, he cannot talk, he is ſo weak;—lift him up, and bring him in, ſet him gently—

Lord, if he hasn't a hunch!

Ciel!—'tis Mr. Crumpy the Baſſa's favourite, Litte Hunch-back, joker! Mon dieu! if I cure him it will make my fortune at court, tol, lol, lol,

take care you, Dominique, don't hurt his hump! How do you do, Sir?

Now for it—

Oh, Lord!

Sacre Dieu!—Vat is dat?

Huſh! don't make a noiſe, Sir; who or what⯑ever that is, it has tumbled the ſick gentleman from the top of the ſtairs to the bottom.—Yes; it has certainly kill'd him!

Kill'd de man dead!—Ah! malheurreux, den I've loſt my fee! We muſt inſtantly ſend his dead body to the court

Hold Sir!—Do you forget the proclamation againſt the Chriſtians?—ſo ſevere that they're getting out of the city as faſt as they can carry off their effects. Why, Sir, if his dead body is found here—

C'eſt vrai, 'twill 'be ſaid I did kill him! I ſhall be hang'd, and my head will undergo amputation—I am miſerable!—but vat was dat, that did do dis?

Lord, Sir! no time for enquiry now—the only thing to think of now is to ſave our lives, by getting rid of Mr. Crumpy's ſoul caſe.

En verite, 'twould vex me to be hang'd for killing ſuch an ugly coquin, if it was even me dat did kill him, it would be ſome comfort—ah, ha!—I have conceive grand toughts

Dominique, we muſt get dis Monſieur Crumpy out of my houſe, and I have tink of de way to put him into ſomebody elſe's houſe. Get me a rope, dat is all I vant, and den run up ſtairs and open de ſky-light window dat goes out to de leads a-top of my houſe—

Suppoſe, Sir, you feel his pulſe?

Feel a dead man's pulſe! Ah, Hébeté! Quick, do my command

—Stop!

—I will go up myſelf and open de ſky-light window, while you get de rope.

I don't know where to find a rope.

Den if yon don't, de hangman vil find a rope for you and me, allez depechez vous.

SCENE V. A room at the top of Zebede's houſe, a table, accompt books, cheſ [...]s, ſtrong boxes, &c.

So, Abſalom and Dora, with their booty from uncle and ſtep-father, I have left ſafe on board the Engliſh ſloop—my coming back takes all ſuſpicion from me; and I'll pick up ſomething for myſelf too, and then for Europe with the younkers—Egad, old maſter Zebede, we have already made a rare haul upon your cheſts and bags here, that will teach you to beat your clerks as you've done me.

Up another ſtory.

Zounds! here he comes to ſee what I've done to his books.

Aye, this garret is my compting-houſe, ha! ha! ha!

Up in the clouds, like my workſhop!

Now your buſineſs?

Private.

Habby, go down!

Oh, ſtop!—Have you put all my accounts into confuſion, to puzzle my maſter, the Baſſa, if he ſhould look over them.

Yes, Sir; you'll find all here in a very fine confuſion.

How this draft of Crumpy's came into my pocket I don't know! except it was to pay for his ſupper—however, if the Jew here will but give me caſh, I'll have made a good night's job of it.

An unſeaſonable hour for you to call!

I thought money never came out of ſeaſon with a Jew; diſcount that bill

I have no objection—that is, for the premium—Why this is payable to Mr. Crumpy? Oh, he has ſent you for the monies?

Yes—I'm plaguy bad at a lie; I wiſh my wife had come

But where is Little Hunch-back himſelf?

He's—I—I—ſuppoſe he's at home. By this the Doctor has made an otomy of him

Eh!

I'm all on the tenters! But even if Crumpy's death ſhould be found out, I ſhall now have money to carry me to Europe with the other Chriſtians, that are getting from the Baſſa's perſecution

'Tis a good bill, but I ſuſpect not come ho⯑neſtly by; and I cou'd ſtop you and it, but as you are a neighbour I will pay you the whole money, if you give me half.

I'm found out—why man—did you think I'd wrong—

Huſh! Hunch-back is a damn'd little impu⯑dent ſcoundrel—it's nothing to me if any body has robb'd, or even cut his windpipe.

I choak him! or know any thing at all of his death—Oh, Lord! what do you go to ſay that for?

Why, is he dead?

Why, if he—how ſhould I know whe⯑ther he's dead or alive? You've a bad conſcience, Mr. Zebede, that's what makes you ſo frighten'd as you are.

Me!—why ſhould I be frighten'd?

And why ſhould I, if you go to that?

Why, what the devil are you at?—one wou'd think you had been concern'd in—

Every body knows that I'm a man—that—deſpiſes all that kind of—what ſort of—unlucky diſ⯑mal looking place to bring a man into.

Diſmal!—(looks round) Be quiet, you're enough to make one afraid, indeed,

Oh, Lord!

What do you do that for?—None of your tricks.

Gad, I'm in no humour for tricks!

Mr. Crumpy may be dead for what I know; but if he thinks I had any hand in it, I'd tell him he lyed—aye, to his very whiſkers

What's that!

Are you the devil, or the cat?—but what could bring puſs in a pair of gold breeches—it is certainly the—Oh? Samuel, Saul, and the Witch of Endor?—Oh! don't ſtare ſo with your big bull's eyes, and your wide mouth like a maiden jay

Oh! you are very polite—Eh! he looks—if it ſhould be a live man he's a robber! I'll drag this great cheſt of plate and dollars out of this room—I wiſh I had Habby here to help me, it's ſo heavy

Oh! death of Iſrael!—the cheſt is ſo light it muſt be quite empty!

What, you know that, you damn'd thief

Yes, my money and plate is all gone, and you've come down my chimney for more, you drop-gibbet!—but I will defend my property, if you were Bel and the Dragon

you banditti!—bandeliro!—you Arab, plunderer of caravans; come before the Cadi, ſpeak—Eh!—he's dead!—bleſs me!—if it ſhould be I that has kill'd him—a hunch! ſave me, if it isn't Mr. Crumpy himſelf only come down my chimney to play his jeſts upon me—or if it ſhould be he that did rob my cheſt, the Baſſa will never be⯑lieve me—he's dead!—Oh! heavens! now I recollect the proclamation againſt the Jews! If this is found out, it is certain death for me; and as I'm already in diſgrace—nobody ſaw me ſtrike him—few people in [32]the ſtreets, and ſo near morning, the watch are gone off their ſtands—you naſty little beaſt!—you was my plague when alive, and now you muſt throw your death upon me with your gambols

he is yet warm—but once he's out of my houſe, let him die or live! Come on my back, and the devil take your hump.

SCENE VI. The ſtreet. (day break)

"God ſave great George our King"—the Chriſtian paſſengers are waiting in my ſloop—they'll find brandy enough in my lockers to amuſe them—tell them we will fall down the pool this tide.

Theſe pippin—ſqueezers to break up company, we never begin to cotton together and be jolly till it comes to the little hours (ſings) tol! lol! lol!

"How can we depart,

"When friendſhip has grappled each man by the heart."

There, ſtand or tumble down for Zebede—good morning to you, Mr. Crumpy—

Holloa!—ſtop!

Yes; there he ſtops for you.

Take one bottle with me—you won't—a pint—a gill—then you're a ſneaking raſcal!—ſo that's your Bagdad Scanderoon manners. I wiſh I was back again in Old England—What a damn'd country this is, that I can't get one honeſt fellow to take a bottle with me!

Cluck!—Cluck!—

Who's that?

—a very capital Turk, upon my honour! How do you do, Sir?

You might make a leg, I don't expect you'll take off your hat, becauſe you have none—will you do me the favour to take a glaſs with me, or I muſt turn into my hammock—Eh! what d'ye ſay?—Oh! I know you're not allow'd wine—none of your winking!—over the way they have the niceſt liquor—how he licks his lips

but come along—Eh! you may give a civil anſwer though—damme! who minds your grinning or grunting? Very proud—but the [33]Grand Turk himſelf needn't be aſham'd to talk to a Briton. Heark-yee, my lad, if you intend to affront me, damme if I don't lend you a dowſe o'the chops

riſe and ſtand up to me, an En⯑gliſhman ſcorns to ſtrike a fall'n enemy.

Seize him!

Will you drink a bottle with me?

Yonder's his Highneſs the Baſſa himſelf coming from the moſque.

The matter here?

Pleaſe your Highneſs this Chriſtian has kill'd a Muſſulman!

Heavens!—it's Hunch-back

How I tremble!—if he finds out 'twas I—Oh! cruel man

How could you be ſo wicked as to take his life?

Don't go near the body, or it will bleed afreſh!

Nobody ſuſpect 'twas I did kill him. I am ſo frighten'd

I have got his murder off my ſhoulders mighty lucky!

What a wicked man you muſt be to kill my dear little friend!

What proof, that this is the murderer?

Pleaſe your worſhip—Mr.—my Lord Mayor—I confeſs I did give this pretty little gentleman a dowſe, but if it did kill 'twas in my own defence.

How?

I can't drink alone—he wou'dn't drink with me—I ſhould die without drinking—ſo let your jury of twelve bring it in manſlaughter.

I've thought of a method to come at the truth of this matter. Whoever kill'd him, inſtead of puniſhment ſhall have a reward. This buffoon was once my favourite, but growing moſt in⯑tolerably ſtupid, I've long wiſh'd him out of my way. Give the Briton a purſe of a thouſand tomilees.

If I've kill'd a man I cou'd weep for it; but the price of blood ſhall never ſtain this hand

I cou'd cry myſelf for poor Crumpy—but give me the purſe, for finding you wanted to get rid of him, to oblige your Highneſs, 'twas I that kill'd him.

You! Begar it was I dat did de murder him, to pleaſe you, my Lord, vid von grande kick of my fiſt I did give him de fine knock, a tumble down my tree pair of ſtair; and den I did drop his body down your chimney—ſo give de money—

To me

for with a fiſh bone, at my houſe, I gave him the fatal Cluck!—Cluck!

—and that I might be ſure of his being kill'd, I brought him to the Doctor's.

Aye; but who went to the market to buy that fiſh? My Lord, on the word of a woman, 'twas I that put the very bone on his plate that ſtuck in his throttle!—

So the reward has extorted a confeſſion I wanted, and convicted you all of intentional murder from your own lips—Guards ſeize them—In reality his death grieves me, and the man that extracts the bone, and reſtore's the life of my poor favourite, ſhall have the purſe I promis'd.

Then that man am I

lay the caſh here

What is this!

A frolick; ha! ha! ha!—I've ſuffer'd this delicate little body of mine to be lug'd, thumpt, jum⯑bled and tumbled all night, only to make a laugh for you this morning—and if you don't laugh, egad, you yourſelf in future for Crumpy!

What!

Comment!

Juggy!—

Why, by Mahomet, it has been a laughable night's frolick indeed!—but all, but the honeſt En⯑gliſhman, whoſe truth was above hope of reward or fear of puniſhment, ſhall die.

I Sieur Crumpy, Lord Chief Juſtice Joker, ſwear upon my hunch and honour, that nobody ſhall die, except Zebede the Jew, Quinquina the Doctor, Croſs-Leg the Taylor, and Dame Juggy his ortho⯑dox ſpouſy.

My Lord, we took theſe ſuſpected Chriſ⯑tians, with thoſe rich goods, on board.

My ſloop, a breach of the peace with Eng⯑land, my Lord!

A truce!

What, my preſerver flying from my favour!

I fear'd, Sir, I ſhould forfeit that, by turning Chriſtian; and, converted by Dora, here I—

You began your Chriſ⯑tianity by robbing your uncle—juſtice, my Lord, on this!

Stop; well remembered!—the barber and I here have yet two promiſes to claim; one is, that you'll give the purſe to the generous Engliſhman, to give to me when I refuſe next to drink with him—the other, that you'll repeal the law againſt the Chriſtians—and the other—

What three?

Be quiet—this is the beſt of all—that you'll hang Zebede and the Doctor, if they don't give their conſent and capital fortunes to this worthy young couple.

Preſuming on my friend, the Vizier's favour, I'll grant them.

I grant you ſhou'd—Chriſtians, Turks, Jews, my ſeeming death has prov'd my kind maſter wou'd mourn my worthleſs life! and when I ceaſe to wiſh my Prince may live long and merrily, may I be choak'd with a whalebone.