ACT I.

MR. Bellmour,—let me die, Sir,—as I hope to be ſav'd, Sir,—

Sirrah! Rogue! Villain!—I'll teach you, I will, you Raſcal, to ſpeak irreverently of her I love.—

As I am a Sinner, Sir, I only meant—

Only meant! You cou'd not mean it, Jackanapes,—you had no Meaning, Booby.—

Why, no, Sir,—that's the very Thing, Sir,—I had no Meaning.

Then Sirrah, I'll make you know your Meaning for the future.—

Yes, Sir,—to be ſure, Sir,—and yet upon my Word if you would be but a little cool, Sir, you'd find I am not much to blame.—Beſides Maſter, you can't conceive the good it would do your Health, if you will but keep your Temper a little.—

Mighty well Sir, give your Advice.

Why really now this ſame Love hath metamorphoſed us both very ſtrangely, Maſter,—for to be free; here have we been at this Work theſe ſix Weeks,—ſtark-ſtaring mad in Love with a Couple of Baggages not worth a Groat,—and yet Heaven help us! they have as much Pride as comes to the Share of a Lady of Quality before ſhe has been caught in the Fact with a handſome young Fellow,—or indeed after ſhe has been caught for that Matter.—

You won't have done Raſcal.—

In ſhort, my young Miſtreſs and her Maid have as much Pride and Poverty as—as—no Matter what, they have the Devil and all,—when at the ſame Time every Body knows the old broken Upholſterer Miſs Harriet's Father, might give us all he has in the World, and not eat the worſe Pudding on a Sunday for it.

Impious, execrable Atheiſt! What, detract from Hea⯑ven! I'll reform your Notions, I will, you ſaucy—

Nay, but my dear Sir!—a little Patience,—not ſo hard.—

Bellmour your Servant,—what at Loggerheads with my old Friend Briſk.

Confuſion! Mr. Rovewell your Servant,—this is your doing, hang Dog.—Jack Rovewell I am glad to ſee thee.—

Briſk uſed to be a good Servant,—he has not been tampering with any of his Maſter's Girls has he?

Do you know Rovewell that he has had the Impudence to talk detractingly and profanely of my Miſtreſs?—

For which Sir, I have ſuffer'd inhumanly and moſt unchriſtian-like, I aſſure you.

Will you leave Prating, Booby?

Well, but Bellmour, where does ſhe live?—I'm but juſt arriv'd you know, and I'll go and beat up her Quarters.—

Beat up her Quarters!—

Hey! What fallen into a Reverie!—Prithee Briſk what does all this mean?

Why, Sir, you muſt know—I am over Head and Ears in Love.—

But I mean your Maſter; what alls him?

That's the very Thing I'm going to tell you Sir,—as I ſaid, Sir,—I am over Head and Ears in Love with a [4] whimſical, queer kind of a Piece, here in the Neighbour⯑hood, and ſo nothing can ſerve my Maſter, but he muſt fall in Love with her Miſtreſs,—look at him now, Sir,—

Ha, ha, ha,—Poor Bellmour, I pity thee withal my Heart.—

Ye Gods annihilate both Space and Time,—And make two Lovers happy.—

My dear Rovewell, ſuch a Girl,—ten Thouſand Cupids play about her Mouth, you Rogue.—

Ten Thouſand Pounds had better play about her Pocket.—What Fortune has ſhe?

Heaven help us, not much to crack of.—

Not much to crack of Mr. Brazen,—prithee Rovewell, how can you be ſo ungenerous as to aſk ſuch a Queſtion? You know I don't mind Fortune, though by the Way ſhe has an Uncle who is determin'd to ſettle very hand⯑ſomely on her; and on the Strength of that, does ſhe give herſelf innumerable Airs.—

Fortune not to be minded!—I'll tell you what Bellmour, tho' you have a good one already, there's no kind of In⯑convenience in a little more,—I'm ſure if I had not minded Fortune, I might have been in Jamaica ſtill, not worth a Sugar-Cane; but the Widow Moloſſes took a Fancy to me;—Heaven, or a worſe Deſtiny has taken a Fancy to her, and ſo after ten Years Exile, and being turn'd a-driſt by my Father, here am I again a warm Planter, and a Widower, moſt woefully tir'd of Matrimony;—but my dear Bellmour we were both ſo overjoy'd to meet one another yeſterday Evening, juſt as I arriv'd in Town, that I did not hear a Syllable from you of your Love Fit: How, when, and where did this happen?

Oh!—by the moſt fortunate Accident that ever was,—I'll tell thee Rovewell: I was going one Night from the Ta⯑vern about Six Weeks ago,—I had been there with a Parcel of Blades whoſe only Joy is center'd ſo their Bottle, and faith till this Accident I was no better myſelf,—but ever ſince I am grown quite a new Man.

Ay, a new Man indeed!—Who in the Name of Won⯑der would take thee, ſunk as thou art into a muſing, moping, melancholy Lover, for the gay Charles Bellmour whom I knew in the Weſt-Indies?

Poh, that is not mentioned,—you know my Father took me againſt my Will from the Univerſity, and con⯑ſigned me over, to the academic Diſcipline of a Man of War; ſo chat to prevent a Dejection of Spirits, I was oblig'd to run into the oppoſite Extreme,—as you yourſelf were wont to do.

Why, yes, I had my Moments of Reflection, and was glad to diſſipate them—You know I always told you there was ſomething extraordinary in my Story; and ſo there is ſtill, I ſuppoſe it muſt be cleared up in a few Days now—I'm in no Hurry about it tho'; I muſt ſee the Town a lit⯑tle this Evening, and have my Frolic firſt. But to the Point Bellmour, you was going from the Tavern you ſay.—

Yes, Sir, about two in the Morning, and I perceiv'd an unuſual Blaze in the Air,—I was in a rambling Humour, and ſo reſolv'd to know what it was.

I, and my Ma [...]er went together Sir.—

Oh! Rovewell! my better Stars ordain'd it to light me on to Happineſs;—by ſure Attraction led, I came to the very Street where a Houſe was on Fire; Water-Engines playing, Flames aſcending, all Hurry, Confuſion, and Diſtreſs; when on a ſudden the Voice of Deſpair, Sil⯑ver ſweet, came thrilling down to my very Heart;—poor, [6] dear, little Soul, what can ſhe do, cried the Neighbours? Again ſhe ſcream'd, the Fire gathering Force, and gaining upon her every Inſtant;—here Ma'am ſaid I, leap into my Arms, I'll be ſure to receive you;—and wou'd you think it?—down ſhe came,—my dear Rovewell, ſuch a Girl!—I caught her in my Arms you Rogue, ſafe, without Harm.—The dear naked Venus, juſt riſen from her Bed, my Boy,—her ſlender Waiſt Rovewell, the downy Smooth⯑neſs of her whole Perſon, and her Limbs ‘harmonious, ſwell'd by Nature's ſofteſt Hand.’—

Raptures, and Paradiſe!—What Seraglio in Covent-Garden did you carry her to?

There again now! Do, prithee correct your Way of Thinking, take a quantum ſufficit of virtuous Love, and purify your Ideas.—Her lovely Baſhfulneſs, her delicate Fears,—her Beauty heighten'd and endear'd by Diſtreſs, diſpers'd my wildeſt Thoughts, and melted me into Ten⯑derneſs and Reſpect.—

But Bellmour, ſurely ſhe has not the Impudence to be modeſt after you have had Poſſeſſion of her Perſon.—

My Views are honourable I aſſure you, Sir; but her Fa⯑ther is ſo abſurdly poſitive.—The Man's diſtracted about the Balance of Power, and will give his Daughter to none but a Politician.—When there was an Execution in his Houſe, he thought of nothing but the Camp at Pyrna, and now he's a Bankrupt, his Head runs upon Ways and Means, and Schemes for paying off the national Debt: The Affairs of Europe engroſs all his Attention, while the Diſtreſſes of his lovely Daughter paſs unnoticed.

Ridiculous enough!—But why do you mind him? Why don't you go to Bed to the Wench at once?—Take her into Keeping Man.—

How can you talk ſo affrontingly of her?—Have not I [7] told you tho' her Father is ruin'd, ſtill ſhe has great Ex⯑pectancies from a rich Relation?—

Then what do you ſtand watering at the Mouth for? If ſhe is to have Money enough to pay for her China, her Gaming Debts, her Dogs, and her Monkeys, marry her then, if you needs muſt be enſnar'd; be in a Fool's Paradiſe for a Honey-Moon, then come to yourſelf, won⯑der at what you've done, and mix with honeſt Fellows again;—carry her off I ſay, and never ſtand whining for the Father's Conſent.—

Carry her off!—I like the Scheme,—will you aſſiſt me?

No, no, there I beg to be excus'd. Don't you remember what the Satyriſt ſays,—‘Never marry while there's a Halter to be had for Money, or a Bridge to afford a convenient Leap.’

Prithee leave Fooling.—

I am in ſerious Earneſt I aſſure you; I'll drink with you, game with you, go into any Scheme of Frolic with you, but war Matrimony.—Nay, if you'll come to the Tavern this Evening, I'll drink your Miſtreſs's Health in a Bum⯑per; but as to your conjugal Scheme, I'll have nothing to do with that Buſineſs poſitively.—

Well, well, I'll take you at your Word, and me [...] you at ten exactly at the ſame Place we were at laſt Night; then and there I'll let you know what further Meaſures I've concerted.

Till then, farewell, a-propos,—do you know that I've ſeen none of my Relations yet?

Time enough To-morrow.

Ay, ay, To-morrow will do,—well, your Servant.

Rovewell, yours,—ſee the Gentleman down Stairs,—and d'ye hear, come to me into my Study that I may give you a Letter to Harriot, and hark ye, Sir,—Be ſure your ſee Harriet yourſelf; and let me have no Meſſages from that officious go-between, her Mrs. Slipſlop of a Maid, with her unintelligible Jargon of hard Words, of which ſhe neither knows the Meaning nor Pronun⯑ciation—

I'll write to her this Moment, ac⯑quaint her with the ſoft Tumult of my Deſires, and, if poſſible, make her mine this very Night—

WELL, but Ma'am, he has made love to you ſix Weeks ſucceſsfully; he has been as conſtant to his 'Moors poor Gentleman, as if you had the Subverſion of a 'State to ſettle upon him—and if he ſlips thro' your Fin⯑gers, now Ma'am, you have, nobody to depute it to but your⯑ſelf.

Lord Termagant, how you ran on—I tell you again and again my Pride was [...]ouched, becauſe he ſeem'd to pro⯑ſume on his Opulence, and my Father's Diſtreſſes.

La, Miſs Harriet, how can you be ſo Paradropſical in your 'Pinions?

Well, but you know tho' my Father's affairs are ruin'd I am not in ſo deſperate a way; conſider, my Uncle's For⯑tune is no trifle, and I think that Proſpect intitles me to give myſelf a few airs before I reſign my Perſon.

I grant ye Ma'am, you have very good pretenſions; but then it's waiting for dead Men's Shoes: I'll venture to be perjur'd Mr. Bellmour ne'er diſclaim'd an Idear of your Father's diſtreſs—

Suppoſing that.

Suppoſe Ma'am—I know it di ſputably to be ſo.

Indiſputably I gueſs you mean;—but I'm tired of wrangling with you about Words.

By my troth you're in the right on't;—there's ne'er a ſhe in all old England, (as your Father' calls it) is Miſtreſs of ſuch Philſiology, as I am. Incertain I am, as how you does not know nobody that puts their Words together with ſuch a Curacy as myſelf. I once lived wsth a Miſtus, Ma'am,—Miſtus!—She was a Lady—a great Brewer's Wife!—and ſhe wore as fine Cloaths, as any Perſon of Quality, let her get up as early as ſhe will—and ſhe uſed to call me—Termagant, ſays ſhe,—What's the Signifi⯑cation of ſuch a Word—and I always told her—I told her the Importation of all my Words, though I could not help laughing, Miſs Harriet, to ſee ſo fine a Lady ſuch a downright Ignoranimus,

Well,—but pray now Termagant, would you have me directly upon being aſked the Queſtion, throw myſelf into the Arms of a Man?

O' my Conſcience you did throw yourſelf into his Arms with ſcarce a Shift on, that's what you did.

Yes, but that was a Leap in the Dark, when there was no Time to think of it.

Well, it does not ſignify Argifying, I wiſh we were both warm in Bed; you with Mr. Bellmour, and I wlth his Coxcomb of a Man; inſtead of being manured here with an old craſy Fool—axing your pardon Ma'am, for call⯑ing your Father ſo—but he is a Fool, and the worſt of Fools, with his Policies—when his Houſe is full of Sta⯑tues of Bangcreſſy.

It's too true Termagant,—yet he's my Father ſtill, and I can't help loving him.

Fiddle faddle,—Love him!—he's an Anecdote againſt Love.

Huſh! here he comes—

No, it's your Uncle Feeble, poor Gentleman, I pity's him, eaten up with Infirmaries, to be taking ſuch pains with a Madman.

Well Uncle, have you been able to conſole him?

He wants no Conſolation Child,—lackaday,—I'm ſo infirm I can hardly move.—I found him tracing in the Map, Prince Charles of Lorraine's Paſſage over the Rhne and comparing it with Julius Caeſar's.

An old Blockhead—I've no Patience with him with his Fellows coming after him every Hour in the Day with News. Well now I wiſhes there was no ſuch a Thing as a News-paper in the World, with ſuch a Pack of Lies, and ſuch a deal of Jab-jab every day.

Ay, there were three or four ſhabby Fellows with him when I went into his Room—I can't get him to think of appearing before the Commiſſioners To-morrow, to diſ⯑cloſe his Effects; but I'll ſend my Neighbour Counſellor Codicil to him,—don't be dejected Harriet, my poor Siſter, your Mother, was a good Woman; I love you for her ſake, Child, and all I am worth, ſhall be yours—But I muſt be going,—I find myſelf but very Ill; good Night Harriet, good Night.

You'll give me leave to ſee you to the Door, Sir.

O' my Conſcience this Maſter of mine within here, might have pick'd up his Crums as well as Mr. Feeble, if he had any Idear of his Buſineſs, I'm ſure if I had not hopes from Mr. Feeble, I ſhould not tarry in this Houſe—By my Troth, if all who have nothing to ſay to the 'fairs of the Nation, would mind their own Buſineſs, and thoſe who ſhould take care of our 'fairs, would mind their Buſi⯑neſs too, I fancy poor old England (as they call it) would fare the better among 'em—This old crazy Pate within here—playing the Fool—when the Man is paſt his grand Clytemneſter.

Six and three is nine—ſeven and four is eleven, and carry one—let me ſee, 126 Million—199 Thouſand, 328—and all this with about—where, where's the a⯑mount of the Specie? Here, here—with about 15 Mil⯑lion in Specie, all this great circulation! good, good,—why then how are we ruined?—how are we ruined?—What ſays the Land-Tax at 4 Shillings in the Pound, two Million! now where's my new Aſſeſſment?—here,—here, the 5th part of Twenty, 5 in 2 I can't, but 5 in 20 (pauſes) right, 4 times—why then upon my new Aſſeſſ⯑ment there's 4 Million—how are we ruined?—what ſays, Malt, Cyder, and Mum,—eleven and carry one, naught and go 2—good, good, Malt, Hops, Cyder, and Mum; then there's the Wine Licence, and the Gin Act—The Gin Act is no bad Article,—if the People will ſhoot Fire down their Throats, why in a Chriſtian Country they ſhould pay as much as poſſible for Suicide—Salt! good—Sugar, very good—Window lights—good again!—Stamp Duty, that's not ſo well—It will have a bad Effect upon the News-Papers, and we ſhan't have enough of Po⯑litics—But there's the Lottery—where's my new Scheme for a Lottery?—Here it is—Now for the Amount of the [12] whole—How are we ruin'd? 7 and carry nought—nought and carry one—

Sir, Sir,—

Hold your Tongue you Baggage, you'll put me out—nought and carry one.

Counſellor Codicil will be with you preſently—

Prithee be quiet Woman—how are we ruined?

Ay, I'm conſidous as how you may thank yourſelf for your own Ruination.

Ruin the Nation! hold your Tongue you Jade, I'm raiſing the Supplies within the Year,—how many did I carry?

Yes, you've carried your Pigs to a fine Market—

Get out of the Room, Huſſey—you Trollop, get out of the Room—

Friend Razor, I am glad to ſee thee—well haſt got any News?

A Budget! I left a Gentleman half Shaved in my Shop over the way; it came into my Head of a ſudden, ſo I could not be at eaſe till I told you—

That's kind, that's kind Friend Razor—never mind the Gentleman, he can wait.—

Yes, ſo he can, he can wait.—

Come, now let's hear, what is't?

I ſhav'd a great Man's Butler to Day.—

Did ye?

I did.

Ay.

Very true.

What did he ſay?

Nothing.

Hum—how did he look.

Full of thought.

Ay! full of thought—what can that mean?

It muſt mean ſomething.

Mayhap ſomebody may be going out of Place.

Like enough,—there's ſomething at the bottom, when a great Man's Butler looks grave, things can't hold out in this manner, Matter Quidnunc!—Kingdoms riſe and fall!—Luxury will be the ruin of us all, it will indeed.

Pray now, Friend Razor, do you find Buſineſs as current now as before the War?

No, no I have not made a Wig the Lord knows when, I can't mind it for thinking of my poor Country.

That's generous, Friend Razor—

Yes, I can't gi' my Mind to any for thinking of my Coun⯑try, and when I was in Bedlam, it was the ſame, I cou'd think of nothing elſe in Bedlam, but poor old England, and ſo they ſaid as how I was Incurable for it.—

S'bodikins! they might as well ſay the ſame of me.

So they might—well, your Servant Mr. Quidnunc, I'll go now and Shave the reſt of the Gentleman's Face.—Poor Old England.

But hark ye, Friend Razor, aſk the Gentleman if he has got any News.—

I will, I will.

And d'ye hear, come and tell me if he has.—

I will, I will—poor Old England.

O, Mr. Quidnunc, I want to aſk you—pray now—

Gemini! Gemini!—How can the Man have ſo little Difference for his Cuſtomers—

I tell you, Mrs. Malapert—

And I tell you the Gentleman keeps ſuch a Bawling yonder, for ſhame, Mr. Razor—you'll be a Bankrupper like my Maſter, with ſuch a Houſe full of Children as you have, pretty little things—that's what you will—

I'm a coming, I'm a coming, Mrs. Termagant—I ſay Mr. Quidnunc, I can't ſleep in my Bed for thinking what will come of the Proteſtants, if the Papiſts ſhould get the better in the preſent War.—

I'll tell you—The Geographer of our Coffee-houſe was ſaying the other Day, that there is an Huge Tract of [15] Land about the Pole, where the Proteſtants may retire, and that the Papiſts will never be able to beat 'em thence, if the northern Powers hold together, and the grand Turk make a Diverſion in their Favour.

That makes me eaſy—I'm glad the Proteſtants will know where to go if the Papiſts ſhou'd get the better

Oh! Mr. Qnidnunc—hark'ye—India Bonds are riſen.

Are they?—how much?

A Jew Pedlar ſaid in my Shop as how they are riſen three Sixteenths—

Why then that makes ſome Amends for the Price of Corn—

So it does, ſo it does, if they but hold up and the Pro⯑teſtants know where to go, I ſhall then have a Night's Reſt mayhap—

I ſhall never be rightly eaſy till thoſe careening Wharfs at Gibraltar are repaired—

Fiddle for your Dwarfs, impair your ruin'd Fortune, do that.

If only one Ship can heave down at a time, there will be no End of it—and then, why ſhould Watering be ſo tedious there?

Look where your Daughter comes, and yet you'll be ruinating about Give-a-halter, while that poor Thing is breaking her Heart.

It's one Comfort, however, they can always have freſh Proviſions in the Mediterranean—

Dear Papa, what's the Mediterranean to People in our Situation?—

The Mediterranean Child? Why if we ſhould loſe the Mediterranean, we're all undone.

Dear Sir, that's our Misfortune—we are undone already—

No, no,—here, here Child—I have raiſed the Supplies within the Year.

I tell you, you're a lunadic Man.

Yes, yes, I'm a Lunatic to be ſure—I tell you, Harriet, I have ſaved a gread deal out of my Affairs for you—

For Heaven's Sake, Sir, don't do that—you muſt give up every thing, my Uncle Feeble's Lawyer will be here to talk with you about it—

Poh, poh, I tell you, I know what I'm about;—you ſhall have my Books and pamphlets, and all the Manifeſtoes of the powers at War.—

And ſo make me a Politician, Sir!—

It would be the pride of my Heart to find I had got a Politician in pettycoats—a Female Machiavel!—S'bodi⯑kins, you might then know as much as moſt people that talk in Coffee-houſes, and who knows but in time you might be a Maid of Honour, or Sweeper of the Mall, or—

Dear Sir, don't I ſee what you have got by politics?

Pſhaw! my Country's of more Conſequence to me, and let me tell you, you can't think too much of your Country in theſe worſt of Times; for Mr. Monitor has told us, that Affairs in the North, and the Proteſtant In⯑tereſt begin to grow TICKLISH.

And your Daughter's Affairs are very TICKLISH too, I'm ſure.—

Prithee Termagant—

I muſt ſpeak to him—I know you are in a very TICK⯑LISH Situation, Ma'am.

I tell you, you Trull—

But I am convicted it is ſo—and the Poſture of my Af⯑fairs is very TICKLISH too—and ſo I imprecate that Mr. Bellmour wou'd come, and,—

Mr. Bellmour come! I tell you, Mrs. Saucebox, that my Daughter ſhall never be married to a Man that has not better Notions of the Balance of Power.

But what Purviſion will you make for her now with your Balances?

There again now!—Why do you think I don't know what I'm about? I'll look in the Papers for a Match for you, Child; there's often good Matches advertiſed in the Papers—Evil betide it,—Evil betide it! I once thought to have ſtruck a great Stroke, that would have aſtoniſhed all Europe,—I thought to have married my Daughter to Theodore King of Corſica—

What, and have me periſh in a Jail, Sir?

S'bobikins my Daughter would have had her Corona⯑tion Day;—I ſhould have been allied to acrowned Head, and been FIRST LORD OF THE TREASURY OF CORSICA!—But come,—now I'll go and talk over the London Evening, till the Gazette comes in—I ſhan't ſleep to night unleſs I ſee the Gazette.

Mr. Quidnunc your Servant—the Door was open, and I entered upon the Premiſſes—I'm juſt come from the Hall.

S'bodikins! This Man is come now to keep me at Home.

Upon my word Miſs Harriet's a very pretty young La⯑dy, as pretty a young. Lady, as one wou'd deſire to have and to hold. Ma'am your moſt obedient; I have drawn my Friend Feeble's Will, in which you have all his Goods and Chattles, Lands and Hereditaments.

I thank you Sir, for the Information—

And I hope ſoon to draw your Marriage Settlement for my Friend Mr. Bellmour.

O Lud! Sir, not a Word of that before my Father—I wiſh you'd try, Sir, to get him to think of his Affairs—

Why yes, I have Inſtructions for that Purpoſe; Mr. Quidnunc, I am inſtructed to expound the Law to you.

What, the Law of Nations?

I am inſtructed, Sir, that you're a Bankrupt—Quaſi bancus ruptus—Banque route fairc—and my Inſtructions ſay further, that you are ſummoned to appear before the Commiſſioners to-morrow—

That may be, Sir, but I can't go to-morrow, and ſo I ſhall ſend 'em Word—I am to be to-morrow at Slaughter's Coffee-houſe with a private Committee about Buſineſs of great Conſequence to the Affairs of Europe—

Then, Sir, if you don't go, I muſt inſtruct you, that you'll be guilty of a Felony: it will be deem'd to be done [19] malo Animo—it is held ſo in the Books—and what ſays the Statute? By the 5th George 2d, Cap. 30. Not ſurrendering or imbezzling is Felony without Benefit of Clergy.

Ay,—you tell me News—

Give me leave, Sir,—I am inſtructed to expound the Law to you; Felony is thus deſcribed in the Books, Felo⯑nia, ſaith Hotoman, de verbis feudalibus ſignificat capitale facinus, a capital Offence.

You tell me News, you do indeed.

It was ſo apprehended by the Goths, and the Longobards, and what ſaith Sir Edward Coke? Fieri debeat felleo animo.

You've told me News—I did not know it was Felony; but if the Flanders Mail ſhould come in while I am there—I ſhall know nothing at all of it—

But why ſhou'd you be uneaſy? cui bono, Mr. Quid⯑nunc, cui bono?

Not uneaſy! If the Papiſts ſhould beat the Proteſtants—

But I tell you, they can get no Advantage of us. The Laws againſt the further Growth of Popery will ſecure us—there are Proviſoes in Favour of Proteſtant Purchaſers under Papiſts—10th Geo. I. Cap. 4 and 6 Geo. II. Cap. 5.

Ay!

And beſides Popiſh Recuſants can't carry Arms, ſo can have no Right of Conqueſt, Vi & armis.

That's true—that's true—I'm eaſier in my Mind—

To be ſure, what are you uneaſy about? The Papiſts can have no Claim to Sileſia—

Can't they?

No, they can ſet up no Claim—If the Queen on her Marriage had put all her Lands into Hotchpot then indeed—and it ſeemeth ſaith Littleton, that this Word Hotchpot is in Engliſh a Pudding—

You reaſon very clearly, Mr. Codicil, upon the Rights of the Powers at War, and ſo now if you will, I am ready to talk a little of my Affairs.

Nor does the Matter reſt here; for how can ſhe ſet up a Claim, when ſhe has made a Conveyance to the Houſe of Brandenburgh? the Law, Mr. Quidnunc is very ſevere againſt fraudulent Conveyances—

S'bodikins, you have ſatisfied me—

Why therefore then—if he will levy Fines and ſuffer a common Recovery, he can bequeath it as he likes in feodum ſimplex, provided he takes care to put in ſes Heres.

I'm heartily glad of it,—ſo that with regard to my Effects—

Why then ſuppoſe ſhe was to bring it to a Tryal at Bar—

I ſay with regard to the full Diſcloſure of my Effects—

What wou'd ſhe get by that?—it would go off upon a ſpecial Pleading.—and as to Equity—

Pray now muſt I ſurrender my Books and my Pam⯑phlets?

What wou'd Equity do for her? Equity can't relieve her, he might keep her at leaſt twenty Years before a Maſter to ſettle the Account—

You have made me eaſy about the Proteſtants in this War, you have indeed—ſo that with regard to my ap⯑pearing before the Commiſſioners.

And as to the Ban of the Empire, he may demur to that. For all Tenures by Knight's Service are aboliſhed, and the Statute 12 Char. II. has declared all Lands to be held under a common Socage.

Pray now, Mr. Codicil, muſt not my Creditors appear to prove their Debts?—

Why therefore then, if they're held in Common Socage, I ſubmit it to the Court,—whether the Empire can have any Claim to Knight's-Service;—they can't call to him for a ſingle Man for the Wars.—Unum Hominem ad Guer⯑ram;—for what is Common Socage?—Socagium idem eſt quod Servitium ſocae,—the Service of the Plough.

I am ready to attend 'em—But pray now, when my Certificate is ſigned,—it is of great Conſequence to me to know this. I ſay, Sir, when my Certificate is ſigned, mayn't I then—Hey!

Hey!—What do I hear?

I apprehend,—I humbly conceive when your Cer⯑tificate is ſigned.—

Hold your Tongue Man,—did not I hear the Gazette? Newſman, (within) Great News in the London-Gazette.

Yes, yes it is,—it is the Gazette.—Termagant run you Jade,

Harriet fly, it is the Gazette.

The Law in that Caſe Mr. Quidnunc, prima facie.—

I can't hear you,—I have not Time,—Termagant, run, make Haſte.—

I ſay, Sir, it is held in the Books.—

I care for no Books,—I want the Papers.—

Throughout all the Books,—Bo! the Man is non com⯑pos, and his Friends inſtead of a Commiſſion of Bank⯑ruptcy, ſhould take out a Commiſſion of Lunacy.

What do you keep ſuch a Bauling for? the Newſman ſays as how the Emperor of Mocco is dead.—

The Emperor of Morocco!

Yes, him.

My poor dear Emperor of Morocco.

Ah! you old Don Quickſett!—Ma'am, Ma'am,—Miſs Harriet, go your ways into the next Room, there's Mr. Bellmour's Man there, Mr. Bellmour has ſent you a Billydore.—

Oh, Termagent, my Heart is in an uproar,—I don't know what to ſay—where is he? let me run to him this inſtant.

The Emperor of Morocco had a regard for the Ballance of Europe,

well, well, come, come, give me the Paper.

The Newſman would not truſt becauſe you're a Bank⯑rupper, and ſo I paid two Pence half Penny for it.—

Let's ſee,—let's ſee—

Give me my Money then—

Give it me this Inſtant, you Jade—

Give me my Money, I ſay—

I'll teach you, I will you Baggage.

I won't part with it till I have my Money.

I'll give you no Money, Huſſey.

Your Daughter ſhall marry Mr. Bellmour.

I'll never accede to the Treaty.

Go you old Fool.

You vile Minx, worſe than the Whore of Babylon.

There, you old crack'd Brain'd Politic,—there's your Paper for you.

Oh! Heavens!—I'm quite out of Breath,—a Jade, to keep my News from me,—what does it ſay? what does it ſay? what does it ſay?

‘Whereas a Commiſſion of Bankrupt is awarded and iſſued forth againſt Abraham Quidnunc, of the Pariſh of St. Martin's in the Fields, Upholſterer, Dealer and Chapman, the ſaid Bankrupt is hereby required to Surrender himſelf.’ Po, what ſignifies this Stuff? I don't mind myſelf, when the Balance of power is concerned.—however, I ſhall be read of, in the ſame Paper, in the London Gazette, by the Powers abroad; together with the Pope, and the French King, and the Mogul, and all of 'em—good, good—very good!—here's a Pow'r of News,—let me ſee,

‘Letters from the Vice Admiral, dated Tyger off Cal⯑cutta.’—

, Oddſheart thoſe Baggages will interrupt me, I hear their Tongues a going, clack, clack, clack, I'll run into my Cloſet, and lock myſelf up.—a Vixin!—a Trollop,—to want Mo⯑ney from me,—when I may have occaſion to buy The State of the ſinking Fund, or Faction detected, or The Bar⯑rier Treaty,—or,—and beſides, how cou'd the Jade tell but To-Morrow we may have a Gazette Extraordinary?

ACT II.

WHERE, where, where is he?—where's Mr. Pamphlet?—Mr. Pamphlet!—Termagant, Mr. a—a—Termagant, Harriet, Termagant, you vile Minx, you ſaucy

Here's a racket indeed!

Where's Mr. Pamphlet? you Baggage if he's gone—

Did not I intimidate that he's in the next Room—why ſure the Man's out of his Wits.

Shew him in here then—I would not miſs ſeeing him for the Diſcovery of the North-Eaſt Paſſage.

Go, you old Gemini Gomini of a Politic.

Shew him in I ſay,—I had rather ſee him than the whole State of the Peace at Utrecht, or 'the Paris a-la-main,' or the Votes, or the Minutes, or—Here he comes—the beſt Political writer of the Age.

Mr. Pamphlet, I am heartily glad to ſee you,—as glad as if you were an Expreſs from the Groyn, or from Berlin, or from Zell, or from Calcutta over Land, or from—

Mr. Quidnunc, your Servant,—I'm come from a place of great importance.—

Look ye there now?—well, where, where?

Are we alone?

Stay, ſtay, till I ſhut the Door,—now, now, where do you come from?

From the Court of Requeſts.

The Court of Requeſts,

are they up?

Hot Work.—

Debates ariſing may be.

Yes, and like to ſit late.

What are they upon?

Can't ſay,—

What carried you thither?

I went in hopes of being taken up.—

Look ye there now.

I've been aiming at it theſe three Years.—

Indeed!

Indeed,—Sedition is the only thing an Author can live by now,—Time has been I could turn a Penny by an Earthquake; or live upon a Jail-Diſtemper; or dine upon a Bloody Murder;—but now that's all over,—nothing will do now but roaſting a Miniſter—or telling the People that they are ruined—the People of England are never ſo happy as when you tell 'em they are ruined.

Yes, but they an't ruined—I have a Scheme for paying off the national Debt.

Let's ſee, let's ſee

well enough! well imagined,—a new Thought this—I muſt make this my own,

ſilly, futile, abſurd.—abominable, this will never do—I'll put it in my Pocket, and read it over in the Morning for you—now look ye here—I'll ſhew you a Scheme

no that's not it—that's my Conduct of the Miniſtry, by a Country Gentleman—I prov'd the Nation undone here, this ſold hugely,—and here now,—here's my Anſwer to it, by a noble Lord;—this did not move among the Trade.—

What, do you write on both ſides?

Yes, both ſides,—I've two [...]ands Mr. Quidnunc,—always impartial,—Ambo dexter.—now here, here's my Dedication to a great Man—touch'd twenty for this—and here,—here's my Libel upon him—

What, after being obliged to him?

Yes, for that Reaſon,—it excites Curioſity—white waſh and blacking-Ball Mr. Quidnunc! in ut [...] umque para⯑tus,—no thriving without it.

What have you here in this Pocket?

That's my Account with Jacob Zorobable, the Broker, for writing Paragraphs to raiſe or tumble the Stocks, or the price of Lottery Tickets, according to his Purpoſes.

Ay, how do you do that?

As thus,—to Day the Proteſtant Intereſt declines, Mad⯑raſs is taken, and England's undone; then all the long Faces in the Alley look as diſmal as a Blank, and ſo Ja⯑cob buys away and thrives upon our Ruin.—Then to Morrow, we're all alive and merry again, Pondicherry's taken; a certain Northern Potentate will ſhortly ſtrike a Blow, to aſtoniſh all Europe, and then every true born Engliſhman is willing to buy a Lottery Ticket for twenty or thirty Shillings more than its worth; ſo Jacob ſells away, and reaps the Fruits of our Succeſs.

What, and will the People believe that now?

Believe it!—believe any thing,—no ſwallow like a true born Engliſhman's—a Man in a Quart-Bottle, or a Victory, it's all one to them,—they give a Gulp,—and down it goes,—glib, glib.—

Yes, but they an't at the Bottom of things?—

No, not they, they dabble a little, but can't dive—

Pray now Mr. Pamphlet, what do you think of our Situ⯑ation?

Bad, Sir, bad,—and how can it be better?—the People in Power never ſend to me,—never conſult me,—it muſt be bad.—Now here, here,

here's a M [...]nuſcript!—this will do the Buſineſs, a Maſter⯑piece,—I ſhall be taken up for this.—

Shall ye?

As ſure as a Gun I ſhall,—I know the Bookſeller's a Rogue, and will give me up.

But pray now what ſhall you get by being taken up?

I'll tell you—

in order to make me hold my Tongue.

Ay, but you won't hold your Tongue for all that.

Po, po, not a Jot of that,—abuſe 'em the next Day.

Well, well, I wiſh you Succeſs,—but do you hear no News? have you ſeen the Gazette?

Yes, I've ſeen that,—great news, Mr. Quidnunc,—but harkye!—

and kiſs hands next week.

Ay!

Certain.

Nothing permanent in this World.—

All is Vanity.—

Ups and Downs.—

Ins and puts.—

Wheels within Wheels.—

No Smoak without Fire.

All's well that Ends well.

It will laſt our Time.

Whoever lives to ſee it, will know more of the Matter.

Time will tell all.

Ay, we muſt leave all to the Determination of Time. Mr. Pamphlet, I'm heartily obliged to you for this Viſit,—I love you better than any Man in England.

And for my part Mr. Quidnunc,—I love you better than I do England itſelf.

That's kind, that's kind,—there's nothing I wou'd not do Mr. Pamphlet, to ſerve you.

Mr. Quidnunc, I know you're a Man of Integrity and Honour,—I know you are,—and now ſince we have open'd our Hearts, there is a Thing Mr. Quidnunc, in which you can ſerve me,—you know, Sir,—this is in the fullneſs of our Hearts,—you know you have my Note for a Trifle,—hard dealing with Aſſignees,—now, could not you to ſerve a Friend, cou'd not you throw that Note into the Fire?

Hey! but would that be honeſt?

Leave that to me, a refin'd Stroke of Policy,—Papers have been deſtroy'd in all Governments.

So they have,—it ſhall be done, it will be political, it will indeed.—Pray now Mr. Pamphlet, what do you take to be the true Political Balance of Power?

What do I take to be the Balance of Power?

Ay, the Balance of Power.

The Balance of Power is,—what do I take to be the Balance of Power,—the Balance of Power

what do I take to be the Balance of Power?

The Balance of Power, I take to be, when the Court of Aldermen ſits.

No, no,—

Yes, yes.—

No, no, the Balance of Power is when the Foundati⯑ons of Government and the Superſtructures are natural.

How d'ye mean natural?

Prithee be quiet Man,—this is the Language.—The Balance of Power is—when the Superſtructures are re⯑duc'd to proper Balances, or when the Balances are not reduc'd to unnatural Superſtructures.

Po, po, I tell you it is when the Fortifications of Dun⯑querque are demoliſh'd.—

But I tell you Mr. Quidnunc.—

I ſay Mr. Pamphlet.—

Hear me Mr. Quidnunc.

Give me Leave Mr. Pamphlet.—

I muſt obſerve, Sir.—

I am convinc'd, Sir.—

That the Balance of Power.—

That the Fortifications at Dunquerque.

Depends upon the Balances, and Superſtructures.—

Conſtitute the true Political Equilibrium.—

Nor will I converſe with a Man.—

And Sir, I never deſire to ſee your Face.—

Of ſuch anti-conſtitutional Principles.—

Nor the Face of any Man who is ſuch a Frenchman in his Heart, and has ſuch Notions of the Balance of Power.

Ay, I've found him out,—ſuch abominable Principles, I never deſire to converſe with any Man of his Notions,—no, never while I live.—

Mr. Quidnunc, one Word with you if you pleaſe.

Sir, I never deſire to ſee your Face.—

My Property, Mr. Quidnunc,—I ſhan't leave my Pro⯑perty in the Houſe of a Bankrupt,

a ſilly, empty, incomprehenſible Blockhead.

Blockhead! Mr. Pamphlet.—

A Blockhead to uſe me thus, when I have you ſo much in my Power.—

In your Power!

In my Power, Sir,—it's in my Power to hang you.

To hang me!

Yes, Sir; to hang you—

Did not you propoſe, but this Moment, did not you deſire me to combine and conſederate to burn a Note, and de⯑fraud your Creditors—

I deſire it!

Yes, Mr. Quidnunc, but I ſhall detect you to the World. I'll give your Character.—You ſhall have a Six-penny touch next Week.

Mercy on me, there's the Effect of his Anticonſtituti⯑onal Principles.—The Spirit of his whole Party, I never deſire to exchange another Word with him.

Her's a Pother indeed!—did you call me?

No, you Trollop, no.—

Will you go to Bed?

No, no, no, no,—I tell you, no.

Better to go to Reſt, Sir;—I heard a Doctor of Phy⯑ſic ſay as how, when a Man is paſt his grand CRIME,—what the Deuce makes me forget my Word?—his Grand CRIME-HYSTERIC, nothing is ſo good againſt Indiſcom⯑poſitions as Reſt taken in its prudiſh natalibus.—

Hold your Prating,—I'll not go to Bed, I'll ſtep to my Brother Feeble, I want to have ſome Talk with him, and I'll go to him directly.

Go thy Ways for an old Hocus pocus of a News-mon⯑ger—You'll have good Luck if you find your Daugh⯑ter here when you come back, Mr. Bellmour will be here in the Intrim, and if he does not carry her off [33] why then I ſhall think him a mere ſhilly ſhally Feller; and by m [...] Troth I ſhall think him as bad a Politiſhing as yourſelf.—Well, as I live and breath, I wonders what the Dickens the Man ſees in theſe News-Papers to be for ever toxicated with them—Let me ſee one of them, to try if I can veſtigate any thing—

‘Yeſterday at Noon arrived at his Lodgings in Pall-Mall, John Stukely, Eſq for the remainder of the winter Seaſon.—’

Where the Dewil has the Man been?—who knows him, or cares a minikin Pin about him?—He may go to Jericho for what I cares.—

‘The ſame Day, Mr. William Tabby, an eminent Man-Milliner was married to Miſs Jenkins, Daughter of Mr. Jenkins, a conſiderable Harberdaſher in Bear⯑binder Lane.—’

What the Dickins is this to me?—can't Miſs Jenkins and her Man-Milliner go to bed, and hold their Tongues?—why muſt they kiſs and tell?

‘By advices from Violenna—this is Policies now’—

—‘and promiſes a general peace.’—Why can't that make the old. Curmudgeon happy?—

‘By letters from Paris’—this is more Policies—

‘and all ſeems tending to a general Rupture.’—What the Dewil does the Feller mean?—Did not he tell me this moment there was to be Peace, and now its bloody News again—To go to tell me ſuch an impudent lie to my Face!

‘At the Academy in Eſſex-ſtreet, Grown People are taught to dance.’—

Grown People are taught to dance—I likes that well enough—I ſhould like to be betterer in my dancing—I like the figerre of a minute as well as a figerre in ſpeech—

But ſuch trumpry as the News is, with Kings, and Cheeſemongers, and Biſhops, and Highwayrman, and Ladies Prayer-Books, and Lap-Dogs, and the Domodary and Camomile, and Ambaſſadors, and Hair-Cutters, all higgledy piggledy together—As I hope for Marcy I'll never read another Paper—and I wiſhes old Quidnunc would do the ſame—if the Man would do as I do, there would be ſome ſenſe in it,—if inſtead of his Policies, he would manure his mind like me, and read good Altars, and [34] improve himſelf in fine Langidge, and Bombaſt, and po⯑lite Accolliſhments.—

Women ever were, and ever will be fantaſtic Beings, vain, capricious, and fond of Miſchief—

Well argued, Maſter.

To be inſulted thus, with ſuch a contemptuous Anſwer to a Meſſage of ſuch tender Import, ſhe might methinks at leaſt have treated me with good Manners, if not with a more grateful Return.—

Split her Manners, let's go and drink t'other Bumper to drown Sorrow.

I'll ſhake off her Fetters,—I will Briſk, this very Night I will.—

That's right Maſter, and let her know we have found her out, and as the Poet ſays,

Maſter.

Very true Briſk, very true,—the Ingratitude of it touch⯑es to the quick.—my dear Rovewell, only come and ſee me take a final Leave.—

No truly, not I, none of your virtuous Minxes for me, I'll ſet you down there, if you've a mind to play the Fool.—I know ſhe'll melt you with a Tear, and make a Puppy of you with a Smile, and ſo I'll not be Witneſs to it.

You're quite miſtaken, I aſſure you,—you'll ſee me moſt manfully upbraid her with her Ingratitude, and with more Joy than a ſugitive Galley Slave, eſcape from the Oar, to which I have been chain'd.—

Maſter, Maſter, now's our Time, for look by the glimmering of yonder Lamp, who comes along by the Wall there.—

Her Father, by all that's Lucky,—my dear Rovewell let's drive off.

I'll ſpeak to him for you, Man—

Not for the World—prithee come along—

If the Grand Turk ſhould actually commence open Hoſ⯑tility, and the Houſe-bug Tartars make a Diverſion upon the Frontiers, why then it's my Opinion—Time will diſ⯑cover to us a great deal more of the Matter,

Paſt Eleven o'Clock, a Cloudy Night.

Hey? paſt Eleven o'Clock,—'Sbodikins, my Brother Feeble will be gone to Bed,—but he ſhan't Sleep till I have ſome Chat with him,—Hark'ye Watchman, Watchman.

Call Maſter.

Ay, ſtep hither, ſtep hither,—have you heard any News?

News, Maſter!

Ay, about the Pruſſians or the Ruſſians?

Ruſſians, Maſter.

Yes, or the Movements in Pomerania?

La, Maſter, I knows nothing—poor Gentleman

Good Night to you Maſter,—paſt Eleven o'Clock.

That Man now has a place under the Government, and [36] he won't ſpeak. But I'm loſing Time

Hazy Weather

the Wind's fix'd in that quar⯑ter, and we ſhan't have any Mails this Week to come,—come about good Wind, do, come about.

La, Sir, is it you?

Is your Maſter at home, Child?

Gone to Bed, Sir.

Well, well, I'll ſtep up to him.

Muſt not diſturb him for the World, Sir.—

Buſineſs of the utmoſt Importance.—

Pray conſider, Sir, my Maſter an't well.—

Prithee, be quiet Woman; I muſt ſee him.

I was juſt ſtepping into Bed;—bleſs my Heart what can this Man want?—I know his Voice,—I hope no new Misfortune brings him at this Hour.

Hold your Tongue you fooliſh Huſſey,—he'll be glad to ſee me.—Brother Feeble,—Brother Feeble,

What can be the Matter?

Brother Feeble, I give you Joy,—the Nabob's demo⯑liſh'd,

Britons ſtrike home, revenge, &c.

Lackaday Mr. Quidnunc, how can you ſerve me thus?

Suraja Dowla is no more

Poor Man! he's ſtark ſtaring mad—

Our Men diverted themſelves with killing their Bul⯑locks and their Camels, till they diſlodg'd the Enemy from the Octagon, and the Counterſcarp, and the Bunglo.—

I'll hear the reſt to-morrow Morning,—oh! I'm ready to die.

Odſheart Man be of good chear,—the new Nabob, Jaffier Ally Cawn, has acceded to a Treaty; and the Engliſh Company have got all their rights in the Phirmaud and the Huſhbulhoorums.

But dear heart Mr. Quidnunc, why am I to be diſturb'd for this?

We had but two Seapoys killed, three Chokeys, four Gaul walls, and two Zemidars.

Britons never ſhall be Slaves.

Would not to-morrow Morning do as well for this?

Light up your Windows Man, light up your Windows, Chandernagore is taken.

Well, well, I'm glad of it—good Night,

Here, here's the Gazette.—

Oh, I ſhall certainly faint.

Ay, ay, ſit down, and I'll read it to you,

nay, don't run away—I've more News to tell you, there's an account from Williamsburg in America.—the Superintend⯑ant of Indian affairs—

Dear Sir, dear Sir,—

Has ſettled Matters with the Cherokees—

Enough, enough,—

In the ſame manner he did before with the Catabaws,

Well, well, your Servant.—

So that the back Inhabitants—

I wiſh you'd let me be a quiet Inhabitant in my own Houſe.—

So that the back Inhabitants will now be ſecur'd by the Cherokees and Catabaws.—

You'd better go home, and think of appearing before the Commiſſioners.—

Go home! no, no, I'll go and talk the Matter over at our Coffee-houſe.—

Do ſo, do ſo—

Mr. Feeble,—I had a diſpute about the Balance of Power,—pray now can you tell—

I know nothing of the Matter—

Well, another Time will do for that—I have a great deal to ſay about that

right, I had like to have forgot, there's an Erratum in the laſt Gazette.—

With all my Heart—

Page 3d, Line 1, Col. 1ſt, and 3d, for Bombs read Booms.

Read what you will—

Nay, but that alters the Senſe, you know,—well, now your Servant. If I hear any more News I'll come and tell you—

For Heaven's Sake, no more—

I'll be with you before you're out of your firſt Sleep—

Good-night, Good-night—

I forgot to tell you—the Emperor of Morocco is dead—

ſo—now I've made him happy—I'll go and knock up my Friend Razor, and make him happy too;—and then I'll go and ſee if any Body's up at the Coffee-houſes,—and make them all happy there too.—

Mr. Bellmour, pray Sir,—I deſire, Sir, you'll not follow me from Room to Room—

Indulge me but a Moment—

No, Mr. Bellmour, I've ſeen too much of your Tem⯑per, I'm touch'd beyond all enduring by your unmanly treatment.

Unmanly, Madam!

Unmanly, Sir,—To preſume upon the Misfortunes of my Family, and inſult me with the formidable Menaces, that, ‘truly you have done; you'll be no more a Slave to me.’ Oh fy, Mr. Bellmour, I did not think a Gentle⯑man capable of it—

But you won't conſider—

Sir, I wou'd have Mr. Bellmour to underſtand, that though my Father's Circumſtances are embarraſſed, I have ſtill an Uncle, who can, and will, place me in a State of Affluence, in which, Sir, your Declarations—

But, my dear Ma'am—

And take this too with you, Sir, that I have Spirit enough to reſent an Indelicacy, nor will I bear ill Uſage from any Man in England.

Well, but my dear Harriet, hear me but a Moment—'tis mighty well, you have freed me from your Chains, I aſſure you—Your Buſineſs is done with me, I promiſe you—and ſo adieu to this Houſe for ever—

Methinks, though we might part upon gentler Terms—Perverſe and obſtinate!—ay, its all her own Fault. To treat me thus when ſhe knew my Heart was fixed upon her! Her eternal Coquetting—her haughty Airs, her tormenting me with continual Jealouſy—Her—her—her lovely Eyes—her Shape—her Mien—her deli⯑cate Senſibility—her—hey I—what the duce am I at? a downright amorous Puppy, by Jupiter?—I was running over a Liſt of her Faults, and I find myſelf gloating on her Perfections—ſhe's a ſweet Girl, that's the Truth of it

Harriet, Harriet—will you open the Door?—I intreat you do it—on my Knees I beg it—

—will you?—ſdeath! what a ſneaking Raſcal am I?—I'll cringe and whine no more

will you open it?—very well, Ma'am, its very well—Damnation—

Bleſs my Heart—what have I done!—I hope he is not gone, a barbarous Man, to go ſo eaſily when he ought to take no Denial, but lie on the Ground ſtill imploring and beſeeching,—as I am a living Soul, here he comes again.

No, ſhe won't open it—I muſt not go in this manner—

poor, dear, lovely An⯑gel! By Heaven, ſhe's bath'd in Tears

Harriet, Harriet—won't you open the Door? I ſhan't ſtir from this Spot unleſs you open it—

Mr. Bellmour, I wonder at you, Sir—upon my Word. Sir, your Viſit becomes troubleſome at this Time of Night.

My deareſt Harriet, they were haſty Words, and if you will only conſider the Provocation I had—

The Provocation, Mr. Bellmour!

I'll leave it to yourſelf—was this an Anſwer to a Meſ⯑ſage ſo fondly paſſionate as mine—look at it yourſelf and judge—

This Card, Sir!—this is my Maid's writing—

Yes Ma'm!—I know it is—and that's the very Cir⯑cumſtance that aggravates—I thought at leaſt my Letter deſerved an Anſwer from yourſelf, without making your Maid affront me—my Doom I might at leaſt expect from a more delicate Hand—from that Hand—whoſe Touch I once could buy with Life itſelf—

Well, Mr. Bellmour, I now muſt both pity and laugh at you—This Card, Sir, was never ſent by me—

No, Ma'am! here Briſk, Briſk—this is ſome of that Hang-dog's Doings—Briſk—

Did you call, Sir?

Did not you deliver me this Card, Sir?

That Card, Sir?—yes, Sir,—I deliver'd that Card, Sir—What can be the Matter now

And Ma'am I'll be perjur'd that I deliver'd him the ſame inviduous Article of Matter you gave me—

And is Mr. Bellmour ſo blind that he can't ſee through this? Pray Termagant, did not you write a Card to Briſk?

Why really Ma'am, I've as little Antipathy for Fellers as the beſt She in England, but I muſt confeſs, Ma'am, I did invite a Line to him—For there has been a 'Moor be⯑tween us, Ma'am, that I won't go to deny—I muſt needs gainſay it,—If a Man is diſaffectious of me Ma'am, I'm ſure I'm not to blame, If I have a little Symphony for him—I have not put my Name to it, Ma'am, though it is not quite a ſynonimous Letter neither—I put the firſt Names that accrued to me, Ma'am—they are the ſame fictatious Names Mr. Bellmour and you have made uſe of—

Why ſo I ſee, Termagant, and a curious Billet-doux it is,

‘Sigiſmondays Compliments waits on Mr. Tankard, ſhe is full of Mazement, how he can give himſelf ſuch an Attitude in his 'Moors—ſhe knows her own Demerrit better than to be concarned with one who is a Nanny-Goat againſt Love, and this is her laſt ir⯑reſolution.’—And could Mr. Bellmour imagine this was intended for him, by me?

Death and Confuſion!—What cou'd I think, Ma'am? Blockhead, Raſcal!—

Sir!

How dare you, Sirrah, give me this Scrawl?

Sir!

That's my Billydore to him, ſure enough.

Upon my Life, Sir—

Where's the other Card, Raſcal?

Upon my Soul, Sir, I mean't no Harm—Sir,—Here it is, Sir,—take this Sir,—Maſter,

you know I can't read?—Pray Sir, don't expoſe me.

And muſt I be made unhappy, Raſcal, becauſe you can't read?—

Not able to read!—the fine Mr. Briſk not able to read—ha, ha, ha,—well, for my part, I deſpiſes a Man that is not a Schollard and illiterate.

Pox take it, it muſt come out—Why, Sir, that's my Misfortune—I cou'd not read, Sir, and I put one in this Pocket, and one in this, and then, Sir, I did not know which was which—but you're very Welcome, Sir, if you like that better—

‘To a Love ſo delicate of Sentiment, it were Stupidity to remain any longer inſenſible; and it would be an inexcuſable Prudery to conceal the Tenderneſs of Deſire with which my Heart lias long fluttered to reſign itſelf to ſuch Truth and Conſtancy.’ My dear Harriet, on my Knees I beg Forgiveneſs for the Blindneſs of my Paſſion,—

And intreat you ſuffer me to convey you hence far from your Father's Roof,—where we may join at length in thoſe Bonds of Happineſs, of which we have long cheriſh'd the lov'd Idea. What ſay you, Harriet?

I don't know what to ſay—my Heart's at my very Mouth—why don't you take me then?

Fy upon it, ſy upon it—all the Coffee-houſes ſhut up—how cou'd they ſhut up ſo ſoon when they had ſuch great News—Hey! what the duce have we here! The Enemy in our very Camp!

O lud! What's to be done now?

Don't be frighten'd Harriet,—I'll amuſe him with a Piece of News—

Pray, Sir, what are you doing here in my Houſe?

Pray, Sir, have you heard the News?

Is there any News, Sir?

Very great.

Let's hear, let's hear, let's hear, get out of the Room you Baggages,—get you into your Cloſet Harriet,—and get you down Stairs you Baggage, and let me hear the News,

well, well.

I'll tell you, Sir,—the Conſumers of Oats are to meet next week.

The Conſumers of Oats!

The Conſumers of Oats, Sir,—I came on Purpoſe to tell you.

That's kind, that's kind,—what can it be upon? does nothing tranſpire?

A profound ſecret.—

Ay, and ſo it has been for twenty Years, the Conſumers of Oats have been meeting any Time theſe twenty Years to my knowledge, and I could never learn what they are about,—their Negotiations I believe muſt be left to the Determination of Time.—

Their meeting is occaſioned by an Expreſs from the Houyhnbims.

From where?

From the Houyhnhims.—

The Humming Hymns!—fy upon it, why do I ever go without Salmon's Gazetteer in my Pocket,—I'll ſtep for the Map, and ſee where the Place lies,—I'm never happy till I know the Latitude and Longitude.

You're right Sir, Geography is neceſſary

Harriet, Harriet,—my dear Harriet open the Door, now is the Time.

Bleſs me, Mr. Bellmour,—what's the matter?

Away with ſcruples, Fortune has given this Moment, and you muſt depend on my Love and my Honour.—I've a Licence in my Pocket, and I'll marry you To-morrow Morning, by Heaven's I will.

What ſhall I do? I muſt truſt you.

dear Heart, what can all this mean?

Never mind it, but let us fly hence immediately.

Hey! what's all this knocking?—mayhap a Waiter from the Coffee-houſe, with ſome News.

My evil Genius is at work this Night, and all is marr'd again.

O Gimini Gemini! I am all over in ſuch a fluſtration—

What's the matter Woman, any thing new?

A rioghteous Gentle quite inoculated with Liquor, knocks at the Street Door, and axes, me to except of a Glaſs of Windy,—at which I grew quite vex'd and puſillamimous—prithee Feller, ſays I, we don't want your Company, and ſo be a little more adjacent Friend—whereof I was ſeized with a Panegyric, and I had divorce to my Heels, and I ran up Stairs as dilatory as I could, and he's coming after me.

I'll have him ſent to the Round-houſe—call in the Watch.

Do ſo, I'll go and charge him,—mayhap we may meet a Parliament man in the Round-houſe to tell us ſome News.

Get me a Bowl of Rack, and let the Bed be well air'd—I ſay I will have a Girl—

Let me come at him,—Hey! who the Devil have we here? Jack Rovewell, zounds man, what brings you here?

Who the Devil thought to ha' ſeen you here? I was up⯑on, the look out for Game ever ſince I ſaw you, and I have juſt ſprung it,—I'll have her by Jupiter.—

Zookers, Sir, If you wou'd not be of ſervice to me, why wou'd you not keep out of the way.

This ſeems to be but an odd ſort of a Bagnio we have got into here—

What does he call my Houſe a Bagnio?

I wiſhes as how you would take him away—the great He Man! my fleſh creeps at the very ſight of him—I be⯑lieves as ſure as any Thing, as how he's a Highwayrman, and that as how it was he that robbed the Mail-Bags.—

Ay, what rob a Mail, and ſtop all the News,—a vile Fellow away with him.—a Man capable of robbing a Mail, wou'd not ſcruple to rob a Church.

Hold a Moment, I know the Gentleman, he's only a little in Liquor,—zounds Rovewell, you've marr'd all my Schemes with your damn'd doings.—

Bellmour's Girl, by Jupiter,

I ſay you ſhan't marry her,—and I tell you Mr. Curmudgeon,

give me leave to tell you old Mr. Drybeard,—Hey!

hey!

my old reverend Father, by my filial Duty—what the Devil ſhall I do now? egad I'm not ſo drunk as I thought I was, he little expects to ſee me, and I'll go thro' with my frolic, this is no proper opportunity,—I ſay again you ſhan't marry her,—my Siſter as ſure as a Gun,

I'll ſee it out—I ſay you ſhan't marry her.

What the Deevil do you let him tarry for?—I wiſhes he was out of my ſight, and a little more contiguous from me.—

Away with him,—but ſearch him firſt, perhaps he has ſome of the Letters belonging to the Mail in his Pocket now.—

I'll let 'em ſearch me, and then all will come out.—

Let me ſee, mayhap there may be ſome News at leaſt—ay, here's Bank Notes,—and here's Letters too what's this? ‘To Mr. Abraham Quidnunc, Upholſterer, in the Strand.’ I did live in the Strand ſome ten Years ago.—ſure this is to me,—let's ſee what it is:—Hey! what's this?

Honoured Father;—how is it ſigned.—Your dutiful Son, John Quidnunc.

What can this mean?—What's your Name Friend?

Jack Quidnunc, is my Name.

Your Name Jack Quidnunc!

Yes, my Name,—faith this Buſineſs begins to make me ſober, I think—Quidnunc is my Name Bellmour; and Rovewll was but aſſum'd—That Letter I wrote, Sir, to inform you of my Arrival, and to let you know that I ſhould pay my Reſpects to you to-morrow Morning—but faith, Sir, in my Hurry of Spirits, I forgot to ſend it.—

What! and are you return'd from the Weſt Indies?

From Jamaica, Sir, the Owner of a rich Plantation—

What, by ſtudying Politics—

No, Sir, by a rich Wife, you ſhall know all hereafter—

S'bodikins, I recollect his Face—it is he ſure enough—why there has not been a Word of this in the Papers.

It's even ſo, notwithſtanding, Sir.—Upon my Soul, this Affair has compoſed me ſtrangely. Thus give me Leave, Sir, to atteſt at once my Duty and my Joy.

Why, you have my Bleſſing, Boy, I am heartily glad to ſee thee—I did not know you again, you're in ſuch a Kind of Diſguiſe—mayhap now, you can tell—why you look very well—I'm glad to ſee thee, Jack, I am indeed—pray now—mayhap, I ſay, you can tell what the Spa⯑niards are doing in the Bay of Honduras?

All in good Time, Sir,—my dear Bellmour I muſt em⯑brace you, Faith the Whimſicalneſs of my Fortune had like to bring about an odd kind of an Adventure,—and make me rob my Father of his Daughter, my Friend of his Miſtreſs, and go to Bed to—my dear Siſter, whom I left a prattling Infant, when I went out of England,—I muſt embrace you.

Tho' your Departure from England was too early for my Recollection, yet my Heart feels a ready Inclination to make Acquaintance with you; and I ſhall ever bleſs the Hour that has given to my Father ſo good a Son, to Mr. Bellmour ſo warm a Friend, and to me tho unex⯑pected Happineſs of a Brother, whom I deſpair'd of ever ſeeing.—

Pray now Jack, how may Ships of the Line has the Admiral with him?—a-propos, that may be in your Let⯑ter.—Let me read it.—

You may ſpare yourſelf that Trouble,—it was but to ac⯑quaint you with what I ſhall now tell you in Perſon, that ſince I find you are become a voluntary Stateſman, I have a Fortune ſufficient to ſupport you in the Study of Politics for the reſt of your Life.—

Have you?—What, and ſhall I have every Thing that comes out?

Every Thing, Sir,—

And Sir, an Apartment at my Houſe in the Country you ſhall ever command.—

No, no, I can't go to the Country,—that is not the Scene of Action.—

You ſhall have all the Papers down there.—

Shall I,—but are there any Coffee-Houſes in your Neighbourhood in the Country?

Several!

And are there any Politicians there?

Swarms of e'm, there's the Curate, and the Juſtice of [50] the Quorum, and an Exciſemen, and a yellow Admiral, and an Attorney, and—

Ay!—why then that will do—that will do—(going returns) but d'ye hear—I won't go into the Country till the Houſe is adjourn'd.

Even as you pleaſe, Sir—and in the mean Time the greateſt Favour you can confer upon me, is to give away this Lady to my Friend Bellmour—

Why, ſince I find he knows ſo much of the Matter, I could find it in my Heart to accede to the Treaty; here, here, take her—but ſhould not all this be in the Pa⯑pers?—I'll go and tell 'em the News myſelf.

My Stars and Gar⯑ters! what a ſudden Evolution here is in Things? fakins, now I looks at him again, I does not believe he is a High⯑warman—By my troth, the young Gentleman has a Jen ſcai about him that I likes well enough, and I could find it in my Heart to make him an Advowſon of my Love, and calcine my Perſon to him.

Prithee, Bellmour, how long has my Father had this Turn?

Since the laſt Rebellion; ſince which there has not been an Affair of any Importance in Europe but he has taken a conſiderable Share in it—while his own Affairs have been mouldering into ruin.—

But henceforward all Volunteers in Politics ſhould take Warning from his Example, before they concern themſelves about the Balance of Europe, to have ſome Care of the Balance of their Accounts. The firſt Step towards being a good Citizen, is to be a good Man, and to act with Propriety in the various Relations of Life—and if every [51] one in the Kingdom would reſolve upon the ſame, the Na⯑tion in general would ſoon feel the Benefit of it.