SCENE I.

HA, ha, my dear Beaufort! A fiery young fellow like you, melted down into a ſighing love-ſick dangler after a high heel, a well-turn'd ankle, and a ſhort petticoat!

Prithee, Wilding, don't laugh at me—Maria's charms—

Maria's charms! And ſo now you would fain grow wanton in her praiſe, and have me liſten to your raptures about my own ſiſter! ha, ha, poor Beaufort! —Is my ſiſter at home, Will?

She is, Sir.

How long has my father been gone out?

This hour, Sir.

Very well. Pray give Mr. Beaufort's com⯑pliments to my ſiſter, and he is come to wait upon her —

You will be glad to ſee her I ſup⯑poſe, Charles.

I live but in her preſence.

Live but in her preſence! How the devil could the young baggage raiſe this riot in your heart? 'Tis more than her brother could ever do with any of her ſex.

Nay, you have no reaſon to complain; you are come up to town, poſt-haſte, to marry a wealthy citizen's daughter, who only ſaw you laſt ſeaſon at Tun⯑bridge, and has been languiſhing for you ever ſince.

That's more than I do for her; and to tell you the truth, more than I believe ſhe does for me.—This is a match of prudence, man! bargain and ſale!—My reverend dad and the old put of a citizen finiſhed the buſineſs at Lloyd's Coffee-houſe by inch of candle—a mere transferring of property!—‘Give your ſon to my daughter, and I will give my daughter to your ſon.’ That's the whole affair, and ſo I am juſt ar⯑rived to conſummate the nuptials.

Thou art the happieſt fellow—

Happy! ſo I am—what ſhould I be otherwiſe for? If Miſs Sally—upon my ſoul I forget her name—

Well! that is ſo like you—Miſs Sally Phil⯑pot—

Ay! very true—Miſs Sally Philpot—ſhe will bring fortune ſufficient to pay off an old incumbrance upon the family-eſtate, and my father is to ſettle hand⯑ſomely upon me—and ſo I have reaſon to be contented, have not I?

And you are willing to marry her, without having one ſpark of love for her?

Love!—why I make myſelf ridiculous enough by marrying, don't I? without being in love into the bargain! What! am I to pine for a girl that is willing to go to bed to me? Love of all things!—My dear Beaufort, one ſees ſo many people breathing raptures about each other before marriage, and dinning their inſipidity into the ears of all their acquaintance; ‘My dear ma'am, don't you think him a ſweet man? charminger creature never was.’ Then he, on his ſide— ‘My life, my angel, oh! ſhe's a paradiſe of ever blooming ſweets.’ And then in a month's time, ‘He's a perfidious wretch! I wiſh I had never ſeen his face—the devil was in me when I had any thing to ſay to him."—"Oh! damn her for an inanimated piece—I wiſh ſhe'd poiſon herſelf with all my heart.’ That is ever the way; and ſo [3]you ſee, love is all nonſenſe; well enough to furniſh romances for boys and girls at circulating libraries; that is all, take my word for it.

Pho! this is all idle talk; and in the mean time, I am ruin'd—

How ſo?

Why, you know the old couple have bargain'd your ſiſter away.

Bargain'd her away! and will you pretend you are in love?—Can you look tamely on, and ſee her barter'd away at Garraway's like logwood, cochineal, or indigo? Marry her privately, man, and keep it a ſecret till my affair is over.

My dear Wilding, will you propoſe it to her

With all my heart—She is very long a com⯑ing—I'll tell you what, if ſhe has a fancy for you, carry her off at once—But perhaps ſhe has a mind to this cub of a citizen, Miſs Sally's brother—

Oh no! he's her averſion—

I have never ſeen any of the family, but my wife that is to be; my father-in-law and my brother-in-law, I know nothing of them. What ſort of a fellow is the ſon?

Oh! a diamond of the firſt water! a buck, Sir, a blood! every night at this end of the town; at twelve next day he ſneaks about the Change, in a little bit of a frock and a bob-wig, and looks like a ſedate book-keeper in the eyes of all who behold him.

Upon my word, a gentleman of ſpirit.

Spirit!—he drives a phaeton two ſtory high, keeps his girl at this end of the town, and is the gay George Philpot all round Covent Garden.

Oh brave!—and the father—

The father, Sir—But here comes Maria; take his picture from her—

Hey! ſhe is muſical this morning; ſhe holds her uſual ſpirits, I find.

Yes, yes, the ſpirit of eighteen, with the idea of a lover in her head—

Ay! and ſuch a lover as you too! tho' ſtill in her teens, ſhe can play upon all your foibles, and [4]treat you as ſhe does her monkey, tickle you, torment you, enrage you, ſooth you, exalt you, depreſs you, pity you, laugh at you—Ecce ſignum!

The ſame giddy girl!—Siſter; come my dear—

Have done, brother; let me have my own way—I will go through my ſong.

I have not ſeen you this age; aſk me how I do?—

I won't aſk you how you do—I won't take any notice of you, I don't know you—

Do you know this gentleman then? Will you ſpeak to him?

No, I won't ſpeak to him; I'll ſing to him; it's my humour to ſing.

Be ſerious but for a moment, Maria; my all depends upon it—

Oh! ſweet Sir, you are dying, are you? then poſitively I will ſing the ſong; for it is a deſcrip⯑tion of yourſelf—mind it, Mr. Beaufort—mind it—Brother, how do you do?

Say nothing, don't interrupt me—

Have you ſeen your city lover yet?

No; but I long to ſee him; I fancy he is a curioſity.

Long to ſee him, Maria!

Yes, long to ſee him—

Brother, brother!

do you ſee that?

mind him; ha, ha!

Make me ridiculous if you will, Maria; ſo you don't make me unhappy, by marrying this citizen—

And would not you have me marry, Sir? What, I muſt lead a ſingle life to pleaſe you, muſt I? upon my word you are a pretty gentleman to make laws for me.

Come, come, Miſs Pert, compoſe yourſelf a little—this will never do—

My croſs, ill-natur'd brother! but it will do—Lord! what do you both call me hither to plague me? I won't ſtay among ye—à l'honneur, à l'honneur—

à I'honneur—

Hey, hey, Miſs Notable! come back, pray madam, come back—

Lord of heaven! what do you want!

Come, come, truce with your frolicks, Miſs Hoyden, and behave like a ſenſible girl; we have ſe⯑rious buſineſs with you.

Have you? Well, come, I will be ſenſible—there, I blow all my folly away—'Tis gone, 'tis gone, and now I'll talk ſenſe; come—Is that a ſenſible face?

Po, po, be quiet, and hear what we have to ſay to you.

I will, I am quiet. It is charming weather; it will be good for the country, this will.

Po, ridiculous! how can you be ſo ſilly?

Bleſs me! I never ſaw any thing like you—there is no ſuch thing as ſatisfying you—I am ſure it was very good ſenſe what I ſaid—Papa talks in that manner—Well, well! I'll be ſilent then—I won't ſpeak at all; will that ſatisfy you?

Come, come, no more of this folly, but mind what is ſaid to you—You have not ſeen your city lover, you ſay?

Why don't you anſwer?

Beau. My dear Maria, put me out of pain—

Po! don't be ſo childiſh, but give a rational anſwer—

Why, no, then; no—no, no, no, no, no, —I tell you no, no, no—

Come, come, my little giddy ſiſter, you muſt not be ſo flighty; behave ſedately, and don't be a girl always

Why don't I tell you I have not ſeen him—but I am to ſee him this very day.

To ſee him this day, Maria?

Ha, ha!—look there, brother; he is begin⯑ning again—But don't fright yourſelf, and I'll tell you all about it—My papa comes to me this morning—by the by, he makes a fright of himſelf with his ſtrange dreſs—Why does not he dreſs as other gentle⯑men do, brother!

He dreſſes like his brother fox-hunters in Wiltſhire—

But when he comes to town, I wiſh he would do as other gentlemen do here—I am almoſt aſham'd of him—But he comes to me this morning—‘Hoic! hoic! our Moll—Where is the ſly puſs—Tally ho!’—Did you want me, papa?—Come hither, Moll, I'll gee you a huſband, my girl; one that has mettle enow—he'll take cover, I warrant un—Blood to the bone.

There now, Wilding, did not I tell you this?

Where are you to ſee the young citizen?

Why, papa will be at home in an hour, and then he intends to drag me into the city with him, and there the ſweet creature is to be introduced to me—The old gentleman, his father, is delighted with me, but I hate him, an old ugly thing—

Give us a deſcription of him; I want to know him—

Why he looks like the picture of Avarice, ſitting with pleaſure upon a bag of money, and tremb⯑ling for fear any body ſhould come and take it away—He has got ſquare-toed ſhoes, and little tiny buckles, a brown coat, with ſmall round braſs buttons, that looks as if it was new in my great-grandmother's time, and his face all ſhrivell'd and pinch'd with care, and he ſhakes his head like a mandarine upon a chimney-piece—Ay, ay, Sir Jaſper, you are right, and then he grins at me; I profeſs ſhe is a very pretty bale of goods. Ay, ay, and my ſon Bob is a very ſenſible lad—ay, ay! and I will underwrite their happineſs for one and a half per cent.

Thank you, my dear girl; thank you for this account of my relations.

Deſtruction to my hopes! Surely my dear little angel if you have any regard for me—

There, there, there he is frighten'd again—

Pſhaw! give over theſe airs—liſten to me, and I'll inſtruct you how to manage them all—

Oh! my dear brother, you are very good—but don't miſtake yourſelf; though juſt come from a boarding-ſchool, give me leave to manage for myſelf—There is in this caſe a man I like, and a man I don't like—It is not you I like

—no—no—I hate you—But let this little head alone; I know what to do—I ſhall know how to prefer one, and get rid of the other.

What will you do, Maria?

Ha, ha, I can't help laughing at you.

Come, come, be ſerious, Miſs Pert, and I'll inſtruct you what to do—The old cit, you ſay, admires you for your underſtanding, and his ſon would not marry you unleſs he found you a girl of ſenſe and ſpirit?

Even ſo—this is the character of your giddy ſiſter—

Why then, I'll tell you—You ſhall make him hate you for a fool, and ſo let the refuſal come from himſelf—

But how—how my dear brother? Tell me how?

Why you have ſeen a play with me, where a man pretends to be a downright country oaf, in order to rule a wife and have a wife.

Very well—what then? what then?—Oh—I have it—I underſtend you—ſay no more—'tis charming; I like it of all things; I'll do it, I will; and I will ſo plague him, that he ſhan't know what to make of me—He ſhall be a very toad-eater to me; the ſour, the ſweet, the bitter, he ſhall ſwallow all, and all ſhall work upon him alike for my diverſion. Say nothing of it—it's all among ourſelves; but I won't be cruel. I hate ill-nature, and then who knows but I may like him?

My dear Maria, don't talk of liking him—

Oh! now you are beginning again—

'Sdeath, Wilding, I ſhall never be your bro⯑ther-in law at this rate.

Pſhaw, folllow me; don't be apprehenſive—I'll give her farther inſtructions, and ſhe will execute them I warrant you; the old fellow's daughter ſhall be mine, and the ſon may go ſhift for himſelf elſewhere.

SCENE II. Old Philpot's Houſe.

Quilldrive, have thoſe dollars been ſent to the Bank, as I order'd?

They have, Sir.

Very well!—Mr. Dapper I am not fond of writing any thing of late; but at your requeſt—

You know I would not offer you a bad policy.

I believe it—Well, ſtep with me to my cloſet, and I will look at your policy—How much do you want upon it?

Three thouſand; you had better take the whole: there are very good names upon it—

Well, well, ſtep with me, and I'll talk to you—Quilldrive ſtep with thoſe bills for acceptance— This way, Mr. Dapper, this way.

A miſerly old raſcal! digging, digging money out of the very hearts of mankind; conſtantly, con⯑ſtantly ſcraping together, and yet trembling with anxiety for fear of coming to want. A canting old hy⯑pocrite! and yet under his veil of ſanctity, he has a liquoriſh tooth left—running to the other end of the town ſlily every evening, and there he has his ſolitary pleaſures in holes and corners—

Hiſt, hiſt!—Quilldrive!

Ha, Maſter George!—

Is Square-toes at home?

He is—

Has he aſk'd for me?

He has.

Does he know I did not lay at home?

No; I ſunk that upon him.

Well done; I'll give you a choice gelding to carry you to Dulwich of a Sunday—Damnation!—up all night—ſtripped of nine hundred pounds—pretty well for one night!—Picqued, repicqued, ſlammn'd, and capotted every deal!—Old Dry-beard ſhall pay all—is forty-ſeven good? no—fifty good? no!—no, no, no—to the end of the chapter—Cruel luck!—Damn me, it's life tho'—this is life—'sdeath! I hear him coming

—no, all's ſafe—I muſt not be caught in theſe cloaths, Quilldrive—

How come you did not leave them at Madam Corinna's, as you generally do?

I was afraid of being too late for old Square-toes, and ſo I whipt into a hackney-coach, and drove with the windows up, as if I was afraid of a bum⯑bailey.—Pretty cloaths, an't they?

Ah! Sir—

Reach me one of my mechanic city frocks—no—ſtay—it's in the next room, an't it?

Yes, Sir

I'll run and ſlip it on in a twinkle.

Mercy on us! what a life does he lead? Old Cojer within here will ſcrape together for him, and the moment young Maſter comes to poſſeſſion, "I'll got, ill gone", I warrant me; a hard card I have to play between 'em both—drudging for the old man, and pimping for the young one—The father is a reſervoir of riches, and the ſon is a fountain to play it all away in vanity and folly!

Now I'm equipped for the city—Damn the city!—I wiſh the Papiſhes would ſet fire to it again [10]—I hate to be beating the hoof here among them—Here comes father—no;—it's Dapper—Quilldrive, I'll give you the gelding—

Thank you, Sir.

Why you look like a devil, George.

Yes, I have been up all night; loſt all my money, and I am afraid I muſt ſmaſh for it—

Smaſh for it—what have I let you into the ſecret for? Have not I adviſed you to trade upon your own account—and you feel the ſweets of it—how much do you owe in the city?

At leaſt twenty thouſand—

Poh, that's nothing! Bring it up to fifty or ſixty thouſand, and then give 'em a good craſh at once—I have enſur'd the ſhip for you.

Have you—

The policy's full; I have juſt touch'd your father for the laſt three thouſand.

Excellent! are the goods re-landed?

Every bale—I have had them up to town, and ſold them all to a packer for you—

Bravo—! and the ſhip is loaded with rub⯑biſh, I ſuppoſe?

Yes; and is now proceeding the voyage.

Very well—and to-morrow, or next day we ſhall hear of her being loſt upon the Goodwin, or ſunk between the Needles.

Certainly.

Admirable! And then we ſhall come upon the underwiters.

Directly.

My dear Dapper!

Yes; I do a dozen every year. How do you think I can live as I do, otherwiſe?

Very true; ſhall you be at the club after Change?

Without fail—

That's right; it will be a full meeting: we ſhall have Nat Pigtail, the dry-ſalter, there, and Bob Reptile, the Change-broker, and Soberſides, the [11]banker—we ſhall all be there. We ſhall have deep doings—

Yes, yes; well, a good morning; I muſt go now and fill up a policy for a ſhip that has been loſt theſe three days—

My dear Dapper, thou art the beſt of friends.

Ay, I'll ſtand by you—It will be time enough for you to break, when you ſee your father near his end; then give 'em a ſmaſh; put yourſelf at the head of his fortune, and begin the world again—Good morning.

Dapper, adieu—Who now in my ſitua⯑tion would envy any of your great folks at the court-end! A Lord has nothing to depend upon but his eſtate—He can't ſpend you a hundred thouſand pounds of other people's money—no—no—I had rather be a little bob-wig citizen, in good credit, than a commiſ⯑ſioner of the cuſtoms—Commiſſioner!—The King has not ſo good a thing in his gift, as a commiſſion of bankruptcy—Don't we ſee them all with their country ſeats at Hogſdon, and at Kentiſh-town, and at New⯑ington-butts, and at Iſlington; with their little flying Mercurys tipt upon the top of the houſe, their Apol⯑los, their Venus's, and their leaden Hercules's in the garden; and themſelves ſitting before the door, with pipes in their mouths, waiting for a good digeſtion—Zoons! here comes old Dad; now for a few dry maxims of left-handed wiſdom, to prove myſelf a ſcoundrel in ſentiment, and paſs in his eyes for a hopeful young man likely to do well in the world.

Twelve times twelve is 144.

I'll attack him in his own way—Commiſſion at two and a half per cent.

There he is, intent upon buſineſs! What, plodding, George?

Thinking a little of the main chance, Sir.

That's right, it is a wide world, George.

Yes, Sir, but you inſtructed me early in the rudiments of trade.

Ay, ay! I inſtill'd good principles into thee.

So you did, Sir—Principal and intereſt is all I ever heard from him.

I ſhall never forget the ſtory you recommended to my earlieſt notice, Sir.

What was that, George? It is quite out of my head—

It intimated, Sir, how Mr. Thomas Inkle, of London, merchant, was caſt away, and was after⯑wards protected by a young lady, who grew in love with him; and how he afterwards bargain'd with a planter to ſell her for a ſlave.

Ay, ay,

I recollect it now.

And when ſhe pleaded being with child by him, he was no otherwiſe mov'd than to raiſe his price, and make her turn better to account.

I remember it—ha,—ha▪ there was the very ſpirit of trade! ay—ay—ha, ha!

That was calculation for you—

Ay, ay.

[...] Rule of Three—If one gives me ſo much; what will two give me?

Ay, ay,

That was a hit, Sir.

Ay, ay.

That was having his wits about him.

Ay, ay! It is a leſſon for all young men. It was a hit indeed, ha, ha!

What an old negro it is.

Thou art a ſon after my own heart, George.

Trade muſt be minded—A penny ſav'd, is a penny got—

Ay, ay!

He that hath money in his purſe, won't want a head on his ſhoulders.

Ay, ay.

Rome was not built in a day—Fortunes are made by degrees—Pains to get, care to keep, and fear to loſe—

Ay, ay.

He that lies in bed, his eſtate feels it.

Ay, ay, the good boy—

The old Curmudgeon

think nothing mean that brings in an honeſt penny—

The good boy! George, I have great hopes of thee.

Thanks to your example; you have taught me to be cautious in this wide world—Love your neighbour, but don't pull down your hedge.

I profeſs it is a wiſe ſaying—I never heard it before; it is a wiſe ſaying; and ſhews how cautious we ſhould be of too much confidence in friendſhip.

Very true—

Friendſhip has nothing to do with trade.

It only draws a man in to lend money.

Ay, ay—

There was your neighbour's ſon, Dick Worthy, who was always cramming his head with Greek and Latin at ſchool; he wanted to borrow of me the other day, but I was too cunning.

Ay, ay—Let him draw bills of exchange in Greek and Latin, and ſee where he will get a pound ſterling for them.

So I told him—I went to him to his garret, in the Minories; and there I found him in all his miſery; and a fine ſcene it was—There was his wife in a corner of the room, at a waſhing-tub, up to the elbows in ſuds; a ſolitary pork-ſtake was dangling by a bit of pack-thread, before a melancholy fire; himſelf ſeated at a three-legg'd table, writing a pamphlet againſt the German war; a child upon his left knee, his right-leg employ'd in rocking a cradle with a bratling in it—And ſo there was buſineſs enough for them all—His wife rubbing away

and he writing on, ‘The King of Pruſſia ſhall have no more ſubſidies; Saxony ſhall be indemnify'd—He ſhan't have a foot in Sileſia.’ There is a ſweet little baby! [to the child on his knee] then he rock'd the cradle, huſh ho! huſh ho!—then twiſted the griſkin, [ſnaps his fingers] huſh ho! "The Ruſſians ſhall have Pruſſia,"

The wife

he—"There's a dear." Round goes the griſkin again,

"and Canada muſt be reſtor'd,"

—and ſo you have a picture of the whole family—

Ha, ha! What becomes of his Greek and Latin now? Fine words butter no parſnips—He had no money from you, I ſuppoſe, George?

Oh! no; charity begins at home, ſays I.

And it was wiſely ſaid—I have an excellent ſaying when any man wants to borrow of me—I am ready with my joke—"A fool and his money are ſoon parted"—ha, ha, ha!

Ha, ha—An old ſkin flint.

Ay, ay—A fool and his money are ſoon parted—ha, ha, ha!

Now if I can wring a handſome ſum out him, it will prove the truth of what he ſays.

And yet trade has its inconveniences—Great houſes ſtopping payment!—

Hey—what! you look chagrin'd!—No⯑thing of that ſort has happen'd to thee, I hope?—

A great houſe at Cadiz—Don John de Alvarada—The Spaniſh Galleons not making quick returns—and ſo my bills are come back—

Ay!—

I have indeed a remittance from Meſſina. That voyage yields me thirty per cent. profit—But this blow coming upon me—

Why this is unlucky—how much mo⯑ney?

Three and twenty hundred—

George, too many eggs in one basket; I'll tell thee George, I expect Sir Jaſper Wilding here preſently to conclude the treaty of marriage I have on foot for thee: then huſh this up▪ ſay nothing of it, and in a day or two you pay theſe bills with his daugh⯑ter's portion.

The old rogue,

that will never do, I ſhall be blown upon Change.—Alvarada will pay in time—He has open'd his affairs—He appears a good man.

Does he?

A great fortune left; will pay in time, but I muſt crack before that—

It is unlucky! a good man you ſay he is—

No body better—

Let me ſee—Suppoſe I lend this mo⯑ney—

Ah, Sir.

How much is your remittance from Meſſina?

Seven hundred and fifty.

Then you want fifteen hundred and fifty.

Exactly.

Don Alvarada is a good man you ſay.

Yes, Sir.

I will venture to lend the money—You muſt allow me commiſſion upon thoſe bills for taking them up for honour of the drawer—

Agreed.

Lawful intereſt, while I am out of my money—

I ſubſcribe.

A power of attorney to receive the monies from Alvarada, when he makes a payment.

You ſhall have it.

Your own bond.

To be ſure.

Go and get me a check—You ſhall have a draught on the bank—

Yes, Sir,

But ſtay—I had forgot—I muſt ſell out for this—Stocks are under par—You muſt pay the dif⯑ference—

Was ever ſuch a leech,

By all means, Sir.

Step and get me a check.

A fool and his money are ſoon parted.

What with commiſſion, lawful intereſt, and his paying the difference of the ſtocks, which are higher now than when I bought in, this will be no bad morning's work, and then in the evening, I ſhall be in the rareſt ſpirits for this new adventure I am re⯑commended to—Let me ſee what is the lady's name.

Corinna! ay, ay, by the deſcription [16]ſhe is a bale of goods—I ſhall be in rare ſpirits—Ay, this is the way, to indulge one's paſſions and yet conceal them, and to mind one's buſineſs in the city here, as if one had no paſſion at all—I long for the evening methinks—Body o'me—I am a young man ſtill.

Sir Jaſper Wilding, Sir, and his daughter.—

[...] at home.—

Sir Jaſper, your very humble ſervant.

Maſter Philpot, I be glad to zee ye, I am indeed—

The like compliment to you, Sir Jaſper, —Miſs Maria, I kiſs your fair hand—

Sir, your moſt obedient—

Ay, ay, I ha brought up to zee you—There's my girl—I ben't aſham'd of my girl—

That's more than I can ſay of my father—luckily theſe people are as much ſtrangers to decorum as my old gentleman, otherwiſe this viſit from a lady to meet her lover would have an odd appearance—Tho' but late a boarding-ſchool girl, I know enough of the world for that—

Truly ſhe is a blooming young lady, Sir Jaſper, and I verily ſhall like to take an intereſt in her.

I ha brought her to zee ye, and ſo your zon may ha' her as ſoon as he will.

Why ſhe looks three and a half par cent. better than when I ſaw her laſt.

Then there is hopes that in a little time, I ſhall be above par—he rates me like a lottery ticket.

Ay, ay, I doubt not, Sir Jaſper. Miſs has the appearance of a very ſenſible, diſcreet young lady; and, to deal freely, without that ſhe would not do for my ſon—George is a ſhrewd lad, and I have often heard him declare, no conſideration ſhould ever prevail on him to marry a fool.

Ay, you have told me ſo before, old gen⯑tleman, and I have my cue from my brother; and if I don't ſoon give maſter George a ſurfeit of me, why then I am not a notable girl.

A good clever old cuff this—after my own heart—I think I'll have his daughter, if it's only for the pleaſure of hunting with him—

Zon-in-law, gee us your hand—What zay you? Are you ready for my girl?

Say grace as ſoon as you will, Sir, I'll fall too—

Well zaid—I like you—I like un maſter Philpot—I like un—I'll tell you what, let un talk to her now.

And ſo he ſhall—George, ſhe is a bale of goods; ſpeak her fair now, and then you'll be in caſh—

I think I had rather not ſpeak to her now—I hate ſpeaking to thoſe modeſt women—Sir;—Sir— a word in your ear; had not I better break my mind, by advertiſing for her in a news-paper?

Talk ſenſe to her, George; ſhe is a no⯑table girl—and I'll give the draft upon the bank preſently—

Come along, maſter Philpot—come along; I ben't afraid of my girl—come along—

A pretty ſort of a lover they have found for me.

How ſhould I ſpeak my mind to her? She is almoſt a ſtranger to me.

Now I'll make the hideous thing hate me if I can.

Ay, ſhe is as ſharp as a needle, I warrant her.

When will he begin?—Ah, you fright! You rival Mr. Beaufort! I'll give him an averſion to me, that's what I will; and ſo let him have the trouble of breaking off the match: not a word yet—he is in a fine confuſion

I think I may as well ſit down, Sir—

Ma'am—I—I—I—

—I'll hand you a chair, Ma'am—there Ma'am.

Sir, I thank you—

I'll ſit down too.

Heigho!

Ma'am!

Sir!

I thought—I—I—did not you ſay ſome⯑thing, Ma'am?

No, Sir; nothing.

I beg your pardon, Ma'am.

Oh! you are a ſweet creature.

The ice is broke now; I have begun, and ſo I'll go on.

An agreeable interview this!

Pray, Ma'am, do you ever go to concerts?

Concerts! what's that, Sir!

A muſick meeting—

I have been at a Quaker's meeting; but never at a muſick meeting.—

Lord, Ma'am, all the gay world goes to concerts—She notable! I'll take courage, ſhe is no⯑body—Will you give me leave to preſent you a ticket for the Crown and Anchor, Ma'am?

—A ticket—what's a ticket?

There, Ma'am—at your ſervice—

I long to ſee what a ticket is?

What a curtſy there is for the St. James's end of the town! I hate her; ſhe ſeems to be an idiot.

Here's a charming ticket he has given me,

And is this a ticket, Sir?

Yes, Ma'am—And is this a ticket.

For ſale by the candle, the follow⯑ing goods—thirty cheſts ſtraw hats—fifty tubs chip hats —pepper, ſago, borax—ha—ha! Such a ticket!

I—I—I have made a miſtake, Ma'am—here, here is the right one—

You need not mind it, Sir—I never go to ſuch places—

No, Ma'am—I don't know what to make of her—Was you ever at the White-Conduit-houſe?

There's a queſtion.

Is that a no⯑bleman's ſeat?

Simpleton!—No Miſs—it is not a nobleman's ſeat—Lord! it's at Iſlington—

Lord Iſlington!—I don't know my Lord Iſlington—

The town of Iſlington—

I have not the honour of knowing his Lordſhip—

Iſlington is a town, Ma'am—

Oh! it's a town—

Yes, Ma'am.

I am glad of it.

What is ſhe glad of?—

A pretty huſband my papa has choſe for me.

What ſhall I ſay to her next? Have you been at the burletta, Ma'am?

Where?

The burletta.

Sir, I would have you to know that I am no ſuch perſon—I go to burlettas! I am not what you take me for, Sir—

Ma'am!—

I'm come of good people, Sir; and have been properly educated as a young girl ought to be—

What a damn'd fool ſhe is.

—The burletta is an opera, Ma'am—

Opera, Sir! I don't know what you mean by this uſage—to affront me in this manner?

Affront! I meant quite the reverſe, Ma'am; I took you for a connoiſſeur.

Who me a connoiſſeur, Sir! I deſire you won't call me ſuch names; I am ſure I never ſo much [20]as thought of ſuch a thing. Sir, I won't be call'd a connoiſſeur—I wont—I won't—I won't.

Ma'am, I meant no offence—A connoiſſeur is a virtuoſo—

Don't virtuoſo me! I am no virtuoſo, Sir, I would have you to know it—I am as virtuous a girl as any in England, and I will never be a virtuoſo.

But, Ma'am, you miſtake me quite.

Sir, I am come of as virtuous people as any in Eng⯑land—My family was always remarkable for virtue— My mamma

was as good a woman as ever was born, and my aunt Bridget

was a virtuous woman too—And there's my ſiſter Sophy makes as good and as virtuous a wife as any at all—And ſo, Sir, don't call me a virtuoſo—I won't be brought here to be treated in this manner, I won't—I won't—I won't.

The girl's a natural—So much the better. I'll marry her, and lock her up—Ma'am, upon my word you miſunderſtand me—

Sir

I won't be called con⯑noiſſeur by you nor any body—And I am no virtuoſo—I'd have you to know that—

Ma'am, connoiſſeur and virtuoſo are words for a perſon of taſte—

Taſte!

Yes, Ma'am—

And did you mean to ſay as how I am a per⯑ſon of taſte?

Undoubtedly.

Sir, your moſt obedient humble ſervant; Oh! that's another thing—I have a taſte to be ſure—

I know you have ma'am—Oh you're a curſed ninny.

Yes, I know I have—I can read tolerably; and I begin to write a little—

Upon my word, you have made a great progreſs!—What could old Square-Toes mean by [21]paſſing her upon me for a ſenſible girl? And what a fool I was to be afraid to ſpeak to her—I'll talk to her openly at once.—Come ſit down, Miſs—Pray ma'am, are you inclin'd to matrimony?

Yes, Sir.

Are you in love?

Yes, Sir.

Thoſe naturals are always amorous.

How ſhould you like me?

Of all things—

A girl without ceremony,

Do you love me?

Yes, Sir.

But you don't love any body elſe?

Yes, Sir.

Frank and free,

But not ſo well as me?

Yes, Sir.

Better may be?

Yes, Sir.

The devil you do,

And pehaps, if I ſhould marry you, I ſhould have a chance to be made a—

Yes, Sir.

The caſe is clear; Miſs Maria, your very humble ſervant; you are not for my money, I pro⯑miſe you.

Sir.

I have done, Ma'am, that's all, and I take my leave.

But you'll marry me?

No, Ma'am, no;——No ſuch thing—You may provide yourſelf a huſband elſewhere, I am your humble ſervant.

Not marry me, Mr. Philpot—But you muſt—My papa ſaid you muſt—And I will have you—

There's another proof of her nonſenſe,

Make yourſelf eaſy, for I ſhall have nothing to do with you.

Not marry me Mr. Philpot,

but I ſay you ſhall, and I will have a huſband, or I'll know the reaſon why—You ſhall—You ſhall—

A pretty ſort of a wife they intend for me here—

I wonder you an't aſham'd of yourſelf to affront a young girl in this manner. I'll go, and tell my papa—I will—I will—I will.

And ſo you may—I have no more to ſay to you—and ſo your ſervant, Miſs—your ſervant—

Ay! and by goles! my brother Bob ſhall fight you.

What care I for your brother Bob?

How can you be ſo cruel, Mr. Philpot? how can you—oh—

ha! ha! I have carried my brother's ſcheme into exe⯑cution charmingly; ha! ha! He will break off the match now of his own accord—Ha! ha! This is charming; this is fine; this is like a girl of ſpirit.

SCENE I.

AN elderly gentleman did you ſay?

Yes; that ſays he has got a letter for you, ma'am.

Deſire the gentleman to walk up Stairs.

Theſe old fellows will be coming after a body—But they pay well and ſo—Servant, Sir—

Fair Lady, your very humble ſervant— Truly a blooming young girl! Madam, I have a letter here for you from Bob Poacher, whom I preſume you know—

Yes, Sir, I know Bob Poacher—He is a very good friend of mine;

he ſpeaks ſo handſomely of you, Sir, and ſays you are ſo much of [23]the gentleman that to be ſure, Sir, I ſhall endeavour to be agreeable, Sir—

Really you are very agreeable—You ſee I am punctual to my hour.

That is a mighty pretty watch, Sir.

Yes, Madam, it is a repeator; it has been in our family for a long time—This is a mighty pretty lodging—I have twenty guineas here in a purſe, here they are;

as pretty golden rogues as ever your fair fingers play'd with—

I am always agreeable to any thing from a gentleman.

There are

ſome light guineas among them—I always put off my light guineas in this way—You are exceedingly welcome, madam. Your fair hand looks ſo tempting; I muſt kiſs it— Oh! I could eat it up—Fair lady, your lips look ſo cherry—They actually invite the touch;

really it makes the difference of cent. per cent. in one's conſtitution—You have really a mighty pretty foot—Oh, you little rogue—I could ſmother you with kiſſes—Oh you little delicate, charming—

Gee-houp!—Awhi!—Awhi! Gallows! Awhi!

Hey—What is all that?—Somebody coming!

Some young rake I fancy, coming in whether my ſervants will or no—

What ſhall I do?—I would not be ſeen for the world—Can't you hide me in that room?

Dear heart! No, Sir—Theſe wild young fellows take ſuch liberties—He may take it into his head to go in there, and then you will be detected— Get under the table—He ſhan't remain long whoever he is—Here—Here, Sir, get under here—

Ay; ay; that will do—Don't let him ſtay long—Give me another buſs—Wounds! I could—

Huſh!—Make haſte—

Ay; ay; I will fair lady—

Don't let him ſtay long—

Huſh! Silence! you will ruin all elſe.

Sharper do your work—Awhi! Awhi! So my girl—How doſt do?

Very well, thank you—I did not expect to ſee you ſo ſoon—I thought you was to be at the club—The ſervants told me you came back from the city at two o'clock to dreſs, and ſo I concluded you would have ſtaid all night as uſual.

No; the run was againſt me again, and I did not care to purſue ill-fortune. But I am ſtrong in caſh, my girl—

Are you?

Yes, yes—Suskins in plenty.

Ah the ungracious! Theſe are your haunts, are they?

Yes, yes; I am ſtrong in caſh—I have taken in old curmudgeon ſince I faw you—

As how, pray?

Ay, as how; let us hear pray.

Why, I'll tell you—

Ay! let us hear.

I talk'd a world of wiſdom to him—

Ay!

Tipt him a few raſcally ſentiments of a ſcoundrelly kind of prudence—

Ay!

The old curmudgeon chuckled at it—

Ay, ay; the old curmudgeon! ay, ay.

He is a ſad old fellow!

Ay! go on—

And ſo I appear'd to him as deſerving of the gallows as he is himſelf—

Well ſaid, boy, well ſaid—Go on—

And then he took a liking to me—Ay, ay, ſays he, ay, friendſhip has nothing to do with trade— George, thou art a ſon after my own heart; and then [25]as I dealt out little maxims of penury, he grinn'd like a Jew broker, when he has cheated his principal of an eighth per cent.—And cried, ay, ay, that is the very ſpirit of trade—A fool and his money are ſoon parted—

and ſo, on he went, like Har⯑lequin in a French comedy, tickling himſelf into a good humour, till at laſt I tickled him out of fifteen hundred and odd pounds—

I have a mind to riſe and break his bones—But then I diſcover myſelf—Lie ſtill, Iſaac, lie ſtill—

Oh! I underſtand trap—I talked of a great houſe ſtopping payment—The thing was true enough, but I had no dealing with them—

Ay, ay,—

And ſo, for fear of breaking off a match with an ideot he wants me to marry, he lent me the money, and cheated me tho'—

Ay, you have found it out—Have ye?

No old uſurer in England, grown hard⯑hearted in his trade, could have dealt worſe with me—I muſt have commiſſion upon thoſe bills for taking them up for honour of the drawer—Your bond—Law⯑ful intereſt, while I am out of my money; and the difference for ſelling out of the ſtocks—an old miſerly good for nothing skin-flint—

My blood boils to be at him—Go on, can you tell us a little more?

Po! he is an old curmudgeon—And ſo I will talk no more about him—Come give me a kiſs.

The young dog, how he faſtens his lips to her!

You ſhall go with me to Epſom next Sunday.

Shall I? That's charming.

You ſhall, in my chariot—I drive—

But I don't like to ſee you drive—

But I like it, I am as good a coachman as any in England—There was my lord—What d'ye call him —He kept a ſtage coach for his own driving, but, Lord! he waſ nothing to me—

No!

Oh! no—I know my road work my girl—When I have my coachman's hat on—Is my hat come home?

It hangs up yonder! but I don't like it—

Let me ſee it—Ay! the very thing—Mind me when I go to work—Throw my eyes about a few—Handle the braces—Take the off leader by the jaw—Here you—how have you curbed this horſe up?—Let him out a link, do you blood of a—Whoo Eh!— Jewel!—Button!—Whoo Eh! Come here, you Sir, how have you coupled Gallows? you know he'll take the bar of Sharper—Take him in two holes, do, —There's four pretty little knots as any in England—Whoo Eh!

But can't you let your coachman drive?—

No, no—See me mount the box, handle the reins, my wriſt turned down, ſquare my elbows, ſtamp with my foot—Gee up!—Off we go—Button, do you want to have us over?—Do your work, do— Awhi! awhi!—There we bowl away; ſee how ſharp they are—Gallows!—Softly, up hill

there's a public houſe—Give 'em a mouthful of water, do—And fetch me a dram—Drink it off—Gee up! Awhi! Awhi!—There we go ſcrambling altogether—Reach Epſom in an hour, and forty-three minutes, all Lom⯑bard ſtreet to an egg-ſhell, we do—There's your work my girl!—Eh! damn me—

Mercy on me! What a profligate debauch⯑ed young dog it is—

Ha! my little Corinna—Sir, your ſervant—

Your ſervant, Sir—

Sir, your ſervant—

Any commands for me, Sir?

For you, Sir?

Yes, for me, Sir?

No Sir, I have no commands for you.

What's your buſineſs?

Buſineſs!

Ay, Buſineſs.

Why, very good buſineſs I think—My little Corinna—My life—My little—

Is that your buſineſs?—Pray, Sir, —Not ſo free, Sir—

Not ſo free!

No Sir! that lady belongs to me—

To you, Sir!

Yes, to me—

To you! Who are you?

As good a man as you—

Upon my word!—Who is this fellow, Co⯑rinna? Some journeyman taylor, I ſuppoſe, who chuſes to try on the gentleman's cloaths before he carries them home—

Taylor!—What do you mean by that? You lie? I am no taylor—

You ſhall give me ſatisfaction for that!

For what?

For giving me the lie.

I did not.

You did, Sir.

You lie; I'll bet you five pounds I did not—But if you have a mind for a frolick—Let me put by my ſword—Now, Sir, come on—

Why, you ſcoundrel, do you think I want to box? Draw, Sir, this moment.

Not I—come on—

Draw, or I'll cut you to pieces—

I'll give you ſatisfaction this way—

And I'll give you ſatisfaction this way

Draw, Sir—Draw; You won't draw!— There, take that, Sirrah—and that—and that, you ſcoundrel—

Ay, ay; well done; lay it on—

And there, you raſcal, and there—

Thank you; thank you—Could not you find in your heart to lay him on another for me?

Pray, don't be in ſuch a paſſion, Sir.

My dear Corinna, don't be frighten'd; I ſhall not murder him—

I am ſafe here—lie ſtill Iſaac, lie ſtill— I am ſafe—

The fellow has put me out of breath.

Whoſe watch is that?

Hey! what is all this?

Your humble ſervant, Sir! Turn out pray, turn out—You won't—Then I'll unſhell you.

Your very hum⯑ble ſervant, Sir—

Zounds! my father there all this time!

I ſuppoſe you will give me the lie too?

No, Sir; not I truly. But the gentleman there may divert himſelf again if he has a mind.

No, Sir, not I; I paſs—

George, you are there I ſee—

Yes, Sir; and you are there I ſee—

Come riſe—Who is this old fellow?

Upon my word I don't know—As I live and breath I don't—he came after my maid, I ſuppoſe; I'll go and aſk her—let me run out of the way, and hide myſelf from this ſcene of confuſion—

What an imp of hell ſhe is.

Come, get up, Sir; you are too old to be beat.

In troth, ſo I am—But there you may exerciſe yourſelf again if you pleaſe—

No, no more for me, Sir—I thank you.

I have made but a bad voyage of it—The ſhip is ſunk, and ſtock and black loſt.

Ha, ha! upon my ſoul, I can't help laugh⯑ing at this old Square-toes—As for you, Sir, you have had what you deſerv'd—Ha, ha! you are a kind cull, I ſuppoſe—ha, ha! And you, reverend dad, you muſt come here tottering after a punk, ha, ha!

Oh! George! George!

Oh! father! father!

Ha, ha! what father and ſon! And ſo you have found one another out, ha, ha!—Well, you [29]may have buſineſs, and ſo, gentlemen, I'll leave you to yourſelves.

This is too much to bear—What an in⯑famous jade ſhe is! All her contrivance!—don't be angry with me, Sir,—I'll go my ways this moment, tie myſelf up in the matrimonial nooſe—and never have any thing to do with theſe courſes again.

And hark you, George; tie me up in a real nooſe, and turn me off as ſoon as you will.

No more, Sir Jaſper, I can't drink any more.

Why you be but a weezen fac'd drinker, maſter Quagmire—come, man, finiſh this bottle—

I beg to be excuſed—you had better let me read over the deeds to you—

Zounds! it's all about out-houſes, and meſſuages, and barns, and ſtables, and orchards, and meadows, and lands and tenements, and woods and underwoods, and commons and backſides. I am o'the commiſſion for Wilts, and I know the ley, and ſo truce with your jargon, maſter Quagmire.

But, Sir, you don't conſider, marriage is an, affair of importance—it is contracted between perſons, firſt conſenting; ſecondly, free from canonical impedi⯑ments; thirdly, free from civil impediments, and can only be diſſolved for canonical cauſes or levitical cauſes—See Leviticus xviii. and xxviii. Harry VIII. chapter vii—

You ſhall drink t'other bumper, an you talk of ley —

Old Mr. Philpot, Sir, and his ſon—

Wounds! that's right, they'll take me out of the hand of this lawyer here—

Well done, Beaufort! thus far you have play'd your part, as if you had been of the pumple noſe family of Furnival's inn.

Maſter Philpot, I be glad you are come; this man here has ſo plagued me with his ley, but now we'll have no more about it, but ſign the papers at once.

Sir Jaſper, twenty thouſand pounds you know is a great deal of money—I ſhould not give you ſo much, if it was not for the ſake of your daugh⯑ter's marrying my ſon; ſo that if you will allow me diſcount for prompt payment, I will pay the money down.

Sir, I muſt beg to ſee the young lady once more, before I embark; for to be plain, Sir, ſhe appears to me a mere natural—

I'll tell you what, youngſter, I find my girl a notable wench—and here, here's zon Bob—

Bob, gee us your hand—I ha' finiſh'd the buſineſs—and zo now—here, here, here's your vather-in-law.

Of all the birds in the air, is that he!

He has behav'd like a relation to me already.

Go to un man—that's your vather—

This is the ſtrangeſt accident—Sir, —Sir—

I—I—Sir—upon my ſoul, I can't ſtand this.

I deſerve it; I deſerve to be laught at.

He has ſhewn his regard to his ſiſter's family already.

What's the matter, Bob? I tell you this is your vather-in-law—

Maſter Philpot, that's Bob—Speak to un Bob—ſpeak to un—

Sir—I—I am

I ſay, Sir— I am, Sir—extremely proud—of—of—

Of having beat me, I ſuppoſe.

Of the honour, Sir—of—of—

Ay! that's what he means.

And, Sir—I—I—this opportunity—I can⯑not look him in the face—

ha, ha! I cannot ſtay in the room—

Why the volks are all mad, I believe! you ſhall ſtay, Bob; you ſhall ſtay.

Sir, I—I cannot poſſibly—

George, George! what a woeful figure do we make!

Bad enough of all conſcience, Sir.

An odd adventure, Bob.

Ay! there now he is hearing the whole affair, and is laughing at me—

Ha, ha! Po never mind it—a did not hurt un—

It's all diſcover'd—

Ha, ha!—I tould ye, zon Bob could find a hare ſquat upon her form with any he in Chriſtendom—ha, ha! never mind it man, Bob meant no harm— here, here, Bob,—here's your vather, and there's your brother—I ſhould like to ha' zeen un under the table—

Gentlemen, your moſt obedient.

Sir, your ſervant—He has lick'd George well—and I forgive him—

Well, young gentleman, which way is your mind now.

Why, Sir, to be plain, I find your daughter an ideot.

Zee her again then—zee her again—here you, ſirrah, ſend our Moll hither—

Yes, Sir.

Very well then, we'll go into t'other room, crack a bottle, and ſettle matters there; and leave un together—Hoic! hoic—Our Moll—Tally over—

Did you call me, papa?

I did, my girl—There, the gentleman wants to ſpeak with you—Behave like a clever wench as you are—Come along, my boys—Maſter Quagmire, come and finiſh the buſineſs.

I know ſhe is a fool, and ſo I will ſpeak to her without ceremony—Well, Miſs, you told me you could read and write?

Read, Sir!—Heavens!

ha, ha, ha!

What does ſhe laugh at!

Ha, ha, ha, ha!

What diverts you ſo, pray?

Ha, ha, ha! What a fine tawdry figure you have made of yourſelf? ha, ha, ha!—

Figure, Madam!

I ſhall die—I ſhall die!—ha, ha, ha!

Do you make a laughing-ſtock of me?

No, Sir, by no means—ha, ha, ha!

Let me tell you, Miſs, I don't underſtand being treated thus—

Sir, I can't poſſibly help it—I—I—ha, ha, ha!

I ſhall quit the room, and tell your papa if you go on thus—

Sir, I beg your pardon a thouſand time—I am but a giddy girl—I cannot help it—ha, ha, ha!

Ma'am, this is a downright inſult.

Sir, you look ſomehow or other—I don't know how ſo comically—ha, ha, ha!

Did you never ſee a gentleman dreſs'd before?

Never like you—I beg your pardon, Sir—ha, ha, ha!

Now here is an ideot in ſpirits—I tell you this is your ignorance—I am dreſs'd in high taſte—

Yes, ſo you are—ha, ha, ha!

Will you have done laughing?

Yes, Sir, I will—I will—there—there— there—I have done—

Do ſo then, and behave yourſelf a little ſe⯑date—

I will, Sir;—I won't look at him, and then I ſhan't laugh—

Let me tell you, Miſs, that nobody under⯑ſtands dreſs better than I do—

Ha, ha, ha!

She's mad ſure—

No, Sir, I am not mad—I have done, Sir—I have done—I aſſure you, Sir, that nobody is more averſe from ill manners, and would take greater pains not to affront a gentleman—ha, ha, ha!

Again! Zounds! What do you mean! you'll put me in a paſſion, I can tell you, preſently—

I can't help it—Indeed I can't—Beat me if you will, but let me laugh—I can't help it—ha, ha, ha!

I never met with ſuch uſage in my life—

I ſhall die—Do, Sir, let me laugh—It will do me good—ha, ha, ha!

If this is your way, I won't ſtay a moment longer in the room—I'll go this moment and tell your father.

Sir, Sir, Mr. Philpot, don't be ſo haſty, Sir—I have done, Sir, it's over now—I have had my laugh out—I am a giddy girl—but I'll be grave—I'll com⯑poſe myſelf and act a different ſcene with him from what I did in the morning. I have all the materials of an impertinent wit, and I will now twirl him about the room, like a boy ſetting up his top with his finger and thumb.

Miſs, I think you told me you can read and write—

Read, Sir! Reading is the delight of my life—Do you love reading, Sir?

Prodigiouſly—How pert ſhe is grown—I have read very little, and I'm reſolv'd for the future to read leſs.

What have you read, Miſs?

Everything—

You have—

Yes, Sir, I have—

Oh! brave—and do you remember what you read, Miſs?

Not ſo well as I could wiſh—Wits have ſhort memories.

Oh! you are a wit too?

I am—and do you know that I feel myſelf provok'd to a ſimile now.

Provok'd to a ſimile!—Let us hear it?

What do you think we are both like?

Well—

Like Cymon and Iphigenia in Dryden's fable—

Jenny in Dryden's fable!

That's me—now you—

This is not the ſame girl—

Mark again, mark again:

I muſt take care how I ſpeak to her; ſhe is not the fool I took her for—

You ſeem ſurpriz'd, Sir—but this is my way—I read, Sir, and then I apply—I have read every thing; Suckling, Waller, Milton, Dryden, Landſdown, Gay, Prior, Swift, Addiſon, Pope, Young, Thompſon—

Hey! the devil—what a clack is here!

Shakeſpear, Fletcher, Otway, Southern, Rowe, Congreve, Wicherly, Far⯑quhar, Cibber, Vanbrugh, Steel, in ſhort every body; and I find them all wit, fire, vivacity, ſpirit, genius, taſte, imagination, raillery, humour, character, and ſentiment—Well done, Miſs Notable! you have play'd your part like a young actreſs in high favour with the town.

Her tongue goes like a water mill—

What do you ſay to me now, Sir?

Say!—I don't know what the devil to ſay.

What's the matter, Sir? Why you look as if the ſtocks were fallen—or like London-bridge at low water—or like a waterman when the Thames is frozen—or like a politician without news—or like a prude without ſcandal—or like a great lawyer without a brief—or like ſome lawyers with one—or—

Or like a poor devil▪ of a huſband henpeck'd by a wit, and ſo ſay no more of that—What a capri⯑cious piece here is!

Oh, fy! you have ſpoil'd all—I had not half done—

There is enough of all conſcience—You may content yourſelf.

But I can't be ſo eaſily contented—I like a ſimile half a mile long—

I ſee you do.

Oh! and I make verſes too—verſes like an angel—off hand—extempore—Can you give me an extempore?

What does ſhe mean!—no, Miſs—I have never a one about me.

You can't give me an extempore—Oh! for ſhame, Mr. Philpot—I love an extempore of all things; and I love the poets dearly, their ſenſe ſo fine, their in⯑vention rich as Paſtolus.

A poet rich as Pactolus! I have heard of Pactolus in the city.

Very like—

But you never heard of a poet as rich as he—

As who?

Pactolus—He was a great Jew merchant—liv'd in the ward of Farringdon without.

Pactolus, a Jew merchant! Pactolus is a river—

A river!

Yes—don't you underſtand geography!

The girl's crazy—

Oh! Sir—if you don't understand geogra⯑phy, you are no-body—I underſtand geography, and I underſtand orthography; you know I told you I can write—and I can dance too—will you dance a minuet?

You ſhan't lead me a dance, I promiſe you.

Oh! very well, Sir—you refuſe me—re⯑member you'll hear immediately of my being married to another, and then you'll be ready to hang yourſelf

Not I, I promiſe you—

Oh! very well—very well—remember— mark my words—I'll do it—you ſhall ſee—ha, ha!

Marry you! I would as ſoon carry my wife to live in Bow-ſtreet, and write over the door ‘Phil⯑pot's punch-houſe’—

‘So rarely ſo bravely we'll hunt him over the downs, and we'll hoop and we'll hollow.’ Gee us your hand, young gentleman; well—what zay ye to un now?—Ben't ſhe a clever girl?

A very extraordinary girl indeed—

Did not I tell un zo—then you have no⯑thing to do but to conſummate as ſoon as you will.

No, you may keep her, Sir—I thank you—I'll have nothing to do with her—

What's the matter now, George?

Po! ſhe is a wit.

Ay! I told un zo—

And that's worſe than t'other—I am off, Sir—

Odds heart! I am afraid you are no great wit.

Well, papa, the gentleman won't have me—

The numskull won't do as his father bids him; and ſo, Sir Jaſper, with your conſent I'll make a propoſal to the young lady myſelf.

How! what does he ſay?

I am in the prime of my days, and I can to a briſk lover ſtill—Fair lady, a glance of your eye is like the returning ſun in the ſpring—It melts away the froſt of age, and gives a new warmth and vigour to all nature.

Dear heart! I ſhould like to have a ſcene with him—

Hey! What's in the wind now!—This won't take—My girl ſhall have fair play—No old fellow ſhall totter to her bed—What ſay you, my girl, will you rock his cradle?—

Sir, I have one ſmall doubt—Pray can I have two huſbands at a time?

There's a queſtion now! She is grown fooliſh again—

Fair lady, the law of the land—

Hold ye, hold ye; let me talk of law; I know the law better nor any on ye—Two huſbands at once—No; no—Men are ſcarce, and that's down⯑right poaching—

I am ſorry for it, Sir—For then I can't mar⯑ry him, I ſee—

Why not?

I am contracted to another.

Contracted! To whom—

To Mr. Beaufort—That gentleman, Sir—

That gentleman!

Yes, Sir,

My name is Beaufort—And I hope, Sir Jaſper, when you con⯑ſider my fortune, and my real affection for your daughter, you will generouſly forgive the ſtratagem I have made uſe of.

Maſter Quagmire! What are you young Beaufort all this time?

That won't take, Sir—That won't take—

But it muſt take, Sir—You have ſigned the deeds for your daughter's marriage; and Sir Jaſper, by this inſtrument has made me his ſon-in-law.

How is this? How is this? Then Sir Jaſper, you will agree to cancel the deeds, I ſuppoſe, for you know—

Catch me at that, an ye can! I fulfill'd my promiſe, and your ſon refuſed, and ſo the wench has looked out ſlily for herſelf elſewhere. Did I not tell you ſhe was a clever girl? I ben't aſham'd o'my girl—Our Moll, you have done no harm, and Mr. [38]Beaufort is welcome to you with all my heart. I'll ſtand to what I have ſigned, though you have taken me by ſurprize.

Bravo! my ſcheme has ſucceeded rarely—

And ſo here I am bubbled and chouſed out of my money—George! George! what a day's work have we made of it!—Well, if it muſt be ſo, be it ſo—I deſire, young gentleman, you will come and take my daughter away to-morrow morning—And, I'll tell you what, here, here—Take my family watch into the bargain, and I wiſh it may play you juſt ſuch another trick, as it has me, that's all—I'll never go intriguing with a family watch again—

Well, Sir.

What do you think of me now? An't I a connoiſſeur, Sir, and a virtuoſo, ha! ha!

Yes, and much good may do your huſband, I have been connoiſſeur'd among ye to ſome purpo⯑ſe—Bubbled at play—dup'd by my wench—cudgel'd by a rake—laugh'd at by a girl—detected by my father, and there is the ſum total of all I have got at this end of the town—

This end of the town! I deſire never to ſee it again while I live—I'll pop into a hackney-coach this moment, drive to Mincing-lane, and never venture back to this ſide of Temple-bar.

And, Sir, Sir!—ſhall I drive your?

Ay, you or any body.

I'll overturn the old hocus at the firſt corner.

They ſhan't go zo neither—they ſhall ſtay and crack a bottle.

Well, brother, how have I play'd my part?

To a miracle.

Have I?—I don't know how that is —