[25] THE GOTHAM ELECTION,

ACT I. SCENE I.

HA! Landlord, I'm glad to ſee you.

Mr. Friendly, You are Welcome.

I hope Mrs. Score-double, and your pretty Daughter's well.

Yes, Yes, Sir, the Women are in good Caſe; my Wife, as the old Zaying is, [26] is better in Health than good Conditions. In troth I'm glad to zee you, pray, What brought you to Gotham an I may be ſo bold to ask you? Elections, I warrant you?

Something like it, Landlord; pray what ſort of a Man is your Mayor?

Why his Worſhip is a huge Ad⯑miror of the French; Nay 'tis whiſper'd by zome, that his Zon is with the Knight of the Dragon, for he has never been zeen zince the Duke of what d'e call him went a⯑way.

Say you ſo!

Ay, an he has a Daughter, a weigh⯑ty Girl, I promiſe you: Od wou'd you had her, Mr. Friendly, ſhe has five Thouſand Pound, and a tight Lover of her Coun⯑try,

Five Thouſand Pound! a-gad a ſudden Thought comes into my Head, I'll purſue it; who knows but I may make ſome lucky Diſcovery: I thank you for your kind Wiſhes, Landlord, but I can never hope for ſuch a Fortune: His Son with the Knight of the Dragon, ſay you, why then your Mayor is a Jacobite.

Nay, he is ſhrewdly ſuſpected by zome to be a down-right Papiſt in his Heart; but to zay Truth of him, he does go to Church conſtantly, he does, indeed; he does go to Church.

A pretty Fellow for the Head of a Corporation.

What do you pleaſe to drink, Sir?

Why bring us the beſt your Houſe affords.

The beſt my Houſe affords, ha, ha, ha, that is as you think it, Sir;—now moſt of our Gentry, for this laſt vour Years, d'ye mind, will touch nothing but French Claret,—there are zome that like your Port Wines ſtill, but very few, and thoſe of the poorer Zort too, as my Barboard can Witneſs.

Come, bring ſuch as you like your ſelf.

Why then Maſter we'll have a Bottle of white Lisbon.—Here Sam. bring a Bottle of the beſt White Lisbon, d'ye hear.

Withal my Heart.—Well Land⯑lord, and how will Elections go with you in Gotham?

Why here is old tugging vort:—Here has been zuch roaſting of Oxen! Zuch veaſting, and zuch caballing, as you ne'er zaw the like! Here's one Squire Tickup, a Londoner I think puts up for one;—he's over Head and Ears in Debt, they zay, and zo has a Mind to get above the Law, and pay no Body.

That's one Way indeed to ſerve himſelf; but he that has not Honeſty enough to pay his own Debts, may eaſily be brought to give up the Debts of the Nation.—I hope [28] he has no conſiderable Number of Votes ſe⯑cur'd, has he?

He has zome.—Here has happen'd an unfortunate Squabble between Sir John Worthy, and his Lady?

Sir John Worthy! Does not he put up too?

Ay, and he and his Family has re⯑preſented this zame Burrough of Gotham theſe Vorty Years, and yet I believe he will loſe it now, I am ſorry vor't, vor he's a very honeſt Gentleman.

How ſo prithee?

Why you muſt know, his Lady is a what d'ye call it,—a High-Flyer,—and nothing zo great as our Parſon's Wife and ſhe; now you muſt know, the Parſon had given my Lady a Game Cockeril,—and, as the De⯑vil wou'd have it, a Diffenter's Dog happen'd to worry this zame Cockeril,—and becauſe Sir John wou'd not go to Law with him for his Dog's Fault, my Lady zwears he's a Re⯑bel, and wou'd pull down the Church.

Ha, ha, excellent; but how does this effect Sir John's Election?

Why my Lady being plaguy cunning de mind,—ſhe reſerv'd to her ſelf a Thouſand Pound when ſhe married Sir John; now ſhe ſwears ſhe'll ſpend every Groat on't, but ſhe'll fling Sir John out of his Election, and under the Roſe, d'ye zee, they zay that ſhe, and this zame Squire Tickup, are mainly well acquaint⯑ed; [29] zo ſhe veaſts the Good Wives, d'ye mind, and ſo ſecures all thoſe Husbands Votes, whoſe Wives wear the Britches, ha, ha, ha.

Ha, ha, come my Service to you, and to all thoſe honeſt Fellows not under Petticoat Government.

Withal my Heart, hang Petticoat Go⯑vernment I zay, Zooks I love to wear my own Breeches.

Here's ſtrange Juggling it ſeems.

Ha, ha, but now you talk of Jug⯑ling, we had rare juggling here not long ſince, we had like to have had all the Money in the Country juggled away.

As how!

Why here was a Trickſter came down to Gotham.—

Ho, Wat Waſhball! Come in, come in mun; this zame Man can teſtifie what I am going to zay: He is a very honeſt Freeholder, of vour Pounds a Year, zo he is,—a Barber here by; with your leave Maſter I'll drink to him.

Pray do, you are welcome Friend.

Thank you Sir.

Come puil a Chair Wat, and zit down; I was telling Maſter Friendly here, of the Trickſter that chang'd the Cards zo you know Wat, in the Town-Hall.

Ay, that was a bitter Dog, I believe we ſhan't forget him in Haſte.

Why what did he do?

Why you muſt know Sir he play'd ſeveral Tricks, but his greateſt Skill lay in changing the Cards,—He had a plaguy Nack at that;—don't you remember Wat,—how he dealt a Card round the Hall,—when our High Sheriff had got the Ace of Hearts, you know?

Ay, as plain an Ace of Hearts as ever I zaw in all my born.

Ay, and what does this zame Trick⯑ſter but with one—Whif, conjures a way this zame Ace of Hearts,—and claps the Knave of Clubs in its Place.

Ha, ha, ha.

When my Neighbour Waſhball, and I zaw that, we wou'd have had the Mayor made his Mittimuſs, and zent him to Gaol.

No, no, not for that, not for that Landlord, it was for changing an Engliſh Guinea into a French Piſtole, you know.

Right, right, zo it was Wat, zo it was, and you know the Mayor ſaid the Piſtole was the better Gold, and wou'd not meddle with him vor't.

But there was Four Shillings loſt by that Change, what cou'd your Mayor ſay for that?

Zay! Why he pretended to prove by Logick, I think he call'd it,—that Seven⯑teen and Six-pence was more than One and Twenty and Six-pence.

Pritty Sophiſtry truly, for a Mayor of a Corporation;—and what is become of this Juggler?

Gone to the Devil, vor ought I know.

From whence came he?

Why ſome ſay from one Part, ſome an other; but thoſe that pretend to know beſt, ſay he came from ſome Part of the Zouth-Seas.

I rather believe the South-Seas came from him.

Pray What is this zame Zouth-Zeas? A Shire, Town, Burrough, or Market-Town?

It was a Market, and once had a very great Trade for Flumery and Leeks.

Well, of all Garden Stuff, I hate thoſe Zame Leeks.

They leave a plaguy ſtink behind them.

Dinner's upon Table, Sir.

Maſter Friendly, will you eat a Slice of a Buttock of Beef and Carrots?

Withal my Heart,—and after Din⯑ner, I ſhould be glad if you'd bring me ac⯑quainted with ſome of the honeſt Fellows of Gotham; I'll try if I can recommend a worthy Gentleman to them, one that has Gold e⯑nough, and owes no Man a Groat, is as ge⯑nerous as a Prince, and loves his Country as he loves his Wife.

Ha, ha, ha, troth Maſter that may be little enough, for what as I do know,—pray who is he?

Sir Roger Truſty.

Sir Roger! I ſhall be glad to zee him with all my Heart Blood and Gutts, as they zay.

Never fear my dear Tickup,—as far as my Thouſand Pound goes I'll ſtand by you, I'll ſpend it every Shilling but carry my Point; I hate a Whig ſo much, that I ll throw my Husband out of his Election, or throw my ſelf out of the World; a Parſel of canting Rogues; they have always Moderation in their Mouths,—rank Reſiſtance in their Hearts,—and hate Obedience even to their Lawful Wives,—and then they bear a Mor⯑tal Hatred to Three Pound Fourteen and Fip⯑pence!

Ay, they hate all Coin that won't take their Impreſſion.

Why there's my Brute of a Husband now, he hates the French ſo much, that he won't let poor Fanny learn to dance.

Nay my Husband is a little poi⯑ſon'd that Way too;—will you believe it, [33] Madam, he had the Impudence to forbid me Dancing with your Honour's Worſhip laſt Night;—he ſaid Dancing was a bold Recre⯑ation, and that it was an Inlet to Sin;—but I pluck'd up a Spirit, and told him I wou'd do it, that I wou'd dance, and dance agen, ſo I wou'd,—od my Gentleman was ſoon ſnub'd, for he knew an he rais'd my Paſſion once, he wou'd have enough to do to get it down again.

Well, an I zay but one Word to Timothy Shallow, down goes Thimble and Shears,—and up he takes Gloves and Stick, and away goes he.—Ah, you're a happy Wo⯑man, Gooddy Gabble, your Husband is a Man every Inch of him, I'll zay that for him.

You'll ſay that for him; Pray how come you to know what Man my Husband is, Gooddy Shallow? Have you found him a Man for your Buſineſs, ha?

I, I found your Husband a Man for my Buſineſs, I have a Husband as fit for Buſineſs as yours;—and tho' I zay it, that ſhou'd not zay it, there is not a better Work⯑man in the Pariſh.

Ay, ay, they are both good Work⯑men enough in their Way; ſhe only jeſted with you, that's all.

Ay, ay Neighbours nothing elſe,—well, you'll uſe your Endeavours with your Husbands to give their Votes for Mr. Tickup.

That I ſhall ſure Madam,—your Worſhip promiſes me I ſhall nurſe the young Squire, as ſoon as he is born.

That you ſhall.

And I am to have Twenty Pounds a Year.—

Ay, I'll paſs my Word for't.

I thank your Ladyſhip,—not that I doubt your Word Madam, or the bountiful Squire's in the leaſt;—but, but, but, an, an the Squire wou'd advance a Years Sallery aforehand, it wou'd go a great Way with my Husband;—for you muſt know, that Gregory Gabble is an honeſt Man, and won't vote a⯑gainſt his Conſcience, if it were not for his Intereſt;—now Sir John, you know Madam, promiſes to renew his Leaſe Gratis, if he votes for him, but an he votes againſt him, he won't bate him a Groat ſo he won't, you know your Husband's Temper, Madam.

Oh prithee name him not, you'll give me the Vapours; there, there's Twenty Pound for you, let me hear his odious Name no more.

Take Notice Gooddy Gabble, thoſe Twenty Pounds are to pay for nurſing of a Child that ſhall be born,—no Matter when.

No, no, no, no Matter whether ever or never, I'll take it when you ſend it, ſure ſweet Squire.

It is not out of any Siniſter End to ſuborn your Husband, no, I ſcorn it, I am [35] an honeſt Man, and a Lover of the Church, and will take Care the Roguiſh Whigs don't pull down a Haſſock in't.

Ay Neighbours, Mr. Tickup's a Good Churchman, mark that! He is none of your occaſional Cattle, none of your helliſh Pan⯑tile Crew;—Oh we ſhall never thrive till all theſe canting Whigs are whipt out of the Kingdom;—Oh that I had the Jerking of'em, I'de teach 'em Paſſive-Obedience, or make the Devil come out of 'em.

Well, your Ladyſhip is a very wiſe Woman, that's certain: Good lack, how ſhe doth talk, Neighbour Gabble?—Oh ſhe's a great Woman.

Ay, and you ſhall be a great Woman too, Gooddy Shallow, if Mr. Tickup carries the Day; well, I'll ſay no more, but every Body don't know Mr. Tickup's Power;—but there's a certain great Prince, that ſhall be nameleſs, that has a very great Kindneſs for him, and for ought I know he may ſtand as fair for a Garter as the beſt of'em, one Day.

Pray Squire, will you be ſo kind as to recommend my Tim. to that ſame Great Prince, to be his Tailor?

He ſhall do it, your Husband ſhall be his Tailor, and you ſhall be dreſſer to his Queen.

And will your Honour's Worſhip do this?

I'll do any Thing to ſerve you Gooddy Shallow.

Will you truly! Well Timothy Shal⯑low, thou art a made Man;—and am I born to be a Courtier? Good lack, Good lack.—

Bleſs me! Who wou'd have thought that you with your Broomſtick, wou'd have come to ſuch Honour, Gooddy Shallow?

Ay, who indeed;—but I ha no vine Cloaths to go to Court in tho', what mun I do for that now?

Why to ſhow you that I have a Kind⯑neſs for you and your Husband, there is Ten Guineas to rig you, for the Honours I deſign to prefer you to.

Ah Heaven bleſs your good Wor⯑ſhip, me and mine will be oblig'd to pray for for you, as long as we live.

Look you there now, when wou'd a Whig have done as much?—Bleſs me, I'm in a Sweat when I but name a Whig.—

I take a Pleaſure to ſerve my Country Folks, and am proud of an Opportunity to do good Offices;—for my Part, I ſhould not be concern'd if I loſt the Election, otherways than not being in a Capacity to ſerve my poor Country, at this Juncture.

There's a Man for ye Neighbours! now cou'd you find in your Heart, Gooddy Shallow, to deny this Gentleman any Thing, any Thing, any Thing, I ſay?

No, by my truly, I think I cou'd [37] not, why ſhould I belie my Conſcience? Ma⯑dam, come here's the Squire's Health.

I am oblig'd to you Goody Shallow.

Good Gentleman, he's not proud;—odd he kiſſes main ſweetly, Madam.

Ay, Does he not?—Well, you'll bring your Husband over?

Over! ay, Madam, or he ſhall never come over—my Threſhold more, I can tell him but that.

Sir, here's Goodman Mallet, the Car⯑penter, enquires for you; he ſays you ſent for him.

No,—I ſent for him in your Name; he is a filly Fellow, but no matter for that, he can do you great Service; humour him in all he ſays, bring him up.

Give him Money, if you can handſomely top it upon him;—there's a hundred Guineas, when they are gone, you ſhall have more;—if you can get Mallet's Vote, he'll bring you twenty at leaſt.

My charming Woman,—you oblige me to be for ever yours.

Come Neighbour, let's retire, it may not be proper for us to hear Goodman Mallet's Buſineſs you know.

No, no, no, no, come, come, come, we'll go, we'll go. Good Sir, your moſt humble Servant, I'll bring you Gregory Gabble, I warrant you.

And ſo will I my Timothy Shallow, ſweet Squire.

Mr. Mallet, your Servant.

your humble Servant, Sir, pray what is your Buſineſs with me?

Come ſit down, Sir;—here, the Houſe.

Did you call, Sir?

Ay, what Wine do you drink Mr. Mallet?

'Tis all one to me, Sir.

Then bring up a Bottle of French Red.

You ſhall have it, Sir.

Mr. Mallet, there is a very honeſt Gentleman gives his Service to you, charg'd me to ſee you, and gave me a Token to drink with you.

Pray who may that be?

One Mr. Double.

Ha! Maſter Double.

A Bottle of French Red in the Flower-de-Luce. Score.

Come Mr. Mallet, Mr. Doubles Health to you.

With all my Heart, I have earn'd many a fair Pound of him;—ſome ſays he's an ill Paymaſter, but I won't ſay ſo, for he paid me very honeſtly, tho' I muſt needs ſay he's a little long winded.—Sir, an you pleaſe, my Service to you, remembring Maſter Dou⯑ble.

Thank you Mr. Mallet; well, how do you like the Wine? I think 'tis pretty good.

I think ſo too, Sir;—but ſecond Thoughts is beſt.

Right;—Come here's to your Fireſide, Mr. Mallet, I ſuppoſe you are a marry'd Man.

Ay, Maſter, I have been marry'd theſe five and twenty Years; I have a Son's Wife lies In now.

I'll ſtand Godfather, if he be not better provided, Mr. Mallet.

Sir, your humble Servant, a dare ſay he'll accept of your kind Offer, and thank you too.

Is he all the Children you have, Mr. Mallet?

No, Sir, I have four Sons and three Daughters in all, fine young Men and Women as any in the Pariſh, no diſpraiſe to the beſt. My eldeſt Son is a Lawyer, juſt out of his time, a ſmart young Fellow, I promiſe you, Sir. My ſecond I brought up to my own Trade, and he is a very great Maſter of his Buſineſs, tho' I ſay't, as any is in all Gotham. My third Son is a Bookſeller, a notable Fellow, he lives in London; he is a kind of a Wit; too, they ſay, and makes Verſes; then he has an admirable Knack at quacking Titles. Per⯑haps you may know what that is, Sir, but for my part, I do not, I confeſs, underſtand it; but they tell me, when he gets an old good for nothing Book, he claps a new Title to it, and ſells off the whole Impreſſion in a Week.

'Tis a good way of impoſing on the Publick, why he'll be a rich Fellow in a ſhort time?

Ay, ſo they ſay; but my youngeſt Lad troubles me moſt of all.

How ſo, pray?

Why you muſt know, Sir, he is a main weakly Boy, he had the Rickets till he was ſeven Years old, which took away his Strength, and hugely dull'd his Memory; ſo that he's dull, very dull, Sir; I can't think what to breed him to, that don't require much Strength of Body, nor Application of [41] Mind: His Mother is for making him a Parſon, but the Rogue won't hear on't.

Oh, Mr. Mallet! by your Deſcription, he is very unfit for a Parſon.

Why ſo I tell her, Sir, and in my Opinion we had better get him a Place at Court.

Ay, there indeed you are in the right; I don't know but I may be able to ſerve you there, if you'll endeavour to put it in my Power.

As how pray?

Why, Sir, you muſt know, I ſtand one of the Candidates for this Borough of Gotham; and if you'll be ſo kind to give me your own Vote, and engage your Friends to do the ſame, I'll take care of your Son, I promiſe you.

Pray what may your Name be, Sir?

My Name is Tickup, Sir.

Tickup! ah, Sir, you loſe it for a Wager with you.

Why do you think ſo?

Why, Sir, our Town has an Aver⯑ſion for the Family of the Tickups; it is a Name very much hated I aſſure you, an I might adviſe you, I'd change it into Ready Caſh, ha, ha.

You are witty upon my Name, Mr. Mallet; but no matter for that, what will you lay I don't carry't? I'll hold you twenty [42] Guineas to one I do, and you ſhall hold Stakes.

By Meſs, I'll take this Wager, if I never hold another, done, Sir.

Done; there, there's twenty Gui⯑neas.

Well, if I ſhould loſe my Guinea, Mr. Tickup, you'll remember a Place for my Son,

That I will indeed, Mr. Malet; but then you muſt not vote againſt me.

No, No, that I won't I promiſe you; but an I engage my Friends, you muſt pro⯑miſe to do a Kindneſs or two more for me.

Name 'em, and command me.

Why cou'd not you now get my Son the Lawyer made Lord Chancellor, think you?

Can't! Yes, and will too.

Will ye? Ay, pray you do—an, an, hold, hold, I have the Names of all the great Places in a Bit o' Paper ſomewhere, if I find 'em, but—I took 'em out of the preſent State of Gotham,—ho! here here it is—Ay, let me ſee,—yes, yes,—Lord Steward, ay, Lord Steward! ay, that's a very pretty Poſt, that d'you mark me, I would have for my Son Ned—the Carpenter, he underſtands how to keep the Houſe in good Repair—and that's a main Matter, you know; his Majeſty need give himſelf no man⯑ner of Trouble.

Oh, that will be a very great Advan⯑tage; well; I'll take care about that too.

And the Bookſeller! I'd have him—de ze—ho! I'd have him Groom of the Stole.

There you are perfectly right, be⯑cauſe he will have an Opportunity to make uſe of his Verſes.

Then for my youngeſt Son! What mun he be?—Why, what an you ſhould make him Treaſurer now! for the Rogue al⯑ways lov'd Money. And for my Daughters—I fancy they would do rarely well for the King's Maids of Honour.

Oh excellently well—all this I pro⯑miſe you.

Do you truly?—Well, you are a huge civil Gentleman, and ſo my humble Service to you—Well, I'll ſay no more—but an I do not bring you twenty Votes, my Names's not Mallet, d' ye ſee, that's all, that's all—and ſo, Sir, your Servant with all my Heart

Hold! one thing more I muſt deſire of you—I have an own Couſen, that is a Sailor—ſup⯑poſe now you ſhould make him ſomewhat,—an Admiral—or a Boatſwain, or ſo d' ye ſee?

He ſhall be one of them, I promiſe you.

Shall he in troth?—well, good bye to you, and thank you kindly

Mr. Mallet, your humble Servant,—oh the Devil!

Methinks I love to do Good in my Generation; tho' to ſay Truth, the graceleſs [44] Dog does not deſerve it; but no matter—as long as you can have it for ſpeaking for, you know?

What is it? Death, this Fellow would tire a Porter.

I have a Nephew ſomewhere or other, his Name is Sam Slaſh, a Soldier. Pray en⯑quire him out, wol you, and make him—ay, make him a Coporal, or a Colonel, or ſome⯑what of that, now.

Well, well, this I promiſe you, Have you any thing eiſe?

No, no, I won't trouble you any more, not I—your Servant

Give me leave to wait of you down.

Odſo! I had forgot my Wife Joan, well thought on I'faith—ſhe would never have forgiven me, if I had not remember'd her;—Joan muſt have ſomewhat, Mr. Tickup, what can Joan have now, think; pray think a little for her?

Let me ſee—why, ſuppoſe ſhe were made Oyſter-Cracker to the Court now.

Oyſter-Cracker! I don't remember any ſuch Poſt in my Liſt.

Oh! never trouble your Head about that, there is, or ſhall be ſuch a Poſt.

Shall there! well, well, that will do then—but, but, but, I doubt Joan will never be content to live at Court without me;—Can't you contrive ſome ſmall Place for me too—Any thing will ſerve me—I'll be ſa⯑tisfy'd [45] with being Lord-Mayor; I am very modeſt in my Requeſts, you ſee?

Modeſt, quotha! ha, ha, well, well, you ſhall be Lord-Mayor.

Well, well, that's enough—will you believe me, Mr. Tickup? I really love my Friends as well as my ſelf—why here's an honeſt Pot-Companion of mine, Barnaby Bran, the Baker; methinks I would fain make his Fortune too, can you think of nothing for him.

Honeſt Barnaby Bran, the Baker! I have a rare Place for him.

Have you really now! What is it pray?

Why he ſhall be—Maſter of the Rolls.

He will be main thankful; what is it a Patent Place?

Yes, yes, a Patent Place?

And have you any thing for his Wife?

His Wife, ay, ſhe ſhall have Pattins too.

Od, that will pleaſe her Husband mainly.

Ay, ſhe has been a Clogg to him a great while, no doubt on't

Well, honeſt Squire, your humble Servant

I'm glad I'm rid of him; bleſs me, if it were in my Power now to keep my [46] Word, what a prodigious Company this Fel⯑low has provided for!—but thanks to Poli⯑cy, a Man is not always oblig'd to keep his Word:—

Well, and how does all our Friends on t'other ſide the Water, ha? Well, I hope?

Oh fort bien, Monſieur Mayor, and Monſieur le Chevalier, be varey much your humble Serviture, Begar.

I am very much his I am ſure.—Come Monſieur to the Fatherleſs and Widow.

Vid all mine Heart, dat every Man may have his his own, Begar

Amen, I ſay;—but I muſt deſire you, Monſieur, to explain this Letter to me? My Daughter tells me it is not Engliſh?

No, dis be French, Sir.

French! what has my Son learn'd French already?—But what made him write French to me, when he knows that I can nei⯑ther [47] write nor read,—and that no Body un⯑derſtands a Word of French in the Pariſh?

Oh for dat very Reaſon he did write in French, becauſe it be one grand Se⯑cret, and he know me to be de very fedelle Perſonne, in whom de Grand Monarchs in dis Vorld put a der Confidance, you under⯑ſtand a me, Monſieur?

Yes, yes, Oh Bleſſings on my Boy, he will certainly raiſe his Family;—a Secret! pray read it ſoftly.

Oh ſoftly by all Means.—Firſt, den, he tell you here, dat de Knight of de Draggon give his moſt humble Service to you. and prays you to take a de care to make de good Members for him.

Ay, ay, I will do all that in me lies.

And for dat purpoſe, you ſhall re⯑ceive one, two, three hundred Piſtoles, in one, two, three Days ma foy.

Very well, very well;—pray let him know that the laſt Money that was re⯑mitted, has been prudently employ'd for the Chevalier's Service: Our Parſon Blow-Coal is right Stanch, he diſtributed it, with a ſtrict Charge to have Regard to the Church; the Noiſe of the Church, you know, does much, Monſieur?—My Brother, Alderman Credulous had two hundred Pounds.

Humph, well ſaid Parſon; this News ſhall to Sir Roger Truſty

ha, ha, ha, Begar, dat will do de Buſineſs; de [48] Cry of de Church will bring in de King par blue; but one ting more, Monſieur Mayor, he ſay here in dis Letter, dat de Knight of de Draggon charge you right or wrong to re⯑turn de vat do you call 'em—de High-Church.

Ay, ay, that he may depend on; oh my dear Boy! And what is my Boy a Favou⯑rite abroad, ha?

Oh, a great Favourite, I aſſure you.—Den here be one ting more;—he prays you to ſend by me his Siſter for de Edu⯑cation,—becauſe it be whiſper'd, dat if deſe plaguey Low-Chucrh get de Day,—dey vill make it Treaſon for any one to ſend der Chil⯑dren to France, Begar; no, dey vill ſend dem for Education to Scotland, and bring all de young Ladies to de Stool of Repentance, ma foy.

Zounds, I'd ſend mine to Lapland ſooner, tho' I'm a Proteſtant my ſelf, becauſe I was born ſo d' ye ſee; yet I had rather breed my Children at Rome, than Geneva; Zounds, I hate theſe Whiggiſh Doggs.

Begar de Pope no love them nei⯑ther, dey be de dam Fellows for de Liberty and Property; but your Daughter, your Daughter, Monſieur Mayor.—

She ſhall along with you, Monſieur,—her Aunt left her five thouſand Pounds;—I wiſh you could perſwade her to turn Nun; one thouſand would provide for her in the [49] Nunnery,—and the other four would make my Son a Lord.

Oh let de Prieſt get her once, and begar he vill make her—ſometing, I warrant you.

But which way ſhall I get her over, ſhe'll never conſent to leave England; for you muſt know ſhe is plaguey Low in her Princi⯑ples?

Me tell you one Politick,—'tis vine Veder! ask her to go vid you and me to ſee de Ship dat bring me hither, and ven ſhe be in de Ship vid me, ſome body muſt ſtop your going up de Ship, and tell you dat Day came all Expreſs for you upon de grand Bu⯑ſineſs of de Nation, ma Boy, ſo you leave us, vid de Promiſe to return preſently;—ſo as ſoon as you be gon, me make a de Ma⯑ſter hoiſt a Sail, and away for Callais, Begar.

Excellent Contrivance!—we'll about it this Moment.—I can but laugh to think how I ſhall chouſe the young Jade into her Happineſs.

And I can but laugh to think how you'll be chous'd out of your Daughter, if Luck favours me.

And pray tell my Son, I'll obſerve his Direction,—my Clerk ſhall ſit up all this Night to write Conveyances;—I'll make twenty Freeholders before Morning yet.

As how pray, Monſieur Mayor?

Oh we have Ways and Means,—why I'll undertake, d' ye ſee, to make four Notes out of a Gooſeberry-Buſh, and ſix out of a Hogs-Sty.—

Begar doſe be de very ſweet Votes.

Speed your Work, Friend, your Trade depends upon good Husbandry.

Ay, Maſter, zo't does, as you zay; but I make new Shoes ſometimes, as well as mend old ones.—

Say you ſo! why you ſhall be my Shoe-maker,—if you'll do me a ſmall Kind⯑neſs.

What is it, Maſter, to put a Stitch in your Shoe, I war⯑rant you?

No, only to give me your Vote, that's all.

All, quotha! why that's all many a Man has to live on; at this time, a ſmall Kindneſs! ha, ha, ha, it is a ſmall Kindneſs, truly.

What ſay you, Friend, will you?

I don't know, I believe not.

Why ſo, pray you?

I can't tell,—mehap I may;—me⯑hap I may not d' ye ſee.

Have you promis'd any body elſe?

Suppoſe I have,—ſuppoſe I have not, what then? Look ye, my Vote's as good as the beſt Man's i'th Pariſh, or next Pariſh to't, that's proud Word d' ye ſee;—and I'd take care who I gin to, zo I wol.

Nay, you are in the right of that, but no Man ſhall do more for the Corporation than my ſelf.

Ay, ay, you all talk it well affore you get in;—but you are no ſooner choſe,—but whip you are as proud as the Devil,—and a Man can't ſpeak Truth, but you come with your Candelum Natum ſous upon us.

Pride is the leaſt Sign of a Gentle⯑man, and I don't know if I ſhould not ra⯑ther be call'd Rogue, than a proud Man.

And mehap he would not lie that call'd you both, ha, ha.

I am ſorry you ſhould have ſo ill an Opinion of me.

Why are you not proud now?

I think I may ſafely ſay I am not.

Why then—come and kiſs me.

Withall my Heart.

Well, what think you now? will you give me your Vote yet?

Look ye, fare and ſoftly,—I am not throwly ſatisfy'd, whether I ſhall give you my Vote or not.

I am ſorry for that;—but if you'll go to the Tavern, I'll give you a Pint of Wine, whether you'll give me your Vote or not, for I like you for your Bluntneſs.

I dant value your Wine of this Hog's Briſtle, d'ye ſee;—I am an honeſt Man, d'ye ſee,—and am for a free Government, I'm none of thoſe that are to be brib'd;—now an you are not proud, d' ye ſee,—why come into my Stall, here, and I'll give you a Flaggon of Ale.

Oh the Devil, that will dirty all my Cloaths:

Had not we better go into the Ale-Houſe?

Look ye there now, did not I ſay you was proud? No, Sir, I won't leave my Stall, thoſe that are aſham'd off me,—why I am aſham'd of them, d' ye ſee, that's all.

A Pox of the unpoliſh'd Blockhead, I muſt humour him.

Nay, nay, don't be angry,—I only ſaid it, to ſave you the Trouble of going for the Ale, that's all.

Oh I have a Conveniency for that,

Look you there, Sir; Sirrah, bring me a Pot [53] of humming Ale, de you hear;—what are you afraid of your Cloaths? Zblead, ſit down, mun, tho' I'm a poor Fellow, I've zitten by as good as you affore now, mun.

Ay, ay, Friend, who doubts it.

Hark ye, Neighbour Laſt, will you never have done cobling my Shoes?

Oh, Neighbour Tolefree, you come in the Nick; why here's Neighbour Tolefree has a Vote too, and he'll give it ye.—

I ſhall be much oblig'd to him, if he will, pray drink to him.

By and by, let his Betters be ſerv'd before him, my Service to you, Sir;—come in, Neighbour Tolefree,—come, we'll make you room.

Withall my Heart.

I wiſh the Devil had them both,—what a fine Pickle I ſhall be in, pray have a care of my Cloaths.

Cloaths, nay, I hope I am a better Commonwealths-Man than to mind Cloaths, ſit cloſe, Neighbour Tolefree, or you'll thruſt me off the Form.

Theſe Dogs have a Deſign upon me, I wiſh I was fairly out; Death, what a Coat is here?

Come, come, put about the Pot.

My Service to you, Sir,

the King's Health.—

I love the King,—and ſo kiſs me agen.

Confound the Raſcal! how his Breath ſtinks—Well, what ſay you now, Gentlemen, will you both give me your Votes?

Give you my Vote! that will bring no Griſt to my Mill, d'ye ſee.

Get out, and walk before my Door, now, two or three Turns, and I'll tell you more of my Mind.

Death, he'll make me jump over a Stick by and by.

Well, what ſay you now?

You have a plaguey Hitch in your Pace, you learnt to dance of ſome French⯑man, I'm certain.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, I think that you'd think me a Fool, if I ſhould give you my Vote, now.

How ſo, pray?

How ſo! ha, ha, ha, you that are a fine bred Gentleman, here d' ye ſee;—yet can ſtoop ſo low, as to kiſs, and Humour ſuch a dirty Fellow as I am, purely to buy [55] my Vote.—I dant know, d' ye ſee, but for a good round Sum you might be prevail'd upon to ſell my Country, ha, ha, ha, ha: 'Look ye, I dan't like you Comming Sparks,—you ſhould be a little more coy, ha, ha, ha.

You are merry, Friend.

Not ſo merry as you think for, me⯑haps;—but Vriend me no Vriend, go troop, Nouns, he looks like a Jeſuit, does he not, Neighbour Tolefree?

Pull off his Whore's Hair, an ze an he has not a bald Crown.

The Devil! they'll ſtrip me by and by, I had as good walk off, for theſe are both damn'd Whigs, I find that.

Ha, ha, he's gone! an he he not a plaguey High Boy, I'm miſtaken. Come Neighbour Tolefree, you and I will take a Pot of Ale together, to Sir John Worthey's Health, you'll vote for him, wol you not?

Yes, that I wol,—for all my Lady has been tampering with my Wiſe Margery, and has given her a vine Silk Gown, and a huge high Head;—but I dreſs'd my Dame's Jacket for her, and made her carry 'em agen; odsfleſh, we ſhould have rare times, an we were to be rul'd by our Wives, you know, ha, ha.

Ha, ha, ha, I can but laugh to think how my Wife's Brother, the Mayor, has over-reach'd his Daughter.

Mr. Alderman Credulous! your moſt humble Servant, Sir, I'm glad to ſee you ſo merry; Pray what may be the Occa⯑ſion?

Family Affairs, Sir Roger; my Bro⯑ther has diſpos'd of his Daughter,—that's all.

Humph! not as he expected; tho' I believe, for her Advantage, I hope.

Ay, ay, Sir Roger, we Fathers know what's good for our Children, better than they do themſelves; they have nought to do but to ſubmit to our Pleaſures; Paſſive Obe⯑dience is as abſolutely neceſſary in our Wives and Children, as in Subjects to the Monarch; is not your Opinion the ſame, Sir Roger?

Yes, whilſt Husbands, Fathers and Monarchs exact nothing from us, contrary to our Religion and Laws: But pray, Mr. Al⯑derman, How came you ſo paſſive? I remem⯑ber you wore other Principles in Eighty Eight;—this is not natural, Alderman.

Eighty Eight! that's a long time ago; I know ſome Men that have worn out twenty Setts of Principles ſince Eighty Eight, both Men of the Robe, and Men of the Gown.

More the pity, Alderman, I am ſor⯑ry Nature did not diſtinguiſh Men of ſuch Principles from the reſt of her Handywork, [57] that we might enjoy her Gifts more amply, and be more thankful for the Bleſſings. When I reflect that I am of the ſame Species with the Betrayers of my Country (for ſure that Crime is the greateſt of all others) I could almoſt wiſh to wear any other Form of the Creation. Life is a Bleſſing, or a Curſe, according to the Fame we purchaſe, and he that redeems twenty of his Fellow Creatures from the ſlaviſh Yoke of Tyranny, does an Action worthy of a Man that bears the Image of his Creator, whilſt he who ſeeks by Treachery to inſlave his Kind, to feed Ambi⯑tion, Avarice, or Revenge, is only the Peſt of human Society, and ought to have a Mark ſet upon him, that we might ſhun him as we would the Plague.

Ay, ay, ſo it ought to be, Sir Roger; but I have read ſomewhere,

For my part, I am for the Church, and my Country.

So am I; their Intereſts are inſe⯑parable; who gives up one, betrays the others: For my part, I intend to ſtand or fall by both; therefore I hope you'll do me the Honour of your Vote, Mr. Alderman.

Why truly Sir Roger, I am pre-engag'd, I won't tell a Lie for the Matter.

To who, pray?

Why to Squire Tickup.

Tickup! Why he's a Fellow not worth a Groat, and a known Jacobite.

Nay, look ye as that, his Means and his Religion is nothing to me, let his Credi⯑tors take care of one, and our Parſon o' th' t'other; for my part, I'm for the Church, as I ſaid before, and would rather be a Papiſt than a Presbyterian.

Why, where's the Neceſſity of your being either? Come, come, there's a more convincing Argument than what you have nam'd;—Mr. Tickup is recommended by ſome great Man on whom you have Depen⯑dance.

Great Man! Why yes, truly, he is a pretty large Man; and I have, I truſt Hea⯑ven, very great Dependance on what he ſays: The Parſon of the Pariſh, you know, ought to be regarded, Sir Roger, and he told me that Mr. Tickup was a good Churchman, and pray'd me to vote for him, and to get all my Friends to do the ſame, if I would promote the Intereſt of the Church.

Ay, the Intereſt of the Church of Rome, not that of England; why I'll under⯑take to prove this Fellow deep in the Intereſt of young Perkin, and that he and his Friend, at Villa Coumbe, has bought up, and ſent for his Service, more than 2000 Horſes within theſe laſt four Years; and can ſuch a Man be a proper Perſon to repreſent you in that Au⯑guſt [59] Aſſembly, where the People of Gotham expect to have theſe pernicious Meaſures re⯑dreſt?

Why I am confounded at what you tell me.

I am amaz'd to find you in the In⯑tereſt of the High-Boys, you that are a Cloathier! What, can you be for giving up Trade to France, and ſtarving poor Wea⯑vers?

Trade, piſh, piſh, our Parſon ſays that's only the Whigs Cant, and that if the Bill of Commerce had paſs'd, it wou'd have been of ſignal Service to us.

Which Way, I pray, Alderman?

Nay, I never askt him that, tho' no Doubt but he can tell you, for he is a learn'd Man, and underſtands Matters better than I do.

It is much to be wiſh'd for the Ho⯑nour of our Religion, and the Safety of our State, that thoſe learned Men were more in⯑duſtrious in the Cure of Souls, and leſs buſie in Politicks.—But come come, Mr. Alderman, there is yet a Secret behind the Curtain, Pray what cou'd Mr. Tickup, or any of his Friends oblige you with, that is not in my Power to have done:—You and I have been good Friends, and if a Brace of Hundreds had been wanting,—why, we cou'd have ſerv'd you as well as they.

So, ſo, I find whereabouts you are [60] already. Well, there is nothing kept a Secret in this damn'd Town: However I had not thoſe Two Hundred Pounds by Way of Bribe, I aſſure you Sir Roger.

Ha, ha, why then you had Two Hundred Pounds?

Yes I confeſs, Mr. Blowcoal our Par⯑ſon did give me Bills for Two Hundred Pounds, Part of a Sum, he ſaid, that was gi⯑ven him for charitable Uſes, and bad me diſ⯑poſe of it to proper Objects, as I thought fit, but not to bribe Votes I aſſure you.

No, no, no, no, 'twas to build Churches I ſuppoſe, and reward Secret Merit, ha, ha, ha, ha, but I am ſorry for your Sake, that they made their Payment in Paper:—Pray let me ſee thoſe Bills,—who are they upon?

See them! Ay,—there they are, Sir Roger.

Upon Sir Charles Wealthy! As I ſuſpected:—Why he is a Bank⯑rupt, not worth a Groat, ha, ha, ha, why you are bit, Alderman, Bloucoal has bit you, ha, ha, ha; Charity, quotha! Yes this is Charity with a Vengance.

How! Am I trick'd? But you are not in Earneſt Sir Roger, are you?

As certainly as that I my ſelf loſt Five hundred Pound by the ſame Banker: I tell you Sir C [...]arles Wealthy has been gone off this Month.

The Devil he has! Odſheart I am finely ſerv'd; why, I'm out of Pocket the Lord knows what: Death! I ſhall loſe all Patience!

Look, ye Mr. Alderman, if you'll yet hear Reaſon, I'll make up all this Matter; ſee here;

here's 200 Guine as in this Purſe, all ready Caſh, hang Paper; here's the beſt Proviſion for charitable Uſes.—Mr. Alderman! hark how religiouſly they Chink; what ſay you? Will you cheat them, as they have cheated you? Come, for once, ſerve your ſelf and your Country old Boy.

But are you ſure thoſe Bills are not worth a Farthing, Sir Roger?

Sure on't, aye, as ſure as I am that my Name is Roger Truſly;—and thus I ſacri⯑fice them to your Reſentment, Mr. Alderman, and now.—

Death, Hell, and the Devil, I'm un⯑done;—but if I'm not reveng'd.—

It was a curſed Trick ind-ed to affront an Alderman of a Corporation at this rate.

Give me the Purſe;

and now, Sir Roger, I am yours, if I do not fit Parſon Blow Coal, ſay I am the Son of a dead Cinder.—I'll bring Sixteen [62] Votes, Sir Roger; egad I'll over-reach the Rogues, I warrant 'em: This Purſe is a Pledge for my Performance.

And theſe Bills a Pledge for that Purſe. Ha, ha, ha,

I'll ſend my Servant to receive the Money imme⯑diately, I think I have paid them in their own Coin.

We began to diſpair of your Com⯑pany Sir, we have Chriſten'd the Child,—but we got one to ſtand in your Place, Squire.

Very well, I'll take the Charge upon me.

Here's your Godſon Sir, a fine thumping Boy, he is almoſt big enough to ask you Bleſſing.

A fine Child indeed,—

Here Sirrah, here's a Cup for you, and beſure you drink my Health out of it as ſoon as you can ſpeak, do you hear.—Which is the Father.

This is my Son, Squire.

Sir, you do me much Honour.

Sir, I wiſh you much Joy of my God⯑ſon,—and may your good Lady bring you eve⯑ry Year ſuch another. Well which are the Godmothers? That I may diſcharge my Duty.

Why, I am one for want of a better, Sir.

Say you ſo! Have at you then.

And I'm t'other, ſweet Squire.

Gooddy Gabble,

nay I'm to go round,—and you too Mrs. Midnight, kiſs me you old Jade you.—

Well, well, you Gentlemen are very happy at Midnight ſometimes.—Old Jade! Not ſo old neither, but I can have a Civility done me by as fine a Gentleman as your Squire's Worſhip, I'd have you to know.

P'ſhaw, who diſputes that;—Old Jade is my Favorite Name, you muſt know egad I love an old Woman,—I wou'd not give a Fig for your green Girls not I.

Ah, you are a merry Gentleman;—He has a Breath as ſweet as a Cow,—he kiſſes rarely well;—Roger, you ſhall give this Gentleman your Vote, Roger.

So, he has tickled her Fancy already,

I fancy you are a rare Dancer Squire, pray will you give us a Jigg?

A Jigg! Ay with all my Heart, if you'll dance with me, Dame.

A lack! Squire, I can't dance, Squire.

I warrant thee Dame:—Come, ſtrike up Fidler.

Nay ſure I ſhall not be able to do't with ſuch a vine Gentleman as you.

Get home you Beaſt you, wol ye? A Plague o' your Jigging, will you ne'er ha Jigging enough?

I hope you are not angry! Rather than diſoblige you I'll kiſs your Wife no more.

Look ye there now Roger,—you are always doing Miſchief, ſo you are.

An't you aſham'd of your ſelf, Roger?

Aſham'd of my ſelf, vor what I tro?

Methinks you ſhould take it as an Honour.

What vor him to lie with my Wife; lookye Madam, you may keep that Honour for Sir John an you woll.

You ſaucy impudent Raſcal! Who do you talk to, Sirrah?

Fye Neighbour Sly, you uſe my Lady like a common Woman, ſo you do.

If ſhe's as common as thoſe that take her Part, I'm ſure ſhe's common enough.

Meaning me Sirrah,—I'll make you prove your Words, you Rogue you:—Why Gregory, Gregory Gabble I ſay,—do you hear what this Rogue Sly ſays?

See, ſee, the Villain is minding his Pleaſures, when he ſhou'd be vindicating his Wife;—but I'll ſwinge you,—I'll cool your Courage when I get you at home, I will ſo.—

This Raſcal Sly, was againſt the Peace, I remember it well,—and I'll have you hang'd for't, I will, you Pantile Monſter.

Nay, when ſuch as you talk of Peace, we know the Devil is beating up for Volun⯑teers, ha, ha.

Prithee my Dear Life don't put thy ſelf into a Paſſion.—Mr. Sly, I ask your Pardon, If I have given you any Offence.

I am no Pope Sir;—but I ha done.

Why that's well ſaid,—my Neigh⯑bour Sly's an honeſt Man, he takes nothing ill, I'll ſay that for him: Pray Mr. Tickup drink to my Neighbour Sly.

I fill'd the Glaſs for the ſame Purpoſe, Mr. Sly my hearty Service to you.

Don't Maſter me Sir,—I'm but a poor Man, my Name is Roger Sly, d'ye ſee, that's all.

Neighbour Scruple will you do me the Favour to give this ho⯑neſt Gentleman your Vote?

Verily Neighbour Mallet,—I do think I ſhall not do it.

Why ſo?

Am I oblig'd to give thee my Reaſons?

No, not oblig'd, but I wou'd be glad to know them.

Why then thou ſhalt know them. Between thee and me, Neighbour Mallet, I do not take him for an honeſt Man.

Not an honeſt Man! Why what can you ſay againſt his Honeſty;—he is none of your canting Congregation, that's all.

I did not direct my Diſcourſe to thee, [66] and I wou'd adviſe thee not to put thy ſelf into a Paſſion, it will much diſorder thy out⯑ward Woman,—and make thy Lovers leſs deſiring.

My Lovers! Goodman Gooſe-Crown, Who told you that I had Lovers, ha? Good⯑man Maliet, why do you let your Son take Wine of this old canting Villain? When there is ten times better, either at the Popes-Head,—or the Devil.

Yea verily, I do perceive that thou art much in the Intereſt of thoſe two that thou haſt nam'd, by thy Language, and thy Actions.

And what are you in the Intereſt of, Sirrah?—not of your Country.—you, you, you,—Spawn of old Noll you.—Here Fid⯑ler, play me the Tune of, The King ſhall enjoy his own again.

Ay, let 'en, let 'en an he dares, 'Zbud I'll ha no no Papiſts Tunes play'd where I am; play Lillibullera, you Rogue.

You won't have no Papiſts Tunes! Sirrah, play what I bad you.

Wounds, play what I bad ye, ye Dog, or I'll break your Fiddle about your Ears.

You Presbyterian Son of a Conven⯑ticle, how dare you contradict me, Sirrah?

Murder, Murder, my Husband's all of a gore Blood; ah you are a good one to ſtrike a Man, I warrant ye.

I'll murder you, you dirty dragle⯑taild Slut, take that Huſwife.

See, ſee here, ſee here, how they begin to ſpill Proteſtant Blood already; oh you Papiſt Devil you;—ay, this is what you wou'd be at.

Zounds, if ſhe carries this off,—I'd be hang'd alive; I'll dreſs her down, I war⯑rant her, an ſhe be for fighting.

Oh fy, is ſhe not a Woman?

Nay ask her Spark there, he knows beſt, or he's foully bely'd on.—A Woman, a ſhameleſs Beaſt, is ſhe!

Let me perſwade your Ladyſhip to leave the Room.

No, I'll have the Blood, the Blood, the Blood of theſe conſounded Whigiſh Dogs.

Indeed you'll ruin the Deſign by theſe Paſſions; did I not intend to cruſh them a more effectual Way? You ſhou'd ſee how be wou'd uſe them now, but we muſt bear with their Saucineſs now, if we expect to gain our Ends;—you will by theſe Meaſures fright 'em all into your Husband's Intereſt.

Oh, oh, oh, well, well, that thought has cool'd me, and I'll retire to your Lodg⯑ings, make what haſte you can after me [68] where we will meditate on Revenge to come.

The Mayor is gone to the Hall, Sir, and the Election is begun.

Well Gentlemen, I hope you'll give me your Votes, none ſhall do more for your Town then I will, I promiſe you.

Here's a Letter for you Mr. Scruple, from your Wine Merchant, Monfieur Traffick, the Man ſays.

I ſhould take it as a particular Favour, if you wou'd give Mr. Tickup your Vote, who is now with you in Gotham; he is an honeſt Gentleman I aſſure you.—Yea it would be a very particular Favour truly.

What wou'd, Mr. Scruple?

Why thou muſt know, that this Let⯑ter comes from a Frenchman to direct my Vote for a Member in an Engliſh Senate, ha, ha.

Perhaps there may be no harm in it, the Gentleman might mean it well.

Yea he doth mean it well for himſelf no doubt on't, but he doth not mean it well for me.—But come, let us to the Hall Neigh⯑bours.

Ay, ay, to the Hall, and act as Con⯑ſcience, or cut Intereſt, leads.

I hope you are convinc'd, Madam, of your Father's Principle, and what you muſt have ſuffer'd from it, if I had been really what I repreſented.

I do believe the Deſign you ſpeak of, A Nunnery! Heaven! I ſhudder at the Thought.

Ay; where Swarms of Nuns and Prieſſs daily curſe your Country, By Beil, Book, and Candle, where you muſt have been taught to pray for its Deſtruction too.

No! Had I been trappan'd to that curſed Place, tho' but a poor defenceleſs Maid alone; Yet I'd have ſhown 'em a true Britiſh Soul, and dy'd before I wou'd have chang'd my Faith.

Well ſaid Madam: But to the Point;—you will not ſure return to your Father, and put it in his Power to betray you a Second Time.

No that I won't.

May I not hope ſome Share in your Eſteem?

No, whining Love, I'm not to be caught that Way;—this Day I am of Age, and I chuſe you for my Guardian,—and if you can bring me unqueſtionable Proofs of your being an honeſt Man,—that you have always been a Lover of your Country,—a true Aſ⯑ſerter of her Laws and Priviledges, and that you'd ſpend every Shilling of my Portion in [70] Defence of Liberty and Property againſt Per⯑kin and the Pope, I'll ſign, ſeal, and deliver my ſelf into your Hands the next Hour.

If I do not this, may I meet the Fate which every Traytor to his Land de⯑ſerves, my charming Heroine!

The Election is begun; where ſhall I ſtay conceal'd?

At my Lodgings, Madam, where you ſhall quickly have the Proof that you de⯑mand, to make my Happineſs compleat.

No Pope, No Perkin. A Worthy, A Worthy.

No Tub preaching, no Liberty and Property Men.

A Tickup, a Tickup, a Tickup.

No Fire and Faggot,—no Wooden Shoes, no Trade Sellers, A Low Bow, A Low Bow.

Z'blead! Who made you a Poli⯑titian, in the Devil's Name.

Down with 'em, down with 'em.

Nay, an you're for that Sport have at ye: No Pope, No Perkin, knock 'em down, down with the Doggs, down with their Champion,—down with that frenchify'd Dog, Tickup; No High Boy, No High Boy.

No Worthy, No Worthy; A High Boy, A High Boy, A High Boy.

I wiſh you much Joy with all my Heart, Madam, you are the Nineteenth Bride I have been Father to, and I never gave one to an honeſter Man in My Life, I'll zay that for him.

I thank you Landlord,—and it ſhall be my conſtant ſtudy to make you happy, Madam, and by my future Actions convince you, that you have not choſe amiſs.

I cannot be unhappy, if your Con⯑duct anſwers your Character; a moderate Man, from a true innate Principle of Virtue, ſcorns to betray even his Enemies, much leſs his Country or his Faith.

I ſay it is an unfair Election, and I'll return Mr. Tickup.—Ha! What do I ſee?

Your Son and Daughter Sir, if you pleaſe to give us your Bleſſing.

The Devil! Down right Engliſh, Sirrah, I'll have you laid by the Heels for a Cheat.

Then he'll recriminate, my dear Fa⯑ther, and ten to one tell how powerfully the Promiſe of French Piſtoles ſway'd your Con⯑ſcience, ha, ha.

There's a Jade now, Zounds, that ever I begot her. Huſwife, if you are mar⯑ried to that raſcally, cheating, canting Low Boy,—may—Hell confound you both.

Ha, ha, ha, mind not his Curſes, my dear Lucy, I'll be both a Father and a Husband to thee.

I do believe you, and thank you for this Deliverance; for if I had eſcap'd a Nun⯑nery, ten to one but I had been thrown into the Arms of ſome of my Father's Principle, and that wou'd have been as bad.