SCENE I.

Sir Felix Friendly and Compton diſcovered ſitting, John and Thomas waiting behind, country lads and laſſes at a diſtance, ſinging chorus as the curtain riſes.

There there, get you gone all to the lawn, and be as merry as good cheer, ſtrong beer, and the pipe and tabour can make you.

Long life and happy days to our maſter ſir Felix!

O Compton! I'm ſo happy to-day! Isn't that your old ſervant Thomas?

Ay, ſir Felix, now my only ſervant: fidelity roots the poor fellow in a barren ſoil.

Deſire Lingo to come here,

Here Thomas, drink my health,

We'll have none of our verdure wither [4] to day, for want of moiſture.

Ah, friend Compton, had you but continued partnerſhip with me to this day, well—Ay, ay, I ſtuck to Blackwell-hall, till I converted my wool into a golden fleece. You muſt, like a ſilly ſheep, go privateering, and ſo be fleeced by the French and Spaniards.

Why, ſir Felix, no reflections on the part you have taken, I thought it more honour⯑able to be ſhorn in facing the foe, than in ſafety to carry back a branded fleece, by flying from the enemies of my country.

Well ſaid, my old battering ram. You're a loyal ſubject, and ſhall never be without his Majeſty's picture, while I have a collection. A friend to the King ſhould never want his countenance. You're a true patriot too; and it's a pity, that a lover of his country ſhould ever be in want of the bleſſings ſhe produces. But come, give me the ſong that firſt ſet you agog on pri⯑vateering.

Sir Felix, I ſhan't repine at my private loſſes, ſo long as we can keep the dominion of the ſea, and preſerve the Trident put into our hands by our valiant forefathers.

Thank ye, thank ye, old partner I Od! I'm ſo happy to-day!

Pray, ſir, Felix, may I beg to know the cauſe of this happineſs, and theſe extraordi⯑nary preparations?

Why Compton, 'tis neceſſary you ſhould know this day is a triple feſtival, a little calendar, man, my birth day, harveſt home, and Laura's wedding.

My daughter! To whom, ſir Felix?

To my ſon.

Eugene! I'm ſurpriſed!

I love to ſurpriſe people with good news.— You know this was always my intention.

And is this all certain?

True as that you have brought up my ſon as yours, and I your daughter as an orphan that I had adopted. You know they love each other, and in this union of hearts my grand point is anſwered. I am ſo happy my ſon, by thinking himſelf not worth a ſhilling, has eſcaped the foppery and ideas of diſſipation he might have imbibed from a knowledge of be⯑ing heir to my fortune; and in your Laura I ſhall have a daughter-in-law poſſeſſed of ſenſe to diſtin⯑guiſh [...] it, though linked to poverty, and gene⯑roſity to reward it with her heart.

Dear ſir Felix, this goodneſs to a child of mine, is a meaſure I—

You wicked man, would you oppoſe goodneſs?— Ha, ha, ha! this is pleaſant Laura loves Eugene, though ſhe thinks he's not worth a groat; and though he doats upon her, yet, awed by her fortune, the poor fool fighs at hnmble diſtance. Yes; and egad! there were folks ſigh⯑ing for him too. Why, do you know, Compton, he has made a conqueſt of a rich cheeſemonger's widow in the Borough, who ſuppoſing him much poorer than herſelf, forced money upon him to lure his affections. Ha, ha, ha! this old mouldy [6] vidow will have him in ſpite of his teeth; and thinking him ſtill incapable of repaying her in coin, actually deſigns to hunt him with an at⯑torney, and follow him here into the country, to force him into marriage. Ha, ha, ha! but where's Eugene now? becauſe the bridegroom's preſence is neceſſary at a wedding you know.

I left him at home drawing.

At ſtudy how to. get his bread by ſcratching upon copper, or daubing canvaſs. Ha, ha, ha!

True, ſir Felix. From the idea he, has Fortune ſtill to court, he is diligent in improv⯑ing every grace, and acquiring every accompliſh⯑ment that can render him worthy of her favour.

And Laura in London, laying out a few hondreds I gave her this morning.

Without an idea that I am her fa⯑ther, and even breathe but from your bounty. O ſir Felix! to ſo many obligations in the, ſcale, gratitude is a feather.

Then keep it to yourſelf, you feather-headed gooſe, Arn't we to be happy?— Compton, you took me into partnerſhip with you, when all my ſtock was a little honeſty; a poor capital, as the world goes! I have now the; means, you the inclination. And were you rich, and I poor, I know you'd act by me, as I mean to do by you. Here! Lingo, Lingo!

I ſee you have brought home your new butler.

Yes, ſir; but he's a curſt fellow, as ignorant as dirt, It ſeeems he has been a ſchoolmaſter here in the country, taught all the bumpkin fry what he calls Latin; and the damn'd dog ſo patches his own bad Engliſh with his bits of bad Latin, and jumbles the Gods, Goddeſſes, Heroes celeſtial and infernal together at ſuch a rate; I took him to oblige a fooliſh old friend of mine, who intended him for Saint Omers; ſo I [7] muſt keep him to draw good wine, and brew bal⯑derdaſh Latin.—Lingo!

I ſee a carriage coming down the avenue.

Eh! it's Laura. Step you home for Eugene. D'ye hear, Compton? not a word till I break the matter myſelf. Edod! they'll be as happy!

I am ſure they will be perfectly ſo.

I'll puzzle 'em a little firſt though; their ſurpriſe and joy will be the greater.

Eh! Laura! welcome home, my girl.

I thank you, ſir.—Here, Fringe, take theſe things into the houſe.

Yes, Madam.

Here, we are, eh!—very well.— Laid out all your caſh?—Well, well.—Did n't run in debt I hope?

No ſir; your kindneſs amply ſup⯑plied me.

That's right. But come—your journal.

Now will he pretend to rail at my exravagance, altho' he delights in every wiſh of mine.

Firſt, ſir, I rattled up to my Milliner's in Bond ſtreet—Mrs. Bufont has a charming taſte.—There's a cap, ſir;—the very crown of elegance!

And coſt a crown in ſilver, I war⯑rant now!

A crown! dear ſir, it's cheap of three guineas.

Three guineas!—Bond-ſtreet!— They make mighty pretty caps in Cranbourn-alley.

True. ſir. But if we don't yield a little to the faſhions of the times, we ſhall make a ruſty appearance to our poliſhed neighbours of the Continent.

Laura, I like a medium. I'll nei⯑ther ruſt in particularity, nor will I be a weather⯑cock to every puff of faſhion.

For a trip or ſo, I ſhould have no objection to a ſnuff at the air of Fontainbleau; ſhould like to ſee the little chapel at Loretto, or the great tun of Heidelburg, or the Eſcurial, the bull feaſt, the goblins, tapeſtry, or, no offence [9] to his Holineſs's great toe, to pop my noſe into the Vatican. But after all, I ſhould be, un⯑faſhionable enough to prefer little England to all the gardens and fountains of France, and paiaces and converſationi of Italy.

I apprehend, ſir, I ſhould be ſome⯑what of your opinion in that particular.

Ha, ha, ha!—Poor Laura, I'll ſurpriſe you presently.—Lingo!—Where is this crazy butler of mine? Lingo!—O! here he comes at laſt. Now will he peſter me with his damn'd barbarous Latin.—Lingo!

I'm here, Domine Felix.

Domine! I'll Domine your block⯑head againſt the wall, if you Domine me.

I won't, Domine Felix.

Again!

I've done, Domine Felix.

Are your knives and glaſſes, and every thing ready for.ſupper?

All ready, Domine Felix.

O damn your Domine!—Pray, Lingo, ſtir, and be clever;—a great deal to do; —And I beſeech you, let ine hear no more of your curſt Latin.

My curſt Latin! a bleſſed ignorant; family this I have got. into!

Cudden, whither ſo faſt?

I am going upon the lawn to be mer⯑ry, and to dance. with my ſweetheart Cowſlip the dairy-maid. We'll have ſuch game!—

Game! Cudden, you muſt know the Olympic games were propria quae maribus maſ⯑cula dicas.

I know nought of French, maſter Lingo. I loves to hear good Engliſh, becaufſ as why, I ſpeaks good Engliſh; and ſo good bye, meiſter butler.

O farmer Stump!

I can't ſtay.

You can't ſtay! O you Adonis of the wood!—Utſunt divorum, Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum.

I don't underſtand Greek.

Ay, ay, all my Latin's Greek, to theſe people, you unhappy clowns, oh you Cyclops! they know nothing, nor won't be learned. Not a ſoul in the houſe will liſten to me but Cowſlip the dairy-maid; and ſhe's going to jig it upon the lawn with the dancing ſawns and ruſty bump⯑kins. And here ſhe comes.

My ſweet Cowſlip, properly called Cowſlip. Nominativo hanc, huc. et hoe

I have, put the. hock into the ſylla⯑bub, Mr. Lingo, and here it is.

What a ſenſible ſoul it is!

Will you take it within, Mr. Lingo?

No child. I, prefer the air, Zephyrus, Aeolus, Boreas, and other gentle breezes will attend us here. I love the fragrant gales. [11] Cow⯑ſlip ſit down. You're a noun adjective, and muſt not ſtand by yourſelf. Let's have a toaſt.

I'll go bake one, ſir.

No, I'll make one. Here's that the maſculine may never be neuter to the feminine gender.

Here's that—ay, here's the maſculine to. the feminine gender (drinks) O Lord! I left out the neuter.

You. were, right. Recte, puella. I know theſe things, child, ſo did Ovid and Caeſar.

What, Caeſer, the great dog, ſir;

No, child! Judas Caeſar. Romulus and Remus were ſuckled by a wolf. They raviſh⯑ed the Sabine girls, and found Rome in Italy.

Ah! ſuch. fellows would find room any where.

Jupiter was a fine god. He ſwam on a bull to Europe, He went into a flaſh of fire for Semele.

Yes, ſir, he'd go any lengths for his ale,

I. mean his amours.

O ay; he'd drink with Moors or Turks either.

Drink! who?

Who! why Jew Peter, the old clothes man.

O coelum in terra! for all my conver⯑ſation, I find you know no more than the, par⯑ſun of the pariſh. Ah, Cowſlip, if you was a goddeſs! the goddeſſes knew men and things.

More ſhame for'em, Mr. Lingo, I ſay!

Jove loved an eagle, Mars a lion, Phoebus a cock, Venus a pigeon, Minerva loved an owl.

I.ſhould not have thought of your cock lions, your owls, and your pigeons, if I was a goddeſs. Give me a roaſt duck.

If you was Flora or Ceres!

Serus! I am ſerus.

O Cowſlip, the great old heroes per⯑haps you have never heard of, Homer, Moſes, Hecrules, or Wat Tyler!

No indeed, ſir, not I.

Cowſlip, don't love the Clowns. That fellow, that Cudden, is a coloſſus of the road. He's a clown, a mere pheaſant; and yet, I ſuſ⯑pect this Faunus, this young Silenus is the deity, the great Pan of the dairy.

I could not ſet my cream, ſir, with⯑out a pan in the dairy.

O Cowſlip, the fine gods but for a mortal exit Homo.

SCENE II. A Chamber.

Where can Eugene be? at home, over his books and painting I ſuppoſe. He'd be here if he thought I was come back. Yes, he is all tender⯑neſs and attention; but his diffidence and pro⯑voking reſpect almoſt make me angry ſometimes. How a little abſence endears to us the object of our affection!

You have been in London, madam!

Juſt returned, Eugene. Why will you call me madam? you know! don't like it.

Impute my offence to the real cauſe, my reſpect to my divine Laura.

Send your reſpect back to its fource, the bounty of ſir Felix:

My love, you have my heart, my life: But when I reflect on the diſtance my fare has thrown me from you, it checks my preſumption. I endeavour to hide from ſelf-contempt, and would, if poſſible, ſhrink from my own opinion.

What was I, Eugene? a poor, a⯑bandoned orphan; and but for the kind attention of ſir Felix, I ſhould be a wretched outcaſt, and experience the cold reception poverty muſt expect from a hard and ſordid world.

O my love, had we been born hum⯑ble villagers; with my Laura I ſhould have been happy.

And I too with, my Engene.

Compton, look there, a pair of tur⯑tles. Look, ſee there's looks of love.

Unfeigned affection indeed ſir.

Egad! I'll ſurpriſe them. I'll diſturb their tranquillity.

Dear ſit—

Be quier, man: Their joy will be the greater afterwards.—Ha! Eugene! my boy, we han't had a diſh of chat to-day.

The loſs was mine, ſir.

Compton, now for it.—Laura, do you knew that I am very happy to-day?

Dear ſir, you never call be happier than I ſincerely wiſh you.

I thank you, child—Yes, yes— Ha, ha, ha! I delight in a wedding.

Sir!—

We are to have wedding under this; roof to-night, Eugene.

Indeed ſir?

Yes; I am going to marry.

Who ſir?

Laura.

Me, ſir!

Yes; I am going to marry you to my ſon.

Son! Have you a ſon, ſir?

He has, Eugene; a ſon worthy of ſuch a father?

And he is to be united to Laura!

Yes, Eugene, he's a good lad. I'll aſſure you you'll like him exceedingly, Eugene. Egad! you'll never be out of his company. But he's at hand to bleſs my hopes, crown my wiſhes, and end my cares. You've no objection, Laura?

Gratitude, Sir, moſt ever make your will the guide of mine.—Till now I never felt the loſs of a parent. (Aſide)

Never till now did I regret the want of a fortune. (Aſide)

My heart bleeds for them.

Nonſenſe! when happineſs comes unexpected, it brings a double bleſſing, and cheers like the ſun from behind a cloud.

SCENE I. An Inn.

So, my glaſs of brandy and water is finiſhed, and by this time the horſes are put⯑ting to.

We'll be upon him. He has got my letter by this; and Sir Felix Friendly, who lives here below, has given me notice of Eugene's in⯑tentions to marry an orphan girl ſomewhere here in the country; but I think I'll forbid the banns. You've the writ ready, Mr. Chicane?

In my pocket. But, Mrs. Cheſhire, I truſt you'll let no tender qualm prevent the execution of it, In caſe the yonug man, this Eugene, ſhould refuſe to marry you.

Tender qualms! you're a good lawyer, I believe, Mr. Chicane, but you are little read in the heart of a woman. No, Sir; the more we love, the more we hate, when that love [17] is ſlighted. And am not I right, ſir? not a bet⯑ter filled cheeſe-ſhop in the Borough than mine. What would the fellow have? and pray, ſir, an't I a wife for any man?

Wife! ay, and a good wife too, Mrs. Cheſhire. And what's better, there's plenty of you.

Ah! that's what my poor dear huſ⯑band uſed to ſay. The good ſoul died of a ſur⯑ſeit at the London Tavern. Ay, mere curds and whey;—wouldn't do for a city feaſt. Delicate as Parmeſan, Mr. Chicane. Why, wife, ſays he, you're an honour to Tooley-ſtreet. A noble Cheſhire caſt in a Dutch mould. If he ſtill refuſes my hand and property—

To priſon he goes. Yes, I have got a bailiff that I think will have him, Yes, my bailiff's an agreeable fellow. Tom Touch has a moſt taking way with him. Yes, yes, he'll ſleep in the King's Bench to night.

Ay, as ſure as you have two ears up⯑on your head, Mr. Chicane.

Then he's ſafe enough. (Aſide)

Yes, yes, to priſon he goes; and I think I am right, Sir.

Right! if not, Madam, I would not be concerned for you. I like to be on the right ſide; and in my laſt cauſe particularly, I lent an ear to justice.—She never repaired it though. (Aſide)

Come, Mr. Chicane, riſe—O! I hope the poor beaſts have fed. A tolerable pull to draw you and me in a gigg from London.

Only two hours and four minutes. You are an excellent driver, Mrs. Cheſhire.

A pretty work, ſir, in ſuch weather, driving my gigg after a fellow! I proteſt, ſir, though my dear huſband had a confirmed aſthma, and Was ſixty-eight when he died, I gave myſelf [18] more trouble about this Eugene, though the fel⯑low is in found health, and is only twenty-four.

All from your good-nature, Mrs. Cheſhire.

Oh! if my poor dear huſband was alive—But he's better where he is.

SCENE II. A Chamber.

Ha, ha, ha! ſhe's come, Mrs. Cheſhire is come and brought an attorney upon him. How he will be ſurpriſed! A letter is her harbinger, and they'll be here in five minutes. Ha, ha, ha!

I had not a notion 'twas you ſent for her, ſir Felix.

I knew I'd ſurpriſe you. Ha, ha, ha!— We'll ſee how he'll fight it out. Egad! they'll ſurpriſe him. How finely he'll be ham⯑pered! an ideal rival on one ſide, and a real attorney on the other. Ha, ha, ha!

And tantalized with forbidden fruit⯑in the tempting affection of my Laura.

Ay, but when I ſnatch him from the attorney, and the fat cheeſemonger, and bleſs [19] him with an affluent fortune and his dear Laura, how he'll be then ſurpriſed!

Why certainly the winding up will be the beſt of the joke.

Joke! I live in a joke. A hearty laugh is my leaſe of happineſs; and on the farm of fun I'll be a tenant for life.

I wiſh I could get an opportunity of ſpeaking to Laura. I won't return to ſir Felix in ſuch a perturbed ſtate of mind. Company, con⯑verſation is—

Do ſir, come in and take a glaſs, do. Sir pray come in, and bibo a little with your fa⯑ther and Domine Felix. they are gone laughing into the parlour, and I have opened a bottle for 'em.

Well, Lingo, my reſpect to ſir Felix, and I ſhall do myſelf the honour of waiting on him at ſupper.

No, ſir, 'tis I that am to wait on him at ſupper, becauſe I am the butler. Do, pray, ſir, come in to meo magiſter. You'll be heartily welcome to Domine Felix I'm ſure; and that the wine, is good, bona veritas I'm ſure; for I took two glaſſes juſt now at the. ſide-board.

Why then, pray go in and take ano⯑ther. Primo, ſecundo, tertio, Mr. Lingo.

Primo, ſecundo, tertio! Mr. Eugene, you know ſomething, I know a little too. You, have ſtudied. Pray, ſir, was you an Oxonian, or a Cantab?

What an infernal fellow!

An infernal fellow! O then you wore a ſquare cap.—I'll poſe the infernal fellow of Oxford.—Pray, ſir, can you decline the amatum ſupine to a lady that's fine?

I find you are a great ſcholar Mr. Lingo.

Scholar! I was a maſter of ſcholars. Scio ſcribendo, I can read. Legere, I can [21] write. Tacitorum Latinum, I can ſpeak Latin. But then, quid opus mihi uſumque ſciente? what need have I of ſo much knowledge? No one liſtens to me but Cowſlip the dairy-maid; and I admire her ſapience, for ſhe's as docile as a young elephant.

Well, Thomas.

I've been taking a mug of ale at the Griffiin, ſir; and a lady juſt come from London deſied me to give you that there letter.

Mrs. Cheſhire's hand, my old Calypſo of Tooley-ſtreet.

'Sdeath! to be peſtered at ſuch a time with ſuch a fulſome, teazing old fool! her caſh that ſhe abſolutely forced upon me — What ſhall I do with her, a filly, ridiculous — Eh! egad! ſuppoſe I — Ha, ha, ha! — a thought ſtrikes me. It will involve her in a ridiculous ſituation. I'll pro⯑cure her a more honourable reception than ſhe expects. Ha, ha, ha! Yes. Thomas ſhall ſet it a-going through the family. I'll tell it him as a ſecret, and he'll tell it over the houſe, and the more marvellous the eaſier ſwallowed.

O Sir, I've been looking for you The lady got here as ſoon as her letter. She's in the little parlour, and —

Huſh!

Sir! —

Thomas, I know you're honeſt.

That I am, ſir, as any ſervant in —

Thomas, can you — ſhut that door; can you keep a great ſecret?

Leave me alone for that, ſir.

O Thomas it's of the greateſt conſe⯑quence. If known, it may lay our country in ruin.

I wont tell a word of it, ſir.

Not for your ſoul — Then, you muſt know — come this, way — that lady that gave you the letter, and that's now in the little parlour, is a Ruſſian Princeſs.

A Princeſs!

The Princeſs Ruſtifuſti. She fought a duel —

A Princeſs fight a duel!

With a great Count of the holy Ro⯑man empire. She was run through the ſword⯑arm; but the noble Count's wounds were ſaid to be mortal; ſo ſhe has fled to England for ſafety; and if ſhe's diſcovered, we muſt give her up: then, Thomas, ſhe'll be beheaded.

Poor noble ſoul!

Ay Thomas; ſuch a Princeſs! knows all languages, and Engliſh moſt correctly. Now, Thomas, if you mention this —

Me! not for —

Huſh! — not a word, eſpecially to a woman.

And why not to a woman pray?

Becauſe its a ſecret.

A ſecret! I muſt know it.

O, Mrs. Fringe, if you would not ſpeak of it —

Come, tell me

Then you muſt know — ſhut the door — this way — the great lady in the little parlour is a Ruſſian Princeſs.

A Princeſs!

The Princeſs Ruſky Fuſky. She kil⯑led two Counts of the holy Roman Emperor. She's here incog. And if ſhe's taken, her head will be chopped off. Not a word of that, Mrs. Fringe; for it's a raſcally thing to tell a thing once, you're intruſted with it.

So it is indeed, Thomas.

A Princeſs! I'll wait upon her. She may pre⯑fer me to be one of her maids of honour.

Did yon ſee Mr. Lingo? I want ſome cake and wine for this ſtrange gentlewoman here in the parlour.

Gentlewoman! well, I find ſome peo⯑ple know more of ſome people than ſome people. But when people intruſt people with people's ſe⯑crets, people are not to tell them to all the peo⯑ple people meet.

Hey! the devil! what a crowd of peo⯑ple's here!

Eh! — no, we're alone. — ſhut the door — John, if you know — you won't tell any body?

Tell! did I tell of the bottle of burnt claret the other night, though I ſtole it from Mr. Lingo myſelf?

No, you have diſcretion, John, — John, that gentlewoman, as you call her, is — but it is the greateſt ſecret — ſhe is the great Ruſ⯑ſian Princeſs Ruſky Fuſky!

The Princeſs Ruſky Fuſky!

She was ſet upon by five holy Roman Empires. The dear lady had nothing but her fan and her ſciſſars; and with theſe ſhe defended her honour, with her back againſt a tree, till ſhe laid the five holy Roman Empires all dead at her feet. If ſhe had ſtaid, ſhe would have had her head ſeveraled from her body; ſo ſhe called for her own maid, a faithful ſenſible body like me, one that never blabb'd, — ſhe packed up her port⯑manteau, croſſed the ſeas, and landed at Black⯑heath. If ſhe's taken — John don't tell, as her life's in danger.

Her life in danger! damme! if I'd tell for half a crown.

I believe you, John. I aſſure you I would n't have told you, only I know you can keep a ſecret as well as myſelf.

Can one get any thing by it though?

What cream is wanted for the morning, John?

Ha! my dainty dairy-maid!

Ha'done, do. I ſhould n't have thought of your impudence, John.

Zounds! I forgot the wine and cake for the Prin—gad! I'd like to have popt it out.—Ah, Cowſlip I could diſcover —

I don't care what you diſcover of me. Why did Mr. Lingo tell then?

What?

O, nothing.

Damn the old wig-block! he has the ear, and I fancy the lip too of every woman in the houſe.

Why, you're as tall, and your leg is not amiſs when you're behind the coach. But why don't you ſpeak the Latin tongue?

I've more regard to decency, than to curſe and ſwear to innocent women, becauſe they don't underſtand me.

Does Mr. Lingo do ſo? certain and ſure he does come out with his nouns ſometimes.

Cowſlip, I'll tell you the ſecret if you'll affront him.

Ods-daiſy! but I'll huff him; will that do? I'll pull his wig. He's mighty proud of his wig. Now what's the ſecret pray?

The ſecret is —

Coming! — don't tell. We 've a great Princeſs in the houſe.

A Princeſs! ods-daiſy! that's fine.

The Ruſſian Princeſs Ruſky Fuſky.

The Princeſs Ruſky Fuſky!

She killed ſix knights of the holy Roman Emperor. She's in diſguiſe here. The conſta⯑bles are after her with a ſearch warrant, and ſhe'll be hanged if ſhe's taken. You have the ſecret now, and pray keep it, for my ſake.

Coming, coming!

Keep the ſecret! ay, that I will. — Lord! I'll go to the Princeſs Ruſky Fuſky, and then I muſt make haſte to the lawn, or all the ſports will be over, and Cudden my ſweet⯑heart gone home, or mayhap dance with another girl. — John and Mr. Lingo — Ah! after all, I find Cudden has ſkimmed the cream of my affections.

O here comes Mr. Lingo, with his gibberiſh and his nonſenſe.

O my ſweeteſt of Cowſlips, dulcis [27] puella! by my dexter and finiſter manus, your antic Caleb ſings Io Poeans to ſee you.

What do you ſay, you're in pain to ſee me, Mr. Lingo?

Gerunds, declenſions, verbs and ad⯑verbs;

I ſhould not ha' thought of your herbs.

Aid me, Amor, the eight parts of ſpeech, ſingular, plural, nouns and pronouns!

Mr. Lingo, I does n't love curſing and ſwearing.

Nominativo hanc, hunc et hoc.

Hock again! You're drunk with, hock for my part I believe. I deſire you'll ha' done, do.

Ha' done, do! Hear this you azure woods, you purling plains, you verdant ſkies, you cryſtal ſwains, ye feathered fountains, tink⯑ling groves, you cooing kids, ye capering doves! ſhe's in the imperative mood. O damnatus, obſtinatus mulier!

Do you ſay I'm a damn'd obſtinate mule? — How dare you call me names? I'll pull your wig for you, that's what I will.

If my ſcholars was to ſee me now, they'd never let me whip 'em again in ſaecula ſecu⯑lorum.

For all your lorums and larning, I could larn you ſomewhat, if I had a mind, Mr. Schoolmaſter, but it's a great ſecret, or I could tell you the big lady in the little parlour is the Princeſs Ruſky Fuſky! how ſhe killed ſeven whole Roman Emperors; and how ſhe'll be hang⯑ed in chains if ſhe's catch'd; and I could have told you every word of it if I pleaſed; but you ſhan't know a ſyllabuh of it from me, that you ſhan't, Mr. Schoolmaſter.

Multum in parvo. What a diſcreet [28] ſlut it is to know all this, and wouldn't tell even me, becauſe its a ſecret! The Princeſs Ruſky Fuſky in our houſe! this is indeed a ſecret, pro bono publico. This cowſlip is the very flower, the daffy-down-diliy of dairy-maids!

SCENE III.

So, as I expected, my ſecret has gone through the family, and my cheeſemonger is a Ruſſian Princeſs.

O Eugene, I hear ſir Felix's ſon is ac⯑tually arrived.

Then my Laura, though bitter the ſeparation, I bid an eternal adieu to you and happineſs.

Do you leave the country, Eugene?

Can I ſtay to ſee my deareſt Laura — think what I would ſay.

Nay, Eugene, do tell me.

Sir Felix's ſon is arrived, and — Can I ſee you in the arms of another?

Ah, Eugene, if you go — do you, can you think your Laura will ſtay behind?

Generous Laura!— but ſir Felix has ſet his heart upon your union with his ſon. To his bounty my father and I owe our very exiſtence. And ſhall I, like a viper, turn and ſting my kind preſerver? no Laura. Though in the poſſeſſion of you, my love, I compriſe all hopes of happineſs; yet, in my mind, the height of human bliſs is dearly gained, when purchaſed by an action of diſhonour.

I aſk your pardon, ſir. — I ſee my er⯑ror. — I ſhan't be ungrateful to ſir Felix — I'll give my hand where he commands, though my heart may burſt— Oh! Eugene, I did not think you'd uſe me thus.

I cannot bear this, and fear love muſt triumph over gratitude. — And have you for⯑titude Laura, to face the world with me;

Try me. And not even the elements ſhall part your faithful Laura from her beloved Engene.

Generous Laura!

SCENE IV.

Draws and diſcover Mrs. Cheſhire ſitting down Lingo, John and William ceremoniouſly waiting,

My patience is almoſt wearied out. Very ſtrange I can't ſee Eugene. — Oh dear! a glaſs of water, if you pleaſe.

Yes Madam.

Madam! John don't know ſhe's a prin⯑ceſs; and I can't do her proper homage before theſe Cyclops. John, yon may bo'h retire.

Mr. Lingo's not in the ſecret.

Mr. Liago, pray bow reſpectfully to her.

Do you teach me that have teached hundreds? centum, docintum, you vile lictor! take your face out of the room, go. An't I the domeſtic god, the very Lary of the family? go.

Don't be afraid. Nobody knows yon but me.

Theſe Kentiſh ſervants are very civil.

Some of our Engliſh cream for your royal reverence!

My royal reverence!

Take the glaſs, pleaſe your catholio majeſty.

My catholic Majeſty!

Cowſlip, leave the preſence.

I have no more preſents than the bowl of cream.

Cream! you ſhallow Pomona!

Well, till now I always thought your great Ruſſians wore whiſkers.

Don't mind that girl, moſt learned Mufty. She's a mere Engliſh Druid, moſt di⯑vine bard.

John, this honour is too great —

Mr. Lingo, I was ordered —

John, I do not love a common De⯑moſthenus.

Sir, I —

Go out, unmannerly homo, go!

The moſt impudent canus in our domus.

This is wine. A glaſs of water, if you pleaſe.

In vino veritas. You get not water in this houſe. Some cake for your faithful majeſty.

My majeſty! O, this is mere diver⯑ſion.— I ſent a letter juſt now from the Griffin to Mr. Eugene.

You ſent it! Yes, he got a letter from the Griffin. — Take ſome cake. Vivitur, we live by eating and drinking, pleaſe your grace's holineſs.

My grace's holineſs! pray harkee, Sir, does your maſter tolerate you to — but I — I'm cool.

Cool! ſhe wants the Ruſſian ſtove. We have no ſuch in England, great Ottoman; but I'll immediately get you a chaſing-diſh of hot coals for your ſublime port.

Pleaſe your royal high⯑neſs!

My royal highneſs!

I am my young lady's own woman, your royal highneſs.

I am no royal highneſs, madam.

O! I know your royal highneſs very well; but I'd ſcorn to betray your royal highneſs, as it was in defence of your virtue you killed the Roman Emperors!

I kill the Roman Emperors!

A Ruſſian princeſs! — Give me our o [...] [...]oy [...] family after all!

All mad in this houſe, I believe.

You will have the hot coals preſently. In the mean time throw this Ruſſian fur cloak over you. Mr. Compton wore it in your cold Eaſtern ports. You were wounded in the ſword-arm, great Ruſtifuſti.

Yes, this fellow's mad.

Thoſe Roman Emperors that attacked you were mere Tarquins. Depend upon it, that chair is too low for your highneſs. Here is ano⯑ther. It is higher, and more fitter for your eminence.

Your highneſs is diſcovered.

Highneſs! all mad. I've got into Bedlam ſure.

Whiſper a princeſs! why, Thomas, you fancy yourſelf Cardinal Wolſey in this houſe.

O! if you knew Mr. Lingo, —

What? Quid opus?

A ſecret. I met an attorney and a bailiff at the door.

An attorney! — turn out.

It's my lawyer. Open the door.

Let in an attorney! — are you mad, great potentate? — Oh, oh!

Open the door.

The lawyer wilt betray you, commander of the faithful.

Open the door, I ſay!

Sit quiet, great Ruſtifuſti.

Am I to be ſhut up here with a mad⯑man? Open the door I inſiſt.

Her ſerene highneſs is in a paſſion, She'll never be taken alive. Yes, ſhe'll kill the attorney. There is a caſe of piſtols. There is a broad fword. Heavens! how ſhe'll fight! here, now, defend yourſelf, brave Ruſtifuſti. —

Open the door I ſay.

Yes, ſhe'll ſhoot the attorney. Stay, till I get up here. — Now prime, and fire away, brave Bellona.

Don't be alarmed, princeſs. Though your perſon's known here, you're ſafe by all the laws of hoſpitality.

Stand out of the way, Domine Felix, till Ruſtifuſti ſhoots the attorney.

Why this is Mrs. Cheſhire, our South⯑wark cheeſemonger.

A cheſemonger! O Coelnm et terra! and have I ſtudied Syntax, Cordery, Juvenal, and Tiſtram Shandy, to ſerve wine on my knee to a mighty cheeſemonger! — But there is one thing I can never forgive in ſaecula ſaeculorum.

What's that, Lingo?

Her not ſhooting the attorney.

So, ſo, the partly has abſconded.

Eugene!

My ſon run away!

With the young lady of the houſe I think.

My daughter!

Tol, lol, lol! — Ha, ha, ha! This is good. To avoid each other, gone off to⯑gether. Ha, ha, ha! I am ſo happy.

So, you two ran away to be mar⯑ried I ſuppoſe?

With that intention, Sir, I confeſs.

Dear Sir Felix, the fault was mine; but Eugene's mind is replete with honour, and he has made me a proſelyte. O Sir! he has my affec⯑tions. I here return to my obedience, with hopes a ſon of yours will never accept my hand, when my heart is poſſeſſed by another.

Refuſed a fine girl rather than vio⯑late the tie of honour and gratitude! — My Eugene! my ſon! take the bleſſing of a father; for I now with pride acknowledge you.

Sir! —

'Tis true, Eugene. Sir Felix claims your fillal duty.

I'm ſurpriſed!

Yes, I love to ſurpriſe people.

Dear Sir!

your bleſſing and forgiveneſs.

Kneel there, Laura. His right is prior to mine.

Mr. Compton! —

Yes, Laura, in me you behold an affectionate parent; but next to heaven you owe your thanks to that benevolent man.

Well, I'll be revenged if it coſt me half the cheeſe in my ſhop.

Stay, widow. Egad! I've ſurpriſed you. Suppoſe you ſurpriſe me in turn, and mar⯑ry the attorney?

I own Mr. Chicane is an honeſt man, but —

Honeſt! take him home — Bring an honeſt attorney over London Bridge with you, and you'll ſurpriſe all Tooley-ſtreet.

I hear of a wedding going to be, Domine Felix, therefore I will write a latin epitaph for the pair of bridegrooms, wherein I'll provoke the patronage of Cupid, Thomas a Becket, Sir Godfry Kneller, and Helley O'Gabalus.

Let me have no more of your damn'd Godfreys and Gabaluſſus. Lay the cloth, and ſurpriſe us with a good wedding ſupper.

A wedding! Is it poſſible —

Yes, boy, poſſible, ay, and probable too. I've ſurpriſed you with the girl of your heart, and a good fortune. Is not this an Agreeable Surpriſe?