YE gods! what crime had my poor father done,
That you should make a poet of his son?
Or is't for some great services of his,
Y'are pleased to compliment his boy-with
this? [Shewing his crown of laurel.

The honour, I must needs confess, is great, If, with his crown, you'd tell him where to eat. 'Tis well-But I have more complaints-look here! [Shewing his ragged coat. Hark ye:-D'ye think this suit good winter wear? In a cold morning,- —whu -at a lord's gate, How you have let the porter let me wait! You'll say, perhaps, you knew I'd get no harm; You'd given me fire enough to keep me warm. Ah

A world of blessings to that fire we owe;
Without it I'd ne'er made this princely show.
I have a brother too, now in my sight,

[Looking behind the scenes. A busy man amongst us here to-night:

Your fire has made him play a thousand pranks,
For which, no doubt, you've had his daily thanks.
He'as thank'd you first for all his decent plays,
Where he so nick'd it, when he writ for praise;
Next, for his meddling with some folk in black,
And bringing-souse-a priest upon his back;
For building houses here, t'oblige the peers,
And fetching all their house about his ears;
For a new play he'as now thought fit to write,
To soothe the town-which they-will damn to-
night.

These benefits are such, no man can doubt But he'll go on, and set your fancy out, Till, for reward of all his noble deeds, At last, like other sprightly folks, he speeds; Has this great recompence fixed on his brow As fam'd Parnassus; has your leave to bow And walk about the streets-equipp'd-as I am

now.

SCENE I.-Covent-Garden.

Enter Mrs AMLET and Mrs CLOGGIT, meeting. Mrs Am. Good morrow, neighbour, good morrow, neighbour Cloggit. How does all at your house this morning?

Mrs Clog. Thank you kindly, Mrs Amlet, thank you kindly; how do you do, I pray?

Mrs Am. At the old rate, neighbour, poor and honest. These are hard times, good lack.

Mrs Clog. If they are hard with you, what are they with us? You have a good trade going; all the great folks in town help you off with your merchandise.

Mrs Am. Yes, they do help us off with 'em indeed; they buy all.

Mrs Clog. And payMrs Am. For some.

Mrs Clog. Well, 'tis a thousand pities, Mrs Amlet, they are not as ready at one as they are at t'other; for, not to wrong 'em, they give very good rates.

Mrs Clog. Good lack-a-day, that women born of sober parents should be prone to follow ill examples! But now we talk of quality—when did you hear of your son Richard, Mrs Amlet? My daughter Flipp says she met him t'other day in a laced coat, with three fine ladies, his footman at his heels, and as gay as a bridegroom.

Mrs Am. Is it possible? Ah, the rogue! Well, neighbour, all's well that ends well; but Dick will be hanged.

Mrs Clog. That were pity.

Mrs Am. Pity indeed; for he's a hopeful young man to look on; but he leads a life-Wellwhere he has it, Heaven knows; but they say he pays his club with the best of 'em. I have seen him but once these three months, neighbour, and then the varlet wanted money; but I bid him march, and march he did to some purpose; for in less than an hour, back comes my gentleman into the house, walks to and fro in the room, with his wig over his shoulder, his hat on one side, whistling a minuet, and tossing a purse of gold from

ven bless us!) than if it had been an orange. Sirrah, says I, where have you got that? He answers me never a word, but sets his arms a kimbo, cocks his saucy hat in my face, turns about upon his ungracious heel, as much as to say, kissand I've never set eye on him since.

Mrs Clog. Look you there now.

Mrs Am. If they would but once let me get enough by 'em to keep a coach to carry me a dunning after 'em, there would be some conscience in it.

Mrs Clog. Ay, that were something. But now you talk of conscience, Mrs Amlet-how do you speed amongst your city customers?

Mrs Am. My city customers! Now, by my truth, neighbour, between the city and the court (with reverence be it spoken) there's not ato choose. My ladies in the city, in times past, were as full of gold as they were of religion, and as punctual in their payments as they were in their prayers; but since they have set their minds upon quality, adieu one, adieu t'other; their money and their consciences are gone, Heaven knows where. There's not a goldsmith's wife to be found in town, but is as hard-hearted as an ancient judge, and as poor as a towering duchess.

Mrs Clog. But what the murrain have they to do with quality? why don't their husbands make 'em mind their shops?

Mrs Am. Their husbands! their husbands, sayest thou, woman? Alack, alack, they mind their husbands, neighbour, no more than they do

a sermon

Mrs Clog. Look you there now; to see what the youth of this age are come to.

Mrs Am. See what they will come to, neighbour. Heaven shield, I say, but Dick's upon the gallop. Well, I must bid you good morrow: I'm going where I doubt I shall meet but a sorry wel

come.

for you.

Dick. As how?

Brass. We must quit this country.

Dick. We'll be hanged first.

Brass. So you will, if you stay.

Dick. Why, what's the matter?
Brass. There's a storm a-coming.
Dick. From whence?

Brass. From the worst point in the compass, -the law.

Dick. The law! Why, what have I to do with the law?

Brass. Nothing; and therefore it has something to do with you.

. Dick. Explain.

Brass. You know you cheated a young fellow at piquet, t'other day, of the money he had to raise his company.

Dick. Well, what then?

Brass. Why, he's sorry he lost it.
Dick. Who doubts that?

Brass. Ay, but that is not all; he's such a fool to think of complaining on't.

Dick. Then I must be so wise to stop his mouth. Brass. How?

Dick. Give him a little back; if that won't do, strangle him.

Brass. You are very quick in your methods. Dick. Men must be so that will dispatch busi

dam Fortune will be playing some of her bitchtricks with me; therefore I'll tell thee what we'll do: we'll pursue this old rogue's daughter heartily; we'll cheat his family to purpose, and they shall atone for the rest of mankind.

Brass. Have at her then, and I'll about your business presently.

Dick. One kiss-and success attend thee. [Exit DICK. Brass. A great rogue-Well, I say nothing; but when I have got the thing into a good posture, he shall sign and seal, or I'll have him tumbled out of the house like a cheese. Now for Flippanta. [He knocks.

Bruss. Why, then it's time for the mistress of the house to come down, and look after her family.

Flip. Pr'ythee don't be an owl. Those that go to bed at night may rise in the morning; we that go to bed in the morning rise in the afternoon.

Brass. When does she make her visits then? Flip. By candle light: it helps off a muddy complexion: we women hate inquisitive sunshine. But do you know that my lady is going to turn good housewife?

Brass. What, is she going to die?
Flip. Die!

Brass. Why, that's the only way to save money for her family.

Flip. No; but she has thought of a project to save chair hire.

Brass. As how?

Flip. Why, all the company she used to keep abroad, she now intends shall meet at her own

Dick. That's the way to be starved.

Brass. No, she has money enough to buy you a good place, and pay me into the bargain, for helping her to so good a match. You have but this throw left to save you; for you are not ignorant, youngster, that your morals begin to be pretty well known about town: have a care your noble birth and your honourable relations are not discovered too; there needs but that to have you tossed in a blanket, for the entertainment of the first company of ladies you intrude into ; and then, like a dutiful son, you may daggle about with your mother, and sell paint: she's old and weak, and wants somebody to carry her goods after her. How like a dog will you look, with a pair of plod shoes, your hair cropped up to your ears, and a band-box under your arm!

Dick. Why, faith, Brass, I think thou art in the

basset-table.

Brass. Nay, if he advised her to it, it's right; but has she acquainted her husband with it yet? Flip. What to do? When the company meet, he'll see them.

Brass. Nay, that's true; as you say, he'll know it soon enough.

Flip. Well, I must be gone: have you any business with my lady?

Bruss. Yes; as ambassador from Araminta, I have a letter for her.

Flip. Give it me.

Brass. Hold and as first minister of state to the colonel, I have an affair to communicate to

thee.

Flip. What is't? Quick.

Brass. Why-he's in love.
Flip. With what?

Brass. A woman-and her money together.

Brass. No, so I think; men of our end of the town are better bred than to use ceremony. With a long periwig we strike the lady; with a youknow-what we soften the maid; and when the parson has done his job, we open the affair to the family. Will you slip this letter into her prayerbook, my little queen? It's a very passionate one -It's sealed with a heart and a dagger; you may see by that what he intends to do with himself.

Flip. Are there any verses in it? If not, I won't touch it.

Brass. Not one word in prose; it's dated in rhyme. [She takes it. Flip. Well-but have you brought nothing else? Brass. Gad forgive me; I'm the forgetfullest dog-I have a letter for you too-here-'tis in a purse; but it's in prose; you won't touch it. Flip. Yes, hang it, it is not good to be too dainty.

Brass. How useful a virtue is humility! Well, child, we shall have an answer to-morrow, sha'n't we?

Flip. I cann't promise you that, for our young gentlewoman is not so often in my way as she would be. Her father (who is a citizen from the foot to the forehead of him) lets her seldom converse with her mother-in-law and me, for fear she should learn the airs of a woman of quality. But I'll take the first occasion. See, there's my lady; go in and deliver your letter to her. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-A Parlour.

Enter CLARISSA, followed by FLIPPANTA and BRASS.

Clar. No messages this morning from any body, Flippanta? Lard, how dull that is! O, there's Brass I did not see thee, Brass. What news dost thou bring?

Brass. Only a letter from Araminta, madam. Clar. Give it me-open it for me, Flippanta; I am so lazy to-day. [Sitting down. Brass. [To FLIP.] Be sure now you deliver my master's as carefully as I do this.

Flip. Don't trouble thyself; I'm no novice. Clar. [To BRASS.] 'Tis well; there needs no answer, since she'll be here so soon.

Brass. Your ladyship has no farther commands then?

Clar. Not at this time, honest Brass. Flippanta! [Exit BRASS. |

Flip. Madam.

Clar. My husband's in love.

Flip. In love!

Clar. With Araminta.

Flip. Impossible!

Clar. This letter from her is to give me an account of it.

Flip. Methinks you are not very much alarmed. Clar. No; thou knowest I'm not much tortured with jealousy,

Flip. Nay, you are much in the right on't, madam; for jealousy's a city passion; 'tis a thing unknown amongst people of quality.

Clar. Fie! a woman must indeed be of a mechanic mould, who is either troubled or pleased with any thing her husband can do to her. Pr'ythee mention him no more; 'tis the dullest theme.

Flip. 'Tis splenetic indeed. But when once you open your basset-table, I hope that will put him out of your head.

Clar. Alas, Flippanta, I begin to grow weary even of the thoughts of that too. Flip. How so?

Clar. Why, I have thought on't a day and a night already, and four-and-twenty hours, thou knowest, is enough to make one weary of any thing.

Flip. Now, by my conscience, you have more woman in you than all your sex together: You never know what you would have.

Clar. Thou mistakest the thing quite. I always know what I lack, but I am never pleased with what I have. The want of a thing is perplexing enough, but the possession of it is intolerable.

Flip. Well, I don't know what you are made of, but other women would think themselves bless'd in your case: handsome, witty, loved by every body, and of so happy a composure, to care a fig for nobody. You have no one passion but that of your pleasures, and you have in me a servant devoted to all your desires, let them be as extravagant as they will: yet all this is nothing: you can still be out of humour.

Clar. Alas, I have but too much cause.

Flip. Why, what have you to complain of? Clar. Alas, I have more subjects for spleen than one: Is it not a most horrible thing that I should be but a scrivener's wife?-Comedon't flatter me; don't you think Nature designed me for something plus elevé ?

Flip. Nay, that's certain; but, on the other side, methinks you ought to be in some measure content, since you live like a woman of quality, tho' you are none,

Clar. O fie! the very quintessence of it is wanting.

Flip. What's that?

Clur. Why, I dare abuse no body: I'm afraid to affront people, though I don't like their faces; or to ruin their reputations, though they pique me to it, by taking ever so much pains to preserve 'em : I dare not raise a lie of a man, though he neglects to make love to me; nor report a woman to be a fool, tho' she's handsomer than I am. In short, I dare not so much as bid