have all but sunk into oblivion. He was the son of an attorney at Newark, and there he began by following the same profession. A passion for study having led him to qualify meanwhile for the Church, in 1723 he took deacon's orders, and by the dedication of a volume of translations, obtained a presentation to a small vicarage. He now threw himself amidst the literary society of the metropolis, and sought for subsistence and advancement by his pen. On obtaining from a patron the rectory of Brant Broughton in Lincolnshire, he retired thither, and devoted himself for eighteen years to unremitting study. His first work of any note was The Alliance between Church and State (1736), which, though scarcely calculated to please either party in the Church, brought the author into notice. But it was in The Divine Legation of Moses, demonstrated on the Principles of a Religious Deist from the Omission of the Doctrine of a Future State of Rewards and Punishments in the Jewish Dispensation (1738-41), that the scholarship of Warburton was first fairly displayed. It was objected to the Jewish religion that it nowhere acknowledges a future state of rewards and punishments. Warburton, who delighted in paradox, instead of attempting to deny this or explain it away, asserted that therein lay the strongest argument for the divine mission of Moses-because no mere human legislator would have dispensed with the supernatural sanction of morals and religion. Ransacking the domains of pagan antiquity, he reared such a mass of curious and confounding argument that mankind was awed into partial agreement with his views. In support of his startling thesis, he wanders discursively into endless subsidiary inquiries, and supplies lack of evidence by abusing all kinds of opponents in his footnotes-'the place of execution.' There is a constant polemic, either by violent assault or casual innuendo, on temporary deists and freethinkers. He completed the work; he became, indeed, weary of it; and perhaps the fallacy of the hypothesis was first secretly acknowledged by himself. Gibbon, in his autobiography, called the work 'a monument already crumbling in the dust of the vigour and weakness of the human mind.' Bentley said, 'The man has monstrous appetite and bad digestion.' He showed no real speculative power or profundity of thought. con never The merits of the author, or his worldly wisdom, brought him preferment in the Church: he rose through the grades of prebendary of Gloucester, prebendary of Durham, and Dean of Bristol to be (1759) Bishop of Gloucester. He had early forced himself into notice by his writings, but one material cause of his advancement was his friendship with Pope. He had secured the poet's favour by defending the ethical and theological orthodoxy of the Essay on Man, and by writing commentaries on that and other poems; and Pope in return left him the property or copyright of his works, the value of which Johnson estimated at £4000. Pope had also introduced him to Ralph Allen, one of the wealthiest and most benevolent men of his day, the Squire Allworthy of Fielding's Tom Jones; and Warburton took advantage of this introduction to secure the hand of Allen's niece and obtain a large fortune. To Pope he was also indebted for an acquaintance with Lord Mansfield, through whose influence he was made preacher of Lincoln's Inn (1746). He was remiss in episcopal duties, but was constantly at feud with Bolingbroke and Hume, Voltaire and the deists, as well as with Jortin, Lowth, and Wesley; and his great learning was thrown away on paradoxical speculations. His notes and commentaries on Shakespeare and Pope are lacking in taste and real insight-Douce said that of all Shakespeare's commentators he was surely the worst' but they often display curious erudition and ingenuity. His arrogance and dogmatism became proverbial. His force of character and various learning, always ostentatiously displayed, gave him a high name and authority in his own day; but posterity refused to ratify the judgment. The Rationalizing of the Greek Mythology. Here matters rested; and the vulgar faith seems to have remained a long time undisturbed. But as the age grew refined, and the Greeks became inquisitive and learned, the common mythology began to give offence. The speculative and more delicate were shocked at the absurd and immoral stories of their gods, and scandalised to find such things make an authentic part of their story. It may, indeed, be thought matter of wonder how such tales, taken up in a barbarous age, came not to sink into oblivion as the age grew more knowing, from mere abhorrence of their indecencies and shame of their absurdities. Without doubt, this had been their fortune but for an unlucky circumstance. The great poets of Greece, who had most contributed to refine the public taste and manners, and were now grown into a kind of sacred authority, had sanctified these silly legends by their writings, which time had now consigned to immortality. Vulgar paganism, therefore, in such an age as this, lying open to the attacks of curious and inquisitive men, would not, we may well think, be long at rest. It is true, freethinking then lay under great difficulties and discouragements. To insult the religion of one's country, which is now the mark of learned distinction, was branded in the ancient world with public infamy. Yet freethinkers there were, who, as is their wont, together with the public worship of their country, threw off all reverence for religion in general. Amongst these was Euhemerus, the Messenian, and, by what we can learn, the most distinguished of this tribe. This man, in mere wantonness of heart, began his attacks on religion by divulging the secret of the mysteries. But as it was capital to do this directly and professedly, he contrived to cover his perfidy and malice by the intervention of a kind of Utopian romance. He pretended that in a certain city, which he came to in his travels, he found this grand secret, that the gods were dead men deified, preserved in their sacred writings, and confirmed by monumental records inscribed to the gods themselves, who were there said to be interred.' So far was not amiss; but then, in the genuine spirit of his class, who never cultivate a truth but in order to graft a lie upon it, he pretended ‘that dead mortals were the first gods, and that an imaginary divinity in these early heroes and conquerors created the idea of a superior power, and introduced the practice of religious worship amongst men.' The learned reader sees below, that our freethinker is true to his cause, and endeavours to verify the fundamental principle of his sect, that fear first made gods, even in that very instance where the contrary passion seems to have been at its height, the time when men made gods of their deceased benefactors. A little matter of address hides the shame of so perverse a piece of malice. He represents those founders of society and fathers of their country under the idea of destructive conquerors, who, by mere force and fear, had brought men into subjection and slavery. On this account it was that indignant antiquity concurred in giving Euhemerus the proper name of atheist, which however he would hardly have escaped though he had done no more than divulge the secret of the mysteries, and had not poisoned his discovery with this impious and foreign addition, so contrary to the true spirit of that secret. This detection had been long dreaded by the orthodox protectors of pagan worship; and they were provided of a temporary defence in their intricate and properly perplexed system of symbolic adoration. But this would do only to stop a breach for the present, till a better could be provided, and was too weak to stand alone against so violent an attack. The philosophers, therefore, now took up the defence of paganism where the priests had left it, and to the others' symbols added their own allegories, for a second cover to the absurdities of the ancient mythology. [Here ancient authorities are quoted.] For all the genuine sects of philosophy, as we have observed, were steady patriots, legislation making one essential part of their philosophy; and to legislate without the foundation of a national religion was, in their opinion, building castles in the air. So that we are not to wonder they took the alarm, and opposed these insulters of the public worship with all their vigour. But as they never lost sight of their proper character, they so contrived that the defence of the national religion should terminate in a recommendation of their philosophic speculations. Hence their support of the public worship and their evasion of Euhemerus's charge turned upon this proposition, That the whole ancient mythology was no other than the vehicle of physical, moral, and divine knowledge.' And to this it is that the learned Eusebius refers, where he says 'that a new race of men refined their old gross theology, and gave it an honester look, and brought it nearer to the truth of things.' However, this proved a troublesome work, and after all ineffectual for the security of men's private morals, which the example of the licentious story according to the letter would not fail to influence, how well soever the allegoric interpretation was calculated to cover the public honour of religion; so that the more ethical of the philosophers grew peevish with what gave them so much trouble, and answered so little to the interior of religious practice. This made them break out from time to time into hasty resentments against their capital poets; unsuitable, one would think, to the dignity of the authors of such noble recondite truths as they would persuade us to believe were treasured up in their writings. Hence it was that Plato banished Homer from his republic, and that Pythagoras, in one of his extra-mundane adventures, saw both Homer and Hesiod doing penance in hell, and hung up there for examples, to be bleached and purified from the grossness and pollution of their ideas. The first of these allegorisers, as we learn from Laertius, was Anaxagoras, who, with his friend Metrodorus, turned Homer's mythology into a system of ethics. Next came Hereclides Ponticus, and of the same fables made as good a system of physics. . . . And last of all, when the necessity became more pressing, Proclus undertook to shew that all Homer's fables were no other than physical, ethical, and moral allegories. (From The Divine Legation, Book iii. Section 6.) Bishop Hurd published a sumptuous edition of Warburton's works in seven quartos (1788); a later edition (1811) was in twelve volumes. In The Principles of Natural and Revealed Religion we have sermons. Colley Cibber (1671-1757), actor, manager, and dramatist, was born in London, the son of the Holstein sculptor, Caius Gabriel Cibber or Cibert, who settled in England during the Commonwealth, and executed sculptures for the London Monument, the old Royal Exchange, Bethlehem Hospital, St Paul's, and Chatsworth. Young Colley, named after his mother's family, was educated at Grantham, and in 1690 joined the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane, where he remained, with short intervals, during his whole theatrical career of forty-three years. In 1696 he produced his first comedy, Love's Last Shift, himself playing Sir Novelty Fashion, and so established his fame both as dramatist and actor. About thirty pieces are ascribed to him, some of them tragedies and some musical entertainments and farces.' Not a few are réchauffés from Shakespeare, Beaumont and Fletcher, Dryden, and others, two or more plays being sometimes ingeniously welded into a new one. Several are from the French. Among the best known are Woman's Wit, She Would and She Would Not, and The Provoked Husband (the latter completed from Vanbrugh's manuscript). Cibber contributed largely to the improvement in decency which followed Jeremy Collier's famous philippic in 1698; his comedies do not rely for ludicrous effects on the outraged husband. He was a strong Hanoverian, and as poet-laureate from 1730 onwards wrote some sufficiently tiresome and absurd odes. But even they could not justify Pope in making Cibber the hero (in place of Theobald) in the 1743 issue of the Dunciad, where these lines occur: How with less reading than makes felons 'scape, Cibber was no poet; he was vain and a loose liver, but he was assuredly not a dullard. Pope's first sneers, in the early editions of the Dunciad and elsewhere, Cibber took good - humouredly enough. As Pope grew more abusive, the other became aggressive in self-defence, and by his retaliatory pamphlets and scurrilous stories had the satisfaction of making his sensitive foe writhe with vexation. Cibber had the misfortune to have Fielding also for a persistent enemy, for reasons not so easily discovered. Fielding was severe on him for his alterations on Shakespeare's plays, of one of which Cibber had self-complacently said, I have endeavoured to make it more like a play than I found it in Shakespeare.' Strange to say, Cibber's modification of Richard III., with the famous line Off with his head! so much for Buckingham!' had almost undisputed possession of the stage in London till Mr Irving restored the Shakespearean tradition. The Nonjuror, an adaptation of Molière's Tartuffe, was of course ultra-loyal, and survives in The Hypocrite, still occasionally performed. Towards the close of the nineteenth century Mr Augustus Daly and his American company revived She Would and She Would Not, unquestionably one of Cibber's best comedies. His own Apology for the Life of Mr Colley Cibber, Comedian (1740; new edition by Lowe, 1888), is a greater literary success than any of his plays; it is a really interesting autobiography as well as a lively history of the stage in his own time, though the statements are at times both vague and inaccurate.-His son, Theophilus (1703-58), was also an actor and dramatist. The following extract from She Would and She Would Not deals with two ladies travelling disguised as men, an attendant, and An Innkeeper's Welcome. Host. Did you call, gentlemen? Trappanti. Yes, and bawl too, sir: here, the gentlemen are almost famished, and nobody comes near 'em : what have you in the house now that will be ready presently? Host. You may have what you please, sir. Host. Sir, we have no partridges; but we'll get you what you please in a moment we have a very good neck of mutton, sir; if you please it shall be clapt down in a moment. Trap. Pox on thee, hast thou nothing but any-thingelse in the house? Høst. Very good mutton, sir. Hyp. Prithee get us a breast then. Host. Breast! Don't you love the neck, sir? Hyp. Ha' ye nothing in the house but the neck? Host. Really, sir, we don't use to be so unprovided, but at present we have nothing else left. Trap. Faith, sir, I don't know but a nothing-else may be very good meat, when any-thing-else is not to be had. Hyp. Then prithee, friend, let's have thy neck of mutton before that is gone too. Trap. Sir, he shall lay it down this minute, I'll see it done: gentlemen, I'll wait upon ye presently; for a minute I must beg your pardon, and leave to lay the cloth myself. Hyp. By no means, sir. Trap. No ceremony, dear sir; indeed I'll do 't. On his Critics. Here perhaps I may again seem to be vain; but if all these facts are true (as true they are) how can I help it? Why am I obliged to conceal them? The merit of the best of them is not so extraordinary as to have warned me to be nice upon it; and the praise due to them is so small a fish, it was scarce worth while to throw my line into the water for it. If I confess my vanity while a boy, can it be vanity when a man to remember it? And if I have a tolerable feature, will not that as much belong to my picture as an imperfection? In a word, from what I have mentioned, I would observe only this; that when we are conscious of the least comparative merit in ourselves, we should take as much care to conceal the value we set upon it as if it were a real defect. To be elated or vain upon it, is showing your money before people in want; ten to one but some who may think you have too much may borrow, or pick your pocket, before you get home. He who assumes praise to himself, the world will think overpays himself. Even the suspicion of being vain ought as much to be dreaded as the guilt itself. Cæsar was of the same opinion in regard to his wife's chastity. Praise, though it may be our due, is not like a bankbill, to be paid upon demand; to be valuable it must be voluntary. When we are dunned for it, we have a right and privilege to refuse it. If compulsion insists upon it, it can only be paid, as persecution in points of faith is, in a counterfeit coin; and who ever believed occasional conformity to be sincere? Nero, the most vain coxcomb of a tyrant that ever breathed, could not raise an unfeigned applause of his harp by military execution; even where praise is deserved, ill-nature and self-conceit (passions that poll a majority of mankind) will with less reluctance part with their money than their approbation. Men of the greatest merit are forced to stay till they die, before the world will fairly make up their account; then indeed you have a chance for your full due, because it is less grudged when you are incapable of enjoying it: then perhaps even malice shall heap praises upon your memory, though not for your sake, but that your surviving competitors may suffer by a comparison. It is from the same principle that satire shall have a thousand readers where panegyric has one. When I therefore find my name at length in the satirical works of our most celebrated living author, I never look upon those lines as malice meant to me (for he knows I never provoked it) but profit to himself: one of his points must be to have many readers. He considers that my face and name are more known than those of many thousands of more consequence in the kingdom; that therefore, right or wrong, a lick at the laureat will always be a sure bait, ad captandum vulgus, to catch him little readers; and that to gratify the unlearned, by now and then interspersing those merry sacrifices of an old acquaintance to their taste, is a piece of quite right poetical craft. But as a little bad poetry is the greatest crime he lays to my charge, I am willing to subscribe to his opinion of it. That this sort of wit is one of the easiest ways too of pleasing the generality of readers, is evident from the comfortable subsistence which our weekly retailers of politics have been known to pick up, merely by making bold with a government that had unfortunately neglected to find their genius a better employment. Hence too arises all that flat poverty of censure and invective that so often has a run in our public papers, upon the success of a new author; when, God knows, there is seldom above one writer, among hundreds in being at the same time, whose satire a man of common sense ought to be moved at. When a master in the I art is angry, then indeed we ought to be alarmed! How terrible a weapon is satire in the hand of a great genius! Yet even there how liable is prejudice to misuse it! How far, when general, it may reform our morals, or what cruelties it may inflict by being angrily particular, is perhaps above my reach to determine. shall therefore only beg leave to interpose what I feel for others whom it may personally have fallen upon. When I read those mortifying lines of our most eminent author in his character of Atticus-(Atticus, whose genius in verse, and whose morality in prose, has been so justly admired)-though I am charmed with the poetry, my imagination is hurt at the severity of it; and though I allow the satirist to have had personal provocation, yet methinks, for that very reason, he ought not to have troubled the public with it. For, as it is observed in the 242d Tatler, 'in all terms of reproof, where the sentence appears to arise from personal hatred or passion, it is not then made the cause of mankind, but a misunderstanding between two persons.' But if such kind of satire has its incontestable greatness, if its exemplary brightness may not mislead inferior wits into a barbarous imitation of its severity, then I have only admired the verses, and exposed myself by bringing them under so scrupulous a reflection. But the pain which the acrimony of those verses gave me is in some measure allayed, in finding that this inimitable writer, as he advances in years, has since had candour enough to celebrate the same person for his visible merit. Happy genius! whose verse, like the eye of beauty, can heal the deepest wounds with the least glance of favour. Since I am got so far into this subject, you must give me leave to go through all I have a mind to say upon it ; because I am not sure that in a more proper place my memory may be so full of it. I cannot find therefore from what reason satire is allowed more license than comedy, or why either of them (to be admired) ought not to be limited by decency and justice. Let Juvenal and Aristophanes have taken what liberties they please, if the learned have nothing more than their antiquity to justify their laying about them at that enormous rate, I shall wish they had a better excuse for them. The personal ridicule and scurrility thrown upon Socrates, which Plutarch too condemns, and the boldness of Juvenal in writing real names over guilty characters, I cannot think are to be pleaded in right of our modern liberties of the same kind. Facit indignatio versum may be a very spirited expression, and seems to give a reader hopes of a lively entertainment; but I am afraid reproof is in unequal hands, when anger is its executioner; and though an outrageous invective may carry some truth in it, yet it will never have that natural easy credit with us which we give to the laughing ironies of a cool head, The satire that can smile circum præcordia ludit, and seldom fails to bring the reader quite over to his side, whenever ridicule and folly are at variance. But when a person satirized is used with the extremest rigour, he may sometimes meet with compassion instead of contempt, and throw back the odium that was designed for him upon the author. When I would therefore disarm the satirist of this indignation, I mean little more than that I would take from him all private or personal prejudice, and would still leave him as much general vice to scourge as he pleases, and that with as much fire and spirit as art and nature demand to enliven his work and keep his reader awake. (From the Apology.) Charles Macklin (born between 1690 and 1697; died 1797), actor and playwright, was born in the north of Ireland, the son of William M'Laughlin. After a wild, unsettled youth he went on the stage, and in 1733 was at Drury Lane; and, steadily rising in public favour, in 1741 he appeared as Shylock. From this time till his retirement in 1789 he was accounted one of the best actors whether in tragedy or comedy, in passion or buffoonery. Generous, high-spirited, but irascible, in 1735 he killed a brother-actor in a quarrel over a wig, and was tried for murder; and he died in extreme old age, at least a centenarian, in 1797. He wrote a tragedy and several farces and comedies; the farce Love à-la-Mode (1759) and farcical comedy The Man of the World (1781) only were printed. Sir Pertinax Macsycophant, a burlesque character, has become part of our literary tradition. The dialect he uses belongs also to the realm of burlesque. What are supposed to be Scotch words and Scotch pronunciations of English words are scattered irregularly and arbitrarily through the speeches of the Scottish interlocutors. Most of these are actually Scottish in some sense, but by no means show the peculiarities that then clung to the utterance of well-born Scotsmen and Scotswomen. And many Scotch words are invented (as they still are in England) on false analogies. Thus because baith in Scotch corresponds to the English both, and aith to oath, it is assumed (quite erroneously) that traith will be Scotch for troth-hence we have 'gude traith' constantly and absurdly. So because bone in England is bane in Scotland, only is made to become ainly in a Scottish mouth! Nai does duty for a Scotsman's nae, na, and no; a past tense ganged is supplied to gang; and the provincial English thef (for though) is taken as normal Scotch. Sir Pertinax's son Egerton, in love with a penniless girl, has refused to become a party to his father's scheme to secure for him the daughter of a dissolute (Scotch) peer; and in a heated conversation between father and son we have a luminous exposition of Sir Pertinax's Rule of Life. Sir Pertinax. Zounds! sir, I will not hear a word about it: I insist upon it you are wrong; you should have paid your court till my lord, and not have scrupled swallowing a bumper or twa, or twenty till oblige him. Egerton. Sir, I did drink his toast in a bumper. Sir P. Yes, you did; but how, how? just as a bairn takes physic; with aversions and wry faces, which my lord observed: then, to mend the matter, the moment that he and the Colonel got intill a drunken dispute about religion, you slyly slunged away. Eger. I thought, sir, it was time to go, when my lord insisted upon half-pint bumpers. Sir P. Sir, that was not levelled at you, but at the Colonel, in order to try his bottom; but they aw agreed that you and I should drink out of sma' glasses. Eger. But, sir, I beg pardon: I did not choose to drink any more. Sir P. But, zoons! sir, I tell you there was a necessity for your drinking more. Eger. A necessity! in what respect, pray, sir? Sir P. Why, sir, I have a certain point to carry, independent of the lawyers, with my lord, in this agreement of your marriage; about which I am afraid we shall have a warm squabble; and therefore I wanted your assistance in it. Eger. But how, sir, could my drinking contribute to assist you in your squabble? Sir P. Yes, sir, it would have contributed-and greatly have contributed to assist me. Eger. How so, sir? Sir P. Nay, sir, it might have prevented the squabble entirely; for as my lord is proud of you for a son-in-law, and is fond of your little French songs, your stories, and your bon-mots, when you are in the humour; and guin you had but staid, and been a little jolly, and drank half a score bumpers with him, till he had got a little tipsy, I am sure, when we had him in that mood, we might have settled the point as I could wish it among ourselves, before the lawyers came: but now, sir, I do not ken what will be the consequence. Eger. But when a man is intoxicated, would that have been a seasonable time to settle business, sir? Sir P. The most seasonable, sir; for sir, when my lord is in his cups, his suspicion is asleep, and his heart is aw jollity, fun, and guid fellowship; and sir, can there be a happier moment than that for a bargain, or to settle a dispute with a friend? What is it you shrug up your shoulders at, sir? : Eger. At my own ignorance, sir: for I understand neither the philosophy nor the morality of your doctrine. Sir P. I know you do not, sir: and, what is worse, you never wall understand it, as you proceed in one word, Charles, I have often told you, and now again I tell you, once for aw, that the manœuvres of pliability are as necessary to rise in the world, as wrangling and logical subtlety are to rise at the bar: why you see, sir, I have acquired a noble fortune, a princely fortune : and how do you think I raised it? Eger. Doubtless, sir, by your abilities. Sir P. Doubtless, sir, you are a blockhead: nae, sir, I'll tell you how I raised it: sir, I raised it-by booing, [hows ridiculously low] by booing: sir, I never could stand straight in the presence of a great mon, but always booed, and booed, and booed-as it were by instinct. Eger. How do you mean by instinct, sir? Sir P. How do I mean by instinct! Why, sir, I mean by-by-by the instinct of interest, sir, which is the universal instinct of mankind. Sir, it is wonderful to think what a cordial, what an amicable-nay, what an infallible influence booing has upon the pride and vanity of human nature. Charles, answer me sincerely, have you a mind to be convinced of the force of my doctrine by example and demonstration? Eger. Certainly, sir. Sir P. Then, sir, as the greatest favour I can confer upon you, I'll give you a short sketch of the stages of my booing, as an excitement, and a landmark for you to boo by, and as an infallible nostrum for a man of the world to rise in the world. Eger. Sir, I shall be proud to profit by your experi ence. Sir P. Vary weel, sir; sit ye down then, sit you down here. [They sit down.] And now, sir, you must recall to your thoughts, that your grandfather was a mon whose penurious income of captain's half-pay was the sum-total of his fortune; and, sir, aw my provision fra him was a modicum of Latin, an expertness in arithmetic, and a short system of worldly counsel; the principal ingredients of which were, a persevering industry, a rigid economy, a smooth tongue, a pliability of temper, and a constant attention to make every mon well pleased with himself. Eger. Very prudent advice, sir. Sir P. Therefore, sir, I lay it before you. Now, sir, with these materials, I set out a raw-boned stripling fra the North, to try my fortune with them here in the south; and my first step in the world was a beggarly clerkship in Sawny Gordon's counting-house, here, in the city of London: which you'll say afforded but a barren sort of a prospect. Eger. It was not a very fertile one, indeed, sir. Sir P. The reverse, the reverse: weel, sir, seeing myself in this unprofitable situation, I reflected deeply; I cast about my thoughts morning, noon, and night, and marked every mon, and every mode of prosperity; at last, I concluded that a matrimonial adventure, prudently conducted, would be the readiest gait I could gang for the bettering of my condition; and accordingly I set about it. Now, sir, in this pursuit, beauty! beauty! ah! beauty often struck my een, and played about my heart and fluttered, and beat, and knocked, and knocked but the devil an entrance I ever let it get: for I observed, sir, that beauty is, generally, -a proud, vain, saucy, expensive, impertinent sort of a commodity. Eger. Very justly observed. Sir P. And therefore, sir, I left it to prodigals and coxcombs, that could afford to pay for it; and, in its stead, sir, mark!-I looked out for an ancient, weeljointured, superannuated dowager; a consumptive, toothless, phthisicky, wealthy widow; or a shrivelled, cadaverous piece of deformity, in the shape of an izzard, or an appersi-and-or, in short, ainything, ainything that had the siller-the siller-for that, sir, was the north star of my affections. Do you take me, sir? was nae that right? Eger. O! doubtless, doubtless, sir. Sir P. Now, sir, where do you think I ganged to look for this woman with the siller? nae till court, nae |