Old Man. What! What! will his drink get are you the famous Esop? and are you so kind, Es. I am that person, sir; but you seem to have no need of iny waters; for you must have already out-lived your memory. Old Man. My memory is indeed impaired, it is not so good as it was; but still it is better thau I wish it, at least in regard to one circumstance; there is one thing which sits very heavy at my heart, and which I would willingly forget. Es. What is it, pray? Old Man. Oh, la !-oh!-I am horribly fatigued I am an old man, sir, turned of ninety-We are all mortal, you know, so I would fain forget, if you please that I am to die. Æs. My good friend, you have mistaken the virtue of the waters; they can cause you to forget only what is past; but if this was in their power, you would surely be your own enemy, in desiring to forget what ought to be the only comfort of one so poor and wretched as you seem. What! I suppose now, you have left some dear, loving wife behind, that you can't bear to think of parting with. Old Man. No, no, no; I have buried my wife, and forgot her long ago. Es. What, you have children then, whom are unwilling to leave behind you! you Old Man. No, no, no; I have no children at present-hugh-I don't know what I have. may Es. Is there any relation or friend, the loss of whom Old Man. No, no; I have out-lived all my relations; and as for my friends-I have none to lose. Es. What can be the reason, then, that in all this apparent misery, you are so afraid of death, which would be your only cure? Old Man. Oh, lord!I have one friend. and a true friend indeed, the only friend in whom a wise man places any confidence- -I have Get a little farther off, John- -[Servant retires.I have, to say the truth, a little money—it is that, indeed, which causes all my uneasiness. Es. Thou never spokest a truer word in thy life, old gentleman-[Aside.]—But I can cure you of your uneasiness immediately. Old Man. Shall I forget then that I am to die, and leave my money behind me? Es. No-but you shall forget that you have it-which will do altogether as well-One large draught of Lethe, to the forgetfulness of your money, will restore you to perfect ease of mind; and as for your bodily pains, no water can relieve them. Old Man. What does he say, John, eh? I am hard of hearing. John. He advises your worship to drink to forget your money. Es. No, sir, the waters are of a wholesomer nature-for they'll teach you to forget your money. Old Man. Will they so? Come, come, John, we are got to the wrong place-the poor old fool here does not know what he says-let us go back again, John-I'll drink none of your waters: not I-forget my money!-Come along, John. [Exeunt. Es. Was there ever such a wretch! If these are the cares of mortals, the waters of oblivion cannot cure them. Re-enter Old Man and Servant. Old Man. Look'e, sir, I am come a great way, and am loth to refuse favours that cost nothing, so I don't care if I drink a little of your waters. Let me see, aye, I'll drink to forget how I got my money; and my servant there, he shall drink a little, to forget that I have any money at all-and, d'ye hear, John! take a hearty draught. If my money must be forgot, why e'en let him forget it. Es. Well, friend, it shall be as you would have it; you'll find a seat in that grove yonder, you may rest yourself till the waters are where Old Man. I hope it won't be long, sir, for thieves are busy now; and I have an iron chest in the other world, that I should be sorry any one peeped into but myself; so pray be quick, sir. [Exeunt. Es. Patience, patience, old gentleman. But here comes something tripping this way, that seems to be neither man nor woman, and yet an odd mixture of both. Enter a Fine Gentleman. Fine Gent. Hark'e, old friend, do you stand drawer here? Es. Drawer, young fop! do you know where you are, and who you talk to? Fine Gent. Not I, dem me! But 'tis a rule with me, wherever I am, or whosoever I am with, to be always easy and familiar. Es. Then let me advise you, young gentleman, to drink the waters, and forget that ease and familiarity. Fine Gent. Why so, daddy? would you not have me well bred? Es. Yes; but you may not always meet with people so polite as yourself, or so passive as I am; and if what you call breeding, should be construed impertinence, you may have a return of familiarity, may make you repent your education as long as you live. Fine Gent. Well said, old dry-beard; egad, you have a smattering of an odd kind of a sort of a humour; but come, come, pr'ythee, give me a glass of your waters, and keep your advice to yourself. Es. I must first be informed, sir, for what | purpose you drink them. Fine Gent. You must know, philosopher, I want to forget two qualitiesMy modesty and my good-nature, Es. Your modesty and your good-nature! Fine Gent. Yes, sir-I have such a consummate modesty, that when a fine woman (which is often the case) yields to my addresses, egad I run away from her; and I am so very good-natured, that when a man affronts me, egad I run away too. Es. As for your modesty, sir, I am afraid you are come to the wrong waters-and if you would take a large cup to the forgetfulness of your fears, your good-nature, I believe, would trouble you no more. Fine Gent. And this is your advice, my dear, eh? Es. My advice, sir, would go a great deal farther—I would advise you to drink to the forgetfulness of every thing you know. Fine Gent. The devil you would! then I should have travelled to a fine purpose truly; you don't imagine, perhaps, that I have been three years abroad, and have made the tour of Europe? Æs. Yes, sir, I guessed you had travelled, by your dress and conversation; but pray, (with submission) what valuable improvements have you made in these travels? nerally behind the scenes of both playhouses; not, you may imagine, to be diverted with the play, but to intrigue, and show myself-I stand upon the stage, talk loud, and stare about, which confounds the actors, and disturbs the audience; upon which the galleries, who hate the appearance of one of us, begin to hiss, and cry, off! off! while I undaunted stamp my foot sololl with my shoulder thus-take snuff with my right hand, and smile scornfully-thus-This exasperates the savages, and they attack us with vollies of sucked oranges, and half-eaten pippins Es. And you retire. Fine Gent. Without doubt, if I am sober; for orange will stain silk, and an apple may disfigure a feature. Æs. I am afraid, sir, for all this, that you are obliged to your own imagination, for more than three-fourths of your importance. Fine Gent. Damn the old prig, I'll bully him. [Aside.]-Look'e, old philosopher, I find you have passed your time so long in gloom and ignorance below here, that our notions above stairs, are too refined for you; so as we are not likely to agree, I shall cut matters very short with you-Bottle me off the waters I want, or you shall be convinced that I have courage in the drawing of a cork: dispatch me instantly, or I shall make bold to throw you into the river, and help myself.-What say you to that now, eh? Es. Very civil and concise!-I have no great inclination to put your manhood to the trial; so, if you will be pleased to walk in the grove there, till I have examined some I see coming, we'll compromise the affair between Fine Gent. Yours, as you behave, au revoir! [Exit Fine Gent. Fine Gent. Sir, I learnt drinking in Germany, music and painting in Italy, dancing, gaming, and some other amusements, at Paris, and in Holland-faith, nothing at all; I brought over with me the best collection of Venetian ballads, two eunuchs, a French dancer, and a monkey, with tooth-picks, pic-us. tures, and burlettas-In short, I have skimm'd the cream of every nation, and have the consolation to declare, I never was in any country in my life, but I had taste enough thoroughly to despise my own. Es. Your country is greatly obliged to you; but if you are settled in it now, how can your taste and delicacy endure it? Fine Gent. Faith, my existence is merely supported by amusements; I dress, visit, study taste, and write sonnets; by birth, travel, education, and natural abilities, I am entitled to lead the fashion; I am principal connoisseur at all auctions, chief arbiter at assemblies, professed critic at the theatres, and a fine gentleman every where. Es. Critic, sir, pray what's that? Fine Gent. The delight of the ingenious, the terror of poets, the scourge of players, and the aversion of the vulgar. Es. Pray, sir, (for I fancy your life must be somewhat particular) how do you pass your time; the day, the day, for instance? Fine Gent. I lie in bed all day, sir. Enter MR. BOWMAN, hastily. Bow. Is your name Æsop? Es. It is, sir, your commands with me? Bow. My Lord Chalkstone, to whom I have the honour to be a friend and companion, has sent me before, to know if you are at leisure to receive his lordship. Es. I am placed here on purpose to receive every mortal that attends our summons. Bow. My lord is not of the common race of mortals, I assure you; and you must look upon this visit as a particular honour, for he is so much afflicted with the gout and rheumatism, that we had much ado to get him across the river. Es. His lordship has certainly some pressing occasion for the waters, that he endures such inconveniences to get at them. Bow. No occasion at all-his legs indeed fail him a little, but his heart is as sound as ever, nothing can hurt his spirits; ill or well, his lordship is always the best company, and the merriest in the family. Es. I have very little time for mirth and good | made use of by people of fashion: all disputes company; but I'll lessen the fatigue of his jour-about politics, operas, trade, gaming, horseney, and meet him half way. Bow. His lordship is here already. There's a spirit! Mr. Æsop. There's a great man! See how superior he is to his infirmities: such a soul ought to have a better body. Enter MERCURY with LORD CHALKSTONE. racing, or religion, are determined now by six to four, and two to one; and persons of qua lity are by this method most agreeably released from the hardship of thinking or reasoning upon any subject. Es. Very convenient, truly! L. Chalk. Convenient! aye, and moral too.This invention of betting, unknown to you L. Chalk. Not so fast, Monsieur Mercury, you Greeks, among many other virtues, prevents are a little too mimble for me.-Well, Bow-bloodshed, and preserves family affectionsman, have you found the philosopher? Bow. This is he, my lord, and ready to receive your commands. L. Chalk. Ha! ha! ha! There he is, profecto!-toujours le meme: [Looking at him through a glass.] I should have known him at a mile distance- -a most noble personage indeed! and truly Greek from top to toe.-Most venerable Æsop, I am in this world, and the other, above and below, yours most sincerely. Es. I am yours, my lord, as sincerely, and I wish it was in my power to relieve your misfor tune. L. Chalk. Misfortune! What misfortune? I am neither a porter nor a chairman, Mr. Esop; my legs can bear my body to my friends and my bottle; I want no more with them; the gout is welcome to the rest-eh, Bowman! Bow. Your lordship is in fine spirits! Es. Does not your lordship go through a great deal of pain? L. Chalk. Pain! aye, and pleasure too; eh, Bowman! when I am in pain, I curse and swear it away again, and the moment it is gone, I lose no time; I drink the same wines, cat the same dishes, keep the same hours, the same company; and, notwithstanding the gravity of my wise doctors, I would not abstain from French wines and French cookery, to save the souls and bodies of the whole College of Physicians Es. My lord has fine spirits indeed! [To BOWMAN. L. Chalk. You don't imagine, philosopher, that I have hobbled here with a bundle of complaints at my back. My legs, indeed, are something the worse for wear, but your waters, I suppose, cannot change or make them better for if they could, you certainly would have try'd The virtues of them upon your own-ch, Bowman? Ha, ha, ha! Bow. Bravo, my lord, bravo! Es. My imperfections are from head to foot, as well as your lordship's. L. Chalk. I beg your pardon there, sir; though my body's impaired, my head is as good as ever it was, and as a proof of this, I'll lay you a hundred guineas Es. Does your lordship propose a wager as a proof of the goodness of your head? Es. Prevents bloodshed! L. Chalk. I'll tell you how; when gentlemen quarrelled heretofore, what did they do?-they drew their swords-I have been run through the body myself, but no matter for that-what do they do now? They draw their purses-before the lye can be given, a wager is laid; and so, instead of resenting, we pocket our affronts. Es. Most casuistically argued indeed, my lord-But how can it preserve family affections? L. Chalk. I'll tell you that too-An old woman, you'll allow, Mr. Esop, at all times, to be but a bad thing-What say you, Bowman? Bow. A very bad thing indeed, my lord. L. Chalk. Ergo, an old woman with a good constitution, and a damned large jointure upon your estate, is the devil-My mother was the very thing-and yet from the moment I pitted her, I never once wished her dead, but was really uneasy when she tumbled down stairs, and did not speak a single word for a whole fortnight. Es. Affectionate indeed! but what does your lordship mean by pitted her? L. Chalk. Tis a term of ours upon these occasions-I backed her life against two old countesses, an aunt of Sir Harry Rattle's that was troubled with an asthma, my fat landlady at Salthill, and the mad woman at Tunbridge, at five hundred each per annum: she out-lived them all but the last, by which means I hedged off a damned jointure, made her life an advantage to me, and so continued my filial affections to her last moments. Æs. I am fully satisfied-and, in return, your lordship may command me. L. Chalk. None of your waters for me; damn them all; I never drink any but at Bath-I came merely for a little conversation with you, and to see your Elysian Fields here-[Looking about through his glass.] which, by the bye, Mr. Æsop, are laid out most detestablytaste, no fancy in the whole world!--Your river there-what d'ye call Es. Styx -No L. Chalk. Ay, Styx-why, 'tis as straight as Fleet-ditch- You should have given it a serpentine sweep, and slope the banks of it-The L. Chalk. And why not? Wagers are now-a-place, indeed, has very fine capabilities; but days the only proofs and arguments that are you should clear the wood to the left, and clump the trees upon the right. In short, the Es. We let nature take her course; our L. Chalk. I beg your pardon there-No man has ever studied or drank harder than I have -except my chaplain; and I'll match my library and cellar against any nobleman's in christendom-shan't I, Bowman, ch? Bow. That you may, indeed, my lord; go your lordship's halves. Ha, ha, ha! Es. If your lordship will apply more to the first, and drink our waters to forget the last [GARRICK. num, as their loving parents have done before them. if that is not your lordship's nephew in the Bow. Look there! my lord-I'll be hanged, grove. Es. I dare swear it is. He has been here just notions. now, and has entertained me with his elegant four, that he has been gallanting with some L. Chalk. Let us go to him; I'll lay six to Cleopatra, I warrant you! of the beauties of antiquitity-Helen_or cretia take care of herself; she'll catch a Tarquin, I can tell her that. He is his uncle's -Egad, let Luown nephew, ha, ha, ha! Egad, I find myself in spirits; I'il go and coquet a little myand I'll self with them. Bowman, lend me your arm; and you, William, hold me up a little-[WILfellow, he always treads upon my toes-Eugh LIAM treads upon his toes.]- -Ho! damn the What-Well, dear philosopher, dispose of your wa-I shan't be able to gallant it this half hour. action of my life, or qualification of my mind ters to those that want it. There is no one is nothing in your world, or in ours, I have and body. that is a burden to me and there to wish for, unless that you could rid me of my wife, and furnish me with a better pair along. of legs-Eh, Bowman!--Come along, come L. Chalk. What, relinquish my bottle! the devil shall I do to kill time then? Æs. Has your lordship no wife or children to entertain you? L. Chalk. Children! not I, faith; my wife has, for aught I know. I have not seen her these seven years Es. You surprise me ! We L. Chalk. "Tis the way of the world, for all that. -I married for a fortune; she for a title. When we both had got what we wanted, the sooner we parted the better. did so; and are now waiting for the happy moment, that will give to one of us the liberty of playing the same farce over again;-eh, Bowman! Bow. Good, good; you have puzzled the philosopher. Es. The Greeks esteemed matrimonial happiness their summum bonum. L. Chalk. More fools they! 'tis not the only thing they were mistaken in. My brother Dick, indeed, married for love; and he and his wife have been fattening these five and twenty years, upon their summum bonum, as you call it. They have had a dozen and a half of children, and may have half a dozen more, if an apoplexy don't step in, end interrupt their summum bonum-Eh, Bowman? Ha, ha, ha! Bow. Your lordship never said a better thing in your life. L. Chalk. 'Tis lucky for the nation, to be sure, that there are people who breed, and are fond of one another. One man of elegant notions is sufficient in a family for which reason, I have bred up Dick's eldest son myself; and a fine gentleman he is—is not he,Bowman? Bow. A very fine gentleman, indeed, my lord. L. Chalk. And as for the rest of the litter, they may fondle and fatten upon summum bo 4 Bow. Game to the last, my lord! [Exeunt LORD CHALKSTONE and BOWMAN. here, supported only by vanity, vivacity, and Es. How flattering is folly! His lordship his friend Mr. Bowman, can fancy himself the wisest, and is the happiest of mortals. man Enter MR. and MRS. TATOO. Mrs. Tat. Why don't you come along, Mr. Tatoo? what the deuce are you afraid of? Es. Don't be angry, young lady: the gentleis your What, you an't all conjurers in this world, are husband, I suppose? Mrs. Tat. How do you know that, eh?— you? proof of his condition, without the gift of conEs. Your behaviour to him is a sufficient juration. Mrs. Tat. Why I was as free with him before dish in my life. marriage, as I am now: I never was coy or pru have you been married? You seem to be very Es. I believe you, madam; pray, how long young, lady. and have been married long enough to be tired Mrs. Tat. I am old enough for a husband, of one. Es. How long, pray? Mr. Tatoo without my guardian's consent. Mrs. Tat. What signifies what you think, if I don't think so? We are quite tired of one another, and are come to drink some of your Le-Lethaly—Lethily, I think they call it, to forget one another, and be unmarried again. every body, and loves nobody; ridicules her friends, coquets with her lovers, sets them together by the ears, tells fibs, makes mischief, buys china, cheats at cards, keeps a pug dog,' and hates the parsons; she laughs much, talks loud, never blushes, says what she will, does what she will, goes where she will, marries Es. The waters can't divorce you, madam; and you may easily forget him, without the as-whom she pleases, hates her husband in a month, sistance of Lethe. Mrs. Tat. What signifies what he says! I an't so young and so foolish as that comes to, to be directed by my husband, or to care what either he says, or you say. Mr. Tat. Sir, I was a drummer in a marching regiment, when I ran away with that young lady I immediately bought out of the corps, and thought myself made for ever: little imagining, that a poor vain fellow was purchasing fortune, at the expense of his happiness. Es. 'Tis even so, friend; fortune and felicity are as often at variance, as man and wife. Mr. Tat. I found it so, sir: this high life (as I thought it) did not agree with me; I have not laughed, and scarcely slept since my advancement; and unless your wisdom can alter her notions, I must e'en quit the blessings of a fine lady and her portion; and, for content, have recourse to eight-pence a day, and my drum again. Es. Pray, who has advised you to a separation? Mrs. Tat. Several young ladies of my acquaintance, who tell me, they are not angry at me for marrying him; but being fond of him now I have married him; and they say I should be as complete a fine lady as any of them, if I would but procure a separate divorce ment. Es. Pray, madam, will you let me know what you call a fine lady? Mrs. Tat. Why, a fine lady, and a fine gentleman, are two of the finest things upon earth. Es. I have just now had the honour of knowing what a fine gentleman is; so pray confine yourself to the lady. Mrs. Tut. A fine lady, before marriage, lives with her papa and mamma, who breed her up till she learns to despise them, and resolves to do nothing they bid her; this makes her such a prodigious favourite, that she wants for nothing. Es. So, lady. breaks his heart in four, becomes a widow, slips from her gallants, and begins the world againThere's a life for you! what do you think of a fine lady now? Æs. As I expected, you are very young, lady; and if you are not very careful, your natural propensity to noise and affectation will run you headlong into folly, extravagance, and repentance. Mrs. Tat. What would you have me do? Es. Drink a large quantity of Lethe to the loss of your acquaintance; and do you, sir, drink another to forget this false step of your wife; for whilst you remember her folly, you can never thoroughly regard her; and whilst you keep good company, lady, as you call it, and follow their example, you can never have a just regard for your husband; so both drink and be happy. Mrs. Tut. Well, give it me whilst I am in the humour, or I shall certainly change my mind again. Es. Be patient, till the rest of the company drink, and divert yourself, in the mean time, with walking in the grove. Mrs. Tat. Well, come along, husband, and keep me in humour, or I shall beat you such an alarin as you never beat in all your life. [Exeunt MR. and MRS. TATOO. Enter Frenchman, singing. French. Monsieur, votre serviteur-Pourquoi ne repondez vous pas? je dis que je suis votre serviteur Æs. I don't understand you, sir. French. Ah, le barbare! il ne parle pas François. Vat, sir, you no speak de French tongue? Es. No really, sir, I am not so polite. French. En verité, Monsieur Esop, you have not much politesse, if one may judge by your figure and appearance. Es. Nor you much wisdom, if one may judge of your head, by the ornaments about it. French. Qu'est cela donc? Vat you mean to front a man, sir? Es. No, sir, 'tis to you I am speaking. French. Vel, sir, I not a man! vat is you take me for? Vat I beast? vat 1 horse? par Mrs. Tut. When once she is her own mis- bleu ! tress, then comes the pleasure! Es. Pray let us hear. Mrs. Tat. She lies in bed all morning, rattles about all day, and sets up all night; she goes every where, and sees every thing; knows upon Es. If insist you it, sir, I would advise you to lay aside your wings and tail, for they undoubtedly eclipse your manhood. French. Upon my vard, sir, if you treat a gentilhomme of my rank and qualité comme ça, |