her face with his fins, till the poor devil fell into | delicate creature she is: sweet as a sugarcane, a fit. He, ha, ha! straight as a bamboo, and her teeth as white as a negro's Young. Oh, an absolute Rabelais! Bev. What, I reckon, Sir Peter, you are going to the squire ? Bev. Poetic, but true. Now only conceive, Sir Peter, such a plantation of perfection to be Sir Pet. Yes; I extremely admire Sir Tho-devoured by by that caterpillar, Rust. mas: you know this is his day of assembly; I suppose you will be there? I can tell you, you are a wonderful favourite. Bev. Am I? Sir Pet. He says your natural genius is fine; and, when polished by his cultivation, will surprise and astonish the world. Bev. I hope, sir, I shall have your voice with the public? Sir Pet. Mine! O fie Mr. Bever! Bev. Come, come, you are no inconsiderable patron. Sir Pet. He, he, he! Can't say but I love to encourage the arts. Bev. And have contributed largely yourself. Young. What, is sir Peter an author? Sir Pet. O fie! what, me? a mere dabbler; have blotted my fingers, 'tis true. Some sonnets, that have not been thought wanting in salt. Bev. And your epigrams. Sir Pet. Not entirely without point. Bev. But come, sir Peter, the love of the arts is not the sole cause of your visits to the house you are going to. Sir Pet. I don't understand you. Bev. Miss Juliet, the niece. Sir Pet. O fie! what chance have I there? Indeep, if lady Pepperpot should happen to pop off Bev. I don't know that. You are, Sir Peter, a dangerous man: and, were I a father or uncle, I should not be a little shy of your visits. Sir Pet. Psha! dear Bever, you banter ! Bev. And unless I am extremely out in my guess, that lady— Sir Pet. Hey! what, what, dear Bever? Sir Pet. A liquorish grub! Are pine-apples for such muckworms as he? I'll send him a jar of citrons and ginger, and poison the pipkin. Bev. No, no. Sir Pet. Or invite him to dinner, and mix rat's-bane along with his curry. Bev. Not so precipitate: I think we may defeat him without any danger. Sir Pet. How, how? Bev. I have a thought-but we must settle the plan with the lady. Could not you give her the hint that I should be glad to see her a moment. Sir Pet. I'll do it directly. Bev. But don't let Sir Thomas perceive you. Sir Pet. Never fear. You'll follow? Bev. The instant I have settled matters with her; but fix the old fellow, so that she may not be missed. Sir Pet. I'll nail him, I warrant; I have his opinion to bcg on this manuscript. Bev. Your own? Sir Pet. Gone. You know he was to dedecate his volume of fables to me: so I gave him thirty pounds to get my arms engraved, to prefix (by way of print) to the frontispiece; and, O grief of griefs! the doctor has moved off with the money. I'll send you Miss Juliet. [Exit. Bev. There, now, is a special protector? the arts I think, can't but flourish under such a Mæcenas. Young. Heaven visits with a taste the wealthy Sir Pet. May I never eat a bit of green fat if fool. I do? Bev. Hints have been dropped. Sir Pet. The devil! Come a little this way. Bev. Well-made: not robust and gigantic, 'tis true; but extremely genteel. Sir Pet. Indeed! Bev. True; but then to justify the dispensation, From hence the poor are clothed, the hungry fed; Fortunes to booksellers, to authors bred. Young. The distribution is, I own, a little unequal; and here comes a melancholy instancepoor Dick Dactyl, and his publisher, Puff. Enter DACTYL and PUFF. Puff. Why, then, Mr. Dactyl, carry them to somebody else; there are people enough in the trade. But I wonder you would meddle with poetry; you know it rarely pays for the paper. Dac. And how can one help it, Mr. Puff? genius impels; and when a man is once listed in the service of the muses Puff. Why, let him give them warning as soon as he can. A pretty sort of service indeed, where there are neither wages nor vails! The muses! And what, I suppose this is the livery they give! Gadzooks, I had rather be a waiter at Ranelagh. Bev. The poet and publisher are at variance! What is the matter, Mr. Dactyl? Dac. As Gad shall judge me, Mr. Bever, as pretty a poem, and so polite! not a mortal can take any offence; all full of panegyric and praise. Puff. A fine character he gives of his works! No offence! the greatest in the world, Mr. Dactyl. Panegyric and praise! and what will that do with the public? why, who the devil will give money to be told, that Mr. Such-a-one is a wiser or better man than himself? No, no; 'tis quite clean out of nature. A good sousing satire now, well powdered with personal pepper, and seasoned with the spirit of party; that demolishes a conspicuous character, and sinks him below our own level; there, there, we are pleased! there we chuckle and grin, and toss the half-crowns on the counter. Dac. Yes, and so get cropped for a libel. Puff. Cropped! ay, and the luckiest thing that can happen to you. Why, I would not give twopence for an author that is afraid of his ears. Writing, writing is (as I may say), Mr. Dactyl, a sort of warfare, where none can be victor that is the least afraid of a scar. Why, zooks, sir, I never got salt to my porridge till I mounted at the royal exchange! Bev. Indeed! Puff. No, no: that was the making of me. Then my name made a noise in the world. Talk of forked hills, and of Helicon! romantic and fabulous stuff! the true Castalian stream is a shower of eggs, and a pillory the poet's Par nassus. Duc. Ay, to you, indeed, it may answer; but what do we get for our pains? Puff. His physic! Dac. My physic! ay, my physic! Why, dare you deny it, you rascal! what have you forgot my powders for flatulent crudities? Puff. No. Dac. My cosmetic lozenge, and sugar plumbs? Puff. No. Duc. My coral for cutting of teeth, my potions, my lotions, my pregnancy drops, with my paste for superfluous hairs? Puff. No, no; have you done. Dac. No, no, no! but I believe this will suffice for the present. Puff. Now, would not any mortal believe that I owed my all to this fellow? Bev. Why, indeed, Mr. Puff, the balance does seem in his favour. Puff. In his favour! why you don't give any credit to him? a reptile, a bug, that owes his very being to me. Dac. I, I, I! Dac. Fiction ! Puff. You, you! What I suppose you forget your garret in Wine-office-court, when you furPuff. Why, what the deuce would you get!nished paragraphs for the Farthing post at food, fire, and fame. Why you would not grow twelvepence a dozen? fat! a corpulent poet is a monster, a prodigy! No, no spate diet is a spur to the fancy; high feeding would but founder your Pegasus. Dac. Why, you impudent, illiterate rascal! who is it you dare treat in this manner? Puff. Hey-day, what is the matter now? Dac. And is this the return for all the obligations you owe me? But no matter-the world, the world shall know what you are, and how you have used me. Puff. Do your worst; I despise you. Dac They shall be told from what a dunghill you sprang. Gentlemen, if there be faith in a sinner, that fellow owes every shilling to me. Puff. To thee! Dac. Ay, sirrah, to me. In what kind of way did I find you? when, where and what was your state? Gentlemen, his shop was a shed in Moorfields; his kitchen, a broken pipkin of charcoal; and his bedchamber under the counter. Puff. I never was fond of expense; I ever minded my trade. Puff. Then did not I get you made collector of casualties to the Whitehall and St. James's? but that post your laziness lost you. Gentlemen, he never brought them a robbery till the high wayman was going to be hanged; a birth, till the christening was over; no death, till the hatchment was up. Dac. Mighty well! Puff. And now, because the fellow has got a little in flesh, by being puff to the play-house this winter (to which, by the by, I got him appointed), he is as proud and as vain as Voltaire. But I shall soon bave him under! the vacation will come. Dac. Let it. Puff. Then I shall have him sneaking and cringing, hanging about me, and begging a bit of translation. Duc. I beg, I, for translation ! Puff. No, no, not a line; not if you would do it for two-pence a sheet. No boiled beef and carrot at mornings; no more cold pudding and porter. You may take your leave of my shop. Dac. Your shop! then at parting I will leave you a legacy. Beo. O fie, Mr. Dactyl! Dac. Pray gentlemen, let me do myself justice! Bev. Younger, restrain the publisher's fire. Young. Fie, gentlemen! such an illiberal combat! it is a scandal to the republic of letters. Bev. Mr. Dactyl, an old man, a mechanic, beneath- SCENE I. Enter BEVER and YOUNGER. ACT II. Young. Poor Dactyl! and dwell such mighty rage in little men? I hope there is little danger of bloodshed? Bev. Oh, not in the least: the gens vatum, the nation of poets, though an irritable, are yet a placable people. Their mutual interests will soon bring them together again. Young. But shall not we be too late? The critical senate is by this time assembled. Bev. I warrant, you, frequent and full, where Stately Bufo, puffe by every quill, But you know I must wait for Miss Lofty: I am now totally directed by her; she gives me the key to all Sir Thomas's foibles, and prescribes the most proper method to feed them: but what good purpose that will produce Young. Is she clever, adroit? Bev. Doubtless. I like your asking the question of me. Young. Then pay an implicit obedience: the ladies, in these cases generally know what they are about. The door opens. Bed. It is Juliet, and with her old Rust.You know the knight, so no introduction is wanted.-[Exit YOUNGER.]—I should be glad to hear this reverend piece of lumber make love; the courtship must certainly be curious. Good manners, stand by; by your leave, I will listen a little. [BEVER retires. Enter JULIET and RUST. Jul. And your collection is large? Rust. Most curious and capital. When, madam, will you give me leave to add your charms to the catalogue? Jul. O dear! Mr. Rust, I shall but disgrace it. Besides, sir, when I marry, I am resolved to have my husband all to myself: now, for the possession of your heart I shall have too many competitors. Rust. How, madam? were Prometheus alive and would animate the Helen that stands in my hall, she should not cost me a sigh. Jul. Ay, sir, their lies my greatest misfortune. Had I only those who are alive to contend with, by assiduity, affections, cares, and caresses, I might secure my conquest, though that would be difficult; for, I am convinced, were you, Mr. Rust, put up by Prestage to Auction, the Apolio Belvidere would not draw a greater number of bidders. Rust. Marry! what, marble! our rank in the skies, and wish to be treated as your Portia or Flora, your Fum-Fam from mortals. China, or your Egyptian Osiris. You have long Rust. Doubtless, madam; and are you want-paid your addresses to them. ing in materials for that? No, madam, as in dignity you surpass the heathen divinities, so, in the charms of attraction, you beggar the queens of the earth. The whole world, at different periods, has contributed its several beauties to form you. Jul. The deuce it has ! Jul. The properest wives in the world; you can't choose amiss; they will supply you with all that you want. Rust. Your uncle has, madam consented. Jus. That is more than ever his niece will. [Aside. Consented! and to what? to be swathed to a Rust. See there, the ripe Asiatic perfection, mouldering mummy? or be locked up like your joined to the delicate softness of Europe! In medals, to canker and rust in a cabinet? No, you madam, I burn to possess Cleopatra's al-no; I was made for the world, and the world Juring glances, the Greek profile of queen shall not be robbed of its right. Clitemnestra, the Roman nose of the empress Pompæa. Jul. With the majestic march of queen Bess. Mercy on me what a wonderful creature am I Rast. In short, madam, not a feature you have, but recals to my mind some trait in a medal or bust. Jul. Indeed! why by your account. I must be an absolute olio, a perfect salmagundy of charms. Rust. Oh, madam, how can you demean, as I may say, undervalue. Jul. Value! there is the thing! and to tell you the truth, Mr. Rust, in that word, value, lies my greatest objection. Rust. I don't understand you. Jul. Why then, I'll explain myself. It has been said, and I believe with some shadow of truth, that no man is a hero to his valet de chambre; now I am afraid, when you and I grow a little more intimate, which I suppose must be the case if you proceed on your plan, you will be horribly disappointed in your high expectations, and soon discover this Juno, this Cleopatra, and Princess Pompæa, to be as arrant a mortal, as madam your mother. Rust. Madam, I, I, I— Jul, Your patience a moment. Being therefore desirous to preserve your devotion, I beg, for the future, you would please to adore at a distance. Rust. To Endymion, madam, Luna once lis Bev. Bravo, Juliet! gad, she's a fine spirited girl! Jul. My profile, indeed! No, sir; when I marry I must have a man that will meet me full face. Rust. Might I be heard for a moment? Jul. To what end? You say you have Sir Thomas Lofty's consent; I tell you, you can never have mine. You may screen me from, or expose me to, my uncle's resentment; the choice is your own: if you lay the fault at my door, you will doubtless greatly distress me; but take the blame on yourself, and I shall own myself extremely obliged to you. Rust. How! contess myself in the fault? Jul. Av; for the best thing a man can do, when he finds he can't be beloved, is to take care he is not heartily hated. There is no other alternative. Rust. Madam, I shan't break my word with sir Thomas. Jul. Nor I with myself. So there's an end of our conference. Sir, your very obedient. Rust. Madam, I, I, don't-that is, let me But no matter. Your servant. [Exit. Jul. Ha, ha, ha ! Enter BEVER from behind. Bev. Ha, ha, ha! Incomparable Juliet! how the old dotard trembled and tottered! he could not have been more inflamed, had he been robbed of his Otho. Jul. Ay; was ever goddess so familiarly used? In my conscience, I began to be afraid that he would treat me as the Indians do their dirty divinities; whenever they are deaf to their prayer's they beat and abuse them. Bev. But, after all, we are in an aukward si tuation. Jul. How so? Bev. I have my fears. Bev, Your uncle has resolved that you shallbe married to Rust. Jul. Ay, he may decree; but it is I that must execute. Ber. But suppose he has given his word? Jul. Or, if you must marry, take your Julia, | rage enough. Jul. To say no? That requires much resolu- | smart, satyrical epigram: new, and prettily tion indeed! Bev. Then I am at the height of my hopes. Jul. Your hopes! Your hopes and your fears are ill-founded alike. Bev. Why, you are determined not to be his? Jul. Well, and what then? Bev. What then? why, then you will be mine. Jul. Indeed! and is that the natural consequence? whoever wont be his, must be yours? Is that the logic of Oxford? Bev. Madam I did flatter myself Jul. Then you did very wrong, indeed, Mr. Bever; you should ever guard against flattering yourself; for, of all dangerous parasites, Belf is the worst. Bev. I am astonished! Jul. Astonished! you are mad, I believe! Why, I have not known you above a month. It is true my uncle says your father is his friend; your fortune in time, will be easy; your figure is not remarkably faulty; and as to your understanding, passable enough for a young fellow, who has not seen much of the world: but when one talks of a husband-Lord, 'tis quite another sort of a-Ha, ha, ha? Poor Bever, how he stares! he stands like a statue! Bev. Statue! Indeed, inadam, I am very near petrified. Jul. Even then, you will make as good a husband as Rust. But go, run, and join the assembly within; be attentive to every word, motion, and look of my uncle's; be dumb, when he speaks; admire all he says; laugh, when he smirks; bow, when he sneezes; In short, fawn, flatter and cringe; don't be afraid of overloading his stomach; for the knight has a noble digestion, and you will find some there, who will keep you in countenance. Bev. I fly. So, then, Juliet, your intention was only to try pointed; in short, a production, that Martial himself would not have.blushed to acknowledge. Rust. Your own, Sir Thomas? Sir Tho. O, fie! no, sent me this morning, anonymous. Dac. Pray, Sir Thomas, let us have it! TO PHILLIS. Think'st thou, fond Phillis, Strephon told thee true, Angels are painted fair to look like you? All. Fine! fine! very fine! Dac. Such an ease and simplicity! Sir Tho. Yes, I think it possesess in an eminent degree, the three epigramatical requisites; brevity, familiarity, and severity. Phillis paints fair to look like an an-gel. Dac. Happy! Is the Phillis, the subject, a secret? Sir Tho. Oh, dear me ! nothing personal; no ; an impromptu; a mere jeu d'esprit. Puff. Then, Sir Thomas, the secret is out: it is your own. Dac. That was obvious enough. Puff. Who is there else could have wrote it? Rust. True, true! Sir Tho. The name of the author is needless. So it is an acquisition to the republic of letters, any gentleman may claim the merit that will. Puff. What a noble contempt! Rust. Scipio and Lælius were the Roman Jul. Don't plague me with impertinent ques-Lofty's, Why, I dare believe Sir Thomas has tions; march; obey my directions. We must leave the issue to chance; a greater friend to mankind than they are willing to own. Oh, if any thing new should occur, you may come into the drawing.room for further instructions. [Exeunt severally. been the making of half the authors in town: he is, as I may say, the great manufacturer: the other poets are but pedlars, that live by retailing his wares. All. Ha, ha, ha! well observed, Mr. Rust! Sir Tho. Ha, ha, ha! Molle atque factum.Why, to pursue the metaphor, if Sir Thomas Lofty was to call in his poetical debts, I believe SCENE II.-A room in SIR THOMAS LOFTY'S there would be a good many bankrupts in the house. Muse's Gazette. Sir Tho. But, a propos, gentlemen: with reSIR THOMAS, RUST, PUFF, DACTYL, and others gard to the eclipse: you found my calculation discovered sitting. exact? Dac. To a digit. Sir Tho. Total darkness, indeed! and birds going to roost! Those philomaths, those almanack-makers are the most ignorant rascals Puff. It is amazing where Sir Thomas Lofty stores all his knowledge. Dac. It is wonderful how the mind of man can contain it. Sir Tho. Why to tell you the truth, that circum |