Fil. Ay, zure-thee dost know her well little tender for zure, but I warrant un he'll mak a shift to hobble into the room. enow. John. The same. Fil. Zure, zure! then we shall have odd doings by and by: he's a deadly wild spark thee dost know John. But as good a customer as comes to the Bear. Fil. That's zure enough: then, why dost not run and light them in? Stay, gy I the candle, I woole go, and light 'em ia myzelf. RACKET without. Rac. Give the post-boys half a guinea between them. John. Ay, there is some life in this chap! these are your guests that give spirit to Bath: your parylytical people, that come down to be parboiled and pumped, do no good, that I know, to the town, unless indeed to the physical tribe. How I hate to see an old fellow hobble into the house, with his feet wrapt in flannel, pushing forth his fingers like a cross in the hands to point out the different roads on a commonhush! Enter RACKET and FILLUP. Fil. I hope, mester, you do zee your way; there be two steps you do know; well, zure, I be heartily glad to see your honour at Bath. Rac. 1 thank you, my honest friend Fillup; what, have you many people in town? Fil. There ben't a power, please your honour, at present; some zick folk, that do no sort of zarvis, and a few layers that be come off a zireuit, that's all. Rac. Birds of passage, ha, Fillup? John. True, sir; for at the beginning of term, when the wookcocks come in, the others fly off. Rac. Are you there, honest Jack? John. And happy to see your honour in town. Rac. Well, master Fillup, aud how go you on? -Any clubs fixed as yet? [Exit. FILLUP. Rac. Well, Jack, and how fares it with you? you have throve, I hope, since I saw you? John. Throve! no, no, sir; your honour knows that during the summer, taverns and turnspits have but little to do at Bath. Rac. True; but what is become of your colleague, honest Ned? I hope he has not quitted his place? John. The share he had in your honour's intrigue with Miss Prim, soon made this city too hot for poor Ned. Rac. Then why did not the fool go to London with me! The fellow has humour, spirit, and sings a good song. I intended to have recommended hin to one of the theatres. John. Why, sir, Ned himself had a bias that way but his uncle, alderman Surcingle the saddler, a piece of a puritan, would not give his consent. Rac. Why not? John. He was afraid that kind of life might corrupt or endanger Ned's morals; so he has set him up in a bagnio at the end of LongAcre. Rac. Nay, if the fellow falls after such a security Sir Chr. [Without.] At what a rate the rascal is running; Zounds! I believe the fellow thinks I can foot it as fast as Eclipse; slower and be-Where is this rakely rantipole?—— Jack, set me a chair. So, sir; you must possess a good share of assurance to return to this town after the trick you have played-Fillup, fetch in the punch Enter SIR CHRISTOPHER CRIPPLE, FILLUP, and PETER POULTICE. Well you ungracious young dog, and what is become of the wench? Poor Patty! and here too my_reputation is ruined, as well as the girl's. Rac. Your reputation! that's a good jest. Sir Chr. Yes, sirrah, it is; and all owing to my acquaintance with you; I, forsooth, am callyour adviser! as if your contriving head and profligate heart stood in need of any assistance from me. Fil. No, zir, not to zay fixed; there be parson Pulruddock from the Land's End; Mastered Evan Thomas, a Welch attorney, two Bristol men, and a few port drinking people that dine every day in the Lion; the claret club ben't expected down till the end of next week.— Rac. Any body in the house that I know ? Fil. Yes, zure-behind the bar, there be sir Christopher Cripple, fresh out of a fit of the gout, drinking a drop of punch along wi mester Peter Poultice, the potter carrier on the Parade. Rac. The gazettes of Bath, the very men 1 want; give my compliments to the gentlemen, and tell them I should be glad of their company -but perhaps it may be troublesome for si Christopher? Fil. No, no, not at all; at present he is a Rac. Well, but my dear sir Kit, how can this idle stuff affect you? Sir Chr. How? easy enough; I will be judged now by Poultice-Peter, speak the truth; before this here blot in my escutcheon, have you not observed when I went to either a ball or breakfasting, how eager all the girls gathered round me, gibing, and joking, and giggling; gad take me, as facetious and free as if I were their father. Poul. Nothing but truth. Fil. That's truth, to my zertain knowledge, for I have zeen the women folk tittering till they were ready to break their zides when your ho nour was throwing your double tenders about. Sir Chr. True, honest Fillup-before your curst affair, neither maid, widow, or wife was ashamed of conversing with me: but now, when I am wheeled into the room, not a soul under seventy will venture within ten yards of my chair; I am shunned worse than a leper in the days of king Lud; an absolute hermit in the midst of a croud. Speak, Fillup, is not this a melancholy truth? Fil. Very molycholly zure. Sir Chr. But this is not all; the crop-eared culls of the city have taken into their empty heads to neglect me; formerly Mr. Mayor could not devour a custard, but I received a civil card to partake; but, now the rede rascals, in their bushy bobs, brush by me without deigning to bow; in short, I do not believe I have had a corporation crust in my mouth for these six months. You might as well expect a minister of state at the Mansion House, as see me at one of their feasts. Fil. His honour tells nothing but truth. Rac. Well, then, my dear sir Christopher, adieu! but, if we must part, let us part as friends should, not with dry lips, and in anger; Fillup, take care of the knight. [FILLUP fills the glasses.] Well, faith, my old croney, I can't say but I am heartily sorry to lose you; many a brave batch have we broached in our time. Sir Chr. True, Tom; true! Rac. Don't you remember the bout we had at the Tuns, in the days of Plump Jack? I shall never forget, after you had felled old Falstaff with a pint bumper of burgundy, how you bestrode the prostrate hero, and in his own manner cried, Crown me, ye spirits, that delight in generous wine!" Sir Chr. Vanity, mere vanity, Tom! nothing but vanity! Rac. And then, another day at the -but replenish, Fillup; the bowl is not empty. Sir Chr. Enough, enough! Rac. What, don't flinch, man! it is but to fi nish the Come, sir Christopher, oue tender Sir Chr. So that I am almost famished as squeeze! well as forsaken. ter. Sir Chr. Take care of my hand: none of Fil. Quite famished, as a body may zay, mes-your old tricks, you young dog! Sir Chr. Oh! Tom, Tom, you have been a cursed acquaintance to me! what a number of fine turtle and fat haunches of venison has your wickedness lost me! Rac. My dear sir Kit, for this I merit your thanks; how often has Dr. Carawitchet told you, that your rich food and champaigne would produce nothing but poor health and real pain? Sir Chr. What signifies the prattle of such a punning puppy as he! What, I suppose you would starve me, you scoundrel? When I am got out of one fit, how the devil am I to gather strength to encounter the next? Do you think it is to be done by sipping and slopping? [Drinks.] But no matter; look you, major Racket, all be tween us is now at an end; and sir, I should consider it as a particular favour, if you would take no further notice of me; I sincerely desire to drop your acquaintance; and, as for myself, I am fixed, positively fixed, to reform. Rac. Reform-ha, ha! Sir Chr. Ha, ha, ha! you may laugh, but I'll be damned if I don't! and, if all this don't recover my credit, I am determined, besides, to hire a house in Harlequin-Row, and be a constant hearer at the countess's chapel- Rac. Gentle as the lick of a lap-dog! thereWhat a clock is it Fiilup? Fill. I'll tell you, mester, [Looks on his watch.] just turned a zix Rac. So soon! hang it sir Kit! it is too early to part; come, what say you to one supper more? but one to the sacred feelings of friendship-honest Fillup knows your taste, he will toss you up a Sir Chr. Not a morsel, Tom, if you would give me the universe. Rac. Poh, man! only a Sandwich or soFillup, what hast got in the house? Fill. A famous John Dorey, two pair of soles, and there be a joint of Lansdown mutton; and, then, you do know, my Molly be vamous in making inarrow-puddings. Rac. A fine bill of fare! Come, knight, what do you choose? Sir Chr. Me! why you seem to have forgot what I told you just now Rac. Your design to reform- -not at alland I think you quite right; perfectly so, as I hope to be saved; but what needs all this hurry? to-morrow is a new day; it will then be ear ly enough- —Fillup, send us in just what you will. Fill. I shall, to be zure. Rac. So, that's settled-now, Poultice, come forward: well, my blades, and what news have you stirring amongst you? Poul. Except a little run of sore throats about Rac. And so, perhaps, turn out a field preach-the beginning of autumn, and a few feeble fel er in time? Sir Chr, I don't know but I may. lows, that diopt off with the leaves of October, the town is intolerable hard, with the opportunities that this place will afford, if in less than a month I don't Sir Chr. This place! why you don't think he'll trust her here for an hour? Rac. How! Sir Chr. Not a moment; the scheme is all settled; the rumbling old family-coach carries her immediately from the church door to his moated, haunted old house in the country. Rac. Indeed! Sir Chr. Where, besides the Argus himself, she will be watched by no less than two brace of his sisters, four as malicious, musty old maids, as ever were soured by solitude, and the neglect Sir Chr. Ten thousand times worse than all of the world. that. Rac. How the deuce can that be? Sir Chr. Just going to be buried alive-to be married! Rac. Poh! is that all! That ceremony was, indeed, formerly looked upon as a kind of metaphysical grave, but the system is changed, and marriage is now considered as an entrance to a new and better kind of life. Sir Chr. Indeed! Rac. Pshaw! who talks now of the drudgery of domestic duties, of nuptial chains, and of bonds-mere obsolete words; they did well enough in the dull days of Queen Bess; but a modern lass puts on fetters to enjoy the more freedom, and pledges her faith to one, that she may be at liberty to bestow her favours on all. Sir Chr. What vast improvements are daily made in our morals! what an unfortunate dog am I, to come into the world at least half a century too soon! what would I give to be born twenty years hence! there will be damned fine doings, then, hey, Tom! But I'm afraid our poor little girl won't have it in her power to profit by these prodigious improvements. Rac. Why not? Sir Chr. Oh, when once you hear the name of her partner Rac. Who is it? Rac. Why, he is sixty at least; what a filthy old goat! but, then, how does this design suit with his avarice? the girl has no fortune. Sir Chr. No more than what her talents will give her. Rac. Why, the poltroon does not mean to profit by them? Sir Chr. Perhaps, if his family should chance to increase-but I believe his main motive is the hopes of an heir. Rac. For which he must be indebted to some of his neighbours; in that point of light, indeed, the matter is not so much amiss; it is impossible she can be fond of the fellow; and it is very Rac. A guard not to be corrupted or cozened. Why, Sir Christopher, in a christian country, this must not be suffered-What! a miserable tattered old fellow like him to monopolize such a tempting creature as her! Sir Chr. A diabolical plan! Rac. Besides, the secluding and immuring a girl possessed of her elegant talents, is little better than robbing the world. Sir Chr. Infamous! worse than a rape! but where are the means to prevent it? Rac. Much might be done, if you would lend us your aid. Sir Chr. Me! of what use can I-and so, you rascal, you want to employ me again as your pimp? Rac. You take the thing wrong; I only wish you to stand forth, my dear knight, and, like myself, be the protector of innocence, and a true friend to the public. Sir Chr. A true friend to the public! a fine stalking horse that! but I fear, like other pretenders, Tom, when your own private purpose is served, the poor public will be left in the lurch: but, however, the poor girl does deserve to be saved, and if I could do any thing not inconsistent with iny plan of reforming -upon Rac. That was spoke like yourselfwhat terms are you and Flint at present? Sir Chr. Oil and vinegar are not so opposite. Rac. Poultice, you smoke a pipe with him sometimes; pray, who are your party? Poul. Mynheer Sour Crout, Monsieur de Jarsey, the port manufacturer, Billy Button, the tailor, Master Flint, and I, most evenings take a whiff here. Rac. Are you all in his confidence on this great occasion? Poul. Upon this case we have had consultations: but Billy Button is first in his favour; he likes his prescription the best. Rac. From this quarter we must begin the attack. Could we not contrive to convene this illustrious senate to-night? Poul. I should think easily enough. Rac. My dear Poultice, will you undertake the commission?. Poul. I will feel their pulses, to oblige Sir | but-the gentlemen within-stay-who have we Christopher Cripple. here-Ah, my old friend Master Button Sir Chr. But, Peter, dost really think this rash fool is determined? Enter BUTTON. Poul. I believe, Sir Christopher, he is firmly But. Your worship is welcome to town-but persuaded, that nothing will allay this uncom-where is Sir-Oh-I understood as how your mon heat in his blood, but swallowing the pill matrimonial. Rac. We must contrive at least to take off the gilding, and see what effect that will have on his courage. [Exit POULTICE. Sir Chr. Well, major, unfold; what can you mean by this meeting? Rac. Is it possible you can be at a loss, you, who have so long studied mankind! Sir Chr. Explain. Rac. Can't you conceive what infinite struggles must have been felt by this fellow, before he could muster up courage to engage in this dreadful, perilous state? How often have you heard the proverbial puppy affirm, that marriage was fishing for a single eel among a barrel of snakes? What infinite odds, that you laid hold of the eel, and then a million to one but he slipt through your fingers? Sir. Chr. True, true! honour had sent for me all in a hurry. I should have brought the patterns before, if I had them; the worst of my enemies can't say but Billy Button is punctual; here they be! I received them to-night by Wiltshire's waggon, that flies in eight days. Sir Chr. To-morrow, Billy, will do; take a seat. But. I had rather stand Sir Chr. I wanted to talk to you upon another affairwhat, I suppose, you are very busy at present? But. Vast busy, your honour. Sir Chr. This marriage, I reckon, takes up most of your time? But. Your honour? Rac. Miss Linnet, and your old master Flint you know. But. Oh, ay! but the squire does not intend to cut a dash till the spring. Sir Chr. No! nothing happened? I hope affairs are all fixed? But. As a rock; I am sure now, it cannot fail; because why I have peremptory orders to scour and new line the coachman and footman's old frocks; and am, besides, to turn the lace, and fresh button the suit his honour made up twenty years ago comes next Lent, when he was sheriff for the county. Rac. Nay, then, it is determined. But. Or he would never have gone to such an expence. Sir Chr. Well, Billy! and what is your private opinion, after all, of this match? But. It is not becoming, your honour knows, for a tradesman like me to give his Rac. Why not? don't you think now, Billy, it is a bold undertaking for a man at his time of life? But. Why, to be sure, his honour is a little stricken in years, as a body may say; and take all the care that one can, time will wear the nap from even superfine cloth: stitches tear, and elbows will out, as they say. Sir Chr. And besides, Bill, the bride's a Fill. Here be Mynheer Sour Crout and Mon-mere baby! seer De Jarsey a come. Sir Chr. We will attend thein-only think, Tom, what a villain you will be to make me the secret instrument of any more mischief! Rac. Never fear. Sir Chr. Particularly, too, now I am fixed to reform. But. Littte better, your honour! but she is a light bit of stuff, and I am confident will turn out well in the wearing--I once had some thoughts myself of taking measure of miss. Rac. Indeed! But. Yes; and, to my thinking, had made a pretty good progress; because, why, at church Rac. It would be criminal in the highest de-of gree. Sir Chr. Ay, rot, your hypocrital face! I am half afraid, Tom, to trust you; I'll be hanged, if you han't some wicked design yourself on the girl; but, however, I wash my hands of the guilt. Rac. My dear knight, don't be so squeamish; a Sunday, she suffered me to look for the lessons, and moreover, many time and oft we have sung psalms out of the very same book. Rac. That was going a great way. But. Nay, besides and more than all that, she has, at this precious minute of time, a pincushion by her side of my own presentation. Rac. Ay! and how came the treaty broke off? |