The upholsterer: or what news? A farce, in two acts. As it is performed at the Theatre Royal, in Drury-Lane. By the author of The apprentice.

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- To Mr. GARRICK.

- PROLOGUE.

- Dramatis Personae.

- ACT I.

- ACT II.

- [bythesameauthor]

THE UPHOLSTERER; OR, What NEWS?

FINIS.

THE UPHOLSTERER, OR What NEWS? A FARCE, In Two ACTS. As it is Performed at the THEATRE ROYAL▪ IN DRURY-LANE.

—O Bone (nam te

〈◊〉, Deos qu••tiam propius contingis, oportet)

Num quid de Dacis a•disti?—

HOR.

By the Author of the APPRENTICE.

LONDON. Printed for P. VAILLANT, facing Southampton-street, in the Strand. MDCCLVIII. Price One Shilling.

To Mr. GARRICK.

SIR,

THE UPHOLSTERER would be a Bankrupt even in thanks, could he think of going abroad into the World, without making his Compliments to Mr. Garrick, for the Civilities he has shewn him. Whatever Figure the poor broken Politician might make before the Commissioners of Bankruptcy at Guild-hall, you have taken care of his Appearance before the self-chosen Commissioners of Criticism, at the Theatre Royal, in Drury-Lane.

I am not willing to flatter myself that you were drawn forth, on this occasion, by any extraordinary Touches in the capital Figure, or in the Accompagnements du Tableau. I rather suppose that you approved the Justness of the Design, than that you were an Admirer of the Colouring.

The Design, Sir, was conceived and executed long since, because the Author judged that something in this way might have a seasonable tendency to allay the Intemperance of too violent a Political Spirit, or at least to laugh it into good Humour: With the same view it was lately retouched, and given to Mr. Mossop, to be presented to the Public at his Benefit. And however Men of a serious Cast may depreciate Amusements of this nature, I shall never blush for having dedicated a few Hours to them, as I am of opinion that such-like Avocations will more profitably unbend the Mind from graver Studies, than the solitary Pleasures of the Recluse, or any of the more open Dissipations of Life.

I am aware that you, will, very probably, recollect a Passage in a celebrated Writer[*], which may seem to render the scope of this little Piece somewhat questionable. ‘ Dans une Nation Libre ’ saith he, ‘ Il est tres Souvent indiferent que les Particuliers Raisonnets bien ou mal il sufit qu'ils Raisonnent: de la sort la Liberte qui Garantit des Effets de ces memes Raisonnements. ’ But you know that the Question here, is not concerning the indisputable Right of the People to canvass their national Concerns; but the vicious Excess of a propensity to Politics, when it gives a wrong Bias to the Mind, and is attended with Circumstances, which create the ridiculous Absurd. In this light it was considered by Mr. Addison, who tells us in the Tatler, | that he designed his Paper ‘for the Benefit of those Citizens, who live more in a Coffee-house, than in their Shops, and whose Thoughts are so taken up with the Affairs of the Allies, that they forget their Customers.’ For the very same Species of People, the Upholsterer was brought on the Stage, being perhaps as proper an Object of Ridicule, as modern I de as and Manners will afford.

With regard to the Execution, I shall not detain you any longer on that head, than to remark that to preserve the Gravity, which is a specific Quality in Mr. Addison's fine vein of Humour, has been my Endeavour throughout the Whole; though I am not insensible that grave Humour is sometimes dangerous on the Stage. In the principal Character I considered myself rather describing a Passion than a Man; and this you remember is mentioned by an excellent Critic, [‡] to belong to the Province of Farce. For this Reason the UPHOLSTERER'S Scenes are strongly tinctured with his predominant Foible; and as this Foible is generally fed and inflamed by a swarm of political Writers, I judged it coincident with my Plan, to expose the Duplicity of their Conduct, by introducing the Character of PAMPHLET.

This Character I have had the pleasure of seeing set off with all the exquisite Strokes of so fine a Comic Genius as Mr. GARRICK'S, without being indebted for Success to the Aid of personal Satire, having entirely levelled it against those, who are the ready Mercenaries of all Parties; and with all such I have the Happiness not to be acquainted.

I could here enlarge in the just Praise of Mr. Woodward, Mr. Yates, and Mrs. Clive, &c. but I have already deviated too far from the Purpose, I set out with; which was not to inscribe a Farce to you, for neither of us thinks so highly of these Matters; nor to become your Panegyrist, for your extended Reputation does not stand in need of it. My Intention was to embrace a public Opportunity of subscribing myself.

SIR,
Your most Obedient, Very Humble Servant, The AUTHOR.
Lincoln's Inn, 7th April, 1758.

Notes

*
Montesquicu.
↵

|
Vide Number 155. and 160.
↵

‡
Mr. Hurd.
↵

PROLOGUE.

Spoken by Mr. MOSSOP.

WHEN first, in falling Greece's evil Hour,

Ambition aim'd at universal Pow'r;

When the fierce Man of Macedon began

Of a new Monarchy to form the Plan;

Each Greek—(as fam'd Demosthenes relates)

Politically mad!—wou'd rave of states!

And help'd to form, where'er the Mob could meet,

An Areopagus in ev'ry, Street.

What News, what News was their eternal cry?

Is Philip sick! [*]—then soar'd their Spirits high,—

Philip is well!—dejection in each Eye.

Athenian Coblers join'd in deep debate,

While Gold in secret undermin'd the State;

Till wisdom's Bird the Vultur's prey was made;

And the Sword gleam'd in Academus' Shade.

Now modern Philips threaten this our Land,

What say Britannia's Sons?—along the Strand

What News ye cry?—with the same passion smit;

And there at least you rival Attic Wit.

A Parliament of Porters here shall muse

On State Affairs—"swall' wing a Taylor's News,"

For ways and means no starv'd Projector sleeps;

And ev'ry Shop some mighty Statesman keeps;

He Britain's foes, like Bobadil, can kill;

Supply th' EXCHEQUER, and neglect his Till.

In ev'ry Ale-house Legislator's meet;

And Patriots settle Kingdoms in the Fleet.

To shew this phrenzy in its genuine Light,

A modern Newsmonger appears to Night;

Trick'd out from Addison's accomplish'd Page,

Behold! th' Upholsterer ascends the Stage.

No Minister such trials e'er hath stood;

He turns a BANKRUPT for the public Good!

Undone himself, yet full of England's Glory!

A Politician!—neither Whig nor Tory—

Nor can ye high or low the Quixote call;

"He's Knight o'th' Shire, and represents ye all."

As for the Bard,—to you be yields his Plan;

For well be knows, you're candid where ye can.

One only praise be claims,—no Party-stroke

Here turns a public Character to joke.

His Panacaea is for all Degrees,

For all have more or less of this Disease.

Whatever his Success, of this he's sure,

There's Merit even to attempt the Cure.

Notes

*
Vide the first Philippic.
↵

Dramatis Personae.

MEN.

- QUIDNUNC, the Upholsterer, Mr. YATES.

- PAMPHLET, Mr. GARRICK.

- RAZOR, a Barber, Mr. WOODWARD.

- FEEBLE, Mr. BLAKES.

- BELLMOUR, Mr. USHER.

- ROVEWELL. Mr. PALMER.

- CODICIL, a Lawyer, [*] Mr. TASWELL.

- BRISK, Mr. VERNON.

- Watchman, Mr. CLOUGH.

WOMEN.

- HARRIET, Mrs. YATES.

- TERMAGANT, Mrs. CLIVE.

- Maid to FEEBLE. Mrs. SIMPSON.

Notes

*
For the sake of Brevity, Codicil's Scene is omitted in the Representation, as are likewise a few Passages in the second Act.
↵

ACT I.

SCENE BELLMOUR'S Lodging.

Enter BELLMOUR, beating BRISK.

BRISK.

MR. Bellmour,—let me die, Sir,—as I hope to be sav'd, Sir,—

BELL.

Sirrah! Rogue! Villain!—I'll teach you, I will, you Rascal, to speak irreverently of her I love.—

BRISK.

As I am a Sinner, Sir, I only meant—

BELL.

Only meant! You cou'd not mean it, Jackanapes,—you had no Meaning, Booby.—

BRISK.

Why, no, Sir,—that's the very Thing, Sir,—I had no Meaning.

BELL.

Then Sirrah, I'll make you know your Meaning for the future.—

BRISK.

Yes, Sir,—to be sure, Sir,—and yet upon my Word if you would be but a little cool, Sir, you'd find I am not much to blame.—Besides Master, you can't conceive the good it would do your Health, if you will but keep your Temper a little.—

BELL.

Mighty well Sir, give your Advice.

BRISK.

Why really now this same Love hath metamorphosed us both very strangely, Master,—for to be free; here have we been at this Work these six Weeks,—stark-staring mad in Love with a Couple of Baggages not worth a Groat,—and yet Heaven help us! they have as much Pride as comes to the Share of a Lady of Quality before she has been caught in the Fact with a handsome young Fellow,—or indeed after she has been caught for that Matter.—

BELL.

You won't have done Rascal.—

BRISK.

In short, my young Mistress and her Maid have as much Pride and Poverty as—as—no Matter what, they have the Devil and all,—when at the same Time every Body knows the old broken Upholsterer Miss Harriet's Father, might give us all he has in the World, and not eat the worse Pudding on a Sunday for it.

BELL.

Impious, execrable Atheist! What, detract from Heaven! I'll reform your Notions, I will, you saucy— beats him.

BRISK.

Nay, but my dear Sir!—a little Patience,—not so hard.—

Enter ROVEWELL.

ROVE.

Bellmour your Servant,—what at Loggerheads with my old Friend Brisk.

BELL.

Confusion! Mr. Rovewell your Servant,—this is your doing, hang Dog.—Jack Rovewell I am glad to see thee.—

ROVE.

Brisk used to be a good Servant,—he has not been tampering with any of his Master's Girls has he?

BELL.

Do you know Rovewell that he has had the Impudence to talk detractingly and profanely of my Mistress?—

BRISK.

For which Sir, I have suffer'd inhumanly and most unchristian-like, I assure you.

BELL.

Will you leave Prating, Booby?

ROVE.

Well, but Bellmour, where does she live?—I'm but just arriv'd you know, and I'll go and beat up her Quarters.—

BELL. [Half aside.]

Beat up her Quarters!— (looks at him smilingly, then half aside.)

Favours to none; to all she Smiles extends,

Oft she rejects, but never once offends.

[stands musing.]

ROVE.

Hey! What fallen into a Reverie!—Prithee Brisk what does all this mean?

BRISK.

Why, Sir, you must know—I am over Head and Ears in Love.—

ROVE.

But I mean your Master; what alls him?

BRISK.

That's the very Thing I'm going to tell you Sir,—as I said, Sir,—I am over Head and Ears in Love with a whimsical, queer kind of a Piece, here in the Neighbourhood, and so nothing can serve my Master, but he must fall in Love with her Mistress,—look at him now, Sir,—

[Bellmour continues musing and muttering to himself.]

ROVE.

Ha, ha, ha,—Poor Bellmour, I pity thee withal my Heart.— [Strikes him on the Shoulder, then ludicrously repeats.] Ye Gods annihilate both Space and Time,—And make two Lovers happy.—

BELL.

My dear Rovewell, such a Girl,—ten Thousand Cupids play about her Mouth, you Rogue.—

ROVE.

Ten Thousand Pounds had better play about her Pocket.—What Fortune has she?

BRISK.

Heaven help us, not much to crack of.—

BELL.

Not much to crack of Mr. Brazen,—prithee Rovewell, how can you be so ungenerous as to ask such a Question? You know I don't mind Fortune, though by the Way she has an Uncle who is determin'd to settle very handsomely on her; and on the Strength of that, does she give herself innumerable Airs.—

ROVE.

Fortune not to be minded!—I'll tell you what Bellmour, tho' you have a good one already, there's no kind of Inconvenience in a little more,—I'm sure if I had not minded Fortune, I might have been in Jamaica still, not worth a Sugar-Cane; but the Widow Molosses took a Fancy to me;—Heaven, or a worse Destiny has taken a Fancy to her, and so after ten Years Exile, and being turn'd a-drist by my Father, here am I again a warm Planter, and a Widower, most woefully tir'd of Matrimony;—but my dear Bellmour we were both so overjoy'd to meet one another yesterday Evening, just as I arriv'd in Town, that I did not hear a Syllable from you of your Love Fit: How, when, and where did this happen?

BELL.

Oh!—by the most fortunate Accident that ever was,—I'll tell thee Rovewell: I was going one Night from the Tavern about Six Weeks ago,—I had been there with a Parcel of Blades whose only Joy is center'd so their Bottle, and faith till this Accident I was no better myself,—but ever since I am grown quite a new Man.

ROVE.

Ay, a new Man indeed!—Who in the Name of Wonder would take thee, sunk as thou art into a musing, moping, melancholy Lover, for the gay Charles Bellmour whom I knew in the West-Indies?

BELL.

Poh, that is not mentioned,—you know my Father took me against my Will from the University, and consigned me over, to the academic Discipline of a Man of War; so chat to prevent a Dejection of Spirits, I was oblig'd to run into the opposite Extreme,—as you yourself were wont to do.

ROVE.

Why, yes, I had my Moments of Reflection, and was glad to dissipate them—You know I always told you there was something extraordinary in my Story; and so there is still, I suppose it must be cleared up in a few Days now—I'm in no Hurry about it tho'; I must see the Town a little this Evening, and have my Frolic first. But to the Point Bellmour, you was going from the Tavern you say.—

BELL.

Yes, Sir, about two in the Morning, and I perceiv'd an unusual Blaze in the Air,—I was in a rambling Humour, and so resolv'd to know what it was.

BRISK.

I, and my Ma••er went together Sir.—

BELL.

Oh! Rovewell! my better Stars ordain'd it to light me on to Happiness;—by sure Attraction led, I came to the very Street where a House was on Fire; Water-Engines playing, Flames ascending, all Hurry, Confusion, and Distress; when on a sudden the Voice of Despair, Silver sweet, came thrilling down to my very Heart;—poor, dear, little Soul, what can she do, cried the Neighbours? Again she scream'd, the Fire gathering Force, and gaining upon her every Instant;—here Ma'am said I, leap into my Arms, I'll be sure to receive you;—and wou'd you think it?—down she came,—my dear Rovewell, such a Girl!—I caught her in my Arms you Rogue, safe, without Harm.—The dear naked Venus, just risen from her Bed, my Boy,—her slender Waist Rovewell, the downy Smoothness of her whole Person, and her Limbs ‘harmonious, swell'd by Nature's softest Hand.’—

ROVE.

Raptures, and Paradise!—What Seraglio in Covent-Garden did you carry her to?

BELL

There again now! Do, prithee correct your Way of Thinking, take a quantum sufficit of virtuous Love, and purify your Ideas.—Her lovely Bashfulness, her delicate Fears,—her Beauty heighten'd and endear'd by Distress, dispers'd my wildest Thoughts, and melted me into Tenderness and Respect.—

ROVE.

But Bellmour, surely she has not the Impudence to be modest after you have had Possession of her Person.—

BELL.

My Views are honourable I assure you, Sir; but her Father is so absurdly positive.—The Man's distracted about the Balance of Power, and will give his Daughter to none but a Politician.—When there was an Execution in his House, he thought of nothing but the Camp at Pyrna, and now he's a Bankrupt, his Head runs upon Ways and Means, and Schemes for paying off the national Debt: The Affairs of Europe engross all his Attention, while the Distresses of his lovely Daughter pass unnoticed.

ROVE.

Ridiculous enough!—But why do you mind him? Why don't you go to Bed to the Wench at once?—Take her into Keeping Man.—

BELL.

How can you talk so affrontingly of her?—Have not I told you tho' her Father is ruin'd, still she has great Expectancies from a rich Relation?—

ROVE.

Then what do you stand watering at the Mouth for? If she is to have Money enough to pay for her China, her Gaming Debts, her Dogs, and her Monkeys, marry her then, if you needs must be ensnar'd; be in a Fool's Paradise for a Honey-Moon, then come to yourself, wonder at what you've done, and mix with honest Fellows again;—carry her off I say, and never stand whining for the Father's Consent.—

BELL.

Carry her off!—I like the Scheme,—will you assist me?

ROVE.

No, no, there I beg to be excus'd. Don't you remember what the Satyrist says,—‘Never marry while there's a Halter to be had for Money, or a Bridge to afford a convenient Leap.’

BELL.

Prithee leave Fooling.—

ROVE.

I am in serious Earnest I assure you; I'll drink with you, game with you, go into any Scheme of Frolic with you, but war Matrimony.—Nay, if you'll come to the Tavern this Evening, I'll drink your Mistress's Health in a Bumper; but as to your conjugal Scheme, I'll have nothing to do with that Business positively.—

BELL.

Well, well, I'll take you at your Word, and me•• you at ten exactly at the same Place we were at last Night; then and there I'll let you know what further Measures I've concerted.

ROVE.

Till then, farewell, a-propos,—do you know that I've seen none of my Relations yet?

BELL.

Time enough To-morrow.

ROVE.

Ay, ay, To-morrow will do,—well, your Servant.

Exit Rovewell.

BEL.

Rovewell, yours,—see the Gentleman down Stairs,—and d'ye hear, come to me into my Study that I may give you a Letter to Harriot, and hark ye, Sir,—Be sure your see Harriet yourself; and let me have no Messages from that officious go-between, her Mrs. Slipslop of a Maid, with her unintelligible Jargon of hard Words, of which she neither knows the Meaning nor Pronunciation— (Exit Brisk.) I'll write to her this Moment, acquaint her with the soft Tumult of my Desires, and, if possible, make her mine this very Night— Exit repeating.

Love first taught Letters for some Wretch's Aid,

Some banish'd Lover, or some captive Maid.—

SCENE the Upholsterer's House.

Enter HARRIET and TERMAGANT.

TERM.

WELL, but Ma'am, he has made love to you six Weeks successfully; he has been as constant to his 'Moors poor Gentleman, as if you had the Subversion of a 'State to settle upon him—and if he slips thro' your Fingers, now Ma'am, you have, nobody to depute it to but yourself.

HAR.

Lord Termagant, how you ran on—I tell you again and again my Pride was •ouched, because he seem'd to prosume on his Opulence, and my Father's Distresses.

TERM.

La, Miss Harriet, how can you be so Paradropsical in your 'Pinions?

HAR.

Well, but you know tho' my Father's affairs are ruin'd I am not in so desperate a way; consider, my Uncle's Fortune is no trifle, and I think that Prospect intitles me to give myself a few airs before I resign my Person.

TERM.

I grant ye Ma'am, you have very good pretensions; but then it's waiting for dead Men's Shoes: I'll venture to be perjur'd Mr. Bellmour ne'er disclaim'd an Idear of your Father's distress—

HAR.

Supposing that.

TERMAGANT.

Suppose Ma'am—I know it di sputably to be so.

HAR.

Indisputably I guess you mean;—but I'm tired of wrangling with you about Words.

TERM.

By my troth you're in the right on't;—there's ne'er a she in all old England, (as your Father' calls it) is Mistress of such Philsiology, as I am. Incertain I am, as how you does not know nobody that puts their Words together with such a Curacy as myself. I once lived wsth a Mistus, Ma'am,—Mistus!—She was a Lady—a great Brewer's Wife!—and she wore as fine Cloaths, as any Person of Quality, let her get up as early as she will—and she used to call me—Termagant, says she,—What's the Signification of such a Word—and I always told her—I told her the Importation of all my Words, though I could not help laughing, Miss Harriet, to see so fine a Lady such a downright Ignoranimus,

HAR.

Well,—but pray now Termagant, would you have me directly upon being asked the Question, throw myself into the Arms of a Man?

TERM.

O' my Conscience you did throw yourself into his Arms with scarce a Shift on, that's what you did.

HAR.

Yes, but that was a Leap in the Dark, when there was no Time to think of it.

TERM.

Well, it does not signify Argifying, I wish we were both warm in Bed; you with Mr. Bellmour, and I wlth his Coxcomb of a Man; instead of being manured here with an old crasy Fool—axing your pardon Ma'am, for calling your Father so—but he is a Fool, and the worst of Fools, with his Policies—when his House is full of Statues of Bangcressy.

HAR.

It's too true Termagant,—yet he's my Father still, and I can't help loving him.

TERM.

Fiddle faddle,—Love him!—he's an Anecdote against Love.

HAR.

Hush! here he comes—

TERM.

No, it's your Uncle Feeble, poor Gentleman, I pity's him, eaten up with Infirmaries, to be taking such pains with a Madman.

Enter FEEBLE.

HAR.

Well Uncle, have you been able to console him?

FEEBLE.

He wants no Consolation Child,—lackaday,—I'm so infirm I can hardly move.—I found him tracing in the Map, Prince Charles of Lorraine's Passage over the Rhne and comparing it with Julius Caesar's.

TERM.

An old Blockhead—I've no Patience with him with his Fellows coming after him every Hour in the Day with News. Well now I wishes there was no such a Thing as a News-paper in the World, with such a Pack of Lies, and such a deal of Jab-jab every day.

FEEBLE.

Ay, there were three or four shabby Fellows with him when I went into his Room—I can't get him to think of appearing before the Commissioners To-morrow, to disclose his Effects; but I'll send my Neighbour Counsellor Codicil to him,—don't be dejected Harriet, my poor Sister, your Mother, was a good Woman; I love you for her sake, Child, and all I am worth, shall be yours—But I must be going,—I find myself but very Ill; good Night Harriet, good Night.

Exit Feeble.

HAR.

You'll give me leave to see you to the Door, Sir.

Exit Harriet.

TERM.

O' my Conscience this Master of mine within here, might have pick'd up his Crums as well as Mr. Feeble, if he had any Idear of his Business, I'm sure if I had not hopes from Mr. Feeble, I should not tarry in this House—By my Troth, if all who have nothing to say to the 'fairs of the Nation, would mind their own Business, and those who should take care of our 'fairs, would mind their Business too, I fancy poor old England (as they call it) would fare the better among 'em—This old crazy Pate within here—playing the Fool—when the Man is past his grand Clytemnester.

Exit Termagant.

SCENE discovers QUIDNUNC at a Table, with News-Papers, Pamphlets, &c. all around him.

QUID.

Six and three is nine—seven and four is eleven, and carry one—let me see, 126 Million—199 Thousand, 328—and all this with about—where, where's the amount of the Specie? Here, here—with about 15 Million in Specie, all this great circulation! good, good,—why then how are we ruined?—how are we ruined?—What says the Land-Tax at 4 Shillings in the Pound, two Million! now where's my new Assessment?—here,—here, the 5th part of Twenty, 5 in 2 I can't, but 5 in 20 (pauses) right, 4 times—why then upon my new Assessment there's 4 Million—how are we ruined?—what says, Malt, Cyder, and Mum,—eleven and carry one, naught and go 2—good, good, Malt, Hops, Cyder, and Mum; then there's the Wine Licence, and the Gin Act—The Gin Act is no bad Article,—if the People will shoot Fire down their Throats, why in a Christian Country they should pay as much as possible for Suicide—Salt! good—Sugar, very good—Window lights—good again!—Stamp Duty, that's not so well—It will have a bad Effect upon the News-Papers, and we shan't have enough of Politics—But there's the Lottery—where's my new Scheme for a Lottery?—Here it is—Now for the Amount of the whole—How are we ruin'd? 7 and carry nought—nought and carry one—

Enter TERMAGANT.

TERM.

Sir, Sir,—

QUID.

Hold your Tongue you Baggage, you'll put me out—nought and carry one.

TERM.

Counsellor Codicil will be with you presently—

QUID.

Prithee be quiet Woman—how are we ruined?

TERM.

Ay, I'm considous as how you may thank yourself for your own Ruination.

QUID.

Ruin the Nation! hold your Tongue you Jade, I'm raising the Supplies within the Year,—how many did I carry?

TERM.

Yes, you've carried your Pigs to a fine Market—

QUID.

Get out of the Room, Hussey—you Trollop, get out of the Room— [turning her out]

Enter RAZOR, with Suds on his Hands, &c.

QUID.

Friend Razor, I am glad to see thee—well hast got any News?

RAZOR.

A Budget! I left a Gentleman half Shaved in my Shop over the way; it came into my Head of a sudden, so I could not be at ease till I told you—

QUID.

That's kind, that's kind Friend Razor—never mind the Gentleman, he can wait.—

RAZOR.

Yes, so he can, he can wait.—

QUID.

Come, now let's hear, what is't?

RAZOR.

I shav'd a great Man's Butler to Day.—

QUID

Did ye?

RAZOR.

I did.

QUID.

Ay.

RAZOR.

Very true. (both shake their Heads.)

QUID.

What did he say?

RAZOR.

Nothing.

QUID.

Hum—how did he look.

RAZOR.

Full of thought.

QUID.

Ay! full of thought—what can that mean?

RAZOR.

It must mean something. (Staring at each other.)

QUID.

Mayhap somebody may be going out of Place.

RAZOR.

Like enough,—there's something at the bottom, when a great Man's Butler looks grave, things can't hold out in this manner, Matter Quidnunc!—Kingdoms rise and fall!—Luxury will be the ruin of us all, it will indeed. (Stares at him.)

QUID.

Pray now, Friend Razor, do you find Business as current now as before the War?

RAZOR.

No, no I have not made a Wig the Lord knows when, I can't mind it for thinking of my poor Country.

QUID.

That's generous, Friend Razor—

RAZOR.

Yes, I can't gi' my Mind to any for thinking of my Country, and when I was in Bedlam, it was the same, I cou'd think of nothing else in Bedlam, but poor old England, and so they said as how I was Incurable for it.—

QUID.

S'bodikins! they might as well say the same of me.

RAZOR.

So they might—well, your Servant Mr. Quidnunc, I'll go now and Shave the rest of the Gentleman's Face.—Poor Old England. (sighs and shakes his Head.) (going

QUID.

But hark ye, Friend Razor, ask the Gentleman if he has got any News.—

RAZOR.

I will, I will.

QUID.

And d'ye hear, come and tell me if he has.—

RAZOR.

I will, I will—poor Old England. (going returns) O, Mr. Quidnunc, I want to ask you—pray now—

Enter TERMAGANT.

TERM

Gemini! Gemini!—How can the Man have so little Difference for his Customers—

QUID.

I tell you, Mrs. Malapert—

TERM.

And I tell you the Gentleman keeps such a Bawling yonder, for shame, Mr. Razor—you'll be a Bankrupper like my Master, with such a House full of Children as you have, pretty little things—that's what you will—

RAZOR.

I'm a coming, I'm a coming, Mrs. Termagant—I say Mr. Quidnunc, I can't sleep in my Bed for thinking what will come of the Protestants, if the Papists should get the better in the present War.—

QUID.

I'll tell you—The Geographer of our Coffee-house was saying the other Day, that there is an Huge Tract of Land about the Pole, where the Protestants may retire, and that the Papists will never be able to beat 'em thence, if the northern Powers hold together, and the grand Turk make a Diversion in their Favour.

RAZOR.

That makes me easy—I'm glad the Protestants will know where to go if the Papists shou'd get the better (going returns) Oh! Mr. Qnidnunc—hark'ye—India Bonds are risen.

QUID.

Are they?—how much?

RAZOR.

A Jew Pedlar said in my Shop as how they are risen three Sixteenths—

QUID.

Why then that makes some Amends for the Price of Corn—

RAZOR.

So it does, so it does, if they but hold up and the Protestants know where to go, I shall then have a Night's Rest mayhap—

Exit RAZOR.

QUID.

I shall never be rightly easy till those careening Wharfs at Gibraltar are repaired—

TERM.

Fiddle for your Dwarfs, impair your ruin'd Fortune, do that.

QUID.

If only one Ship can heave down at a time, there will be no End of it—and then, why should Watering be so tedious there?

TERM.

Look where your Daughter comes, and yet you'll be ruinating about Give-a-halter, while that poor Thing is breaking her Heart.

Enter HARRIET.

QUID.

It's one Comfort, however, they can always have fresh Provisions in the Mediterranean—

HAR.

Dear Papa, what's the Mediterranean to People in our Situation?—

QUID.

The Mediterranean Child? Why if we should lose the Mediterranean, we're all undone.

HAR.

Dear Sir, that's our Misfortune—we are undone already—

QUID.

No, no,—here, here Child—I have raised the Supplies within the Year.

TERM.

I tell you, you're a lunadic Man.

QUID.

Yes, yes, I'm a Lunatic to be sure—I tell you, Harriet, I have saved a gread deal out of my Affairs for you—

HAR.

For Heaven's Sake, Sir, don't do that—you must give up every thing, my Uncle Feeble's Lawyer will be here to talk with you about it—

QUID.

Poh, poh, I tell you, I know what I'm about;—you shall have my Books and pamphlets, and all the Manifestoes of the powers at War.—

HAR.

And so make me a Politician, Sir!—

QUID.

It would be the pride of my Heart to find I had got a Politician in pettycoats—a Female Machiavel!—S'bodikins, you might then know as much as most people that talk in Coffee-houses, and who knows but in time you might be a Maid of Honour, or Sweeper of the Mall, or—

HAR.

Dear Sir, don't I see what you have got by politics?

QUID.

Pshaw! my Country's of more Consequence to me, and let me tell you, you can't think too much of your Country in these worst of Times; for Mr. Monitor has told us, that Affairs in the North, and the Protestant Interest begin to grow TICKLISH.

TERM.

And your Daughter's Affairs are very TICKLISH too, I'm sure.—

HAR.

Prithee Termagant—

TERM.

I must speak to him—I know you are in a very TICKLISH Situation, Ma'am.

QUID.

I tell you, you Trull—

TERM.

But I am convicted it is so—and the Posture of my Affairs is very TICKLISH too—and so I imprecate that Mr. Bellmour wou'd come, and,—

QUID.

Mr. Bellmour come! I tell you, Mrs. Saucebox, that my Daughter shall never be married to a Man that has not better Notions of the Balance of Power.

TERM.

But what Purvision will you make for her now with your Balances?

QUID.

There again now!—Why do you think I don't know what I'm about? I'll look in the Papers for a Match for you, Child; there's often good Matches advertised in the Papers—Evil betide it,—Evil betide it! I once thought to have struck a great Stroke, that would have astonished all Europe,—I thought to have married my Daughter to Theodore King of Corsica—

HAR.

What, and have me perish in a Jail, Sir?

QUID.

S'bobikins my Daughter would have had her Coronation Day;—I should have been allied to acrowned Head, and been FIRST LORD OF THE TREASURY OF CORSICA!—But come,—now I'll go and talk over the London Evening, till the Gazette comes in—I shan't sleep to night unless I see the Gazette.

Enter CODICIL.

CODIC.

Mr. Quidnunc your Servant—the Door was open, and I entered upon the Premisses—I'm just come from the Hall.

QUID.

S'bodikins! This Man is come now to keep me at Home.

CODIC.

Upon my word Miss Harriet's a very pretty young Lady, as pretty a young. Lady, as one wou'd desire to have and to hold. Ma'am your most obedient; I have drawn my Friend Feeble's Will, in which you have all his Goods and Chattles, Lands and Hereditaments.

HAR.

I thank you Sir, for the Information—

CODIC.

And I hope soon to draw your Marriage Settlement for my Friend Mr. Bellmour.

HAR.

O Lud! Sir, not a Word of that before my Father—I wish you'd try, Sir, to get him to think of his Affairs—

CODIC.

Why yes, I have Instructions for that Purpose; Mr. Quidnunc, I am instructed to expound the Law to you.

QUID.

What, the Law of Nations?

CODIC.

I am instructed, Sir, that you're a Bankrupt—Quasi bancus ruptus—Banque route fairc—and my Instructions say further, that you are summoned to appear before the Commissioners to-morrow—

QUID.

That may be, Sir, but I can't go to-morrow, and so I shall send 'em Word—I am to be to-morrow at Slaughter's Coffee-house with a private Committee about Business of great Consequence to the Affairs of Europe—

CODIC.

Then, Sir, if you don't go, I must instruct you, that you'll be guilty of a Felony: it will be deem'd to be done malo Animo—it is held so in the Books—and what says the Statute? By the 5th George 2d, Cap. 30. Not surrendering or imbezzling is Felony without Benefit of Clergy.

QUID.

Ay,—you tell me News—

CODIC.

Give me leave, Sir,—I am instructed to expound the Law to you; Felony is thus described in the Books, Felonia, saith Hotoman, de verbis feudalibus significat capitale facinus, a capital Offence.

QUID.

You tell me News, you do indeed.

CODIC.

It was so apprehended by the Goths, and the Longobards, and what saith Sir Edward Coke? Fieri debeat felleo animo.

QUID.

You've told me News—I did not know it was Felony; but if the Flanders Mail should come in while I am there—I shall know nothing at all of it—

CODIC.

But why shou'd you be uneasy? cui bono, Mr. Quidnunc, cui bono?

QUID.

Not uneasy! If the Papists should beat the Protestants—

CODIC.

But I tell you, they can get no Advantage of us. The Laws against the further Growth of Popery will secure us—there are Provisoes in Favour of Protestant Purchasers under Papists—10th Geo. I. Cap. 4 and 6 Geo. II. Cap. 5.

QUID.

Ay!

CODIC.

And besides Popish Recusants can't carry Arms, so can have no Right of Conquest, Vi & armis.

QUID.

That's true—that's true—I'm easier in my Mind—

CODIC.

To be sure, what are you uneasy about? The Papists can have no Claim to Silesia—

QUID.

Can't they?

CODICIL.

No, they can set up no Claim—If the Queen on her Marriage had put all her Lands into Hotchpot then indeed—and it seemeth saith Littleton, that this Word Hotchpot is in English a Pudding—

QUID.

You reason very clearly, Mr. Codicil, upon the Rights of the Powers at War, and so now if you will, I am ready to talk a little of my Affairs.

CODIC.

Nor does the Matter rest here; for how can she set up a Claim, when she has made a Conveyance to the House of Brandenburgh? the Law, Mr. Quidnunc is very severe against fraudulent Conveyances—

QUID.

S'bodikins, you have satisfied me—

CODIC.

Why therefore then—if he will levy Fines and suffer a common Recovery, he can bequeath it as he likes in feodum simplex, provided he takes care to put in ses Heres.

QUID.

I'm heartily glad of it,—so that with regard to my Effects—

CODIC.

Why then suppose she was to bring it to a Tryal at Bar—

QUID.

I say with regard to the full Disclosure of my Effects—

CODIC.

What wou'd she get by that?—it would go off upon a special Pleading.—and as to Equity—

QUID.

Pray now must I surrender my Books and my Pamphlets?

CODIC.

What wou'd Equity do for her? Equity can't relieve her, he might keep her at least twenty Years before a Master to settle the Account—

QUID.

You have made me easy about the Protestants in this War, you have indeed—so that with regard to my appearing before the Commissioners.

CODIC.

And as to the Ban of the Empire, he may demur to that. For all Tenures by Knight's Service are abolished, and the Statute 12 Char. II. has declared all Lands to be held under a common Socage.

QUID.

Pray now, Mr. Codicil, must not my Creditors appear to prove their Debts?—

CODIC.

Why therefore then, if they're held in Common Socage, I submit it to the Court,—whether the Empire can have any Claim to Knight's-Service;—they can't call to him for a single Man for the Wars.—Unum Hominem ad Guerram;—for what is Common Socage?—Socagium idem est quod Servitium socae,—the Service of the Plough.

QUID.

I am ready to attend 'em—But pray now, when my Certificate is signed,—it is of great Consequence to me to know this. I say, Sir, when my Certificate is signed, mayn't I then—Hey! (starting up) Hey!—What do I hear?

CODIC.

I apprehend,—I humbly conceive when your Certificate is signed.—

QUID.

Hold your Tongue Man,—did not I hear the Gazette? Newsman, (within) Great News in the London-Gazette.

QUID.

Yes, yes it is,—it is the Gazette.—Termagant run you Jade, (turns her out) Harriet fly, it is the Gazette. (turns her out.

CODIC.

The Law in that Case Mr. Quidnunc, prima facie.—

QUID.

I can't hear you,—I have not Time,—Termagant, run, make Haste.— [stamps violently.]

CODIC.

I say, Sir, it is held in the Books.—

QUID.

I care for no Books,—I want the Papers.— (stamping.)

CODIC.

Throughout all the Books,—Bo! the Man is non compos, and his Friends instead of a Commission of Bankruptcy, should take out a Commission of Lunacy.

Exit COD.

Enter TERMAGANT.

TERM.

What do you keep such a Bauling for? the Newsman says as how the Emperor of Mocco is dead.—

QUID.

The Emperor of Morocco!

TERM.

Yes, him.

QUIDNUNC.

My poor dear Emperor of Morocco. (bursts into Tears.)

TERM.

Ah! you old Don Quicksett!—Ma'am, Ma'am,—Miss Harriet, go your ways into the next Room, there's Mr. Bellmour's Man there, Mr. Bellmour has sent you a Billydore.—

HAR.

Oh, Termagent, my Heart is in an uproar,—I don't know what to say—where is he? let me run to him this instant.

Exit Harriet.

QUID.

The Emperor of Morocco had a regard for the Ballance of Europe, (sighs) well, well, come, come, give me the Paper.

TERM.

The Newsman would not trust because you're a Bankrupper, and so I paid two Pence half Penny for it.—

QUID.

Let's see,—let's see—

TERM.

Give me my Money then— (running from him.)

QUID.

Give it me this Instant, you Jade— (after her.)

TERM.

Give me my Money, I say— (from him.)

QUID.

I'll teach you, I will you Baggage. (after her.)

TERM.

I won't part with it till I have my Money. (from him.)

QUID.

I'll give you no Money, Hussey. (after her.)

TERM.

Your Daughter shall marry Mr. Bellmour. (from him.)

QUID.

I'll never accede to the Treaty. (after her.)

TERM.

Go you old Fool. (from him.)

QUIDNUNC.

You vile Minx, worse than the Whore of Babylon. (after her.)

TERM.

There, you old crack'd Brain'd Politic,—there's your Paper for you. (throws it down, and Exit.)

QUID. (sitting down.)

Oh! Heavens!—I'm quite out of Breath,—a Jade, to keep my News from me,—what does it say? what does it say? what does it say? (Reads very fa•• while opening the Paper.) ‘Whereas a Commission of Bankrupt is awarded and issued forth against Abraham Quidnunc, of the Parish of St. Martin's in the Fields, Upholsterer, Dealer and Chapman, the said Bankrupt is hereby required to Surrender himself.’ Po, what signifies this Stuff? I don't mind myself, when the Balance of power is concerned.—however, I shall be read of, in the same Paper, in the London Gazette, by the Powers abroad; together with the Pope, and the French King, and the Mogul, and all of 'em—good, good—very good!—here's a Pow'r of News,—let me see, (reads) ‘Letters from the Vice Admiral, dated Tyger off Calcutta. ’— (mutters to himself very eagerly), Oddsheart those Baggages will interrupt me, I hear their Tongues a going, clack, clack, clack, I'll run into my Closet, and lock myself up.—a Vixin!—a Trollop,—to want Money from me,—when I may have occasion to buy The State of the sinking Fund, or Faction detected, or The Barrier Treaty,—or,—and besides, how cou'd the Jade tell but To-Morrow we may have a Gazette Extraordinary?

Exit.

End of the First ACT.

ACT II.

Scene the Upholsterer's House.

Enter QUIDNUNC.

QUIDNUNC.

WHERE, where, where is he?—where's Mr. Pamphlet?—Mr. Pamphlet!—Termagant, Mr. a—a—Termagant, Harriet, Termagant, you vile Minx, you saucy Enter TERMAGANT. Here's a racket indeed!

QUID.

Where's Mr. Pamphlet? you Baggage if he's gone—

TERM.

Did not I intimidate that he's in the next Room—why sure the Man's out of his Wits.

QUID.

Shew him in here then—I would not miss seeing him for the Discovery of the North-East Passage.

TERM.

Go, you old Gemini Gomini of a Politic.

Exit TER.

QUID.

Shew him in I say,—I had rather see him than the whole State of the Peace at Utrecht, or 'the Paris a-la-main,' or the Votes, or the Minutes, or—Here he comes—the best Political writer of the Age.

Enter PAMPHLET. (With a Surtout Coat, a Muff, a long Campaign Wig out of Curl, and a pair of black Garters, buckled under the Knees.)

QUID.

Mr. Pamphlet, I am heartily glad to see you,—as glad as if you were an Express from the Groyn, or from Berlin, or from Zell, or from Calcutta over Land, or from—

PAMPH.

Mr. Quidnunc, your Servant,—I'm come from a place of great importance.—

QUID.

Look ye there now?—well, where, where?

PAMPH.

Are we alone?

QUID.

Stay, stay, till I shut the Door,—now, now, where do you come from?

PAMPH.

From the Court of Requests.

(laying aside his Surtout Coat.)

QUID.

The Court of Requests, (whispers) are they up?

PAMPH.

Hot Work.—

QUID.

Debates arising may be.

PAMPH.

Yes, and like to sit late.

QUID.

What are they upon?

PAMPH.

Can't say,—

QUID.

What carried you thither?

PAMPH.

I went in hopes of being taken up.—

QUID.

Look ye there now. (shaking his Head)

PAMPH.

I've been aiming at it these three Years.—

QUID.

Indeed! (staring at him.)

PAMPH.

Indeed,—Sedition is the only thing an Author can live by now,—Time has been I could turn a Penny by an Earthquake; or live upon a Jail-Distemper; or dine upon a Bloody Murder;—but now that's all over,—nothing will do now but roasting a Minister—or telling the People that they are ruined—the People of England are never so happy as when you tell 'em they are ruined.

QUID.

Yes, but they an't ruined—I have a Scheme for paying off the national Debt.

PAMPH.

Let's see, let's see (puts on his Spectacles) well enough! well imagined,—a new Thought this—I must make this my own, (aside) silly, futile, absurd.—abominable, this will never do—I'll put it in my Pocket, and read it over in the Morning for you—now look ye here—I'll shew you a Scheme (rummaging his Pockets) no that's not it—that's my Conduct of the Ministry, by a Country Gentleman—I prov'd the Nation undone here, this sold hugely,—and here now,—here's my Answer to it, by a noble Lord;—this did not move among the Trade.—

QUID.

What, do you write on both sides?

PAMPH.

Yes, both sides,—I've two •ands Mr. Quidnunc,—always impartial,—Ambo dexter.—now here, here's my Dedication to a great Man—touch'd twenty for this—and here,—here's my Libel upon him—

QUID.

What, after being obliged to him?

PAMPH.

Yes, for that Reason,—it excites Curiosity—white wash and blacking-Ball Mr. Quidnunc! in ut• umque paratus,—no thriving without it.

QUID.

What have you here in this Pocket? (prying eagerly.)

PAMPH.

That's my Account with Jacob Zorobable, the Broker, for writing Paragraphs to raise or tumble the Stocks, or the price of Lottery Tickets, according to his Purposes.

QUID.

Ay, how do you do that?

PAMPH.

As thus,—to Day the Protestant Interest declines, Madrass is taken, and England's undone; then all the long Faces in the Alley look as dismal as a Blank, and so Jacob buys away and thrives upon our Ruin.—Then to Morrow, we're all alive and merry again, Pondicherry's taken; a certain Northern Potentate will shortly strike a Blow, to astonish all Europe, and then every true born Englishman is willing to buy a Lottery Ticket for twenty or thirty Shillings more than its worth; so Jacob sells away, and reaps the Fruits of our Success.

QUID.

What, and will the People believe that now?

PAMPH.

Believe it!—believe any thing,—no swallow like a true born Englishman's—a Man in a Quart-Bottle, or a Victory, it's all one to them,—they give a Gulp,—and down it goes,—glib, glib.—

QUID.

Yes, but they an't at the Bottom of things?—

PAMPH.

No, not they, they dabble a little, but can't dive—

QUID.

Pray now Mr. Pamphlet, what do you think of our Situation?

PAMPH.

Bad, Sir, bad,—and how can it be better?—the People in Power never send to me,—never consult me,—it must be bad.—Now here, here, (goes to his loose Coat) here's a M•nuscript!—this will do the Business, a Masterpiece,—I shall be taken up for this.—

QUID

Shall ye?

PAMPH.

As sure as a Gun I shall,—I know the Bookseller's a Rogue, and will give me up.

QUID.

But pray now what shall you get by being taken up?

PAMPH.

I'll tell you— (whispers) in order to make me hold my Tongue.

QUID.

Ay, but you won't hold your Tongue for all that.

PAMPH.

Po, po, not a Jot of that,—abuse 'em the next Day.

QUID.

Well, well, I wish you Success,—but do you hear no News? have you seen the Gazette?

PAMPH.

Yes, I've seen that,—great news, Mr. Quidnunc,—but harkye!— (whispers) and kiss hands next week.

QUID.

Ay!

PAMPH.

Certain.

QUID.

Nothing permanent in this World.—

PAMPH.

All is Vanity.—

QUID.

Ups and Downs.—

PAMPH.

Ins and puts.—

QUID.

Wheels within Wheels.—

PAMPH.

No Smoak without Fire.

QUID.

All's well that Ends well.

Each in deep Thought without looking at the other.

PAMPH.

It will last our Time.

QUID.

Whoever lives to see it, will know more of the Matter.

PAMPH.

Time will tell all.

QUID.

Ay, we must leave all to the Determination of Time. Mr. Pamphlet, I'm heartily obliged to you for this Visit,—I love you better than any Man in England.

PAMPH.

And for my part Mr. Quidnunc,—I love you better than I do England itself.

QUID.

That's kind, that's kind,—there's nothing I wou'd not do Mr. Pamphlet, to serve you.

PAMPH.

Mr. Quidnunc, I know you're a Man of Integrity and Honour,—I know you are,—and now since we have open'd our Hearts, there is a Thing Mr. Quidnunc, in which you can serve me,—you know, Sir,—this is in the fullness of our Hearts,—you know you have my Note for a Trifle,—hard dealing with Assignees,—now, could not you to serve a Friend, cou'd not you throw that Note into the Fire?

QUID.

Hey! but would that be honest?

PAMPH.

Leave that to me, a refin'd Stroke of Policy,—Papers have been destroy'd in all Governments.

QUID.

So they have,—it shall be done, it will be political, it will indeed.—Pray now Mr. Pamphlet, what do you take to be the true Political Balance of Power?

PAMPH.

What do I take to be the Balance of Power?

QUID.

Ay, the Balance of Power.

PAMPH.

The Balance of Power is,—what do I take to be the Balance of Power,—the Balance of Power (shuts his Eyes) what do I take to be the Balance of Power?

QUID.

The Balance of Power, I take to be, when the Court of Aldermen sits.

PAMPH.

No, no,—

QUID.

Yes, yes.—

PAMPH.

No, no, the Balance of Power is when the Foundations of Government and the Superstructures are natural.

QUID.

How d'ye mean natural?

PAMPH.

Prithee be quiet Man,—this is the Language.—The Balance of Power is—when the Superstructures are reduc'd to proper Balances, or when the Balances are not reduc'd to unnatural Superstructures.

QUID.

Po, po, I tell you it is when the Fortifications of Dunquerque are demolish'd.—

PAMPH.

But I tell you Mr. Quidnunc.—

QUID.

I say Mr. Pamphlet.—

PAMPH.

Hear me Mr. Quidnunc.

QUID.

Give me Leave Mr. Pamphlet.—

PAMPH.

I must observe, Sir.—

QUID.

I am convinc'd, Sir.—

PAMPH.

That the Balance of Power.—

QUID.

That the Fortifications at Dunquerque.

Both in a Passion.

PAMPH.

Depends upon the Balances, and Superstructures.—

QUID.

Constitute the true Political Equilibrium.—

PAMPH.

Nor will I converse with a Man.—

QUID.

And Sir, I never desire to see your Face.—

PAMPH.

Of such anti-constitutional Principles.—

QUID.

Nor the Face of any Man who is such a Frenchman in his Heart, and has such Notions of the Balance of Power.

Exeunt.

QUIDNUNC, (Re-enters.)

Ay, I've found him out,—such abominable Principles, I never desire to converse with any Man of his Notions,—no, never while I live.—

Re-enter PAMPHLET.

PAMPH.

Mr. Quidnunc, one Word with you if you please.

QUID.

Sir, I never desire to see your Face.—

PAMPH.

My Property, Mr. Quidnunc,—I shan't leave my Property in the House of a Bankrupt, (twisting his Handkerchief round his Arm) a silly, empty, incomprehensible Blockhead.

QUID.

Blockhead! Mr. Pamphlet.—

PAMPH.

A Blockhead to use me thus, when I have you so much in my Power.—

QUID.

In your Power!

PAMPH.

In my Power, Sir,—it's in my Power to hang you.

QUID.

To hang me!

PAMPH.

Yes, Sir; to hang you— (drawing on his Coat) Did not you propose, but this Moment, did not you desire me to combine and consederate to burn a Note, and defraud your Creditors—

QUID.

I desire it!

PAMPH.

Yes, Mr. Quidnunc, but I shall detect you to the World. I'll give your Character.—You shall have a Six-penny touch next Week.

‘ Flebit at insig •is totâ cantabitur urbe. ’ Exit Pamphlet.

QUID.

Mercy on me, there's the Effect of his Anticonstitutional Principles.—The Spirit of his whole Party, I never desire to exchange another Word with him.

Enter TERMAGRANT.

TERM.

Her's a Pother indeed!—did you call me?

QUID.

No, you Trollop, no.—

TERM.

Will you go to Bed?

QUID.

No, no, no, no,—I tell you, no.

TERM.

Better to go to Rest, Sir;—I heard a Doctor of Physic say as how, when a Man is past his grand CRIME,—what the Deuce makes me forget my Word?—his Grand CRIME-HYSTERIC, nothing is so good against Indiscompositions as Rest taken in its prudish natalibus.—

QUID.

Hold your Prating,—I'll not go to Bed, I'll step to my Brother Feeble, I want to have some Talk with him, and I'll go to him directly.

Exit Quidnunc.

TERM.

Go thy Ways for an old Hocus pocus of a News-monger—You'll have good Luck if you find your Daughter here when you come back, Mr. Bellmour will be here in the Intrim, and if he does not carry her off why then I shall think him a mere shilly shally Feller; and by m• Troth I shall think him as bad a Politishing as yourself.—Well, as I live and breath, I wonders what the Dickens the Man sees in these News-Papers to be for ever toxicated with them—Let me see one of them, to try if I can vestigate any thing— (takes the News-Paper and reads.)

‘Yesterday at Noon arrived at his Lodgings in Pall-Mall, John Stukely, Esq for the remainder of the winter Season.—’

Where the Dewil has the Man been?—who knows him, or cares a minikin Pin about him?—He may go to Jericho for what I cares.—

‘The same Day, Mr. William Tabby, an eminent Man-Milliner was married to Miss Jenkins, Daughter of Mr. Jenkins, a considerable Harberdasher in Bearbinder Lane.—’

What the Dickins is this to me?—can't Miss Jenkins and her Man-Milliner go to bed, and hold their Tongues?—why must they kiss and tell?

‘By advices from Violenna—this is Policies now’— (reads to herself)—‘and promises a general peace.’—Why can't that make the old. Curmudgeon happy?—

‘By letters from Paris’—this is more Policies— (reads to herself) ‘and all seems tending to a general Rupture.’—What the Dewil does the Feller mean?—Did not he tell me this moment there was to be Peace, and now its bloody News again—To go to tell me such an impudent lie to my Face!

‘At the Academy in Essex-street, Grown People are taught to dance. ’—

Grown People are taught to dance—I likes that well enough—I should like to be betterer in my dancing—I like the figerre of a minute as well as a figerre in speech— (dances and sings). But such trumpry as the News is, with Kings, and Cheesemongers, and Bishops, and Highwayrman, and Ladies Prayer-Books, and Lap-Dogs, and the Domodary and Camomile, and Ambassadors, and Hair-Cutters, all higgledy piggledy together—As I hope for Marcy I'll never read another Paper—and I wishes old Quidnunc would do the same—if the Man would do as I do, there would be some sense in it,—if instead of his Policies, he would manure his mind like me, and read good Altars, and improve himself in fine Langidge, and Bombast, and polite Accollishments.—

Exit singing.

SCENE the Street.

Enter BELLMOUR, REVEWELL and BRISK, in Liquor.

BELL

Women ever were, and ever will be fantastic Beings, vain, capricious, and fond of Mischief—

BRISK.

Well argued, Master.

ROVEWELL (sings.)

Deceit is in every Woman,

But none in a Bumper can be my brave Boys,

But none in a Bumper can be.

BELL.

To be insulted thus, with such a contemptuous Answer to a Message of such tender Import, she might methinks at least have treated me with good Manners, if not with a more grateful Return.—

ROVE.

Split her Manners, let's go and drink t'other Bumper to drown Sorrow.

BELL.

I'll shake off her Fetters,—I will Brisk, this very Night I will.—

BRISK.

That's right Master, and let her know we have found her out, and as the Poet says,

'She that will not when she may,

'When she will, she shall have nay,

Master.

BELL.

Very true Brisk, very true,—the Ingratitude of it touches to the quick.—my dear Rovewell, only come and see me take a final Leave.—

ROVE.

No truly, not I, none of your virtuous Minxes for me, I'll set you down there, if you've a mind to play the Fool.—I know she'll melt you with a Tear, and make a Puppy of you with a Smile, and so I'll not be Witness to it.

BELL.

You're quite mistaken, I assure you,—you'll see me most manfully upbraid her with her Ingratitude, and with more Joy than a sugitive Galley Slave, escape from the Oar, to which I have been chain'd.—

BRISK.

Master, Master, now's our Time, for look by the glimmering of yonder Lamp, who comes along by the Wall there.—

BELL.

Her Father, by all that's Lucky,—my dear Rovewell let's drive off.

ROVE.

I'll speak to him for you, Man—

BELL.

Not for the World—prithee come along—

Exeunt.

Enter QUIDNUNC, with a dark Lantborn.

QUID.

If the Grand Turk should actually commence open Hostility, and the House-bug Tartars make a Diversion upon the Frontiers, why then it's my Opinion—Time will discover to us a great deal more of the Matter,

WATCH (within.)

Past Eleven o'Clock, a Cloudy Night.

QUID.

Hey? past Eleven o'Clock,—'Sbodikins, my Brother Feeble will be gone to Bed,—but he shan't Sleep till I have some Chat with him,—Hark'ye Watchman, Watchman.

Enter WATCHMAN.

WATCH.

Call Master.

QUID.

Ay, step hither, step hither,—have you heard any News?

WATCH.

News, Master!

QUID.

Ay, about the Prussians or the Russians?

WATCH.

Russians, Master.

QUID.

Yes, or the Movements in Pomerania?

WATCH.

La, Master, I knows nothing—poor Gentleman (pointing to his Head) Good Night to you Master,—past Eleven o'Clock.

Exit Watchman.

QUID.

That Man now has a place under the Government, and he won't speak. But I'm losing Time (knocks at the Door) Hazy Weather (looking up) the Wind's fix'd in that quarter, and we shan't have any Mails this Week to come,—come about good Wind, do, come about.

Enter a Servant Maid.

MAID.

La, Sir, is it you?

QUID.

Is your Master at home, Child?

MAID.

Gone to Bed, Sir.

QUID.

Well, well, I'll step up to him.

MAID.

Must not disturb him for the World, Sir.—

QUID.

Business of the utmost Importance.—

MAID.

Pray consider, Sir, my Master an't well.—

QUID.

Prithee, be quiet Woman; I must see him.

Exeunt.

SCENE, a Room in FEEBLE'S House.

Enter FEEBLE, in his Night-Gown.

FEEB.

I was just stepping into Bed;—bless my Heart what can this Man want?—I know his Voice,—I hope no new Misfortune brings him at this Hour.

QUID.

Hold your Tongue you foolish Hussey,—he'll be glad to see me.—Brother Feeble,—Brother Feeble, (within.)

FEEB.

What can be the Matter?

Enter QUIDNUNC.

QUID.

Brother Feeble, I give you Joy,—the Nabob's demolish'd, (sings) Britons strike home, revenge, &c.

FEEB.

Lackaday Mr. Quidnunc, how can you serve me thus?

QUID.

Suraja Dowla is no more

FEEB.

Poor Man! he's stark staring mad—

QUID.

Our Men diverted themselves with killing their Bullocks and their Camels, till they dislodg'd the Enemy from the Octagon, and the Counterscarp, and the Bunglo.—

FEEB.

I'll hear the rest to-morrow Morning,—oh! I'm ready to die.

QUID.

Odsheart Man be of good chear,—the new Nabob, Jaffier Ally Cawn, has acceded to a Treaty; and the English Company have got all their rights in the Phirmaud and the Hushbulhoorums.

FEEB.

But dear heart Mr. Quidnunc, why am I to be disturb'd for this?

QUID.

We had but two Seapoys killed, three Chokeys, four Gaul walls, and two Zemidars. (sings) Britons never shall be Slaves.

FEEB.

Would not to-morrow Morning do as well for this?

QUID.

Light up your Windows Man, light up your Windows, Chandernagore is taken.

FEEB.

Well, well, I'm glad of it—good Night, (going)

QUID.

Here, here's the Gazette.—

FEEB.

Oh, I shall certainly faint. (sits down)

QUID.

Ay, ay, sit down, and I'll read it to you, (Reads) nay, don't run away—I've more News to tell you, there's an account from Williamsburg in America.—the Superintendant of Indian affairs—

FEEB.

Dear Sir, dear Sir,— (avoiding him)

QUID.

Has settled Matters with the Cherokees— (following him)

FEEB.

Enough, enough,— (from him)

QUID.

In the same manner he did before with the Catabaws, (after him)

FEEB.

Well, well, your Servant.— (from him)

QUID.

So that the back Inhabitants— (after him)

FEEB.

I wish you'd let me be a quiet Inhabitant in my own House.—

QUID.

So that the back Inhabitants will now be secur'd by the Cherokees and Catabaws.—

FEEB.

You'd better go home, and think of appearing before the Commissioners.—

QUID.

Go home! no, no, I'll go and talk the Matter over at our Coffee-house.—

FEEB.

Do so, do so—

QUID.

(Returning) Mr. Feeble,—I had a dispute about the Balance of Power,—pray now can you tell—

FEEB.

I know nothing of the Matter—

QUID.

Well, another Time will do for that—I have a great deal to say about that (going returns) right, I had like to have forgot, there's an Erratum in the last Gazette.—

FEEB.

With all my Heart—

QUID.

Page 3d, Line 1, Col. 1st, and 3d, for Bombs read Booms.

FEEB.

Read what you will—

QUID.

Nay, but that alters the Sense, you know,—well, now your Servant. If I hear any more News I'll come and tell you—

FEEB.

For Heaven's Sake, no more—

QUID.

I'll be with you before you're out of your first Sleep—

FEEB.

Good-night, Good-night—

Runs off.

QUID.

I forgot to tell you—the Emperor of Morocco is dead— (bawling after him) so—now I've made him happy—I'll go and knock up my Friend Razor, and make him happy too;—and then I'll go and see if any Body's up at the Coffee-houses,—and make them all happy there too.—

Exit Quidnunc.

SCENE, The UPHOLSTERER'S House.

Enter HARRIET and BELLMOUR.

HAR.

Mr. Bellmour, pray Sir,—I desire, Sir, you'll not follow me from Room to Room—

BELL.

Indulge me but a Moment—

HAR.

No, Mr. Bellmour, I've seen too much of your Temper, I'm touch'd beyond all enduring by your unmanly treatment.

BELL.

Unmanly, Madam!

HAR.

Unmanly, Sir,—To presume upon the Misfortunes of my Family, and insult me with the formidable Menaces, that, ‘truly you have done; you'll be no more a Slave to me.’ Oh fy, Mr. Bellmour, I did not think a Gentleman capable of it—

BELL.

But you won't consider—

HAR.

Sir, I wou'd have Mr. Bellmour to understand, that though my Father's Circumstances are embarrassed, I have still an Uncle, who can, and will, place me in a State of Affluence, in which, Sir, your Declarations—

BELL.

But, my dear Ma'am—

HAR.

And take this too with you, Sir, that I have Spirit enough to resent an Indelicacy, nor will I bear ill Usage from any Man in England.

Exit sl•pping the Door after her.

BELL.

Well, but my dear Harriet, hear me but a Moment—'tis mighty well, you have freed me from your Chains, I assure you—Your Business is done with me, I promise you—and so adieu to this House for ever— (going returns) Methinks, though we might part upon gentler Terms—Perverse and obstinate!—ay, its all her own Fault. To treat me thus when she knew my Heart was fixed upon her! Her eternal Coquetting—her haughty Airs, her tormenting me with continual Jealousy—Her—her—her lovely Eyes—her Shape—her Mien—her delicate Sensibility—her—hey I—what the duce am I at? a downright amorous Puppy, by Jupiter?—I was running over a List of her Faults, and I find myself gloating on her Perfections—she's a sweet Girl, that's the Truth of it (Knocks at the Door) Harriet, Harriet—will you open the Door?—I intreat you do it—on my Knees I beg it— (Kneels)—will you?—sdeath! what a sneaking Rascal am I?—I'll cringe and whine no more (going returns, knocks again) will you open it?—very well, Ma'am, its very well—Damnation—

Exit Bellmour.

Enter HARRIET.

HAR.

Bless my Heart—what have I done!—I hope he is not gone, a barbarous Man, to go so easily when he ought to take no Denial, but lie on the Ground still imploring and beseeching,—as I am a living Soul, here he comes again.

Exit Harriet and shuts the Door.

Enter BELLMOUR.

BELL.

No, she won't open it—I must not go in this manner— (goes and peeps thro' they Key-hole) poor, dear, lovely Angel! By Heaven, she's bath'd in Tears (knocks) Harriet, Harriet—won't you open the Door? I shan't stir from this Spot unless you open it—

Enter HARRIET.

HAR.

Mr. Bellmour, I wonder at you, Sir—upon my Word. Sir, your Visit becomes troublesome at this Time of Night.

BELL.

My dearest Harriet, they were hasty Words, and if you will only consider the Provocation I had—

HAR.

The Provocation, Mr. Bellmour!

BELL.

I'll leave it to yourself—was this an Answer to a Message so fondly passionate as mine—look at it yourself and judge—

HAR.

This Card, Sir!—this is my Maid's writing—

BELL.

Yes Ma'm!—I know it is—and that's the very Circumstance that aggravates—I thought at least my Letter deserved an Answer from yourself, without making your Maid affront me—my Doom I might at least expect from a more delicate Hand—from that Hand—whose Touch I once could buy with Life itself—

HAR.

Well, Mr. Bellmour, I now must both pity and laugh at you—This Card, Sir, was never sent by me—

BELL.

No, Ma'am! here Brisk, Brisk—this is some of that Hang-dog's Doings—Brisk—

Enter BRISK and TERMAGANT.

BRISK.

Did you call, Sir?

BELL.

Did not you deliver me this Card, Sir?

BRISK.

That Card, Sir?—yes, Sir,—I deliver'd that Card, Sir—What can be the Matter now (aside)

TERM.

And Ma'am I'll be perjur'd that I deliver'd him the same inviduous Article of Matter you gave me—

HAR.

And is Mr. Bellmour so blind that he can't see through this? Pray Termagant, did not you write a Card to Brisk?

TERM.

Why really Ma'am, I've as little Antipathy for Fellers as the best She in England, but I must confess, Ma'am, I did invite a Line to him—For there has been a 'Moor between us, Ma'am, that I won't go to deny—I must needs gainsay it,—If a Man is disaffectious of me Ma'am, I'm sure I'm not to blame, If I have a little Symphony for him—I have not put my Name to it, Ma'am, though it is not quite a synonimous Letter neither—I put the first Names that accrued to me, Ma'am—they are the same fictatious Names Mr. Bellmour and you have made use of—

HAR.

Why so I see, Termagant, and a curious Billet-doux it is, (reads) ‘ Sigismondays Compliments waits on Mr. Tankard, she is full of Mazement, how he can give himself such an Attitude in his 'Moors—she knows her own Demerrit better than to be concarned with one who is a Nanny-Goat against Love, and this is her last irresolution. ’—And could Mr. Bellmour imagine this was intended for him, by me?

BELL.

Death and Confusion!—What cou'd I think, Ma'am? Blockhead, Rascal!— (to his Man.)

BRISK.

Sir!

BELL.

How dare you, Sirrah, give me this Scrawl?

BRISK.

Sir!

TERM.

That's my Billydore to him, sure enough.

BRISK.

Upon my Life, Sir—

BELL.

Where's the other Card, Rascal?

BRISK.

Upon my Soul, Sir, I mean't no Harm—Sir,—Here it is, Sir,—take this Sir,—Master, (in a low Voice) you know I can't read?—Pray Sir, don't expose me.

BELL.

And must I be made unhappy, Rascal, because you can't read?—

TERM.

Not able to read!—the fine Mr. Brisk not able to read—ha, ha, ha,—well, for my part, I despises a Man that is not a Schollard and illiterate.

BRISK.

Pox take it, it must come out—Why, Sir, that's my Misfortune—I cou'd not read, Sir, and I put one in this Pocket, and one in this, and then, Sir, I did not know which was which—but you're very Welcome, Sir, if you like that better—

BELL. (Reads)

‘To a Love so delicate of Sentiment, it were Stupidity to remain any longer insensible; and it would be an inexcusable Prudery to conceal the Tenderness of Desire with which my Heart lias long fluttered to resign itself to such Truth and Constancy.’ My dear Harriet, on my Knees I beg Forgiveness for the Blindness of my Passion,— (kneels) And intreat you suffer me to convey you hence far from your Father's Roof,—where we may join at length in those Bonds of Happiness, of which we have long cherish'd the lov'd Idea. What say you, Harriet?

HAR.

I don't know what to say—my Heart's at my very Mouth—why don't you take me then?

Enter QUIDNUNC.

QUID.

Fy upon it, sy upon it—all the Coffee-houses shut up—how cou'd they shut up so soon when they had such great News—Hey! what the duce have we here! The Enemy in our very Camp!

HAR.

O lud! What's to be done now?

BELL.

Don't be frighten'd Harriet,—I'll amuse him with a Piece of News—

QUID.

Pray, Sir, what are you doing here in my House?

BELL.

Pray, Sir, have you heard the News?

QUID.

Is there any News, Sir?

BELL.

Very great.

QUID.

Let's hear, let's hear, let's hear, get out of the Room you Baggages,—get you into your Closet Harriet,—and get you down Stairs you Baggage, and let me hear the News, (turns her out) well, well.

BELL.

I'll tell you, Sir,—the Consumers of Oats are to meet next week.

QUID.

The Consumers of Oats!

BELL.

The Consumers of Oats, Sir,—I came on Purpose to tell you.

QUID.

That's kind, that's kind,—what can it be upon? does nothing transpire?

BELL.

A profound secret.—

QUID.

Ay, and so it has been for twenty Years, the Consumers of Oats have been meeting any Time these twenty Years to my knowledge, and I could never learn what they are about,—their Negotiations I believe must be left to the Determination of Time.—

BELL.

Their meeting is occasioned by an Express from the Houyhnbims.

QUID.

From where?

BELL.

From the Houyhnhims.—

QUID.

The Humming Hymns!—fy upon it, why do I ever go without Salmon's Gazetteer in my Pocket,—I'll step for the Map, and see where the Place lies,—I'm never happy till I know the Latitude and Longitude.

Exit Quid

BELL.

You're right Sir, Geography is necessary (runs to the Closet Door) Harriet, Harriet,—my dear Harriet open the Door, now is the Time.

Enter HARRIET.

HAR.

Bless me, Mr. Bellmour,—what's the matter?

BELL.

Away with scruples, Fortune has given this Moment, and you must depend on my Love and my Honour.—I've a Licence in my Pocket, and I'll marry you To-morrow Morning, by Heaven's I will.

HAR.

What shall I do? I must trust you. (a loud rap at the door) dear Heart, what can all this mean?

BELL.

Never mind it, but let us fly hence immediately. (another rap)

Enter QUIDNUNC.

QUID.

Hey! what's all this knocking?—mayhap a Waiter from the Coffee-house, with some News.

BELL.

My evil Genius is at work this Night, and all is marr'd again. aside.

Enter TERMAGANT.

TERM.

O Gimini Gemini! I am all over in such a flustration—

QUID.

What's the matter Woman, any thing new?

TERM.

A rioghteous Gentle quite inoculated with Liquor, knocks at the Street Door, and axes, me to except of a Glass of Windy,—at which I grew quite vex'd and pusillamimous—prithee Feller, says I, we don't want your Company, and so be a little more adjacent Friend—whereof I was seized with a Panegyric, and I had divorce to my Heels, and I ran up Stairs as dilatory as I could, and he's coming after me.

BELL.

I'll have him sent to the Round-house—call in the Watch.

QUID.

Do so, I'll go and charge him,—mayhap we may meet a Parliament man in the Round-house to tell us some News.

Enter ROVEWELL drunk.

ROVE.

Get me a Bowl of Rack, and let the Bed be well air'd—I say I will have a Girl—

BELL. (draws)

Let me come at him,—Hey! who the Devil have we here? Jack Rovewell, zounds man, what brings you here?

ROVE.

Who the Devil thought to ha' seen you here? I was upon, the look out for Game ever since I saw you, and I have just sprung it,—I'll have her by Jupiter.—

BELL.

Zookers, Sir, If you wou'd not be of service to me, why wou'd you not keep out of the way.

ROVE.

This seems to be but an odd sort of a Bagnio we have got into here—

QUID.

What does he call my House a Bagnio?

TERM.

I wishes as how you would take him away—the great He Man! my flesh creeps at the very sight of him—I believes as sure as any Thing, as how he's a Highwayrman, and that as how it was he that robbed the Mail-Bags.—

QUID.

Ay, what rob a Mail, and stop all the News,—a vile Fellow away with him.—a Man capable of robbing a Mail, wou'd not scruple to rob a Church.

BELL.

Hold a Moment, I know the Gentleman, he's only a little in Liquor,—zounds Rovewell, you've marr'd all my Schemes with your damn'd doings.—

ROVE.

Bellmour's Girl, by Jupiter, (aside) I say you shan't marry her,—and I tell you Mr. Curmudgeon, (going to Quidnunc) give me leave to tell you old Mr. Drybeard,—Hey! (stops and looks at him) hey! (turns from him) my old reverend Father, by my filial Duty—what the Devil shall I do now? egad I'm not so drunk as I thought I was, he little expects to see me, and I'll go thro' with my frolic, this is no proper opportunity,—I say again you shan't marry her,—my Sister as sure as a Gun, (aside) I'll see it out—I say you shan't marry her.

TERM.

What the Deevil do you let him tarry for?—I wishes he was out of my sight, and a little more contiguous from me.—

QUID.

Away with him,—but search him first, perhaps he has some of the Letters belonging to the Mail in his Pocket now.—

ROVE.

I'll let 'em search me, and then all will come out.—

QUID.

Let me see, mayhap there may be some News at least—ay, here's Bank Notes,—and here's Letters too what's this? ‘To Mr. Abraham Quidnunc, Upholsterer, in the Strand. ’ I did live in the Strand some ten Years ago.—sure this is to me,—let's see what it is:—Hey! what's this? (reads) Honoured Father;—how is it signed.—Your dutiful Son, John Quidnunc.

What can this mean?—What's your Name Friend?

ROVE.

Jack Quidnunc, is my Name.

BELL.

Your Name Jack Quidnunc! (to Rovewell.)

ROVE.

Yes, my Name,—faith this Business begins to make me sober, I think—Quidnunc is my Name Bellmour; and Rovewll was but assum'd—That Letter I wrote, Sir, to inform you of my Arrival, and to let you know that I should pay my Respects to you to-morrow Morning—but faith, Sir, in my Hurry of Spirits, I forgot to send it.—

QUID.

What! and are you return'd from the West Indies?

ROVE.

From Jamaica, Sir, the Owner of a rich Plantation—

QUID.

What, by studying Politics—

ROVE.

No, Sir, by a rich Wife, you shall know all hereafter—

QUID.

S'bodikins, I recollect his Face—it is he sure enough—why there has not been a Word of this in the Papers.

ROVE.

It's even so, notwithstanding, Sir.—Upon my Soul, this Affair has composed me strangely. Thus give me Leave, Sir, to attest at once my Duty and my Joy. (kneels.)

QUID.

Why, you have my Blessing, Boy, I am heartily glad to see thee—I did not know you again, you're in such a Kind of Disguise—mayhap now, you can tell—why you look very well—I'm glad to see thee, Jack, I am indeed—pray now—mayhap, I say, you can tell what the Spaniards are doing in the Bay of Honduras?

ROVE.

All in good Time, Sir,—my dear Bellmour I must embrace you, Faith the Whimsicalness of my Fortune had like to bring about an odd kind of an Adventure,—and make me rob my Father of his Daughter, my Friend of his Mistress, and go to Bed to—my dear Sister, whom I left a prattling Infant, when I went out of England,—I must embrace you.

HAR.

Tho' your Departure from England was too early for my Recollection, yet my Heart feels a ready Inclination to make Acquaintance with you; and I shall ever bless the Hour that has given to my Father so good a Son, to Mr. Bellmour so warm a Friend, and to me tho unexpected Happiness of a Brother, whom I despair'd of ever seeing.—

QUID.

Pray now Jack, how may Ships of the Line has the Admiral with him?—a-propos, that may be in your Letter.—Let me read it.—

ROVE.

You may spare yourself that Trouble,—it was but to acquaint you with what I shall now tell you in Person, that since I find you are become a voluntary Statesman, I have a Fortune sufficient to support you in the Study of Politics for the rest of your Life.—

QUID.

Have you?—What, and shall I have every Thing that comes out?

ROVE.

Every Thing, Sir,—

BELL.

And Sir, an Apartment at my House in the Country you shall ever command.—

QUID.

No, no, I can't go to the Country,—that is not the Scene of Action.—

BELL.

You shall have all the Papers down there.—

QUID.

Shall I,—but are there any Coffee-Houses in your Neighbourhood in the Country?

BELL.

Several!

QUID.

And are there any Politicians there?

BELL.

Swarms of e'm, there's the Curate, and the Justice of the Quorum, and an Excisemen, and a yellow Admiral, and an Attorney, and—

QUID.

Ay!—why then that will do—that will do—(going returns) but d'ye hear—I won't go into the Country till the House is adjourn'd.

ROVE.

Even as you please, Sir—and in the mean Time the greatest Favour you can confer upon me, is to give away this Lady to my Friend Bellmour—

QUID.

Why, since I find he knows so much of the Matter, I could find it in my Heart to accede to the Treaty; here, here, take her—but should not all this be in the Papers?—I'll go and tell 'em the News myself.

Exit Quidnunc.

TERM. (Looking earnestly at Rovewell)

My Stars and Garters! what a sudden Evolution here is in Things? fakins, now I looks at him again, I does not believe he is a Highwarman—By my troth, the young Gentleman has a Jen scai about him that I likes well enough, and I could find it in my Heart to make him an Advowson of my Love, and calcine my Person to him.

ROVE.

Prithee, Bellmour, how long has my Father had this Turn?

HAR.

Since the last Rebellion; since which there has not been an Affair of any Importance in Europe but he has taken a considerable Share in it—while his own Affairs have been mouldering into ruin.—

BELL.

But henceforward all Volunteers in Politics should take Warning from his Example, before they concern themselves about the Balance of Europe, to have some Care of the Balance of their Accounts. The first Step towards being a good Citizen, is to be a good Man, and to act with Propriety in the various Relations of Life—and if every one in the Kingdom would resolve upon the same, the Nation in general would soon feel the Benefit of it.

Then shou'd not sigh the Statesman of Cheapside,

For Poland's Queen—while be neglects his Bride;

Then needy Shopkeepers no moreshould meet,

To roast a Minister—yet want to eat;

Nor shou'd th' Upholst'rer slight his Daughter's Caus•

For Nabobs, Cherokees, and Catabaws:

But Virtue then, the State's enliv'ning Soul,

Should rise from Individuals to the whole,

The balanc'd Passions due Proportion bear,

And every Harriet find a Father's Care.

Lately Publish'd, In Two Pocket Volumes, Price 6 s. By the same AUTHOR. THE GRAY'S-INN JOURNAL.

Non suit Consilium socordiâ atque desidiâ bonum otium conterere.
SALLUST.

Eye Nature's Walks, shoot Folly as it flies.

And catch the Manners living as they rise.

POPE.

ALSO, The APPRENTICE▪ A FARCE of Two Acts. Price 1s.

Printed for P. VAILLANT, in the Strand.

Information about this book

Title statement

The upholsterer: or what news? A farce, in two acts. As it is performed at the Theatre Royal, in Drury-Lane. By the author of The apprentice.

Murphy, Arthur, 1727-1805.

Publication

Distributor

University of Oxford Text Archive
Oxford University Computing Services
13 Banbury Road
Oxford
OX2 6NN
ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk

ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5139

ID [isbn10]

110602138X

ID [isbn13]

9781106021380

ID [TCP]

K102914.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3314111864

ID [ECLL]

0737000400

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— The upholsterer: or what news? A farce, in two acts. As it is performed at the Theatre Royal, in Drury-Lane. By the author of The apprentice., Murphy, Arthur, 1727-1805.. [2],iii,[3],51,[1]p. ; 8⁰. London :: printed for P. Vaillant,. 1758.. [Author of 'The apprentice' = Arthur Murphy.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT129409.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

Creation

Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2p5.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.

Editorial practices

This electronic text file was keyed from page images and partially proofread for accuracy. Character capture and encoding have been done following the guidelines of the ECCO Text Creation Partnership, which correspond roughly to the recommendations found in Level 4 of the TEI in Libraries Guidelines. Digital page images are linked to the text file.