SCENE I. Mr. Wou'dbe's house.

I AM very sorry our good old governor Botetourt has left us. He well de­served our friendship, when alive, and that we should for years to come, with gratitude, remember his mild and affable deportment. Well, our little world will soon be up, and very busy towards our next election. Must I again be subject to the humours of a fickle croud? Must I again resign my reason, and be nought but what each voter pleases? Must I cajole, fawn, and wheedle, for a place that brings so little profit?

Sir John Toddy is below, and if your ho­nour is at leisure, would beg to speak to you.

My compliments to Sir John, and tell him, I shall be glad of his company. So—Sir John, some time ago, heard me say I was willing to resign my seat in the house to an abler person, and he comes modestly to accept of it.

Mr. Wou'dbe, your most obedient ser­vant, sir; I am proud to find you well. I hope you are in good health, sir?

[Page 14]

Very well, I am obliged to you, Sir John. Why, Sir John, you surely are practising the gri­mace and compliments you intend to make use of among the freeholders in the next election, and have introduced yourself to me with the self-same com­mon-place expressions that we candidates adopt when we intend to wheedle a fellow out of his vote—I hope you have no scheme upon me, Sir John?

No, sir, upon my honour, sir, it was punctually to know how your lady and family did, sir, 'pon honour, sir, it was.

You had better be more sparing of your honour at present, Sir John; for, if you are a candi­date, whenever you make promises to the people that you can't comply with, you must say upon ho­nour, otherwise they won't believe you.

Upon honour, sir, I have no thought to set up for a candidate, unless you say the word.

Such condescension from you, Sir John, I have no reason to expect: you have my hearty consent to do as you please, and if the people choose you their Representative, I must accept of you as a colleague.

As a colleague, Mr. Wou'dbe! I was thinking you did not intend to stand a poll, and my business, sir, was to get the favour of you to speak a good word for me among the people.

I hope you have no occasion for a trum­peter, Sir John? If you have, I'll speak a good word to you, and advise you to decline.

Why, Mr. Wou'dbe, after you declin'd, I thought I was the next fittenest man in the county, [Page 15] and Mr. Wou'dbe, if you would be ungenerous, tho' you are a laughing man, you would tell me so.

It would be ungenerous indeed, Sir John, to tell you what the people could never be induced to believe. But I'll be ingenuous enough to tell you, Sir John, if you expect any assistance from me, you'll be disappointed, for I can't think you the fit­tenest man I know.

Pray, sir, who do you know besides? Perhaps I may be thought as fit as your honour. But, sir, if you are for that, the hardest fend off: damn me, if I care a farthing for you; and so, your servant, sir.

So, I have got the old knight, and his friend Guzzle, I suppose, against me, by speaking so freely; but their interest, I believe, has not weight enough among the people, for me to lose any thing, by making them my enemies. Indeed, the being in­timate with such a fool as Sir John, might tend more to my discredit with them, for the people of Virginia have too much sense not to perceive how weak the head must be that is always filled with liquor. Ral­pho!—

Sir, what does your honour desire?

I'm going into my library, and if any gentleman calls, you may introduce him to me there.

Yes, sir. But, master, as election-times are coming, I wish you would remember a poor servant, a little.

What do you want?

Why, the last suit of clothes your honour gave me is quite worn out. Look here,

the insigns, (as I have heard your ho­nour say, in one of your fine speeches) the insigns of faithful service. Now, methinks, as they that set up for bur [...]sses, cut a dash, and have rare sport, why migh [...] not their servants have a little decreation?

I understand you, Ralpho, you wish to amuse yourself, and make a figure among the girls this Election, and since such a desire is natural to the young, and innocent if not carried to excess, I am willing to satisfy you; you may therefore, have the suit I pulled off yesterday, and accept this present as an evidence that I am pleased with your diligence and fidelity, and am ever ready to reward it.

God bless your honour! what a good mas­ter! who would not do every thing to give such a one pleasure? But, e'gad, it's time to think of my new clothes: I'll go and try them on. Gadso! this fi­gure of mine is not reconsiderable in its delurements, and when I'm dressed out like a gentleman, the girls, I'm a thinking, will find me desistible.

SCENE II. A porch of a tavern: a Court-house on one side, and an high road behind.

Well, gentlemen, I suppose we are all go­ing to the barbecue together.

Indeed, sir, I can assure you, I have no such inten [...]ion.

Not go to your friend Wou'dbe's treat! He's such a pretty fellow, and you like him so well, I won­der you won't go to drink his liquor.

Aye, aye, very strange: but your friends Strutabout and Smallhopes, I like so little as never [Page 17] to take a glass from them, because I shall never pay the price which is always expected for it, by voting against my conscience: I therefore don't go, to avoid being asked for what I won't give.

A very disteress motive, truly, but for the matter of that, you've not so much to boast of your friend Wou'dbe, if what I have been told of him is true; for I have heard say, he and the fine beast of a gentleman, Sir John Toddy, have joined interess. Mr. Wou'dbe, I was creditly 'formed, was known for to say, he wouldn't serve for a burgess, unless Sir John was elected with him.

What's that you say, neighbour? has Mr. Wou'dbe and Sir John joined interest?

Yes, they have; and ant there a clever fel­low for ye? a rare burgess you will have, when a fel­low gets in, who will go drunk, and be a sleeping in the house! I wish people wouldn't pretend for to hold up their heads so high, who have such friends and associates. There's poor Mr. Smallhopes, who isn't as much attended to, is a very proper gentleman, and is no drunkard, and has no drunken companions.

I don't believe it. Mr. Wou'dbe's a cleverer man than that, and people ought to be ashamed to went such slanders.

So I say: and as we are of one mind, let's go strait, and let Mr. Wou'dbe know it.

If Mr. Wou'dbe did say it, I won't vote for him, that's sartain.

Are you sure of it, neighbour?

[Page 18]

Yes, I am sure of it: d'ye think I'd speak such a thing without having good authority?

I'm sorry for't; come neighbour,

this is the worst news that I've heard for a long time.

I'm glad to hear it. Sir John Tod­dy is a clever open-hearted gentleman as I ever knew, one that wont turn his back upon a poor man, but will take a chearful cup with one as well as another, and it does honour to Mr. Wou'dbe to prefer such a one, to any of your whifflers who han't the heart to be generous, and yet despise poor folks. Huzza! for Mr. Wou'dbe and for Sir John Toddy.

I think so too, neighbour. Mr. Wou'dbe, I always thought, was a man of sense, and had larning, as they call it, but he did not love di­version enough, I like him the better for't. Huzza for Mr. Wou'dbe and Sir John Toddy.

Huzza for Mr. Wou'dbe and Sir John Tod­dy. Wou'dbe and Toddy, for ever, boys!

The man that heard it is mistaken, for Mr. Wou'dbe never said it.

I'll lay you a bowl he did.

Done.

Done, sir, Oh! Jack Sly, Jack Sly.

Halloa.

I have laid a bowl with the Captain here, that Mr. Wou'dbe did say, that he would not serve as a burgess, unless Sir John Toddy was elected with him.

[Page 19]

I have heard as much, and more that's lit­tle to his credit. He has hurt us more than he'll do us good for one while. It's his doings our levies are so high.

Out upon you, if that's your proof, fetch the bowl. Why, gentlemen, if I had a mind, I could say as much and more of the other candidates. But, gentlemen, 'tis not fair play: don't abuse our friend, and we'll let your's alone. Mr. Wou'dbe is a clever gentleman, and perhaps so are the rest: let every man vote as he pleases, and let's raise no stories to the prejudice of either.

Damn me, if I don't speak my mind. Wou'dbe shan't go if I can help it, by God, for I boldly say, Mr. Wou'dbe has done us more harm, than he will ever do us good,

So say I.

Go along: bawl your hearts out: no­body will mind you, I hope. Well, I rejoice that Mr. Wou'dbe is determined still to serve us. If he does us no good, he will do us no harm. Mr. Strut­about would do very well if he was not such a cox­comb. As for Smallhopes, I'd as soon send to New-Market, for a burgess, as send him, and old Sir John loves tipple too well: egad, I'll give Wou'dbe my vote, and throw away the other.

SCENE III. Wou'dbe's house.

This note gives me information, that the people are much displeased with me for declaring in [Page 20] favour of Sir John Toddy. Who could propagate this report, I know not, but was not this abroad, something else would be reported, as prejudicial to my interest; I must take an opportunity of justifying myself in public.

Mr. Strutabout waits upon your honour.

Desire him to walk in.

Mr. Wou'dbe, your servant. Consi­dering the business now in hand, I think you con­fine yourself too much at home. There are several little reports circulating to your disadvantage, and as a friend, I would advise you to shew yourself to the people, and endeavour to confute them.

I believe, sir, I am indebted to my bro­ther candidates, for most of the reports that are pro­pagated to my disadvantage, but I hope, Mr. Strut­about is a man of too much honour, to say any thing in my absence, that he cannot make appear.

That you may depend on, sir. But there are some who are so intent upon taking your place, that they will stick at nothing to obtain their ends.

Are you in the secret, sir?

So far, sir, that I have had overtures from Mr. Smallhopes and his friends, to join my in­terest with their's, against you. This, I rejected with disdain, being conscious that you were the properest person to serve the county; but when Smallhopes told me, he intended to prejudice your interest by scat­tering a few stories among the people, to your disad­vantage, [Page 21] it raised my blood to such a pitch, that had he not promised me to be silent, I believe I should have chastised him for you myself.

If, sir, you were so far my friend, I am obliged to you: though whatever report he is the author of, will, I am certain, gain little credit with the people.

I believe so; and therefore, if you are willing, we'll join our interests together, and soon convince the fellow, that by attacking you he has in­jured himself.

So far from joining with you, or any body else, or endeavouring to procure a vote for you, I am determined never to ask a vote for myself, or re­ceive one that is unduly obtained.

Master, rare news, here's our neighbour Guzzle, as drunk as ever Chief Justice Cornelius was upon the bench.

That's no news, Ralpho: but do you call it rare news, that a creature in the shape of man, and endued with the faculties of reason, should so far debase the workmanship of heaven, by making his carcase a receptacle for such pollution?

Master, you are hard upon neighbour Guzzle: our Justices gets drunk, and why not poor Guzzle? But, sir, he wants to see you.

Tell him to come in.

All must be made welcome now.

Ha! Mr. Wou'dbe, how is it?

[Page 22]

I'm something more in my senses than you, John, tho' not so sensible as you would have me, I suppose.

If I can make you sensible how much I want my bottle filled, and how much I shall love the contents, it's all the senses I desire you to have.

If I may be allowed to speak, neighbour Guzzle, you are wrong; his honour sits up for a burgess, and should have five senses at least.

Five senses! how, what five?

Why, neighbour, you know, eating, drinking, and sleeping are three; t'other two are best known to myself.

I'm sorry Mr. Guzzle, you are so igno­rant of the necessary qualifications of a member of the house of burgesses.

Why, you old dog, I knew before Ral­pho told me. To convince you, eating, drinking and sleeping, are three; fighting and lying are t'others.

Why fighting and lying?

Why, because you are not fit for a bur­gess, unless you'll fight; suppose a man that values himself upon boxing, should stand in the lobby, ready cock'd and prim'd, and knock you down, and bung up both your eyes for a fortnight, you'd be ashamed to shew your face in the house, and be living at our expence all the time.

Why lying?

Because, when you have been at Williams­burg, for six or seven weeks, under pretence of serv­ing your county, and come back, says I to you, what news? none at all, says you; what have you [Page 23] been about? says I,—says you—and so you must tell some damned lie, sooner than say you have been do­ing nothing.

No, Guzzle, I'll make it a point of duty to dispatch the business, and my study to promote the good of my county.

Yes, damn it, you all promise mighty fair, but the devil a bit do you perform; there's Strut­about, now, he'll promise to move mountains. He'll make the rivers navigable, and bring the tide over the tops of the hills, for a vote.

You may depend, Mr. Guzzle, I'll perform whatever I promise.

I don't believe it, damn me if I like you.

Don't be angry, John, let our actions hereafter be the test of our inclinations to serve you.

Agreed, Mr. Wou'dbe, but that fellow that slunk off just now, I've no opinion of.

what, is Mr. Strutabout gone? why, surely, Guzzle, you did not put him to flight?

I suppose I did, but no matter,

my bottle never was so long a filling in this house, before; surely, there's a leak in the bottom,

What have you got in your bottle, John, a lizard?

Yes, a very uncommon one, and I want a little rum put to it, to preserve it.

Hav'n't you one in your belly, John?

[Page 24]

A dozen, I believe, by their twisting, when I mentioned the rum.

Would you have rum to preserve them, too?

Yes, yes, Mr. Wou'dbe, by all means; but, why so much talk about it, if you intend to do it, do it at once, man, for I am in a damnable hurry.

Do what? who are to be burgesses, John?

Who are to be what?

Burgesses, who are you for?

For the first man that fills my bottle: so Mr. Wou'dbe, your servant.

Ralpho, go after him, and fill his bottle.

Master, we ought to be careful of the rum, else 'twill not hold out,

it's always a feast or a famine with us; master has just got a little Jamaica for his own use, and now he must spill it, and spare it till there's not a drop left.

'Tis now the time a friend of mine has appointed for me to meet the freeholders at a barbecue; well, I find, in order to secure a seat in our august senate, 'tis necessary a man should either be a slave or a fool; a slave to the peo­ple, for the privilege of serving them, and a fool him­self, for thus begging a troublesome and expensive employment.

SCENE I. A race-field, a bullock, and several hogs barbecued.

Well, gentlemen, what do you think of Mr. Strutabout, and Mr. Smallhopes? it seems one of the old ones declines, and t'other, I believe, might as well, if what neighbour Sly says, is true.

Pray, gentlemen, what plausible objection have you against Mr. Wou'dbe? he's a clever civil gentleman as any, and as far as my poor weak capa­city can go, he's a man of as good learning, and knows the punctilios of behaving himself, with the best of them.

Wou'dbe, for sartin, is a civil gentleman, but he can't speak his mind so boldly as Mr. Strut­about, and commend me to a man that will speak his mind freely;—I say.

Well, commend me to Mr. Wou'dbe, I say,—I nately like the man; he's mighty good to all his poor neighbours, and when he comes into a poor body's house, he's so free and so funny, is'nt he, old man?

A little too free sometimes, faith; he was funny when he wanted to see the colour of your gar­ters; wa'nt he?

[Page 26]

Oh! for shame, husband. Mr. Wou'dbe has no more harm about him, than a sucking babe; at least, if he has, I never saw it.

Nor felt it, I hope; but wife, you and I, you know, could never agree about burgesses.

If the wives were to vote, I believe they would make a better choice than their husbands.

You'd be for the funnyest—wou'dn't you?

Yes, faith; and the wittiest, and prettiest, and the wisest, and the best too; you are all for ugly except when you chose me.

Well done, Lucy, you are right, girl. If we were all to speak to our old men as freely as you do, there would be better doings.

Perhaps not, Kate.

I am sure there would; for if a clever gentleman, now-a-days, only gives a body a ginger­cake in a civil way, you are sullen for a week about it. Remember when Mr. Wou'dbe promised Molly a riband, and pair of buckles, you would not let the poor girl have 'em: but you take toddy from him;—yes, and you'll drink a little too much, you know, Richard.

Well, it's none of our costs, if I do.

Husband, you know Mr. Wou'dbe is a clever gentleman; he has been a good friend to us.

I agree to it, and can vote for him without your clash.

I'll be bound when it comes to the pinch, they'll all vote for him: won't you old man? he stood for our George, when our neighbour refused us.

[Page 27]

Mr. Wou'dbe's a man well enough in his neighbourhood, and he may have learning, as they say he has, but he don't shew it like Mr. Strutabout.

Your servant, gentlemen,

we have got fine weather, thank God: how are crops with you? we are very dry in our parts.

We are very dry here; Mr. Guzzle, where's your friend Sir John, and Mr. Wou'dbe? they are to treat to-day, I hear.

I wish I could see it, but there are more treats besides their's; where's your friend Mr. Strut­about? I heard we were to have a treat from Small­hopes and him to-day.

Fine times, boys. Some of them had bet­ter keep their money; I'll vote for no man but to my liking.

If I may be so bold, pray, which way is your liking?

Not as your's is, I believe; but nobody shall know my mind till the day.

Very good, Mr. Twist; nobody, I hope, will put themselves to the trouble to ask.

You have taken the trouble already.

No harm, I hope, sir.

None at all, sir: Yonder comes Sir John, and quite sober, as I live.

Gentlemen and ladies, your servant, hah! my old friend Prize, how goes it? how does your wife and children do?

[Page 28]

At your service, sir.

How the devil come he to know me so well, and never spoke to me before in his life?

Dick Stern.

Hah! Mr. Stern, I'm proud to see you; I hope your family are well; how many children? does the good woman keep to the old stroke?

Yes, an't please your honour, I hope my lady's well, with your honour.

At your service, madam.

Roger Twist.

Hah! Mr. Roger Twist! your servant, sir. I hope your wife and children are well.

There's my wife. I have no children, at your service.

A pretty girl: why, Roger, if you don't do better, you must call an old fellow to your as­sistance.

I have enough to assist me, without apply­ing to you, sir.

No offence, I hope, sir; excuse my freedom.

None at all, sir; Mr. Wou'dbe is ready to befriend me in that way at any time.

Not in earnest, I hope, sir; tho' he's a damn'd fellow, I believe.

Why, Roger, if you talk at this rate, peo­ple will think you are jealous; for shame of yourself.

For shame of yourself, you mean.

A truce, a truce—here comes Mr. Wou'dbe.

Gentlemen, your servant. Why, Sir John, you have entered the list, it seems; and are deter­mined to whip over the ground, if you are treated with a distance.

I'm not to be distanc'd by you, or a dozen such.

There's nothing like courage upon these occasions; but you were out when you chose me to ride for you, Sir John.

Let's have no more of your algebra, nor proverbs, here.

Come, gentlemen, you are both friends, I hope.

While Sir John confined himself to his bottle and dogs, and moved only in his little circle of pot-companions, I could be with him; but since his folly has induced him to offer himself a candidate for a place, for which he is not fit, I must say, I despise him. The people are of opinion, that I favour this undertaking of his; but I now declare, he is not the man I wish the people to elect.

Pray, sir, who gave you a right to choose for us?

I have no right to choose for you; but I have a right to give my opinion: especially when I am the supposed author of Sir John's folly.

Perhaps he's no greater fool than some others.

It would be ungrateful in you, Mr. Guz­zle, not to speak in favour of Sir John; for you [Page 30] have stored away many gallons of his liquor in that bel [...]y of your's.

And he's the cleverer gentleman for it; is not he, neighbours?

For sartin; it's no disparagement to drink with a poor fellow.

No more it is, tho' some of the quality are mighty proud that way.

Mr. Wou'dbe shou'd'n't speak so freely against that.

Mr. Wou'dbe.

Sir.

We have heard a sartin report, that you and Sir John have joined interest.

Well; do you believe it?

Why, it don't look much like it now, Mr. Wou'dbe; but, mayhap, it's only a copy of your countenance.

You may put what construction you please upon my behaviour, gentlemen; but I assure you, it never was my intention to join with Sir John, or any one else.

Moreover, I've heard a 'sponsible man say, he could prove you were the cause of these new taxes.

Do you believe that too? or can you be­lieve that it's in the power of any individual member to make a law himself? If a law is enacted that is dis­pleasing to the people, it has the concurrence of the whole legislative body, and my vote for, or against it, is of little consequence.

And what the devil good do you do then?

[Page 31]

As much as I have abilities to do.

Suppose, Mr. Wou'dbe, we were to want you to get the price of rum lower'd—wou'd you do it?

I cou'd not.

Huzza for Sir John! he has promised to do it, huzza for Sir John!

Suppose, Mr. Wou'dbe, we should want this tax taken off—cou'd you do it?

I could not.

Huzza for Mr. Strutabout! he's damn'd, if he don't. Huzza for Mr. Strutabout!

Suppose, Mr. Wou'dbe, we that live over the river, should want to come to church on this side, is it not very hard we should pay ferryage; when we pay as much to the church as you do?

Very hard.

Suppose we were to petition the assembly could you get us clear of that expence?

I believe it to be just; and make no doubt but it would pass into a law.

Will you do it?

I will endeavour to do it.

Huzza for Mr. Wou'dbe! Wou'dbe for­ever!

Why don't you burgesses, do something with the damn'd pickers? If we have a hogshead of tobacco refused, away it goes to them; and after they have twisted up the best of it for their own use, and taken as much as will pay them for their trouble, the poor planter has little for his share.

[Page 32]

There are great complaints against them; and I believe the assembly will take them under con­sideration.

Will you vote against them?

I will, if they deserve it.

Huzza for Mr. Wou'dbe! you shall go, old fellow; don't be afraid; I'll warrant it.

SCENE II. Another part of the field.

Huzza for Mr. Strutabout!

Huzza for Mr. Smallhopes!

Hazza for Mr. Smallhopes and Mr. Strutabout!

Huzza for Mr. Strutabout and Mr. Smallhopes!

Huzza for Sir John Toddy, the cleverest gentleman—the finest gentleman that ever was

Where's my drunken beast of a hus­band?

Oh John Guzzle, Oh John Guz­zle.

What the devil do you want?

Why don't you go home, you drun­ken beast? Lord bless me, how the gingerbread has given me the hickup.

Why, Joan, you have made too—free with the bottle—I believe.

[Page 33]

I make free with the bottle—you drunken sot!—Well, well, the gingerbread has made me quite giddy.

Hold up, Joan, don't fall—

The devil, you will? Joan! why woman, what's the matter? are you drunk?

Drunk! you beast! No, quite so­ber; but very sick with eating ginger-bread.

For shame, Joan; get up—

Oh Lord! John! you've almost kil­led me.

Not I—I'll get clear of you as fast as I can.

Oh John, I shall die, I shall die.

Very well, you'll die a pleasant death, then.

Oh Lord! how sick! how sick!

Oh Joan Guzzle! Oh Joan Guz-zle!— Why don't you go home, you drunken beast. Lord bless me, how the gingerbread has given me the hic­kup.

Pray, my dear John, help me up.

Pray, my dear Joan, get sober first.

Pray John, help me up.

Pray, Joan, go to sleep; and when I am as drunk as you, I'll come and take your place. Fare­well, Joan. Huzza for Sir John Toddy!

Gentlemen—I'm much obliged to you [Page 34] for your good intentions; I make no doubt but (with the assistance of my friend Mr. Smallhopes) I shall be able to do every thing you have requested. Your grievances shall be redress'd; and all your petitions heard.

Huzza for Mr. Strutabout and Mr. Smallhopes!

Gentlemen, your servant; you seem hap­py in a circle of your friends, I hope my company is not disagreeable.

It can't be very agreeable to those you have treated so ill.

You have used me ill, and all this com­pany, by God—

If I have, Gentlemen, I am sorry for it; but it never was my intention to treat any person un­genteelly.

You be damn'd; you're a turn-coat, by God.

Your abuse will never have any weight with me: neither do I regard your oaths or impre­cations. In order to support a weak cause, you swear to what requires better proof than your assertions.

Where's your friend, Sir John Toddy? he's a pretty fellow, an't he, and be damn'd to you; you recommend him to the people, don't you?

No, sir; I should be as blamable to re­commend Sir John, as you, and your friend there

in recommending one ano­ther.

Sir, I am as capable of serving the peo­ple [Page 35] as yourself; and let me tell you, sir, my sole in­tention in offering myself is, that I may redress the many and heavy grievances you have imposed upon this poor county.

Poor, indeed, when you are believed, or when coxcombs and jockies can impose themselves upon it for men of learning.

Well, its no use; Mr. Wou'dbe is too hard for them both.

I think so too: why Strutabout! speak up, old fellow, or you'll lose ground.

I'll lay you fifty pounds I'm elected before you.

Betting will not determine it; and there­fore I shall not lay.

I can lick you, Wou'dbe,

You need not strip to do it; for you in­tend to do it with your tongue, I suppose.

Well done Strutabout,—you can do it, by God. Don't be afraid, you shan't be hurt; damn me if you shall,

What! Gentlemen, do they who aspire to the first posts in our county, and who have ambi­tion to become legislators, and to take upon them­selves part of the guidance of the state, submit their naked bodies to public view, as if they were malefac­tors; or, for some crimes, condemned to the whip­ping-post?

Come on, damn ye; and don't preach your damn'd proverbs here.

[Page 36]

Are the candidates to fight for their seats in the house of burgesses. If so, perhaps I may stand as good a chance to succeed, as you.

I can lick you, by God. Come on, if you dare—

Up to him—I'll stand by you.

They are not worth your notice, Mr. Wou'dbe; but if you have a mind to try your­self, I'll see fair play.

When I think they have sufficiently ex­posed themselves, I'll explain the opinion I have of them, with the end of my cane.

Up to him, damn ye,

You need not push me, I can fight without being pushed to it; fight yourself, if you are so fond of it.

Nay, if you are for that, and determin­ed to be a coward, Mr. Strutabout, I can't help it; but damn me if I ever hack.

So you are both scared, gentlemen, with­out a blow, or an angry look! ha, ha, ha! Well, gentlemen, you have escaped a good caning, and though you are not fit for burgesses, you'll make good soldiers; for you are excellent at a retreat.

Huzza for Mr. Wou'dbe!

Huzza for Mr. Wou'dbe!

Huzza for Sir John Toddy! Toddy

forever, boys!

Here he comes—as fine gentleman, tho' I say it, as the best of them.

So I am, John, as clever a fellow

as the famous Mr. Wou'dbe, tho' I

say it.

There's a pretty fellow to be a burgess, gentleman: lord, what a drunken beast it is.

What beast, pray? am I a beast?

Yes, Sir John, you are a beast, and you may take the name of what beast you please; so your servant, my dear.

Except an ass, Sir John, for that he's en­titled to.

Thank you, sir.

A friend in need, Sir John, as the pro­verb says, is a friend indeed.

I thank you, I know you are my friend

Mr. Wou'dbe, if you'd speak your mind— I know you are.

How do you know it, Sir John?

Did not you take my part just now, Mr. Wou'dbe?

I know it.

I shall always take your part, Sir John, when you are imposed upon by a greater scoundrel than yourself, and when you pretend to what you are not fit for, I shall always oppose you.

Well, Mr. Wou'dbe, an't I as fitten a

man as either of those?

More so, Sir John, for they are knaves, and you, Sir John, are an honest blockhead.

[Page 38]

Is that in my favour, or not, John?

In your favour, by all means; for

he says you are honest. Huzza for Mr. Wou'dbe and the honest

Sir John Blockhead.

—this is good news indeed.

Huzza for Mr. Wou'dbe!

Huzza for Mr. Wou'dbe!

Huzza for the honest Sir John Block­head.

Silence, gentlemen, and I'll read a letter to you, that (I don't doubt) will give you great plea­sure.

Huzza for Mr. Wou'dbe and Mr. Worthy!

Huzza for Mr. Worthy and Mr. Wou'd­be!

I'm not so fitten as they, and therefore gentlemen I recline.

Yes, gentlemen

I will; for I am not

so fitten as they.

Huzza for the drunken Sir John Toddy!

Help me up John—do, John, help.

No, Sir John, stay, and I'll fetch my wife, [...]n, and lay—her along side of you.

[Page 39]

Ralpho.

Sir.

Take care of Sir John, least any accident should befall him.

Yes, sir.

Here, Sir John, here's my wife fast asleep, to keep you company, and as drunk as a sow.

Oh Lord! you've broke my bones.

John! John!

get up;

what have we here? Lord, what would our John give to know this? He would have reason to be jealous of me, then!

Well, Joan, are you sober?

How came that man to be ly­ing with me? it's some of your doings, I'm sure; that you may have an excuse to be jealous of me.

I want no excuse for that, child.

What brought him there?

The same that brought you, child; rum, sugar, and water.

Well, well, as I live, I thought it was you, and that we were in our own clean sweet bed. Lord! how I tremble for fear he should have done what you do, sometimes, John.

I never do any thing when I am drunk. Sir John and you have done more than that, I believe.

Don't be jealous, John; it will ruin us both.

[Page 40]

I am very jealous of that.

If you are, I'll beat the cruel beast that is the cause of it, 'till he satisfies you I am innocent.

Don't, Joan, it will make me more jealous.

I will, I tell you I will.

Stop, madam, this gentleman is in my care; and you must not abuse him.

I will, and you too, you rascal.

Peace, stop, madam, peace, peace.

Oh lord! help, John, for God's sake, help.

Do as you please, madam, do as you please.

I'll learn you to cuckold a man without letting his wife know it.

Help, murder! help.

Stop, Joan, I'm sa­tisfied—quite satisfied.

What fellow is it?

Sir John Toddy, our good friend; Oh, Joan, you should not have beat poor Sir John, he is as drunk as you and I were, Joan. Oh! poor Sir John.

Good lack, why did'nt you tell me? I would have struck you as soon as him, John. Don't be an­gry, good Sir John, I did not know you.

It's well enough: help me out of the mire, neighbours, and I'll forget and forgive.

Yes, Sir John, and so we will,

Come, Sir John, let's go home, this is no [Page 41] place for us: come Joan.

SCENE III. Another part of the field.

Where's Sir John?

In the hands of a woman, sir, and as I left him in such good hands, I thought there was no farther occasion for my attendance.

Are you sure he'll be taken care of?

Yes, the lady, an't please your honour, seemed devilish kind to him.

See that you have all ready; its high time we thought of going home, if we intend there to-night.

All shall be ready, sir.

Well, I've felt the pulse of all the lead­ing men, and find they beat still for Worthy, and myself. Strutabout and Smallhopes fawn and cringe in so abject a manner, for the few votes they get, that I'm in hopes they'll be soon heartily despised.

SCENE I. Wou'dbe's house.

Nothing could have afforded me more pleasure than your letter; I read it to the people, and can with pleasure assure you, it gave them infi­nite satisfaction.

My sole motive in declaring myself was to serve you, and if I am the means of your gaining your election with honour, I shall be satisfied.

You have always been extremely kind, sir, but I could not enjoy the success I promised my­self, without your participation.

I have little inclination to the service; you know my aversion to a public life, Wou'dbe, and how little I have ever courted the people for the trou­blesome office they have hitherto imposed upon me.

I believe you enjoy as much domestic happiness as any person, and that your aversion to a public life proceeds from the pleasure you find at home. But, sir, it surely is the duty of every man who has abilities to serve his country, to take up the burden, and bear it with patience.

I know it is needless to argue with you upon this head: you are determined I shall serve with you, I find.

I am; and therefore let's take the pro­perest methods to insure success.

What would you propose?

Nothing more than for you to shew your­self to the people.

I'll attend you where ever you please.

[Page 43]

To-morrow being the day of election, I have invited most of the principal freeholders to breakfast with me, in their way to the court-house, I hope you'll favour us with your company.

I will; till then, adieu.

I shall expect you. It would give me great pleasure if Worthy would be more anxious than he appears to be upon this occasion; conscious of his abilities and worth, he scorns to ask a vote for any person but me; well, I must turn the tables on him, and solicit as strongly in his favour.

SCENE II. Mr. Julip's house.

Well, neighbour, I have come to see you on purpose to know how votes went at the treat yesterday.

I was not there; but I've seen neighbour Guzzle this morning, and he says, Sir John gives the matter up to Mr. Worthy and Mr. Wou'dbe

Mr. Worthy! does he declare, huzza, my boys! well, I'm proud our county may choose two without being obliged to have one of those jackanapes at the head of it, faith: Who are you for now, neighbour?

I believe I shall vote for the two old ones, and tho' I said I was for Sir John, it was because I [Page 44] lik'd neither of the others; but since Mr. Worthy will serve us, why, to be sartin its our duty to send Wou'dbe and him.

Hah, faith, now you speak like a man; you are a man after my own heart: give me your hand.

Here it is, Wou'dbe and Worthy, I say.

Done, but who comes yonder? surely, it's not Mr. Worthy! 'Tis, I declare.

Gentlemen, your servant, I hope your families are well.

At your service, sir.

I need not, I suppose, gentlemen, inform you that I have entered the list with my old compe­titors, and have determined to stand a poll at the next election. If you were in the croud yesterday, my friend Wou'dbe, I doubt not, made a declaration of my intentions to the people.

We know it, thank heaven, Mr. Worthy, tho' neither of us were there: as I did not like some of the candidates I did not choose to be persecuted for a vote that I was resolved never to bestow upon them.

My rule is never to taste of a man's liquor unless I'm his friend, and therefore, I stay'd at home.

Well, my honest friend, I am proud to find that you still preserve your usual independence. Is it possible Captain, that the people can be so missed, as to reject Wou'dbe, and elect Strutabout in his room?

You know, Mr. Worthy, how it is, as long as the liquor is running, so long they'll be Mr. Strut­about's [Page 45] friends, but when the day comes, I'm think­ing it will be another case.

I'm sorry, my countymen, for the sake of a little toddy, can be induced to behave in a manner so contradictory to the candour and integrity which always should prevail among mankind.

It's so, sir, you may depend upon it.

I'm a thinking it is.

Well, gentlemen, will you give me leave to ask you. how far you think my declaring will be of service to Mr. Wou'dbe?

Your declaring has already silenced Sir John Toddy; and I doubt not, but Strutabout and Small­hopes will lose many votes by it.

Has Sir John declined? poor Sir John is a weak man, but he has more virtues to recommend him than either of the others.

So I think, Mr. Worthy, and I'll be so bold as to tell you that, had you not set up, Mr. Wou'dbe and Sir John should have had my vote.

Was I a constituent, instead of a candidate, I should do the same.

Well, captain, you see I was not so much to blame.

Sir John maybe honest, but he is no fitter for that place than myself.

Suppose he was not, if he was the best that offered to serve us, should not we choose him.

Yes, surely: Well, my friends, I'm now on my way, to breakfast at Mr. Wou'dbe's, but I hope to meet you at the court-house to day.

[Page 46]

Aye, aye, depend upon us.

Well, neighbour, I hope things now go on better; I like the present appearance.

So do I.

Do all you can, old fellow.

I will.

I hope you will, neighbour. I wish you well.

You the same.

SCENE III. Woud'be's house, a long breakfast table set out.

Give us your hand, neighbour Worthy, I'm extremely glad to see thee with all my heart: So my heart of oak, you are willing to give your time and trouble once more to the service of your country.

Your kindness does me honour, and if my labours be productive of good to my country, I shall deem myself fortunate.

Still the same sensible man I always thought him. Damn it, now if every county cou'd but send such a burgess, what a noble house we should have?

We shall have no polling now, but all will be for the same, I believe. Here's neighbour Twist, who was resolute for Strutabout, I don't doubt, will vote for Mr. Worthy and Mr. Wou'dbe.

Yes, that I will: what could I do better?

Aye, so will we all.

[Page 47]

Gentlemen, for your forwardness in fa­vour of my good friend Worthy, my sincere thanks are but a poor expression in the pleasure I feel. For my part, your esteem I shall always attribute more to his than my own desert. But come, let us sit down to breakfast, all is ready, I believe; and you're hear­tily welcome to batchelors quarters.

Gentlemen, will any of you have a part of this fine salt shad?

This warm toast and butter is very fine, and the shad gives it an excellent flavour.

Boy, give me the spirit. This choco­late, me thinks, wants a little lacing to make it ad­mirable.

Mr. Wou'db [...] do your fishing places suc­ceed well this year?

Better than they've been known for some seasons.

I'm very glad of it: for then I can get my supply from you.

Neighbour Stalk, how do crops stand with you?

Indifferently well, I thank you; how are you?

Oh, very well! we crop it gloriously.

You have not breakfasted yet, neighbour, give me leave to help you to another dish.

[Page 48]

Thank ye, sir, but enough's as good as a feast.

I'm afraid we shall be late, they ought to have begun before now.

Our horses are at the gate, and we have not far to go.

Very well, we've all breakfasted.

Come along, my friends, I long to see your triumph. Huzza for Wou'dbe and Wor­thy!

SCENE IV. The court-house yard.

How do votes go, neighbour? for Wou'dbe and Worthy?

Aye, aye, they're just come, and sit upon the bench, and yet all the votes are for them. 'Tis quite a hollow thing. The poll will be soon over. The People croud so much, and vote so fast, you can hardly turn round.

How do Strutabout and Smallhopes look? very doleful, I reckon.

Like a thief under the gallows.

There you must be mistaken, neigh­bour: for two can't be like one.

Ha, ha, ha,—a good joke, a good joke.

Not so good neither, when the sub­ject ma [...]e it so easy.

[Page 49]

Better and better, ha, ha, ha. Huzza for Worthy and Wou'dbe! and confusi­on to Strutabout and Smallhopes.

Huzza for Wou'dbe and Worthy! and huzza for [...]ir John Toddy! tho' he reclines.

So Guzzle, your good friend Sir John reclines, does he? I think he does right.

You think he does right! pray sir, what right have you to think about it? nobody but a fool would kick a fallen man lower.

Sir, I won't be called a fool by any man, I'll have you to know, sir.

Then you ought'nt to be one; but here's at ye, adrat ye, if ye're for a quarrel. Sir John Tod­dy would have stood a good chance, and I'll main­tain it, come on, damn ye.

On! as for fighting, there I'm your servant; a drunkard is as bad to fight as a mad­man.

Houroa, houroa, you see no body so good at a battle as a staunch toper. The milksops are afraid of them to a man.

You knew he was a coward before you thought proper to attack him; if you think your­self so brave, try your hand upon me, and you'll find you're mistaken.

For the matter of that, I'm the best judge myself; good day, my dear, good day. Huzza, for Sir John Toddy.

[Page 50]

How weak must Sir John be to be governed by such a wretch as Guzzle!

Gentlemen freeholders, come into court, and give your votes, or the poll will be closed.

We've all voted.

The poll's closed. Mr. Wou'dbe and Mr. Worthy are elected.

Huzza—huzza! Wou'dbe and Worthy for ever, boys, bring 'em on, bring 'em on, Wou'dbe and Worthy for ever!

—Huzza, for Wou'be and Wor­thy—Huzza for Wou'dbe and Worthy—huzza, for Wou'dbe and Worthy!—

Gentlemen, I'm much obliged to you for the signal proof you have given me to-day of your regard. You may depend upon it, that I shall en­deavour faithfully to discharge the trust you have re­posed in me.

I have not only, gentlemen, to return you my hearty thanks for the favours you have con­ferred upon me, but I beg leave also to thank you for shewing such regard to the merit of my friend. You have in that, shewn your judgment, and a spi­rit of independence becoming Virginians.

So we have Mr. Wou'dbe, we have done as we ought, we have elected the ablest, according to the writ.

SCENE I.

MR. Trueman, I am happy to see you. In times like these, of war and danger, almost every man is suspicious even of his friend; but with you I may converse with the utmost confidence.

My dear Meanwell, I know your heart, and am sorry that any man can suspect its purity; but our case is much the same.

What? are you too accused of toryism?

I am indeed. Unfortunately, I have some enemies who have raised the cry against me. And what is worse, I fear the consequences will be serious, and a little uncommon.

How?

They will be bad indeed if they cause the loss of the girl I love. To your friendly bosom I may trust the secrets of my heart. The lovely Mira, daughter of our old neighbour Brazen has won my affections. You know her beauteous form; but that is but an image of her soul, its more charming inhabi­tant. I had seen and loved her: her father declared his approbation of my passion, and encouraged me to proceed. Heaven seemed to promise me success, and the idol of my soul had with blushing tenderness con­sented [Page 56] to be my bride. But all our hopes may pro­bably be blasted by this unfortunate circumstance.

Indeed!

It cannot be doubted. Her father is a vio­lent patriot without knowing the meaning of the word. He understands little or nothing beyond a dice-box and race-field, but thinks he knows every thing; and woe be to him that contradicts him! His politi­cal notions are a system of perfect anarchy, but he reigns in his own family with perfect despotism. He is fully resolved that nobody shall tyrannize over him, but very content to tyrannize over others. I happened in conversation to oppose some of his doc­tines of a state of nature and liberty without restraint, and he blazed out immediately like a flash of gun­powder. I endeavored to moderate his anger; but as reason and he can never be reconciled, I am afraid my sins will never be forgiven; besides, I have a bit­ter enemy and rival in Captain Flash.

Ay, that is the drawcansir of modern times; a fellow who pretends to cat the smoke of a cannon fresh from the mouth, and to kill all the enemies of his country, as Caligula would the Roman people, at one blow. But I believe he's a coward at bottom.

So do I. But Old Brazen is persuaded that not even Washington is his parallel. As I pretend not to extravagant valour, the captain thinks me a puny milksop, and judges it very great presumption in me to pretend to the lady he adores. I expect he has assisted the old man's prepossession against me; and, by his assertions, convinced him I am a tory:— But this is certain, the old gentleman declared that I [Page 57] should never enter his doors with his consent again, and moreover has commanded his daughter to think no more of having me for her husband.

What a pity it is that all heads are not ca­pable of receiving the benign influence of the princi­ples of liberty—some are too weak to bear it, and be­come thoroughly intoxicated. The cause of my coun­try appears as dear to me as to those who most pas­sionately declaim on the subject. The rays of the sun of freedom, which is now rising, have warmed my heart; but I hope my zeal against tyranny will not be shewn by bawling against it, but by serving my country against her enemies; and never may I sig­nalize my attachment to liberty by persecuting inno­cent men, only because they differ in opinion with me.

It seems for this very reason you are not ac­counted a patriot; but truth will at last prevail, the faithful heart be applauded, and the noisy hypocrite stripped of the mask of patriotism.

I hope so; and therefore truth, plain truth, shall be the only shield I will use against my foes. Men who aim at power without merit, must conceal the meanness of their souls by noisy and passionate speeches in favour of every thing which is the cur­rent opinion of the day; but real patriots are mild, and secretly anxious for their country, but modest in expressions of zeal. They are industrious in the pub­lic service, but claim no glory to themselves.

May the armies of America be always led by such as these! Thus will the power of Britain be [Page 58] overthrown, and peace with liberty return—May men like these conduct our government, and happi­ness, in the train of independence, will bless the smil­ing land! But before this can be accomplished many temporary evils must be supported with patience.

Yes, and this under which we now labour among the rest. But what do you propose to do in the case of your lovely Mira? you won't give up the pursuit?

Give up the pursuit? When I do, may I be hanged as a traitor to love! But it seems a little dif­ficult at present. I have taken the liberty to use your servant already in the business. As he very lately came into this part of the country, and possesses a ve­ry genteel air, I thought he might easily pass for a gentleman with old Brazen. I equip'd him there­fore as an officer, and sent him to the house of the old gentleman; and ordered him to pass himself for a travelling captain, and to wait for an opportunity of delivering a letter to Mira. He executed the com­mission with fidelity, and brought me an answer from her, in which she communicates to me all that I have told you.

And what do you intend to do?

With your permission I'll make use of your servant upon a second embassy.

By all means; but what do you propose?

In the pursuit of honorable love few things are reprehensible. I shall intreat her to elope with me into a neighbouring government, where Hymen shall make us one.

[Page 59]

All fair, in my opinion; as you had her father's licence to win her affections, you have an un­doubted right to her person.

I am happy you do not condemn my plan.

I will be of your party, your aid-de-camp in this affair. Your ambassador shall wait on you im­mediately. In love and war no time should be lost.

SCENE II. A drawing-room.

Oh, Trueman! nothing but the fear of losing you, gives me pain. Possessed of thee, I could join the lark to welcome in the rosy morn, and sing with Philomel the moon to rest.

SCENE III.

How d'ye do Mira? Mercy child, how grave you look? Come, I'll sing you a catch of the new song, that will inspire you, I'm sure.

There's a song for you.—

What a noble thought is this, my dear Mira! I am determined never to marry any man that has not fought a battle.

Your swain then must have a hard court­ship. But suppose he should happen to be killed?

Why then, I should never marry him, you know. But I am resolved not to love a man who knows nothing of war and Washington. War and Washington! don't you think those words have a no­ble sound?

They have indeed; and I acknowledge the smiles of beauty should reward the man who bravely asserts his country's rights, and meets her enemies in the bloody field; but do you love war for its own sake?

Lord, no, but then there's something so clever in fighting and dying for one's country; and the officers look so clever and smart; I declare I never saw an ugly officer in my life.

Your fancy must be a great beautifier, as [Page 61] many of them are not much indebted to nature for personal charms.

Ay, that's because you are not in love with an officer. When you are, you'll think as I do.

Are you in love with one?

Ah! now that's an ill-natured question, I tell you, child, I am in love with nothing but my coun­try. If, indeed, a man should approach me, who would lay his laurels at my feet, who could count his glorious fears gained in the front of victory, I might look upon him.

I suppose, then, if he wanted an arm, a leg or an eye, it would be all the better; or a great cut over his eye-brow, would be a beauty spot.

Certainly. Nothing can be more elegant. It appears so martial—so—so—quite the thing.

Well! I'm afraid my taste will never be quite so grand as your's, tho' I hope I love my coun­try as well as you.

You love your country! your sentiments are not refined enough: they are not exalted to the level of patriotism; for my part, I scorn to think of any thing else.

Well, but my dear, don't you think the politicians are capable of settling these matters better than you or me?

The politicians! and who are such politicians as the women? We fairly beat the men, it is uni­versally acknowledged. And why may not I have talents that way? who knows but I may be a gene­ral's lady, or wife to a member of Congress, some of these days?

[Page 62]

I heartily wish you may; but would it not be better not to lose time in thinking about things so remote, and attend more to those of the present mo­ment?

Remote, indeed! not so very remote, I hope! The times are very busy, and great men very plen­tiful, and no body can tell what will happen. But, my dear, I can't stay any longer. I sent my servant for the news-papers, and expect he is come by this time. So, child, I wish you a good day, and a good husband soon, tho' you don't aspire to marry a ge­neral!

SCENE IV.

That poor girl's head is turned topsy turvy by the little insignificant animal that dangles about her: she has conversed with him, till she has not only adopted his opinions, but caught his ideas. Oh! Trueman, what a difference!

SCENE V.

What damn'd business employs your thoughts, Mira? you are always in a study.

My principal study, sir, is to please my fa­ther.

That's clever, my girl. I'll tell you, Mira, I intend to marry you to my friend the captain.

What captain, sir? There are so many captains now-a-days, that I might guess a fortnight before I hit upon the man, perhaps.

Captain Flash, is the man. He's the man, Mira, a fellow of mettle, spirited to the back-bone. He'll fight for his country: those are the men, girl.

[Page 63]

Has he ever been in a battle, sir?

He's in the army, child, that's enough.

Shou'd I not see him, sir, before I promise to accept him?

See him! yes, and feel him too, for what I care; he's a damn'd fine fellow, a fellow of spirit. If you like him, take him; if not, let him alone. I don't care who you take, so he's no tory, d—m all tory's, say I.

SCENE VI.

That was aim'd at Trueman; who will ever be suspected, as long as false patriots and pretenders to heroism have my father's ear. Well, as an obedient daughter, I will endure one tete-a-tete with this fine fellow he recommends. Mercy on me, here he comes!

SCENE VII. To her, Flash singing.

Noble, by God! d—m me! here's the stuff,

shall make the cowardly dogs skip, we'll let the scoundrels see what Americans can do; ha! Miss, your most humble—do you know that I have a vast propensity to quit the army for your sake?

For shame, sir, what! desert the service of your country, when she most stands in need of your assistance?

[Page 64]

Why really, madam, I should be damnably miss'd. Upon my soul I don't know what they wou'd do without me.

Then by no means quit the service, captain.

By God I think I have served long enough. Others should try their luck as well as I: for a whole year have I been fighting, thro' heat and cold, wet and dry, hunger and thirst; poor Flash! were you not a heart of oak, a compound of steel and gun-flints, you cou'd not stand it, by heavens! here's he that fears nothing.

Bravo, captain!

Mars, I adore thee; Mars, was a fellow of spirit, I'm told, the Flash of his day, I warrant it. By God, I wish the lad was here now, that he and I might have a game at tilts together:

Ha, ha; there I had him! I'god, now I cou'd gizzard these English dogs, if I had 'em here.

Pray, captain, put up your sword, I de­clare you frighten me.

Frighen you! 'Sblood, madam, the ladies now-a-days should be all amazons, nothing shou'd please them more than a naked sword: however, to please you, up love

entre nous, d'ye see, Miss, I do think you are a devilish fine girl. Your father, ma'am, has given me leave.—

[Page 65]

Fie, captain.

By my soul, he has.

For shame, sir, a soldier talk at this rate! fighting shou'd be your theme, captain.

Fighting! 'tis victuals and drink to me. I could breakfast upon fighting, dine and sup upon fighting; but after supper, a fine girl, you know—

War and love can never go hand in hand. Love enervates the soul, and wou'd make the bravest man upon earth a coward.

Coward:

Coward! damn the word, how it makes my blood boil.

SCENE VIII.

Coward! ha! If you had not been a woman, well,

'Tis no matter, but I'll be damn'd, if ever I speak to you again.

SCENE IX. Melinda, and Pickle dressed like an officer, crossing the stage, meeting each other.

Here am I forced to walk three miles to warp a piece of cloth. Mammy says I was born for a fine lady, but I am sure this does not look like it.

Ha, a beautiful creature, by my soul! artless and innocent no doubt. (I'll try my luck with her by God) let me see

I'll take her in the old way, I believe; address her in heroics, talk of my honourabl [...] intentions, and promise mar­riage. Come to my assistance, dear cunning, and sweet dissimulation; ye tru harbingers of lust and love.— Sweet Miss, your most humble.

[Page 66]

Miss! Lord, how charming that is.

Charming girl! By God, I'm at a loss how to begin.

what a pretty feather! are you in the wars, sir?

I have served several campaigns, Miss, (un­der the banners of Venus)

I have been in many engagements.

I hope you never got hurt, sir.

A trifling scratch or two is all the injury I ever received.

Do you intend to continue a soldier?

Nothing but a wife shall ever induce me to quit the service.

Do you intend to marry, sir?

As soon as I can get any one in the humour to have me.

Any one would not do, I guess: you'll choose some rich lady, no doubt.

No, Miss, riches are not my object; I have a sufficient fortune of my own, thank God; I would marry a woman without a shilling, if she hit my taste, such a sweet angel as yourself.

Thank you, sir, for your fleers.

As I hope for salvation, I would rather have you (for a time, aside) than any woman I ever saw.

'Tis not worth your while to make your fun of a poor girl.

Fun! upon my soul I'm in earnest.

A gentleman like you wou'd never marry a poor girl, I'm sure.

[Page 67]

There, Miss, you are mistaken: I had ra­ther marry a poor girl than a rich one. My reasons are the best in the world: a poor girl wou'd think herself obliged to me, wou'd love me from gratitude, and make me an industrious, frugal, good wife; a rich one would think she obliged me, and would want a thousand things, a fine house, fine servants, fine clothes, a fine equipage, all her requests to be granted, and never to be contradicted in any thing: If I marry a poor girl, I get a wife; if a rich one, I get a mistress.

You don't mean what you say.

I do upon my soul, my intentions are ho­nourable; your name, my dear.

Melinda Heartfree, sir.

Well, my dear, it shall be Mrs. Meanwell, if you please.

Is your name Meanwell, sir?

It is, madam. No doubt you have often heard of me, perhaps seen me before: my name and cha­racter will remove any suspicion you may entertain of my integrity and honour, I hope.

I have often heard daddy talk of you, sir.

What is your father's opinion of me, Miss?

He likes you mightily, and so does mammy too; you stood for sister Bibby, when you set up for [...]urgess.

True, my dear, I well remember it: and are yo [...] [...] daughter of my old friend Heartfree? Come to [...] [...]s,

my dear girl, I shall [Page 68] be proud to be son-in-law to a man of his worth and goodness.

You surely are not in earnest, sir!

I am, and to convince you of my sincerity, I would immediately wait upon you home, and com­municate my intentions to your friends; but I have some business to-day that prevents me: however, I shall be this way to-morrow; will my dear girl be so kind as to meet me?

There is no harm in coming here, sir: I can do it to oblige you; but you will forget me, and eve­ry thing you have said to me, before to-morrow.

Impossible that I [...]n ever forget that sweet face!

will you meet me here about twelve o'clock, to-morrow? Don't be cruel, my sweet girl; you know I love you: my words, my looks, my actions must discover it.

Well, sir, I'll be a fool for once, I'll come.

Charming creature, one kiss my love

'tis ecstacy by heavens!

Well! these ignorant girls are the finest game in the world: heave a sigh, look languishingly, and swear a little, the poor things drop their heads into your bosom, and die away as quick as a sensitive plant. Well, Trueman, having plann'd a scheme of amusement for myself, I'll now proceed to the execution of your commands.

SCENE I. A court-house.

What, is the committee to meet to-day, Meanwell? I hate these little democracies.

Take care, sir, both property and charac­ters lie at the mercy of those tribunals.

What weighty business calls their high migh­tinesses together?

Most of the Caledonians are suspected of disaffection to the American cause, and either from friendship or attachment to their own country, dis­approve the public measures: from this cause, our holy inquisition are for the very moderate correction the Jews received in Spain.

Banishment, or a renunciation of their error, I suppose.

This may be the cause; at present an oath is to be applied as a mirror to their breasts, which reflecting their private opinions and sentiments, must lay them open to the public eye. This is to be offered as a touch-stone of public virtue, as a trial of faith; and woe be unto those who are found faithless.

The ungracious treatment that some Scotch­men have met with, the illiberal reflections cast out against them all, give little hope of their attachment to a country, or to a people, where and with whom they have already tasted the bitter herb of persecu­tion: some there are, who have behaved well, con­form'd to the public will, nor given any cause of of­fence; yet even those have not met with the common offices of civility among us.

[Page 70]

Of this character are those who are cited before the committee to-day.

Hush, sir, here come two of the guardians of our state.

We delegates, Mr. Summons, have a very hard time of it.

Men of abilities must give themselves up to the service of their country.

True, sir, the people will exact the services of those they can depend upon.

Your wise men, as they call them, cut but a poor figure in these times.

They are dangerous men: they are always starting doubts and creating divisions; divisions are dangerous. United we stand, divided we fall, is the American motto, you know.

Very true Colonel, very true. When I be­came a delegate, I was told it was the ready way to some profitable post. I long to serve my country.

Enter into the army, sir; that is the way to preferment.

I am a cripple, and can't be a soldier.

Be a colonel of militia then, 'tis a fine post for cripples, for they never march, but they have no pay, Mr. Summons: you want a post that will bring you something.

I love my country and wish to serve her, and I wish some folks were as true to their country as they ought to be.

And as disinterested too, and then men of [Page 71] real merit, would be in her service, in lieu of them who get into office, to catch a few sixpences from her treasury.

How goes it? How goes it? Well, what business do we meet upon to-day?

The Scabbies are to be tried according to the ordinance.

Let's duck the scoundrels.

Duck 'em! let's burn the scoundrels.

Let's hang them.

Ay, ay, hang them, that is the best way.

Gentlemen, your servant.

How goes it, old cock?

Why, praise be to God, thro' mercy, I'm reasonably well, I thank you.

I understand those gentlemen take part with the Scotch

It is a common talk.

The people don't like it.

Some talk very hard of it, I assure you.

If to treat the unhappy with kindness be an offence, I shall always be an offending sinner; mean­ness dwells with oppression, and cowardice with in­sult.

Justice is the birthright of all, and public virtue is displayed by an impartial distribution of it.

Wou'd you protect our enemies, gentlemen? would you ruin your country for the sake of Scotch­men?

[Page 72]

Prove them to be enemies, shew that they plot the downfall of my country, and courtesy itself shall revolt against them.

There is sufficient proof that nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand of them are our enemie.

Some may be enemies, others guiltless. 'Tis ungenerous to arraign this man for the offence of his neighbour; illiberal to traduce all for the transgressions of a few.

Justice would blush at such proceedings: Pity, drop a tear at the outrage.

Here comes the Scotchmen.

Gentlemen of the committee, pray take your seats

I was requested by co­lonel Strut, to summon these men here

I have a bad cold, tell me, if you please colonel, what it is about.

These men, gentlemen, are cited before this committee, agreeable to an ordinance of convention.

What is our offence, pray?

The nature of their offence, gentlemen, is, that they are Scotchmen; every Scotchman being an enemy, and these men being Scotchmen, they come under the ordinance which directs an oath to be ten­dered to all those against whom there is just cause to suspect they are enemies.

As these men are Scotchmen, I think there is just cause to suspect that they are our ene­mies. Let it be put to the committee, Mr. president, whether all Scotchmen are not enemies.

[Page 73]

A good notion, Mr. Brazen, I second it with all my heart.

We have some Scotchmen in our army; they are our friends, I hope.

To be sartin they must be our friends.

Yes, yes, they are our friends, no doubt.

They are excepted of course.

I wish the country very well, I never did it harm, gentlemen.

I've gi'en nae cause to suspect that I am an enemy. The ordinance says, ye must hae just cause. Bring your proof, gentlemen.

Proof, sir! we have proof enough. We sus­pect any Scotchman: suspicion is proof, sir. I move for the question, Mr. President.

In the catalogue of sins, I never found it one before to be born on the north of the Tweed.

In nature's lowest works, I never saw before such base stupidity.

The question, Mr. President.

The question, the question.

Is all Scotchmen enemies, gentlemen?

Ay, ay.

Before you determine so precipitately, gentlemen, I should have been glad to say somewhat in my own defence.

What is it, my dear sir?

I was bred in Scotland, but not born there.

What, Sandy, do you deny your coun­try mon, tak shame to yoursel, Sandy.

[Page 74]

It is time to deny man, when they make it a crime to be born there.

I'll lose my life for dear old Scotland, before ev [...] I'll blush for it.

As Mr. M'Flint says he's no Scotchman, we have no [...] [...] to suspect him more than any other man.

A [...] he's no Scotchman, he may be a very good man▪ I move that he be discharged.

Agreed, agreed.

I rise to move, sir,

I say, sir, I move that the oath be tender'd to these men, according to the ordinance.

What oath?

The test oath, sir; you must swear to be true and faithful to this country.

I'll take nae oath, the like o' that.

I'll no swear allegiance to any man but my king.

There, gentleman, you see what they are, they are all so to a man.

I move that they be disarmed, as the ordi­dinance directs.

Agreed, agreed.

Well, gentlemen, the business is done; I suppose we may rise.

Ay, ay.

Is the committee up? I'm sorry I was not here a little s [...]ner. I had an information or two to lay before the committee.

We can sit again, sir; order the committee to sit again, Mr. President.

[Page 75]

Upon second thoughts, we'll decline it for the present: I have not all the proofs about me; be­sides a witness I expected, is not here, I find.

I'll lay he has found out some tory.

He has got some tory in the wind, depend upon it.

I declare he is the prettiest spokenest man I ever saw.

Yes, between you and me, he ought to have been our delegate.

Well, gentlemen, you have trounced those Scotch gentlemen, I hope.

We have.

So, colonel, you have resigned your com­mission, I'm told.

Yes, my friend; I grow old and infirm: I thought it best to decline in time.

There's some prudence in retreating from danger: the times are perilous, colonel.

Young men, like you, Mr. Tackabout, are the properest persons for commissions: such old folks as I, are better out of the way.

Out of harm's way, you mean, colonel.

I think such men as you ought to step forth: I have often heard you boast of your courage, Mr. Tackabout; now's the time, sir—now or never.

Why sir, I have some expectations in Eng­land; the reversion of a considerable estate, or—

Poh! damn the estate; let it go.

My ancestors lost an estate by their loyalty; I should not choose to lose mine by my disloyalty.

[Page 76]

'Tis a sin to lose an estate any how; that's certain.

A man's patrimony, in my opinion, is a sa­cred depositum, especially when an expected title gives lustre to the possession.

Damn the title—take a commission: that's better than all the titles in the world.

Take my commission, Mr. Tackabout: it is expected you should do something, indeed it is.

I have done enough already, sir.

But I observe, you keep out of harm's way, Mr. Tackabout.

Where is the man that has done more than I have? I have damn'd the ministry, abus'd the king, vilified the parliament, and curs'd the Scotch. I have raised the people's suspicions against all moderate men; advised them to spurn at all government: I have cried down tories, cried up whigs, extolled Washington as a god, and call'd Howe a very devil. I have exclaimed against a [...]l taxes, advised the peo­ple to pay no debts; I have promised them success in war, a free trade, and independent dominion. In short, I have inspired them with the true patriotic fire, the spirit of opposition; and yet you say it is expected I should do something.

There are many to be found, who do all this.

And few who do any thing else.

Can this be the person we were in compa­ny with the other day, Trueman?

The very same, only Proteus like, he can change from a man to a brute, from a brute to a ser­pent, or to any thing he pleases.

[Page 77]

Trueman, your servant; Meanwell, your's. I beg pardon, I really did not observe you were pre­sent.

We should not have been offended if you had overlooked us altogether, sir.

Poh. Never mind what I say to these fel­lows, you know my private sentiments.

As well as they do, I suppose, Mr. Tack­about; but, sir, the man who privately condemns, and publicly approves either men or measures, sh [...]ws himself a knave, and proves himself a coward.

Come, sir, no more, sir, I beg of you; I talk to these fellows always in their own style, to avoid suspicion; nothing else, upon [...]our, sir,

So, sir, you inculcate principles subversive of every public and private virtue, you encourage oppression and spread sedition, merely for your own security.

Prudence requires something of this kind.

What you call prudence, I call baseness, Mr. Tackabout: however, I leave you to the pleasures of your prudent duplicity—Meanwell, I wait upon you.

I'll attend you, sir.

You and the tories were at cross-questions, I believe, Mr. Tackabout.

It is always the case, sir: I wish to reclaim the fellows, and cannot but repeat a little of my po­litical catechism to them whenever we meet.

[Page 78]

'Tis a pity such clever men should be enemies to their country.

They are dangerous men; shew me a cle­ver man, and I'll shew you an enemy; let me advise you to keep a strict eye upon those men. Mr. Pre­sident.

D—mn all tories, say I. Come, let us go into the muster-ground.

SCENE a muster-field (in the court-yard.)

ha! damn me, I thought so; yes, yes, honies, you have got it, nine hundred at a clip. Well done, Washington, by God! We'll trim the rascals, d—me.

What's that, captain?

Great, very great; we have done it at last.

What have we done, captain?

Every thing, by God; a noble stroke, old fellow; we have killed and taken nine hundred of the damned infidels.

Read it, captain, read it.

Poh! damn it, you know I hate reading; can't you believe me? there it is, in black and white.

"A copy of his excellency general Washington's letter to congress, dated, Trenton."

That's it; d—n my buttons, if I would not give a million that I had been there.

This is great news, really, captain.

It will do; but it might have been better, and more complete. Some got off, you see; if I had been there, I'll be damn'd if a single scoundrel should [Page 79] have escaped; and here am I doing nothing, but en­couraging a set of poltroons to enter into the service; ever perplexed, vexed, and disappointed—not a breath of applause; not a sprig of laurel for poor Flash, while others are reaping it by handfuls.

Never mind, captain, it will be your time, soon.

Soon! The enemy will be driven to the de. vil, before I shall arrive at the scene of action.

Noble captain, your servant—we shall soon get our complement of men; there are several sine fellows that intend to list.

Noble fellows: have you any thing for them to drink.

I have the recruiting jugs full to the brim.

Of what?

Peach brandy, the best liquor in the world.

Produce it, d—me, and give the lads a drink.

Never mind me; never mind me, captain, I'll do it.

Where's the spring?

We'll shew it you.

[Page 80]

Come on, my brave fellows.

Huzza! for the noble serjeant.

My serjeant has enlisted several fine fellows for me; but persecuted with the wheedling of wives, or the entreaties of parents, I am obliged to discharge the cowards as fast as I get them.

You should not let your good nature pre­judice the service, captain.

Prejudice the service! D—me, sir, I don't know what you mean.

I beg pardon—I only meant to say, you ought not to be too good-natured.

D—n good nature, sir, I scorn it. If I let a man off, 'tis for his money; he pays for his peep­ing, honey.

That's right; it makes the more bounty-money for others.

No, no, thank you, none of that, my dear; where are my expences to come from, do you think?

I thought the public allowed for these.

The public allowance is nothing, if it was not for a little smart-money, and now and then a run of luck, I should absolutely perish.

Do you ever play at cards?

A pretty question, d—me! Why gaming and whoring are the two first qualifications of a soldier.

What say you to a crack at all-fours, now?

Agreed.

Let us go into yonder house, and set to it like brave fellows: my lieutenant shall play with you for what you please.

[Page 81]

Here's he that never flinches.

Well, Trim, what luck?

Why, sir, I got ten clever fellows to pro­mise me to enlist

do you see me, just as the brandy gave out, they kept punctually calling for more grog, I told them, says I,

I am very sorry, says I, the brandy is out. e'god, sir, the words were no sooner out of my mouth,

than away they went, every soul of them.

I am glad of it, for I may perhaps find another use for the bounty-money. Trim meet me at old Brazen's to-night. Come, gentlemen.

SCENE Brazen's house.

Prithee, Mira, lay aside those demure looks; when every creature is running mad for joy at the glorious news from the northward, here are you like an Egyptian mummy—without sense or motion.

I have a fit of the horrors, Miss, whenever I hear of a battle.

So have I, if it goes against us.

Victory is attended with the widows la­mentations, and the orphan's tears; I cannot rejoice at any thing, that sounds with funeral dirges, or makes joy smile in the face of affliction.

Were I a lump of clay, or an image of wax, the word victory would make me spring into life, and sing Te deum.

The untimely death of a parent, husband, or child, might prevent your vivacity, Miss.

[Page 82]

Was I to be made a widow by every victory, I verily think I should rejoice.

Parental and filial tenderness are too near­ly allied to our natures, connubial bliss too valuable, the sweet affections of sympathy and compassion, are too much the ornaments of the human hear, to be cast away for the foolish exultations that flow from the vain triumphs of ambition.

Ha, ha, ha! Do you imagine that I am such a blockhead as to believe the widow's lamentations, the orphan's tears have any effect upon your spi­rits, Mira? No, no, I know better.

What do you know, madam?

I know that a poor creature of the masculine gender, has as high notions of connubial bliss as your ladyship; that he thinks of the great duties of parental and filial tenderness as you do, and that he esteems all victories horrid, unless they are graced with hymenial triumphs.

You are extremely pleasant, madam.

Positively, Mira, I am surprised at you.

Surprised at me! for what, pray?

Why, child, that you should ever think of being in love with one of those horrid creatures, called tories; Trueman is a shocking fellow.

Really, Miss, I am as much surprised at you.

Why, child?

That you should ever be simple enough to esteem a silly coxcomb in politics, who puts on the name of patriot, as all coxcombs do their clothes, to be distinguished, and to be laughed at.

[Page 83]

What do you mean, madam?

My meaning requires no interpretation, ma'am.

If you imagine your satyrical scoffs have any effect upon me, madam, you are much mistaken. The shafts of envy fall short of their mark, when aimed at the well guarded, public protected principles of an honest whig.

Irony, is a harmless weapon, when pointed either at folly or meanness.

You are in your own house, madam.

Where I shall always be glad to entertain you, when you are disposed to treat me with decency.

How have I transgressed?

Trueman's merits are above the scandal of the times: yet, Miss, it gives me pain to hear his name mentioned in terms of reproach.

I hate tories so abominably, that I cannot, for my soul, think of them with patience: As long, ma­dam, as you persist in your fondness for such animals, I shall refrain my visits, I assure you.

Do as you please, Miss.

Madam, your servant; mercy, that any crea­ture can love a tory!

So, I have lost one patriotic acquaintance— here comes a male bird of the same species, to tor­ment me; but I'll avoid it.

D—mn me, if I am not the most unlucky dog that ever cut the cards.

so, honey, are you there? Push off, for I'll be damn'd if I'll have any thing to say to you.

How goes it, captain?

It goes damn'd hard with me, old fellow; I'm sick.

Sick!

Beat to death, trimmed most damnably; a round hundred—nothing less.

What! lashes?

Lashes! d—me, what a thought! no, no, here's the stuff,

here's the stuff.

How beat, then?

A round hundred, good continental, lost with a militia fellow, a d—mn'd milksop lieutenant.

I'll give you satisfaction.

Satisfaction, sir!

Yes, sir; the satisfaction that all gamesters require, a chance to win your money back.

You meant to use me ill, sir.

No, upon my honour, nothing but a joke.

If that's all, here's my hand, I'm at you, for twenty dollars a game, if you dare?

A match, come on.

SCENE I. A dressing-room.

[Page 85]Well, what would I give to hear of another victory! I had a horrid dream last night: I dream't that I saw the congress running out of Philadelphia, frighted to death; some barefooted, others bareheaded, that they run into a great croud, where I soon saw, as I thought, my dear little colonel, bold as a lion, calling out, to arms, arms! but I was surprised to see the men have clubs and sticks, instead of guns; and my dear little colonel with a corn stalk to his side, instead of a sword. It was a horrid dream.

Your servant, madam.

Colonel, I am glad to see you.—Do you ever mind dreams, colonel?

Pleasant dreams are not amiss, madam.

Well, but bad dreams, I mean. I dream't of you last night.

Was that a bad dream, madam?

Very bad, I thought the congress were run­ning away, and that you, without a sword, was at the head of a number of men without arms.

Dreams are illusions; but we have had another battle with the enemy, madam.

When, where! how, tell me, dear colonel?

We attacked them at Prince-Town, and have killed, and taken prisoners, a prodigious num­ber.

Thank God: but is it true?

As true as the gospel, ma'am: 'tis in the papers.

At Prince-town, did you say? where's that?

[Page 86]

Prince-Town, is a town, somewhere about —where general Howe is encamped.

Don't you long to be there, colonel? Lord! If I was a man, how fond I should be of it!

If my affairs—

Affairs: prithee no more of that: when do you think you will set off?

It is impossible for me, madam—I have some affairs—

Affairs, again! every thing should give way to the service of your country.

If I had the constitution of some men—

Constitution! why are you sick? positively, colonel, if you persist in making such foolish excuses, I shall hate you.

Upon my honour, madam.

That's in my custody, sir: you pawned it to me long ago, as a pledge for the patriotism and cou­rage I have given you credit for.

I hope you don't suspect me of wanting either.

Why really, I never did, but I most certainly shall, unless you go into the army.

'Tis not necessary that all patriots should be soldiers.

'Tis necessary that you should be a soldier, tho': for, to be plain with you, colonel, I am deter­mined to be a general's lady, or never to marry.

Positively, madam, the service will kill me.

You'll be killed in the service, you mean: That's what you apprehend.

[Page 87]

I could die on the field of battle with plea­sure, madam, but, —

No but's, colonel, you must be a soldier, in­deed you must.

Well, madam, if it is your desire—but I've one favour to request of you, first.

Any thing: what is it?

Will you condescend to marry me, before I go?

No faith, won't I: the conditions upon which I engaged myself to you were as follows: First, you were to be a delegate, next a colonel, then a gene­ral. The material condition remains yet to be com­plied with, on your part; that performed, perhaps I may have no objection to give you my hand.

Suppose I should be killed?

I should cry a little, I suppose.

My dear madam, there are soldiers enough without me.

You must be a general, or quit your preten­sions to me.

I can apply in a neighbouring state, and be made a brigadier-general, without being a soldier.

No, no, you shall fight for your commission: I'll have none of your chimney-corner generals, I as­sure you.

Will no excuse do?

None, sir. I bid you adieu for the present; unless you set off for the army immediately, it shall be for ever.

The devil take this: I have vapour'd away to a pretty purpose, faith! By pretensions to patrio­tism, [Page 88] I became a delegate; and putting on the ap­pearance of a man of courage, I became a colonel; all to tickle the vanity of this girl—and now, truly, I must expose my life that she may be a general's la­dy! I can't do it: I never thought of fighting in my life. What! stand and be shot at! Indeed, Miss, if these are the terms you are to surrender upon, you may keep your citadel forever, for me: I'm for a whole skin, if I do pennance in it, as an old bachelor, all my days.

SCENE a field.

Simple creature! how soon she blushed her consent to every thing I proposed? here she comes, fair as Venus, and as Dian chaste.

My dearest girl.

I have turned fool, you see, sir, and done as you desired. If you were in earnest in what you said yesterday, I shall always be ready to oblige you in any thing.

A pretty forward hint, by God.

Why, do you see,

as to that, my dear, we'll talk it over another time. I have a few preliminary articles to propose to you, which if you agree to, you may name the happy day.

I don't understand you, sir.

Why, my dear, I have some preparatory measures to take, respecting my friends, and a pre­vious agreement to make with you and them.

Speak plain, if you please. I don't under­stand these fine words.

[Page 89]

I should be much to blame, you know, to marry any woman without knowing whether she would suit my purpose.

As to that matter, you can best judge: you cannot look for much breeding from a poor girl like me, without any bringing up.

My dear, that is not my objection. I only wish to examine my commodity before I purchase.

I wish to know more of you, my dear.

You know as much as you shall know, 'till you have a better right than you have at present.

My dearest girl, as we are man and wife in the face of heaven, do you see, you should not be so vere scrupulous with me.

It will be time enough to take such freedoms, sir, when I am your wife.

Wife! mercy on us!

The liberties I wish to take, my dear, are licensed freedoms. Love requires something of this kind to keep itself alive. 'Tis as necessary to love as fuel is to fire. If you don't let me toy and play with you a little, by my soul, my love will go out.

I can't help it; but you shall take no im­modest freedoms with me.

Poh! a little harmless play, my dear, is mere pastime, don't be afraid.

You don't behave like a gentleman, sir. I assure you, tho' I might, perhaps, consent to be your wife, I never will agree to be any thing else.

Who the devil would have thought it?

[Page 90] My dear, I humbly beg your pardon. The violence of my passion is the cause of these transports. Alas! with what delight would I take you for my bride— but the objections of my friends—

What friends?

I have some particular friends from whom I have great expectations; and your fortune and fa­mily would be with them insuperable objections.

As to my fortune, and family, it is out of my power to make either of them better than they are: you had better then give over all thoughts of the match.

No: it is impossible. My friends shall not controul me. I am resolved upon it, and you shall be mine.

But your great expectations, sir.

Oh! as to that: I hope, in time they may be reconciled, when they find the marriage is over, and cannot be prevented. For this reason, I think it would be best not to have a public marriage. I will beg you therefore, to keep the marriage a secret for some time, 'till I can reconcile them to it.

When I am your wife, you shall direct me in all things.

Well, my dear, my servant will wait upon you at this place, about six in the evening, and will conduct you to a friend's house. I'll be there with a clergyman, and proper witnesses.

Well, sir, if you do marry me, I will study night and day to please you, and to make you hap­py. In the evening, you say?

Yes, my love.

[Page 91]

'Till then, I wish you well.

Adieu.

Little did I expect this resistance in so artless a crea­ture. I made as sure of my game, as if I had caught it. However, I'll entangle my pretty linnet yet, in a net often set by us true sportsmen, for these shy birds. Our butler shall be the parson, the cook and scul­lion the witnesses. The butler has a most demure sanctified face, and will make a tolerable good priest. E'gad, the idea of what is to follow, gives me a pal­pitation at the heart already. Well, Trueman, your business: then my own.

SCENE Brazen's house.

Damnation seize me, if you did not pack the cards.

It is a damn'd lie, sir.

Dare you give a soldier the lie, sir?

Yes, I dare, when he tells one.

Come, old fellow, I don't mean to quarrel with you.

Pay the money you have lost.

Don't be hard, old fellow; I've no money but the public's, not a shilling.

Public or private, pay, I say.

Consider, sir, the service must be injured, if I apply the public money to any purposes, but those for which I received it.

Damn the service: what's the service to me? pay sir.

I'll give you my note on demand.

[Page 92]

Your note! damn your note, I'll have the money.

Lord! how I tremble with rage,

A brother officer, by God! a reinforce­ment

my note, sir, is as good as any man's note. Damn you, sir, you have raised my blood. I demand satisfaction.

Lay down your stickfrog, and I'll give you satisfaction.

What! you are for fifty cuffs? Oh! no, no, honey, I am no black-guard. Come on, my dear. Here's the stuff, honey.

Gentlemen, your servant.

Your servant, my dear,

What! at points, gentlemen!

Draw, my dear, for the honour of the pro­fession, draw.—Sir, 'tis a disgrace upon a soldier to have a fist cock'd in his company.

Your antagonist has no other weapon. Here's my sword, sir,

Sir, I thank you. Now, come on, you scoundrel.

What! Aid the enemy! Hark'ye, my dear, your name!

That's captain Feather, of the flying camp. Come on, sir, I say.

I have nothing to say to you, sir,

Captain, I should be glad to speak with you. Walk out, if you please, sir.

The sword, if you please,

Come, sir, I'll attend you.

[Page 93]

But upon second thoughts, my dear, I can say, what I have to say, here. You seem from the northward, from your uniform.

Perhaps not, sir.

You are a scoundrel. sir,

Do you hear that, captain?

Washington has done wonders to the north­ward, sir,

You are a damn'd coward, I say.

Are you from the northward, captain?

I am, sir.

In what corps? in the service of what state, sir?

Damn your impertinence; what right have you to catechise any gentleman in my house?

I'll be reveng'd, damn'me, I'll make you pay for this, honey.

Can that fellow be an officer?

Yes; and, I once thought, a fellow of spirit. But he is too mean to talk about. I thought captain, you had taken your departure for the south­ward, yesterday.

It was my intention when I left this place, Sir. But hearing of Washington's fresh success, I am now hastening to the scene of action, hoping that I may partake of the glory acquired by our noble com­mander in the frequent rencountres with the enemy.

Noble, captain! give me your hand. You are for the place of danger, I find.

[Page 94]

Danger and honour are two associates that go hand in hand. We must encounter the one to ob­tain the other. Honour is the idol I worship; to that I would sacrifice my life and limbs.

What can British mongrels do with such men as these. Thirty thousand of them will be but a breakfast for us.

Rather hard of digestion

I should be glad to pay my respects to the ladies, sir, if you please.

By all means. They are all from home except Mira. I'll send her to you. She'll be glad to see you, I'm sure.

I make no doubt of it. Now, hat under arm, a low bow, and a most obsequious face.

So, Mr. Slyboots, are you here again?

At your service, madam, and upo [...] an errand of a similar nature to the last.

You have a letter for me, then.

Yes, madam, upon my knees I present it; and in token of the great respect I have for the writer, I must kiss the hand that receives it.

"On Edgehill—at six in the evening —Meanwell and his trusty squire—your affectionate Trueman." You are the trusty squire, I suppose, and can inform me more fully, perhaps, of Mr. True­man's intentions, than he has ventured to communi­cate in his letter.

Yes, madam, I can tell you Mr. Trueman's intentions, I believe.

Do, sir.

[Page 95]

His intentions are to run away.

Run away!

Yes, madam, with a beautiful angel like your ladyship, and to marry her as soon as he can get a person legally authorised to perform the cere­mony.

So the plot is out. Well, Trueman, love sweetly supplicates for worth like thine; I surrender.

What a charming creature!

Here, sir, deliver this ring to Mr. Trueman; tell him, what he gave me as a token of his love, I now send as a token of my fidelity to him.

What a pretty way these fine women have of winding themselves round a man's heart!

Inform him, I will play the obedient mis­tress that I may sooner learn to act the dutiful wife.

Upon my soul, you say so many fine things I shall forget: Do write.

Time will not permit, adieu.

Well, captain, did Mira know you again?

Perfectly, sir. Miss and I had some conver­sation yesterday; she recognized me at once.

I did not observe you had a word to say to any body but my old woman.

A little acquaintance gives the tongue a privilege with people of my profession.

Soldiers are seldom at a loss for talk, they say.

Very seldom. I'm at a damnable loss tho' to contrive an excuse for getting away decently.

Come, captain, lay by your sword. You'll stay with me to-night.

[Page 96]

Excuse me, good sir, when duty commands, the inclination must obey. I should be happy to stay with you many days, but the honour of a soldier compels me to repair to the scene of action.

The honour of a soldier! That's true: Well, noble captain, success attend you

I thank you, sir, for your civilities, and am your most obedient servant.

A decent, well-bred lad, and a fellow of spirit, I warrant. Well, I'll go in pursuit of that cow­ardly scoundrel, and cudgel the rascal, or make him pay me my money.

SCENE a Court-house.

This is great news, glory to the Lord for it. The Lord is on our side, I am taught to believe, for we have great success, Mr. Tackabout.

Nothing but the tories can hurt us; no­thing else, sir.

Praise be to God they are vastly scattered.

There are many in this county. I am sur­prized the committee don't handle the fellows. I am determined, unless something is done with them, to head a mob myself, and burn down their houses.

With the Lord's will, something ought to be done. Indeed, there should.

You, as president of the committee, should cite the scoundrels. Let them be stigmatized; mark them out, and it's an easy matter to set a mob upon their backs that shall drive them to the devil.

[Page 97]

Why, sir, we have had several before the committee, already, but it has pleased goodness that nothing could be made appear against them.

You have tories in the committee, sir.

God forbid.

Two of the members dined with a Scotch­men the other day.

Dine with a Scotchman! that was dreadful.

Dreadful, sir, why, they deserve to be hang'd. I was told they were in a private room, shut up. The person who told me, says he, peeped thro' the key-hole, and saw them wink to each other, and then drink; that they would every now and then, break out into a horse laugh. He heard them drink damnation to all scoundrels—very plain.

That was meant for somebody, I reckon.

It was intended for the committee, sir.

Well, sir▪ the committee is to meet to-day, you know, at your request. You'll inform them of all such things, I hope.

I'll do my duty, depend upon it.

Not pay! I thought the captain was flush of money.

He's a damn'd scoundrel.

Mighty well! very fine! excellent terms, indeed, if the guardians of their country are to be ab [...]sed by every fellow!

What is the matter, my dear, sir?

You know I dare not accept or give a chal­lenge: It's contrary to ordinance. My hands are [Page 98] tied up you see; yet truly, I am to be kicked, cuffed, and trod upon. I'll be damn'd if I would not give a million that I durst cut that fellows head off.

Surely, my friends, you have not used the captain ill?

Use a soldier ill! They are our dependance —our support—our every thing.

Yes, yes, and we should keep them from all harm.

No soldier ought to be hurt.

Gentlemen, I lodge my complaint with you. If soldiers are to be abused, d'ye see me, because they dare not give a challenge, and by a man too, d—n my soul if ever I pull trigger again.

Gentlemen, we really ought to sit upon this matter.

That is not a business that comes before the committee, sir.

The committee; sir, begging your pardon, have a right to take up what business they please; and and to give any opinion.

So I always thought.

Except against one of their own body. They have no right to try one another. A lawyer told me it would be imperium sub imperio.

Why, as you say, my friend, I don't think that would be right, nor safe neither, indeed.

As Mr. Brazen is a member, we have no business with any matter that touches him.

No, no, by no means.

Well, gentlemen, as that is your opinion, [Page 99] Mr. Brazen, do take a seat; I say, gentlemen, as that is your opinion, captain, we can't do any thing in it, you see.

Mighty well! very fine! so I am to be abused, and to have no satisfaction. D—nation seize me if I don't.

What will you do?

'Tis no matter, sit still, if you please, I'm done with you, sir. But I'll be d—m'd if I don't—

I swear the peace, gen­tlemen, I swear the peace.

You are an infamous coward, sir.

Very pretty! noble doings! If I fight, I am to be broke; if not, to be abused; eh!

Walk out, if you please.

Yes, yes, I'll go, sir, but d—mme if I don't—

Upon my soul, Mr. Brazen, I am surprized at you.

For what, sir?

That gentleman is an officer in the service of the country.

Suppose he is.

Our leading men treat our officers and sol­diers with the greatest respect, sir. Whatever they do or say, is overlooked for the good of the service.— They would not have one of them offended for the world, sir: they would not, you may depend upon it.

He is a scoundrel; as such I have treated him: if you have a mind—take up the quarrel.

I take up the quarrel! D—n the fellow, I don't care a farthing about him. No, no, old friend, [Page 100] here's my hand; I would not quarrel with you for a dozen such fellows Well, Mr. President, are the cul­prits cited, agreeable to the list I gave you?

This fellow has more smoke than fire in him, I find.

I told the doorkeeper to summon them.

Mr. Stitch, have you summond them men as I told you of?

I have summoned four; Mr. Trueman, Mr. Meanwell, the reverend Mr. Preachwell, and a Scotch pedlar, an't please your honour.

What are they charg'd with?

Why, Mr. Tackabout there, gave me a pa­per, with all their crimes set down in it, but

I've lost it, I believe, some how or other. Howsomever, I can remember as how that Mr. Meanwell and Mr. Trueman are to be tried for dining with a Scotchman, Mr. Preachwell for eating upon a fast day, and the Scotch pedlar for drinking the king's health.

Well, where are they?

Mr. Meanwe [...]l, and Mr. Trueman, promised to come. The parson snuff'd up his nose as bad as if he smell'd a stink. I'm sartin, says I, it's not me that has let a —, mentioning the thing itself, an't like your honour. The words were hardly out of my mouth, before spang he took me with his foot.

The parson strike!

Yes; look, your honour, just here an't please your honour.

[Page 101]

Praise be to God, our holy teachers detest fighting.

I said so, an't please your honour. You a parson, says I! By jing, he ran at me as vigue-rous as a lion, with a monstratious stick; but durn the heels, thinks I, that lets the body suffer; so off I ran.

Did he say nothing?

He call'd me a dirty fellow, an't like your honour.

Where is the pedlar?

He got the wind of me, and has made his escape out of the precincts, I believe.

You say, Trueman and Meanwell promised to attend?

Yes, an't please your honour.

Suppose we adjourn, Mr. President, for half an hour, 'till the tories come?

Agreed.

SCENE the Court-house yard.

Let us secure our pockets Meanwell.

Fie! my dear Sir, that is too severe.

The viper that gives a wound, then licks it with an envenomed tongue, is not more noxious, more offensive, than the base reptile thou art.

'Pon honour, gentlemen, I have the greatest veneration for you both.

So talk'd the artful serpent, when with shew of zeal, and love, he seduced our first parents.

It is at your instance, Mr. Tackabout, we are called here: What is our offence?

[Page 102]

At my instance! you astonish me: at my instance! I scorn it.

If your baseness was not perfectly plebeian, Mr. Tackabout, the exteriors of the gentleman might perhaps keep you concealed, but—

Nature is too true to her bias not to make Mr. Tackabout always appear the complete villain she intended him for.

Mr. Tackabout is giving the tories a little more of his political catechism, I expect.

Come, Mr. Tackabout, no favour to tories: let's have no pleading off; bring them before the committee.

Yes, yes, let's have them before us.

I have nothing to say against the gentlemen. I have no charge against them.

Why, dear me! did not you have them cited. Did not you give me a paper?

That's lost, thank heaven.

Did not you give me a paper with their names?

I give you a paper! I might give you a pa­per and their names might be wrote upon it, but not by me, I assure you. You should never betray your informers, sir. It will stop all your proceedings. It's a breach of faith and confidence that I little expected, sir,

Oh! dear me! Mr. Stitch, Mr. Stitch.

Where's the paper I gave you with the names of the men you were to summon.

[Page 103]

An't please your honour, happening to meet with Mr. Pettifogger, the attorney, I shewed it to him. He told me it was a precept, and that I must leave a copy of it at every place I went to, but being a poor hand at writing, thof I have pretty good larn­ing too, I bethought me as how it would do as well to leave the thing itself, so I gave the paper to that gentleman.

Blown, by heavens!

The paper Mr. Tackabout gave me, I lost.

Here is the paper he gave me, and in my house this was found.

Do you know this hand-writing?

Hide it, for God's sake, my dear sir.

Come this way, and let me talk with you: Gentle­men, I wish to have a little conversation with Mr. Trueman. Will you give me leave?

Ay, ay, try what you can do with him.

Do, my dear sir, be advised. You know I'm a tory; if these fellows find me out, I shall be tore to pieces.

To this gentleman

and myself, you profess yourself a tory; with these people you have the merit of being a whig. It's high time, Mr. Tackabout, for you to be shewn in your proper colours; for, under your present disguise, you are a nuisance to all parties.

I am a tory, sir, 'pon honour, sir, I am.

Then you are the base villain I always found you to be.

Come, Mr. Tackabout, these gentlemen were cited at your request. Let's have 'em before us.

I have no charge against them, gentlemen. I have talk'd the matter over with them, and am proud to find they are innocent.

Well, well, what a pity! is there nobody here that can make any thing appear against them? We shall be laugh'd at if they get off so; indeed we shall, my friends.

You appear anxious, sir, to have us ar­raign'd: By interrogating us, you may be furnished with answers respecting any thing you wish to be in­form'd of.

As that is the case, I shall come to the point at once. Are you tories, gentlemen?

Explain what you mean by the word tory, gentlemen.

Tory! why surely every body knows what a tory is—a tory is—pray, gentlemen, explain to him what a tory is.

A tory, sir, is any one who disapproves of men and measures.

All suspected persons are call'd tories.

If suspicion makes a tory, I may be one; if a disapprobation of men and measures constitutes a tory, I am one; but if a real attachment to the true interests of my country stamps me her friend, then I detest the opprobrious epithet of tory, as much as I do the inflammatory distinction of whig.

How is that? this gentleman is neither whig nor tory.

[Page 105]

Neither, sir!—Yes, neither. Whenever the conduct and principles of neither are justifiable, I am neither; as far as the conduct and principles of either correspond with the duties of a good citizen, I am both.

Well, really, I don't understand him. Do any of you, gentlemen?

I understand as how he says he is a tory, or no tory, a whig or no whig, just as the maggot bites.

How is that?

Why, mayhap, at this present time of ask­ing, he may be a whig, as we pretend to be. By and by he may be a tory, as occasion offers.

I detest the mean subterfuge: this low cun­ning I leave to your sycophant, Mr. Tackabout.

Mr. Tackabout is no tory, I'm sure.

Ask him, sir.

Well, for the joke's sake. Mr. Tackabout, the tories have a mind to turn the tables upon you. They seem to signify as how you are a tory.

You are better acquainted with me, sir, than to suspect any thing of that, I hope.

Why, to be sure I am.

Mr. Tackabout and the tories seemed very thick, a little while ago, while he was talking.

Let me tell, Mr. Thunderbolt.—While he was talking with the tories just now, Mr. Squib, and I bethought us of listening a bit.

Yes, and he purtested it was not owing to him these gentlemen were summoned. He signified he was a tory himself.

So he did.

[Page 106]

Fair play, is fair play, that gentleman call'd him a villain for it.

The truth is the truth. That gentleman is lesser a tory than Mr. Tackabout.

So he is.

Give me your hand, you are an honest fellow: every tory is a villain. Hence­forth, all malice apart.

It seems as how the gentlemen are whigs and Mr. Tackabout the tory.

They are honest fellows, I find. There's my hand

gentlemen, I move that they be discharged.

Agreed, agreed.

What must be done to Mr. Tackabout?

Duck him.

Tar and feather him.

Advertise him.

He should be duck'd, as an incendiary, tarr'd as a nuisance, feather'd as a foul traitor, hang'd—

And advertis'd as a coward.

I beg pardon, gentlemen, but Mr. Tackabout's er­rors are so fundamental, that I can't help applying a certain specific.

Well, really, he is rightly serv'd.

Very right.

Let us adjourn, and drive the fellow out of the yard.

Agreed.

You are an honest fellow, a fellow of spirit.

[Page 107]

I once esteemed you as a friend, respected you as a father, Mr. Brazen.

Well, well, all malice apart, it shall be so.

What, good sir?

You shall have her to-night, if you please.

I am at a loss for words.

Poh! poh! keep your words to yourself; you are welcome to her, that's enough; as I find you are no tory, that's enough; I say. Come, let's mob that rascal of a fellow.

So in spite of all the malice and censure of the times, I am at last dubb'd a whig. I am not wiser or better than before. My political opinions are still the same, my patriotic principles unaltered: but I have kick'd a tory, it seems: there is a merit it this, which, like charity, hides a multitude of sins. Well, Mira, I have once more obtained your father's consent to our union, and lest some suspicion or other should again tickle his brain with the patriotic itch, I am determin'd to be thine this night.

What he gave as a token of love, I now send as a token of my fidelity to him. So much for my lesson.

Alack! alack! how many poor creature [...] do these little magic circles make miserable!

What sine soliloquy are you meditating, most noble captain?

Taken up with your business altogether, I assure you.

[Page 108]

It becomes intricate, I fear, if it puzzles a man of your adroitness.

I was studying how to convey to you, in the best manner, the sweetest message that ever came from a fond mistress.

A lady's message can lose nothing of it's me­rit, when conveyed by so great an adept as you, sir, but I expected a letter—

A letter! Lord, sir, never ask a letter from your mistress. 'Tis the worst way of procuring a ten­der of the affections in the world. A woman, when she commits her sentiments to paper, is so very cau­tious, so nicely circumspect, lest the warmth that animates the expressions of love, should carry her be­yond the usual prudence of her sex, that the glow­ing ardor of the passions, gives way to a cold prudish reserve, which I call the grave of love; tho' some are pleased to call it the nursery of virtue. How [...]ver, sir, your mistress assents to all your proposals, and here are my credentials.

I know the token too well, to doubt the faith of my dear girl, or the fidelity with which you have transacted the business entrusted to you. Take this as a small acknowledgment.

I never receive wages for conducting a love-intrigue. These little offices of friendship circulate the affections so sweetly, that I always find a reward in my own feelings without any adventitious one.

The youngster's expressions and sentiments favour little of the footman, methinks.

Have you any farther commands, sir.

Well, Trueman, you have got your pleni-potentiary with you, I find. The preliminaries are all settled, I suppose; and you have nothing to do but enter the fortress.

I have always had a friend in the citadel, the little traitor, love: but I have obtained by trea­ty, what I lately thought was only to be atchieved by stratagem.

What? is the old governor in your interest again?

Yes, he assents to the surrender, and the terms of capitulation are all my own.

I congratulate you with all my soul: when is to be the happy day?

This. I am determined to take the old fellow while he's in the humour. At six in the evening, I expect our plighted troth will be mutually exchanged. Even that happy hour will have a shade upon it unless dispelled by your presence: the old gentleman has been rude to you: can you forgive it?

The interest you have in his affection leaves no room for my resentment. You may expect me: 'till then, adieu.

Well, since this affair of Mr. Trueman's is to be settled in the old hum drum style: I have no­thing to do but to bring my amour to as speedy a conclusion as possible. You to your Mira, Trueman, and I to my dear Melinda.

SCENE a field.

Poor Flash! to be broke if you fight, to be kick'd if you don't!

Lie there, commission and cowardice, together.

now, d—me, come on, ha, hah!

how I could fight, if I durst.

Well, ma'am, I have taken a commission, purely to oblige you.

Your courage must be tried, indeed it must, colonel, before I can consent. Stop,

A man fighting his own shadow. See, my dear colo­nel; now is the time to attack him: do fight him co­lonel; I long of all things in the world, to see a duel.

Hah! there I had him. Hah! again, by God! through and through d—me!

Mercy on me!

Speak to him, colonel.

Who are you, sir?

But stay, colonel, let the man have his sword.

May I take the liberty to enquire your name, sir?

My name! d—me, sir, what right have you to my name?

He curses you, colonel; pick a quarrel with him; do, dear colonel.

What! quarrel with a madman? The man is deranged in his mind. Are you not frantic, sir?

[Page 111]

Frantic, my name Frantic! D—mn you, sir, I'll not be nick-named by any scoundrel living.

Scoundrel! now we shall have it, draw, colo­nel.

He did not call me scoundrel, madam. He only said he would not be nick-named by any scoun­drel living. I have not nick-named him, madam.

It is a lie, sir.

What say you to that, colonel?

The man is mad, absolutely mad, madam.

Blood and fire.

Now, colonel.

A pretty blade, let's see it my dear.

Let him feel it, colonel. Up to him.

With your leave, my dear, from France, no doubt. I have heard they are all the best polishers in the world.

Stand off, sir; what did you mean by call­ing me a scoundrel?

I call you a scoundrel! Upon my soul, my dear, you are disordered in your mind.

This lady says you did, sir.

D—mn all ladies, say I; they are always making mischief, by setting honest fellows by the ears.

I told you, madam, he did not call me a scoundrel.

I heard him give you the lie in plain terms.

[Page 112]

Don't believe her, my dear. You and I won't quarrel about what a woman says: they will tell fibbs, d—n'd fibbs, sometimes.

You hear, madam; he did not give me the lie.

Was there ever such a paltry coward! to put up with such an affront, and then stand parleying with a fellow who only apologizes for it, by abusing his mistress? give me the sword.

A man in petticoats, by God! oh, ho! my dear, I smell a rat. Yes, yes, honey, catch Flash if you can. Two to one! Oh! no, no, my dear; I'll not be assassinated by God.

That last reproach of your's, my dear ma­dam, raised my blood to such a pitch—if he had not gone off—D—n the fellow, I must have kill'd him.

Colonel Strut, your most obedient. Hence­forth, I disclaim all connexions with you. Never dare to speak to me, nor hope ever hereafter, to see my face again. This I will take as the trophy of my victory.

Well, I don't know whether I am not bet­ter without her. She has such a cursed stomach for fighting, she would certainly have brought me into some scrape or other, in spite of my teeth.

SCENE Meanwell's house.

My master's servants are a set of honest fellows. The butler made a few scruples at first, but upon his trying on the canonical habit, and my tel­ling him he would make a charming methodist preach­er, by God, the old fellow kick'd conscience out of doors, and immediately became a new creature—

Sage father, your most humble. A little more gra­vity, and you'll top the hypocrite so perfectly, that tho' true sanctity may blush at thee, yet iniquity will own thee her's for ever.

I don't much like the business you have set me upon, Mr. Pickle.

Poh! you shall have a buss of the bride, a reward that would make lechery kick up the beam, tho' weigh'd against the charity of a bishop. Besides, as my tenure will be of short duration, I expect you may like her in reversion; a gratuity that a lecher of the Romish church would lick his chops at, with avidity.

It goes against my conscience, Mr. Pickle.

Conscience! ha, ha, ha, as long as you are in that habit, you may defy the devil, and all his imps. Conscience only serves as a bugbear to the laity, the clergy are above it's trifling fears. For shame, don't disgrace the cloth, old fellow.—Go take the cook and scullion with you. You know our master is to be at Mr. Trueman's wedding to-night, we shall not be miss'd.

[Page 114]

It is a sin to deceive a poor innocent girl, Mr. Pickle.

Poh! poh! curse your canting, come along.

All the sin must lie upon your head.

Well, I don't care, so I have the pleasure somewhere else.

You must bear me harmless.

Yes, yes.

Well, I must go then, I suppose.

Come on.

My old friend, Mr. Worthy, writes me that his nephew, George, had arrived from England, about the beginning of our public disturbances; that being too free in discovering his political opinions, he was cited before one of their courts. To avoid the treatment he expected to receive from these guardians of the rights and liberties of their fellow-citizens, he absconded without informing his friends of his route or designs. I am requested to make en­quiry after him. We have no asylum with us to which persecuted integrity would fly for shelter. No, no, he is not with us.

Mr. Trueman presents his compliments to your honour: says he is gone off to Mr. Brazen's, and desires you will follow him as soon as possible.

Six is the hour. Tell your master, I'll be with him at the time ap­pointed.

My butler just informed me that an old tenant of mine, formerly one of my best and most faithful do­mestics, [Page 115] has sent to me very pressingly to call on him in my way to the wedding. He has urgent business with me. I must comply with his request, and not to be too late, I'll prepare immediately for my journey. Who's there?

Where's Tickle?

An't please your honour, I don't know. But since he turned captain, I suppose as how he's after some of his wild vagaries. I saw him go out not long ago, with somebody wrap'd up in a gown.

You did! Farther enquiry should be made into this. Do you think any of the servants can tell whither he is gone?

They say it is a profound secret, but I thinks your honour, it can't be after any good.

Don't be too suspicious of a fellow-servant, but which of them told you it was a secret?

The cook, your honour: says he to me, Mr. Pickle is a fly cock, says he, and knows what to do, says he, but I hope your honour won't tell as how I told you.

Get ye gone, and tell the cook to come hither.

That young man is out of the way at a very improper time, and may probably have some trick in view. He appears to be a faithful and honest, and at the same time the most ingenious and genteel servant, I ever saw; but nevertheless, it is not impossible but he may have a mixture of the rake in his disposition. Let me see, what girl is there hereabouts whom he can have in view? It is not my wish to pry into all the actions of my servants, but no improper conduct must be permitted.

Well, sir, can you give me any account of Mr Pickle?

Your honour won't be offended, I hope. I don't wish to raise mischief against a brother servant.

You know my authority when I choose to exert it on a proper occasion, must not be disputed. I understand that Pickle has gone out with some per­son muffled up in a cloke, and as secrecy is generally the veil of iniquity, I am confident he has some evil design. If you know any thing of his schemes, I in­sist upon your faithfully disclosing them to me.

Why, indeed, your honour, he never told me any thing about it; but I have good reason to be­lieve, and I'll tell your honour all I know about it; for tho' I am a poor sarvant, I hope I may be an ho­nest man. Don't your honour think a sarvant has a soul to be sav'd as well as great folks?

They have indeed, and for that reason should be attentive to their duty. But my time is short, be quick in giving your information.

Well, your honour must know the butler is gone with Mr. Pickle, and he wants me and John the scullion, to go too. The butler told me Mr. Pickle was going to be married, and we were to be the wit­nesses.

But if that was all, where was the neccessity of secrecy.

Ah! your honour ha'n't heard all yet! This marriage, the butler said, is to be all a trick. He is to marry her with your name, and the butler is to be the parson, so that Mr. Pickle will gain his ends [Page 117] without any wedding in reality; the butler said as how he did not approve such doings, and he would endeavour to let you know in time to prevent it.— Howsomdever, as he is gone too, without telling your honour any thing about it, I suppose Mr. Pickle may have overpersuaded him.

Bless me! what a scheme of iniquity! But what girl is this he intends to deceive?

Melinda Heartfree, sir, the daughter of your honour's old servant John. Ah! he is a good old soul, and dame Heartfree too: they are so kind and good, every body loves them; and the young girl, too, is as good a creature, and as pretty as ever a man might wish to see. Indeed, your honour, I think it would be a pity to do her any harm.

I applaud your sentiments, and wish that many in higher stations, who delight in betraying innocence and beauty, could think as justly. To pre­vent the intended villany no time must be lost. Pickle and the butler may expect you now. You shall go with me. I'll not stay to dress for the wedding; when suffering virtue is to be relieved, or innocence protected, the moments are too precious to be dedi­cated to ceremony.

SCENE John Heartfree's house.

Well, my dear, are you ready to take a walk over to neighbour Homespun's?

Yes: I believe there's nothing more to be done about the house, and I'll go as I am, plain and simple. You know neighbour Homespun don't stand upon finery.

[Page 118]

No, and God forbid he should; for neither he nor I have much of that to brag of. But where's Milly?

Milly had rather stay at home, she says.

Well, let her stay; we can go without her. Come, child.

Come, I have enquired, and find the old folks are from home. Melinda is within, and will make her appearance immediately.

What am I to do?

Be all gravity, sir, and with a demure face and most audible voice, read the ceremony.

The ceremony! where must I find it?

Here, sir,

you are to begin here.

Yes, yes, how much is there of it?

All this.

Why it would take me a month to read all that—

Zounds! man, can't you read?

Great D-e-a-r, dear, l-y-ly, darly, b-e, be, l-o, lo, belo, v-e-d, ved, beloved, darly beloved.

Pish! try here.

Great W-i-l-t, wilt, t-h-o-u, tho', h-a—

Hush you clodheaded fool; here comes Melinda.

My dearest girl.

Lord bless me, how my heart aches!

What's the matter, my love?

I'm so sear'd; you'll pardon my folly, I hope, sir.

[Page 119]

Yes, my dear, and reward your love; this worthy clergyman—

Is that the parson? how my heart aches!

He is a learned and sage divine, a true Or­thodox minister of the church, a man of letters, and hard reading (literally true! aside) He has an impe­diment in his speech.

There is the poor girl, as I was telling your honour he intends to trick.

Is that the butler in the parson's gown?

Yes, sir, but he said he would keep them apart 'til your honour came.

So, sir, you have dar'd to make use of my name, in order to deceive an innocent girl.

Blown, by heavens.

When virtue stands upon her guard against the protestations of lust and treachery, the professed libertine flies to a new object. 'Tis only the sly hypo­crite and accomplish'd villain, who under the mask of honour, makes war upon simplicity and innocence, by prostituting the sanctity of marriage, to the base pur­poses of seduction.

I am asham'd to look him in the face.

Young man—I could have pawn'd my life upon your principles: I have found in you fidelity, sincerity, and truth, an understanding and disposition far above your rank in life. In your breast I once thought virtue might have liv'd in concord with the graces. Sorry I am to see a mind such as your's pol­luted [Page 120] and abased by the low cunning, of intrigue, and the base arts of sensuality.

How much like a scoundrel must I appear!

It is happy for you, miss, that my other servants are men of better principles than your fond lover, here.

Bless me! what do I hear? pray, sir, what is the matter?

My name is Meanwell, child.

What is your's, then?

Pickle.

Pickle!

Yes, and a most woeful pickle I am in.

What a fool have I been?

Pardon me, good sir; and you, my dear girl, forgive me. Tho' your virtue deserves a greater reward, yet, if you will condescend to marry me, it shall be the future study of my life, to atone for my base designs upon your unsuspecting love, by making you a kind and most affectionate husband.

Your friends will object to your marriage, un­less you get a woman of family and fortune, perhaps.

My principal friend is here present: If he consents, and you are willing, there can be no other objection to our union.

The generous tender you make of your hand and affections, to this poor injur'd innocent, gives me hopes that you have not travelled far in the road of vice. Her example will, I hope, recal you to the paths of virtue. If she is willing, I not only con­sent to your union, but will present you with a suffi­cient sum to begin the world with.

[Page 121]

Noble fellow.

Well, my dear Me­linda, you hear this, can you forgive me?

It was your person I lov'd, not your fortune: Your person is still the same, I must still love.

Here's my hand.

With mine take my heart.

Well, as all matters are settled, I may read the ceremony, I suppose. I can read much better now, Mr. Pickle.

Come, sir, be merciful, when virtue rides triumphant on the smooth surface of our affections, you should never ruffle the fair prospect by stirring the passions.

Instead of a fine lady, I must be poor Melin­da, still, and instead of the master I've got the man.

My dear Melinda, it is with pleasure I shall now discover to you my real name and character.— After the proofs I've had of your virtue and disinter­ested love, I can no longer hesitate in making you [Page 122] mistress of a fortune equal to that I falsely pretended to be master of.

What is this I hear?

More wonders still!

That gentleman

will be able to inform you that there are few families in this western hemisphere superior to mine, either in estate or other circumstances. By the death of a ten­der and careful father, I am possessed of an ample fortune.

My suspicions increase every mo­ment.

The phrenzy of the times, and an unhappy attachment to sentiments and opinions inculcated into me from my early youth, reduced me to the necessity of abandoning both friends and fortune for a time, and to seek an asylum under the roof of a man held high in the esteem of my poor deceased father, and revered by all his dependants.

Do you know this hand writing?

It is my good uncle's, or I'm much deceiv'd.

Come to my arms, my dear George; son to the companion of my youth, the fond associate of my riper years. He will always live in my remem­brance, and to thee I will pay the debt of love I owed him.

Add no more to what I have received, lest you oppress me with accumulated kindness.

My dear George why did you come to me in the character of a footman? you know the inter­est you had in my affections which entitled you to a [Page 123] station far above the lowly homage paid to a master, or that pliant duty service too often requires.

Hearing that you were a suspected person as well as myself, and apprehending I might be held out to public odium, as the phrase is, I fear'd if I an­nounc'd myself to you, you might be induced to do something in my behalf, which would render you still more obnoxious than you are at present.

Is it not sufficient that public virtue some­times yields to the torrent of political enthusiasm, but are the social virtues to be confined within the narrow circle of self-preservation, or hid under the disguise of time-serving civility?

My old friend, I am glad to see you.

Madam, your servant.

I am proud to see your honour. Heaven's bounty be prais'd, your honour bears a good face yet.

And a good heart too, I hope.

Thank you, my good old lady; you wish me a boon far above the treasures of the world.

Well, but, Milly, how comes it that the gentlemen are all standing, child? Come, sir, take a seat; nobody welcomer, your honour knows.

I thank you John, I had rather stand.

I have no time upon my hands, I find. Well, what business have you with me, John?

Business! bless your honour, I am proud to see you: it always does me good, whenever your ho­nour comes a near me.

[Page 124]

It was a feign'd story of mine to bring you here, sir.

Is that it? I'll say no more about it, then. So, John, you were near having a wedding in your house to-day.

I don't know how that could be, unless Milly would have wedded one of the bed-posts. There has not been a soul here, that I remember, off and on these two months and better.

Except the mad captain; he was here anon.

What do you think of this gentleman?

I don't recollect that ever I saw him before.

This is a young gentleman of fortune, the son of an old friend of mine. His name is Worthy, and would be happy to marry your daughter, if you will grant your consent.

Your honour must be joking now.

Indeed I am not; certain circumstances compelled him, for a while, to pass himself on the world for my servant, by the name of Pickle; but his passion for Melinda has induced him to discover his real name and family.

I cannot doubt your honour's word: But how came he acquainted with Milly?

Love, tho' blind, by instinct finds his way. I confess, with shame, that when I first saw this beau­teous maid, I was tempted to entertain dishonourable designs upon her, but I found her pure as spotless snows, and firm as adamant against all improper pro­posals, tho' soft as wax to the impressions of tender­ness. I have always wished to find a maiden who could love me for myself alone; in this artless fair I [Page 125] have found one, who when my base attempt to im­pose upon her by a pretended marriage, was disco­ver'd, mov'd by affection, forgave it all, and deign'd to receive the repentant sinner, tho' seemingly poor and humble. To her then, I bow, and she, if you object not, shall be the partner of my future life.

All this is new to me; but the gentleman is welcome to Milly, with all my heart. However, as it is come to this, another secret must be explained, for that girl is no more my daughter than I am a gover­nor.

How?

No, your honour, she is of a much better family than I shall ever boast: she is nearly related to your honour.

To me!

Yes, your honour; but a short story will make all clear. You remember you had a sister once who is now dead?

Yes, one whom I have always remembered with lively regret. She marri'd unhappily.

There, your honour, was the beginning of all the mischief. You know Mr. Spendall, her hus­band was a very extravagant man. He liv'd at a great rate, and gam'd and horse-raced it very much, so that he soon brought himself to ruin. But that was not all, for, besides all this, he treated the lady, his wife, very ill, indeed. She had brought him a fine fortune, and he had spent it: so he thought her heart always up­braided him for it, and that made him worse, but Lord help the poor lady, she was so sweet and kind hearted, she bore no malice to any body.

[Page 126]

Your tale touches me too ten­derly.

No wonder it should, your honour, but as I was about to say, the poor lady you know had a child, which was generally supposed to have died when it was two months old. Her husband was at that time gone upon a long journey which he took in­deed to keep out of the way of his creditors, and the report was spread to deceive him, and a pretended funeral was had.

I remember it, and I attended on the oc­casion, but I did not examine the coffin.

Neither did any body else: but the poor lady had brought the child to me. I shall never for­get her looks. It was not long before she died. John, says she, I know I shall shortly die, my heart is bro­ken, and I am going to a better world than this. My only tie to earth is this tender infant: may she never feel her mother's sorrow! This infant I cannot have in the house of a man who has forgotten all the feelings of a husband, who would educate her in [...]e, and perhaps leave her to beggary. I can pre­serve her from the pollution of bad example only by removing her from him. With you she will be plain and vir [...]uous. When I am dead, and my husband is no more, who I know when alive, will never permit her to reside with him, convey her to my brother if he shall then be living. I know his generous soul: he will be indeed a father to her: as a proof of her birth, present him with this picture of his wretched sister, which he gave her himself. Here it is, an't please your honour.

[Page 127]

It is indeed, the same.

Tell him, she said, that is the picture of his once dear Caroline, tell him it is the only valua­ble pledge of affection I had to leave him. She went away weeping so bitterly, that every time I think on't.—

My dearest girl—say, John, is this my poor sister's child?

I'll be sworn.

How can I doubt it? These eyes tempered with sweetness, these looks of mildness declare the fountain from whence they take their origin.

Blessings upon her, she is as good a child, thof I say it, and had the bringing of her up, as ever suck'd it's mother's milk.

Come hither, George; the generous tender you have made of your person and fortune to this girl, shall be amply rewarded. Take her, not as poor Melinda, but as my niece, and with her a fortune equal to your wishes.

Her merit is a sufficient dowry; her beauty would tempt the miser to forget his gold, and even think of happiness.

My dear father, my dear mother, how comes it that I am not your daughter? I am, I must be, indeed I must.

Their kindness, my dear, well deserves a filial attachment. It shall be my part to acquit you, in some measure, of the obligations you are under to them, by something more substantial than words.

[Page 128]

Come, Milly, place your mind upon your uncle; he is worth a dozen such fathers as I am, child.

My uncle, I shall respect, no doubt, shall love; but must I forget my poor good old father and mother, who have fed me, rais'd me, cherish'd and loved me so long? I could as soon forget my victuals, and drink, as forget those to whose kindness I have so long been indebted for both.

When gratitude displays itself, it is with a meridian brightness, that almost casts a shade over the sister virtues.—But, John, why did you keep this matter a secret from me?

Your honour married, you know, soon af­ter my young mistress went away. Ever since your poor lady died childless, I have been thinking of tel­ling your honour, but some how or other, my heart has always misgiven me 'till now.

Well, my dear niece, I must redeem the time you have been lost to my affections, by redou­bled tenderness for the time to come. Your old friend, Mr. Trueman, is to be married this evening, John; will you and the old lady go with us to the wedding?

I am always ready to obey your honour's commands. Milly, you must go behind your spouse, I suppose. The old woman and I can walk.

By no means, take my servant's horses. They can wait here 'till our return.

Well, well, your honour's will is my pleasure.

Come, let's away.

SCENE Brazen's house.

I wish love and duty could always go hand in hand, but the little tyrant will be obey'd, even when all the virtues oppose him. What can poor Duty do when sole competitor against so formidable a rival. She must submit, I suppose.

I have long given up to filial piety, all the little gratifications and amusements so ardently pursued by the gay and giddy of my years, but I can never resign to an arbitrary injunction, proceeding from mere caprice, the fair prospect I have of a happy es­tablishment thro' life.

My dear Trueman, how came you here? surely, my eyes deceive me; it can't be you.

My love, my life, my every hope!

For God's sake, my dear sir—I expect my father, every moment.

Let him come.

This prattling talk of love, would make the angry tenants of the forest club their songs, and all the winged race chirp to the melody.—

If he should come, and find you here!

Lay aside your fears; your father has again consented to our union. What his inducements are, [Page 130] 'tis needless to relate at present. Let it suffice, that here I am by his permission.

Is it possible?

True as my love, doubtless as your fidelity.

So, so, give these young dogs a scent of the scut, and away they fly, regardless of whip or horn. Well, I am glad to see you, sir; Mira, how goes it, child?

You see before you, two persons, long united by the ties of love, now waiting only for the solemn, sacred, service the rites of honour call for.

I hate your high flown speeches, Mr. Trueman.

My dear father, at your request, I was in­duced to accept a tender of this gentleman's affec­tions.

You begin upon your high ropes. Hush, take him, that's enough,

here, now, you are both satisfied, I hope.

Accept my thanks.

Kneel to your maker, child, not to me, get up. You may have him, I say, that's enough.

My dear Meanwell,

Mr. Meanwell, sir.

Poh! I know him well enough. I have eyed him many a time, damn'd sharp, too, you may depend. However, as he is no tory, I have nothing [Page 131] more to say. Here's my hand. I'm glad to see you, sir. Who have you with you?

Mr. Worthy, sir.

Worthy! no tricks upon travellers. I am glad to see you, captain.

Miss Spendall.

Milly Heartfree, as I live! You have a mind to be funny, sir, but you can't cheat me in my neigh­bour's children, neither.

How goes it, neighbours? I am glad to see you. Come, take seats. I'll go, and have a rouzing fire in the great room.

How they [...]ill like two pigeons! The parson will be here presently. He'll set you to kissing, with a ven­geance.

You were quite funny with the old gentleman.

I never was more serious in my life. This, sir, is George Worthy, of Maryland, nephew to our good friend and acquaintance, Charles Worthy, Esq and this, can you believe it? is my niece, my dear sister's daughter.

I am astonished.

I never was more so in my life.

Let it suffice for the present to inform you they are affianced to each other. The circumstances which have led to a discovery of their rank in life, and the generous proofs each has received from the other, of a disinterested affection, I will give you in full at a more convenient season. Their wedding is to follow your's. Will my Trueman and his lovely bride, favour us with their company?

[Page 132]

Doubtless.

With pleasure, sir.

Come, adjourn into the next room, if you please. Old Thump-the-cushion is arrived already.