YE gods! what crime had my poor father done,
That you should make a poet of his son?
Or is't for some great services of his,
Y'are pleased to compliment his boy-with this?
[Showing his crown of laurel.
The honour, I must needs confess, is great,
If, with his crown, you'd tell him where to eat.
'Tis well. But I have more complaints-look here!
[Showing his ragged coat.
Hark ye :-D'ye think this suit good winter wear?
In a cold morning, whu-at a lord's gate,
How you have let the porter let me wait!
You'll say, perhaps, you knew I'd get no harm,
You'd given me fire enough to keep me warm.
Ah!-

A world of blessings to that fire we owe;
Without it I'd ne'er made this princely show.
I have a brother too, now in my sight,

[Looking behind the scenes. A busy man amongst us here to-night:

Your fire has made him play a thousand pranks, For which, no doubt, you've had his daily thanks; He has thank'd you, first, for all his decent plays, Where he so nick'd it, when he writ for praise. Next for his meddling with some folks in black, And bringing-souse !-a priest upon his back; For building houses here to oblige the peers, And fetching all their house about his ears; For a new play, he'as now thought fit to write, To soothe the town-which they-will damn tonight.

These benefits are such, no man can doubt But he'll go on, and set your fancy out, Till for reward of all his noble deeds, At last like other sprightly folks he speeds: Has this great recompense fix'd on his brow At famed Parnassus; has your leave to bow And walk about the streets-equipp'd-as I am

now.

SCENE I.-Covent Garden. Enter Mrs. AMLET and Mrs. CLOGGIT, meeting. Mrs. Aml. Good-morrow, neighbour; goodmorrow, neighbour Cloggit! How does all at your house this morning?

Mrs. Clog. Thank you kindly, Mrs. Amlet, thank you kindly; how do you do, I pray?

Mrs. Aml. At the old rate, neighbour, poor and honest; these are hard times, good lack!

Mrs. Clog. And pay

Mrs. Aml. For some.

Mrs. Clog. There's all the dispute, as you say. Mrs. Aml. But that's a wicked one. For my part, neighbour, I'm just tired off my legs with trotting after 'em ; besides, it eats out all our profit. Would you believe it, Mrs. Cloggit, I have worn out four pair of pattens with following my old lady Youthful, for one set of false teeth, and but three pots of paint.

Mrs. Clog. Look you there now!

Mrs. Aml. If they would but once let me get enough by 'em, to keep a coach to carry me adunning after 'em, there would be some conscience in it.

But now

Mrs. Clog. Ay, that were something. you talk of conscience, Mrs. Amlet, how do you speed amongst your city customers?

Mrs. Aml. My city customers! now by my truth, neighbour, between the city and the court (with reverence be it spoken) there's not a-to choose. My ladies in the city, in times past, were as full of gold as they were of religion, and as punctual in their payments as they were in their prayers; but since they have set their minds upon quality, adieu one, adieu t'other, their money and their consciences are gone, Heaven knows where. There is not a goldsmith's wife to be found in town, but's as hard-hearted as an ancient judge, and as poor as a towering duchess.

Mrs. Clog. But what the murrain have they to do with quality! why don't their husbands make 'em mind their shops?

Mrs. Aml. Their husbands! their husbands, sayest thou, woman? Alack! alack! they mind their husbands, neighbour, no more than they do a

sermon.

Mrs. Clog. Good lack a-day, that women born of sober parents, should be prone to follow ill examples! But now we talk of quality, when did you hear of your son Richard, Mrs. Amlet? My daughter Flipp says she met him t'other day in a laced coat, with three fine ladies, his footman at his heels, and as gay as a bridegroom.

Mrs. Aml. Is it possible? Ah the rogue! Well, neighbour, all's well that ends well; but Dick will be hanged.

Mrs. Clog. That were pity.

Mrs. Aml. Pity indeed; for he's a hopeful young man to look on; but he leads a life-Well -where he has it, Heaven knows; but they say, he pays his club with the best of 'em. I have seen him but once these three months, neighbour, and then the varlet wanted money; but I bid him march, and march he did to some purpose; for in less than an hour back comes my gentleman into the house, walks to and fro in the room, with his wig over his shoulder, his hat on one side, whistling a minuet, and tossing a purse of gold from one hand to t'other, with no more respect (Heaven bless us!) than if it had been an orange. Sirrah, says I, where have you got that? He answers me never a word, but sets his arms akimbo, cocks his saucy hat in my face, turns about upon his ungracious heel, as much as to say kiss-and I've never set eye on him since.

Mrs. Clog. Look you there now; to see what the youth of this age are come to!

Mrs. Aml. See what they will come to, neighbour. Heaven shield, I say; but Dick's upon the gallop. Well, I must bid you good-morrow; I'm going where I doubt I shall meet but a sorry wel

come.

Mrs. Clog. To get in some old debt, I'll warrant you?

Mrs. Aml. Neither better nor worse.

Mrs. Clog. From a lady of quality? Mrs. Aml. No, she's but a scrivener's wife; but she lives as well and pays as ill as the stateliest countess of 'em all. [Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.-The Street before GRIPE's House. Enter BRASS.

Brass. Well, surely through the world's wide extent, there never appeared so impudent a fellow as my school-fellow Dick.-Pass himself upon the town for a gentleman, drop into all the best company with an easy air, as if his natural element were in the sphere of quality; when the rogue had a kettle-drum to his father, who was hanged for robbing a church, and has a pedlar to his mother, -who carries her shop under her arm!-But here he comes.

Brass. Why, he robbed a church.

Dick. Ay, but he forgot to make sure of the

sexton.

Brass. Are not you a great rogue?

Dick. Or I should wear worse clothes.

Flip. No; but she has thought of a project to save chair-hire.

Brass. As how?

Flip. Why all the company she used to keep abroad, she now intends shall meet at her own

Dick. And turn ballad-singer?

Brass. Not so neither.

Dick. What then.

Brass. Why, if you can get this young wench, reform, and live honest.

Dick. That's the way to be starved.

Brass. No, she has money enough to buy you a good place, and pay me into the bargain for helping her to so good a match. You have but this throw left to save you, for you are not ignorant, youngster, that your morals begin to be pretty well known about town; have a care your noble birth and your honourable relations are not discovered too; there needs but that to have you tossed in a blanket, for the entertainment of the first company of ladies you intrude into; and then, like a dutiful son, you may daggle about with your mother, and sell paint: she's old and weak, and wants somebody to carry her goods after her. How like a dog will you look, with a pair of plod shoes, your hair cropped up to your ears, and a bandbox under your arm!

Dick. Why faith, Brass, I think thou art in the right on't; I must fix my affairs quickly, or madam Fortune will be playing some of her bitchtricks with me: therefore I'll tell thee what we'll do; we'll pursue this old rogue's daughter heartily; we'll cheat his family to purpose, and they shall atone for the rest of mankind.

Brass. Have at her then! I'll about your business presently.

Dick. One kiss-and success attend thee. [Exit. Brass. A great rogue !-Well, I say nothing: but when I have got the thing into a good posture, he shall sign and seal, or I'll have him tumbled out of the house like a cheese.-Now for Flippanta. [Knocks at GRIPE's door.

basset-table.

Brass. Nay, if he advised her to 't, it's right; but has she acquainted her husband with it yet? Flip. What to do? when the company meet, he'll see 'em.

Brass. Nay, that's true, as you say; he'll know it soon enough.

Flip. Well, I must be gone; have you any business with my lady?

Brass. Yes; as ambassador from Araminta, I have a letter for her.

Brass. No; so I think. Men of our end of the town are better bred than to use ceremony. With a long periwig we strike the lady; with a youknow-what we soften the maid; and when the parson has done his job, we open the affair to the family. Will you slip this letter into her PrayerBook, my little queen? it's a very passionate one. It's sealed with a heart and a dagger; you may see by that what he intends to do with himself.

Flip. Are there any verses in it? if not, I won't touch it.

Brass. Not one word in prose; it's dated in rhyme. [FLIPPANTA takes the letter. Flip. Well, but have you brought nothing else? Brass. Gad forgive me, I'm the forgetfullest dog! I have a letter for you too ;-here, 'tis in a purse, but it's in prose; you won't touch it.

Flip. Yes, hang it, it is not good to be too dainty.

Brass. How useful a virtue is humility!-Well, child, we shall have an answer to-morrow, shan't we?

Flip. I can't promise you that; for our young gentlewoman is not so often in my way as she would be. Her father (who is a citizen from the foot to the forehead of him) lets her seldom converse with her mother-in-law and me, for fear she should learn the airs of a woman of quality. But I'll take the first occasion.-See, there's my lady; go in and deliver your letter to her. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-A Room in the same. Enter CLARISSA, followed by FLIPPANTA and BRASS. Clar. No messages this morning from anybody, Flippanta? Lard, how dull that is! Oh, there's Brass-I did not see thee, Brass. What news dost thou bring?

Brass. Only a letter from Araminta, madam. Clar. Give it me.-Open it for me, Flippanta, I am so lazy to-day. [Sitting down. Brass. [Aside to FLIPPANTA.] Be sure now you deliver my master's as carefully as I do this.. Flip. Don't trouble thyself, I'm no novice. Clar. [To BRASS.] 'Tis well; there needs no answer, since she'll be here so soon.

Brass. Your ladyship has no farther commands then?

Clar. Not at this time, honest Brass.-[Exit BRASS.] Flippanta!

Flip. Madam.

Clar. My husband's in love.

Flip. In love!

Clar. With Araminta.

Flip. Impossible!

Clar. This letter from her is to give me an account of it.

Flip. Methinks you are not very much alarmed. Clar. No; thou knowest I'm not much tortured with jealousy.

Flip. Nay, you are much in the right on't, madam, for jealousy's a city passion; 'tis a thing unknown amongst people of quality.

Clar. Fy! a woman must indeed be of a mechanic mould who is either troubled or pleased with anything her husband can do to her. Prithee mention him no more; 'tis the dullest theme.

Flip. 'Tis splenetic indeed. But when once you open your basset-table, I hope that will put him out of your head.

Clar. Alas, Flippanta! I begin to grow weary even of the thoughts of that too.

Flip. How so?

Clar. Why, I have thought on't a day and a night already; and four-and-twenty hours, thou knowest, is enough to make one weary of anything.

Flip. Now, by my conscience, you have more woman in you than all your sex together: you never know what you would have.

Clar. Thou mistakest the thing quite. I always know what I lack, but I am never pleased with what I have. The want of a thing is perplexing enough, but the possession of it is intolerable.

Flip. Well, I don't know what you are made of, but other women would think themselves blest in your case; handsome, witty, loved by everybody, and of so happy a composure to care a fig for nobody. You have no one passion but that of your pleasures; and you have in me a servant devoted to all your desires, let 'em be as extravagant as they will. Yet all this is nothing; you can still be out of humour.

Clar. Alas! I have but too much cause. Flip. Why, what have you to complain of? Clar. Alas! I have more subjects for spleen than one. Is it not a most horrible thing that I should be but a scrivener's wife? Come, don't flatter me; don't you think nature designed me for something plus élevée ?

Clar. Why, I dare abuse nobody: I'm afraid to affront people, though I don't like their faces; or to ruin their reputations, though they pique me to it by taking ever so much pains to preserve 'em : I dare not raise a lie of a man, though he neglects to make love to me; nor report a woman to be a fool, though she's handsomer than I am. In short, I dare not so much as bid my footman kick the people out of doors, though they come to ask me for what I owe 'em.

Flip. All this is very hard indeed.

Clar. Ah, Flippanta, the perquisites of quality are of an unspeakable value !

Flip. They are of some use, I must confess; but we must not expect to have everything. You have wit and beauty, and a fool to your husband: come, come, madam, that's a good portion for

one.

Clar. Alas! what signifies beauty and wit, when one dares neither jilt the men nor abuse the women? 'Tis a sad thing, Flippanta, when wit's confined; 'tis worse than the rising of the lights. I have been sometimes almost choked with scandal, and durst not cough it up for want of being a countess. Flip. Poor lady!

Clar. Oh liberty is a fine thing, Flippanta; it's a great help in conversation to have leave to say what one will. I have seen a woman of quality, who has not had one grain of wit, entertain a whole company the most agreeably in the world, only with her malice. But 'tis in vain to repine; I can't mend my condition till my husband dies; so I'll say no more on't, but think of making the most of the state I am in.

Flip. That's your best way, madam; and in order to it, pray consider how you'll get some ready money to set your basset-table a-going; for that's necessary.

Clar. Thou sayest true; but what trick I shall play my husband to get some I don't know: for my pretence of losing my diamond necklace has put the man into such a passion, I'm afraid he won't hear reason.

Flip. No matter; he begins to think 'tis lost in earnest so I fancy you may venture to sell it, and raise money that way.

Clar. That can't be, for he has left odious notes with all the goldsmiths in town.

Flip. Well, we must pawn it then.

Clar. I'm quite tired with dealing with those pawnbrokers.

Flip. [Aside.] I'm afraid you'll continue the trade a great while, for all that.