Enter MELINDA.

Mel. Pray, Mr. Balance, what's become of my cousin Silvia?

Bal. Your cousin Silvia is talking yonder with your cousin Plume.

Mel. Wor. How!

I

Silv. Do you think it strange, cousin, that a woman should change? but, I hope, you'll excuse a change that has proceeded from constancy. altered my outside, because I was the same within; and only laid by the woman to make sure of my man; that's my history.

Mel. Your history is a little romantic, cousin, but since success has crowned your adventures, you will have the world o' your side, and I shall be willing to go with the tide, provided you'll pardon an injury I offered you in the letter to your father.

Plume. That injury, madam, was done to me, and the reparation I expect shall be made to my friend; make Mr. Worthy happy, and I shall be

satisfied.

Braz. So am I.-You have got a pretty house here, Mr Laconic.

Bal. 'Tis time to right all mistakes.-My name, sir, is Balance.

Braz. Balance! Sir, I am your most obedient! -I know your whole generation. Had not you an ancle that was governor of the Leeward Islands some years ago?

Bal. Did you know him?

Braz. Intimately, sir. He played at billiards to a miracle. You had a brother too, that was aptain of a fireship-poor Dick- he had the most engaging way with him-of making punch-and then his cabin was so neat-but his boy Jack was the most comical bastard-ha! ha! ha! ha ha! a pickled dog, I shall never forget him.

Plume. Well, captain, are you fixed in your project yet? are you still for the privateer?

Bull. Pray, sir, dunna be offended at my sister, she's something underbred; but if you please, I'll lie with you in her stead.

Plume. I have promised, madam, to provide for this girl; now will you be pleased to let her wait upon you? or shall I take care of her?

Silv. She shall be my charge, sir; you may find it business enough to take care of me,

Bull. Ay, and of me, captain; for wauns! if ever you lift your hand against me, I'll desert.

Plume. Captain Brazen shall take care o' that. - To Captain BRAZEN.] My dear, instead of the twenty thousand pound you talked of, you shall have the twenty brave recruits that I have raised, at the rate they cost me.-My commission I lay down, to be taken up by some braver fellow, that has more merit and less good fortune, whilst I endeavour, by the example of this worthy gentleman, to serve my queen and country at home.

With some regret I quit the active field,
Where glory full reward for life does yield;
But the recruiting trade, with all its train
Of lasting plague, fatigue, and endless pain,
I gladly quit, with my fair spouse to stay,
And raise recruits the matrimonial way.

"Excunt omnes,

ALL ladies and gentlemen that are willing to see the comedy, called the Recruiting Officer, let them repair to-morrow night, by six o'clock, to the sign of the Theatre-Royal in Drury-lane, and they shall be kindly entertained.

We scorn the vulgar ways to bid you come,
Whole Europe now obeys the call of drum.
The soldier, not the poet, here appears,
And beats up for a corps of volunteers:
He finds that music chiefly does delight ye,
And therefore chooses music to invite ye.

Beat the Grenadier March. -Row, row, tow!Gentlemen, this piece of music, called An Overture to a Battle, was composed by a famous Italian master, and was performed with wonderful success at the great operas of Vigo, Schellenberg, and Blenheim; it came off with the applause of all Europe, excepting France; the French found it a ittle too rough for their delicatesse.

Some that have acted on those glorious stages,
Are here to witness to succeeding ages,
That no music like the grenadier's engages.

Ladies, we must own, that this music of ours is not altogether so soft as Bononcini's; yet, we dare affirm, that it has laid more people asleep than al the Camillas in the world; and, you'll condescend to own, that it keeps one awake better than any opera that ever was acted.

The Grenadier March seems to be a composure excellently adapted to the genius of the English, for no music was ever followed so far by us, nor with so much alacrity; and, with all deference to the present subscription, we must say, that the Grenadier March has been subscribed for by the whole Grand Alliance: and, we presume to inform the ladies, that it always has the pre-eminence abroad, and is constantly heard by the tallest, handsomest men in the whole army. In short, to gratify the present taste, our author is now adapting some words to the Grenadier March, which he intends to have performed to-morrow, if the lady who is to sing it should not happen to be sick.

This he concludes to be the surest way
To draw you hither; for you'll all obey
Soft music's call, though you should damn his

play.

WHEN strife disturbs, or sloth corrupts an age,
Keen satire is the business of the stage.
When the Plain-Dealer writ, he lash'd those
crimes,

Which then infested most the modish times:
But now, when faction sleeps, and sloth is fled,
And all our youth in active fields are bred;
When through Great Britain's fair extensive round,
The trumps of fame, the notes of union sound;
When Anna's sceptre points the laws their

course,

And her example gives her precepts force : There scarce is room for satire; all our lays Must be, or songs of triumph, or of praise.

But as in grounds best cultivated, tares
And poppies rise among the golden ears;
Our product so, fit for the field or school,
Must mix with nature's favourite plant-a fool:
A weed that has to twenty summers ran,
Shoots up in stalk, and vegetates to man.
Simpling our author goes from field to field,
And culls such fools as may diversion yield;
And, thanks to nature, there's no want of those,
For rain or shine, the thriving coxcomb grows.
Follies to-night we show ne'er lash'd before,
Yet such as nature shows you every hour;
Nor can the pictures give a just offence,
For fools are made for jests to men of sense.

TT

SCENE I.-A Room in BONIFACE's Inn.

Enter BONIFACE running.

Bon. Chamberlain maid! Cherry! daughter Cherry! all asleep? all dead?

Enter CHERRY running.

Cher. Here, here! why d'ye bawl so, father? d'ye think we have no ears?

Bon. You deserve to have none, you young minx! The company of the Warrington coach has stood in the hall this hour, and nobody to show them to their chambers.

Cher And let 'em wait, father; there's neither red-coat in the coach, nor footman behind it. Bon. But they threaten to go to another inn tonight.

Cher. That they dare not, for fear the coachman should overturn them to-morrow.-Coming! coming!-Here's the London coach arrived. Enter Coach-passengers with trunks, bandboxes, and other luggage, and cross the stage.

Bon. Welcome, ladies! Cher. Very welcome, gentlemen!-Chamberlain, show the Lion and the Rose. [Exit with the company.

Enter AIMWELL and ARCHER, the latter carrying a portmantle.

Bon. This way, this way, gentlemen! Aim. [To ARCHER.] Set down the things; go to the stable, and see my horses well rubbed. Arch. I shall, sir.

[Exit.

Aim. You're my landlord, I suppose? Bon. Yes, sir, I'm old Will. Boniface, pretty well known upon this road, as the saying is.

Aim. O Mr. Boniface, your servant!

Bon. O sir!-What will your honour please to drink, as the saying is?

Aim. I have heard your town of Lichfield much famed for ale; I think I'll taste that.

Bon. Sir, I have now in my cellar ten tun of the best ale in Staffordshire; 'tis smooth as oil, sweet as milk, clear as amber, and strong as brandy; and will be just fourteen year old the fifth day of next March, old style.

Aim. You're very exact, I find, in the age of your ale.

Bon. As punctual, sir, as I am in the age of my children. I'll show you such ale !-Here, tapster, broach number 1706, as the saying is.-Sir, you shall taste my Anno Domini.—I have lived in Lichfield, man and boy, above eight-and-fifty years, and, I believe, have not consumed eight-and-fifty ounces of meat.

Aim. At a meal, you mean, if one may guess your sense by your bulk.

Bon. Not in my life, sir, I have fed purely upon ale; I have eat my ale, drank my ale, and I always sleep upon ale.

Enter Tapster with a bottle and glass, and exit. Now, sir, you shall see!-[ Pours out a glass.] Your worship's health.-Ha! delicious, delicious!

fancy it burgundy, only fancy it, and 'tis worth ten shillings a quart.

Aim. [Drinks.] 'Tis confounded strong! Bon. Strong! it must be so, or how should we be strong that drink it?

Aim. And have you lived so long upon this ale, landlord?

Bon. Eight-and-fifty years, upon my credit, sirbut it killed my wife, poor woman, as the saying is. Aim. How came that to pass?

Bon. I don't know how, sir; she would not let the ale take its natural course, sir; she was for qualifying it every now and then with a dram, as the saying is; and an honest gentleman that came this way from Ireland, made her a present of a dozen bottles of usquebaugh-but the poor woman was never well after: but, howe'er, I was obliged to the gentleman, you know.

Aim. Why, was it the usquebaugh that killed her? Bon. My lady Bountiful said so. She, good lady, did what could be done; she cured her of three tympanies, but the fourth carried her off. But she's happy, and I'm contented, as the saying is.

Aim. Who's that lady Bountiful you mentioned? Bon. Ods my life, sir, we'll drink her health.[Drinks.] My lady Bountiful is one of the best of women. Her last husband, sir Charles Bountiful, left her worth a thousand pound a year; and, I believe, she lays out one-half on't in charitable uses for the good of her neighbours. She cures rheumatisms, ruptures, and broken shins in men; green-sickness, obstructions, and fits of the mother, in women; the king's evil, chincough, and chilblains, in children: in short, she has cured more people in and about Lichfield within ten years than the doctors have killed in twenty; and that's a bold word.

Aim. Has the lady been any other way useful in her generation?

Bon. Yes, sir; she has a daughter by sir Charles, the finest woman in all our country, and the greatest fortune. She has a son too, by her first husband, squire Sullen, who married a fine lady from London t'other day; if you please, sir, we'll drink his health.

Aim. What sort of a man is he?

Bon. Why, sir, the man's well enough; says little, thinks less, and does-nothing at all, faith. But he's a man of great estate, and values nobody. Aim. A sportsman, I suppose?

Bon. Yes, sir, he's a man of pleasure; he plays at whisk and smokes his pipe eight-and-forty hours together sometimes.

Aim. And married, you say?

Bon. Ay, and to a curious woman, sir. But he's a-he wants it; here, sir.

[Pointing to his forehead Aim. He has it there, you mean? Bon. That's none of my business; he's my landlord, and so a man, you know, would notBut-ecod, he's no better than-Sir, my humble service to you.-[Drinks.] Though I value not a farthing what he can do to me; I pay him his rent at quarter-day; I have a good running-trade

I have but one daughter, and I can give her-but

no matter for that.

Aim. You're very happy, Mr. Boniface. Pray, what other company have you in town?

Bon. A power of fine ladies; and then we have the French officers.

Aim. Oh, that's right, you have a good many of those gentlemen: pray, how do you like their company?

Bon. So well, as the saying is, that I could wish we had as many more of 'em; they're full of money, and pay double for everything they have. They know, sir, that we paid good round taxes for the taking of 'em, and so they are willing to reimburse us a little. One of 'em lodges in my house.

Re-enter ARCHER.

Arch. Landlord, there are some French gentlemen below that ask for you.

Bon. I'll wait on 'em.-[Aside to ARCHER.] Does your master stay long in town, as the saying is?

Arch. I can't tell, as the saying is.

Bon. Come from London?

Arch. No.

Bon. Going to London, mayhap?
Arch. No.

Bon. [Aside.] An odd fellow this.-[To AIMWELL.] I beg your worship's pardon, I'll wait on you in half a minute.

[Exit.

Aim. The coast's clear, I see.-Now, my dear Archer, welcome to Lichfield.

Arch. I thank thee, my dear brother in iniquity. Aim. Iniquity! prithee, leave canting; you need not change your style with your dress.

Arch. Don't mistake me, Aimwell, for 'tis still my maxim, that there is no scandal like rags, nor any crime so shameful as poverty.

Aim. The world confesses it every day in its practice, though men won't own it for their opinion. Who did that worthy lord, my brother, single out of the side-box to sup with him t'other night?

Arch. Jack Handicraft, a handsome, welldressed, mannerly, sharping rogue, who keeps the best company in town.

Aim. Right! And, pray, who married my lady Manslaughter t'other day, the great fortune?

Arch. Why, Nick Marrabone, a professed pickpocket, and a good bowler; but he makes a handsome figure, and rides in his coach, that he formerly used to ride behind.

Aim. But did you observe poor Jack Generous in the Park last week?

Arch. Yes, with his autumnal periwig, shading his melancholy face, his coat older than anything but its fashion, with one hand idle in his pocket, and with the other picking his useless teeth; and, though the Mall was crowded with company, yet was poor Jack as single and solitary as a lion in a desert.

Aim. And as much avoided, for no crime upon earth but the want of money.

Arch. And that's enough. Men must not be poor; idleness is the root of all evil; the world's wide enough, let 'em bustle. Fortune has taken the weak under her protection, but men of sense are left to their industry.

Aim. Upon which topic we proceed, and, I hink, luckily hitherto. Would not any man swear

now, that I am a man of quality, and you my servant, when if our intrinsic value were known

Arch. Come, come, we are the men of intrinsic value who can strike our fortunes out of ourselves, whose worth is independent of accidents in life, or revolutions in government; we have heads to get money and hearts to spend it.

Aim. As to our hearts, I grant ye, they are as willing tits as any within twenty degrees; but I can have no great opinion of our heads from the service they have done us hitherto, unless it be that they have brought us from London hither to Lichfield, made me a lord and you my servant.

Arch. That's more than you could expect already. But what money have we left? Aim. But two hundred pound.

Arch. And our horses, clothes, rings, &c.-Why, we have very good fortunes now for moderate people; and, let me tell you, that this two hundred pound, with the experience that we are now masters of, is a better estate than the ten we have spent. Our friends, indeed, began to suspect that our pockets were low, but we came off with flying colours, showed no signs of want either in word or deed.

Aim. Ay, and our going to Brussels was a good pretence enough for our sudden disappearing; and, I warrant you, our friends imagine that we are gone a-volunteering.

Arch. Why, faith, if this prospect fails, it must e'en come to that. I am for venturing one of the hundreds, if you will, upon this knight-errantry; but, in case it should fail, we'll reserve the t'other to carry us to some counterscarp, where we may die, as we lived, in a blaze.

Aim. With all my heart; and we have lived justly, Archer; we can't say that we have spent our fortunes, but that we have enjoyed 'em.

Arch. Right! so much pleasure for so much money. We have had our pennyworths; and, had I millions, I would go to the same market again. -O London! London !-Well, we have had our share, and let us be thankful: past pleasures, for aught I know, are best, such as we are sure of; those to come may disappoint us.

Aim. It has often grieved the heart of me to see how some inhuman wretches murder their kind fortunes; those that, by sacrificing all to one appetite, shall starve all the rest. You shall have some that live only in their palates, and in their sense of tasting shall drown the other four: others are only epicures in appearances, such who shall starve their nights to make a figure a days, and famish their own to feed the eyes of others: a contrary sort confine their pleasures to the dark, and contract their spacious acres to the circuit of a muff-string.

Arch. Right! But they find the Indies in that spot where they consume 'em, and, I think, your kind keepers have much the best on't; for they indulge the most senses by one expense, there's the seeing, hearing, and feeling, amply gratified; and, some philosophers will tell you, that from such a commerce there arises a sixth sense, that gives infinitely more pleasure than the other five put together.

Aim. And to pass to the other extremity, of all keepers I think those the worst that keep their money.

Arch. Those are the most miserable wights in being, they destroy the rights of nature, and disap