SCENE I. A Street.

KEEP a ſharp look out, Bob. The company tumble in upon us like ſmoke.

You raſcal, I'll kick you down ſtairs. How dare you behave ſo to a gentleman?

Heighday! what's the matter?

Oh, it's very well, ſir, it's very well.

What's the matter now?

Only Mr. Lackland, madam. You know you ordered me to keep the Globe for the large company. There he takes poſſeſſion of it; and though I told him it was beſpoke, he would dine no where elſe; ordered a bottle of Champagne, and [6]becauſe I did not fly with it, kicked me down ſtairs, though I cried, coming up, ſir!

Champagne without a louis in his pocket! the fellow has not a ſecond coat to his back, and yet he's as proud as a Galway merchant. But I ſhall deſire he'll quit my houſe.

You deſire! Ecod, madam, he ſays he'll make you bounce.

Make me bounce! he wou'd not find that ſo eaſy. Becauſe I'm a lone woman, he thinks to impoſe upon me. A pretty fellow indeed! Make me bounce, will he!

Where the devil are you all?

Don't you hear?

Where's that infernal—

Infernal! Oh, madam, It's you he's calling.

Where the devil are you all? Where are thoſe impudent waiter? Mrs. Caſey, it is my deſire—

Your deſire!

Yes, my deſire.

A ſpunging fellow, giving himſelf airs. My waiters have enough to do, if they mind thoſe who pay for what they call for.

And even your ſnuff too—is execrable.

Lookee, Mr. Lackland, every body knows that you're a gentleman—and that you've a good eſtate, only it's all gone;—and we all know too, that you're a ſix bottle man, and a choice companion. Now, during the races, I'll give you a ſeat at the table d'Hote, and put money in your pocket to pay your reckoning, if you'll only entertain the company [7]with a funny ſong and a comical ſtory. Oh! a good ſong at the end of a bottle is an excellent thing, and of great ſervice to a houſe.

Live by entertaining company! Mrs. Caſey, you're a widow; why don't you marry? You'd oblige me exceedingly if you'd marry again.

Marry again! for what?—Why do you wiſh me married again?

That I might have the ſuperlative felicity of taking your huſband by the noſe.

Oh! I wiſh I had a huſband for your ſake. I wiſh I had a huſband.

There's a Paris chaiſe juſt ſtopped, and the lilly of France is after them already.

The devil take that lilly! He'd graſp every thing if he could.—Who is there in it?

An Engliſh family.

An Engliſh family! Do you run and en⯑deavour to bring them here, while I go and prepare for their reception.

Oh, my lad, I wiſh I had a huſband.

Ah monſieur, too petite louſone.

Never ſatisfied.

Seven poſts, de poſt royal from Paris to Fontainbleau.

There; ſeven you ſay. Now I hope you're ſatisfied.

Ay, dis bon.

But if we approach the manſion of the grand monarch, we muſt pay for it.

By heaven, my college chum, Harry Seymour!

Pray, friend, can you tell me—Eh! why —I heard ſomething of this before. Can you be Charles Lackland?

How d'ye do, Harry?

Why ſure my eyes deceive me! Why you look—

Never mind the outſide. In ſnow or ſun⯑ſhine I've always a warm heart to an old friend and a new bottle.

I've paſſed ſo many happy days with you that I ſeel for you. exceedingly. But what is the cauſe of all this?

Pho! pho! never mind.

What all gone, Charles?

All, all, Harry.

What, at play?

Ay, play and pleaſure—and wine and women—and—But you're come to ſport here at the races, fluſh, fluſh, eh!

Why, as to caſh, my affairs are little better than your own.

Damn'd unlucky that for both of us.

No. You ſee me here an exile forced to fly from my native country. You remember my ſiſter Roſa—

What, my little, mad Roſa, that uſed to ſteal our fiſh, and throw the cards into the fire? Either I dream, or there was a match talked of between her and lord Winlove.

There was; but guidde by the weakneſs of her ſex, and the arts of ours, he prevailed on her to ſet out for this country. I overtook them at Rocheſter, and demanded (perhaps too raſhly) repa⯑ration [9]of my ſiſter's honor by an immediate mar⯑riage. He refuſed. Piſtols were the umpire. He loſt his life; and the coroner's verdict has made mine doubtful if ſound in England.

Bravo! ſhot a lord! I wlng'd a marquis the day before yeſterday.

In this dilemma I was forced to aſſume the habit of a woman to eſcape from my native country.

Where's Roſa now?

I brought her to France, and left her at the convent at Villeneuve. But to ſay the truth, I'm here at Fontainbleau in queſt of a lady I fell in love with at the Sunday opera at Paris. She would not tell me her name, but talked ſomething of her brother having horſes to run here, whither ſhe was coming.

Whether is monſieur Lackland? —I muſt and I vill ſee him.

Oh, this damn'd French taylor! Now ſhall I be dunn'd and peſter'd.

Ah, monſieur Lackland, I am glad I have found you. I ſay I will not truſt any longer, for dey mon—

I ſay

Lapoche, do you ſee that Engliſh officer? He's full of caſh; and I'll recommend him to lodge with you.

Engliſh officer! Oh, de bon new cuſtomer.

Captain! that little, ugly, ill-looking fellow.

Ver much oblige to you—

If you want a taylor and a lodging, here's your man, and there's his houſe.

Tank a you, monſieur Lackland.

You'll find it convenient, as you're ſhort of caſh.

Ver obliging.

Becauſe when he aſks for his money, you may kick him down ſtairs.

Ver much oblige to you indeed.

'Twas my way.

Vaſtly kind indeed.

We were very good friends. Lapoche. I was a good cuſtomer.

Oui, monſieur, it does a tradeſman's heart good to ſee a you—out of his houſe

What was it I gave you a week? Eight livres wasn't it?

Oui, monſieur, you did inteed—promiſe me eight livres.

Eh! Faith, I ſee ſome ladies. I muſt attend where beauty calls; afterwards I am yours from a beef-ſteak to a bottle of Burgundy. You muſt ex⯑cuſe me, Harry, the ladies—you know I was always a Philander among the ladies.

Oui, you was always great gander indeed.

So you ſpeak Engliſh; you've been in London?

Yes, I was ver great man in Londre, but now I am anoter man.

Another man!

England is de grand field of battle for the ſoldier of fortune. I vas de taileur, de cook, de jugler, take off a de ſhirt, de maitre d'hotel, de tooth-drawer vid a touch; but at laſt my lor forget to pay a me, ſo den I did imitate my lor, and when I could no longer fight a my way—

What then?

Why den, I run away.

So you have a character for every country. And pray what are you here?

My true character, a tailleur.

A taylor!

Oui, monſieur, at your ſervice.

A taylor, and come to ſport your louis upon the jockies of France?

No, I am come here to ſport de jacket upon de jockey; de blue, de red, de green, de orange de emperor's eye, upon the jockey of France. Who give de grand brilliance to de race but de tailleur? Dey may talk of de boot and de ſpur; but de beauté of de race is oblige to de ſhear and de timble.

This unfortunate duel! to be forced to live here, an exile from my native England—I wiſh, like my unhappy ſiſter, I could find a comforter in oblivion.

Pray which is the hotel?

Hotel! Why, von't you lodge at my houſe —de bon apartment?

Why, faith, at this time, as I wiſh to be as private as poſſible, I think that will be the beſt way.

Von't you look at my logement?

With all my heart.

Dis way if you pleaſe. But I won't let him ſee my new lodger, my little Roſa, becauſe I mean to have her myſelf. Nannette, ſhew a de apartment to the gentleman.

Why how far farther do you mean to jolt us over theſe damn'd ſtones?

This way, your honour.—Madam, here's Sir John Bull, my Lady Bull, and the whole family.

Ay, this is the truth of an Engliſh family.!

Welcome from Paris!

Welcome from Paris!—Why how ſat farther are you taking us over this damn'd pave⯑ment?

Fie, Sir John, conſider where you are. When gentlemen come to France, they always leave their damme's at Dover.

I wiſh I had left you or myſelf there, damme.—Who the devil are there?

Why don't you ſee the gentlemen are porters.

Porters! pickpockets. Paid by the ounce. Why, one of our Thames ſtreet porters would carry ten times as much; and here's a proof of it. What, Robin, you've got my trunk I ſee.

Yes, your honour, four mounſheers had it, but they dropt it in the dirt.

Robin, when you've carried it in, you muſt find out colonel Epaulette. Give our compli⯑ments, tell him we are come, and deſire to know how he does.

Yes, and if Sir Shenkin ap Griffin is at his houſe, tell him too that we are come, and that Doll is impatient to ſee him.

Dolly! why Dolly Bull!

Here, mamma.—Pray, mamma, which is the inn?

Inn! hotel, miſs, if you pleaſe.

Miſs! mam'ſelle if you pleaſe.

Well ſaid, Doll; there's French upon French for you.

Pray, monſieur, will you do us the favour to ſhew us to the hotel?

Favour to ſhew us to the hotel! How polite we are, and to a waiter, only becauſe he's French!—Ay, come ſhew the larder, for I'm deviliſh hungry.

Dis vay, if you pleaſe, mademoiſelle. I keep a de lilly of France, where you may have de ragout, de fricaſſee, de Vermicelli ſoup, de ſalad.

Waiter, carry the roaſt beef up to the Lion.

Ay, and carry me up to the Lion too!

Oh, to be ſure, your honour.

So this is your houſe, eh! And you are Engliſh?

Engliſh! that's what I am. I was born in Dublin.

And pray what's your name?

Caſey, at your ſervice; and I keep the Lion of England here.

Bravo! Mrs. Caſey. Introduce us to your roaſt beef. Come along.

Sir John Bull's family. I hear they're from the city. Voulez vous parlez?

Don't parley me. I'm an Engliſhman.

I ſee you are, by that honeſt face.

Honeſt face! Well, and what have you got to ſay to my honeſt ſace, eh?

The devil take me if I have any thing to ſay, but how do you do?

Pretty well, I thank you, how do you?

Well, and pray how do all our friends in Throgmorton-ſtreet?

Throgmorton-ſtreet!

Sir, I am happy to ſee you. My heart warms at the ſight of an Engliſhman, and I'm always happy to do them any ſervice. I am Engliſh, ſir, but a little unfortunate, or ſo.

What, you're poor, eh! Yes, faith, you're a little ſeedy. Have you no eſtate?

I have bad.

And what have you done with it?

Turned it into money.

Well, and pray what have you done with that?

Laid it out to advantage, bought ex⯑perience.

Bought experience! Why then by this time you're a damn'd witty fellow.

Yes, fir, I know the world. I have had manſions, arables, freeholds, leaſeholds, ſlewards, waſtes, leaſes, releaſes, paſtures, quarter-days, and ſuch damn'd incumbrances.

And ſo you've got rid of 'em all. It's all gone, eh?

Every acre.

Why you're a deviliſh clever ſellow. And why did'nt you get your teeth drawn at the ſame time?

Very ſmart and clever.

Becauſe by this time I ſuppoſe you've no uſe for them.

Damn'd ignorant old dog!

But, ſir, you're juſt come to France, that is, you're a ſtranger here. Sir, my heart warms at the ſight of my countryman; and 'tis my greateſt pride and pleaſure to warn honeſty of the deceits practiſed here. Some of our own countrymen appear very ſerviceable and obliging; but their aſſiduity always ends in borrow⯑ing money.

Sir. I'm very much obliged to you.— Sir, will you eat a bit of mutton with us?

Whith all my heart; but, ſir, as there are ladies, this coat is not quite the thing to appear be⯑fore the ladies in. There, do you ſee that taylor's over tae way? I have a deviliſh good ſuit lies there for a trifle. Will you be ſo obliging as to lend me a guirea, juſt that I may appear like a gentleman?

A guinea! ſuit! eh!—Oh! what till the arables coat back?

Diſstreſs to be ſure in a ſtronge coutry is very hard. What's your name?

Lackland, at your ſervice, ſir.

Well, Mr. Lackland, there's a guinea for you.

I fancy, Sir John, I may pats very well in theſe clothes, eh!

Paſs! Oh, yes, you may—for a ſhop⯑liſter

Sir John, if you'll give me leave, I'll treat you with a flaſk of moſt excellent Champagne.— Walter, a bottle of Champagne.

Here's a raſcal! Treat me to Cham⯑pagne! my own money too—and I doubt if the raſcal has got a ſhirt to his ruffles.

I ſay, my old friend

above all beware of ſtrangers—be ſure you mind my advice—they're curſed aſſiduous, though it always ends in borrowing money, and laughing at you afterwards—Ha! ha! ha!

Ha! ha! ha! And laughing at me afterwards. That's a good joke—ha! ha! ha!— damn'd impudent fellow!

Now you know their ways, be ſure you keep a tight hand upon your caſh. Ha! ha! ha!

I ſhall, depend on't; eſpecially if they mention Throgmorton-ſtreet.

True, true, ha! ha!—I'm thinking, ha! ha! —how ſurpriſed you'll be when I pay you this guinea to-morrow.

Yes, I ſhall be ſurpriſed indeed.

You ſee, ha! ha! l've fold all my arables, and have bought experience wholeſale.

Yes; and now you retail it out at a guinea a doſe, ha! ha! ha!

Ha! ha! Bleſs that jolly face!—How a laugh becomes you! ha! ha!

I ſhall for ever acknowledge myſelf your debtor.

I date ſay you ever will, ha! ha!

Here, waiter, ſhew a room. A bottle of Champagne, and change for a guinea.

SCENE A room at Lapoche's.

Poor Eloiſa in her cloiſter ſpoke my ſenſe. I begin to repent my elopement. My lady abbeſs has ere this diſcovered it. I wonder if lord Winlove has received my letter. I hope it did not miſs him. I wiſh he was come.

Hey! ſure my lord Winlove himſelf!

My charming Roſa!

My lord!

But, my dear Roſa, how could you come to ſuch a public place as Fontainbleau; and at ſuch a time, when there are ſo many Engliſh fami⯑lies? Fifty people may know us.

If I had remained in the village, the lady abbeſs would have diſcovered me.

Your letter ſays you eſcaped from the convent in boy's cloaths.

Yes, and I was obliged to change them be⯑fore I reached Fontainbleau, to elude all ſearch from Vi [...]leneuve.

And how unlucky to get into the houſe of Lapoche! ſuch a buſy, talking taylor!

I did not know what lodging to get. 'T was better I thought, than being at a hotel. I with I was any where elſe.

Don't ſigh, my Roſa; for though I was not to be threatened into a marriage by the young Chamont your brother, when he overtook us at [21]rocheſter; yet I ſhall with pride acknowledge you Lady Winlove on my return to England.

The ſtory of your brother's killing me is every where believed; therefore I mean to leave Fontainbleau, and by a croſs route reach Paris.

Oh, my lord, I ſhall never forgive myſelf for this wicked, impious ſtep.

The impiety was mine, my Roſa, to rob heaven of an angel.

Oh, madam, my maſter has brought in a new lodger, a young officer, and our countryman.— Oh, dear! I did not know this gentleman was here.

An Engliſh officer! I'll inſtantly order a poſtchaiſe, for your removal from this group of jockies, grooms, peets and pickpockets.

Madam, look here, come and have one.

Oh fie, Nannette. When that gentleman returns, vou'll call me to him.

Lord! how nice we are! I've a great mind to win the gloves myſelf

Lord! he wakes!

This travelling by night is very fatiguing. I thought to have ſlept in the chaiſe, but was diſappointed by the jolting on the road.

Did you call, ſir?

Ay. Who are you, my pretty laſs?

My name is Nancy, ſir; but my maſter will cal! me Nannette after the French faſhion.

Oh then, you're fille de chambre to the maſter of this lodging?

At your ſervice, ſir.

Here's fine doings in my houſe!—Oh, fie, Nannette, why do you come here ſinging? Oh, you jade, I'll—Hope you had a good fleep, ſir.—Get out! Vat do you come here for?— I'll knock a his head—Hope you refreſh ver much after your ſleep, ſir—Get out—go yonder, dat vay— I hope you like your lodging—Get out, Nannette—

—Curſe a deſe red officier; de girls ſo fond—you'll find a my houſe ver convenient. You may have a de von, two courſe—de petite chanſon; invite whom you pleaſe, your countrymen eat, drink, ſing, roar, be ſo jolly, ſwear and knock a your fiſts againſt von another's head, a la mode de Londrèe.

Sir, monſieur.

Nannette, vhy do you come dis vay, peeping at de man in de red coat? Get out

Get a you gone, you jade—I know ver well vat you want. You come peeping at de officier. Vhy you come peeping at de men?

Lord, ſir, I had a meſſage. Sir Shenkin ap Griffin has ſent for the new jackets for the jockies; and Colonel Epaulette has ſent to know if the Engliſh liveries are made.

Deſe are my grand cuſtomer

Vill you get out of de vay?

Sir Shenkin is ver great man. I make a de jacket for de race.— Get a you firſt, Nannette—Dis vay if you pleaſe.

SCENE, another room at Lapoche's.

I wonder what ſhould keep lord Winlove ſo long. I'm ſurpriſed he does not return. Should he and my brother meet—this ſuſpence is tor⯑menting. Would we were on the road! Yet why do I wiſh to ſee England, when thoſe whom moſt I love are in this kingdom!

The lady deſires not to be ſeen by any body.

I will come in. The boy ſaid the lady was impatient to ſee me.

What do I ſee?—My brother!

My ſiſter Roſa!

My dear brother, though appearances are againſt me, yet when you're acquainted with the circumſtances, you'll forego your reſentment.

Why did you quit the convent where I placed you, that you might find an aſylum for your ſhame?

My dear brother, if you knew ſome parti⯑culars, that prudence ſorbids me to mention—

Talk not of prudence. Are you not loſt to every ſenſe of virtue? And have you not involved me in a misfortune, that will for ever diſturb my peace?

He don't know that my lord is alive; and I dare not inform him, leſt his ill-placed paſſion ſhould relapſe.

I'll lodge you ſafe at Villeneuve once more. And yet, as my charmer ſaid ſhe was coming to the races, if I quit them without finding her, I may never ſee her again. But my ſiſter muſt go to the abbeſs, and I ſhall deſire her to ſtrengthen your ſpiritual claims—and yet love ſo ſympathizes in my own breaſt, that I'll chide no more.

SCENE I. View of Fontainbleau Race Courſe.

YOU are a pig plockead. You have done very pad inteed.

I won the race; what would you have me do more?

Won the race! You ſhould have tiſ⯑tanced his Plack Prince with my Merlin.

Why, if I had puſhed ſo hard, I ſhould have loſt the firſt heat, when I was ſo cock-ſure of winning.

Cock-ſure! Dick, don't tell me of your Yorkſhire tricks.

Why then I ſay it was quite the policy of the thing.

Policy! follies! His Joan of Arc is to run againſt my Winney, and if you had tiſtanced, I ſhould have had all the long odds in favour of my own horſe.

I did the beſt I could: I won the race; and if you arn't ſatisfied, you may ride the match yourſelf to-morrow.

Tid your peſt! Get out, you imper⯑tinent—goot jockies ſhould know how to tiſtance, to [27]win, or to loſe. Ay goot jockies ſhould know how to loſe as well as to win.—My Merlin is full brother to Winney; and if he had tiſtanced to-day, I ſhould have taken in the whole field to-morrow, man, wo⯑man and child.—Oh, here comes Mr. Lackland, the ſhentleman ragamuflin.

Ay, give you joy, my boy Shenkin

Shoy is a fery pretty thing, Mr. Lackland, pecauſe it kives pleaſures; put your kiving me ſhoy py the name of poy, does not kif me plea⯑ſures: for look you, Mr. Lackland, I am a man and a ſhentleman; my name is Shenkin ap Griffin, Paronet; and I am of as high a teſcent—

As ever came from the mountains. Ay, come, Sir Shenkin, you and I are both of us very good blood.

I know you are teſcended from Welch extraction py the mother's ſide; put my fa⯑mily, look you, is as creat and as antient, look you, as any in the county of Flint.

Come, Mr. Welchman, don't ſtrike your flint againſt me: if you do, I ſhall take fire.

Yes, I think you would take fire inteed, for your coat is tinder. Ha! ha!

Come, come, though you won the race, don't ride the high horſe with me, but ſtart ſome other ſubject for your jokes.

Why yes, as you ſay, 'tis rather a threadbare ſubject.

Well, ſir, I wiſh you'd have done with your jokes; if not, I—

Pleſs my ſoul! I to always put myſelf into a goot humour with my jokes. Put come, kif me your hard. If I tid laugh at your coat, I will get you a petter. Ha! ha! ha!—Look you yonder, my eye is your wardrobe. I have a coat in my eye for you.

Who is that?

Colonel Epaulette.

Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves, &c.

Oh! 'tis the Engliſh Frenchman, that I have heard ſo much of.

Ay, there he koes as merry after his teſeat, as if he was dancing to parſon Morgan's fittle.

They ſay he has a moſt benevolent nature, that he's very ſond of the Engliſh, and wiſhes to learn all out cuſtoms and manners, and ſtyle of doing things.

Yes, and he loſes his money, and is as happy as if he won. I am his preceptor, and to teach him all polite accompliſhments, the Engliſh cuſtoms and language.

You teach—I ſuppoſe then by this time he can ſmoke, ſwear, and play at cricket.

Perhaps he may; and he has twenty thouſand a year peſides.

Introduce me to him. I like a man that has twenty thouſand a year.

Ay, he is your mark. Ha! ha! ha! He's in ſpirits, and thinks himſelf very clever if he interlards his conferſation with a dozen tamme's.

[29] Your ſervant, Sir Shenkin, your ſervant. Your Merlin did peat my Plack Prince for five touſand, ſo dere they are, damme—one touſand bank of Paris, two touſand bank of England, one Drummond, and one Child.

Sir Shenkin, as I've none of my own, if you pleaſe I'll adopt that child.

A very good joke! Ha! ha! ha! Sir, with your leave and your likings, this is Mr. Thingemmy—Mr. Thingemmy, this is Colonel what-d'ye-call'em, and now you know one another.

Colonel What-d'ye-call'em, your moſt obedient.

Mr. Thingemmy, your ſervant.

Colonel, this is your preceptor, to fight your duels, or carry on intrigue.

Sir, ven my king does not command me to be your enemy, I ſhall be very happy to be friends with your Engliſh nation.

That's right; he's a tutor for you. He's a man of wit I aſſure you. Faith! he lives by his wits

He has ſlats and ſharps for the ſhentlemen, and ſmiles for the ladies.

No, no, ſir; you ſee what I am, an ordinary fellow. To be ſure, now and then I do come out with a little ſally.

Sir, I ſhall be ver proud to be introduced to your little Sally.

Sir, your moſt obedient, with pleaſure. To be ſure, now and then the ladies do ſquint at me a little. Juſt now, as I paſſed along what-dy'e-call e'm ſtreet, there were five or ſix peeping out at the windows. There he is, ſays one. Ay, that's him, ſays another. Oh! 'tis the Engliſh ambaſſador, ſays the third. No, no, ſays a ſourth, 'tis the Em⯑peror [30]incog. That it is, ſays another. So they all agree, nem. con. that I'm the Emperor incog.

Mr. Emperor, I will help you to a coat to carry on the war. I will new robe your imperial majeſty.

—I ſay, Colo⯑nel, get rid of yoar tinſel, and ket a coat more in out ſtyle, ha, Lackland!

I own I was always partial to the New-market ſtyle.

I think his coat is in the old-market ſtyle.

Why 'tis rather—Upon my ſoul, you've a deviliſh deal of wit. Ha! ha! ha!

Sir, you do me great honour. Will you eat a bit of dinner with me?

Sir, I'll breakfaſt, dine and ſup with you. Sir, I'll ſtay a month in your houſe.

Yes, and you'll find it tamn'd hard to ket him out of your houſe.

Indeed! Sir, you are de moſt hoſpitable fellow.

Is that your ſuler Celia? I had not ſeen her ſome time. She's a charming girl.

Yes, ſhe was a fine girl, but her Paris education has ſpoiled her.

I ſhall dance with her to-night.

Inteed you won't, for Celia has mo⯑neys, and you are poor.

Well, has her money ſpoiled her dancing?

No, put tancings pring palmings, and palmings pring matrimonies; and you muſt not marry into the ap Griffin's. Only ſuppoſe now to yourſelf I am her guardian. So, Mr. Mogul, don't drop your handkerchief at my ſiſter. I find you've thruſt your [31]noſe into Sir John Pull's Family; and I will adviſe you to keep out of the field there too.

Sir John Bull! dat is de famille dat is re⯑commend to me from his grace de duke.

You adviſe! why ſo? Oh! I hear you are to marry miſs Dolly Bull; but where's the Welch pride there? What! mix the blood of Cadwallader with the puddle of Thames-ſtreet?

Look you, Mr. Lackland, I know my pops and ſharps as well as you; ſo let's have none of your London tricks there.

Oh charming London!

Ay, London for ever, colonel!—I'll kive you my idea of it. Now, you muſt fancy me a puck or a plood, look you.

There he goes. A pleaſant brother, I muſt confeſs. I wiſh I had ſtayed at Paris. No ſoul to ſpeak to here but the Bull family. Now if chance would but throw the handſome officer in my way that I ſaw at the opera.

Deuce take the man! If his ſmiles were worth a thought, he'd have followed me to Fontainbleau.— Oh, temptation! yonder he comes—I muſt retire.

Indeed, Roſa, I'm glad you've not cſcaped farther.

Ay, hold of that lady's arm.—I wonder women have no decency in public.

Ha! yonder is the very charmer I ſaw at the Sunday opera at Paris. I muſt follow her.

If lord Winlove ſhould follow, death to him or my brother muſt enſue.

Ah! my dear Rofa, I was afraid I had loſe you. I am glad you have eſcape from that rogue—

Oh, my friend, I'm glad to meet a you—I rn ſo faſt, and aſk every body, all de little jockey Boys, and was ſo whip and kick about as I came acroſs, dis big horſe fiehl

Well, what do you want?—If I don't fol⯑low her now, I may never ſee her again.

Oh, ſir, I only forget to give a you your recept in your hurry.

I ſuppoſe you mean I forgot to pay you your bill. Well, I ſhall be back in a moment. D'ye hear? take care of that lady, and don't quit her till my retum.

What is he gone?

I hope he will never come back again, unleſs to pay me my bill.

Ay, I ſee that lady has a charm for him. Unkind Henry, to be angry with me for a paſſion your own heart is ſo ſuſceptible of!

My deare ſweeteſt—

Well, Sir, did you ſee the gentleman?

What, the pretty gentleman that loves you?

Yes.

Every morning in my looking-glaſs.

Pſhaw! have you ſeen the gentleman that enquired for me at your houſe?

Oh, you ſly, little devil! You run away from the convent to von gentleman, in de mans coat, den from de gentleman to de officier; and now you want to be with the gentleman again.

You're not much out there.

Oh, you be von ſly coquin.

If lord Winlove and my brother ſhould meet, I dread the conſequences.

De capitaine is ſafe, dere is no danger

he is making love to another lady. Let a me revenge his ſlighted vows —Oh! her ſkin is ſmooth as Engliſh broad cloth, ſoft as Genoa velvet! and her eyes are as bright as de poliſh of de Birmingham button. Oh! ſhe's a pattern for a taileur's wife!

It certainly will be the beſt way to ſee lord [35]Winlove, notwithſtanding the impertinence of this fellow.—Well, ſir, ſhall we go to your houſe?

My houſe!—Yes, I ſee ſhe loves me; and I adore the dimples of her pretty chin.

SCENE, a Grove.

Charming woman! From the minute I firſt ſaw you at the opera houſe to this inſtant, I have not had a moment's happineſs.

Oh then, you think this a happy moment. I congratulate your good fortune, and leave you to the enjoyment of it

Don't leave me. Permit me to follow. I'm a captive bound in your chains.

And ſo, my captive would make his con⯑queror a priſoner of war!

Thus then, I kiſs the chains, and thus a⯑dore—

Oh, have a care, captain, you'll ſoil your regimentals.

Charming woman! I'm enchanted! char⯑med with your vivacity!

Was you never ſo enchanted, or charmed before, as you call it?

Enchanted and charmed, but never loved.

If you are ſerious, pray walk it off that way, and I'll walk this. But if you really mean to meet in the field again, I'll ſend you a challenge by my brother.

Your brother!

Yes, and then, in reſpect of what you men⯑tioned, I—but no; you're conceited enough already.

Charming Celia!—Oh, here comes Sir Shenkin ap Griffin. As her brother is one of the turf, I'll juſt ſtop and aſk if he knows her; and then for my ſiter Roſa.

Give Winney a horn of milk, and let her here be crowned with miſletoe, and let Jones play the harp before her, that every true Priton may rejoice at Winney's victories.

Your ſervant, Sir Shenkin. You ſaw that handſome lady that parted from me juſt now? Is not ſhe very handſome?

Yes; ſhe is handſome, like me.

I ſhall ſhortly call her mine.

The tevil you ſhall!

The chief obſtacle to our union is her thick-headed brother. Perhaps you may know him. He's one of the turf, and has not an idea in his head beyond a cock or a horſe. But no matter for that; I'll have her.

Perhaps not. How dare you talk of my thick head? For fifty pounds, I have as many iteas in my head as you.

Here's a blunder! her brother!

Yes, ſhe is my ſiſter; and that's your ſhare of her

ſo my head may be aſh, or oak, look you, or elm, or mahogany, or any wood you pleaſe.

But, Sir Shenkin, hear me.

Hold!—I've thought of a way. This may turn to my advantage.

—Colonel Epaulette is a ſhentleman. He's teſcended in a ſtraight line from king Pippin the creat; but though a prince in politics, in affairs of jockeyſhip, he's no more than an aſs. Look you, my Winney is to run his Joan of Arc to-morrow. Do you lay all the bets you can againſt her; for look you ſhe ſhall loſe, that is, my jockey ſhall lame her. I'll pay forfeit, and after the race we'll meet and ſhare the caſh like ho⯑neſt fellows.

Sir Shenkin, honeſty, generoſity and pure ſincerity of heart have ever been the characteriſtics of your country; but I find the pernicious practice of gaming is a decoy ſufficient to ſeduce the honour even of a Welchman.

It may be ſo; but it's very good turf honour for all that.

Then on or off the turf, I muſt beg leave not to be a ſcoundrel.

Why then, give over all thoughts of my ſiſter; don't look at her. I have heard of your fighting a lord for your ſiſter; ſo take care of me. Piſtol pullets are not cherry-ſtones, and ſharp ſwords are not green leeks.

I muſt ſeem to comply, or loſe all hopes of Celia. I've thought of it, and I will puniſh him

—Sir Shenkin, upon ſecond thoughts I'll join you in this roguery.

Will you? then you are a damn'd honeſt fellow. So come along; my ſiſter's your own, and ſhe ſhall tell you ſo this minute. I'll leave you with her; and then for my own affair with miſs Pull.—Pleſs her ſoul! how full of puſineſs her is! what with marriage matches and ſlang matches— Come along.

Deviliſh lucky I happened to meet with this Engliſh hotel: The mounſheers would have poiſoned me elſe. My wife and daughter are making mademoiſelles of themſelves to pay a viſit to this colonel Epaulette.—Oh! here they come.

Mademoiſelle a la mode de Paris.—Hollo! George!

What's the meaning of all this noiſe, Sir John?

Here, George, get me a pipe.

A pipe! What, do you think you're at Dobney's bowling-green?

Papa conſider you are now at Fontainbleau, the very ſeat of elegance and faſhion.

Mrs. Caſey, get me a ledger, and tan⯑kard of porter.

Fie, Sir John.—There now, he's at Gallaway's coffee-houſe. Sir John, do behave your⯑ſelf. You're not now at Margate, raffling for toys.

No, nor dancing with your boots on at Dandelion, papa.

Do, get a little into the a la mode de Paris, I've ſent for a French tailor to make you a ſuit of cloaths, that you may appear a little gay. The colonel may introduce us to the prince; but how would the prince be ſhocked at your appearance!

I don't think my appearance quite ſo ſhocking. No, my lady Bull. I think a Britiſh aldermen may ſtand before the firſt potentate in Chriſtendom without ſhocking him.

Mr. Lackland, ſir, deſires to be admitted.

Ay, ſhew the poor fellow up.

There's a pretty fellow indeed! And you, Sir John, to come to France, to get acquainted with your countrymen—and ſuch ſhabby—

Shabby! eh! does that look like ſhabby? —What, you've recovered the arables again, or have you met with another fool from Throgmorton-ſtreet?

Do, be quiet, Bull.—Ladies, your moſt obedient. Don't let my appearance diſconcert any body. I am juſt come from my friend Colonel Epaulette. He begged I would give his compli⯑ments, and he'll wait on you preſently.—That's a monſtrous fine girl, Bull.

Who, Doll? She's a damn'd fine girl. Ay, and I ſhall give fourſcore thouſand pounds with Doll.

Fourſcore thouſand!—a good hint. Oh yes, I'll marry Doll; but then that curſed mechanic—

Summons the graces, my dear.

Oh dear! the powder's all gone. What [42]ſhell I do? I wiſh I could get a barber to titivate me up a little.

Pray, Bull, did not you keep a ſhop once?

Ay, fifteen years; the Graſshopper upon Garlick-hill

Garlick-hill! And perhaps you ſold raiſins?

Raiſins! ay, and figs too.

Pho!—Figs!—Yes, I'll marry her, though ſhe's a dowdy, and her father a ſeller of figs.—Do, ſit down. Bull.

Sit down! No, I won't.

Miſs—miſs—you're handſome, and—

Lord! I like him monſtrouſly.

No—I believe I had beſt ſpeak firſt of all to the mother. Know—

Why, do you know—

Prythee, be quiet, Bull.—Madam, you're monſtrouſly well dreſſed. It would be cifficult to ſay, whether the perſon ornaments the dreſs, or the dreſs the perſon.—This lady

is the picture of true Engliſh liberty; and you are from top to toe the madame Ninon of France.

Dan-na-non!—The follow ſpeaks French too.

Madam, may I hope to have the honour of your hand at the ball?

Yes, if you pleaſe, ſir, with all my heart.

Yes! Why, have not you promiſed Sir Shenkin ap Griffin?

Yes; but I did not know this gentleman then.

Miſs, don't you remember I've promiſed you Colonel Epaulette ſhall dance with you? You ſhould not be ſo forward with your yes.

But perhaps the Colonel may not like me, or I may not like the Colonel.

Conſider, madam, if you had never ſaid yes, this beautiful creature had never been the exact re⯑ſemblance of her accompliſhed mother.

Oh, dear ſir!—Lord! he's vaſtly well bred.

Eh! why, what the devil!—If Sir Shenkin comes ſhew him up immediately.

Shew him up! Shew him out of the houſe.

I have been fighting your battles. I am glad you are come, or faith! you might have loſt Doll.

Oh yes, I ſee if the grey mare is the better horſe, I ſhall loſe the field.

Madam

will you do me the honour of your lilly hand?

Look you, Mr. Lackland, her hand may be lilly, or tulip, or daffidowndilly, you've no puſineſs with it.

Do you know who you are talking to?— Come, madam—If you inſult me, you know I won't take it

Do, Bull, ſtep and fetch my ſpuſt-box out of the parlour—Sir Shenkin, if you mean to inſult, you ſhall go out with me.

Mr. Lackland, my Lady Bull will go out with you.

An impudent dog, to ſend me for his ſnuff-box!—Go out!—Pray, is not that one of your fighting phraſes?

Yes; he's ſery fond of it: And ſome⯑times 'tis meat and drinks to him. With a pair of piſtols he muſt be ſery pretty company in a little room.

Yes, he muſt be excellent company in a little room.

I don't know where you have been; but if you mean to marry Doll, you muſt look about you, my boy

Ay, that you muſt, my boy.

Sir Shenkin, give me your hand. I'm ſo pleaſed at your winning the race, that if I had fifty daughters, you ſhould have them all, though they had a plum a piece.

Thank you, Sir John.—But that's true—Look you,

you owe me fifty pounds.

Me!

Yes, fifty pounds that you loſt.

Loſt! I had a fifty pound note this morning. I hope I have not loſt it out of my book. —Oh no; there it is; it's ſafe.

Then you may as well give it me.

Give it you! for what?

Pecauſe you do owe it me.

Me! no; that's too bad. I never bor⯑rowed fifty pence of you in my life.

Pho! pho! You laid me fifty pounds on the race, and did loſe.

I remember I ſaid I thought the brown horſe run the faſteſt.

You laid me fifty pounds on my Winney, and Joan of Arc did peat her.

Who I!

Yes. When I ſaid ſhe would loſe, you ſaid a done; and tone and tone is pet.

Pſha! pſha! Damn your Winney! I never laid—

I ſay, cot pleſs her—why do you tam my Winney?—The biſhop of Bangor, look you, durſt not tam my Winney.

Hold your tongue!

Then why do you tam my Winney? Look you, Sir John, you laid me fifty pounds that my mare was the winning horſe; and I always make it a rule to pay and receive all my tebts of honour.

Honour! fie, fie!—What, do you think I'll give you fifty pounds, becauſe one horſe thruſts his noſe farther than t'other?

Lord! give him fifty pound, pappa.

Doll, that fellow's a rogue.

Rogueries and honeſty's are incom⯑pataples. And look you, I'll pung you down, though you were pig pold eagle upon the top of Snowdon.

There! he calls your father a bald eagle.

Sir John, you're to be my father; and look you, I will refer it to the jockey club, and then, if you don't pay me, I'll poſt you at Tatterſall's.

Eh! there's your fifty pound.—Come here, Doll. That's a rogue.—There, Sir Shenkin, by gaining fifty pounds, you have loſt my daughter and foreſcore thouſand. So, your ſervant, Sir Shenkin. —Poſt me at Tatterſall's!—There now, you may poſt that at Tatterſall's.

The peard of a leek and the peard of a goat for you!

a pretty commence! —Pleſs my ſoul! how hot it is!

Sir Shenkin, I have run away from the old fogrum.

Old fogrum! a pretty name that to give a father! I've a great mind to run away with miſt Toll, to be revenged on old fogrum. It will he pretty retaliations.

Lord then! what ſignifies talking about him? Why don't you run away with me at once?

I'm going to colonel Epaulette's. His houſe is near the caſtle. Meet me there, look you, in half an hour; and then his chaplain ſhall make us two patchelors one married couple.

Indeed. I won't be married here though; for I've been told that the parſons are all popes.

You'll find an honeſt fellow in father Bluebottle, as he calls himſelf. Put however, if you toan't like it, I'll run away with you to Chychwechlyn; and on the morning of our marriage we ſhall have all our friends and neighbours under our windows to ſing us merry miſcellanies and epithalamiums of muſic; and there'll be the oboe, the drum, the trumpet, the marrowpones and cleafers, and peſt of all, the harp.

SCENE I. Enter 1ſt Waiter from Mrs. Caſey's Houſe, meeting 2d Waiter.

BOB, why do you go about ſo with your hands in your pocket, when you know the houſe is ſo full of company?

Why, miſtreſs ſent me for captain Huff, to ſee if he can bully this Lackland out of the houſe.

Bully him out!—Faith! the captain's whole regiment would not do it.

Upon my ſoul, my friend ſhall do it. In⯑deed, an he'll bully this Lackland out of the houſe. Faith! he ſhall be ouſted.

You impertiment ſcoundrels, no atten⯑dance! —Pray, Mrs. Caſey, why don't you turn theſe fellows off, and get civiler waiters?

Civiler waiters! Upon my conſcience, the lads are civil enough. Why don't you pay your ſcore, and get out of my houſe, ſpunging upon my beſt cuſtomers, and ſtrutting about in their old cloaths [48]like a Baſhaw. There you are fairly copied down ſeven pages, and not a penny of money.

I'm the beſt cuſtomer you have. There is not a table in your houſe, on which I have not left the mark of a dice box. Is there a morning I don't or⯑der a Sandwich, or a day I don't drink my four bot⯑tles after dinner?

A how many do you pay for?

Well, that's my affair, not yours.

Here, Bob, bring Mr. Lackland his bill. It lies in the bar.

Bill! what is the tide turned? Here, chamberlain, oſtler, waiter!

Have you a man comes to your houſe, that calls about them like me, except my friends? When I'm gone, yo'll have no more carriages and coronets calling at your door. If I have you, your houſe will be ruined.

My houſe will be ruined indeed, if I have not money to pay my wine-merchant. Why don't you take up a brown muſket, or the end of a ſedan chair! inſtead of which, you ſtrut about like a lord, and give yourſelf airs like a lord, and drink like a lord, and ſweat like a lord, ay and—here's your bill, and I dare ſay, you'll pay it like a lord.

Perhaps I may. What do you give me you curſed long pieces of paper for? Do you think a gen⯑tleman has got nothing elſe to do but to lug about great lumps of damn'd heavy gold in his pocket, to pay you ſuch ugly, long, curſed bills as theſe

when Bob and you think proper to thruſt them into his hands?—Here, you raſcals, get my baggage, and ſend it to the lilly.

D'ye hear? Carry it upon a china plate, for 'tis a nice affair.

Your honour will remember the waiter.

The cook, your honour.

I am de chamberlain.

And de jack a de boots your honour.

Get out, you raſcal! I've no boots.

See how I'm uſed, becauſe I'm a lone wo⯑man. Why don't I marry!—Oh! I wiſh I had a bit of a man for your ſake

Ah! it was not always thus.

No getting on this way. The road! take a purſe—No, I never thought ſeriouſly of that. No, marriage—Miſs Bull is to be had—Garlick hill— Oh! but even that requires a ſmall ſum, and I've nothing to ſet about it with. I think Henry would aſſiſt me with a trifle, bad as his finances may be. But where to find him—He's ſkulking about the town, thinking he has killed lord Winlove, a man, whom not an hour ago I ſaw alive and well. Mar⯑riage then is my dernier reſort.

Tell Sir John Bull I'll wait on him preſently.

Monſieur Lackland, I am angry—I am en⯑ragec—

Well! what about?

What about! I am not afraid, ſir. De fine lodger that you did recommend—

What! he has taken French leave I ſuppoſe!

I would take leave to put him into French priſon if I could find him.

Eh! a thought ſtrikes that may raiſe the ſupplies, and put a few guineas into my pocket.—Ay, Lapoche, this fine officer, as we thought him, is no other than an impoſtor eſcaped from England in woman's cloaths.

In woman's cloaths! Nothing but impoſtors. The nun I have in my houſe eſcaped from the con⯑vent of Villeneuve in boy's cloaths.—In woman's cloaths! Ah den, if de captain is in woman's cloaths, it is the nun that is in boots.

In boots! Why what the devil is he at now! —No, no, you're—But why the devil ſhould I un⯑deceive him?—You're right, my little Lapoche; they're both impoſtors.

And why did a you not tell me a ſo before?

Why, I knew you'd find it out, you ſaga⯑clous monkey! But what will you promiſe me if I put you into the way to get an hundred guineas?

Oh! I'll promiſe every thing.

Why then, you muſt know—come here— this officer

is no other than a fellow eſcaped from England for ſhooting a lord.

Shoot a lord! Oh de proſligate!

And there's a hundred guineas reward on his head, that's all.

Oh! dis is lucky. De ſly coquin! Why you not tell a me dis before?

Now I have told you, what will you give me for my intelligence?

I vill give a you fifty tanks ven I do get de money.

Thanks! Is that all? Have you got any caſh about you? Come, come, let me touch five pieces now.

De diable touch and take me if I do!

No, then you are a ſcoundrel!

Oui. I know I am ver great ſcoundrel, but I vill keep a my money for all dat. Five Guinea indeed! No, no, monſieur Lackland. I know a you too well for all that; but I muſt find out dis officier, [52]and that to me vill be de grand affaire. It vill get a me—

Yes, a good beating, and I hope Henry will pay it you.—Then marriage is my laſt card. So Mifs Bull of Garlick hill, have at you and your four-ſcore thouſand pounds.

Is your name Lapoche? If it is, you muſt come directly to Sir John Bull, or he'll ſend to ſomebody elſe.

Oh! for de ſuit of cloaths. I vill come di⯑rect— Bleſs a me, I have more buſineſs than do grand financier.

Well will you come or no!

Oui. Alons, monſieur.

Eh, what?

Dat is, go along, if you pleaſe,

Oh! is that it? Come along.

SCENE, inſide the HOTEL.

You may tell Sir John Bull, and my lady Bull, and miſs Bull, dat colonel Epaulette is come to vall on dem.

Yes, ſir.

I ſuppoſe, from vat I am told, dis famille muſt be fine ſolis; but as dey were recommend from my good friend the duke, and as dey are En⯑gliſh, I will ſhew dem every civility in my power.— Dis dreſs in de Engliſh ſtyle vill pleaſe a de young lady. I'm ſure I am ver much oblige to monſieur backland.

Well, Robert, is the taylor coming?

Yes, ſir; he's come.

Is he? Then I'll be meaſured directly,

for my lady won't be eaſy till I get a ſuit of cloaths a la mode de Paris, as they call it. —Oh! this is the taylor I ſuppoſe.

Sir, your moſt obedient. I preſume, ſir, your name is Sir John a de Bull?

At your ſervice, ſir Ay, ay, this is the taylor. Mr. Lackland mentioned you in very high terms.

I am ver much oblige to Mr. Lackland; and, ſir, I ſhall be ver happy to render you any ſer⯑vice in my power.

Very obliging truly! And I ſuppoſe you'll expect to be paid for it.

Sir, any obligation you do a me in return I ſhall conſider as repaying; but ſir, my good friend de duke—

His good friend the duke!—Oh! he muſt be a very great taylor indeec!

I have de honneur to be ver dear to him.

Oh! if you are ſo dear to your friends, to be ſure your terms muſt be very high indeed to me. But come, I can't help it; ſo, take out your meaſure.

Meaſure!

Ay, and out with your ſhears. Have you brought your book of patterns?

Vat do you mean? Book of pattern.

Oh! I ſuppoſe he's too great a taylor to carry patterns.

Yes, juſt that I may ſee your colours.

Colours! Oh ho, becauſe I be in de army you take a me for an enſign? Do you ſuppoſe I carry de colour?

Ay, I thought ſo, too great for that— pray now how many men may you employ?

About a touſand.

A thouſand journeymen! a damn'd great taylor indeed

—A thouſand men!

Yes, dat dere is my regiment.

Oh! what you work for a regiment, do you?

Vat does he mean? Sir John, I am come to vait upon de lady.

Oh! what you do buſineſs for the ladies too! Oh! you're a great rogue!

Sir John, I know that you are privilege to joke by the cuſtom of your country.

What you want the cuſtom of my country. I can't promiſe you that, but you ſhall have mine.

And, ſir, from de recommendation I have had, I ſhall be proud to ſhew you all de civility in my power.

Sir, I am very much obliged to you. Proceed.

I wiſh to ſhew you every reſpect, and vill introduce you to de prince—

You introduce! introduced by a taylor! Ha! ha! Damme, that's too much.

Taylor, ſir! I don't know vat you mean; but, ſir, if you vas not Engliſh, your life—your life ſhould anſwer this behaviour.

My life! you need not be ſo hot, my little taylor.

I don't know, ſir, whether you are fool by nature, or clown by habit. If de former, you are [55]beneath my notice: if de latter, I will have ſatisfac⯑tion for dis groſs behaviour to colonel Epaulette. But, ſir, I vill inſtantly ſpeak to my good friend Mr. Lackland; and den, ſir, I vill be revenged for this affront.

Colonel Epaulette! Oh, the devil!— my Lady Bull! my Lady Bull!

My dear, here has been the colonel here, and I thought it had been the French taylor you ſent for to take meaſure of me; and here has been the damn'deſt miſtake!—

Miſtake Colonel Epaulette for a taylor! Oh, Sir John, why will you ever attempt to ſpeak to perſons of diſtinction? Oh! it's like your blunders, to take a man of faſhion for a taylor!

Why, they dreſs, and ſcrape, and ſhrug ſo much alike, that there's no knowing a prince from a pickpocket. But I'll order the chaiſe, and ſet out for Garlick-hill to-morrow morning.

Then you may go by yourſelf, Sir John; for my part, it would be monſtrous for a perſon of my figure and deportment to leave the continental land without an introduction to the grand monarch. Call the colonel back.

Me—damme, I'd as ſoon call his regi⯑ment as him.

Robin! Robin!—

— Deſire that gentleman to walk up ſtairs.

Gentleman! What the taylor, madam?

Yes; the taylor, as your maſter calls him.—

—Oh! what a blundering family! He thinks the colonel a taylor as well as his maſter.—Oh! here the colonel is.

Oh! ſir, I bluſh to ſee you.

Madam, I am your moſt obedient, very humble ſervant; but I thought Sir John was here.

Oh ſir! Sir John is ſo hurt at his appearance—

Oh! dat does not ſignify, madam. I vill foon equip him to make a better appearance

Sir, you're vaſily obliging; but, ſir, this miſtake is all owing to having contracted ſuch un⯑faſhionable habits—

Never mind, madam. I vill give him de habit moſt faſhionable.

Very kind indeed, ſir. Oh ſir, I'm ſorry you have had ſuch a loſs to-day.

Loſs!—Oh yes, madam, I have loſt my lodger.

Some friend, I ſuppoſe. Ay, he's too genteel to mind his loſs of the race.—The running I mean—the match.

Oh, yes, madam, they are run away to make a de match!

Well, ſir, I wiſh you better ſucceſs with your Joan.

My Joan!

And, ſir, we were told in Paris, that you were very much with the prince.

Oh yes, madam. I muſt lie a little.

I am told you are a great man in the privy council, committees, and board of works

Board of works—ſhe means my ſhop-board.

Sir, I ſhall eſteem it a particular favour, when it is convenient, if you will be kind enough to introduce us.

Why, madam, I don't know that I can in⯑troduce you to de head butler.

Butler! What does he ſuppoſe that we keep company with ſervants!—Ay, from Sir John's behaviour he thinks we are fit company for nobody elſe.

Sir John, I have been making all the apologies I can for you to the colonel there.

There!—Where?

There.

Colonel there! Why damme, this is the real taylor.

How! the taylor!

Ay, he is a taylor ſure enough.—Arn't you aſhamed, ſel⯑low? How dare you have the impudence to paſs for a colonel? Heigh, ſellow!

Miſs, your mother would not call me ſo.

Her mother! Get out!—

Oh! my dear, don't be angry with the young man.

Get out with your patterns

my lady, I wonder you will under take to ſpeak to perſons of diſtinction. Not know a taylor from a man of faſhion!

Miſs Doll's gone off, Sir John.

Where is ſhe gone?

Mrs. Caſey ſays, ſhe thinks to be mar⯑ried; for ſhe ſaw her in cloſe confab. with Sir Shenkin.

There's your Briton, Sir John.

But which way is ſhe ſhe gone?

She went down towards Colonel Epaulette's.

There's your Frenchman, my lady!— Come along with me, Robin. Oh, for an Engliſh conſtable, or a ſearch warrant.

SCENE, a Room at the Colonel's.

Oh miſs, I do congratulate myſelf on de felicity of meeting you dus at home.—If I can carry her away, I ſhall be even vid her father for calling me a tailleur.

But law, colonel, how ſhocking you're dreſſed!

Do you think ſo? Mr. Lackland ſaid 'twas ver pretty my dear.—Oh! you be von lovely girl! how I do love you! Pray, miſs, was you ever in love?

Oh yes.

Have a you?

Only nine times. Let me ſee. Three times before I was out of my ſlips; twice while I was at Hackney boarding-ſchool; once with my guitar maſter; then with Frank Frippery; then with Dicky Pettitoes. No, only eight; for I don't reckon the handſome ſtay-maker of Duck-lane.

Then be in love with me the ninth time; and ſcamper off with me.

Scamper with you! Why dont you aſk fa⯑ther's conſent.

No, it ſound a ſo mean.

Why, as you ſay, it does ſound a little of Bow Bell. Well; and then it w [...]l make a pure noiſe in the papers—the elopement—the purſuit— the marriage—the making up—Beſides, I'm in love with your vis a vis. So come along; I'll ſcamper off with you.

Vel ſaid, my little angel, come along.

But hold—Will you excuſe me to Sir Shenkin ap Griffin?

Excuſe you to Sir Shenkin! for what?

Becauſe I promiſed to run away with him; and I came here to meet him.

Indeed! but you know I came a de firſt.

Why that's true. And firſt come firſt ſerved, as father ſays to his cuſtomers in the ſhop at home—Come along.

Hold, my dear, I muſt juſt ſtep—

Why I thought you was going to ſcamper off with me.

I ſhall ſoon be back—but as I don't know what may happen, I vill juſt order my man to put up de powder, de pomatum, and de dancing pump

Well then, do make haſte, colonel.

I have prought the prieſt. He looks as merry as a pard and as ſmart as a truid.

But why did you ſtay ſo long? I have been crying my eyes out.

Ton't cry, my tear. Wipe a your eye, ton't weep.—My dear, the chaiſe is ready for us, and a ſulky for father Domine.

But muſt I deſert the colonel for you?

To be ſure you muſt. But I will put on a pair of jack boots, and trive you myſelf, for the poys here are as ſluggiſh as their horſes. They ſmack their whips, and they cry gee whu! but they are as ſlow as ſnails, though they gabble like turkey cocks.

Well, but come now, don't let us wait for the boots.

I'll be your poſtpoy, and trive you to Chychwechlyn, and as you was never married, how telighted you'll be with noiſes, and viſits, and confuſions!

So, one can't go without dancing pumps, and the other can't go without jack-boots. If any of my old ſweethearts were to come in now, I ſhould be inclined to give them both the double.

So, at laſt I've found her.—Madam, your moſt obedient. Well, it's ſettled. I'll marry you.

Marry me!

Yes; but don't let your joy carry you away. I ſaid I would.

Said! to who?

To myſelf. And if a gentleman breaks his word with himſelf, who do you think he'll keep it with?—You're very handſome, my dear, that you are; and I would not tell a lie for all the women in France.

Lord! what a high notion of honour he has! and he's a much handſomer man than either Sir Shenkin or the Colonel—But my father ſays, that you arn't worth any thing, that you've no eſtate.

That's a good joke i'faith! No eſtate! He might as well have ſaid I borrowed a guinea of him.

I'faith! and now I do think of it, he did ſay ſo.

Did he indeed? that's very diverting truly. Ay, and he might as well have ſaid I borrowed theſe cloaths.

That's what I thought of your fine cloaths, that you muſt have a great eſtate.

Not an acre. And to be ſure I've no ſeat in Herefordſhire—no parks—no orchards—

Orchards in Herefordſhire! Then I dare ſay you make twenty Hogſheads of Cyder in a year.

Cyder—Oh! you accompliſhed—Garlick Hill—Yes; and he might as well have ſaid that I've no houſe in Portman Square. Ha! ha!

Portman Square! Oh dear!—then I ſhall live in Portman Square!

Ay, and without a guinea in the funds, or half a crown in my pocket at this moment. Ha! ha!

Ha! ha! that's very true. Now then, will you anſwer me one queſtion? If you was to agree to run away with me, would you wait for jack boots or dancing pumps?

Jack boots and dancing pumps! Not for the button of king Lewis's hat. You are frank and free. I love you; and thus I throw myſelf and all my fortunes at your feet. Now if we had but a parſon and a chaiſe!—

There's one in the houſe, and t'other at the door.

Is there? Then my dear—Garlick Hill— come along.

Now, madam, now I'm for you; now I'm piſtol'd and booted.

Come, Miſs a de Bull.

Come, Miſs Pull, my tear.

Why, where is ſhe gone?

Where did you put her?

Why, vat have you done vid her?

I did leave her here.

Vell, and I did find her here.

Where's my child? where's Dolly Bull?

Dat fellow in de boots can tell you.

Come, come, none of your Welch tricks upon me. Give me my daughter.

'Tis that deviliſh Gaul has got her.

Ay, you would not give your daughter to a Briton, and now you ſee ſhe's ſnapped up by that Frenchman. But I'll Creſſy and Agincourt you! Why, with Doll's fortune, I could build a man of war, and batter your breaſt-work. I'll come like the ghoſt of Hawke, and beat you! I'll be a Black Prince to you!

You are much miſtaken now, as you vas ven you took me for a tailleur. I tell you that poſtillion in boots has ſtole her.

No, no, I ſay 'twas you.

I ſay 'twas you.

Diable! n'importe—Damme!

This is frantics and inſanities. But by the got of war, if I had you at home, you ſhould give me ſatisfaction.

Satisfaction!—I can a fight, or I can a let it alone. "I can fight and can conquer again and again."

Got pleſs hur! I wiſh I had him at Tover, I'd teach him to conquer. You are now in your own houſe, and you may ſtay there. For my part, I've got on my boots, and I am reſolved—I am reſolved—to walk down ſtairs.

Oh! what a bloody reſolution!—ſtop the boots!

"I can fight, &c.

Lord! how I do wiſh to get back again to England!—A girl like me to be a chambermaid, and to a taylor!—Well, I'm convinced if I'd as good cloaths, I ſhould look as well as Roſa.

I have de two impoſteurs ſafe, if I can keep them.—So, mam'ſelle Nannette, you tink ver little of me. Noting vill ſerve a you but de Engliſh offi⯑cier. Juſt now I was taken for Colonel Epaulette. You ſay I ugly. Never you tell a man he's ugly in his own houſe.

Lord, ſir! I don't think you ugly.

Don't you? Den I vill give a you de ſilk gown.

No, ſir, I never did think you ugly. I always, I always thought you very pretty.

Did a you?

I did indeed—as I hope for the ſilk gown.

No, not prett—but very ſmart, comely—a very ſmart, comely, little fellow.

No, ſir, very pretty.

Vel den, pretty—a very pretty, little, ſmart fellow. But know, I have von grand affaire, great buſineſs, as good as hundred guinea; ſuch diſcovery of my two lodger—

Indeed, ſir!

Ay, Nannette know nothing of de diſguiſe.

Miſs Roſa rings her bell.

Stay. Where are you going? You are in a deviliſh hurry to get to de fellow.

Fellow! who do you mean?

When the bell rung, why did you not ſend the girl to me?

Send a de girl? vat an impudent fellow!— Pray von you did take a my lodging, vas dat in de bargain?

Nannette, will you ſtep into my chamber?

No, indeed, ſhe von't.

I was juſt coming, ma'am.

Yes, ſhe vas coming.—Get out of de room! Yes, ſhe vas juſt coming—Get out of de room from de fellow.

I only want ſome powder.

You ſhall get no powder or ball here. Fight⯑ing fellow!—I viſh he vas out of my houſe

If you want ſuch cut-throat tings, vhy don't you go to your own Hyde Park? Dat's the beſt place for lord-ſhooting.

How impertinent the fellow is! And lord Wi [...]love to forſake me at ſuch a time! For him I gave up all my peace of mind—But I'll aſk pardon of heaven and my brother, and return to the convent.

Dere now I tink I have de bold capitaine ſafe. Now I have got lock up dis deſperate fellow I have got de hundred guinea under my own key; and de diable a penny ſhall monſieur Lackland get. But I muſt go for de archer.—Here comes de nun in boots.

Well, ſir; where is the lady?

De lady not far off. I fancy ſhe may be found in boots.

In boots!

Yes. Don't a you feel yourſelf uncom⯑fortable in boots?

In boots!—Come, come, where is the lady?

How finely I vas deceived to take you for a gentleman?

Pray, ſir, what have I done to forſeit that character?

But pray a now, don't you find yourſelf un⯑comfortable without de petticoat?

Ha! ha! ha! will you fetch me one?

I dare ſay Nannette will accommodate you.

Very acommodating truly!—No, Mr. Frenchman; I have crimes enough already without adding the ruin of Nannette.

Ruin! She may give you von you know; von can't ruin her.

Very commode indeed!—Yes, ſiſter Roſa, you're got in a very pretty ſort of a houſe.

Pray—ha! ha!—pray—upon my vord, ſhe looks vaſtly well in her boots.

Go, ſir, do you banter?

Ay, and do you go to your chamber, child, and I vill ſend Nannette to you. Poor thing! I dare ſay ver fatigue.

Oh Roſa! She was my ſiſter. Lord Winlove was a friend; and but for thoſe uhappy misfortunes, for thoſe fatal circumſtances, my proſ⯑pects with Celia appeared ſo pleaſing—how bleſt might I have been!

Vell ſaid, Roſa—Dere now I have got yo both ſafe; and I have de archer ready for dis capitaine.—Oh! here be de gentlemam that came after the lady firſt.

Now I ſhall ſee Roſa's new flame.— Well, my friend, where is the captain that run away with Roſa?

What the nun in boots?

Nun in boots! I mean the officer that went off with the nun that you told me of.

I have him ſafe; but he's the diable of a fellow, and has been aſking for powder; ſo have a de care.

Well, let's ſee this devil of a fellow.

Shall I call in de archer? I have him ready.

Pho! Let me ſee the the captain. Open the door.

Yes, but I'll have de reward

—Dere—

Now I'll ſee if my nun in boots is ſafe.

My dear Roſa!

My dear lord!

I only want to ſee the gentleman.

I beg pardon. I want to ſpeak with the gentleman.

Well, here are three gentleman.

Yes; but I want to ſpeak with the Engliſh officer that lodges here—that is in cuſtody.

Oh! de nun in boots—more diſguiſe. I dare ſay this is ſome Engliſh conſtable come over to take up de capitaine for killing de lord.

What do you mean by locking me in? Open the door, or I'll break it open

Break open my door! for ſhame, is dat be⯑having like a nun?

Lord Winlove alive!

Yes, Henry. Are you ſorry to ſee me?

Indeed, my lord, I am doubly happy to find myſelf guiltleſs of your blood, and you alive to do my ſiſter that juſtice I'm ſure you intend.

Harry, my intentions were ever honour⯑able; and that my immediate union with my Roſa ſhall evince. Your love for your ſiſter hurried you to a raſhneſs that was near proving fatal; but this cancels every error.

My Celia!

Indeed I don't know how to apologize for this ſtrange intruſion. Captain, don't be vain if I ſay 'twas on your account.

Siſter Roſa, this happineſs is unexpected. And now give me leave to introduce you to a lady, who intends ſhortly to honour our family with her alliance.

Make haſte or they'll catch us.

Let's rally and face them.

I know they are here. You're a pretty lady

Softly, Bull; no abuſe.

Why damme, mayn't I ſpeak to my own child?

Nobody, ſir, muſt abuſe my wife.

Wife! I ſhall run mad! My daughter married to a fellow without a ſhirt! a fellow that borrowed a guinea of me this morning!

Ay, you would have an Engliſh huſband! She may have married Barrington for aught you know.

I hope he's a rogue.

Wiſh your ſon a rogue!

If he's myſelf I hope he's a rogue. I'll have no more mercy on him than the king of Pruſſia would have upon a Dutch alderman.

So, Miſs Toll, I hear you have made matches and matrimonies.

Yes; ſo now you may canter off to Cychwechlyn as faſt as you pleaſe.

Give you joy of your tom-tit; for ſhe was never good, egg or bird.

Oh Dolly, how could you take up with ſuch a perſon?

Why, the colonel could not go without dancing pumps, nor Sir Shenkin without jack-boots, ſo that I was very glad to take up with any body.

Very much obliged to you, madam.

How do you all, good peoples? How does my lady Bull-dog! damme?—So, miſs, you're married?

Yes, and without waiting for dancing-pumps.

Bull-dog! If you are a Frenchman, be⯑have like one.

I never will behave myſelf, damme!

Colonel Epaulette, let me entreat you to leave off attempting the blunt honeſty of the Engliſh. It only transforms your countrymen into brutes. The attempt is as ridiculous as for the rough Engliſh to ape the cuſtoms and manners of the French, where we ever miſs the mark, and poliſh into puppies.

Well, you made the bets, when ſhall we ſhare?

I don't underſtand you.

No! I paid forfeit. Joan did walk over the courſe.

And did you ſuppoſe I could behave ſo contemptible to join in ſuch a ſcheme?

It's fery well; you ſhan't have my [73]ſiſter. Look you, I do deſire that you will never ſpeak to, look at, or think of Celia again.

Look you, Sir Shenkin, if you don't imme⯑diately pay me the five thouſand you laid me, and give your conſent to my marrying your ſiſter, I'll refer your conduct to the jockey club; and 'tis ſo notorious, that you'll not only be excluded the turf here, but at every race in England.

Why, my little Welchman, I am afraid you'll be poſted at Tatterſall's.

I'm nick'd, ſous'd and ſlamm'd. Here, take my ſiſter Celia. I'll back him againſt the field; for he has tricked me that have nicked hundreds.

Sir Shenkin, this is the firſt good I ever knew derived from gaming. For what ſenſation muſt that man be capable of, that builds upon the miſery of others; and raiſes a fortune on the ruin and bank⯑ruptcy of his fellow-creatures!

It may be ſo; but as I ſet out a young pigeon, I'm reſolved to die an old rook.

But how ſhall I get this rook out of my pigeon-houſe?

Vell, monſieur Lackland, I have procured you a commiſſion in my regiment; and 'tis much at your ſervice.

I thank you, Monſieur; but while I can raiſe the price of a drumſtick, I'll never pull a trigger or draw a ſword againſt my native country.

Bravo! my boy. Give me your hand. And at dinner time you ſhall never want a nail in my parlour to hang your hat on. You ſhall poſt my ledger, and drive a gig.

Gig! Why you ſhall ride in a vis-a-vis, to the amazement of all Garlick hill.

Oh rare! My dear and I tide ſide by ſide in a vis-a-vis!

And look you, for all your under⯑minings and circumventings, if you whip your tom⯑tit down to Chychwechlyn, I'll give you a haunch of rock veniſon, and a pottle to waſh it down.

Rock veniſon!—Oh! he'll give you the leg of a goat.—Well now; as we ſeem now to be all tolerable good friends, we'll retire to the inn—

Hotel I mean, where Engliſh hoſ⯑pitality ſhall receive the zeſt of French claret.— Heigh! what ſay you to that, my antigallican ſon⯑in-law?

With all my heart. But, ſir, I'll have no illiberal prejudices in my family. National reflections are unworthy the breaſt of an Engliſhman; and how⯑ever in war each may vindicate his country's honour. in peace let us not know a diſtance but the ſtreights of Dover.