SCENE I. Discovers Three Witches.

Ah! the Ghost of Vinegar! my Soul turns sow'r within me—'tis gone—now I am an Hercules again. A Second! Trotplaid! ah! shake not thy goary Locks at me, thou wert a Jacobite—A Third and like the former—Filthy Hags—why do you shew me this?—Ano­ther! I'll see no more.

SCENE II. A Coffee-House, Covent-Garden.

Antony—Antony—sit down and read the News papers—Boy, what are you gaping at? —Why the Lad's a Nizey I think—what do you stare at?

Father, Father, do but look at that fine Gentleman there, all over Silver amost—why he's as fine again as I am—I warrant his Father must be a Lord.

A Lord! Antony—no—no; may be not a Parliament Man.

No! why you told me Father, when you gi'n me a new Coat at your Election, that I was as fine as any Parliament Man's Son in the Na­tion.

Ay! ay!—well, well he may be a Lord's Son then, for aught I know;—or a Lord's Bastard may be—who knows?

Ho! ho! who? So may I Father, I may be a Lord's Bastard too, for aught I know— neither you nor I know that, you know. Ha! ha! ha!

What do you make of your Mother then, you Dog, ha!

O Lord! O Lord! O Lord!

What's the Matter, Gentlemen? What's the Matter?—Ha! Sir Nackadil Trunnion! I am very glad to see you.

I don't recollect, Sir, that—

What have you forgot your Nephew— my Name is Bullyboy—I am the youngest Son of the Family of the Bloods.

God so—I beg your Pardon Kins­man —I had indeed almost forgot you—you are grown almost out of Knowlege since you came down to Tumbledown-hall—about five years ago, you was not much higher than this. I think —Humph—quite a Man! tho' I heard as much from your Mother—well I am very glad to see you—here Antony—this, Sir, is my Son Antony—come hold up your Head, and let's have none of your Snuffling—why how you stand sucking your Orange, as if you were going to be hang'd.

Sir, your humble Servant, I am very proud to see you.

Your Servant, Sir—I don't care how proud you are, not I.

Ay Sir, this Son Sir, I intend to make a great Man—I have brought him up to Lon­don with me for that Purpose.—You heard I [Page 11] suppose, I was chosen Member for our Borough, and that obliges me you know to attend the Par­liament.

Undoubtedly, Sir.

Now Sir, as hereafter, as things may happen and turn out, if so be, I should come to be at the Head of Affairs; I shall want, you know, a good clever Fellow, with a ready Wit, to write your—what do ye call 'em, Pamphlets and News-papers on my Side, when I want to carry a Point you know.—I am told your great Men have them always in Pay.—Now if I could bring my Son Antony to this, I could trust him better than any body else you know, and he might save me Money too.

Right, Sir,

I wont do't.

You wont, Sirrah?

No, I wont.

Not assist your Father, Sirrah!—why wont you?

'Cause I, wont.

Oh Sir! but it is your Duty.

What did he beat me for then?

You must have offended him, I suppose very grossly.

Not I—I only said I might be a Lord's Bastard for what I knew.—What Harm was [Page 12] there in that you know, when he said the same of you just before?

Of me Sir!

As I did not then know you, Nephew, you know—

O Lord Sir! I am not at all offended!

Well then, why should Father be of­fended?

Very true.

Well then—Humph.

I'll tell you Sir Nackadil—my Cousin Antony has the Seeds of ready Wit in his Nature, and only wants a little good Instruction to fit him for the Task you intend him;—if you'll leave him to me, I'll en­gage myself to give you a good Account of him: —We have Academies here in Town, where he may learn to be a Wit, a Writer, and a Poli­tician in a few Hours.

Indeed! well, I am glad to hear that, and as you are so happily related to him, I am satisfied you will use your utmost Endeavours for his Improvement.—Antony!

Well, what do you say?

Come, be a good Boy, Sirrah, for the Future; I'll forgive you.

With all my Heart, forget and forgive I say;—I never lov'd to bear Malice in my Life.

[Page 13]to Bul. Well Sir, I'll leave him entirely to your Experience, and shall be glad if you'll accompany him to my Lodgings;—Antony will give you Directions.—Antony, I shall leave you to keep your Cousin Company.

Cousin!—what are you my Cousin?

Ay—my Heart.

Cod, I took you to be some young Lord, you are so woundy fine.

O Cousin Antony, if you stay in Town and keep Company with us Bloods, you must leave off that Suit, and lose these lanky Locks of yours.

Bloods! Cousin, why what are they? Bloods! Bloods!

Why Sir, I have the Honour to be a Blood.

O Cod! I should like to be such another as you very well;—why you look amost as well again as I do—tho', tho'f I say't, I'm a clever Fellow in the Main too.

Oh! a very clever Fellow, and will be much cleverer if you'll be rul'd by me.

Gaush, I'll do any Thing you bid me.

Well then, you shall be a Blood:—In the first Place then, you must learn to hate that dry old Dog, that left us just now.

What Father! Oh Cod! I learned that a good while ago.

And then you must laugh at all he says to you.

O gaush! but he'll break my Head for that tho'.

Pho! pho! you must not mind that,— if he does, you must laugh at him again.

So I will, now I think on't, or suppose I break his Head too: Ha!—hang me if I don't think I could beat him.

Bravo! that will do.—And then you must be witty upon ev'ry body.

What, cut Jokes upon 'em, ha!—oh! I am a Dab at that.

Ay Sir, but your Country Jokes are no­thing, —you must be witty the right Way, or else you're Nobody;—you must learn to bully, pull People by the Nose, trip up their Heels, break their Heads, and so forth.

Ay, but then they must not be so big as I.

No, no, you must always take Care of that—but you may hum any body safely.

Hum—ah! pray what's that?

Why; suppose now I was to meet your Father:—I go up to him, and, with a very serious Countenance, say, Lord Sir, I wonder you can seem so unconcern'd, —do you know that your Son Antony is just now drop'd down dead in [Page 15] an Apoplectick Fit?—Upon my Honour 'tis true. —So, putting him into the utmost Conster­nation, go away, and laugh at the old Dog.

Cod, this is good Fun enough, and then he'd run home frighted out of his Wits, and find it all a Joke:—Ha! ha! gaush I like that. —And will this make me a Blood?

O Lord Sir, no! these are but half the Qualifications. You must learn Humour—

O Sir, I am of a very good Humour al­ready.

Oh! that you must break yourself of— and learn to box, talk Baudy, roar and look big.

Oh! I can roar and look big—you shall see now.

O Lord Sir! that will never do—This Sir, is the way.

O Lord! O Lord!

And then to be truly humorous, you must steal Trinkets and Pocket-books from the Ladies, which you are to keep for the Jest's sake;— then Sir, you are to bilk Taverns, —tumble the Waiters down Stairs, —break all the Glasses in your Way, —sally into the Street, —take all the young Women you meet for Whores, and kick the old ones into the Ken­nel, —knock down the Watch, —lie all Night in Covent-garden Round-house, —be carried before the Justice, where you have nothing to [Page 16] do but to prove your Father a Gentleman, and the old Dog his Worship will stand by you in abusing all the World.—This, my Boy, is true Humour.—You must also be a Critic.

A Critic! ha! that's something harder still—is'nt.

No Sir, nothing easier—you can read, I suppose.

O yes, I can read.

Ay, well, but that's not very material,— if you can do any thing more than tell your Let­ters it will be sufficient.

My Letters! oh! I could tell my Letters at 4 Years old.

That's more than some Critics can do at thirty.

And then I can write very well, and talk Latin:—Quid agis? What are you doing?— Repeto mecum, I am repeating by myself. Quid repetis.

Faith, my Boy, you are a better Scholar than half the Critics at Sam's, George's; or the Bedford.—But this is not much to the Pur­pose, Sir, you may criticise upon Authors very well, without ever reading, or even being able to read, them at all.

Ah! like enough, —criticise, —ah.

Ay, that's no more than this, Sir, —you must affect to have read every thing.—Then [Page 17] you must frequent all the Coffee-houses where Wit is pretended to; and whenever a Performance is mention'd you must stand thus, and cry with an Air of Disdain;— Oh Sir, Stuff Sir, Damnation Stuff Sir, stupid Stuff by G—d, —the Author's an Ass, damme.

Ah!

And then at the Appearance of a new Piece upon the Stage, you are to go, because ev'ry body does—Before the Curtain rises, you put the House in a Riot, and afterwards you must groan and cry Augh, off, no more, no more, Damnation low!—Oh, and then Sir, you must whip such a Machine as this out of your Pocket, and—

Ho! ho! ho! well, that's well enough, —let me try.—Damnation low!—

Goles, I believe I shall soon learn,— Well, and will this make me a Blood like you, ha!

This is all the Instruction you will re­quire, the rest will come easily of itself.

Will it?—Then I'll be a Blood, damme.

Well, you'll remember what I have told you, and I'll see you again in the Afternoon.— Here's an Acquaintance of mine coming, that I shall want to talk with.

Well, well, I won't tell any body what you say.

No Sir, you must leave me.

[Page 18]But I'll keep this.

Ay, ay, take it with you to practice.

So I will.—Damnation low.

Ha! ha! ha! high Humbug! ha! ha! ha!

Sir, a Porter has brought this for your Honour.

A Letter from Jack Riot?

Have among you, my Boys.

SCENE III. Doctor Mountain, reading a Paper.

SCENE IV. The Brazen Heap.
A Specimen of TRUE ORATORY.

Old Women the Pests of the Creation—what constitutes them? Ignorance and a College Edu­cation —University itself an old Woman — Want of Impudence want of Sense— no Man beside myself e'er dar'd to say so—Nonsense —Puns—Quibbles—Conundrums —Smart Sayings—St. Paul's Church-yard and, Grub-street, the same Place—Puffs— Horses, the Consumers of Oats, gone to draw the Asses to Mother Midnight's Oratory—long Ears best to taste the Music of the Salt-box— In my humble Opinion they are got on the wrong Side of the Post there—Mary Midnight not herself—See the Old Woman's Dunciad—what [Page 23] signifies her pretending to stand up for her own Existence? She don't exist at all—I can prove it.—

Roxana Termagant, an old Apple Woman, who is she? Who's afraid? Not I—I don't screen myself under Petticoats—none but Fools and Villains oppose Justice.—Who's a Fa­vourite at Court?—I am—they can't per­suade me to be a Bishop for all that—Subsidies subside—Who's King then?—I shall write my own Memoirs soon—or set up a Daily­paper —the Clare-market Journal—who'll smoke then?—Protestants—who?—Pope a Pop—who says so?—No honest Man— I am an honest Man—Nobody'l deny that— whoever could prove me a Rogue?

It is necessary Women should have masculine Epithets when Men creep into Petticoats—why should not a Woman be call'd a Rogue, Rascal, Scoundrel, Villain—no Proof to the contrary— Sauce for Goose Sauce for a Gander—I say it— prove it—New Astronomy, no Astronomy; Gresham College an Old Woman—Man in the Moon set up there by Moses. Moses a much greater Man than Sir Isaac Newton—a Comet, what?— Neither a Catherine Pear nor a Cheshire Cheese.

Mother Midnight made Use of unfair Weapons —Salt-boxes! why does a Salt-box make her a better Man? Why I can get five Salt-boxes, and [Page 24] then I am five times as good as she—Solo on a Broom-stick—did you ever hear a Dog sing— Signor Canini from Bologna—come forth—now trust your Ears—

There's the masterly—the grand Coup— the ev'ry Thing— Music itself no more than Sound, Sound no more than Noise—I myself a good Musician—perhaps a little harsh to old Women or so—but come—Signor Canini renew the Strain—

—Conviction! now who's Conqueror? Epa­minondas a great Man—I much like him —have been up long enough since I go down unconquer'd.—

SCENE V.

Well, Sir, and what Business do you Follow? Your Name is File you say—do you never attend the Play-house Door, to see the Com­pany safe out?

No Sir.

I believe, Fellow, you don't strictly confine yourself to Truth—did you never see my Face before?

No Sir—nor do I ever desire to see it again.

What's that you mutter about?— Who has any Thing to lay to the Charge of this Man?

I, Sir—he assaulted and robbed me, as my Servants can witness.

Your Servants! Man—why, who are you, Fellow?

Sir.

Sir, I say, Man—Fellow—who are you?

I am call'd Mountain, Sir.

Mountain! alias Dunghill, ay—ay I know you—the vilest Fellow that ever wore a [Page 26] Head.—Well, and you have been robb'd, you say, by this Fellow:—Very well, I have done with you, —you may go down—Man— you are not to go away—do ye mind?—You shall be bound to prosecute, and if you stir out of the House I shall send a Warrant after you—Ay, for all you look so, —you're a Gentleman, and as such I use you.—

Insolent Rascal!

To File—stand you aside, Fellow— I shall talk to you presently.—

Well, Mistress, who are you? What have you to say?

My Name is Brindle, if it please your Worship, —this young Gentleman here is a vile Fellow, and last Night broke into my Bed-chamber and ravish'd me, without giving me any thing for it;—which your Worship knows is a cruel Thing—when I have kept House in the Parish and paid Taxes this two Years— under your Worship's Protection and Favour.— But these young Fellows think they may do any Thing with any body, because, as how, we are civil and obliging to our Customers, and all that, if it please your Worship.—So therefore, I beg your Worship will make out a Mittimus and send him to Newgate, and have him scragg'd;— for indeed 'twas a Rape, if it please your Wor­ship, [Page 27] and he ought to be hang'd as much as Penlez or Maclaine.

It is very well, Madam, we are acquain­ted with you, and consequently know you to be a creditable Woman—you shall have Justice done you.—Well, Sir, what do you say to this?

Damme Sir!—a Bitch of Bitches— damn my Blood!

That, Sir, is nothing at all to the Pur­pose.

I very seldom do talk to the Purpose, Sir — does your Worship always do that? That, Sir, is a damnation Failing of mine.

Sir, I shall make you speak to the Pur­pose.

Will you by the Lord? Then you'll make me do more than body else can.

Sir, do you know that I am a Justice of Peace?

Not I Sir, but I judge so by your Stu­pidity and Insolence.

Dare you affront a Magistrate, Sir, in his Office? Do you know, Sir, that I shall send you to the Gatehouse?

Not I—damn my Blood! if I know any such thing.

Do you know, Sir, that it is in my Power to commit you to Newgate?

[Page 28]Nay—nay, none of your Hum, my dear Barrister—but dismiss me—I must go to the Bedford—damme!

This must be some young Fellow of Quality by his Impudence; I must take Care how I act with him.—I'll try him a little further however—[Aside] Do you know, Sir, the Con­sequence of a Rape?

The Consequence of a Rape, old Boy! —a Bastard, a Bastard, or two at most— but there's no Danger with Peg there; she'll breed nothing but the Consumption of Mer­cury.

Indeed, if it please your Worship, I am as honest a Woman, in my Way, as ever broke Bread.

Only in a damn'd bad Way, Peg— I'll tell you, Bobadil—your Worship would do well by putting her in a better, by sending her to Bridewell, damme!

It must be so—he's some Spawn of Quality—Pray, Sir, may I have the Ho­nour to know who you are?

As you begin to grow a little civil and intelligible, I'll tell you, Sir—I have the Ho­nour to be Son and Heir to Lord Riot.

Lord Riot! let me see—whereabouts doth he lie?—In or out—Riot—Riot— out—ay; but then he's Brother to Bacon Hope [Page 29] that married Viscount Dangle's Neice, who was Sister to Viscount Favour, that married the Earl of Place's Daughter, who is Son to his Grace of Promise; and so it is possible I may offend some­where, —[Aside.] Though I have not the Ho­nour to know you, Sir, I shall nevertheless be­have in this Affair according to Justice—Do you know, Mistress, the Consequence of bringing such a Charge as you were going, against the noble Gentleman?

Indeed, if it please your Worship, he did—

No—Woman, he did not.

I'll take my Oath.

Ha! Woman—do you contradict me? How do you say it was?

—Why—if it please your Wor­ship —I goes up Stairs—

How, Woman! I GOES up Stairs— false English, Woman, false English, and conse­quently what you say must be false—your Mittimus shall be made out immediately.

No—no—damn the Bitch, I have abus'd her, let her go about her Business.

If 'twill oblige your Lordship that she be dismiss'd—or else it is proper these Peo­ple be made Examples for the Good of Community— Woman, I believe you are a sad Creature; but as I have a great deal of the Milk of Human Kind­ness [Page 30] in my Nature; and am in Hopes you will amend, you may go.—I am very sorry I have given your Lordship so much Trouble; your Lordship is at Liberty whenever your Lordship pleases.

Servile Dog! Ha! ha! ha!

Hold, Sir, a Moment, perhaps I have not such a Veneration for your Quality as his Worship; therefore I shall charge Mr. Constable with you for the Insult you put on me last Night in your Way to the Round-house, and expect you find Bail, before his Worship, to answer me in a proper Place—I attended you here this Morn­ing for that very Purpose.

Why, faith, thou art a very comical old Fellow, damme—Do you know now I don't remember I ever saw your Face before?

That may be, Sir—I must assist your Memory then.

Why thou art an odd Bitch—what shall I say to this Fellow, Bobadil?

Oh! I'll deal with him for your Lord­ship presently—pray, Sir, who are you? What are you? Whence do ye come? As the Man can give no Account of himself, I shall send him to the Gatehouse, my Lord.

Me to the Gatehouse, Mr. Justice! do you know, Sir, that I am in the Commission of the Peace, and of the Quorum! and that I am Representative in Parliament?

[Page 31]How!

For the Borough of Muddletown.

I had like to have gone too far here.

Send Sir Nackadil Trunnion to the Gatehouse, indeed!

I beg Sir Nackadil Trunnion's Pardon in the most submissive Manner, but I hope a Mistake, arising from the many Deceptions People of the poorer, and consequently of the viler, Class put on us, will find an Excuse—And I hope also, the Error his Lordship might possibly, unknow­ingly, and I am confident unwillingly, committed, is not of such a Nature in itself, as to make either of you slight a Reconciliation. As nothing is more conducive to the Promotion of Justice and the Good of Community, than the perfect Amity of People of Power and Fortune, and which it is necessary they should preserve, in order that the lower Part of Mankind should meet with the Pu­nishment due to their Offences—if you will do me the Honour, with his Lordship, to step into the next Room, a Moment, I will attempt to clear up this Affair, in which I am sure, as you are Men of Fortune, there is not, on either Side, any thing contrary to the nicest Points of Honour, Justice and Good-manners.

As you are so perfectly obliging, Sir, and seem to come to a right Understanding [Page 32] of Things, I will hear what you have to say to't.

A dry troublesome old Bitch, this!— I believe I had better make it up with him, damn my Blood!—

SCENE VI.

SCENE VII.

Cod, here comes Father—now I'll have some Fun with him—I'll hum him, damme.

Well, Antony, what's the matter, Boy? What do you cry for? What are you blubbering about?

O Lord! Father, O Lord! O Lord! our House at Tumbledown-hall is burn'd down to the Ground, and every thing destroy'd—here has been Steward Poundage to look for you, and tell you of it—he's gone to see about for you.

Tumbledown-hall burn'd to the Ground, and all the rich Furniture and Plate gone to the Dogs! oh I am ruin'd! undone! I had rather have lost half my Estate. Where, where is Mr. Poundage gone? What is there nothing sav'd at [Page 35] all?—Where did the Fire begin? What part of the House?—Is your Mother safe? Oh I shall run distracted.

Ho! ho! ha! a Hum—Ha! ha! ha!

What do you laugh at your Father's Misfortunes?

Why Father you're humm'd—Ho!

Humm'd! you Dog, what do you mean by that?

Ho! ho! why 'tis all a Joke—Ho! ho! I don't know any thing about Tumbledown­ball, not I.

You don't—and a'nt you a pretty Fellow to make Game of your Father, ha! Sir.

Ho! ho! ho! I don't mind that— damme—I must not heed that—there—

that's for you—hang me if I don't think I could beat you, at dry Boxing, —if 'twas n't for that Cane.

Amazing Impudence! you do, Sir! then there, and there, and there. [Beats him.

OLord! OLord! OLord! no indeed I don't—pray Father. [Falls on his Knees.

O! have I brought you to Reason young Gentleman, and pray who has been tutor­ing you to this?—Who set you on to abuse your Father, Sirrah, ah! come, get up and tell me— where have you been?

[Page 36]Cousin, you lest me with, told me I should hate you, and not mind what you said to me, and then he said it was witty to hum any body.

A mighty pretty Fellow, that! I shall go and acquaint my Brother Bullyboy of this Be­haviour of his—and you, I see Sir, have pro­fited more by his Instructions in half an Hour, than you have done by mine these eighteen Years. —I wanted you to turn over a new Leaf, and this is the Way you was going to do it; but, Sirrah! I shall turn you back again to your old Chapter—Well, and did you learn no more of these goodly Tricks of him? What more did he tell you?

Yes, he said I must learn to bully and swear and look big and so, and then I must learn to be a Critic, and to cry Stuff, Damnation low! and to whistle thus—and that would make me a great Man.

Mighty pretty! a fine Fellow, that!— I had intrusted my Son with a fine Rascal—he would give me a good Account of him—a very good Account indeed, and this was the Way you was to become a great Man—Come along, Sir, and if ever I see you conversing with that Cousin of your's again, I shall wring your Nose off for you—Come, Sir, I shall take another Course with you—I am now going to Gresham Col­lege —Come along, Sir—let me see if you can learn nothing better there.

SCENE VIII. Drawcansir soulus—reading at a Table.