Come Betty, duſt away, duſt away girl, the Managers will be here preſently; there's no lying in bed for them now, we are up early and late; all hurry and buſtle from morning to night; I wonder what the deuce they have got in their heads?

Why to get money, Mrs. Beſom, to be ſure; the folks ſay about us, that the other houſe will make them ſtir their ſtumps, a • d they'll make us ſtir ours: If they are in motion, we muſt not ſtand ſtill, Mrs. Beſom.

Ay, ay, girl, they have met with their match, and we ſhall all ſuffer for it—for my part I can't go thro' the work, if they are always in this plaguy hurry; I have not drank a comfortable diſh of tea ſince the houſe open'd.

One had better die, than be ſcolded and hurried about as we are by the houſe-keeper; he takes us all for a parcel of Negers I believe: pray give us a pinch of your ſnuff, Mrs. Beſom. [They lean upon their brooms and take ſnuff.

Between you and I, Betty, and our two brooms, the houſe-keeper is grown a little purſe-proud; he thinks himſelf a great Actor forſooth, ſince he play'd the Scotch fellow, and the fat cook in Queen Mab.

I ſhall certainly reſign, as the great folks call it in the News Paper, if they won't promiſe to give me the firſt Dreſſer's place that falls, and make our little Tommy a Page; what, woman, tho' we are well paid for our work, we ought to make ſure of ſomething when our brooms are taken from us,—'tis the faſhion Betty.

Right, right, Mrs. Beſom, ſervice is no inheritance, and to be always doing dirty work, and to have no proſpect to reſt, and clean ourſelves, is the curſe only of us poor folks.

You and I will drink a diſh of tea together in comfort this afternoon, and talk over theſe and other matters—but mum—here's the Prompter. [They ſing and ſweep again.]

Come, come, away with your brooms, and clear the Stage; the Managers will be here directly. [The ſweepers hurry of.] Where are the Carpenters?—Carpenters!

What do you want, Mr. Hopkins?

What do I want? Come down and ſet the Scenes for the new Burletta of Orpheus.

Not finiſh'd the Beaſts! here's fine work! the Managers and Author will be here directly, and nothing ready;—fie, fie, fie.—Saunders!—Saunders!— [Calls out.

Here! here!—Zooks what a bawling you make, do keep your breath for your prompting, Maſter Hopkins, and not ſend it after me at this rate—I'm not deaf.

But your men are, and aſleep too I believe; I can't get a ſoul of 'em near me, 'tis ten o'clock, [looking at his Watch] and not a Scene prepared for the Rehearſal; 'tis I ſhall be blam'd, and not you.

Blam'd for what? 'Tis but a rehearſal, and of one Act only—wou'd you have us to finiſh our work, before the Poet has done his? Don't you know that Carpenters are always the laſt in a houſe; and yet you want us to get out of it, before the Author has cover'd in.

You may be as witty as you pleaſe; but the Managers will do as they pleaſe, and they have promis'd the Author to rehearſe the firſt Act of his Burletta of Orpheus this Morning, as he pleaſes, with all the proper Scenes, Dreſſes, Machinery, and Muſick; ſo what ſignifies all our prating?

Very little as you ſay—but damn all theſe new vagaries, that put us all upon our heads topſy verſy—my men have ſat up all night, and I have finiſh'd every thing but the Dancing Cows.

Bleſs my heart, man, the Author depends moſt upon his Cows.

His Cows!—How came they to be his; they are my Cows;—theſe Poets are pretty fellows faith; they ſay I'll have a flying Devil, or a dancing Bear, or any ſuch conundrum; why 'tis eaſily ſaid, but who is to make 'em fly, and dance? ha, Mr. Prompter? Why poor Pill Garlick;—The Audience applauds, the Author is conceited; but the Carpenter is never thought of.

Theſe are bold truths, Mr. Saunders.

Why then out with 'em, I ſay—great men ſpin the brains of the little ones, and take the credit of 'em.—Do you know how I was ſerv'd in our dramatic romance of Cymon?

You did your buſineſs well there, particularly in the laſt Scene.

And what was the conſequence? One fine gentleman in the boxes ſaid,—my maſter brought it from Italy;—No, damn it (ſays another, taking ſnuff) I ſaw the very ſame thing at Paris; when you all know here behind the Scenes, that the whole deſign came from this head; and the execution from theſe hands,—but nothing can be done by an Engliſhman now a days, and ſo your ſervant, Mr. Hopkins— [Going.

Harkee Saunders,—the Managers have order'd me to diſcharge the man at the lightning; he was ſo drunk the laſt time he flaſh'd, that he has ſing'd all the clouds on that ſide the Stage. [Pointing to the clouds.

Yes, yes, I ſee it, and harkee—he has burnt a hole in the new caſcade, and ſet fire to the ſhower of rain—but mum—

The deuce—he muſt be diſcharg'd directly. [Exit Saunders.

Where's the Prompter?

Here I am, Sir.

Make haſte with your ſcenes, Saunders; ſo, clear the Stage, Mr. Hopkins, and let us go to buſineſs. Is the extraordinary Author of this very extraordinary performance come yet?

Not yet, Sir, but we ſhall be ſoon ready for him—'Tis a very extraordinary thing, indeed, to rehearſe only one act of a performance, and with dreſſes and decorations, as if it were really before an Audience.

It is a novelty, indeed, and a little expenſive too, but we cou'd not withſtand the ſolicitations tha t were made to us; we ſhan't often repeat the ſame experiment.

I hope not, Sir,—'tis a very troubleſome one, and the Performers murmur greatly at it.

When do the performers not murmur, Mr. Hopkins?—Has any morning paſs'd in your time without ſome grievance or another?

I have half a dozen now in my pocket for you. [Feeling in his pockets for papers.

O pray let's have 'em, my old breakfaſt— [Prompter gives 'em.

And the old ſtory—Actreſſes quarrelling about parts; there's not one of 'em but thinks herſelf young enough for any part; and not a young one but thinks herſelf capable of any part—but their betters quarrel about what they are not fit for, So our Ladies have at leaſt great precedents for their folly.

The young fellow from Edinburgh won't accept of the ſecond Lord; he deſires to have the firſt.

I don't doubt it—Well, well, if the Author can make him ſpeak Engliſh, I have no objection.

Well, well, let his lungs reſt a little, they want it, I'm ſure—What a campaign ſhall we make of it; all our ſubalterns will be general officers, and our generals will only fight when they pleaſe.

O he's upon the Stage, is he?—I'll go to him—

Here comes the Author, do you prepare the people for the Rehearſal—deſire them to be as careful, as if they were to perform before an Audience.

I will, Sir—Pray let us know when we muſt begin. [Exit Prompter.

Dear Mr. Patent, am not I too late? Do make me happy at once—I have been upon the rack this half hour—But the Ladies, Mr. Patent—the Ladies—

But where are the Ladies, Sir?

They'll be here in the drinking of a cup of tea—I left 'em all at breakfaſt—Lady Fuz can't ſtir from home without ſome refreſhment—Sir Macaroni Virtu was not come when I left them; he generally ſits up all night, and if he gets up before two o'clock he only walks in his ſleep all the reſt of the day—He is perhaps the moſt accompliſhed connoiſſeur in the three kingdoms; yet he is never properly awake 'till other people go to bed;—however, if he ſhou'd come, our little performance, I believe, will rouſe him—ha, ha, ha!—you underſtand me?—A pinch of cephalic only.

I have the honour of knowing him a little—Will Sir Macaroni be here?

Why he promis'd, but he's too polite to be punctual—You underſtand me?—ha, ha, ha!—however, I am pretty ſure we ſhall ſee him;—I have a ſecret for you—not a ſoul muſt know it—he has compos'd two of the ſongs in my Burletta—An admirable muſician—but particular—He has no great opinion of me, nor indeed of any body elſe, a very tolerable one of himſelf—and ſo I believe he'll come—You underſtand me? ha, ha, ha!

I do, Sir—But pray, Mr. Glib, why did not you compleat your Burletta—'tis very new with us to rehearſe but one act only?

By a ſample, Mr. Patent, you may know the piece: if you approve you ſhall never want novelty—I am a very ſpider at ſpinning my own brains, ha, ha, ha! always at it—ſpin, ſpin, ſpin—you underſtand me?

Extreamly well—In your ſecond act, I ſuppoſe, you intend to bring Orpheus into hell—

Is that too like a man of faſhion, Mr. Glib?

No, that's the moral part of him—He's a mix'd character—but as he approaches and gets into the infernal regions, his principles melt away by degrees, as it were, by the heat of the climate—and finding that his wife, Eurydice, is kept by Pluto, he immediately makes up to Proſerpine, and is kept by her, then they all four agree matters amicably—Change partners, as one may ſay, make a genteel partie quarrée, and finiſh the whole with a ſong and a chorus—and a ſtinger it is—The ſubject of the ſong is—the old proverb, exchange is no robbery, and the chorus runs thus,

I believe that's true ſatire, Mr. Patent—ſtrong and poignant—You underſtand me?

I make Orpheus ſee in my hell all ſorts of people, of all degrees, and occupations—ay, and of both ſexes—that's not very unnatural, I believe—there ſhall be very good company too, I aſſure you; high life below ſtairs, as I call it, ha, ha, ha! you take me—a double edge—no boys play—rip and tear—the times require it—fortè—fortiſſimè—

Won't it be too fortè?—Take care, Mr. Glib, not to make it ſo much above proof that the boxes can't taſte it—Take care of empty boxes.

Empty boxes!—I'll engage that my Cerberus alone ſhall fill the boxes for a month.

Cerberus!

Be quiet a little—You know, I ſuppoſe, that Cerberus is a dog, and has three heads?

I have heard as much.

Then you ſhall ſee ſome ſport—He ſhall be a comical dog too, I warrant you—ha, ha, ha!

What, is Cerberus a character in your performance?

Moſt certainly, if there are three heads.

Poh, that's nothing to what I have in petto for you—Obſerve me now—when Orpheus comes to the gates of hell—Cerberus ſtops him—but how, how—now for it—gueſs—

Upon my ſoul I can't gueſs.

I make his three heads ſing a trio.

A Trio!

A trio! I knew I ſhou'd hit you—a trio, treble, tenor and baſs—and what ſhall they ſing? nothing in the world but, Bow, wow, wow!—Orpheus begins—

Treble, tenor and baſs—Then Orpheus ſhall tickle his lyre, and treble, tenor and baſs, ſhall fall aſleep by degrees, and one after another, fainter and fainter—Bow, wow, wow—faſt—You underſtand me?

Very ingenious, and very new—I hope the critics will underſtand it.

Not very clearly, Sir—but it is no matter—Here's your company.

Ladies and Gentlemen, you do me honour; Mr. Patent—Sir Toby and Miſs Fuz, and this Sir Macaroni Virtu— [All bow and curtſey.

Sir Toby, one of the managers. [Introducing Patent.

I am one of the managers moſt humble and obedient.

I take it as a moſt particular compliment, Sir Macaroni, that you wou'd attend my trifle at ſo early an hour.

Why, faith, Glib, without a compliment, I had much rather be in bed than here, or any where elſe. [Yawns.

I have a prodigious curioſity to ſee your Playhouſe by day-light, Mr. Manager; have not you, Sir Macaroni?

I will prepare ſome tea and chocolate in the Green Room for the Ladies, while the Prompter prepares matters for the Rehearſal.

I never breakfaſt but once a day, Mr. Manager; Sir Toby indeed never refuſes any thing at any time; he's at it from morning till night.

I love to be ſocial my dear,—beſides trifling with tea, chocolate, macaroons, biſkets, and ſuch things, is never reckon'd eating, you know.

You are indefatigably obliging, Mr. Patent. [Exit Patent.

Bleſs me, papa, what a ſtrange place this is!—I am ſure I ſhou'd not have known it again—I wonder where he is! I wiſh I cou'd get a peep at him—and yet I am frighted out of my wits. (aſide and looking about.)

Now the Manager is gone, one may venture to ſay, that the Play-houſe is no morning beauty; paint and candle light are as great friends to the theatres, as to the ladies; they hide many wrinkles—don't they, Mr. Glib? ha, ha, ha!

My dear Sir Toby, you, you may be as ſarcaſtical as you pleaſe; but I proteſt a Play-houſe is a prodigious odd ſort of a thing, now there is nobody in it:—is it not, Sir Macaroni?

O yes, and a prodigious odd ſort of a thing when 'tis full too—I abominate a Play-houſe; my ingenious countrymen have no taſte now, for the high ſeaſon'd comedies; and I am ſure that I have none for the pap and loplolly of our preſent writers.

Bravo, Sir Micaroni!—I wou'd not give a pin for a play, no more than a partridge, that has not the fumet.

Not amiſs, faith! ha, ha, ha!

Don't let us loſe time, Mr. Glib;—if they are not ready for the Rehearſal, ſuppoſe the Manager entertains us with thunder and lightning,—and let us ſee his traps, and his whims, and harlequin pantomimes.

And a ſhower of rain, or an eclipſe; and I muſt beg one peep at the Patagonians.

Pray, Mr. Glib, let us have ſome thunder and lightning.

A Play-houſe in England is to me, as dull as a church, and fit only to ſleep in.

Sir Toby thinks ſo too;—I'll tell you what happen'd the laſt time we were there.

Ay, do, my dear lady, tell what happen'd to Papa—'twas very droll.

Fye, fye, Fanny,—my lady, you ſhou'd not tell tales out of ſchool.—Twas an accident.—

A very common one with you, my dear: We din'd late, Sir Toby cou'd not take his nap, and we came early to the Houſe;—in ten minutes he fell faſt aſleep againſt the box door, his wig half off, his mouth wide open, and ſnoring like a Rhinoceros.

Well, but the cataſtrophe, lady FUZ?

The Pit and Galleries fell a laughing and clapping—I jogg'd and pull'd him till my arms ach'd; and if the Box-keeper had not luckily open'd the door, and Sir TOBY fell head-long into the paſſage, I ſhould have died with ſhame.

You'll not die with tenderneſs, I believe, for I got a lump upon my head as big as an egg, and have not been free from the head-ach ever ſince.

I ſhall never forget what a flump my Papa came down with, Ha, ha, ha!

The tenderneſs runs in the family, Sir TOBY?

Pray don't you adore Shakeſpear, Sir MAC?

Shakeſpear! (yawning.)

Sir TOBY and I are abſolute worſhippers of him—we very often act ſome of his beſt tragedy ſcenes to divert ourſelves.

And it muſt be very diverting, I dare ſwear.

What more family ſecrets! for ſhame, Lady FUZ—

You need not be aſhamed of your talents, my dear—I will venture to ſay you are the beſt ROMEO that ever appeared.

Pooh, pooh!

I have not the leaſt doubt of Sir TOBY'S genius—But don't your Ladyſhip think he rather carries too much fleſh for the Lover—Does your Ladyſhip incline to tragedy too?

I vow, Lady FUZ, you diſtreſs me beyond meaſure—I never have any voice till the evening.

Never mind being a little huſky, Papa—do tear your wig, throw yourſelf upon the ground, and poiſon yourſelf.

This is a glorious ſcene, faith. (aſide.) Sir TOBY looks as if he were ſuſceptible of the tender paſſions.

Too much ſo, indeed; he is too amiable not to be a little faithleſs—he has been a great Libertine—have not you, Sir Toby? have you not wrong'd me?—Come, give me a pinch of your ſnuff— [Takes ſnuff out of his box.]

Forget and forgive, my dear,—if my conſtitution err'd, my affections never did—I have told you ſo a thouſand times.

A wonderful couple, upon my ſoul!— (aſide.)

Ladies, you can't poſſibly have any thunder and lightning this morning; one of the planks of the Thunder-Trunk ſtarted the other night, and had not Jupiter ſtepp'd aſide to drink a pot of porter, he had been knock'd o'the head with his own thunder-bolt.

Well, let us go into the Green Room then, and ſee the actors and actreſſes—Is Clive there?—I ſhould be glad of all things to ſee that woman off the ſtage.

She never attends here, but when ſhe is wanted.

Bleſs me! If I was an actreſs, I ſhould never be a moment out of the Play-houſe.

And if I had my will, I would never be a moment in it.

I wiſh I could have ſeen Clive! I think her a droll creature—nobody has half ſo good an opinion of her as I have. [Exit Lady FUZZ.]

For my part, I had rather have had a little thunder and lightning, than all the tea and chocolate in the world. (going.) I wonder I don't ſee him. (aſide.) [Exit Miſs FUZ.]

What a ſet of people am I with! what a place I am in, and what an entertainment am I to go through! But I can't go through it—ſo I'll e'en get into my chair again, and eſcape from theſe Hottentots—I wiſh with all my ſoul that Sir TOBY, my Lady, and Miſs, the Author and his Piece, the Managers, their Play-houſe and their Performers, were all at the bottom of the Thames, and that I were faſt aſleep in my bed again. [Exit.]

I durſt not diſcover myſelf, though I ſaw her dear eyes looking about for me.—If I could ſee her for a moment now, as the ſtage is clear, and no body to overlook us, who knows but I might kindle up her ſpirit this moment to run away with me—Hah! What noiſe is that?—There ſhe is—Miſs Fanny! Miſs Fanny—here I am—By heavens, ſhe comes—

O dear, how I flutter! I can't ſtay long—my Papa and Mama were going to rehearſe Romeo and Juliet, or I could not have ſtole out now.

Let you and I act thoſe parts in earneſt, Miſs, and fly to Lawrence Cell—Love has given us the opportunity, and we ſhall forfeit his protection if we don't make the beſt uſe of it.

Indeed I can't go away with you now—I will find a better opportunity ſoon—perhaps to-morrow—Let me return to the Green Room; if we are ſeen together, we ſhall be ſeparated for ever.—

To prevent that, let me lead you a private way through the houſe to a poſtchaiſe—we ſhall be out of reach before Sir TOBY and my Lady have gone half through Romeo and Juliet.

I muſt run away with you now, Miſs FUZ—Indeed I muſt.

Have you really a poſt-chaiſe ready?

I have indeed!—A poſtchaiſe and four.

A poſtchaiſe and four!—bleſs me!

Four of the beſt Bays in London, and my poſtillions are in blue jackets, with ſilver ſhoulder-knots.

With ſilver ſhoulder-knots!—nay, then there is no reſiſting—and yet—

Nay, quickly, quickly determine, my dear Miſs FUZ.

I will determine then—I will ſit by my Papa at the Rehearſal, and when he is aſleep, which he will be in ten minutes, and my Mama will be deaf, dumb and blind to every thing, but Mr. GLIB'S wit—I'll ſteal out of the box from them, and you ſhall run away with me as faſt as you can, whereever your four Bays and ſilver ſhoulder-knots pleaſe to take me.

Oh! ſwear not by the Moon, th' inconſtant Moon!

Let us have no ſun and moon and ſtars now—What are you about, my dear?—Who is this young gentleman you are ſo free with?

This is the young gentleman Actor, Mama, whoſe Benefit we were at laſt ſummer, and while you were buſy acting in the Green Room, I ſtole out to try how my voice would ſound upon the ſtage, and finding him here, I begg'd him to teach me a little how to play JULIET.

O, very well, my dear—we are oblig'd to the young gentleman, to be ſure;—your Papa will teach you, child, and play ROMEO with you: you ſhou'd not be too free with theſe Actors— (aſide.) I am much oblig'd to you, Sir, for the pains you have taken with my daughter—we are very ſenſible of your politeneſs, and you may bring us ſome tickets when your benefit time comes.

I am greatly honour'd by your Ladyſhip, and will go through all the ſcenes of ROMEO and JULIET with Miſs whenever ſhe pleaſes.