SCENE I. A Street in Bagdat. The Bassa's Palace in View.

LET me give just one look at my bill of fare.

Let's see at which of the tradesmen's shops do I first touch in my voyage; to lay in every deli­cacy for our grand entertainment

Eh! the courier with the dispatches from Constantinople.

By'r leave! Letters for his Highness, one of the great Officers, to—

Stop, I am a great Officer, Prime Caterer to the Bassa—he cou'dn't live without me, for I provide him his dinner every day.

Perhaps you've provided a dinner for me too.—A long post this last from Rabba—so I'll beat up your palace pantries if you'll give these two letters to Babouc the Aga, for his Highness the Bassa.

Babouc the Black-a-moor! No; I will deliver them to his Highness myself, and that will shew my great care and diligence.

Lie you there safe and snug; here comes my nephew, Absalom [Page 2]—the villain is going to marry with a christian womans, after my bringing him up so genteely; and binding him 'prentice to a barber. Ah, here's the rascal, witn the very dow'rless damsel, and that hungry beggarman, Cross-Leg the taylor; I've a mind—but let me contain my passion.

So nephew Absalom, you're about to marry?

Yes, Sir.

And, Miss Dora, you're going to be married?

Yes, Sir.

You have monies?

No, Sir.

You bring a portion?

No, Sir.

Where do you eat your wedding supper?

At my house.

Is it bought?

Yes; when you give a little money to buy it.

Oh! then I'm to buy it.

Will you—Gad, old Zebede's growing kind.

I thought you wou'd; none can do it better, as you're his Highness the Bassa's Caterer; no man, in Bagdad, genteeler knows how to provide, and this is only a neat little bit of supper for a poor young couple and their few friends.

Eh!

Yes, Sir, you know a poor couple have but few friends.

Now if you'd only take a pretty little walk (you see its a very pleasant evening) just round to the Bassa's butcher, poult'rer, fishmonger, confectioner, and wine merchant, and order us in a small joint, two capons, a brace of carp, a cream tart, and a hamper of Cyprus wine; you, the generous founder, shall be toasted in noble bumpers by us the grateful confoun­ders.

Thank'ee, Timothy Cross-Leg. Then as it is a very pleasant evening, why I will take a pretty little walk, and desire the poulterer, butcher, fishmonger, confectioner, and wine merchant—

Good Sir!

Kind Uncle!

Most comfortable Caterer!

If the've got a small joint, two capons, a brace of carp, a cream tart, and an hamper of Cyprus wine, that they take particular care to—

What good nature!

Generous Uncle!

Plentiful Purveyor!

To keep them safe in their shops.

Eh!

Then, my poor young couple, I wish you joy of your wedding supper. Ha! ha! ha! Eh! so you'll marry a Christian you wicked reprobate.

Oh! I wish I had only an order from the grand Signor to sew up your ugly mouth, I'd do it with as much pleasure as ever I stich'd a button-hole.

I'm not disappointed.

So, because your Uncle won't have you marry the daughter of a Christian, and your step-father won't let you have the son of a Jew, you must both starve poor things! You shan't this night, however, for a wedding supper you shall have, though I pawn my goose for the price of it. Heark'ee—hasn't Father Anselm, the Armenian Friar, promised to marry you.

Appointed Dora and I to come to his cell, by the Fountain of Palms, at eight.

Then go you, boy, and dress in your belt; Dora shall meet you there. As she cannot go home to her father's, my wife, Juggy, shall trick her out nicely. There they'll consult about the cookery. Tol, lol, lol! Courage, my young folks. Come Dora!

Then, my dear Absalom, don't let us be cast down by the cruelty of those who should be kind to us. True love is the best of good chear!

You shall have somewhat more substan­tial, I warrant! My Juggy will toss us up a comfortable morsel, without the help of—Hang me if I should think a christan wedding lucky, if the supper was provided by a Jew. Ha! ha! ha! chear up, I am but a poor taylor to be sure; but an honest mind is my workshop; there Content sings all day to the music of a good Conscience.

It goes cursedly against my spirit to lay all the expences of my wedding on my honest friend the taylor! What to do now to raise but a little money. Oh! for a few beards to mow, even at an asper a chin. If I—What's this

‘For his Highness the Bassa of Bagdad,’ trod under foot. [Page 4]Now if I could deliver this letter to the Bassa myself, he'd probably give me a reward sufficient to defray the charges of my wedding. How the deuce shall I get ad­mission though? My old Uncle has always kept me at such a distance, that I'm not even known at the palace; and the attendants there are so saucy—No, they'll never let a poor strange barber pass the antichamber.

Odso! here comes little Crumpy, the Bassa's favourite Hunch-back jester; he's a good-natur'd fellow; and from my saving him from a beating in the street quarrel, that his jokes brought him into the other night—If I could prevail on him—he has high interest at court, and—

How do you do, Mr. Crumpy?

Fellow!

Ha! my gay spirited—my little finger

don't slip my ring off. Your prowess in that re-encounter, when those villains attacked me the other night, saved—Did you ever see the like? The fellows thresh'd me as if I was a wheat-sheaf; had I the lives of seven cats they'd have hammered them out, for there I lay like a little anvil, and the rascals laid on me like so many Cyclops, turn'd me about as if was a three-penny nail—only for your passing by just at the nick, those ruffians would have broke my bones. Yes, they'd have crack'd my ivory; their heads were so hard, and their fists so heavy, that my great wit and little body—Oh dear!

Going to the palace, I presume, Sir?

Ay, his Highness has got into a merry mood, and just sent for me.

Then, Sir, that horse with the fine trappings, that I saw the slaves take by just now, was to carry you to court?

Yes; they had the insolence to think I'd peck upon a poney; but if I must ride to court, it shall be on an elephant.

Certainly, Sir.

By virtue of my high office, lord chief jus­tice joker, I am obliged, when called upon, to be pro­vided with some comical story to divert him, entre nous, though my wit is as ready as any man's, I am some times plaguily put to it; but as I'm determined to keep my place to pick up novelty and character, I get upon those night rambles in the street, which often, with a little of my ingenuity in dressing up, furnish a good merry tale or pleasant incident for the Bassa to laugh at the next morning.

I thought, Sir, you statesmen was too wise to laugh?

He that's wise enough to refuse a good hearty laugh in this world, will be cursedly bob'd, if there should be no laughing in the next. Here he has sent for me now, takes me a little unprovided, so I'll go make my bow, and retire.

What a prodigious favourite you are, Sir.

Ay, ay; the Circassian beauties dance am­bassadories; black, blue and yellow pay compliments; courtiers smile, cringe and tell lies, but no life at court without little Crumpy

Oh, barber, could you supply me with a decent, fashionable, flourishing whisker?

Why, Sir, you've a very handsome pair al­ready.

Only one real, t'other was pluck'd off by the roots in that affray; this is false, a favourite lock fell from the forehead of a celebrated beauty at the last ball, I pick'd it up, and stuck it on with a little gum, and it graces the lip of her humble admirer. Ha! ha! ha!

How gallant.

Yet the courtiers smil'd, the ladies teehee'd, but Honi soit,—I should not wonder if the circumstance gave birth to an order of knighthood, and the black eagle and golden fleece give way to the knights of the whisker.

Ha! ha! ha! Sir, I've a letter here for the Bassa, and—

A petition? Give it me; I'll deliver it into his Highness's own hand?

Ah, Sir, if you'd only procure me the honour of laying it at his Highness's own feet?

You serv'd me; I will be grateful; you shall have an audience; come along my noble shaver.

Ay, but will his Highness condescend to listen to so poor a fellow as I?

What, don't you know our Bassa has tra­velled through Europe, been at the English court, whose king has been the model for all his noblest actions, like their gracious monarch, the father of his people, he is above the little consideration of the co­lour of a face, or the sod where a man first drew breath, when diftress is to be relieved or merit rewarded.

But, Sir, if any of the grand officers in waiting should stop me?

What! when I take you by the hand.

These court eunuchs are such great men—

They great men; the rascals, slaves, ah, hah; trip, skip; come, tol, lol, lol.

SCENE II. An Antichamber of the Palace.

Oh, ruin Habby! I'm undone for ever.

Hey, what's the matter, master?

I have lost (I don't know how) one of the letters the courier gave me for the Bassa. Oh, I shall lose may place that I have held so long with credit. I have been prime Purveyor to him, ay, fifteen years next Pentecost.

But this trust, how discharge?

Discharg'd, you dog! I have charg'd and over charg'd; take that, you scoundrel.

What's that for?

You, my clerk, throw out your inuendo's against my honesty when you see me distressed and en­rag'd—get out of my sight.

Good master, I'll give you a blow worth two of this.

Oh, this letter; what will become of me? If I confess I lost it, I may not only lose my place but my life too. I will deny that I did receive any letters; and, even if the courier do say he did give me them, my word will be taken before his oath: yes, that will save me; 'tis a good thought.

Zebede, the Bassa desires his letters; he'd learn if—

His Highness wants to learn his letters.

His di [...]patches, the express.

Well, express.

Psha; the letters for him?

Me; I did get no letters for him.

No! Why his highness himself saw from his window the courier give them to you.

The devil! what eyes he has got! he saw! I quite forgot, my memory is distracted with my ac­compts and marketings. Lord—yes, here they are—What shall I do

I wish Mr. Crumpy would come on, I'm afraid to—

My nephew! How dare you put your face into the palace? You graceless vagabond.

Go, go, friend; what brings you here?

No; I have business.

You business, you impudent—

Guards, thrust him out.

Very well; you may all depend upon my influence and interest.

Do stand out of the way fellow. Here comes the Bassa's first favourite, and if he sees such shabby rogues as you here, he'll order you to the whipping post.

Eh! what noise is here? Babouc, I'll have none of these doings.

Sir, my station and rank demands—

Rank! don't I allow you to be the greatest black in the palace? Ha! my good friend, I ask you millions of pardons for making you wait.

Eh! good friend!

How did my ne­phew do this.

Sir!

Come, come along! Fling open the fold­ing doors there. I protest a man has scarce room to pass. Come.

Yes, Sir, but these gentlemen may have some objections.

Gentlemen! Give me your hand.

Room there, ye slaves—stand by.

Room there for Mr. Crumpy.

You must stop, Zebede, till Mr. Crumpy has his au­dience.

And my poor rascally nephew. Dear me, what is all this?

SCENE III. An magnificent Apartment in the Palace.

Zebede is bringing your Highness the dis­patches from Constantinople.

Oh, Babouc! happy is the wife of a Bassa whose government is at a distance from the sublime Port, and good was my friend, the Vizier, to appoint me Bassa of Bagdad. While the seraglio there is distracted with cabal and faction; here, an Emperor in epitome, I enjoy all the pleasures of peace and security, my nod gives death, and my smiles preferment; have you ordered ihe dance, the banquet, and sent for my little Hunch­back Jester? My soul, and every sense, are this evening devoted to laugh, love, and joy.

Here is Crumpy, please your Hihgness.

Approach my man of whim and frolick.

Stand aside, make way there.

Ha! ha! ha! he has got introducing some cf the Mesopotamian Plenipo's.

Room—hem! Sir, permit me the honor of introducing to your Highness this most magnificently—magnanimous—Come in Barber.

Impertinence! your office is to please; a step beyond that and you offend, remember Crumpy—

I wish you'd remember Crumpy when there's a good place to give away.

Leave me!

When I go I shan't take you with me; this humble barber comes with an humble petition.

A petition, I were indeed unworthy of the luxuries of life myself, did I lose an opportunity of dif­fusing the comforts of it to all around me—What's your grievance.

That's his grievance, and he delivers it to your Highness.

How came you by this? the grand Vizier's hand!

Sir, I found it in the street.

Yes, Sir, the grand Vizier's hand was at a poor barber's foot.

‘The joys of a long and happy life attend my dear Abdallah, the fuccess of our Russian and Austrian enemy has set Constantinople in a cla­mour against the christians, the rumour of your par­tiality for this sect has reach'd the Emperor, who, [Page 9]to appease the Divan, was compell'd to send you the dreadful letter you receive with this.’—Eh! this is part of the dispatch the courier gave Zebede for me; how careless must he have been to lose it!

‘The orders for your death, contain'd in that mandate, being meerly a matter of state policy, you may safely disobey, your mind may be satisfied, as I inclose you the copy of your pardon; but the condi­tions are, that in future, you treat the christians un­der your government with the utmost rigour. Your friend for ever, SELIM, Vizier.’

Yes; Zebede drop'd this; and here, hadn't it been found by the meerest accident—Had I received only the other, from what I imagine the contents to be, my life was gone,

Ah! you have done me a signal service!.

Eh! What's that?

You found this letter in the street?

Yes, Sir, he found it in the street, upon my honour!—Did you?

Yes, my Lord, and thought it my duty to de­liver it to your Highness.

Of such consequence! then I'll come in for my share

. Yes, my Lord, I thought it my duty to see it delivered to your Highness; the young man here was for running back in a vast hurry to finish dressing a lady, daughter of a grand French merchant; but, says I, man alive, never mind her; bring this to the Bassa directly: for, my Lord, says I, is the most generous, liberal, prince-conditioned—he won't matter what he gives you and I for this piece of service. Well, Sir, he would go, I insisted he should come; he brandishes his curling tongs; I whip'd out my sabre, tuck'd him under my arm, and in five strides of a game cock, dash'd into the palace, cut, kick'd, shuffled and elbow'd my way through the guards, mutes, janizaries.—Here I've' have brought him, while poor mademoiselle waits, her hair half papered, half friz'd, fretting like an affronted porcu­pine, ha! ha! ha!

For which the three first requests you make, if in my power, I grant them

Oh, Sir, I thank you, hem!—you'll grant us our three first requests!—So, here we have a brace and a half of promises from a Lord; but one perform­ance we'll get the Lord knows when!

Here

take this young man

cloath him splendidly.

Aye, take me, and cloath me splendidly.

You! its the—

Psha!—His Highness calls me young man; you know he's always complimenting me.

And let my treasurer instantly pay him down 1000 zingerlees.

My good, bountiful Lord!—it is really too much! 3000 is full sufficient for me.

You!

I mean—

I know you mean every thing that's good for me. As to the splendour of the robes, the more gold lace the better; they'll fit me: and I have a little bag for the 5000 zingerlees. Come along barber, you shall have a hundred and fifty for your trouble; and the rest shall rest with me.

Why, I mean it all for—

Me. I know it—but I will be generous—I will give the lad the fifty, as I said I would—Come, I am good myself, and I do good; but till I am big myself I will be good for little. Shaver follow me.

Finding this letter was a most fortunate circumstance! Yes, here's my pardon

the conditions of it, severity to the Christians. Persecution is against my nature; but to disobey, would be ingratitude to my prince. I'll do it by proclamation through the city, order the Cadi here, ha! ha! ha! Here comes Zebede. How will he bring himself off for losing this; as yet I don't think he knows it has been brought to me.

This letter for your Highness.

From Constantinople, signed by the Empe­ror himself.—Ay, this is the dreadful mandate; but now it brings no terrors

‘Trusty and well-beloved, greeting: We do command you, that within three hours after the receipt of this, you have yourself strangled; but first leave orders for your head to be cut off—and sent to us. This fail not to do, on pain of our high displeasure.’ Ha! ha! ha!

Well; I did not think that strangling and be­heading was so good a joke.

Yes; he does not know that I am in pos­session of this other letter, that countermands this order.

‘Given at our Sublime Port, 1 [...]67th year of the Hegira, ACI [...]T.’ Since my Emperor thinks I should die, I obey,

and this night I sup with Mahomet—to [...] my very careful steward

I'll first settle my worldly affairs, instantly prepare your accounts for my inspection.

Oh! the devil! I have cheated him so dam­nably that my head goes off, if he finds out my rogue­ries

Sir, you'd best think of nothing now but obeying the Emperor's command, he may be angry, indeed; he says, instantly send me your head, on pain of our high displeasure.

Now I'll put his fidelity to the full proof

I am surprised my friend the Vizier would not inter­pose in my behalf, not even to condole or comfort me. Pray was there no other letter came with this?

No; as I am an honest man, this is all the letter I got—Except the one I dropp'd

Then I must die!

Do, my Lord, it will prove your great loyalty, and your readiness to oblige the Grand Signior, dear, yes, my Lord, and here your Lordship may have all done in your own house, so comfortable every thing; all the conveniencies of death here within yourself; your own trusty mutes, with a fine soft silk string, will choak you so gently; and then you have your own faithful black Babouc, with his shining scimeter of Damascus too—he'll slive off your head I warrant; he'll do it so neatly, that you'll never say after, Babouc, you did hurt me that time. I'll order them to pre­pare

But, my good steward, prepare your own accounts, I'll look over your book.

Oh! the devil! then Babouc will have the first slice at my head

I'll leave a fair name behind me; bring hither your accounts,

Oh! my dear lord, you and your head are old acquaintance, and since you're so soon to part for ever, at such a time don't think of troubling it with my foolish totums of sugar, rice, coffee, soap, and candles. You mutes, you ministers of death pre­pare

Prepare supper

You forget your Highness was engaged to sup above with Mahomet.

Ha! ha! ha! Why no; I'll send him an apology.

Apology!

Ay, and you shall take it.

Me!

Or suppose, Zebede, you go sup with him in my stead?

Thank you, Sir; but I eat no supper now-a-days.

Refuse the honour of supping above with our great prophet!

'Tis a great honour, but I'd rather eat even a pork chop here below, than partake of the finest feast that was ever prepar'd above for Mahomet's table.

Where's the other letter you received for me.

Ruin'd! Somebody's told him.

Oh! mercy, my lord; as I hope for heaven I dropt it out of my pocket.

Then heaven shall be your reward; first for your negligence of such a precious charge, next your perfidy in denying you received it. Dispatch him.

Oh! Lord! where, where is this letter?

Here

brought to me by my guar­dian angel.

Ay; brought to him by me and his other—You see what a pair of fine angels we are. Come, my friend—

Perform your duty

Oh! save my life!

My uncle in the hands of the mutes! Dread Lord, I claim as one of the three requests you pro­mis'd me. Whatever be his crime pardon it.

Half the promises were mine; so let him be half choak'd.

Hold.

Be quiet; his crime deserves death. Pray what has he done, my Lord?

This my nephew!

The important service of bringing me that letter, lost by his negligence, has a claim much beyond that promise. Live.

Gracious Highness

Oh! my dear nephew—you damn'd scoundrel; what, did you give him the letter?

my beloved lad, you have sav'd my life—I'll hang you; you pick'd my pocket, you thief.

Instantly let me see your accounts; then quit my service and my sight for ever.

Now, why would you interfere? One little squeeze of the bow-string would have done no harm to a Jew.

What brought my uncle into this scrape?

Your's! Well, I wou'dn't suffer such a rogue to be an uncle of mine, even my father—tho' according to the present state of things, no man can be born before his father; yet if mine was a bad man, I'd disinherit him, I would by—he's as great a little old robber—Since now you've money, damn it, never own such a rascally relation. I and my guitar are tun'd for a frolic. I must sally now into the streets in search of a night adventure, to lay in a morning's hearty laugh for the Bassa. You'll come. When I'm in my joking humour I like to have one in company that's able to fight for me. I can fight myself, but I'd as leave let it alone, Indeed I have never been matched; bigger than myself won't fight me; less than myself I scorn to fight; and a man exactly my own size must be such a microcosm, such a neat picture of perfection, that I could not find in my heart to hurt him. Come.

I'm engag'd. Near my time to meet Dora at the Friar's, and then to supper with the taylor.

Nay, do come boy.

You must excuse me to-night—Every expence poor Cross-Leg may be at I am now able to reimburse.

Good bye, generous Sir, I humbly thank you for the honour you have procur'd me.

Aye, but don't, like other great men, for­get the friend that raised you; so as I'm going to-night [Page 14] [...] perhaps some dangerous frolick, if in your walks you [...]hould find any hard fists rais'd over my fine head, remember, my brave barber, my sword and shield are your [...] and bason. Tol! lol! lol!

SCENE II. Inside of Cross-Leg's.

Ha! ha! ha!

That's the handsomest song, Sir, I ever heard.

Then you like my singing?

Much.

So do I. Ha! ha! ha!

What comical things you jokers say.

Jokers should say comical things.

And you can dance—do Sir, pray—

Dance! pray excuse me?

Excuse me, Ha! ha! ha! Lord, if I don't delight in you; you're so jocobus.

Yes, Sir; as my wife Juggy says, you're quite jocobus. Ha! ha! ha! But I'm to equip you with a suit. I'll cut a measure, Juggy, the parchment.

Parchment! you'll not put me into a law­suit? Ha! ha! ha!

Oh! you courtiers, Ha! ha! ha! Do you know, Sir, I'd try to be one myself; that's—in the small way.

What, like me?

Yes, Sir; only I'm so much afraid I might have my head chopp'd off. Ha! ha! ha!

Oh, ho! master taylor, you've an eye to your upper button. Ha! ha! ha!

Right, Sir. Ha! ha! ha!

I tell you I was all right 'till put wrong, by accident, when an infant. I was the prettiest, plumpest little rogue—why I was named the Blossom of Beauty, and Bud of Delight.

Lord! how odd!

I was an absolute cherry on the tree.

Then the birds have been pecking at you a good deal, Sir?

But one unlucky day, my mother's maid, starting upon the sudden sight of her sweetheart, struck out my first two teeth with may coral; slapp'd one of the bells into this left eye; knock'd me off the nursery-table, and, breaking my back, made me—regardez—I'effet—

Ha! ha! ha!

Ay, you may laugh; but this hunch props my fortune at court; but, Ha ha! ha! Do you know, that by the help of a second looking-glass, I often stand and laugh at it myself?

Ha! ha! ha! Yes, Sir; and in the front glass, you, and your hunch peeping over, must look the picture of the ape and her brat in the fable. Ha! ha! ha!

Ay; but if it even griev'd me—there's a nose, what say you to that feature?

So much beauty before—I reflect that with my hunch—I leave all my sorrows behind me—

and then there's a leg.

So it is, Sir. Look, Juggy, his honour stands upon a most fine turn'd pedestal—

A beautiful calf!

For all this, I'll lay the price of my new suit of cloaths, I shew as good a leg in company as this.

Oh, no, Sir! No, no; you don't!

That's as good. Gad I've won! They're fellows, and good follows too. Ha! ha! ha!

Very handsome—beautiful—

Did you ever see such a bandy rascal? but he's a great man, and we must flatter him.

But I protest husband I will wait no longer for Absalom and Dora; our little supper will be quite spoil'd; and since you have invited this gentleman, and prevented his getting a better elsewhere, if he will condescend to partake of our homely meal—

It's certainly very bold of such lowly folks as us to expect that his highness, the Bassa's chief fa­vourite, would humble himself to—

Hold your tongue, for here's the supper.

Supper!—then I'll stop my mouth.

It's as pretty a little bit—Come, pray, Sir, make free; you know, if fish get's cold—

It's a nice morsel!—Juggy, help the gentleman, and hold your clack.

Why, faith, you seem to live very com­fortable here—and your morsel does look so nicely tempting—Egad, I will.

Do, pray, Sir; we had this prepar'd for a young couple.

Ay; by their stay father Anselm has brought them in to sup with his brethren in their refectory;—those holy fathers, Sir, love to live well.

If it's holy to live well, this is the most pious dish I ever tasted.

Then do, Sir, pray eat heartily?

Juggy, fill a glass—Sir,

Why, right; fish should swim three times; water, sauce, and wine.

As I'm Mahometan I'm forbid wine; but when I'm amongst you Christians—Ha! ha! ha!

Right, Sir; at Rome do as Rome does.

That's a neat morsel, Sir.

I'll taste it with attention.

Oh! Sir! I don't wonder at the Bassa putting you into office, or giving you a fine pension—I'd do just the same; and I think you'd do so by me. You might get a body a skirt of something pretty at court though?

Will you never ha'done with your bodies and skirts? Always shewing the taylor!

I won't.

My wife, Sir, is as sharp as a needle; but, Sir, as I was saying, what a place would I give such a witty gentleman as you, was I a Beglarbeg, or a Walachian despot, I'd give you the finest place—

I believe you are a Holland stadholder, for you've given me a very fine Dutch plaice; (all laugh) but I must try to kick up some frolick here to night, to [Page 22] make out a joke for the Bassa, that bill

sets the taylor and Zebede by the ears, that's some mischief

Aye, now you talk of us Christians, Mr. Crumpy, as you are such a great man at court, if you'd only use your interest to get this cruel new law against us repeal'd—

New law, what! Oh! true the procla­mation. Oh! oh! Now I have it.

Sir, that's what made my good man at first so much afraid of asking you in.

For, Sir, if you should, which is im­possible, be affronted, or receive the smallest hurt un­der this poor Christian roof, what wou'd become of me and my dear orthodox spousy?

Eh! this promises a joke

This fish is very sweet, but it has a great many bones!

Bones; a good hint

—and so you were afraid if any thing should happen to me in your house, 'twould bring you into the clutches of the Cadi, and his bailiffs and terrible catchpoles

That we were, Sir.

As you say, this fish is very sweet, but it has a damn'd deal of bones indeed; and as I have a curs'd narrow swallow—Egad! I must take care—

Pray do, Sir; but don't spoil your meal.

I was saying, Sir, this severity to us is rather hard; for, was I the Bassa of Bagdad

You see how you get yourself laugh'd at, with your Beglarbegs and Bashaw, you noodle

Now, Sir, am I a noodle?

Cluck!—Cluck!—

Ay, Sir, laugh; for ha! ha! ha! I can't help laughing at it myself, ha! ha! ha! and yet, Sir, if you look into history, as unlikely things have hap­pen'd.

I vow, husband, your folly makes the gentle­man laugh so, that he can't eat—

Why, Sir, now recollect pray, wasn't the Grand Vizier to Mahomet the Second a cobler?—And the great Prince Menzikoff was a pastry-cook.

Entertaining gentlemen with coblers and pastry-cooks.

Cluck!—Cluck!—

Ha! ha! ha! Well, Sir, to be sure it was a good joke, ha! ha! ha! and I'm glad it makes you so merry; but if I'm not allow'd to be a Bashaw, don't let us have our fish cold

Why, husband, you're so very ridiculous, that I vow to heaven, if you haven't set the gentleman into convulsions, laughing at you! Do pray, Sir, eat your supper, and never mind him.

Oh! well, Sir, with submission to your great wit and grand quality—yet for a man to be laugh'd at, at one's own table, tho' one's poor!—

Why sure the gentleman can't speak!

I've heard say, a fit of laug­hing is as bad as a fit of crying—Eh!—Oh, Lord! hus­band, something's the matter! Do, Sir, take a glass of wine!

No, then I will—Sir, your health

which of us now is the laugh against? Ha! ha! ha!

Mercy!—

the fish!—a bone stuck in his throat—hit him on the back.

Zounds! wife, you'll knock his hump off, and then he'll lose his place at court

Will you let the bottle alone, and do some­thing—

Oh! very well! but I thought I could not do better—

Dear Sir, have you finish'd your supper?

No; but his supper has finish'd him!

Yes, he's choak'd!

In our house!—a Mahometan!—then we shall be choak'd!

Oh dear! good Sir,—if you can't speak, do tell us?

Wife, be quiet,

he's quiet!—not only a Mussulman, but the Bassa's prime favourite!—if he's found dead in our house, you and I are thrown over a cross stick and hang'd like a pair of breeches.

He's dead!

As Adam, the first taylor.

Ah?

The devil!—have you a mind to bring the Janizary's patrol upon us?

This comes of your peeping in the streets at night—you can't sit to your supper without music, and be curs'd to your fine ears!

I'll try some wine down his gullet.

We were happy and well, and you cou'dn't quietly wait for Absalom and Dora, but you must bring your great turbans, and your Crumpy's and Humpy's in upon us.

I think still there's life—Absalom's a barber, if he was come, he should bleed him!—Stay, I'll cut open a vein with my shears.

Do.

Was that you, Juggy?

No; you devil! 'twas the man you kill'd—you wou'd ask a Turk to eat fish of a Friday, and then talk of bleeding him with your shears.

Zounds! I'd bleed him with a pick-axe, if it could bring him to life

Did you hear? Tim, suppose you try to thrust the bone down with a horn spoon,

No; I'll pull it up with these nut-crackers—but hold, we may squeeze out the little life he has left—Juggy, my dear, do you step down stairs, and open the street door softly, Doctor Quinquina's house is not six doors off: if his soul has not got out of hear­ing, the Doctor may whistle it back again: listen; is the street clear.

Yes; there's a moon tho'.

Our side of the way, to the Doctor's, is all in the shadow, I'll take Crumpy on my back

Come along, you most ugly son of a broken back!—I wish my back had been broke before I had ask'd you up my stairs.

A pretty thing, that honest women must go to market to buy fish for you to choak yourself with; you most abominable freight!

Zounds! Have you pluck'd off his eye­brow? By the Lord she'll pull him to pieces before I can get him off my back!

This little Turk is not as big as half a Christian, and yet he is as heavy as two popes. Oh, dear:

SCENE III. The street before Cross-Leg's house.

Nobody in the way; and if there should, what will become of us? Will you make haste, you Tim Cross-Leg!

Now, Juggy, you will leave our pat­tens in the entry.

Come, quick!

Any one in the street?—If the patrol catches us!

Stop! Is not that a watchman's staff sticking out?

Yes; keep back

—Oh! no; its only a barber's pole.

Do you think there's any life?

Hold your tongue. Give just one knock at the Doctor's door.

What the devil do you want to alarm the town?

Lord, how I tremble! I've given five knocks instead of one!

If this same doctor cures him, why then he'll be well—may be—and if he kills him, its only another death added to the doctor's list; and I shift the danger off my shoulders

that cloud comes across the moon rarely.

Who's there?

It's only Dominique the doctor's man-wife. Do you answer?

Can't you?

Answer, I tell you.

Indeed I shan't.

And I'm sure I won't then.

Who's there?

It's I!

And who are you knocking at peoples doors at night? Go along, or I'll call the patrol.

Oh, Lord!

I tell you Tim Cross-Leg, fling Mr. Crumpy down, and let us run away!

Qui est la, Who is dat? You, Dominique stand here. I say, who are you? It's so dark I can­not know any man's face!

I'm glad of that; I'll darken my voice too.

Speak what you want, or I'll knock your visage

Lord, Sir, it is I! Here is the man.

Here, Sir; here is the man

An't please you, master Doctor, I and my mother here—

Mother—Sirrah!—upon my word

She's a midwife, Sir, and having been call'd up to a poor woman that was suddenly taken ill, I thought I'd see her safe—so coming along, she desired me—Billy, says she, what is that leaning against that there postess? I directly went to look—for I'm a very dutiful boy—an't I mammy?

Diable!—Vat you call me out in de cold street chattering about you and your mammy

But, Sir, I've brought you a patient—and he brings you a fee.

You are de patient vid de fee; dat is quite anoder ting!

Yes, Sir, 'twas this gentleman—

Sacre Dieu! vat is dat?

Yes, Sir, 'twas this gentleman we saw lean­ing; he seem'd to have been taken ill—

And knowing you to be a doctor—

Cest vrai—dat all de town knows—I'm a very great doctor—

Finding him so bad, we brought him to you in hopes—

Ventre Bleau! you tink I am to take into my house all de bad vagabond you pick out of the street? Allez—bring him to the vatch-house for to-night, and in de morning dey will send him to de hospital—take de man from my door!

Lord, Sir, he's no man but a gentleman.

Noble Sir, only look close at him; his fine cloths prove he's some very great personage.

Eh! bygar his coat do shine vid gold!

Yes, Sir, if the lining agrees with the outside, he may turn out a good patient!

I vil never turn out a good patient; bring de gentleman in, I vil cure him in half of tree minutes.

Move him gently, there—take care of his leg, Juggy.

Oui, take care of his jug, legge!

You, Dominique, assist to help the gen­tleman up to my laboratory.

Good doctor, there you have him; and now, kill or cure him as you can—Come Juggy.

Run for it

The twelfth hour; all's well,

Get in!

All's well!

SCENE IV. Doctor's study, with books, phials and anatomical subjects.

Lud! I've got into step-father's study, sur­rounded by his horrid skeletons near one!—then no chance of the street door being open'd again to-night—How shall I get out! perhaps my Absalom and Habby are waiting for me.

The Doctor's up! sure somebody's come in below—since I have got my jewels

—I must only watch patiently for the first opening of the hall door.

Bring him up

Oh, Lord!—they've been robbing the church-yard!

Help my patient up here.

No; it's not a dead man!

Quick, you Dominique, then lock the street door.

Then I must be quick and first get out, if I can

Help the gentilhomme up to my laboratory

Here! place him in my own easy grand chaise

We will see what ve cannot do for him. Come Depechez vous Dominique.

Sit you down, Sir.

Ah! you're much malade! very bad!

Not I, Sir! I'm very well.

Diable! What, Dominique! Get you out of my grand chaise

What you mean? Where is the sick gentleman, my patient?

Patiently waiting below, Sir.

And vy you and de midwife no bring him up, Sire!

Lord, Sir! the midwife and her son Billy are gone—they flung the gentleman into the hall, slap'd the door, and run away.

Then the door's not lock'd yet!

Dey are rogues!—dey have first pick'd his pocket—if so, he can't pay me my fee; but he seems noblesse from his gold coat, so I will cure him at a venture—Sir, vil you please to walk up?

He's weak—Dominique, you go assist him.

I vil hold de light for you myself; I am not too proud for dat.

Now is my time to get out before the door is fasten'd for the night.

Dominique, bring the gentil­homme up gently. You see you must carry him—don't knock his head vid de bannisters—he is very weak—ah! pouvre?—very well?—bien!—softly!—up vid him—ah, hah!

Dere, now he is safe, and vel up—set him on his leg on de land­ing—Comment vous portez vous, Monsieur?

Ay, he cannot talk, he is so weak;—lift him up, and bring him in, set him gently—

Lord, if he hasn't a hunch!

Ciel!—'tis Mr. Crumpy the Bassa's favourite, Litte Hunch-back, joker! Mon dieu! if I cure him it will make my fortune at court, tol, lol, lol,

take care you, Dominique, don't hurt his hump! How do you do, Sir?

Now for it—

Oh, Lord!

Sacre Dieu!—Vat is dat?

Hush! don't make a noise, Sir; who or what­ever that is, it has tumbled the sick gentleman from the top of the stairs to the bottom.—Yes; it has certainly kill'd him!

Kill'd de man dead!—Ah! malheurreux, den I've lost my fee! We must instantly send his dead body to the court

Hold Sir!—Do you forget the proclamation against the Christians?—so severe that they're getting out of the city as fast as they can carry off their effects. Why, Sir, if his dead body is found here—

C'est vrai, 'twill 'be said I did kill him! I shall be hang'd, and my head will undergo amputation—I am miserable!—but vat was dat, that did do dis?

Lord, Sir! no time for enquiry now—the only thing to think of now is to save our lives, by getting rid of Mr. Crumpy's soul case.

En verite, 'twould vex me to be hang'd for killing such an ugly coquin, if it was even me dat did kill him, it would be some comfort—ah, ha!—I have conceive grand toughts

Dominique, we must get dis Monsieur Crumpy out of my house, and I have tink of de way to put him into somebody else's house. Get me a rope, dat is all I vant, and den run up stairs and open de sky-light window dat goes out to de leads a-top of my house—

Suppose, Sir, you feel his pulse?

Feel a dead man's pulse! Ah, Hébeté! Quick, do my command

—Stop!

—I will go up myself and open de sky-light window, while you get de rope.

I don't know where to find a rope.

Den if yon don't, de hangman vil find a rope for you and me, allez depechez vous.

SCENE V. A room at the top of Zebede's house, a table, accompt books, ches [...]s, strong boxes, &c.

So, Absalom and Dora, with their booty from uncle and step-father, I have left safe on board the English sloop—my coming back takes all suspicion from me; and I'll pick up something for myself too, and then for Europe with the younkers—Egad, old master Zebede, we have already made a rare haul upon your chests and bags here, that will teach you to beat your clerks as you've done me.

Up another story.

Zounds! here he comes to see what I've done to his books.

Aye, this garret is my compting-house, ha! ha! ha!

Up in the clouds, like my workshop!

Now your business?

Private.

Habby, go down!

Oh, stop!—Have you put all my accounts into confusion, to puzzle my master, the Bassa, if he should look over them.

Yes, Sir; you'll find all here in a very fine confusion.

How this draft of Crumpy's came into my pocket I don't know! except it was to pay for his supper—however, if the Jew here will but give me cash, I'll have made a good night's job of it.

An unseasonable hour for you to call!

I thought money never came out of season with a Jew; discount that bill

I have no objection—that is, for the premium—Why this is payable to Mr. Crumpy? Oh, he has sent you for the monies?

Yes—I'm plaguy bad at a lie; I wish my wife had come

But where is Little Hunch-back himself?

He's—I—I—suppose he's at home. By this the Doctor has made an otomy of him

Eh!

I'm all on the tenters! But even if Crumpy's death should be found out, I shall now have money to carry me to Europe with the other Christians, that are getting from the Bassa's persecution

'Tis a good bill, but I suspect not come ho­nestly by; and I cou'd stop you and it, but as you are a neighbour I will pay you the whole money, if you give me half.

I'm found out—why man—did you think I'd wrong—

Hush! Hunch-back is a damn'd little impu­dent scoundrel—it's nothing to me if any body has robb'd, or even cut his windpipe.

I choak him! or know any thing at all of his death—Oh, Lord! what do you go to say that for?

Why, is he dead?

Why, if he—how should I know whe­ther he's dead or alive? You've a bad conscience, Mr. Zebede, that's what makes you so frighten'd as you are.

Me!—why should I be frighten'd?

And why should I, if you go to that?

Why, what the devil are you at?—one wou'd think you had been concern'd in—

Every body knows that I'm a man—that—despises all that kind of—what sort of—unlucky dis­mal looking place to bring a man into.

Dismal!—(looks round) Be quiet, you're enough to make one afraid, indeed,

Oh, Lord!

What do you do that for?—None of your tricks.

Gad, I'm in no humour for tricks!

Mr. Crumpy may be dead for what I know; but if he thinks I had any hand in it, I'd tell him he lyed—aye, to his very whiskers

What's that!

Are you the devil, or the cat?—but what could bring puss in a pair of gold breeches—it is certainly the—Oh? Samuel, Saul, and the Witch of Endor?—Oh! don't stare so with your big bull's eyes, and your wide mouth like a maiden jay

Oh! you are very polite—Eh! he looks—if it should be a live man he's a robber! I'll drag this great chest of plate and dollars out of this room—I wish I had Habby here to help me, it's so heavy

Oh! death of Israel!—the chest is so light it must be quite empty!

What, you know that, you damn'd thief

Yes, my money and plate is all gone, and you've come down my chimney for more, you drop-gibbet!—but I will defend my property, if you were Bel and the Dragon

you banditti!—bandeliro!—you Arab, plunderer of caravans; come before the Cadi, speak—Eh!—he's dead!—bless me!—if it should be I that has kill'd him—a hunch! save me, if it isn't Mr. Crumpy himself only come down my chimney to play his jests upon me—or if it should be he that did rob my chest, the Bassa will never be­lieve me—he's dead!—Oh! heavens! now I recollect the proclamation against the Jews! If this is found out, it is certain death for me; and as I'm already in disgrace—nobody saw me strike him—few people in [Page 32]the streets, and so near morning, the watch are gone off their stands—you nasty little beast!—you was my plague when alive, and now you must throw your death upon me with your gambols

he is yet warm—but once he's out of my house, let him die or live! Come on my back, and the devil take your hump.

SCENE VI. The street. (day break)

"God save great George our King"—the Christian passengers are waiting in my sloop—they'll find brandy enough in my lockers to amuse them—tell them we will fall down the pool this tide.

These pippin—squeezers to break up company, we never begin to cotton together and be jolly till it comes to the little hours (sings) tol! lol! lol!

"How can we depart,

"When friendship has grappled each man by the heart."

There, stand or tumble down for Zebede—good morning to you, Mr. Crumpy—

Holloa!—stop!

Yes; there he stops for you.

Take one bottle with me—you won't—a pint—a gill—then you're a sneaking rascal!—so that's your Bagdad Scanderoon manners. I wish I was back again in Old England—What a damn'd country this is, that I can't get one honest fellow to take a bottle with me!

Cluck!—Cluck!—

Who's that?

—a very capital Turk, upon my honour! How do you do, Sir?

You might make a leg, I don't expect you'll take off your hat, because you have none—will you do me the favour to take a glass with me, or I must turn into my hammock—Eh! what d'ye say?—Oh! I know you're not allow'd wine—none of your winking!—over the way they have the nicest liquor—how he licks his lips

but come along—Eh! you may give a civil answer though—damme! who minds your grinning or grunting? Very proud—but the [Page 33]Grand Turk himself needn't be asham'd to talk to a Briton. Heark-yee, my lad, if you intend to affront me, damme if I don't lend you a dowse o'the chops

rise and stand up to me, an En­glishman scorns to strike a fall'n enemy.

Seize him!

Will you drink a bottle with me?

Yonder's his Highness the Bassa himself coming from the mosque.

The matter here?

Please your Highness this Christian has kill'd a Mussulman!

Heavens!—it's Hunch-back

How I tremble!—if he finds out 'twas I—Oh! cruel man

How could you be so wicked as to take his life?

Don't go near the body, or it will bleed afresh!

Nobody suspect 'twas I did kill him. I am so frighten'd

I have got his murder off my shoulders mighty lucky!

What a wicked man you must be to kill my dear little friend!

What proof, that this is the murderer?

Please your worship—Mr.—my Lord Mayor—I confess I did give this pretty little gentleman a dowse, but if it did kill 'twas in my own defence.

How?

I can't drink alone—he wou'dn't drink with me—I should die without drinking—so let your jury of twelve bring it in manslaughter.

I've thought of a method to come at the truth of this matter. Whoever kill'd him, instead of punishment shall have a reward. This buffoon was once my favourite, but growing most in­tolerably stupid, I've long wish'd him out of my way. Give the Briton a purse of a thousand tomilees.

If I've kill'd a man I cou'd weep for it; but the price of blood shall never stain this hand

I cou'd cry myself for poor Crumpy—but give me the purse, for finding you wanted to get rid of him, to oblige your Highness, 'twas I that kill'd him.

You! Begar it was I dat did de murder him, to please you, my Lord, vid von grande kick of my fist I did give him de fine knock, a tumble down my tree pair of stair; and den I did drop his body down your chimney—so give de money—

To me

for with a fish bone, at my house, I gave him the fatal Cluck!—Cluck!

—and that I might be sure of his being kill'd, I brought him to the Doctor's.

Aye; but who went to the market to buy that fish? My Lord, on the word of a woman, 'twas I that put the very bone on his plate that stuck in his throttle!—

So the reward has extorted a confession I wanted, and convicted you all of intentional murder from your own lips—Guards seize them—In reality his death grieves me, and the man that extracts the bone, and restore's the life of my poor favourite, shall have the purse I promis'd.

Then that man am I

lay the cash here

What is this!

A frolick; ha! ha! ha!—I've suffer'd this delicate little body of mine to be lug'd, thumpt, jum­bled and tumbled all night, only to make a laugh for you this morning—and if you don't laugh, egad, you yourself in future for Crumpy!

What!

Comment!

Juggy!—

Why, by Mahomet, it has been a laughable night's frolick indeed!—but all, but the honest En­glishman, whose truth was above hope of reward or fear of punishment, shall die.

I Sieur Crumpy, Lord Chief Justice Joker, swear upon my hunch and honour, that nobody shall die, except Zebede the Jew, Quinquina the Doctor, Cross-Leg the Taylor, and Dame Juggy his ortho­dox spousy.

My Lord, we took these suspected Chris­tians, with those rich goods, on board.

My sloop, a breach of the peace with Eng­land, my Lord!

A truce!

What, my preserver flying from my favour!

I fear'd, Sir, I should forfeit that, by turning Christian; and, converted by Dora, here I—

You began your Chris­tianity by robbing your uncle—justice, my Lord, on this!

Stop; well remembered!—the barber and I here have yet two promises to claim; one is, that you'll give the purse to the generous Englishman, to give to me when I refuse next to drink with him—the other, that you'll repeal the law against the Christians—and the other—

What three?

Be quiet—this is the best of all—that you'll hang Zebede and the Doctor, if they don't give their consent and capital fortunes to this worthy young couple.

Presuming on my friend, the Vizier's favour, I'll grant them.

I grant you shou'd—Christians, Turks, Jews, my seeming death has prov'd my kind master wou'd mourn my worthless life! and when I cease to wish my Prince may live long and merrily, may I be choak'd with a whalebone.