T

SCENE, A Chamber.

Enter Lucy and BETTY.

LUCY.

IS not the marriage, but the man, we hate; 'Tis there we reafon and debate:

For, give us but the man we love,

We're fure the marriage to approve.

Well, this barbarous will of parents is a great drawback on the inclinations of young people.

Betty. Indeed and fo it is, Mem. For my part I'm no heiress, and therefore at my own difpofal; and if I

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was

was under the restraint of the act, and kept from men, I would run to feed, so I would.—But la! Mem, I had forgot to acquaint you, I verily believes that I faw your Irish lover the captain; and I conceits it was he, and no other, fo I do;-and I faw him go into the blue poftices, fo I did.

Lucy. My Irith lover, Miss Pert! I never fo much as faw his face in all my born days, but I hear he's a strange animal of a brute.-Pray, had he his wings on? I fuppofe they fav'd him in his paffage.

I am

Betty. Oh! Mem, you miftakes the Irishmen. told they are as gentle as doves to our fex, with as much politenefs and fincerity as if born in our own country. Enter Cheatwell.

Cheat. Mifs, your most humble and obedient-I come to acquaint you of our danger: our common enemy is juft imported hither, and is inquiring for your father's house thro' every street. The Irish captain, in fhort, is come to London. Such a figure! and fo attended by

the rabble!.

Lucy. I long to see him; and Irifhmen, I hear, are not fo defpicable: befides, the captain may be misreprefented. [Afide.] Well, you know my father's defign is to have as many fuitors as he can, in order to have a choice of them all.

Cheat. I have nothing but your prepoffeffions and fincerity to depend on. Ŏ here's my trusty Mercury.

Enter Sconce.

Well Sconce, have you dogged the Captain?

Sconce. Yes, yes. I left him fnug in the Blue Pofts, devouring a large difh of potatoes and half a furloin of beef for his breakfaft. He's juft pat to our purpose; eafily humm'd, as fimple and as undefigning as we would have him. Well, and what do you propofe? Cheat. Propofe, why to drive him back to his native bogs as faft as poffible.

Lucy. Oh! Mr Cheatwell

of the creter?

-pray let's have a fight

Cheat. Oh! female curiofity-Why, child, he'd frighten thee; he's above fix feet high

-wears a

Sconce. A great huge back and shouldersgreat long fword, which he calls his fweetlips.

Lucy.

Lucy. I hear the Irish are naturally brave.

Sconce. And carries a large oaken cudgel, which he calls his fillela.

Lucy. Which he can make use of on occafions, I fuppofe. [Afide. Sconce. Add to this a great pair of jack-boots, a Cumberland pinch to his hat, an old red coat, and a damn'd potatoe-face.

Lucy. He must be worth feeing, truly.

Cheat. Well, my dear girl, be conftant, wifh me fuccefs; for I fhall fo hum, fe roast, and so banter this fame Irish captain, that he'll scarce with himself in London again these feven years to come.

Lucy. About it-Adieu-I hear my father.

Capt.

.

SCENE, A Street.

[Exeunt feverally.

Enter Captain C Blunder and Sergeant.

Tho' I will be dying,

For captain O'brien,

In the county of Kerry;

Tho' I would be fad,

I'll be very glad

That you will be merry.

Upon my fhoul, this London is a pretty fort of a plash enough. And fo you tells me Chergeant, that Terence M'Gloodtery keeps a goon.

Serg. Yefs, Sir.

Capt. Monomundioul! but when I go back to Ire land, if I catches any of these fpalpeen brats keeping a goon, to destroy the fhentleman's creation, but I will have em fhot ftone-dead first, and phipt thorrow the regiment afterwards.

Serg. You mean that they shall be whipped first, and then fhot.

Capt. Well, ifhn't it the fame thing? Phat the devil magnifies that? 'Tis but phipping and fhooting all the time; 'tis the fame thing in the end fure, after all your cunning; but ftill you'll be a wifeacre. Monomun.. dioul, there ifhn't one of these spalpeens that has a cabbin upon a mountain, with a bit of a potatoe-garden at the back of it, but will be keeping a goon: but that. damn'd

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damn'd M'Gloodtery is an old pocher, he shoots all the rabbits in the country to ftock his own burrough withBut Chergeant, don't you think he'll have a fine time on't that comes after me to Ballysans Duff.

Serg. Why, Sir?

Capt. Why, don't you remember that I left an empty hogfhead half full of oats there?

Serg. You mean, Sir, that you left it half full, and it is empty by this time.

Capt. Phat magnifies that, you fool? 'tis all the fame thing, fure. But d'ye hear, Chergeant, ftop and inquire for Mr Tradwell's the merchant,-at the fign of the-Oh! cangrane, that's not it, but it was next door -Arrah, go ask phat fign my coufin Tradwell lives at next door to it.

Enter A Mob, who ftare and laugh at him.

1 Mob. Twig his boots.

2 Mob. Smoke his fword, &c. &c.

Capt. Well, you fcoundrels, you fons of whores, did you never fee an Irish fhentleman before?

Enter Sconce.

Sconce. O fy, gentlemen! are you not ashamed to mock a ftranger after this rude manner?

Capt. This is a fhivil short of a little fellow enough.

[Afide. Sconce. If he is an Irishman, you may fee by his dress and behaviour that he is a gentleman.

Capt. Yeh, you fhons of whores, don't you fee by my drefs that I am a fhentleman? And if I have not better cloaths on now, phat magnifies that? fure I can have them on to-morrow. By my fhoul, if I take my fhilela to you, I'll make you skip like a dead falmon.

Sconce. Oh, for fhame, gentlemen, go about your bu finefs: The firft man that offers an infult to him, I fhall take it as an affront to myself. [Mob exeunt.

Capt. [to Sconce ] Shir, your humble fervant; you feem to be a fhivil, mannerly kind of a gentleman, and I fhall be glad to be gratified with your nearer acquaintance. [Salute.]

Sconce. Pray, Sir, what part of England come you from?

Capt

Capt. The devil a part of England am I from, my dear; I am an Irishman.

Sconce. An Irishman! Sir, I fhould not fufpect that; you have not the leaft bit of the brogue about you.

Capt. Brogue! No, my dear; I always wear shoes, only now and then when I have boots on.

Enter Cheatwell.

Cheat. Captain O'Blunder! Sir, you're extremely welcome to London-Sir, I'm your moft fincere friend, and devoted humble fervant.

Capt. Ara then! how well every body knows me in London-to be fure they have read of my name in the newspapers, and they know my faash ever fince-Shir, I'm your moft engaging converfation. [Salute. Cheat. And, Captain, tell us how long are you ar rived?

Capt. Upon my shoul, I'm just now come into London.

Cheat. I hope you had a good paffage.

Capt. Paffage d'ye call it? Devil split it for a paffage. By my fhoul, my own bones are fhore after itWe were on the devil's own turnpike for eight-and-forty hours; to be fure, we were all in a comical pickle.

I'll tell you, my dear: We were brought down from Rings-end in the little young fhip to the pool-pheg, and then put into the great fhip-the horse-ay, ay-the race-horse they call'd it. But I believe, my dear, it was the devil's own poft-horse; for I was no fooner got. into the little room down ftairs, by the corner of the hill of Hoath, but I was taken with fuch a headach in. my ftomach, that I thought my guts would come out upon the floor; fo, my dear, I call'd out to the landlord, the captain they call him, to stop the ship while I did die and say my prayers: So, my dear, there was a great noise above; I run up to fee what was the matter. -Oh hone, my dear, in one minute's time there wasn't a fheet or blanket but phat was haul'd up to the top of the house-Oh, kingrann, fays I, turn her about and let us go home again; but, my dear, he took no more notice of me than if I was one of the fpalpeens below in the cellar going over to reap in harvest.

Capt