only difcovered two villains, but at the very time, Sir, their villainy was taking effect to make you miferable. Har. Two villains! Mr. Stockwell, do you hear this? Explain yourself, Sir; or blood and brimftone

Stock. Explain, Mr. Belford.Sir Harry Harlowe, what is all this?-I am all ftupefaction.

Bel. Is this Sir Harry?—I am your humble fervant, Sir I have not the honour to be known to you, but am a particular acquaintance of your fon's; who has been mifreprefented here, by that pretty gentleman, once a rafcal of mine.

Har. I'm in a wood, and don't know how to get out .of it.

Stock. Is not this your fon, Sir Harry?

Har. No, you paffionate old fool; but this is my fervant, and my fon's pimp, whom I understand you have been kicking down stairs.

Stock. Here's a fine heap of

roguery!

Bel. It was my good fortune, by the intelligence and inftigation of Mrs. Jenny, to difcover the whole, before thefe wretches had accomplished their defigns.

Stock. What a hair breadth 'fcape have I had! as the poet fays, the very brink of destruction; for I fhould have given him the cash in five minutes.-I'm in a cold fweat at the thoughts of it. Dear Mr. Belford!

[Shakes him by the hand.

Enter Mrs. Stockwell, Mifs, and Jenny.

Mrs. Stock. O Mr. Stockwell, here are fine doings going forward-Did not I tell you, that I was for Mr. Belford from the beginning?

Stock. Don't trouble us now, wife; you have been for and against him twenty times in four and twenty

hours.

Jen. (to Martin and Slip.) Your humble fervant, gentlemen. What, dumb and asham'd too!-The next fcheme you go about, take care that there is not fuch a girl as I within twenty miles of you.

Mar. I wish we were twenty miles from you with all my foul.

Slip. As you don't like our company, Madam, we'll retire.. [Going away. Bel. Hold 'em faßt, conftables :-They must give

fome

fome account of themselves at the Old Bailey, and then perhaps they may retire to our plantations.

Har. But what have they done? or what will you do? or what am I to do?I'm all in the darkpitch dark

Stock. Is your fon married, Sir Harry?
Har. Yes, a fortnight ago:

-And this fellow you

kick'd down ftairs was fent with my excufes.

'Stock. I kick'd down stairs!-you villain you.

Bel. Don't disturb yourself with what is paft, but rejoice at your deliverance.-If you and Sir Harry will permit me to attend you within, I will acquaint you with the whole bufinefs.

Har. I fee the whole bufinefs now, SirWe have been their fools.

Stock. And they are our knaves; and fhall fuffer as fuch.- Thanks to Mr. Belford here-my good angel, that has fav'd my 10,000 l.

Har. He has fav'd your family, Mr. Stockwell.

Bel. Could you but think, Sir, my good fervices to your family might entitle me to be one of it

Nan. You'd make your daughter happy, by giving her to your best friend.

Mrs. Stock. My dear, for once hear me and reafon, and make 'em both happy.

-Take my

Stock. You shall be happy, Belforddaughter's hand-you have her heart-You have deferved her fortune, and fhall have that too-Come, let us go in and examine thefe culprits.

Har. Right, Mr. Stockwell. 'Tis a good thing to punish villainy; but 'tis a better to make virtue happy; and fo let us about it.

Spoken by Mr. CIBBER.

AS Tragedy preferibes to passion rules,
So Comedy delights to punifo fools;
And while at nobler game be boldly flies,
Farce challenges the vulgar as her prize.
Some follies fcarce perceptible appear
In that juft glass, ruhich fhers you as you are:
But Farce fill claims a magnifying right,
To raise the object larger to the fight,
And her her infect-fools in ftronger light.
Implicit faith is to her poets due,
And all her laughing legends ftill are true.
Thus when fome conjurer does wives tranflate,
bat dull, affected critic damns the cheat?

}

Or

Or fhould we fee credulity profound

Give to ten thousand fools, ten thousand pound;
Should we bebold poor wretches horse away
The labour of a twelvemonth in a day:

Nay, bould our Poet, with his mufe agog,
alley-broker for a rogue,

Shery you an

Tho' 'tis a moft impoffible fuggeftion,

Faith! think it all but farce, and grant the question.

Mr. STOCKS alone.

AIR. Set by Mr. SEEDO.
A LOTTERY is a taxation
Upon all the fools in creation;
And heav'n be prais'd,
It is easily rais'd,
Credulity's always in fashion :

For folly's a fund

Will never lofe ground,

While fools are fo rife in the nation.

Enter First Buyer.

[Knocking without.

I Buyer. Is not this a house where people buy lotterytickets?

Stocks. Yes, Sir-I believe I can furnish you with as good tickets as any one.

1 Buyer. I suppose, Sir, 'tis all one to you what number a man pitches on.

Stocks. Any of my numbers.

1 Buyer. Because I would be glad to have it, Sir, the number of my own years or my wife's; or if I cou'd not have either of thofe, I would be glad to have it the nunrber of my mother's.

Stocks. Ay; or fuppose now it was the number of your grandmother's.

1 Buyer. No, no! She has no luck in lotteries: fhe had a whole ticket once, and got but fifty pounds by it. Stocks. A very unfortunate perfon truly. Sir, my clerk will furnish you; if you'll walk that way up to the office. Ha, ha, ha !- -There's one 10,000l. gotWhat an abundance of imaginary rich men will one

N3

month

month reduce to their former poverty. [Knocking with sut.] Come in.

Enter Second Buyer..

2 Buyer. Does not your Worship let horfes, Sir? Stocks. Ay, friend,

2 Buyer. I have got a little money by driving a hackney-coach, and I intend to ride it out in the lottery. Stocks. You are in the right; it is the way to drive your own coach.

2 Buyer. I don't know, Sir, that-but I am willing to be in fortune's way, as the faying is.

Stocks. You are a wife man, and it is not impoffible but you may be a rich one-'tis not above-no matter, how many to one, but that you are this night worth 10,000 1.

AIR. Free Mafon's tune.

Here are the best horfes

That ever ran courfes

Here is the best pad for your wife, Sir:
Who rides once a day,

If luck's in his way,

May ride in a coach all his life, Sir.

The fportfman efteems
The horfe more than gems,
That leaps o'er a pitiful gate, Sir;
But here is the hack,

If you fit but his back,

Will leap you into an eftate, Sir.

2 Buyer. How long a man may labour to get that at work which he can get in a minute at play!

AIR. Black Jock.

The foldier, in a hard campaign,

Gets lefs than a gamefter by throwing a main,
Or dealing to bubbles, and all, all that:

The ftouteft failor, ev'ry one knows,

Gets lefs than the courtier, with cringing bows,
And, Sir, I'm your vaffal, and all, all that:
And town-bred ladies, too, they fay,

Get lefs by virtue than by play;.

And