Ser. And I too.

Sir Luke. Only think of her forcing me, as it were with a sword at my breast, to play such a trick; you, my dear Serjeant, the best, truest friend I have in the world!

[Weeps. Ser. [Weeping.] Dry your tears, dear sir Luke; I shall ever gratefully acknowledge your confidence in trusting me with the secret-[Taking him forward.] But I think it might be as well kept from the rest of the world.

Sir Luke. My dear soul, do you think I would tell it to any mortal but you? No, no, not to my brother himself-You are the only man upon earth I would trust.

Ser. Ten thousand thanks, my dear friend! sure there is no comfort, no balsam in life like a friend-but I shall make madam Circuit remember

Sir Luke. We neither of us ought to forgive her-Were I you, I'd get a divorce.

Ser. So I will-provided you will promise not to marry her after.

Sir Luke. Me! I'll sooner be torn to pieces by wild horses-No, my dear friend, we will retire to my house in the country together, and there, in innocence and simplicity, feeding our pigs and pigeons, like Pyramus and Thisbe, we will live the paragons of the age.

Ser. Agreed; we will be the whole earth to each other; for, as Mr Shakespur says,

The friend thou hast, and his adoption tried,

Clasp to thy soul, and quit the world beside.'

Sir Luke. Zouns, here comes Madam Serjeant herself!

Enter MRS CIRCUIT.

Mrs Cir. So, gentlemen! a sweet tete-a-tete you have been holding-But I know it all; not a syllable you have said has been lost.

Sir Luke. Then I hope you have been well entertained, Mrs Circuit?

Mrs Cir. And you, you mean spirited, dastardly wretch, to lend a patient ear to his infamous, improbable tales, equally shameful both to you and me!

Ser. How, madam? have you the assuranceMrs Cir. Yes, sir, the assurance that innocence gives. There is not a soul, I thank heaven, that can lay the least soil, the least spot, on my virtue; nor is there a man on earth but yourself would have sat, and silently listened to the fictions and fables of this intemperate sot. Ser. Why, to be sure, the knight is overtaken a little; very near drunk.

Sir Luke. I hope he believes it's a lie.

[Aside.

Mrs Cir. Do me instant justice on this defamer, this liar, or never more expect to see me in your house.

Ser. I begin to find out the fraud; this is all a flam of the knight's!

Mrs Cir. I'll drive this instant to a friend of mine in the Commons, and see if no satisfaction can be had, for blasting the reputation of a woman like me-And, hark you, sir, what inducement, what devil could prompt

Ser. Ay; what devil could prompt-
Sir Luke. Heyday!

Mrs Cir. But I guess at your motive; you flattered yourself, that, by marrying Charlotte, and discarding of me, you should engross all his affections and

Ser. True, true

-Stop, my life, let me come at him a little: Hark you, Mr Knight? I begin to discover that you are a very sad dog. Sir Luke. Et tu, Brute!

Ser. Brute!--you'll find I am not the brute you would have made me believe― I have considered both sides of the question.

Sir Luke. Both sides of the question!

Ser. Both. If your story is true, you are a scoundrel to debauch the wife of your friend; and if it is false, you are an infamous liar. Sir Luke. Well argued !

Ser. So, in both cases, get out of my house!
Sir Luke. Nay, but, Serjeant-

Ser. Troop, I tell you, and never again enter these walls- -you have libelled my wife, and I will see you no more.

Sir Luke Was there ever such a

Ser. March! And as to my daughter, I would as soon marry her to a forma pauperis client. [Exit SIR LUKE. Mrs Cir. Do you consider, Mr Circuit, where you are pushing the fellow? -That chamber is Charlotte's.

Enter SIR LUKE, WOODFORD, CHARLOTTE, and JACK.

Sir Luke. Heyday! who the deuce have we here?-Pray walk in, my good folks-Your servant, Miss Charlotte; your servant, Mr Whatdy'e-call-um.-Mr Serjeant, you need not trouble yourself to cater for Miss; your family, you see, can provide for themselves.

Ser. Heyday! What the deuce is all this? Who are you, sir, and how came you here? [To WOODFORD,

Jack. It was I, father, that brought him.
Ser. How, sirrah!

Sir Luke. Well said, my young limb of the law!

Jack. Come, let us have none o' your-though I brought Mr Woodford, you could not persuade me to do the same office for you-Father, never stir if he did not make me the proffer, if I would let him into the house the night you was at

Kingston, of a new pair of silk stockings, and to learn me a minuet.

Sir Luke. Me! I should never have got you to turn out your toes.

Jack. Ay, and moreover, you made me push out my chest, and do so with my fingers, as if I was taking two pinches of snuff.

Sir Luke. You see, Mr Serjeant, what a fondness I have for every twig of your family.

Ser. I shall thank you hereafter-But from you, Charlotte, I expected other guess

Char. When, sir, you hear this whole matter explained, you will acquit me I am sure.

Wood. Indeed, sir, I am wholly to blame; my being here was as much a surprise upon Miss Charlotte as

Ser. But now you are here, pray what's your business?

Jack. O! father, I can acquaint you with that -he wanted me to bring a love-letter to Charlotte; so I told him he might bring it himself, for that I would not do any such thing for never so much, for fear of offending you.

Ser. You mended the matter, indeed-But, after all, who, and what are you?

Jack. Its the young gentleman that lives over our heads, to whom Mr Fairplay is guardian.

Ser. Who, Woodford?

Jack. The same.

Ser. And are you, young man, in a situation to think of a wife?

Wood. I am flattered, sir, that as justice is with me, I shall one day have no contemptible fortune to throw at her feet.

Ser. Justice is! What signifies justice?—Is the law with you, you fool?

Wood. With your help, sir, I should hope for their union, upon this occasion at least.

Ser. Well, sir, I shall re-consider your papers; and if there are probable grounds, I may be induced to hear your proposals.

Wood. Nay then, sir, the recovering my paternal possessions makes me anxious indeed.

Could I hope that the young lady's good wishes would attend me?

Char. I have a father, and can have no will of my own.

Sir Luke. So, then, it seems poor Pil Garlick here is discarded at once!

Ser. Why, could you have the impudence, after what has happened to hope that-

Mrs Cir. He has given wonderful proofs of his modesty.

Sir Luke. Be quiet, Mrs Circuit---Come, good folks, I will set all matters to rights in a minute; and first, Mr Serjeant, it becomes me to tell you, that I never intended to marry your daughter.

Ser. How! never!

Sir Luke. Never. She is a fine girl, I allow; but would it now, Mr Serjeant, have been honest in me, to have robbed the whole sex of my person, and confined my favours to her? Ser. How!

Sir Luke. No! I was struck with the immorality of the thing; and therefore, to make it impossible that you should ever give me your daughter, I invented the story I told you concerning Mrs Circuit and me. Ser. How!

Sir Luke. Truth, upon my honour.---Your wife there, will tell you the whole was a lie.

Ser. Nay, then, indeed-----But with what face can I look up to my dear? I have injured her beyond the hopes of forgiveness.---Would you, lovee, but pass an act of oblivion

Sir Luke. See me here prostrate to implore your clemency in behalf of my friend.

Mrs Cir. Of that I can't determine directly.-But as you seem to have some sense of your guilt, I shall grant you a reprieve for the present, which contrition and amendment may, perhaps, in time swell into a pardon :

But if again offending you are caught! Ser. Then let me suffer, dearce, as I ought.

[Exeunt omnes.

Fil. Ay, zure-thee dost know her well enow. John. The same.

Fil. Zure, zure! then we shall have odd doings by and by; he's a deadly wild spark thee dost know

John. But as good a customer as comes to the Bear.

Fil. That's zure enough: then, why dost not run and light them in? Stay, gy I the candle, I woole go, and light 'em in myzelf.

RACKET without.

Rac. Give the post-boys half a guinea between them.

John. Ay, there is some life in this chap! these are your guests that give spirit to Bath: your parylytical people, that come down to be parboiled and pumped, do no good, that I know, to the town, unless indeed to the physical tribe. How I hate to see an old fellow hobble into the house, with his feet wrapt in flannel, pushing forth his fingers like a cross in the hands to point out the different roads on a commonhush!

Enter RACKET and FILLUP.

Fil. I hope, mester, you do zee your way; there be two steps you do know; well, zure, I be heartily glad to zee your honour at Bath.

Rac. I thank you, my honest friend Fillup; what, have you many people in town?

Fil. There ben't a power, please your honour, at present; some zick folk that do no zort of zarvis, and a few layers that be come off a zircuit, that's all.

Rac. Birds of passage, ha, Fillup?

John. True, sir; for at the beginning of term, when the woodcocks come in, the others fly off Rac. Are you there, honest Jack?

John. And happy to see your honour in town. Rac. Well, master Fillup, and how go you on? ---Any clubs fixed as yet?

Fil. No, zir, not to zay fixed; there be parson Pulruddock from the Land's End; Master Evan Thomas, a Welch attorney, two Bristol men, and a few port drinking people that dine every day in the Lion; the claret club ben't expected down till the end of next week.

Rac. Any body in the house that I know? Fil. Yes, zure---behind the bar, there be sir Christopher Cripple, fresh out of a fit of the gout, drinking a drop of punch along wi mester Peter Poultice, the potter carrier on the Parade.

Ruc. The gazettes of Bath, the very men I want; give my compliments to the gentlemen, and tell them I should be glad of their company --but perhaps it may be troublesome for sir Christopher?

Fil. No, no, not at all; at present he is a

little tender for zure, but I warrant un he'll make a shift to hobble into the room.

you

[Exit FILLUP. Rac. Well, Jack, and how fares it with you? have throve, I hope, since I saw you? John. Throve! no, no, sir; your honour knows that during the summer, taverns and turnspits have but little to do at Bath.

Rac. True; but what is become of your colleague, honest Ned? I hope he has not quitted his place?

John. The share he had in your honour's intrigue with Miss Prim, soon made this city too hot for poor Ned.

Rac. Then why did not the fool go to London with me! The fellow has humour, spirit, and sings a good song. I intended to have recommended him to one of the theatres.

John. Why, sir, Ned himself had a bias that way but his uncle, alderman Surcingle the saddler, a piece of a puritan, would not give his consent.

Rac. Why not?

John. He was afraid that kind of life might corrupt or endanger Ned's morals; so he has set him up in a bagnio at the end of Long-Acre.

Rac. Nay, if the fellow falls after such a security.

Enter SIR CHRISTOPHER CRIPPLE, FILLUP, and

PETER POULTICE.

Sir Chris. [Without.] At what a rate the rascal is running; Zounds! I believe the fellow thinks I can foot it as fast as Eclipse; slower and be-Where is this rakehelly rantipole ?--Jack, set me a chair. So, sir; you must possess a good share of assurance to return to this town after the tricks you have played-Fillup, fetch in the punch-Well, you ungracious young dog, and what is become of the wench? Poor Patty! and here too my reputation is ruined, as well as the girl's.

Rac. Your reputation! that's a good jest.

Sir Chris. Yes, sirrah, it is; and all owing to my acquaintance with you; I, forsooth, am called your adviser! as if your contriving head and profligate heart stood in need of any assistance from me.

Rac. Well, but my dear sir Kit, how can this idle stuff affect you?

Sir Chris. How? easy enough; I will be judged now by Poultice--Peter, speak the truth; before this here blot in my escutcheon, have you not observed when I went to either a ball or breakfasting, how eager all the girls gathered round me, gibing, and joking, and giggling; gad take me, as facetious and free as if I were their father.

Poul. Nothing but truth.

Fil. That's truth, to my zertain knowledge,

for I have zeen the women folk tittering till they were ready to break their zides when your honour was throwing your double tenders about.

Sir Chris. True, honest Fillup--before your curst affair, neither maid, widow, or wife was ashamed of conversing with me: but now, when I am wheeled into the room, not a soul under seventy will venture within ten yards of my chair; I am shunned worse than a leper in the days of king Lud; an absolute hermit in the midst of a croud. Speak, Fillup, is not this a melancholy truth?

Fil. Very molycholly zure.--

Sir Chris. But this is not all; the crop-eared curs of the city have taken into their empty heads to neglect me; formerly, Mr Mayor could not devour a custard, but I received a civil card to partake; but now, the rude rascals, in their bushy bobs, brush by me without deigning to bow; in short, I do not believe I have had a corporation crust in my mouth for these six months. You might as well expect a minister of state at the Mansion House, as see me at one of their feasts.

Fil. His honour tells nothing but truth. Sir Chris. So that I am almost famished, as well as forsaken.

ter.

Fil. Quite famished, as a body may zay, mes

Sir Chris. Oh! Tom, Tom, you have been a cursed acquaintance to me! what a number of fine turtle and fat haunches of venison has your wickedness lost me!

Rac. My dear sir Kit, for this I merit your thanks; how often has Dr Carawitchet told you, that your rich food and champaigne would produce nothing but poor health and real pain?

Sir Chris. What signifies the prattle of such a punning puppy as he? What, I suppose you would starve me, you scoundrel? When I am got out of one fit, how the devil am I to gather strength to encounter the next? Do you think it is to be done by sipping and slopping? [Drinks.] But no matter; look you, major Racket, all between us is now at an end; and, sir, I should consider it as a particular favour, if you would take no further notice of me; I sincerely desire to drop your acquaintance; and, as for myself, I am fixed, positively fixed, to reforın.

Rac. Reform--ha, ha!

see,

Sir Chris. Reform! and why not? You shall the whole city shall see; as soon as ever I get to my lodgings, I will send for Luke Lattitat and Codicil, and make a handsome bequest to the hospital.

Rac. Stuff!

a house in Harlequin-Row, and be a constant hearer at the countess's chapel

Rac. And so, perhaps, turn out a field preacher in time?

Sir Chris. I don't know but I may.

Rac. Well, then, my dear sir Christopher, adieu! but, if we must part, let us part as friends should, not with dry lips, and in anger; Fillup, take care of the knight. [FILLUP fills the glasses.] Well, faith, my old croney, I can't say but I am heartily sorry to lose you; many a brave batch have we broached in our time.

Sir Chris. True, Tom; true!

Rac. Don't you remember the bout we had at the Tuns, in the days of Plump Jack? I shall never forget, after you had felled old Falstaff with a pint bumper of burgundy, how you be strode the prostrate hero, and in his own manner cried, 'Crown me, ye spirits, that delight in ge nerous wine!'

Sir Chris. Vanity, mere vanity, Tom! nothing but vanity!

Rac. And then, another day at the but replenish, Fillup; the bowl is not empty. Sir Chris. Enough, enough!

Rac. What, don't flinch, man! it is but to finish the―Come, sir Christopher, one tender squeeze!

Sir Chris. Take care of my hand; none of your old tricks, you young dog!

Rac. Gentle as the lick of a lap-dog! there— What a clock is it, Fillup?

Fill. I'll tell you, mester, [Looks on his watch.] just turned a zix

Rac. So soon! hang it, sir Kit! it is too early to part! come, what say you to one supper more? but one to the sacred feelings of friend. ship-honest Fillup knows your taste, he will toss you up a

Sir Chris. Not a morsel, Tom, if you would give me the universe.

Rac. Poh, man! only a Sandwich or soFillup, what hast got in the house?

Fill. A famous John Dorey, two pair of soles, and there be a joint of Lausdown mutton; and, then, you do know, my Molly be vamous in making marrow-puddings.

Rac. A fine bill of fare! Come, knight, what do you choose?

Sir Chris. Me! why you seem to have forgot what I told you just now

Rac. Your design to reform-not at alland I think you quite right; perfectly so, as I hope to be saved; but what needs all this hurry? to-morrow is a new day; it will then be early enough- -Fillup, send us in just what you

will.

Sir Chris. You are a coaxing, cajoling young dog. Well, if it must be so, Fillup, it must; Fillup, get me an anchovy toast, and-do you hearand a red herring or two, for my stomach is damnably weak.