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Sir THOMAS. : The name of the author is needless. So it is an acquisition to the republic of letters, any gentleman may claim the merit that will.

PUFF,
What a noble contempt!

DACTYL.
What greatness of mind!

RUST. Scipio and Lælius were the Roman Loftys. Why, I dare believe Sir Thomas has been the making of half the authors in town: he is, as I may say, the greatest manufacturer; the other poets are but pedlars, that live by retailing his

wares.

ALL.
Ha, ha, ha! well observ'd, Mr, Rust.

Sir THOMAS. Ha, ha, ha! Molle atque facetum. · Why, to pursue the metaphor, if Sir Thomas Lofty was to call in his poetical debts, I believe there would be a good many bankrupts in the Muse's Gazette.

ALL. Ha, ha, ha!

Sir THOMAS. But, à propos, gentlemen ; with regard to the eclipse: you found my calculation exact?

DACTYL. To a digit.

Sir THOMAS. Total darkness, indeed! and birds going to roost! Thole philomaths, those : almanackmakers, are the most ignorant rascals

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PUFF. It is amazing where Sir Thomas Lofty stores all his knowledge.

DACTYL, It is wonderful how the mind of man can contain it.

Sir THOMAS. Why, to tell you the truth, that circumstance has a good deal engaged my attention; and I believe you will admit my method of solving the phenomenon philosophical and ingenious enough.

PUFF. Without question

ALL. Doubtlefs.

Sir THOMAS. I suppose, gentlemen, my memory, or mind, to be a chest of drawers, a kind of bureau; where, in separate cellules, my different know. ledge on different subjects is stored.

RUST,
A prodigious discovery!

- ALL Amazing!

Sir THOMAS. To this cabinet volition, or will, has a key; so, when an arduous subject occurs, I unlock my burcau, pull out the particular drawer, and am supply'd with what I want in an instant.

DACTYL.
A Malebranch!

PUFF.
A Boyle!

ALL.
A Locke!

Enter Enter Servant.

SERVANT.
Mr. Bever.

[Exit. Sir THOMAS, A young gentleman from Oxford, recommended to my care by his father. The univerfity has given him a good solid Doric foundation; and when he has received from you a few Tuscan touches, the lonic and Corinthian graces, I make no doubt but he will prove a composite pillar to the republic of letters. [Enler Bever.] This, Sir, is the school from whence so many capital masters have issued; the river that enriches the regions of science.

DACTYL. Of which river, Sir Thomas, you are the source: here we quaff; et purpurea bibimus ore nezlar.

Sir THOMAS. Purpureo! Delicate, indeed! Mr. Dactyl. Do you hear, Mr. Bever?. Bibimus ore ne Elar. You, young gentleman, must be instructed to quore ; nothing gives a period more spirit than a happy Latin quotation, nor has indeed a finer effect at the head of an essay. Poor Dick Steel! I have obliged him with many a motto for his fugitive pieces.

PUFF. Ay, and with the contents too; or Sir Richard is foully belied.

Enter Servant.

SERVANT. Sir Roger Dowlas.

Sir THOMAS. Pray desire him to enter. (Exit Servant.] Sir

) Roger, Gentlemen, is a confiderable East-India

a

proprietor; and seems desirous of collecting from
this learned assembly some rhetorical flowers,
which he hopes to strew, with honour to himself,
and advantage to the company, in Leadenhall
Street. Enler Sir Roger Dowlas.] Sir Roger, be
feated. This gentleman has, in common with
the greatest orator the world ever saw, a small
natural infirmity; he stutters a little: but I have
prescrib'd the same remedy that Demosthenes
used, and don't despair of a radical cure. Well,
Sir, have you digested those general rules?

Sir ROGER.
Pr-ett-y well, I am oblig'd to you, Sir
Thomas.

Sir THOMAS.
Have you been regular in taking your tincture
of sage, to give you confidence for speaking in
public?

Sir ROGER,
Y-es, Sir Thomas.

Sir THOMAS.
Did you open at the last general court?

Sir ROGER.
I attem-p-ted fo-ur or'fi-ve times.

Sir THOMAS.
What hindered your progress?

Sir ROGER.
The pe-bm-bles.

Sir THOMAS.
Oh, the pebbles in his mouth. But they are
only put in to practise in private ; you should
take them out when you are addressing the
public.

Sir ROGER.
Yes; I will for the fu— turc.

Sir THOMAS.

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Sir THOMAS. Well, Mr. Rust, you had a léte-à-tête with my niece. A propos, Mr. Bever, here offers a fine occasion for you; we shall take the liberty to trouble your Muse on their nuptials. O Love! O Hymen! here prune thy purple wings; trim thy bright torch. Hey, Mr. Bever?

BEVER. My talents are at Sir Thomas Lofty's direction; tho' 'I must despair of producing any performance worthy the attention of so complete a judge of the elegant arts.

Sir THOMAS, Too modest, good Mr. Bever. Well, Mr. Rust, any new acquisition, fince our last meeting, to your matchless collection?

RUST. Why, Sir Thomas, I have both lost and gained fince I saw you.

Sir THOMAS. Loft! I am sorry for that.

RUST. The curious sarcophagus, that was sent me from Naples by Signior Belloni

Sir THOMAS. You mean the urn that was supposed to contain the dust of Agrippa!

RUST. Supposed! no doubt but it did.

Sir THOMAS. I hope no sinister accident to that inestimable relic of Rome.

RUST,

It's gone.

Sir THOMAS. Gone! oh, illiberal! What, stolen, I suppose, by some connoisseur?

RUST.

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