Sir THOMAS. The name of the author is needlefs. So it is an acquifition to the republic of letters, any gentleman may claim the merit that will. PUFF. What a noble contempt! DACTYL What greatnefs 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 fay, the greatest manufacturer; the other poets are but pedlars, that live by retailing his wares. ALL. Ha, ha, ha! well obferv'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 Mufe's Gazette. Ha, ha, ha! ALL. Sir THOMAS. But, à propos, gentlemen; with regard to the eclipse: you found my calculation exact? To a digit. DACTYL Sir THOMAS. ¡ Total darkness, indeed! and birds going to rooft! Thole philomaths, thofe almanackmakers, are the most ignorant rafcals 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 folving the phenomenon philofophical and ingenious enough. Without question. Doubtlefs. PUFF. ALL. Sir THOMAS. I fuppofe, gentlemen, my memory, or mind, to be a cheft of drawers, a kind of bureau; where, in separate cellules, my different knowledge on different fubjects is ftored. RUST. A prodigious discovery! ALL. Amazing! Sir THOMAS. To this cabinet volition, or will, has a key; fo, when an arduous fubject occurs, I unlock my bureau, pull out the particular drawer, and am fupply'd with what I want in an instant. DACTYL A Malebranch! PUFF. A Boyle! ALL. A Locke! Enter Mr. Bever. Enter Servant. SERVANT. Sir THOMAS. [Exit. A young gentleman from Oxford, recommended to my care by his father. The univerfity has given him a good folid Doric foundation; and when he has received from you a few Tuscan touches, the Ionic and Corinthian graces, 1 make no doubt but he will prove a compofite pillar to the republic of letters. [Enter Bever. This, Sir, is the school from whence fo many capital masters have iffued; the river that enriches the regions of science. DACTYL. Of which river, Sir Thomas, you are the fource: here we quaff; et purpurea bibimus ore neЯar. Sir THOMAS. Purpureo! Delicate, indeed! Mr. Dactyl. Do you hear, Mr. Bever?. Bibimus ore nectar. You, young gentleman, must be inftructed to quote; nothing gives a period more spirit than a happy Latin quotation, nor has indeed a finer effect at the head of an effay. 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 defire him to enter. [Exit Servant.] Sir Roger, Gentlemen, is a confiderable East-India C4 pro proprietor; and feems defirous of collecting from this learned affembly fome rhetorical flowers, which he hopes to ftrew, with honour to himself, and advantage to the company, in Leadenhall Street. Enter Sir Roger Dowlas.] Sir Roger, be feated. This gentleman has, in common with the greatest orator the world ever faw, a small natural infirmity; he ftutters a little: but I have prefcrib'd the fame remedy that Demofthenes ufed, and don't defpair of a radical cure. Well, Sir, have you digefted those general rules? Sir ROGER. Pr-ett-y well, I am obli-g'd to you, Sir Thomas. Sir THOMAS. Have you been regular in taking your tincture of fage, to give you confidence for fpeaking in public? I attem-p-ted four or five times. Oh, the pebbles in his mouth. But they are only put in to practife in private; you should take them out when you are addreffing the public. Sir ROGER. Yes; I will for the future. Sir THOMAS. Sir THOMAS. Well, Mr. Ruft, you had a tête-à-tête with my niece. A propos, Mr. Bever, here offers a fine occafion for you; we fhall take the liberty to trouble your Mufe 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 fo complete a judge of the elegant arts. Sir THOMAS. Too modeft, good Mr. Bever. Well, Mr. Ruft, any new acquifition, fince our laft meeting, to your matchlefs collection? RUST. Why, Sir Thomas, I have both loft and gained fince I saw you. Sir THOMAS. Loft! I am forry for that. RUST. The curious farcophagus, that was sent me from Naples by Signior Belloni Sir THOMAS. You mean the urn that was fuppofed to contain the duft of Agrippa! RUST. Supposed! no doubt but it did. Sir THOMAS. I hope no finifter accident to that inestimable relic of Rome. Gone! oh, illiberal! What, ftolen, I fuppofe, by fome connoiffeur? RUST. |
