have a fmack at your mums. Here, taste her, fhe is as good as old hock to get yei a fto

mach.

Mrs. Cole, Fie, Mr. Loader, I thought you had forgot me.

Load. I forgot you! I would as foon foreget what is trumps.

Mrs. Cole. Softly, foftly, young man. There, there, mighty well. And how does your honour do? I han't feen your honour, I can't tell the-Oh! mercy on me, there's a twing

Sir Geo. What is the matter, Mrs. Cole? Mrs. Cole. My old diforder, the rheumatife; I han't been able to get a wink ofOh la! What, you have been in town thefe two days?

Sir Geo. Since Wednesday.

Mrs. Cole. And never once call'd upon old Cole. No, no, I am worn out, thrown by and forgotten, like a tatter'd garment, as Mr. Squintum fays, Oh, he is a dear man! But for him I had been a loft fheep; never known the comforts of the new birth; no,-There's your old friend, Kitty Carrot, at home ftill. -What, fhall we fee you this evening? I have kept the green room for green room for you ever fince I heard

you were in town.

Load. What fhall we take a fnap at old Moll's Hey, beldam, have you a good batch of Burgundy abroch?

Mrs. Cole. Bright as a ruby; and for flavour! You know the colonel-He and Jenny Cummins drank three flasks, hand to fift, last night.

Load

Mt.

Load. What, bilk thee of thy fhare? Mrs Cole. Ah, don't mention it, Loader. No, that's all over with me. The time has been,' when I could have earned thirty fhillings a day by my own drinking, and the next morning was neither fick nor forry: But now, O laud, a thimbleful turns me topfy-turvy, ever

Load. Poor old girl!

Mrs. Cole. Aye, I have done with these idle vanities; my thoughts are fix'd upon a better placeWhat, I fuppofe, Mr. Loader, you will be for your old friend the black-eyed girl, from Rofemary-lane. Ha, ah! Well, tis a merry little tit. A thoufand pities the's fuch a reprobate! But she'll mend; her time is not come all fhall have their call, as Mr. Squintum fays, fooner or later; regenération is not the work of a day. No, no, noga Oh!

Sir Geo. Not worse I hope:

Mrs. Cole. Rack, rack, gnaw, gnaw, ne ver eafy, a-bed or up all's one. Pray, honest friend, have you any clary, or mint-water in the houfe?

Dick. A cafe of French drams.

Mrs. Cole. Heaven defend me! I would not touch a dram for the world.

Sir Geo. They are but cordials, Mrs. Cole. -Fetch 'em, you blockhead. Ex. Dick.] Mrs. Cole. Aye, I am a going; a wafting and a wafting, Sir George. What will become of the house when I am gone, heaven knows-No.-When people are mifs'd, then they are mourned. Sixteen years

have lived in the Garden, comfortably and creditably; and, though I fay it, could have got bail any hour of the day: Reputable tradefmen, Sir George,, neighbours Mr. Loader knows; no knock-me-down doings in my houfe. A fet of regular, fedate, sober cuftomers. No rioters. Sixteen did I fay Aye, eighteen years I have paid fcot and lot in the parish of St. Paul's, and during the whole time, nobody have faid, Mrs. Cole, why do you fo? Unless twice that I was be fore Sir Thomas De Val, and three times in the round-house. 58 90

Sir Geo. Nay, don't weep, Mrs. Cofe. Load. May I lofe deal, with an honour at bottom, if old Moll does not bring tears into my eyes.

Mrs. Cole. However, it is a comfort, after all, to think one has paft through the world with credit and character. Ah! a good name, as Mr. Squintum fays, is better than a gallipot of ointment.

"Enter Dick, with a dram.

Load. Come, hafte, Dick, hafte;-forrow is dry. Here, Moll, fhall I fill thee a bum

per?

Mrs. Cole. Hold, hold, Mr. Loader! Hea ven help you, I could as foon swallow the Thames. Only a fip, to keep the gout out of my ftomach.

Load. Why then, here's to thee.-Levánt me, but it is fupernaculum-Speak when you have enough.

Mrs. Cole. I won't trouble you for the glass;

my

my

hands do fo tremble and shake, I fhall but Spill the good creature.

Load. Well pull'd. But now to bufiefs. Pr'ythee, Moll, did not I fee a tight young wench, in a linen gown, knock at your door this morning?ca "nard

Mrs. Cole. Aye; a young thing from the country.

Load. Could we not get a peep at her this evening?

Mrs. Cole. Impoffible! She is engaged to Sir Timothy Totter. I have taken carneft for her these three inonths...

Load. Pho! what fignifies fuch a fellow as that. Tip him an old trader, and give her to the knight.

Mrs. Cole. Tip him an old trader! Mercy on us! where do you expect to go when you die, Mr, Loader?

Load. Crop me, but this Squintum has

turned her brains!

Sir Geo. Nay, Mr. Loader, I think the gentleman has wrought a moft happy reforma

tion.

Mrs. Cole. Oh, it was a wonderful work There had I been toffing in a fea of fin without rudder or compafs; and had not the good gentleman piloted me into the harbour of grace, I must have ftruck against the rocks of reprobation, and have been quite swallowed up in the whirlpool of defpair. He was the precious inftrument of my fpiritual sprinkling. -But, however, Sir George, if your mind be fet upon a young country thing, to-morrow night, I believe, I can furnish you.

Load.

·Load. As how?

Mrs. Cole. I have advertised this morning; in the register office; for fervants under seventeen: and ten to one but I light on fomething that will do.

Load. Pillor me, but it has a face!

Mrs Cole Truly, confiftently with my confcience, I would do any thing for your honour.

Sir Geo. Right, Mrs. Cole, never lofe fight of that monitor. But, pray, how long has this heavenly change been wrought in you?

Mrs. Cole. Ever fince my last vifitation of the gout. Upon my first fit, feven years ago, I began to have my doubts, and my waverings; but I was loft in a labyrinth, and no body to thew me the road. One time I thought of dying a Roman, which is truly a comfortable communion enough for one of us: but it would not do G

Sir Geo. Why not?

Mrs. Cole, I went, one fummer, over to Boulogne, to repent; and, would you believe it, the bare-footed, bald-pate beggars would not give me abfolution without I quitted my bufinefs -Did you ever hear of fuch a fet of fcabby-Befides, I could not bear their bar barity. Would you believe it, Mr. Loader, they lock up for their lives, in a nunnery; the prettieft, fweeteft, tender young things! Oh, fix of them for a feafon would finifh my business here; and then I fhould have nothing to do, but to think of hereafter.

Load. Brand me, what a country!
Sir Geo. Oh, fcandalous !

Mrs