footman we hired this morning.

mirth, I'll liften a little.

This may make

[Retires.

Enter Mr. ISAAC FUNGUS, driving in LA FLEUR. I. Fun. What, is there no body in the house that can give me an anfwer; where's my brother, you rafcal?

La Fleur. Je n'entend pas.

I. Fun. Pas, what the devil is that; answer yes or no, is my brother at home? don't fhrug up your fhoulders at me, you--Oh, here comes a rational being.

Enter Mrs. MECHLIN.

Madam Mechlin, how fares it? this here lanthornjaw'd rafcal won't give me an anfwer, and indeed would scarce let me into the house.

La Fleur. C'eft gros Bourgeois a fait une tapage de diable,

Mrs. Mech. Fy donc, c'eft le frere de monfieur, La Fleur. Le frere! Mon Dieu!

I. Fun. What is all this? what the devil linguo is the fellow a-talking?

Mrs. Mech. This is a footman from France that your brother has taken.

I. Fun. From France! and is that the best of his breeding? I thought we had taught them better manners abroad, than to come here and infult us at home. People make fuch a rout about fmuggling their frenchified goods, their men do us more mifchief. If we could but hinder the importing of them--

Mrs. Mech. Ay, you are a true Briton, I fee that, Mr. Ifaac.

I. Fun. I warrant me: is brother Zachary, at home?

Mrs.

Mrs. Mech. Above ftairs, fir.

I. Fun. Any company with him?

Mrs. Mech. Not any to hinder your visit. La Fleur, ouvrez la porte.

I. Fun. Get along you-Mrs. Mechlin, your fervant. I can't think what the devil makes your quality fo fond of the monfieurs; for my part I don't feeMarch and be hanged to you-you footy-faced

[Exeunt I. Fungus and La Fleur. Mrs Mech. Come Dolly, you now may appear.

Enter JENNY.

Jen. Mr. Paduafoy, ma'am, the Spitalfields weaver; he has been waiting this hour, and says he has fome people at home

Mrs. Mech. Let him enter; in a couple of minutes I'll follow you, Dolly.

Enter PADU ASOY.

[Exit Fenny.

Mrs. Mech. Mr. Paduafoy, you may load yourfelf home with those filks, they won't do for my market.

Pad. Why, what's the matter, madam?

Mrs. Mech. Matter! you are a pretty fellow indeed; you a tradefman! but it's lucky I know you, things might have been worfe; let us fettlé accounts, Mr. Paduafoy; you'll fee no more of my money.

Pad. I fhall be forry for that, Mrs. Mechlin. Mrs. Mech. Sorry! anfwer me one question; am not I the best customer that ever you had? Pad. I confefs it.

Mrs. Mech. Have not I mortgaged my precious foul, by fwearing to my quality-customers that

B 4

the

the ftuff from your looms was the produce of Lyons?

Pad. Granted.

Mrs. Mech. And unless that had been believed, 'could you have fold them a yard, nay a nail? Pad. I believe not.

Mrs. Mech. Very well. Did not, fir, I procure you more money for your curfed goods, when fold as the manufacture of France, than as mere Englifh they could have ever produced you?

Pad. I never denied it.

Mrs. Mech. Then are not you a pretty fellow, to blow up and ruin my reputation at once? Pad. Me, madam!

Mrs. Mech. Yes, you.

Pad. As how?

Mrs. Mech. Did not you tell me these pieces of filk were entire, and the only ones you had made of that pattern?

Pad. I did.

Mrs. Mech. Now mind. Laft Monday I left them as just landed, upon a pretence to fecure them from feizure, at the old countefs of Furbelow's, by whofe means, I was fure, at my own price, to get rid of them both; and who fhould come in laft night at the ball at the ManfionHouse, where my lady unluckily happened to be, with a full fuit of the blue pattern upon her back, but Mrs. Deputy Dowlais, dizened out like ą duchefs.

Pad. Mrs. Deputy Dowlafs! Is it poffible?

Mrs. Mech. There is no denying the fact: but that was not all; if indeed Mrs. Deputy had behaved like a gentlewoman, and swore they had been fent her from Paris, why there the thing would have died; but fee what it is to have to

do

do with mechanicks, the fool owned the had them from you. I should be glad to fee. any of my customers at a lofs for a lye. But thofe trumpery traders, Mr. Paduafoy, you'll never gain any credit by them.

Pad. This must be a trick of my wife's; I know the women are intimate, but this piece of intelligence will make a hot houfe. None of my fault indeed, Mrs. Mechlin; I hope, ma'am this won't make any difference?

Mrs. Mech. Difference! I don't believe I fhall be able to smuggle a gown for you these six months. What is in that bundle?

Pad. Some India handkerchiefs, that you promifed to procure of a fupercargo at Woolwich, for Sir Thomas Callico's lady.

Mrs. Mech. Are you pretty forward with the light fprigged waistcoats from Italy?

Pad. They will be out of the loom in a week. Mrs. Mech. You need not put any Genoa velvets in hand till the end of the autumn; but you may make me immediately a fresh sortment of foreign ribbons for fummer

Pad. Any other commands, Mrs. Mechlin?
Mrs. Mech. Not at prefent, I think.

Pad. I wish you, madam, a very good morning.

Mrs. Mech. Mr. Paduafoy, Lord! I had liked to have forgot. You must write an anonymous letter to the Custom-house, and fend me fome old filks to be feized; I muft treat the town with a bonfire it will make a fine paragraph for the papers; and at the fame time advertise the public where fuch things may be had.

Pad. I fhan't fail, madam.

[Exit Paduafoy.

Mrs.

Mrs. Meth. Who fays now that I am not a friend to my country! I think the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, fhould vote me a premium. I am fure I am one of the greatest encouragers of our own manufactures.

[Exit Mrs. Mechlin.

End of the First Act.

ACT II.

SCENE Continues.

Enter ZACHARIAH FUNGUS, ISAAC FUNGUS, and Mrs. MECHLIN.

Zac. Fungus.

BROTHER Ifaac, you are a blockhead I tell

you. But firft anfwer me this; can know

ledge do a man any harm?

I. Fun. No, fartingly, what is befitting a man for to learn.

Z. Fun. To learn! and how fhould you know what is befitting a gentleman to learn! Stick to your trade, mafter tallow chandler.

I. Fun. Now, brother Zachary, can you fay in your confcience, as how, it is defcent to be learning to dance, when you ha' almoft loft the use of your legs?

Z. Fun. Loft the ufe of my legs? to fee but the malice of men! Do but ax Mrs. Mechlin ; now, ma'am, does not Mrs. Dukes fay, that, confidering my time, I have made a wonderful progress?

1. Fun. Your time, brother Zac!

Z. Fun.