Rack. I thank you, my honeft friend Fillup.What, have you many people in the town? Fillup. There ben't a power, please your honour, at prefent. Some zick folk that do no zort of zarvis, and a few layers that be comed off a the zircuit, that's all. Rack. Birds of paffage, ha, Fillup? John. True, Sir; for at the beginning of term, when the woodcocks come in, the others fly off. Rack. Are you there, honeft Jack? John. And happy to fee your honour in town. Rack. Well, mafter Fillup, and how go you on? any clubs fixed as yet? १ Fillup. No, Zir, not to zay fixed; there be parfon Pulruddock from the Land's-End, mafter 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. Rack. Any body in the house that I know? Fillup. Yes, zure: Behind the bar there be Sir Christopher Cripple, fresh out of a fit of the gout, drinking a drop of punch along wy Mefter Peter Poultice, the potter-carrier on the Parade. Rack. The Gazettes of the Bath; the very men I want. Give my compliments to the gentlemen, and tell them I fhould be glad of their company. But, perhaps it may be troublesome for Sir Chríftopher Fillup. No, no, not at all; at present he's a little tender for zure; but I warrant un he'll make a fhift to hobble into the room. [Exit Rack. Well, Jack, and how fares it with you? You have throve, I hope, fince I faw you? John. Throve? no, no, Sir: Your honour knows B 3 knows that during the fummer, taverns and turnfpits have but little to do at Bath. Rack. True. But what is become of your colleague, honest Ned? I hope he has not quitted his place. John. The fhare he had in your honour's intrigue with Mifs Prim, foon made this city too hot for poor Ned. Rack. Then why did not the fool go to London with me? The fellow has humour, fpirit, and fings a good fong. 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 fadler, a piece of a Puritan, would not give his confent. Rack. Why not? John. He was afraid that kind of life might corrupt or endanger Ned's morals; fo has fet him up in a bagnio at the end of Long-Acre, Rack. Nay, if the fellow falls after fuch a fecurity Sir Chr. (without.) At what a rate the rafcal Where is this rakehelly, rantipole?-Jack, fet me a chair. So, Sir! you must poffefs a good fhare of affurance to return to this town, after the tricks you have played.-Fillup, tetch in the punch? Well, you ungracious young dog, and what is become of the poor wench? Ah, poor Patty! and here too my reputation is ruined as well as the girl's. Rack. Your reputation? that's a good jeft, Sir Chr. Sir Chr. Yes, firrah, it is; and all owing to my acquaintance with you: 1, forfooth, am called your adviser; as if your own contriving head and profligate heart ftood in need of any affiftance from me. Rack. Well, but, dear Sir Kit, how can this idle stuff affect you? Sir Chr. How? eafy enough: I will be judged now by Poultice.-Peter, fpeak truth! before this here blot in my efcutcheon, have not you obferved, when I went to either a ball or a breakfafting, how eagerly 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. Fillup. 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 Chr. True, honeft Fillup.-Before your cursed affair, neither maid, widow, or wife was afhamed of converfing with me; but now, when I am wheeled into the room, not a foul under feventy will venture within ten yards of my chair: I am shunned worfe than a leper in the days of King Lud; an abfolute hermit in the midft of a croud! Speak, Fillup, is not this a melancholy truth? Fillup. Very molycolly, zure! Sir Chr. But this is not all; the crop-eared curs of the city have taken it into their empty heads to neglect me: Formerly, Mr. Mayor could not devour a cuftard, 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 fhort, I do not believe I have B.4 had had a corporation cruft in my mouth for these fix months: You might as well expect a minister of state at the Manfion-Houfe, as fee me at one of their feafts. Fillup. His honour tells nothing but truth. Sir Chr. So that I am almost famished, as well as forfaken. Fillup. Quite famished, as a body may zay, mefter. Sir Chr. Oh, Tom, Tom, you have been a curfed acquaintance to me! what a number of fine turtles and fat haunches of venifon has your wickedness loft me! Rack. My dear Sir Kit, for this I merit your thanks: How often Dr. Carawitchet has told you, rich food and champaigne would produce you nothing but poor health and real pain? Sir Chr. What fignifies the prattle of fuch a punning puppy as he? what, I suppose, you would ftarve me, you fcoundrel! When I am got out of one fit, how the devil am I to gather ftrength to encounter the next? Do you think it is to be done by fipping and flopping? [drinks] But no matter! Look you, major Rackett, all between us is now at an end; and, Sir, I fhould confider it as a particular favour if you would take no further notice of me: I fincerely defire to drop your acquaintance; and, as to myself, I am fixed, pofitively fixed, to reform. Rack. Reform? Ha, ha, ha! Sir Chr. Reform! and why not? Well! you fhall fee! the whole city fhall fee! As foon as ever I get to my lodgings, I will fend for Luke Lattitat and Codicil, and make a handsome bequeft to the hofpital. Rack. Stuff! Sir Chr. Then I am refolved to be carried every day to the twelve o'clock prayers, at the Abby, and regularly twice on a Sunday. Rack. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Sir Chr. Ha, ha, ha! you may laugh; but I'll be damn'd if I don't! and if all this don't recover my credit, I am determined, befides, to hire a house in Harlequin-Row, and be a constant hearer at the countefs's chapel Rack. And fo, perhaps, turn out a fieldpreacher in time. Sir Chr. I don't know but I may. Rack. Well then, my dear Sir Christopher, adieu! But, if we muft part, let us part as friends should; not with dry lips, and in anger. Fillup, take care of the knight. [Fillup fills the glaffes. Well, faith, my old crony, I can't fay but I am heartly forry to lofe you; many a brave batch have we broached in our time. Sir Chr. True, Tom, true. Rack. Don't you remember the bout we had at the Tuns, in the days of Plump Jack? I fhall never forget! After you had felled poor Falstaff with a pint bumper of burgundy, how you beftrode the proftrate hero, and in his own manner cried, "Crown me, ye fpirits that delight in gen'rous wine!” 66 Sir Chr. Vanity, mere vanity, Tom, nothing but vanity! Rack. And then another day at the-But replenish, Fillup! the bowl is not empty ? Sir Chr. Enough, enough! Rack. What, don't flinch, man! it is but to finish the bowl.-Come, Sir Christopher, one tender squeeze! Sir Chr. Take care of my hand! none of your old tricks, you young dog. Rack. |