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Printed for W. LOWNDES, No. 77, FLEET STREET.

MDCCLXXXVIII.

Price One Shilling and Sixpences

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The COMMISSARY.

ACT I.

SCENE, Mrs. MECHLIN'S Houfe.

(Loud knocking at the Door.)

Enter JENNY.

AP, rap, rap, up ftairs and down, from morning to night; if this fame Commiffary ftays much longer amongst us, my mistress must e'en hire a porter. Who's there?

SIMON without.

Sim. Is Mrs. Mechlin at home?

Jen. No.-[opens the door]-Oh, what is it you, Simon ?

Enter SIMON.

Sim. At your fervice, fweet Mrs. Jane. Jen. Why you knock with authority; and what are your commands, Mafter Simon?

Sim. I come, madam, to receive those of your miftrefs. What, Jenny, has fhe any great affair on the anvil? Her fummons is moft exceedingly preffing; and you need not be told, child, that a man of my confequence does not 'trouble himself about trifles.

Jen. Oh, fir, I know very well you principal actors don't perform every night.

Sim. Mighty well, ma'am, but notwithstanding your ironical fneer, it is not every man that will

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do for your mistress; her agents must have genius and parts: I don't fuppofe, in the whole bills of mortality, there is fo general and extenfive a dealer as my friend Mrs. Mechlin.

Jen. Why, to be fure, we have plenty of cuftomers; and for various kinds of commodities it would be pretty difficult, I fancy to

Sim. Commodities ! Your humble fervant, fweet Mrs. Jane; Yes, yes, you have various kinds of commodities, indeed.

Jen. Mr. Simon, I don't understand you; I fuppofe it is no fecret in what fort of goods our dealing confifts.

Sim. No, no, they are pretty well known.

Jen. And to be fure, though now and then, to oblige a customer, my mistress does condescend to fmuggle a little

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Sim. Keep it up, Mrs. Jane.

Jen. Yet there are no people in the Liberty of Westminster that live in more credit than we do. Sim. Bravo.

Jen. The very best of quality are not ashamed to vifit my miftrefs.

Sim. They have reafon..

Jen. Refpected by the neighbours.
Sim. I know it.

Jen. Pun&ual in her payments.

Sim. To a moment.

Jen. Regular hours.

Sim. Doubtlefs.

Fen. Never miffes the farmant on Sundays.
Sim. I own it.

Jen. Not an oath comes out of her mouth, unlefs, now and then, when the poor gentlewoman happens to be overtaken in liquor.

Sim. Granted.

Jen.

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