fettled; the rumbling 'old family-coach carries her immediately from the church-door to his moated, haunted, old houfe in the country. Rack. Indeed! Sir Chr. Where, befides the Argus himself, fhe will be watched by no less then two brace of his fifters; four as malicious, mufty old maids as ever were foured by folitude, and the neglect of the world. Rack. A guard not to be corrupted or cozened. Why, Sir Chriftopher, in a Christian country this must not be fuffered. What! a miferable tattered old fellow like him, to monopolize fuch a tempting creature as her? Sir Chr. A diabolical plan! Rack. Befides, the fecluding and immuring a girl poffeffed of her elegant talents, is little better than robbing the world. Sir Chr. Infamous! worse than a rape! But, where are the means to prevent it? Rack. Much might be done, if you would lend us your aid. Sir Chr. Me! of what ufe can I-And fo, you rafcal, you want to employ me again as your pimp? Rack. You take the thing wrong: I only wish you to ftand forth, my dear knight; and, like myself, be the protector of innocence, and a true friend to the publick. Sir Chr. A true friend to the publick! a fine ftalking-horse that! But, I fear, like other pretenders, Tom, when your own private purpose is ferved, the poor publick will be left in the lurch. But, however, the poor girl does deserve to be faved; and if I can do any thing, not inconfiftent with my plan of reforming Rack. Rack. That was fpoke like yourself. Upon what terms are you and Flint at prefent? Sir Chr. Oil and vinegar are fcarce fo oppofite. Rack. Poultice, you smoke a pipe with him fometimes: Pray, who are your party? Poul. Mynheer Sour-Crout, Monfieur de Jarfey the port manufacturer, Billy Button the taylor, Master Flint and I, moft evenings take 2 whiff here. Rack. Are you all in his confidence on this great occafion? Poul. Upon this cafe we have had confultations; but Billy button is first in his favour; he likes his prescription the best. Rack. From this quarter we must begin the attack: Could not we contrive to convene this illuftrious fenate to-night? Poul. I fhould think easily enough. Rack. But before you meet here? Poul. Without doubt. Rack. My dear Poultice, will you undertake the commiffion? Poul. I will feel their pulfes, to oblige Sir Chriftopher Cripple. Sir Chr. But, Peter, doft really think this rath fool is determined? Poul. I believe, Sir Chriftopher, he is firmly perfuaded, that nothing will allay this uncommon heat in his blood, but fwallowing the pill matrimonial. Rack. We must contrive at least to take off the gilding, and fee what effect that will have on his courage. [Exit Poul. Sir Chr. Well, Major, unfold! what can you mean by this meeting? Rack. Rack. Is it poffible you can be at a lofs? you who have fo long ftudied mankind? Sir Chr. Explain. Rack. Can't you conceive what infinite ftruggles must have been felt by this fellow, before he could mufter up courage to engage in this dreadful perilous state. How often have you heard the proverbial puppy affirm, that marriage was fishing for a fingle eel among a barrel of fnakes! what infinite odds, that you laid hold of the eel! and then a million to one but he flipt through your fingers! Sir Chr. True, true. Rack. Can't you, then, guess what will be his feelings and fears when it comes to the push? Do you think publick opinion, his various doubts of himself, and of her, the pride of his family, and the loud claims of avarice (his ruling paffion 'till now), won't prove near an equipoife to his love? Sir Chr. Without doubt. Rack. At this critical period, won't the concurring advice of all his affociates, think you, destroy the balance at once? Sir Chr. Very probably, Tom, I confefs. Rack. As to our engines, there is no fear of them: Billy Button you have under your thumb; I'll purchase a pipe of port of de Jarfey; and we are fure of old Sour-Crout for a hamper of hock. Sir Chr. Right, right!-But, after all, what is to become of the girl? Come, Tom, I'll have no foul play fhewn to her. Rack. Her real happiness is part of my project. Fillup. Here be Mynheer Sour-Crout and Mounfeer de Jarsey a come. Sir Chr. Sir Chr. We will attend them.-Only think, Tom, what a villain you will be to make me the fecret inftrument of any more mischief. Rack. Never fear. Sir Chr. Particularly, too, now I am fixed to reform. Rack. It would be criminal in the highest degree. Sir Chr. Ah, rot your hypocritical face!-I am half afraid, Tom, to truft you; I'll be hanged if you ha'n't fome wicked defign yourfelf on the girl! but however, I wash my hands of the guilt. Rack. My dear knight, don't be fo fqueamish! But the gentlemen within!-Stay! who have we here? Ah, my old friend master Button! Enter Button. Button. Your worship is welcome to town!But where is Sir-Oh! I understood as how your Honour had fent for me all in a hurry: I fhould have brought the patterns before, if I had them: the worst of my enemies can't fay but Billy Button is punctual. Here they be: I received them to-night by Wiltshire's waggon, that flies in eight days.. Sir Chr. Tomorrow, Billy, will do; take a feat. Button. I had rather stand. Sir Chr. I wanted to talk to you upon another affair. What, I fuppofe, you are very bufy at prefent? Button. Vaft bufy, your honour. Sir Chr. This marriage, I reckon, takes up most of your time. Button. Your honour? Rack. Mifs Linnet, and your old master Flint, you know. Button. Button. Oh, ay! But the fquire does not intend to cut a dash till the spring. Sir Chr. No! nothing has happened, I hope? affairs are all fixed? Button. As a rock: I am fure, now, it can't fail; because why, I have premptory orders to fcour and new-line the coachman and footman's old frocks; and am, befides, to turn the lace, and fresh-button the fuit his honour made up twenty years ago comes next Lent, when he was fhreif for the county. Rack. Nay, then it is determined. Button. Or he would never have gone to fuch an expence. Sir Chr. Well, Billy, and what is your private opinion, after all, of this match? Button. It is not becoming, your honour knows, for a tradesman like me to give his Rack. Why not? Don't you think now, Billy, it is a bold undertaking for a man at his time of life? Button. Why, to be fure, his honour is a little. ftricken in years, as a body may say; and, take all the care that one can, time will wear the nap from even fuperfine cloth; ftitches tear, and. elbows will out, as they fay. Sir Chr. And befides, Bill, the bride's a mere baby. Button. Little better, your honour: But the is a tight bit of ftuff, and I am confident will turn out well in the wearing. I once had fome thoughts myfelf of taking measure of Mifs. Rack. Indeed! Button. Yes; and, to my thinking, had made a pretty good progrefs; because why, at church of a Sunday she suffered me to look for the leffons; C and |