t THE MAID OF BATH. ACT I. SCENE Ì. The Bear Inn at Bath. Enter Fillup: Fillup. WHY, John, Roger, Ralphy, Harry Buckle! what a-dickens are become of the lads? Can't you hire?-Zure, zure, thefe whelps are enow to make a man mazed! Enter feveral Waiters. All. Coming, Sir ! Fillup. Coming! ay, zo be Christmas, I think. Where be'ft thee gwain, boy? what, I reckon thee ca'ft not zee for thy eyes-Here, take the candle, and light the gentlefolk in. Enter John. John. Carry a couple of candles into the Daphne. [Exeunt Waiters. John. Fillup. John, who is it be a come? 6 John. Major Rackett, in a chay and four, from the Devizes. Fillup. What, the young youth that last zeafon carried away wi' un Mrs. Muzlenefes 'prentice? John. Mifs Patty Prim, from the Grove? Fillup. Ay, zure: Thee doft know her well enow. John. The fame. Fillup. Zure and zure, then we shall have old doing and by; he is a deadly wild spark, thee doft know. John. But as good a cuftomer as comes to the Bear. Fillup. That's zure enough: Then why doft not run and light un in? Stay! gee I the candle; I woole go and light un in myzelf. [Exit. Rack. [without.] Give the poft-boys half a guinea between 'em. John. Ay, there is fome life in this chap! These are your guests that give fpirit to Bath : Your paralytical people, that come down to be parboiled and pumped, do no good, that I know, to the town, unlefs indeed to the phyfical tribe How I hate to fee an old fellow hobble into the house, with his feet wrapt in flannel, pushing forth his fingers like a crofs in the hands to point out the different roads on a common !Hush! Enter Rackett and Fillup. Fillup. I hope, mefter, you do zee your way: There be two steps; that you do know. Well, zure, I be heartily glad to zee your honour at Bath. Rack. 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? 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 Chriftopher 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 Chriftopher 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 В 3 knows knows that during the fummer, taverns and turnfpits have but little to do at Bath. Rack. True. But what is become of your colleague, honeft 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 re'commended 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 is running! Zounds, I believe the fellow thinks I can foot it as fast as Eclipfe! Slower, and be—— Enter Sir Chriftopher Cripple and Fillup, followed by Peter Poultice. Where is this rakehelly, rantipole?-Jack, fet me a chair. So, Sir! you must poffefs a good share of affurance to return to this town, after the tricks you have played.-Fillup, fetch 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 jest. Sir Chr. Sir Chr. Yes, firrah, it is; and all owing to my acquaintance with you: 1, forfooth, am called your advifer; as if your own contriving head and profligate heart ftood in need of any affistance from me. Rack. Well, but, dear Sir Kit, how can this idle ftuff 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 fhunned worse than a leper in the days of King Lud; an abfolute hermit in the midst 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 custard, but I received a civil card to partake; but now, the rude rafcals, in their bushy bobs, brush by me without deigning to bow! in fhort, I do not believe I have |