Re-enter Devil. Devil. I had like to have forgot, here's your week's pay for the News-paper, five and five-pence, which, with the two and-a-penny master pass'd his word for to Mrs. Suds your washerwoman, makes the three half crowns. Cape. Lay it on the table. Devil. Here's a man on the stairs wants you; by the fheepifhnefs of his looks, and the fhabbinefs of his drefs, he's either a pick-pocket, or a poet-Here, walk in, Mr. What-d'ye-call-'um, the gentleman's at home. (Surveys the figure, laughs, and exit.) Enter Poet. Poet. Your name I prefume is Cape? Cape. You have it, fir. Poet. Sir, I beg pardon; you are a gentleman that writes? Cape. Sometimes. Poet. Why, Sir, my cafe, in a word, is this; I like you, have long been a retainer of the Mufes, as you may fee by their livery. Cape. They have not difcarded you, I hope? Poet. No, fir, but their upper fervants, the bookfellers, have.-I printed a collection of jefts upon my own account, and they have ever fince refused to employ me; you, fr, I hear are in their graces; Now I have brought you, fir, three imitations of Juvenal in profe: Tully's Oration for Milo, in blank verfe; two effays on the British Herring-fifhery, with a large collection of rebuffes; which if you difpofe of to them, in your own name, we'll divide the profits. Cape. I am really, fir, forry for your diftrefs, but I have a larger cargo of my own manufacture than they chufe to engage in. Poet. That's pity; you have nothing in the compiling, or index way, that you would intruft to the care of another? Саре. Cape. Nothing. Poet. I'll do it at half price. Cape. I'm concern'd it is not in my power at present to be useful to you; but if this trife Poet. Sir, your fervant. Shall I leave you any of my Cape. By no means. Poet. An Effay, or an Ode? Cape. Not a line. Poet. Your very obedient.- -(Exit Poet. Cape. Poor fellow! and how far am I removed from his condition? Virgil had his Pollio; Horace, his Mecanas; Martial, his Pliny. My protectors are Title-page, the publisher; Vamp, the Bookfeller; and Index, the Printer. A moft noble triumvirate; and the rafcals are as profcriptive and arbitrary as the famous Roman one, into the bargain. Enter Sprightly. Spri. What! in foliloquy, George,―reciting fome of the pleasantries, I fuppofe, in your new piece? Cape. my difpofition has, at prefent, very little of the Vis Comica. Spri. What's the matter? Cape. Survey that mafs of wealth upon the table; all my own, and earn'd in little more than a week. Spri. Why 'tis an inexhauftible mine! Cape. Ay, and delivered to me, too, with all the foft civility of Billing fgate by a printer's prime minifter, call'd a Devil. Spri. I met the imp upon the stairs. But I thought thefe midwives to the mufes were the idolizers of you, their favourite fons? Cape. Our tyrants! Tom. Had I indeed a posthumous piece of infidelity, or an amorous novel, decorated with lufcious copper-plates, the flaves would be civil enough.. Spri. Why don't you' publifh your own works? Cape Cape. What! and paper my room with 'em? No, no, that will never do; there are fecrets in all trades; our's is one great mystery, but the explanation wou'd be too tedious at prefent. Spri. Then why don't fome other object? you divert your attention to Cape. That fubject was employing my thoughts. Spri. How have you refolved? Cape. I have, I think, at prefent, two ftrings to my bow: If my comedy fucceeds, it buys me a commiffion; if my miftrefs, my Laura, proves kind, I am fettled for life; but, if both my cards fnap,-adieu to the quill, and welcome the musket. Spri. Heroically determined! But a proposhow proceeds your honourable passion? Cape. But flowly-I believe I have a friend in her heart, but a most potent enemy in her head: You know, I am poor, and fhe is prudent. With regard to her fortune too, I believe her brother's confent effentially neceffary-But you promised to make me acquainted with him? Spri. I expect him here every inftant. He may, George, be useful to you in more than one capacity; if your comedy is not crouded, he is a character, I can tell you, that will make no contemptible figure in it. Cape. His fifter gave me a sketch of him laft fum mer. Spri. A fketch can never convey him. His peculiarities require infinite labour and high finishing. Cape. Give me the out-lines? Spri. He is a compound of contrarieties; pride and meannefs; folly and archness: At the fame time that he would take the wall of a prince of the blood, he would not fcruple eating a fry'd faufage at the Mewsgate. There is a minutenefs, now and then, in his defcriptions; and fome whimfical, unaccountable turns in his converfation, that are entertaining enough: But the extravagance and oddity of his manner, and the boast of his birth, compleat his character. Cape. Cape. But how will a perfon of his pride and pedigree, relifh the humility of this apartment? Spri. Oh, he is prepar'd You are, George, tho' prodigiously learn'd and ingenious, an abftracted being, odd and whimsical; the cafe with all you great genius's: You love the fnug, the chimney-corner of life; and retire to this obfcure nook merely to avoid the importunity of the great. Cape. Your fervant -But what attraction can a character of this kind have for Mr. Cadwallader? Spri. Infinite! next to a peer, he honours a poet; and modeftly imputes his not making a figure in the learned world himself to the neglect of his education -huh! he's on the ftairs- -on with your cap, and open your book. Remember great dignity and Enter Vamp. abfence. Cape. Oh, no; 'tis Mr. Vamp: Your commands, good fir? Vamp. I have a word, mafter Cape, for your pri vate ear. Cape. You may communicate; this gentleman is a friend. Vamp. An Author? Vamp. Blefs me! he's very young, and exceedingly well rigg'd; what, a good fubfcription, I reckon? Cape. Not a month from Leyden; an admirable theologift! he ftudy'd in Germany; if you fhould want fuch a thing now, as ten or a dozen manufcript fermons, by a deceas'd clergyman, I believe he can fupply you. Vamp. No. Cape. Warranted originals. Vamp. No, no; I don't deal in the fermon way, now; I loft money by the laft I printed, for all 'twas wrote by a methodist; but I believe, fir, if they ben't long, long, and have a good deal of latin in 'em, I can get you a chap. Spri. For what, fir? Vamp. The manufcript fermons you have wrote, and want to difpofe of. me Spri. Sermons that I have wrote ? Vamp. Ay, ay; master Cape has been telling Spri. He has; I am mightily oblig❜d to him. Vamp. Nay, nay, don't be afraid; I'll keep council; old Vamp had not kept a fhop fo long at the turnftile, if he did not know how to be fecret; why, in the year fifteen, when I was in the treafonable way, I never fqueak'd; I never gave up but one author in my life, and he was dying of a confumption, fo it never came to a trial. Spri. Indeed! Vamp. Never-look here (Shews the fide of his head.) crop'd close!- -bare as a board! and for nothing in the world but an innocent book of bawdy, as I hope for mercy: Oh! the laws are very hard, very fevere upon us. Spri. You have given me, fir, so positive a proof of your fecrecy, that you may rely upon my communica tion. Vamp. You will be fafebut, gadfo! we muft mind bufinefs, tho'. Here, mafter Cape, you must provide me with three taking titles for thefe pamphlets, and if you can think of a pat latin motto for the lar geft Cape. They fhall be done. Vamp. Do fo, do fo. Books are like women, master Cape; to strike they must be well-drefs'd; fine feathers make fine birds; a good paper, an elegant. type, a handsome motto, and a catching title, has drove many a dull treatise thro' three editions-Did you know Harry Handy? | Spri. Not that I recollect. Vamp. He was a pretty fellow; he had his latin, ad anguem, as they fay; he wou'd have turn'd you a fable of Dryden's, or an epiftle of Pope's, into latin |