cakes and sweeties that was honded up amongst 'em just now, you would na' think there could be muckle need of supper this night.

Lord Abb. What, fellow, would you have me starve my guests?

Colin. Troth, an you don't, they'll go nigh to starve you.

Lord Abb. Let me hear no more of this, Colin Macleod; I took you for my servant, not for my adviser.

Colin. Right, my lord, you did; but if by advising I can serve you, where's the breach of duty in that ? [Exit. Lord Abb. What a Highland savage is this! My father indeed made use of him to pay the servants' wages, and post the tradesmens' accounts; as I never do either, I wish somebody else had him that does.

Enter MORTIMER, repeating to himself.

Mort. Is this a dinner, this a genial room?
This is a temple and a hecatomb.

Lord Abb. What, quoting, Mortimer, and satire too? I thought you need not go abroad for that. Mort. True; therefore I'm returning home.-Good night to you.

Lord Abb. What, on the wings so soon! With so much company, can my philosopher want food to feast his spleen upon ?

Mort. Food! I revolt against the name; no Bramin could abominate your fleshly meal more than I

do; why, Hirtius and Apicius would have blushed for it: Mark Antony, who'roasted eight whole boars for supper, never massacred more at a meal than you have done.

Lord Abb. A truce, good cynick: pr'ythee now get thee up stairs, and take my place; the ladies will be glad of you at cards.

Mort. Me at card! Me at a quadrille table! Pent in with fuzzing dowagers, gossiping old maids, and yellow admirals! 'sdeath, my Lord Abberville, you

must excuse me.

Lord Abb. Out on thee, unconformable being: thou art a traitor to society.

Mort. Do you call that society?

Lord Abb. Yes; but not my society; none such as you describe will be found here; my circle, Mr. Mortimer, is formed by people of the first fashion and spirit in this country.

Mort. Fashion and spirit! Yes, their country's like to suffer by their fashion more than 'twill ever profit by their spirit.

Lord Abb. Come, come, your temper is too sour.

Mort. And yours too sweet: a mawkish lump of manna; sugar to the mouth, but physic to the bowels.

Lord Abb. Mr. Mortimer, you was my father's executor; and I did not know that your office extended any farther.

Mort. No; when I gave a clear estate into your

hands, I cleared myself of an unwelcome office: I was, indeed, your father's executor; the gentlemen of fashion and spirit will be your lordship's.

Lord Abb. Pooh! You've been black-ball'd at some paltry port-drinking club; and set up for a man of wit and ridicule.

Mort. Not I, believe me; your companions are too dull to laugh at, and too vicious to expose.-There stands a sample of your choice.

Lord Abb. Who, Doctor Druid? Where's the harm in him.

Mort. Where's the merit ?-What one quality does that old piece of pedantry possess to fit him for the liberal office of travelling-preceptor to a man of rank? You know, my lord, I recommended you a friend as fit to form your manners as your morals; but he was a restraint; and, in his stead, you took that Welchman, that buffoon, that antiquarian forsooth, who looks as if you had raked him out of the cinders of Mount Vesuvius.

Lord Abb. And so I did: but pr'ythee, Mortimer, don't run away; I long to have you meet.

Mort. You must excuse me.

Lord Abb. Nay, I must have you better friends.Come hither, doctor; hark'e

Mort. Another time; at present, I am in no hu❤ mour to stay the discussion of a cockle-shell, or the dissection of a butterfly's wing.

B

[Exit.

Enter Doctor DRUID.

Dr. Druid. Putterflies, putterflies in your teeth, Mr. Mortimer. What is the surly-poots prabbling about? Cot give her coot luck; will the man never leave off his flings and his fleers, and his fegaries; pack pitting his petters: Coot, my lord, let me call him back, and have a little tisputes and tisputations with him, d'ye see.

Lord Abb. Hang him, tedious rogue, let him go.

Dr. Druid. Tedious! ay, in cood truth he is, as tedious as a Lapland winter, and as melancholy too; his crotchets and his humours damp all mirth and merriment, as a wet blanket does a fire: he is the very night-mare of society.

Lord Abb. Nay, he talks well sometimes.

Dr. Druid. Ay, 'tis pig sound and little wit; like a loud pell to a pad dinner.

Lord Abb. Patience, good doctor, patience! Another time you shall have your revenge; at present you must lay down your wrath, and take up your attention.

Dr. Druid. I've done, my lord, I've done! laugh at my putterflies indeed! If he was as pig and as pold as King Gryffyn, Doctor Druid would make free to whisper an oord or two in his ear.

Lord Abb. Peace, choleric king of the mountains, peace.

Dr. Druid. I've done, my lord; I say, I've done.
Lord Abb. If you have done, let me begin. You

must know then, I expect my city madam from Fishstreet-hill.

Dr. Druid. Ay, ay, the rich pig-pellied fellow's daughter, young madam Pridgemore, my Lady Ap. perville, that is to be, pless her, and save her, and make her a coot wife, say 1.

Lord Abb. Pr'ythee, good doctor, don't put a man in mind of his misfortunes: I tell you she is coming here by appointment, with old Bridgemore and her mother; 'tis an execrable groupe ; and, as I mean to make all things as easy to me as I can, I'm going out to avoid being troubled with their impertinence.

Dr. Druid. Going out, my lord, with your house full of company,

Lord Abb. Oh, that's no objection; none in the least; fashion reconciles all those scruples: to consult your own ease in all things is the very first ar. ticle in the recipe for good breeding: when every man looks after himself, no one can complain of neglect; but as these maxims may not be orthodox on the eastern side of Temple- Bar, you must stand, Gentleman Usher on this spot; put your best face upon the matter, and marshal my citizens into the assembly-room, with as much ceremony, as if they came up with an address from the whole company of Cordwainers.

Dr. Druid. Out on it, you've some tevilish oomans in the wind; for when the tice are rattling above, there's nothing but teath or the tevil, could keep you below.