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of roguries, depend on't. Ecod he had a bundle for his breakfast, as big as little Napthali could carry; I would it had braken his bock; and yet he is na' half the knave of yon fat fellow upon Fish-street-hill.

Mort. Bridgemore, you mean.

Colin. Ay, ay, he's at the bottom of the plot; this little Hebrew's only his jackall.

Mort. I comprehend you: Bridgemore, under cover of this Jew, has been playing the usurer with Lord Abberville, and means to pay his daughter's portion in parchment: this must be prevented.

Colin. You may spare your pains for that; the match is off.

Mort. Hey day, friend Colin, what has put off

that?

Colin. Troth, Mr. Mortimer, I canna' satisfy you on that hede; but yesternight the job was done; methought the business never had a kindly aspect from the first.

Mort. Well, as my lord has got rid of miss, 1 think he may very well spare her fortune.

Colin. Odzooks, but that's no reason he should lose his own.

Mort. That, Colin, may be past my power to hinder? yet even that shall be attempted: find out the Jew that Bridgemore has employed, and bring him hither, if you can.

Colin. Let me alone for that; there never was a Jew, since Samson's time, that Colin cou'd na' deal with; an' he hangs bock, and will na' follow kindly, troth,

I

I'll lug him to you by the ears; ay, will I, and his master the fat fellow into the bargain.

Mort. No, no, leave me to deal with Bridgemore; I'll scare away that cormorant; if the son of my noble friend will be undone, it never shall be said he fell without an effort on my part to save him. [Exit.

Colin. By Heaven you speak that like a noble gentleman. Ah, Maister Mortimer, in England he that wants money wants every thing; in Scotland now, few have it, but every one can do without it.

[Exit Colin.

SCENE II.

An Apartment in BRIDGEMORE's House. BRIDGEMORE and Door DRUID.

Bridge. But what is all this to me, doctor; while I have a good house over my head, what care I if the Pyramids of Egypt were sunk into the earth London, thank Heaven, will serve my turn.

Dr. Druid. Ay, ay, look ye, I never said it wasn't coot enough for them that live in it.

Bridge. Good enough! Why what is like it? Where can you live so well?

Dr. Druid. No where, coot truth, 'tis all cooks shops and putchers shambles; your very streets have savoury names; your Poultry, your Pye-corner, and Pudding-lane, your Bacon-alley, and Fish-streethill here; o' my oord, the map of London, would

furnish out an admirable pill of fare for a Lord Mayor's dinner.

Bridge. Well, doctor, I am contented with Fishstreet-hill; you may go seek for lodgings yonder in the ruins of Palmyra.

Dr. Druid. Ruins indeed! what are all your new buildings, up and down yonder, but ruins? Improve your own a little further, and you'll drive every man of sense out of it; pless us, and save us, bye and bye not a monument of antiquity will be left standing, from London-stone to Westminster-hall.

Bridge. And if the Commissioners of Paving would mend the streets with one, and present t'other as a nuisance, bone-setters and lawyers would be the only people to complain.

Dr. Druid. Down with 'em then at once, down with every thing noble and venerable and ancient amongst you; turn the Tower of London into a Pantheon, make a new Adelphi of the Savoy, and bid adieu to all ages but your own; you will then be no more in the way of deriving dignity from your progenitors, than you are of transmitting it to your posterity.

Bridge. Well, doctor, well, leave me my opinion and keep your own; you've a veneration for rust and cobwebs; I am for brushing them off wherever I meet them: we are for furnishing our shops and warehouses with good profitable commodities; you are for storing them with all the monsters of the creation: I much doubt if we could serve you with a

dried rattlesnake, or a stuft alligator, in all the purlieus of Fish-street-hill.

Dr. Druid. A stuft alligator. A stuft alderman would be sooner had.

Bridge. May be so; and let me tell you an antiquarian is as much to seek in the city of London, as an alderman would be in the ruins of Herculaneum; every man after his own way, that's my maxim: you are for the paltry ore; I am for the pure gold; I dare be sworn now, you are as much at home amongst the snakes and serpents, at Don Saltero's, as I am with the Jews and jobbers, at Jonathan's.

Dr. Druid. Coot truth, Mr. Pridgemore, 'tis hard to say which connection is the most harmless of the two.

Enter Mrs. BRIDGEMORE.

Mrs. Bridge. I'm out of patience with you, Mr. Bridgemore, to see you stir no brisker in this business; with such a storm about your ears, you stand as idle as a Dutch sailor in a trade-wind.

Bridge. Truly, love, till you come in, I heard nothing of the storm.

Mrs. Bridge. Recollect the misadventure of last night: the wickedness of that strumpet you have harboured in your house; that viper, which would never have had strength to sting, had not you warmed it in your bosom.

Dr. Druid. Faith and truth now, I hav'n't heard better reasoning from an ooman this many a day;

you shall know Mr. Pridgemore, the viperous species love warmth; their stings, look ye, is then more venomous; but draw their teeth, and they are harmless reptiles; the conjurors in Persia play a thou sand fancies and fagaries with 'em.

Bridge. But I'm no Persian, doctor.

Mrs. Bridge. No, nor conjuror neither; you would not else have been the dupe thus of a paltry girl.

Dr. Druid. A girl, indeed! why all the European world are made the dupes of girls: the Asiatics are more wise; saving your presence now, I've seen a Turkish Pacha or a Tartar Chán rule threescore, ay, three hundred wives, with infinite more ease and quiet, than you can manage one.

Mrs. Bridge. Manage your butterflies, your bats and beetles, and leave the government of wives to those who have 'em; we stand on British ground as well as our husbands; Magna Charta is big enough for us both; our bill of divorce is a full match for their bill of rights at any time; we have our Commons, doctor, as well as the men; and I believe our privileges are as well managed here at St. Paul's, as theirs are yonder at St. Stephen's.

Dr. Druid. Your privileges, Mrs. Pridgemore, are not to be disputed by any in this company; and, if miss is as well instructed in hers, I wish my Lord Abberville joy of his release; that's all. [Exit.

Enter LUCINDA.

Luc. What did the fellow say? Who sent that old mummy hither.

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