SCENE I-STAPLETON'S house. MRS STAPLETON and LETITIA at breakfast.

Enter MR STAPLETON.

Mr Stap. A MERCHANT'S wife, and not breakfasted before this! fye upon you, Dolly! these are new fashions, these are courtly customs; let us stick to the city, and the old city hours. And this idle jade, Letitia, loves her pillow better than she does her prayers. Come, come, away with your crockery. Old Andrew Nightshade will be with you before you are aware.

Mrs Stap. There is another room ready for his reception. I am afraid my dear husband will find this old man's peevishness more than even his good nature can put up with.

Mr Stap. Why have not you kept my patience then in better exercise? but never fear. Letitia,

Let. Mr Manlove's business with me is of a very different sort.

Mr Stap. Perhaps not; therefore remember what I say.

Let. I never can forget the respect that is due to your opinion. [Exit. Mrs Stap. Have you any reason to think Mr Manlove means to propose for his nephew?

Mr Stup. I'll tell you more of that hereafter; we must now welcome old Nightshade with as good a grace as we can. He is an honest man, though a humourous one, and was, for many years, a very steady correspondent of mine at Rotterdam. We merchants must not overlook our friends, whatever our betters may think fit to do. [Exeunt.

SCENE II-CHARLES MANLOVE's house.

Let. I have.

Mr Stap. And what do they tell you? Let. What I can truly testify, that Mr Stapleton has been the best of guardians.

Mr Stap. I say the best! half the trading world would call me a very bad one; when you come to sum up the accounts of your education, hussy, I expect you will file a bill against me for waste and embezzlement.

Let. For misapplication, perhaps; the only objectionable part of your accounts will be the subject of them.

Mr Stap. For shame, Letitia Fairfax! you well know you have been the pride and pleasure of our lives.

Mrs Stap. When she was my ward, she dared not make so free with herself; now she is her own mistress, she must do as she will: My authority is expired.

Let. Rather revived in so much fuller force, by how much more I'm bound to you by love than law.

Enter a Servant.

Ser. Mr Nightshade is below, sir: Counsellor Manlove to wait upon Miss Fairfax. Let. Where have you shown him? Ser. He is in the drawing-room. Let. I'll wait on him directly.

[Exit Servant. Mr Stap. A word before we part. Mr Manlove will inform you of certain restrictions you are under, by your good father's will, in the article of marriage: If the subject should lead him, as possibly it may, to name his nephew Charles to you, in truth, my dear Letitia, I do not know, in all this town, a young man of whom report speaks so advantageously.

lowed by DIBBLE.

J. Night. Come along, Dibble, come along.-Dear, lovely, and delicious lady Fortune, who has put clothes upon my back, and cash into my pocket! thou knowest I never slandered thee, never called thee jilt or gipsey, when I've seen thee perched upon thy wheel, and feeding thy fools by handfuls; give me now the rest of thy blessing, love, pleasure, and good fellowship! May the lads I am to meet be frolicksome, and lasses free! and never let my poor little defenceless wherry come athwart that old Dutch dogger, my father, till 'tis safe in harbour, and all hands ashore.

Dib. Well said, squire! where, in the name of wonder, did you find this rhapsody?

J. Night. Why, did you never see the picture of Fortune, mounted on a wheel, with a bandage over her eyes, tossing money to the mob, like a parliament man? Gregory has the print in his pantry- -you may buy, the whole moral for a penny.

Dib. I protest, Jack, you are not only grown a beau in your brother's fine clothes, but a wit into the bargain.

J. Night. Pshaw! I am merry enough when my helly's full, and father asleep; but what signifies a poor fellow's being witty, when there is nobody to laugh at his jokes? 'Tis the money in my pocket, Dibble, not the clothes on my back, that makes me a wit; and when the wine mounts into my noddle, I shall be wittier still.

Dib. Time will shew. But, hark'e, 'squire Jack, before you pass yourself off for a man of fashion, should not you practise the carriage and conceits of one?

J. Night. I shall be glad to learn.

Dib. Be ruled by me; I will give you a few lessons shall set you up for a fine gentleman in a

Dib. Hold-not so fast; there you are out: walk, trippingly, thus, d'ye see, with a lazy loitering air, not a league at a stride, with your head playing like the pole of a coach, so. [Mimicking.] When you enter a room, take no notice of any body in it; make your way strait to the chimney; turn your back to the fire; pull away the flaps of your clothes, and display your person to the ladies, who are sitting round. When their teeth begin to chatter with the cold, throw yourself carelessly into a chair, tuck your hands into your muff, and never open your hips for the rest of the afternoon; 'twill gain respect in every house you enter.

J. Night. Well, well, Dibble; this is all easy enough: I shall be most at a loss for the lingowhat would your worship have me say when I'm amongst my betters?

Dib. Nothing, I tell you.

J. Night. Nothing! Low the deuce, then, shall I shew my wit?

Dib. By holding your tongue: never speak yourself, nor smile at any thing spoken by another; reserve your wit for your creditors, they'll keep it in exercise: not but what there are other occasions for a man of fashion to shew his parts; as, for instance, with a woman of modesty you may be witty at the expence of her blushes; or, with a parson at the expence of his profession: These are cheap methods-be at no pains in the account; decency and religion will pay all costs, and you'll be clear of the courts.

J. Night. You need not tell me that; why, I played a thousand tricks upon our vicar, and, as for modest women, as you call them, I don't know much of them; but I know my tongue runs fast enough when I am amongst the maids; I can set the whole kitchen in a roar-But come, let us sally: Now do you mind. Dibble, don't you be calling squire, and squire Jack, and Jack Nightshade; but let it be sir, and your honour,

and all that.

Dib. Trust to me for setting you off in those fine clothes-let me see what shall we say you are?

Dib. Because he changed by act of parliament, and you by act of your own.

J. Night. Act of parliament! Egad, they'll change people's sexes, by-and-by; why, they'll turn a wife into a maid by act of parliament, as readily as a common into an inclosure.

Dib. Yes; but it generally remains common for the life of the proprietor.

J. Night. Nan! How must I carry my hat, Dibble? Thus; under my arm? This damned barber has thrust his black skewers through my ears. Look out, and tell me if the man has called a coach.

Dib. 'Tis waiting, sir.

J. Night. A plague upon this spit! Tis as heavy as a fowling-pouch, and jingles like a pair of dog-couples; an oak-stick is worth two of it. Have you cautioned the servants about my name?

Dib. Tis done, your honour.

J. Night. Tis done, your honour; your honour is obeyed: come along, Dibble; let your honour go before, and law follow after.

Dib. Ay; but when law is at your heels, have a care it does not overtake you. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.—An apartment.

Enter MANLOVE and CHARLES.! Man. Her mother was a Sedley, of a respectable family, and an accomplished lady; her father was a trader of fair character and principal, in the house now conducted with such credit by her guardian, Stapleton; her fortune is considerable. I mention that to you, as I think any great disproportion on either side, in that particular, is to be avoided.

Cha. Man. Equal alliances, to be sure, are

best.

Man. And this would be of all most equal, for I verily think you have not a virtue, of which Miss Fairfax does not possess the counterpart : By the way, Charles, you will not like her the worse for being no inconsiderable proficient in your favourite art, painting.

Cha. Man. I have heard her performance very highly commended: your report makes me ambitious of being known to her; and so, my dear sir, I promise you, in the words of your favourpoet,

'I'll look to like, if looking liking move. I'll take my heart to counsel, for I know you ask no sacrifice.

Man. No, Charles; 'twas to make you free, not to rob you of your freedom, that I gave you a fortune. If I throw your inclination into fetters, 'twill be poor satisfaction that I gilt them over afterwards.

Cha. Man. In that assurance, I will proceed

Man. At your ease? What prevents you? Cha, Man. The declaration you made to her this morning. I dread the artificial graces which young women are too apt to put on, when they act under observation; so quiet, so chastised, so infinitely obliging: we think them meek as lambs; marry them, and they change to mountain cats. Such women remind me of decayed ships newly painted; the outside is inviting; embark, and they conduct you to the grave.

Framp. I attend you, sir, by order of Mr Manlove, touching a case wherein you have consulted him.

A. Night. That's true, that's true; it is the pigeon-house case-I gave it him this morning: Is it usual for you lawyers to be so nimble with your answers?

Framp. It is not unusual with Mr Manlove. A. Night. Well, and what thinks he of the case?

Framp. The case is a clear case.

A. Night. I am glad to hear it heartily.
Framp. In other words, it is a case clear to be

Man. By all foreigners, as well as natives; there is no fame without her approbation; not a grace is stampt without her fiat.

Cha. Mun. Under favour, are not these extraordinary accomplishments to acquire in the family of a trader?

Man. Not at all; beware how you apply French ideas to English merchants: Where nature bestows genius, education will give accomplishments; but where the disposition is wanting, the blood of a duchess cannot make a gentlewoman.

Cha. Man. Was she ever out of England? Man. I have been told she was near two years in Italy with a family of distinction.

Cha. Man. It is enough; I have my cue: I think I shall fall upon a method of introducing myself to her acquaintance without a discovery. I can pass examination in the art of painting very tolerably.

Man. Take your own course; I have no right to advise; I am poor authority in affairs of love. Good afternoon to you! Nay, Charles, no ceremony; I thought we had agreed upon that. Your [Exit MAN. Cha. Man. Your most obedient-Here, who waits?

servant.

shade. 'Quare: Standeth not the said pigeon'house within the manorial rights of Calves Town, ' and in that case may not you, Andrew Nightshade, esq. lord of said manor, remove, or cause to be removed, said vicar's pigeon-house?'

level

with the ground! these are my words. Now, give me the opinion.

Framp. He has given no opinion.

A. Night. No opinion! What the plague, is this your errand? Am I to be made a fool of?

Framp. To his clients, Mr Manlove gives opinions; to his friends, advice. He wishes you to let the pigeon-house stand where it does.

A. Night. A fig for what he wishes. Framp. However, if you're so determined, he does not deny but you may pull it down.

A. Night. Why, that's enough. Then down it goes: I'll sow the land with salt.

Framp. Nevertheless, he wills me to tell you, that this must be done tuo periculo, as the saying is; for, if your conscience does not prevent you from pulling it down, the law will make you build it up again.

A. Night. The law has made a fool of you, methinks. Why, what the deuce, do you blow hot and cold in the same breath? Is this the way you treat your clients! Am I to be fobbed off thus by an old methodical piece of clock-work, by a stiff starcht limb of the law, a cutter of goose quills, and a scraper of parchments? No: evacuate my chamber. Tell your principal, I'll none of his advice: I value his opinion not a rush: Shall I be taught and tutored at these years? I'm sure I'm an older man, and, I believe, a wiser than himself-so tell him, master Framp

low be in a passion? He'll no more be put out of temper, than a German postillion will out of his pace--So, Gregory! What news? Have you found out the attorney?

Enter GREGORY.

Greg. Your honour shall hear the whole proceeding: At Thaves Inn I first got sight of him, threw off, and took the drag as far as Shoe-lane; there he hung cover. I had a warm burst to the fleet; hunted him through Turn-again-lane, to the Old Bailey; got an entapis, and run into him in Labour-in-vain-Court, Old Fish-street-HillA. Night. Well; and what says he to the prosecution?

Greg. For some time he said nothing; for, when I first arrived, he was on a visit to a friend under sentence of death in Newgate: however, after a while he came home, and then

A. Night. What said he then? To the point, dunce.

Greg. Why, he said, an please your honour, he would have nothing to do with the business: There's no credit to be got by such prosecutions; if it had been on a criminal indictment, indeedbut he won't be concerned in any vexatious suit about the game; humanity won't suffer him.

A. Night. Humanity indeed! Was ever the like heard? But, sirrah, this is all a lie of your own inventing, and your bones shall answer for it. [Threatening to cane him.

Enter STAPLETON.

Stap. Keep the peace, in the king's name! What's the matter now, friend Andrew?

A. Night. I have now no leisure for conversations of this nature; but I would ask a thinking man, what must be the fate of our Turkey trade? Undone. You've burnt their ships, it seems; now you may burn your own; you'll have no further call for them, unless you send them to your colonies, to air your goods and exercise your sailors; but I've something else to think of. Your servant, Mr Stapleton-remember I've told you now, I've let you know your danger.

Stap. And in the tenderest manner; you are the kindest friend! If we are ruined, you'll have nothing to regret. Your servant; we shall meet again at supper.

A. Night. I just stept back to tell you that your weavers are all rising: I fell in with a large party of them in the streets: your people migrating by thousands: What! Men must not starve. I hint this to you gently, and in pure good will; I have no interest to serve-and so your servant for an hour or two-I'll tell you more when I return. Oh, if I was a man to turn the gloomy side of things upon you, I could draw a melancholy picture, truly!

[Exit A. NIGHT.

Stap. The man who tells me a distasteful lie, in some sort may be said to recommend the truth; but he who, like old Nightshade, makes the truth offensive, recommends a lie. [Exit. SCENE V.-An apartment.

Enter LETITIA and LUCY.

Let. Lucy, come hither; you have a brother, I think, who is one of counsellor Manlove's clerks?

Lucy. I have, madam; and, though I say it, as promising, genteel, well-spoken a young man as you would wish to set your eyes on; he's my only brother, madam.

Let. Let that be an excuse for your forward

I am not inquiring into his character. Lucy. If you did, madam, I assure you it will stand the strictest inquiry; my papa gave us both an education--

Let. Your papa! Let it be father in your mouth, if I might advise you.

Lucy. Humph! There's a person wants to speak with you.

Let. What person?

Lucy. A person from abroad—a painting man, I believe; he says he has a recommendation to you there are many such call here.

Stap. A most considerate precaution, truly!

love naturally, and without form; if we were then to single out each other by the guidance of no other monitor than the heart, and if a thou