SCENE I.

Sir Harry discover’d dressing; and Shrimp attending.

Sir Har. Where had you been last Night, you drunken Dog, that you cou’dn’t take care of me when I was drunk.

Shr. I happen’d, Sir, to meet with some very honest Gentlemen, that have the Honour to wait upon other Gentlemen, where Wit and Humour brighten’d to that degree, we pass’d about the Glass, ’till we lost our Senses.

Sir Har. Wit, you Rascal! Have you Scoundrels the impudence to suppose your selves reasonable Creatures?

Shr. Sir, we are as much below Learning, indeed, as our Masters are above it; but why mayn’t a Servant have as good natural Parts?

Sir Har. Mend your Manners, Sirrah; or you shall serve the Queen.

Shr. Ev’ry Man ought to mend his Manners, Sir, that pretends to a Place at Court; but the Queen’s mightily oblig’d to some People. Has a Gentleman an impudent rakish Footman, not meaning my self, Sir, that wears his Linen, fingers his Money, and lies with his Mistress; You Dog, you shall serve the Queen. Has a Tradesman a Fop Prentice, that airs out his Horses, and heats his Wife, or an old Puritan a graceless Son, that runs to the Play-House instead of the Meeting, they are threathen’d with the Queen’s Service; so that Her Majesty’s good Subjects, drink her Health, wish success to her Arms, and send her all the Scoundrels i’the Nation.

Sir Har. Fellows that han’t sense to value a Civil Employment are necessary to front an Army, whose thick Sculls may repulse the first Fury of the Enemy’s Cannon Bullets.

Shr. I hope, then, the English are so wise to let the Dutch march foremost. But why, Sir, shou’d you Gentlemen ingross all the Pleasures o’Life, and not allow us poor Dogs to imitate you in our own Sphere; You wear lac’d Coats; We lac’d Liv’ries; You play at Picquet; We at All-Fours; You get drunk with Burgundy; We with Geneva; You pinck Holes with your Swords; We crack Sculls with our Sticks; You are Gentlemen; We are hang’d.

Sir Har. A fine Relation; but, methinks, the latter Part of it might deter you from such Courses.

Shr. I’m a Predestinarian, Sir; which is an Argument of a great Soul, and will no more baulk a drunken Frolick, than I would a pretty Lady that takes a Fancy to me.

Sir Har. No more of your Impertinence; attend, I hear Company (Shrimp goes to the Door) Brigadier Blenheim return’d from the Army!

Enter Collonel, and Knapsack.

Sir Har. My noblest, dearest Collonel, let me imbrace you as a Britain, and as a Friend. Ajax ne’er boasted English Valour; Ulysses ne’er such Conduct; nor Alexander such Successes. The Queen rejoices; the Parliament vote you Thanks; and ev’ry honest Loyal Heart bounds at our General’s Name.

Col. Ay, Sir Harry, to be thus receiv’d, rewards the Soldier’s Toils; and, faith, we have maul’d the fancy French-men, near Twenty Thousand we left fast asleep, taught the remaining few a new Minuet-step, and sent ’em home to sing Te Deum.

Knap. Ay, Sir, and if they are not satisfied, next Campaign the English shall stand still, and laugh at their Endeavours; the Dutch Snigger-snee ’em; the Scotch Cook them; and the wild Irish eat ’em.

Col. Oh! The glorious Din of War; the Energy of a good Cause, and the Emulation of a brave Confederacy. To sound the Charge; Make a vigorous Attack, the Enemy gives ground, To pour on fresh Vollies of a sure Destruction, and return deafn’d with shouts o’ Victory, and adorn’d with glitt’ring Standards of the vanquish’d Foe.

Knap. To hang up in Westminster-Hall, and make the Lawyers stare off their Briefs; But the Harmony of sounding a Retreat, to hug my self with two Arms, and walk substantially upon both my Pedestals, or the health of Mind in lying sick at Amsterdam.

Col. Ay, here’s a sorry Rascal, that lags always behind, and is afraid to look Death i’the Face.

Knap. Why, really, Sir, ’tisn’t manners to march before the Colonel; and upon a warm Engagement, I have heard you talk musically of good Conduct. Besides, that Mr._ Death_ is but a Hatchet-face Beau, so lean, and wither’d like an old Dutchess, or a Doctor o’ Physick, I had as live see the Devil.

Sir Har. But when the Lines are forcd, the Enemy slain, and the Placs loaded with rich Plunder.

Knap. None so nimble, none so valiant, none so expert as your very humble Servant Nehemiah Knapsack.

Col. But, who are the raigning Beauties o’the Age? What Favours will they grant a Soldier after a hard Campaign, fatiguing Marches, desp’rate Attempts, and narrow Escapes, to preserve them from Rapine, Violence, and Slav’ry, that they may laugh away the Day in gay Diversions, and pass the silent Night in silver Slumbers on their Downy Beds?

Sir Har. Just as many Favours as you have Money or Mechlin Lace to purchase: Women apprehend not the Danger of War, and therefore have no Notion of Gratitude.

Coll. Oh! The thoughts of scatt’ring small Shot among the sparkling Tribe, to feast my Senses upon dear Variety, have ev’ry Day a new dazling Beauty, and ev’ry Hour to taste the Joys of Love.

Sir Har. Don’t fancy, Collonel, because you have beat the French you must conquer all the Ladies; there are Women that dare resist you boldly, will exact your Courage beyond attacking a Fortress, and maintain a hotter Engagement.

Col. If you mean Women of the Town, some of ’em wou’d give a Man a warm Reception Yet I long to be traversing the Park, ogling at the Play, peeping up at Windows, and ferreting the Warren o’ Covent-Garden, till I seize on some skittish dapper Doxie, whose pretty black Eyes, dimpling Cheeks, heaving Breasts, and soft Caresses, wou’d melt a Man for half a Guinea.

Knap. How I long too, to wheedle in with some Buxom Widow, that keeps a Victualling-House, to provide me with Meat, Drink, Washing and Lodging to find out some delicious Chamber-Maid, that will pawn her best Mohair-Gown, sell even her Silver-Thimble, and rob her Mistress to shew how truly she loves me; or intrigue with some Heroick Sempstress, that will call me her Artaxerxes, her Agamemnon, and give me six new Shirts.

Sir Har. And now the tedious Summer is elaps’d, and Winter ushers in neglected Joys; Armies march home victorious from the Field, Ladies from Parks and Plains that mourn’d their absence; a Croud of Pleasures glut the varying Appetite, and Friends long absent meet with gayest Transports.

Col. Ay, Winter is the gay, the happy Season: I hate a Solitary Rural Life, as if one were at variance with the World; to walk with Arms a-cross, admire Nature’s Works in Woods and Groves, talk to the Streams, and tell the Trees our Passion, while Eccho’s make a Mock at all we say Give me the shining Town, the glittering Theatres; there Nature best is seen in Beauteous Boxes, where Beaus transported with the Heavenly Sight, the little God sits pleas’d in ev’ry Eye, and Actors dart new Vigour from the Stage, supported By the Spirit of full Pay But what great Fortunes buz about the Town; Red-Coats have carry’d off good store of Heiresses, and that’s the sure, tho’ not the sweetest Game; besides, Sir Harry, they talk of Peace, and we that have nothing but the Sword to trust to, ought to provide against that dreadful Day.

Knap. Really, Sir, I have had some Thoughts of Marriage too; there’s nothing like being settl’d, to have a House of one’s own, and Attendants about one; besides, I’m the last Male, of a very ancient Family, and shou’d I die without Children, the Knap-sacks wou’d be quite extinct.

Sir Har. The Talk, the Pride, and Envy of the Town is Lady Rodomont, whose Wit surprizes, whose Beauty ravishes, and a clear Estate of Six thousand a Year distracts the admiring Train; but the Misfortune is, she has Travell’d, had Experience, well vers’d in Gallantries of various Courts; she admits Coquets, and rallies each Pretender, so resolutely fond of Liberty, she slights the most accomplish’d of Mankind, there Collonel is a Siege to prove a Roman or a Grecian Bravery.

Col. A Roman or a Grecian, say you, bold Britains laugh at all their baubling Fights; and had Achilles, with his batt’ring Rams, felt half the Fury of an English General, Troy had ne’er bully’d out a Ten Years Siege but Ladies are more craftily subdu’d; you mustn’t storm a Nymph with Sword and Pistol, pursue her as you wou’d a tatter’d Frenchman, push her Attendants into the Danube, then seize her, and clap her into a Coach I’ll baffle her at her own Argument, swear I’d not wed a Phoenix of her Sex, and laugh at Dress and Beauty, Wit and Fortune, when purchas’d only at the Price of Liberty then sweeten her again with ogling Smiles, look Babies in her Eyes, and vow she’s handsome; and when she thinks each artful Glance has caught me, that now’s the time to Conquer, and to Laugh, and with malicious Cunning mentions Marriage, I’ll start, and change, and beg her not to name it, for ’tis a Thought that rouses Madness in me, ’till out of Spight and Spleen, and Woman’s Curiosity, the Knot’s abruptly ty’d, to prove my feign’d Resolves, and boast her Power.

Sir Har. Tis well design’d, and may the Soldier animate the Lover: For my part, I’m so devoted to my Pleasures, and so strangely bigotted to a single Life, I have sold an Estate of Two thousand a Year, to buy an Annuity of Four: I love to Rake and Rattle thro’ the Town, and each Amusement, as it happens, pleases. The Ladies call me Mad Sir Harry, a Careless, Affable, Obliging Fellow, whom, when they want, they send for. I wear good Cloaths to ’Squire’em up and down; have Wit enough to Chat, and make’em Giggle, and Sense enough to keep their Favours secret But from Romantick Love, Good Heav’n defend me. A Moment’s Joy’s not worth an Age’s Courtship; and when the Nymph’s Demure, and Dull and Shy, and Foolish and Freakish, and Fickle, there are Billiards at the Smyrna, Bowles at Marybone, and Dice at the Groom-Porter’s Are you for the Noon-Park.

Col. With all my Heart.

Sir Har. There the Beau-Monde appear in all their Splendour Here, Shrimp, [Enters.] entertain the Collonel’s Servant An Hour hence you’ll hear of us at White’s. [Exeunt.

Shr. Mr. Knapsack, are you for a Dish of Bohee: My Master has been just drinking, and the Water boils [Goes out, and returns with a Tea-Table.

Knap. Not to incommode you about it, Mr. Shrimp.

Shr. Well, Mr. Knapsack, we brave Britains conquer all before us: Why you have done Wonders this Campaign.

Knap. Ay, Mr. Shrimp, the Name of an English General Thunder-strikes the French, as much as it invigorates the Allies; for when he comes, he cuts you off Ten or Twenty thousand, with the same Ease as a Countryman wou’d mow down an Acre of Corn; tho’, after all, I was in some pain for our Forces, not being able to do ’em any personal Service; for you must know, Mr. Shrimp, I am mightily subject to Convulsions, and just before ev’ry Engagement I was unluckily seiz’d with so violent a Fit, they were forc’d to carry me back to the next wall’d Town.

Shr. Are you for much Sugar in your Tea, Sir?

Knap. As much as you please, Sir.

Shr. Have you made many Campaigns, Mr. Knapsack?

Knap. This was the first, Mr. Shrimp, and I’m not positive that I shall ever make another; for next Summer, I believe, some Business of moment will confine me to this Kingdom Pray, Mr. Shrimp, why don’t you exert your self in the Service; the Gentlemen of the Army wou’d be glad of so sprightly an Officer as you among ’em.

Shr. O dear, Mr. Knapsack, I’m of so unfortunate a Stature, they’d trample me under their Feet; besides, I have no Genius to Fighting; I cou’d like a Commission in a Beau-Regiment, that always stays at home, because a Scarlet-Lac’d-Suit, a Sash and Feather command Respect, keep off Creditors, and make the Ladies fly into our Arms.

Knap. Ay, Mr. Shrimp, I don’t doubt but you have good store of Mistresses. Why you look a little thin upon the matter, ha!

Shr. No, no, Mr. Knapsack, I’m as moderate at that Sport, as any Man; I must own, when a pretty Lady comes betimes in a Morning to my Master, and he, poor Gentleman, is in a dead Sleep with hard Drinking, I do now and then take her into the next Room, play the Fool with her a little till my Master wakes, then give her a Dram of Surfeit-Water, and put her to Bed to him, now there’s Safety in such an Amour, for my Master hasn’t his Mistresses from a profess’d Baud; I have found him out a conscientious old Gentlewoman, that’s one of the sober Party, and acquainted with most Citizens Daughters, that have as much Inclination to turn Whores as a Chamber-Maid out of Place, and the old Lady is so passionately fond of my Master, because he was once so charitable to do her the Favour, she sends him the choicest of all her Ware but to pick up a dirty Drab in the Eighteen-penny-Gallery, with a rusty black Top-knot, a little Flower in her Hair, a turn’d Smock, and no Stockings, the Jade wou’d poyson you like Eighteen-penny-Wine.

Knap. I find, Mr. Shrimp, you Gentlemens Gentlemen have all your Cues.

Shr. Ah! Mr. Knapsack, there’s more goes to the finishing of a true Valet, than tying a Wig smartly, or answering a Dun genteely. I have sometimes such weighty Matters warring in my Brains, and a greater Conflict with my self how I shall manage ’em, than a Merchant’s Cash-keeper, that’s run away with two thousand Pounds, and can’t resolve whether he shall trust the Government with it, or put it into the East India Company I only wish it were my Fate to serve some Statesman in Business; for Pimping often tosses a Man into a Place of three hundred a Year, when Mony shall be refus’d, Merit repuls’d, and Relations thought impudent for pretending to’t. But, I believe, Mr. Knapsack, our Hour’s elaps’d, for tho’ our Masters may n’t want us, we that are at Board-wages love to smell out where they dine.

Knap. The Motion, Mr. Shrimp, is admirable, for really the Tea begins to rake my Guts confoundedly. [Exeunt.

SCENE Changes to Lady Rodomont’s.

Enter Lady Rodomont, and Mrs. Lovejoy, follow’d by a Servant.

Ser. Madam, the Mercer, the Manto-Maker, the Sempstress, the India-Woman, and the Toy-Man attend your Ladiship without.

L. Rod. Admit ’em, this Grandeur, Cozen, which those o’ Quality assume above the Populace, to have obsequious Mechanicks wait our Levee in a Morning, is not disagreeable; then they are as constant as our Menials, and the less Mony one pays ’em, the more constantly they attend.

Mrs. Lov. Those Ladies, Madam, that want Mony to pay ’em, wou’d gladly excuse their Attendance.

L. Rod. Cozen, ‘tis Ill-breeding to suppose People o’ Quality want Mony, they have Business, Visits, Company, and very often are not in a Humour to part with it; when we have Mony, we are easie, whether we pay it or no; and ’tis affronting the Nobility, not to observe their Decorums.

The Trades-People Enter.

[To the Mercer.] Mr. Farendine, this Silk has so glaring a Mixture of preposterous Colours, I shall be taken for a North Country Bride; and so very substantial, I believe you design’d it for my Heirs and Successours.

Mer. Madam, ’tis a very well wrought Silk.

L. Rod. So well wrought, it may serve one in a Family for twenty
Generations. Have you sold any Wedding Suits lately?

Mer. Yes, Madam, I sold a yellow and white Damask, lin’d with a Cherry and blew Sattin, and a Goslin green Petticoat to Mrs. Winifred Widgeon i’the Peak, that marry’d Squire Hog o’ Darby, ’twas her Grandmother Trott’s Fancy.

L. Rod. Nay, those old Governants, that were Dames of Honour to Queen Bess, make their Daughters appear as monstrous in this Age, as they themselves did in that. Well, Mr. Farendine, when you have any thing slight and pretty, let me see it. [To the Manto-Maker] Mrs. Flounce, this Sleeve is most abominably cut.

Mant. Mak. Madam, ’tis exacly the Shape of my Lady Snipe’s, and she s allow’d to be the Pink o’the Mode.

L. Rod. My Lady Snipe, who ever heard of her?

Mrs. Lov. Oh! Madam, that’s the over-dress’d Lady in Fuller’s Rents, the first in England, that wore Flow’rs in her Hair; She has 5000_l._ indeed, but they say ’tis in bad Hands, and the Town has neglected her these ten Years.

L. Rod. And wou’d you have me appear like a Turn-stile Creature? why d’you work for such Trumpery? have you not Business enough from Court.

Mant. Mak. Truly, Madam, I’m glad to accept of a Gown from any Body; for the Ladies, now-a-days, are grown so saving, they make all their Petticoats themselves.

L. Rod. Don’t you work into the City too?

Mant. Mak. Yes, Madam, I have eleven Gowns to finish against Sunday, for very good Customers, and very religious People.

L. Rod. Religious People! This Creature is so employ’d by the Canaille, I shall have my Cloths cut to pieces, dear Cozen, let Buda make me a Suit with Expedition, I’ll present this to the Play-House.

Semp. Does your Ladyship like your Head, Madam?

L. Rod. The Lace, Mrs. Taffety, is so course and so heavy, I’m ready to sink beneath the weight of it.

Semp. Madam, ’tis right Mechlin, cost me Six Guineas a Yard, and I bought it too of a Merchant, that has smuggl’d many a hundred Pounds worth.

L. Rod. There you please me, English People are extremely fond of what’s forbid, we commonly obey our Parents, and the Government much a-like; and tho’ the State prohibits Flanders Lace, French Alamodes, and India Sattins, we have ’em all by the way of Holland. These Ruffles too are so furiously starch’d, I shall throw People down as I move along.

Semp. The Ladies, Madam, love a stiff Ruffle, for shou’d the Wind blow it aside, your Ladyship’s Elbow might catch cold, but I’ll slacken my Hand i’the next. Does your Ladyship want a very fine short Apron?

L. Rod. Women o’ Quality, Mrs. Taffety have left ’em off, and those Ladies that do wear ’em, generally make ’em of their old Top-knots [to the India Woman] Mrs. Japan, you are a Stranger here, I hav’n’t seen you since I paid off your last Bill,

Ind. Wom. Oh, Madam! I have been at Death’s Door, the Hypocondriacks have so prey’d upon my Spirits, they have destroy’d my Constitution, such Rotations i’my Head, such an Oppression at my Stomach but I ha’ brought you a Pound of Bohee, so purifying, ’twill give your Ladyship a new Mass of Blood in a Quarter of an Hour.

L. Rod. Mrs. Chince has much better.

Ind. Wom. Then will I eat Mrs. Chince. Shall I show you some fine India Pictures?

L. Rod. I hate those Shadows o’ Men half finish’d.

Ind Wom. I must own the Substance of a Man well finish’d is much better, but here’s a Set o’Japan Cups will ravish your Ladyship, a Tradesman’s Wife long’d, and miscarry’d about ’em.

L. Rod. I’m overstock’d with China, and they say ’tis grown so common. I intend to sacrifice mine to my Monkey.

Ind. Wom. Nay, pray, my Lady, buy somewhat of me, you know I’m in great Tribulation, I trusted a couple of Trollops, that were turn’d out of the Play-House, for having too much Assurance for the Stage, and set up a little Shop in Spring Garden; and the bold Jades are gone a stroling Fifty Pounds in my Debt. Besides, I have just now a lazy Trull of a Daughter, that run away with a Foot Soldier, return’d big with the Lord knows what, and that’s no small Charge to me, that am forc’d to pad it about for a Livelihood.

L. Rod. Well, you may leave a Pound of Powder.

Ind. Wom. [Aside.] A Pound of Powder, pox o’your Generosity, these great Ladies are grown as stingy as if they paid one ready Mony, were it not for a City-bubble now and then, I might e’en go dance with the Dogs in May-Fair.

L. Rod. [To the Toy-Man.] Mr. Gimcrack, what new Fancies have you brought this Morning?

Toy-M. A Pair of nice Genoa Gloves for your Ladyship, curiously made up in a gilt Wallnut Shell.

L. Rod A Wallnut Shell! they can’t be large enough.

Toy-M. Madam, I sold six Pair to my Lady Strammell, and her Arm’s nine Inches Diameter.

L. Rod. What else have you?

Toy-M. A choice Comb for your Eye-brows, Madam, an acute Pair o’ Pinchers for your Hair, and a most ingenious French Knife to slice the Powder of your Ladyship’s Forehead, with Tongs, Shovels, Grates, and Fenders for your Ladyship’s Tea-Table.

L. Rod. Well, carry the things in, let your Bills be deliver’d to the Steward, and I’ll order some part of your Mony.

All. We humbly thank your Ladyship. [Exeunt.

L. Rod. Now, Cozen, we have dispatch’d these necessary Animals; pray, tell me how the Town relishes my Appearance.

Mrs. Lov. Your Ladyship’s inimitable Graces, and our vast Successes abroad are the Topicks that furnish all Conversation; one Lady cries at the gilt Chariot, another swoons at the prancing Horses; and my old Lady Lack-it, swears you have so handsom a Set of Foot-men, the dreams of nothing else; then your Ladyship’s Furniture is most surprizing, ev’ry thing was so admir’d, and handl’d last Visiting-day, the Ladies left little of it behind ’em.

L. Rod. Bagatelle! Ladies steal from one another, not for the Value of the thing, but to make an Alteration in their Closets. But what do the Malitious say, am I envy’d, Cozen, I wou’d n’t ha’ the Fatigue of an Estate, unless I cou’d make the World uneasie about it.

Mrs. Lov. Oh! Spleen, Spleen, Madam, to the last Degree my Lady Testy has tore fifty Fans about you, broke all her China, and beat her Foot-man’s Eye out; she says, ’tis a burning Shame, you monopolize all the Fellows in the Town; and truly, there’s a Statute against ingrossing. My Lady Prudence Maxim, cries, A fine Estate is a fine Thing, finely manag’d, but to overdo at first, to undo at last. And Mrs. Indigo, the Merchant’s Wife, says, If you knew the getting on’t, you wou’d n’t spend it so fast.

L. Rod. I have six thousand a Year, and resolve to live single, and enjoy it; I have made the Tour of Italy and France, have given my self the Accomplishment of both Sexes, and design to Visit, Game, Revel, dust the Park, haunt the Theatres, and out-flutter e’er a Fop i’the Nation; and I know not why a Lady that has the best Estate i’the County shou’d n’t represent ’em in Parliament.

Mrs. Lov. But launching out too far, Madam, may draw Reflections on your Conduct, the English Ladies are more reserv’d than Foreigners.

L. Rod. The English Ladies! Shall a Corner of Europe teach me Decorums, that have travers’d the whole. The French Ladies admire my Gayety; the Italians are ravish’d with my Grandeur, and if the English Ladies do blame my Conduct, who values the Censure of a little Island. Oh! what Transports do I feel, to provoke the Eyes and Whispers of the Multitude, Whose Equipage is that My Lady Rodomont’s? Whose Visiting-day is it My Lady Rodomont’s? Who bespoke the Play to Night My Lady Rodomont? But when she’s once marry’d What “Gentlewoman’s that with the great Belly Sir Marmaduke Mortgage’s Wife, that’s come to Town to buy Clouts, her Husband lost his Estate at Roly-poly. She’s mighty Big indeed, I’m afraid she’ll ha’ two. Unless one cou’d find out some Plant of a Husband, with Life and no Soul; a governable, drudging Creature, that wou’d love, honour and obey his Wife; and know so little of his own Prerogative, as to change his Name for her.

Mrs. Lov. Really, Madam, I’m o’ your Opinion, I’d have Petticoat-Government pass thro’ the Nation; the Ladies shou’d possess the Estates, and make their Husbands a Jointure.

L. Rod. While a Woman o’ Fortune remains unmarry’d, she’s a Petty-Queen; Lovers innumerable trace her Steps; each Coxcomb thinks to be the happy Man, and ev’ry were her Presence makes a Court but when her Reason’s once subdu’d by Love, and the fond, foolish Nymph resigns her Pow’r, she’s but a meer Appendix to a Fellow.

No more her darling Liberty can boast,
Lovers no more her quondam Beauties toast,
But all her Pleasure, Pride and Charms are lost.