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lago. Why, but you are now well dren: but you need not be told, that nei. enough: how came you thus recovered ? ther conjugal attachments, maternal affec

Caf. It has pleased the devil Drunken. tions, nor even the care of a kingdom's ness to give place to the devil Wrath, one welfare or a nation's glory, can excuse a imperfectness shews me another, to make person who has received a summons to the me frankly despise myself,

realms of death. If the grim messenger lago. Come, you are too severe a mo- was not as peremptory as unwelcome, raler. As the time, the place, and the Charon would not get a passenger (except condition of this country stands, I could now and then a hypocondriacal Englishheartily with this had not befallen; but man) once in a century. You muit be fince it is as it is, mend it for your own content to leave your husband and family, good.

and pass the Styx. Cal. I will ask him for my place again Mrs. Modish. I did not mean to infis he shall tell me I am a drunkard ! on any engagement with my husband and Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an children; I never thought myself engaged aniwer would stop them all. To be now a

to them. I had no engagements but fuch sensible man, by and by a fool, and pre- as were common to women of my rank. sently a beaft!Every inordinate cup is Look on my chimney-piece, and you will unbless'd, and the ingredient is a devil. fee I was engaged to the play on Mondays,

lago. Come, come, good wine is a good balls on Tuesdays, the opera on Saturdays, familiar creature, if it be well us'd; ex- and to card allemblies the rest of the week, claim no more against it. And, good Lieu- for two months to come ; and it would be tenant, I think you think I love you. the rudest thing in the world not to keep

Caf.. I have well approv'd it, Sir.-I my appointments. If you will stay for me drunk !

till the summer season, I will wait on you Ingo. You, or any man living, may be with all my heart. Perhaps the Elysian drunk at some time, man. I tell you what fields may be less detestable than the counyou mall do. Our general's wife is now try in our world. Pray, have you a fine the general. Confess yourself freely to Vauxhall and Ranelagh? I think I Mould her :

: importune her help, to put you in not dislike drinking the Lethe waters, your place again. She is of so free, so when you have a full season. kind, so apt. to blessed a disposition, the Mercury. Surely you could not like to holds it a vice in her goodness not to do drink the waters of oblivion, who have more than the is requefied. This broken made pleasure the business, end, and aim joint between you and her husband, entreat of your life! It is good to drown cares : her to splinter: and, my fortunes against but who would wash away the remembrance any lay worth naming, this crack of your of a life of gaiety and pleasure ? love shall grow stronger than it was be- Mrs. Modish. Diversion was indeed the fore.

bufiness of my life ; but as to pleasure, I Caf. You advise me well

have enjoyed none since the novelty of my lago. I protest, in the fincerity of love amusements was gone off. Can one be and honest kindness.

pleased with seeing the same thing over Caf. I think it freely; and, betimes in and over again ? Late hours and fatigue the morning, I will beleech the virtuous gave me the vapours, spoiled the natural Desdemona to undertake for me.

chearfulness of my temper, and even in lago. You are in the right. Good night, youth wore away my natural vivacity. Lieutenant: I must to the watch.

Mercury. If this way of life did not Caf. Good night, honest lago. give you pleasure, why did you continue

Shakespeare, in it? I suppose you did not think it was

very meritorious ?

Mrs. Modish. I was too much engaged § 26. A Dialogue betwveen MERCURY to think at all: so far indeed my manner and a modern fine Lady.

of life was agreeable enough. My friends Mrs. Modish. Indeed, Mr. Mercury, I always told me diversions were necessary, cannot liave the pleasure of waiting upon and my doctor assured me dissipation was you now, I am engaged, absolutely en- good for my spirits ; my husband infiited gaged.

that it was not ; ånd you know that one Niercury. I know yon have an amiable loves to oblige one's friends, comply with affectionate husband, and several fine chil- one's doctor, and contradict one's huiband;


and besides, I was ambitious to be thought and for that which you have just concluded. du bon ton *.

Minos is a four old gentleman, without the Mercury. Bon ton! what's that, Ma- least smattering of the bon ton; and I am dam? Pray define it.

in a fright for you. The best thing I can Mrs. Modis. Oh, Sir, excuse me; it advise you is, to do in this world as you did is one of the privileges of the bon ton never in the other, keep happinels in your view, to define or be defined. It is the child but never take the road that leads to it. and the parent of jargon. It is I can Remain on this side Styx; wander about never tell you what it is; but I will try to without end or aim; look into the Elysian tell you what it is not. In conversation it fields, but never attempt to enter into them, is not wit; in manners it is not politeness; left Minos should push you into Tartarus; in behaviour it is not address; but it is a for duties neglected may bring on a sen. little like them all. It can only belong to tence not much less severe than crimes people of a certain rank, who live in a cer- committed. Dialogues of the Dead. tain manner, with certain persons who have not certain virtues, aud who have certain § 27. Scene between, the Jerus SHYLOCK vices, and who inhabit a certain part of and TUBAL; in wbich the latter alter, the town. Like a place by courtesy, it nately torments and pleases the former, by gets an higher rank than the person can giving him an Account of the Extravagance claim, but which those who have a legal of his Daughter JESSICA, and tbe Miss title to precedency dare not dispute, for fear

fortunes of ANTONIO. of being thought not to undertand the rules of politeness. Now, Sir, I have told you Shy. How now, Tubal? What news as much as I know of it, though I have ad- from Genoa? halt thou heard of my mired and aimed at it all


daughter? Mercury. Then Madam, you have wasted Tub. I often came where I did hear of your time, faded your beauty, and de- her, but cannot find her. Atroyed your health, for the laudable pur- Shy. Why there, there, there! a dia. poses of contradicting your husband, and mond gone that cost me two thousand dubeing this something and this nothing cal- cats in Francfort! The curse never fell led the bon ton

upon our nation till now; I never felt it Mrs. Modish. What would you have had till now. Two thousand ducats in that, me do?

and other precious, precious jewels! I Miercury. I will follow your mode of would my daughter were dead at my foot, instructing: I will tell you what I would and the jewels in her ear! O would she not have had you do. I would not have were hears’d at my foot, and the ducats in had you sacrifice your time, your reason, her coffin! No news of them; and I know and your duties to fashion and folly. I not what spent in the search: loss upon would not have had you negle&t your huf- loss! the thief gone with so much, and so band's happiness, and your children's edu- much to find the thief; and no satisfaction, cation.

no revenge; no ill luck stirring but what Mrs. Modish. As to my daughters' edu. lights on my shoulders; no fighs, but o' çation I spared no expence: they had a my breathing: no tears, but of my sheddancing-malter, music-mafter, and draw. ding! ing-maiter, and a French governess to

Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too! teach them behaviour and the French lan- Antonio, as I heard in Genoa guage.

Shy. What, what, what? ill luck, ill Mercury. So their religion, sentiments, luck ? and manners, were to be learnt from a Tub. Hath an argosie cast away, comdancing-master, music-master, and a cham- ing from Tripoli. ber-maid! perhaps they might prepare

Shy. Thank God! thank God! is it them to catch the bon ton. Your daughters true? is it true? must have been so educated as to fit them

Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors to be wives without conjugal affection, and that escaped the wreck. mothers without maternal care. I am sorry

Sby. I thank thee, good Tubal; good for the sort of life they are commencing, news, good news ! . Du bon ton is a cant phrase in the modern

Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, French language, for the fashionable air of conver

as I heard, in one night, fouşscore dulation and manners.





Sly. Thou stick'st a dagger in me; I P. Henry. Why, what's the matter? shall never see my gold again : fourscore


Are you not a coward? answet dacats at a fitting ! fourscore ducats!

me that. Tub. There came divers of Antonio's P. Henry. Ye fat paunch, an' ye call creditors in my company to Venice, that me coward, I'll flab thee. Swear he cannot but break.

Fal. I call thee coward! I'l fee thee Sby. I'm glad of it: I'll plague him, hang'd ere I'll call thee coward; but I I'll torture him: I am glad of it.

would give a thousand pound I could run Pub. One of them shew'd me a ring as fast as thou canst. You are strait enough that he had of your daughter for a mon- in the shoulders; you care not who sees key.

your back. Call you that backing of your Sby. Out upon her! thou torturest me, friends ? a plague upon such backing ! Tubal! it was my ruby, I had it of Leah give me them that will face me-give me when I was a batchelor; I would not have a cup of sack: I am a rogue if I drank given it for a wilderness of monkies. to-day.

Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. P. Henry. O villain! thy lips are scarce

Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true: wip'd since thou drank’ft last. go fee me an officer, bespeak him a fort. Fal. All's one for that. (He drinks.

. night before. I will have the heart of A plague of all cowards! ftill, fay I. him, if he forfeit; for were he out of P. Henry. What's the matter? Venice, I can make what merchandize I Fal. What's the matter! here be four will. Go, go, Tubal, and meet me at of us have ta'en a thousand pound this oar synagogue; go, good Tubal; at our morning. fynagogue. Tubal. Shakespeare. P. Henry. Where is it, Jack? where

is it? Humourous Scene between Prince

Fal. Where is it! taken from us, it is: Henry and FALSTAFF, in which the

a hundred upon four of us. Prince detects FALSTAFF's monstrous

P. Henry. What! a hundred, man? Lies.

Fal. I am a rogue if I were not at halfP. Henry. Welcome, Jack !-Where sword with a dozen of them two hours tohaft thou been?

gether. I have escaped by miracle. I am Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, eight times thrust through the doublet, four and a vengeance too, marry and amen! through the hose, my buckler cut through Give me a cup of sack, boy :-ere I lead and through, my sword hack'd like a handthis life long, I'll sew nether socks and faw, ecce fignum! I never dealt better since mend them, and foot them too. A plague I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all cowards! give me a cup of sack, of all cowards ! rogue. Is there no virtue extant?


P. Henry. What, fought you with them drinks.]-You rogue, here's lime in this all ? sack too. There is nothing but roguery

Fal. All! I know not what ye call all; to be found in villainous man; yet a cow- but if I fought not with fifty of them, I am ard is worse than a cup of sack with lime in a bunch of radilh; if there were not two it. A villainous coward !--Go thy ways, or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood, Iam no two-legg’d creature. good manhood, be not forgot upon the P. Henry. Pray Heav'n you have not face of the earth, then am I a shotten her murdered some of them! ring. There live not three good men un- Fal. Nay, that's past praying for. I hang'd in England, and one of them is fat, have pepper'd two of them; two, I am and grows

old, Heaven help the while ! A sure, I have paid; two rogues in buckram bad world! I say- A plague of all cow- fuits. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a ards! I say ftill.

lie, spit in my face, call me a horse. Thou P. Henry. How now, Woolfack! what knowet my old ward: here I lay, and thus mutter you?

1 Bore my point; four Fal. A king's fon! If I do not beat let drive at me. thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of P. Henry. What, four! thou saidit but Jath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee two even now. like a Rock of wild geese, I'll never wear Fal.

Four, Hal, I told thee on my face more! You Prince of These four came all a front, and mainly Wales !

thrust at me: I made no more ado, but


rogues in buckram




took all their seven points in my target,

can shew it you here in the house. And, thus.

Falstaff, you carry'd your guts away as P. Henry. Seven! why they were but nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roar'd

. four even now.

for mercy, and still ran and roar'd, as ever Fal. In buckram?

I heard a bull-calf. What a llave art thou, P. Henry. Ay, four, in buckram suits. to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and Fal.

Seven by these hilts, or I am a then say it was in fight! What trick, what villain else. Dost thou hear me, Hal! device, what starting-hole canst thou now

P. Henry. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. find out, to hide thee from this open and

Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. apparent Mame? These nine in buckram, that I told thee of Fal. Ha! ha! ha!-D'ye think I P. Henry.

So, two more already, did not know you !-By the Lord, I knew Fal. Their points being broken, began you as well as he that made you. Why, to give me ground; but I follow'd me hear ye my master, was it for me to kill the close, came in foot and hand, and, with a heir-apparent? should I turn upon the true thought-seven of the eleven I paid. prince? why, thou knowest I am as valiant P. Henry.

O monstrous ! eleven buck. as Hercules; but beware instinct; the lion ram men grown out of two.

will not touch the true prince ; instinct is a Fal. But as the devil would have it, great matter. I was a coward on instinct, three misbegotten knaves,in Kendal-green, i grant you: and I shall think the better of came at my back, and let drive at me; myself and thee during my life; I for a (for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldīt valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. not see thy hand.)

But I am glad you have the money. Let P. Henry. These lies are like the father us clap to the doors; watch to-night, pray that begets them, gross as a mountain,

What, shall we be merry ? open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained shall we have a play extempore? guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou obscene P. Henry. Content !-and the argugreasy tallow-catch

ment shall be, thy running away. Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou Fal. Ah!-no more of that, Hal, if mad? is not the truth the truth?

thou loveit me.

Shakespeare. P. Henry. Why, how couldit thou know

§ 29.

Scene in which MOODY gives these men in Kendal-green, when it was so dark thou couldit not see thy hand? Come,

M ANLY an Account of the Journey to

LONDON. tell us your reason: what say’lt thou to this? Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. Manly. Honeft John!

Fal. What upon compulsion - No: Moody. Meafter Manly! I am glad I were I at the strappado, or all the racks in ha' fun ye.--Well, and how d'ye do, Meathe world, I would not tell you on compul

tter? fion! Give you a reason on compulsion ! Manly. I am glad to see you in LonIf reasons were as plenty as blackberries, don, I hope all the good family are well. I would give no man a reason upon com- Moody. Thanks be prais'd, your honour, pulfion.

they are all in pretty good heart; thof' we P. Henry. I'll be no longer guilty of have had a power of croftes upo' the road. this fin. This sanguine coward, this bed- Manly. What has been the matter, John? presser, this horse-back-breaker, this huge Moody. Why, we came up in such a hill of Aesh

hurry, you mun think, that our tackle was Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, not lo tight as it should be. you dry'd neat's tongue, you ftock-fish! Manly. Come, tell us all-Pray, how O, for breath to utter! what is like thee? do they travel? you taylor's yard, you fheath, you bow- Moody. Why, i'the awld coach, Meacase, you vile standing tuck

ster; and 'cause my Lady loves to do things P. Henry. Well, breathe a while, and handsome, to be sure, the would have a then to't again; and when thou haft tir’d couple of cart-horses clapt to the four old thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak geldings, that neighbours might see the but this :-Poins and I saw you four set on went up to London in her coach and fix; four; you bound them, and were masters and so Giles Joulter, the ploughman, rides of their wealth: mark now, how a plain poftillion. tale shall put you down. Then did we two Manly. And when do you expect them fet on you four, and with a word out-fac'd here, John? you from your prize, and have it, yea, and Moody. Why, we were in hopes to ha'




come yesterday, an' it had no' been that that I wish you, unless you have at the th'awid weazle-belly horse tired: and then fame time at leait an equal portion of we were so cruelly loaden, that the two fore- judgment to keep it in good order) wear wheels came crash down at once, in Wag- it, like your sword, in the scabbard, and do gon-rut-lane, and there we loft four hours not blandish it to the terror of the whole 'fore we could set things to rights again. company. Wit is a fhining quality, that

Manly. So they bring all their baggage every body admirės; most people aim at with the coach, then ?

it, all people fear it, and few love it, unless Moody. Ay, ay, and good store on't in themselves:-a man must have a good there is Why, my lady's gear alone were share of wit himself, to endure a great hare as much as filled four portmantel erunks, in another. When wit exerts itself in satire, besides the great deal box that heavy Ralph it is a molt malignant distemper: wit, it is and the monkey fit behind.

true, may be fnewin in satire, but fatire Manly. Ha, ha, ha !- And, pray, how does not constitute wit, as many imagine. many are they within the coach?

A man of wit ought to find a thousand Moody. Why there's my lady and his better occasions of shewing it. worfhip, and the younk 'squoire, and Miss Abitain, therefore, moit carefully from Jenny, and the fat lap-dog, and my lady's fatire; which, though it fall on no particumaid Mrs. Handy, and Doll Tripe the lar person in company, and momentarily, cook, that's all-only Doll puked a little from the malignancy of the human heart, with riding backward; so they hoisted her plea'es all; yet, upon refle&tion, it frightinto the coach-box, and then her ftomach ens all too. Every one thinks it may be was easy.

his turn next; and will hate you for what Manly. Ha, ha, ha!

he finds you could say of him, more than Moody. Then you mun think, Measter, be obliged to you for what you do not say. there was some stowage for the belly, as Fear and hatred are next-door neighwell as th' back too; children are apt to bours: the more wit you havé, the more be famifh'd upo' the road; fo we had such good-nature and politeness you must fhew, cargoes of plumb cake, and baskets of to induce people to pardon your superioritongues, and biscuits, and cheese, and cold ty; for that is no easy matter. boil'd beef-and then, in case of sickness, Appear to have rather less than more bottles of cherry-brandy, plague-water, wit than you really have. A wise man sack, tent, and strong beer so plenty, as will live at least as much within his wit as made th’awld coach crack again. Mercy his income. Content yourself with good upon them! and send them all well to sense and reason, which at the long run town, I say.

are ever sure to please every body who has Manly. Ay,and well out on't again, John. either; if wit comes into the bargain, wel.

Moody. Meafter! you're a wise mon! come it, but never invite it. Bear this truth and, for that matter, so am I-Whoam's always in your mind, that you may be adwhoam, I say: I am sure we ha' got but mired for your wit, if you have any; but little good e'er fin' we turn'd our backs that nothing but good sense and good quaon't. Nothing but mischief! fome de. lities can make you be beloved. These are vil's trick or other plagued us aw th' day fubftantial every day's wear: whereas wit lung. Crack, goes one thing! bawnce, is a holiday-fuit, which people put on goes another! Woa! says Roger-Then, chiefly to be stared at. fowse! we are all set fast in a slough. There is a species of minor wit, which Whaw! cries Miss: Scream! go ihe is much used, and much more abused; I maids; and bawl just as thof' they were mean raillery. It is a molt mischievous* stuck. And so, mercy on us! this was the and dangerous weapon, when in unskilful trade from morning to night.

and clumsy hands; and it is much safer Manly. Ha, ha, ha!

to let it quite alone than to play with it; Moody. But I mun hie me whoam; the and yet almost every body plays with it, coach will be coming every hour naw. though they see daily the quarrels and Manly. Well, honeft John

heart-burnings that it occasions. Moody. Dear Meafter Manly! the good- The injustice of a bad man is sooner ness of goodness bless and preserve you! forgiven than the insults of a witty one;

the former only hurts one's liberty and pro$ 30. Directions for the Management of perty; but the latter hurts and mortifies Wit.

that secret pride which no human breaftig If you have wit (which I am not sure free from.' I will allow, that there is a


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