SCENE I.

Sir Felix Friendly and Compton discovered sitting, John and Thomas waiting behind, country lads and lasses at a distance, singing chorus as the curtain rises.

There there, get you gone all to the lawn, and be as merry as good cheer, strong beer, and the pipe and tabour can make you.

Long life and happy days to our master sir Felix!

O Compton! I'm so happy to-day! Isn't that your old servant Thomas?

Ay, sir Felix, now my only servant: fidelity roots the poor fellow in a barren soil.

Desire Lingo to come here,

Here Thomas, drink my health,

We'll have none of our verdure wither [Page 4] to day, for want of moisture.

Ah, friend Compton, had you but continued partnership with me to this day, well—Ay, ay, I stuck to Blackwell-hall, till I converted my wool into a golden fleece. You must, like a silly sheep, go privateering, and so be fleeced by the French and Spaniards.

Why, sir Felix, no reflections on the part you have taken, I thought it more honour­able to be shorn in facing the foe, than in safety to carry back a branded fleece, by flying from the enemies of my country.

Well said, my old battering ram. You're a loyal subject, and shall never be without his Majesty's picture, while I have a collection. A friend to the King should never want his countenance. You're a true patriot too; and it's a pity, that a lover of his country should ever be in want of the blessings she produces. But come, give me the song that first set you agog on pri­vateering.

Sir Felix, I shan't repine at my private losses, so long as we can keep the dominion of the sea, and preserve the Trident put into our hands by our valiant forefathers.

[Page 5]

Thank ye, thank ye, old partner I Od! I'm so happy to-day!

Pray, sir, Felix, may I beg to know the cause of this happiness, and these extraordi­nary preparations?

Why Compton, 'tis necessary you should know this day is a triple festival, a little calendar, man, my birth day, harvest home, and Laura's wedding.

My daughter! To whom, sir Felix?

To my son.

Eugene! I'm surprised!

I love to surprise people with good news.— You know this was always my intention.

And is this all certain?

True as that you have brought up my son as yours, and I your daughter as an orphan that I had adopted. You know they love each other, and in this union of hearts my grand point is answered. I am so happy my son, by thinking himself not worth a shilling, has escaped the foppery and ideas of dissipation he might have imbibed from a knowledge of be­ing heir to my fortune; and in your Laura I shall have a daughter-in-law possessed of sense to distin­guish [...] it, though linked to poverty, and gene­rosity to reward it with her heart.

Dear sir Felix, this goodness to a child of mine, is a measure I—

You wicked man, would you oppose goodness?— Ha, ha, ha! this is pleasant Laura loves Eugene, though she thinks he's not worth a groat; and though he doats upon her, yet, awed by her fortune, the poor fool fighs at hnmble distance. Yes; and egad! there were folks sigh­ing for him too. Why, do you know, Compton, he has made a conquest of a rich cheesemonger's widow in the Borough, who supposing him much poorer than herself, forced money upon him to lure his affections. Ha, ha, ha! this old mouldy [Page 6] vidow will have him in spite of his teeth; and thinking him still incapable of repaying her in coin, actually designs to hunt him with an at­torney, and follow him here into the country, to force him into marriage. Ha, ha, ha! but where's Eugene now? because the bridegroom's presence is necessary at a wedding you know.

I left him at home drawing.

At study how to. get his bread by scratching upon copper, or daubing canvass. Ha, ha, ha!

True, sir Felix. From the idea he, has Fortune still to court, he is diligent in improv­ing every grace, and acquiring every accomplish­ment that can render him worthy of her favour.

And Laura in London, laying out a few hondreds I gave her this morning.

Without an idea that I am her fa­ther, and even breathe but from your bounty. O sir Felix! to so many obligations in the, scale, gratitude is a feather.

Then keep it to yourself, you feather-headed goose, Arn't we to be happy?— Compton, you took me into partnership with you, when all my stock was a little honesty; a poor capital, as the world goes! I have now the; means, you the inclination. And were you rich, and I poor, I know you'd act by me, as I mean to do by you. Here! Lingo, Lingo!

I see you have brought home your new butler.

Yes, sir; but he's a curst fellow, as ignorant as dirt, It seeems he has been a schoolmaster here in the country, taught all the bumpkin fry what he calls Latin; and the damn'd dog so patches his own bad English with his bits of bad Latin, and jumbles the Gods, Goddesses, Heroes celestial and infernal together at such a rate; I took him to oblige a foolish old friend of mine, who intended him for Saint Omers; so I [Page 7] must keep him to draw good wine, and brew bal­derdash Latin.—Lingo!

I see a carriage coming down the avenue.

Eh! it's Laura. Step you home for Eugene. D'ye hear, Compton? not a word till I break the matter myself. Edod! they'll be as happy!

I am sure they will be perfectly so.

I'll puzzle 'em a little first though; their surprise and joy will be the greater.

Eh! Laura! welcome home, my girl.

I thank you, sir.—Here, Fringe, take these things into the house.

Yes, Madam.

Here, we are, eh!—very well.— Laid out all your cash?—Well, well.—Did n't run in debt I hope?

No sir; your kindness amply sup­plied me.

[Page 8]

That's right. But come—your journal.

Now will he pretend to rail at my exravagance, altho' he delights in every wish of mine.

First, sir, I rattled up to my Milliner's in Bond street—Mrs. Bufont has a charming taste.—There's a cap, sir;—the very crown of elegance!

And cost a crown in silver, I war­rant now!

A crown! dear sir, it's cheap of three guineas.

Three guineas!—Bond-street!— They make mighty pretty caps in Cranbourn-alley.

True. sir. But if we don't yield a little to the fashions of the times, we shall make a rusty appearance to our polished neighbours of the Continent.

Laura, I like a medium. I'll nei­ther rust in particularity, nor will I be a weather­cock to every puff of fashion.

For a trip or so, I should have no objection to a snuff at the air of Fontainbleau; should like to see the little chapel at Loretto, or the great tun of Heidelburg, or the Escurial, the bull feast, the goblins, tapestry, or, no offence [Page 9] to his Holiness's great toe, to pop my nose into the Vatican. But after all, I should be, un­fashionable enough to prefer little England to all the gardens and fountains of France, and paiaces and conversationi of Italy.

I apprehend, sir, I should be some­what of your opinion in that particular.

Ha, ha, ha!—Poor Laura, I'll surprise you presently.—Lingo!—Where is this crazy butler of mine? Lingo!—O! here he comes at last. Now will he pester me with his damn'd barbarous Latin.—Lingo!

I'm here, Domine Felix.

Domine! I'll Domine your block­head against the wall, if you Domine me.

I won't, Domine Felix.

Again!

I've done, Domine Felix.

Are your knives and glasses, and every thing ready for.supper?

All ready, Domine Felix.

O damn your Domine!—Pray, Lingo, stir, and be clever;—a great deal to do; —And I beseech you, let ine hear no more of your curst Latin.

My curst Latin! a blessed ignorant; family this I have got. into!

Cudden, whither so fast?

I am going upon the lawn to be mer­ry, and to dance. with my sweetheart Cowslip the dairy-maid. We'll have such game!—

Game! Cudden, you must know the Olympic games were propria quae maribus mas­cula dicas.

I know nought of French, master Lingo. I loves to hear good English, becaufs as why, I speaks good English; and so good bye, meister butler.

O farmer Stump!

I can't stay.

You can't stay! O you Adonis of the wood!—Utsunt divorum, Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum.

I don't understand Greek.

Ay, ay, all my Latin's Greek, to these people, you unhappy clowns, oh you Cyclops! they know nothing, nor won't be learned. Not a soul in the house will listen to me but Cowslip the dairy-maid; and she's going to jig it upon the lawn with the dancing sawns and rusty bump­kins. And here she comes.

My sweet Cowslip, properly called Cowslip. Nominativo hanc, huc. et hoe

I have, put the. hock into the sylla­bub, Mr. Lingo, and here it is.

What a sensible soul it is!

Will you take it within, Mr. Lingo?

No child. I, prefer the air, Zephyrus, Aeolus, Boreas, and other gentle breezes will attend us here. I love the fragrant gales. [Page 11] Cow­slip sit down. You're a noun adjective, and must not stand by yourself. Let's have a toast.

I'll go bake one, sir.

No, I'll make one. Here's that the masculine may never be neuter to the feminine gender.

Here's that—ay, here's the masculine to. the feminine gender ( drinks) O Lord! I left out the neuter.

You. were, right. Recte, puella. I know these things, child, so did Ovid and Caesar.

What, Caeser, the great dog, sir;

No, child! Judas Caesar. Romulus and Remus were suckled by a wolf. They ravish­ed the Sabine girls, and found Rome in Italy.

Ah! such. fellows would find room any where.

Jupiter was a fine god. He swam on a bull to Europe, He went into a flash of fire for Semele.

Yes, sir, he'd go any lengths for his ale,

I. mean his amours.

O ay; he'd drink with Moors or Turks either.

Drink! who?

Who! why Jew Peter, the old clothes man.

O coelum in terra! for all my conver­sation, I find you know no more than the, par­sun of the parish. Ah, Cowslip, if you was a goddess! the goddesses knew men and things.

More shame for'em, Mr. Lingo, I say!

Jove loved an eagle, Mars a lion, Phoebus a cock, Venus a pigeon, Minerva loved an owl.

I.should not have thought of your cock lions, your owls, and your pigeons, if I was a goddess. Give me a roast duck.

[Page 12]

If you was Flora or Ceres!

Serus! I am serus.

O Cowslip, the great old heroes per­haps you have never heard of, Homer, Moses, Hecrules, or Wat Tyler!

No indeed, sir, not I.

Cowslip, don't love the Clowns. That fellow, that Cudden, is a colossus of the road. He's a clown, a mere pheasant; and yet, I sus­pect this Faunus, this young Silenus is the deity, the great Pan of the dairy.

I could not set my cream, sir, with­out a pan in the dairy.

O Cowslip, the fine gods but for a mortal exit Homo.

SCENE II. A Chamber.

Where can Eugene be? at home, over his books and painting I suppose. He'd be here if he thought I was come back. Yes, he is all tender­ness and attention; but his diffidence and pro­voking respect almost make me angry sometimes. How a little absence endears to us the object of our affection!

You have been in London, madam!

Just returned, Eugene. Why will you call me madam? you know! don't like it.

Impute my offence to the real cause, my respect to my divine Laura.

Send your respect back to its fource, the bounty of sir Felix:

My love, you have my heart, my life: But when I reflect on the distance my fare has thrown me from you, it checks my presumption. I endeavour to hide from self-contempt, and would, if possible, shrink from my own opinion.

What was I, Eugene? a poor, a­bandoned orphan; and but for the kind attention of sir Felix, I should be a wretched outcast, and experience the cold reception poverty must expect from a hard and sordid world.

O my love, had we been born hum­ble villagers; with my Laura I should have been happy.

And I too with, my Engene.

Compton, look there, a pair of tur­tles. Look, see there's looks of love.

Unfeigned affection indeed sir.

Egad! I'll surprise them. I'll disturb their tranquillity.

Dear sit—

Be quier, man: Their joy will be the greater afterwards.—Ha! Eugene! my boy, we han't had a dish of chat to-day.

The loss was mine, sir.

Compton, now for it.—Laura, do you knew that I am very happy to-day?

Dear sir, you never call be happier than I sincerely wish you.

I thank you, child—Yes, yes— Ha, ha, ha! I delight in a wedding.

Sir!—

We are to have wedding under this; roof to-night, Eugene.

Indeed sir?

Yes; I am going to marry.

Who sir?

Laura.

Me, sir!

[Page 15]

Yes; I am going to marry you to my son.

Son! Have you a son, sir?

He has, Eugene; a son worthy of such a father?

And he is to be united to Laura!

Yes, Eugene, he's a good lad. I'll assure you you'll like him exceedingly, Eugene. Egad! you'll never be out of his company. But he's at hand to bless my hopes, crown my wishes, and end my cares. You've no objection, Laura?

Gratitude, Sir, most ever make your will the guide of mine.—Till now I never felt the loss of a parent. ( Aside)

Never till now did I regret the want of a fortune. ( Aside)

My heart bleeds for them.

Nonsense! when happiness comes unexpected, it brings a double blessing, and cheers like the sun from behind a cloud.

SCENE I. An Inn.

So, my glass of brandy and water is finished, and by this time the horses are put­ting to.

We'll be upon him. He has got my letter by this; and Sir Felix Friendly, who lives here below, has given me notice of Eugene's in­tentions to marry an orphan girl somewhere here in the country; but I think I'll forbid the banns. You've the writ ready, Mr. Chicane?

In my pocket. But, Mrs. Cheshire, I trust you'll let no tender qualm prevent the execution of it, In case the yonug man, this Eugene, should refuse to marry you.

Tender qualms! you're a good lawyer, I believe, Mr. Chicane, but you are little read in the heart of a woman. No, Sir; the more we love, the more we hate, when that love [Page 17] is slighted. And am not I right, sir? not a bet­ter filled cheese-shop in the Borough than mine. What would the fellow have? and pray, sir, an't I a wife for any man?

Wife! ay, and a good wife too, Mrs. Cheshire. And what's better, there's plenty of you.

Ah! that's what my poor dear hus­band used to say. The good soul died of a sur­seit at the London Tavern. Ay, mere curds and whey;—wouldn't do for a city feast. Delicate as Parmesan, Mr. Chicane. Why, wife, says he, you're an honour to Tooley-street. A noble Cheshire cast in a Dutch mould. If he still refuses my hand and property—

To prison he goes. Yes, I have got a bailiff that I think will have him, Yes, my bailiff's an agreeable fellow. Tom Touch has a most taking way with him. Yes, yes, he'll sleep in the King's Bench to night.

Ay, as sure as you have two ears up­on your head, Mr. Chicane.

Then he's safe enough. ( Aside)

Yes, yes, to prison he goes; and I think I am right, Sir.

Right! if not, Madam, I would not be concerned for you. I like to be on the right side; and in my last cause particularly, I lent an ear to justice.—She never repaired it though. ( Aside)

Come, Mr. Chicane, rise—O! I hope the poor beasts have fed. A tolerable pull to draw you and me in a gigg from London.

Only two hours and four minutes. You are an excellent driver, Mrs. Cheshire.

A pretty work, sir, in such weather, driving my gigg after a fellow! I protest, sir, though my dear husband had a confirmed asthma, and Was sixty-eight when he died, I gave myself [Page 18] more trouble about this Eugene, though the fel­low is in found health, and is only twenty-four.

All from your good-nature, Mrs. Cheshire.

Oh! if my poor dear husband was alive—But he's better where he is.

SCENE II. A Chamber.

Ha, ha, ha! she's come, Mrs. Cheshire is come and brought an attorney upon him. How he will be surprised! A letter is her harbinger, and they'll be here in five minutes. Ha, ha, ha!

I had not a notion 'twas you sent for her, sir Felix.

I knew I'd surprise you. Ha, ha, ha!— We'll see how he'll fight it out. Egad! they'll surprise him. How finely he'll be ham­pered! an ideal rival on one side, and a real attorney on the other. Ha, ha, ha!

And tantalized with forbidden fruit­in the tempting affection of my Laura.

Ay, but when I snatch him from the attorney, and the fat cheesemonger, and bless [Page 19] him with an affluent fortune and his dear Laura, how he'll be then surprised!

Why certainly the winding up will be the best of the joke.

Joke! I live in a joke. A hearty laugh is my lease of happiness; and on the farm of fun I'll be a tenant for life.

I wish I could get an opportunity of speaking to Laura. I won't return to sir Felix in such a perturbed state of mind. Company, con­versation is—

Do sir, come in and take a glass, do. Sir pray come in, and bibo a little with your fa­ther and Domine Felix. they are gone laughing into the parlour, and I have opened a bottle for 'em.

Well, Lingo, my respect to sir Felix, and I shall do myself the honour of waiting on him at supper.

No, sir, 'tis I that am to wait on him at supper, because I am the butler. Do, pray, sir, come in to meo magister. You'll be heartily welcome to Domine Felix I'm sure; and that the wine, is good, bona veritas I'm sure; for I took two glasses just now at the. side-board.

Why then, pray go in and take ano­ther. Primo, secundo, tertio, Mr. Lingo.

Primo, secundo, tertio! Mr. Eugene, you know something, I know a little too. You, have studied. Pray, sir, was you an Oxonian, or a Cantab?

What an infernal fellow!

An infernal fellow! O then you wore a square cap.—I'll pose the infernal fellow of Oxford.—Pray, sir, can you decline the amatum supine to a lady that's fine?

I find you are a great scholar Mr. Lingo.

Scholar! I was a master of scholars. Scio scribendo, I can read. Legere, I can [Page 21] write. Tacitorum Latinum, I can speak Latin. But then, quid opus mihi usumque sciente? what need have I of so much knowledge? No one listens to me but Cowslip the dairy-maid; and I admire her sapience, for she's as docile as a young elephant.

Well, Thomas.

I've been taking a mug of ale at the Griffiin, sir; and a lady just come from London desied me to give you that there letter.

[Page 22]

Mrs. Cheshire's hand, my old Calypso of Tooley-street.

'Sdeath! to be pestered at such a time with such a fulsome, teazing old fool! her cash that she absolutely forced upon me — What shall I do with her, a filly, ridiculous — Eh! egad! suppose I — Ha, ha, ha! — a thought strikes me. It will involve her in a ridiculous situation. I'll pro­cure her a more honourable reception than she expects. Ha, ha, ha! Yes. Thomas shall set it a-going through the family. I'll tell it him as a secret, and he'll tell it over the house, and the more marvellous the easier swallowed.

O Sir, I've been looking for you The lady got here as soon as her letter. She's in the little parlour, and —

Hush!

Sir! —

Thomas, I know you're honest.

That I am, sir, as any servant in —

Thomas, can you — shut that door; can you keep a great secret?

Leave me alone for that, sir.

O Thomas it's of the greatest conse­quence. If known, it may lay our country in ruin.

[Page 23]

I wont tell a word of it, sir.

Not for your soul — Then, you must know — come this, way — that lady that gave you the letter, and that's now in the little parlour, is a Russian Princess.

A Princess!

The Princess Rustifusti. She fought a duel —

A Princess fight a duel!

With a great Count of the holy Ro­man empire. She was run through the sword­arm; but the noble Count's wounds were said to be mortal; so she has fled to England for safety; and if she's discovered, we must give her up: then, Thomas, she'll be beheaded.

Poor noble soul!

Ay Thomas; such a Princess! knows all languages, and English most correctly. Now, Thomas, if you mention this —

Me! not for —

Hush! — not a word, especially to a woman.

And why not to a woman pray?

Because its a secret.

A secret! I must know it.

O, Mrs. Fringe, if you would not speak of it —

Come, tell me

Then you must know — shut the door — this way — the great lady in the little parlour is a Russian Princess.

A Princess!

The Princess Rusky Fusky. She kil­led two Counts of the holy Roman Emperor. She's here incog. And if she's taken, her head will be chopped off. Not a word of that, Mrs. Fringe; for it's a rascally thing to tell a thing once, you're intrusted with it.

[Page 24]

So it is indeed, Thomas.

A Princess! I'll wait upon her. She may pre­fer me to be one of her maids of honour.

Did yon see Mr. Lingo? I want some cake and wine for this strange gentlewoman here in the parlour.

Gentlewoman! well, I find some peo­ple know more of some people than some people. But when people intrust people with people's se­crets, people are not to tell them to all the peo­ple people meet.

Hey! the devil! what a crowd of peo­ple's here!

Eh! — no, we're alone. — shut the door — John, if you know — you won't tell any body?

Tell! did I tell of the bottle of burnt claret the other night, though I stole it from Mr. Lingo myself?

No, you have discretion, John, — John, that gentlewoman, as you call her, is — but it is the greatest secret — she is the great Rus­sian Princess Rusky Fusky!

The Princess Rusky Fusky!

She was set upon by five holy Roman Empires. The dear lady had nothing but her fan and her scissars; and with these she defended her honour, with her back against a tree, till she laid the five holy Roman Empires all dead at her feet. If she had staid, she would have had her head severaled from her body; so she called for her own maid, a faithful sensible body like me, one that never blabb'd, — she packed up her port­manteau, crossed the seas, and landed at Black­heath. If she's taken — John don't tell, as her life's in danger.

Her life in danger! damme! if I'd tell for half a crown.

[Page 25]

I believe you, John. I assure you I would n't have told you, only I know you can keep a secret as well as myself.

Can one get any thing by it though?

What cream is wanted for the morning, John?

Ha! my dainty dairy-maid!

Ha'done, do. I should n't have thought of your impudence, John.

Zounds! I forgot the wine and cake for the Prin—gad! I'd like to have popt it out.—Ah, Cowslip I could discover —

I don't care what you discover of me. Why did Mr. Lingo tell then?

What?

O, nothing.

Damn the old wig-block! he has the ear, and I fancy the lip too of every woman in the house.

Why, you're as tall, and your leg is not amiss when you're behind the coach. But why don't you speak the Latin tongue?

I've more regard to decency, than to curse and swear to innocent women, because they don't understand me.

Does Mr. Lingo do so? certain and sure he does come out with his nouns sometimes.

Cowslip, I'll tell you the secret if you'll affront him.

Ods-daisy! but I'll huff him; will that do? I'll pull his wig. He's mighty proud of his wig. Now what's the secret pray?

The secret is —

Coming! — don't tell. We 've a great Princess in the house.

A Princess! ods-daisy! that's fine.

The Russian Princess Rusky Fusky.

[Page 26]

The Princess Rusky Fusky!

She killed six knights of the holy Roman Emperor. She's in disguise here. The consta­bles are after her with a search warrant, and she'll be hanged if she's taken. You have the secret now, and pray keep it, for my sake.

Coming, coming!

Keep the secret! ay, that I will. — Lord! I'll go to the Princess Rusky Fusky, and then I must make haste to the lawn, or all the sports will be over, and Cudden my sweet­heart gone home, or mayhap dance with another girl. — John and Mr. Lingo — Ah! after all, I find Cudden has skimmed the cream of my affections.

O here comes Mr. Lingo, with his gibberish and his nonsense.

O my sweetest of Cowslips, dulcis [Page 27] puella! by my dexter and finister manus, your antic Caleb sings Io Poeans to see you.

What do you say, you're in pain to see me, Mr. Lingo?

Gerunds, declensions, verbs and ad­verbs;

I should not ha' thought of your herbs.

Aid me, Amor, the eight parts of speech, singular, plural, nouns and pronouns!

Mr. Lingo, I does n't love cursing and swearing.

Nominativo hanc, hunc et hoc.

Hock again! You're drunk with, hock for my part I believe. I desire you'll ha' done, do.

Ha' done, do! Hear this you azure woods, you purling plains, you verdant skies, you crystal swains, ye feathered fountains, tink­ling groves, you cooing kids, ye capering doves! she's in the imperative mood. O damnatus, obstinatus mulier!

Do you say I'm a damn'd obstinate mule? — How dare you call me names? I'll pull your wig for you, that's what I will.

If my scholars was to see me now, they'd never let me whip 'em again in saecula secu­lorum.

For all your lorums and larning, I could larn you somewhat, if I had a mind, Mr. Schoolmaster, but it's a great secret, or I could tell you the big lady in the little parlour is the Princess Rusky Fusky! how she killed seven whole Roman Emperors; and how she'll be hang­ed in chains if she's catch'd; and I could have told you every word of it if I pleased; but you shan't know a syllabuh of it from me, that you shan't, Mr. Schoolmaster.

Multum in parvo. What a discreet [Page 28] slut it is to know all this, and wouldn't tell even me, because its a secret! The Princess Rusky Fusky in our house! this is indeed a secret, pro bono publico. This cowslip is the very flower, the daffy-down-diliy of dairy-maids!

SCENE III.

So, as I expected, my secret has gone through the family, and my cheesemonger is a Russian Princess.

O Eugene, I hear sir Felix's son is ac­tually arrived.

Then my Laura, though bitter the separation, I bid an eternal adieu to you and happiness.

Do you leave the country, Eugene?

Can I stay to see my dearest Laura — think what I would say.

[Page 29]

Nay, Eugene, do tell me.

Sir Felix's son is arrived, and — Can I see you in the arms of another?

Ah, Eugene, if you go — do you, can you think your Laura will stay behind?

Generous Laura!— but sir Felix has set his heart upon your union with his son. To his bounty my father and I owe our very existence. And shall I, like a viper, turn and sting my kind preserver? no Laura. Though in the possession of you, my love, I comprise all hopes of happiness; yet, in my mind, the height of human bliss is dearly gained, when purchased by an action of dishonour.

I ask your pardon, sir. — I see my er­ror. — I shan't be ungrateful to sir Felix — I'll give my hand where he commands, though my heart may burst— Oh! Eugene, I did not think you'd use me thus.

I cannot bear this, and fear love must triumph over gratitude. — And have you for­titude Laura, to face the world with me;

Try me. And not even the elements shall part your faithful Laura from her beloved Engene.

Generous Laura!

SCENE IV.

Draws and discover Mrs. Cheshire sitting down Lingo, John and William ceremoniously waiting,

My patience is almost wearied out. Very strange I can't see Eugene. — Oh dear! a glass of water, if you please.

Yes Madam.

Madam! John don't know she's a prin­cess; and I can't do her proper homage before these Cyclops. John, yon may bo'h retire.

Mr. Lingo's not in the secret.

Mr. Liago, pray bow respectfully to her.

Do you teach me that have teached hundreds? centum, docintum, you vile lictor! take your face out of the room, go. An't I the domestic god, the very Lary of the family? go.

Don't be afraid. Nobody knows yon but me.

These Kentish servants are very civil.

Some of our English cream for your royal reverence!

My royal reverence!

Take the glass, please your catholio majesty.

My catholic Majesty!

Cowslip, leave the presence.

[Page 31]

I have no more presents than the bowl of cream.

Cream! you shallow Pomona!

Well, till now I always thought your great Russians wore whiskers.

Don't mind that girl, most learned Mufty. She's a mere English Druid, most di­vine bard.

John, this honour is too great —

Mr. Lingo, I was ordered —

John, I do not love a common De­mosthenus.

Sir, I —

Go out, unmannerly homo, go!

The most impudent canus in our domus.

This is wine. A glass of water, if you please.

In vino veritas. You get not water in this house. Some cake for your faithful majesty.

My majesty! O, this is mere diver­sion.— I sent a letter just now from the Griffin to Mr. Eugene.

You sent it! Yes, he got a letter from the Griffin. — Take some cake. Vivitur, we live by eating and drinking, please your grace's holiness.

My grace's holiness! pray harkee, Sir, does your master tolerate you to — but I — I'm cool.

Cool! she wants the Russian stove. We have no such in England, great Ottoman; but I'll immediately get you a chasing-dish of hot coals for your sublime port.

Please your royal high­ness!

My royal highness!

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I am my young lady's own woman, your royal highness.

I am no royal highness, madam.

O! I know your royal highness very well; but I'd scorn to betray your royal highness, as it was in defence of your virtue you killed the Roman Emperors!

I kill the Roman Emperors!

A Russian princess! — Give me our o [...] [...]oy [...] family after all!

All mad in this house, I believe.

You will have the hot coals presently. In the mean time throw this Russian fur cloak over you. Mr. Compton wore it in your cold Eastern ports. You were wounded in the sword-arm, great Rustifusti.

Yes, this fellow's mad.

Those Roman Emperors that attacked you were mere Tarquins. Depend upon it, that chair is too low for your highness. Here is ano­ther. It is higher, and more fitter for your eminence.

Your highness is discovered.

Highness! all mad. I've got into Bedlam sure.

Whisper a princess! why, Thomas, you fancy yourself Cardinal Wolsey in this house.

O! if you knew Mr. Lingo, —

What? Quid opus?

A secret. I met an attorney and a bailiff at the door.

An attorney! — turn out.

It's my lawyer. Open the door.

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Let in an attorney! — are you mad, great potentate? — Oh, oh!

Open the door.

The lawyer wilt betray you, commander of the faithful.

Open the door, I say!

Sit quiet, great Rustifusti.

Am I to be shut up here with a mad­man? Open the door I insist.

Her serene highness is in a passion, She'll never be taken alive. Yes, she'll kill the attorney. There is a case of pistols. There is a broad fword. Heavens! how she'll fight! here, now, defend yourself, brave Rustifusti. —

Open the door I say.

Yes, she'll shoot the attorney. Stay, till I get up here. — Now prime, and fire away, brave Bellona.

Don't be alarmed, princess. Though your person's known here, you're safe by all the laws of hospitality.

Stand out of the way, Domine Felix, till Rustifusti shoots the attorney.

Why this is Mrs. Cheshire, our South­wark cheesemonger.

A chesemonger! O Coelnm et terra! and have I studied Syntax, Cordery, Juvenal, and Tistram Shandy, to serve wine on my knee to a mighty cheesemonger! — But there is one thing I can never forgive in saecula saeculorum.

What's that, Lingo?

Her not shooting the attorney.

So, so, the partly has absconded.

Eugene!

My son run away!

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With the young lady of the house I think.

My daughter!

Tol, lol, lol! — Ha, ha, ha! This is good. To avoid each other, gone off to­gether. Ha, ha, ha! I am so happy.

So, you two ran away to be mar­ried I suppose?

With that intention, Sir, I confess.

Dear Sir Felix, the fault was mine; but Eugene's mind is replete with honour, and he has made me a proselyte. O Sir! he has my affec­tions. I here return to my obedience, with hopes a son of yours will never accept my hand, when my heart is possessed by another.

Refused a fine girl rather than vio­late the tie of honour and gratitude! — My Eugene! my son! take the blessing of a father; for I now with pride acknowledge you.

Sir! —

'Tis true, Eugene. Sir Felix claims your fillal duty.

I'm surprised!

Yes, I love to surprise people.

Dear Sir!

your blessing and forgiveness.

Kneel there, Laura. His right is prior to mine.

Mr. Compton! —

Yes, Laura, in me you behold an affectionate parent; but next to heaven you owe your thanks to that benevolent man.

Well, I'll be revenged if it cost me half the cheese in my shop.

Stay, widow. Egad! I've surprised you. Suppose you surprise me in turn, and mar­ry the attorney?

I own Mr. Chicane is an honest man, but —

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Honest! take him home — Bring an honest attorney over London Bridge with you, and you'll surprise all Tooley-street.

I hear of a wedding going to be, Domine Felix, therefore I will write a latin epitaph for the pair of bridegrooms, wherein I'll provoke the patronage of Cupid, Thomas a Becket, Sir Godfry Kneller, and Helley O'Gabalus.

Let me have no more of your damn'd Godfreys and Gabalussus. Lay the cloth, and surprise us with a good wedding supper.

A wedding! Is it possible —

Yes, boy, possible, ay, and probable too. I've surprised you with the girl of your heart, and a good fortune. Is not this an Agreeable Surprise?