Chapter III: Act THE SECOND: Scene I

_The Quay at Barbadoes, with an Inn upon it. People employed in
unlading vessels, carrying bales of goods, &c._

_Enter several PLANTERS._

_1st Plant._ I saw her this morning, gentlemen, you may depend on't. My telescope never fails me. I popp'd upon her as I was taking a peep from my balcony. A brave tight ship, I tell you, bearing down directly for Barbadoes here.

_2d Plant._ Ods, my life! rare news! We have not had a vessel arrive in our harbour these six weeks.

_3d Plant._ And the last brought only Madam Narcissa, our Governor's daughter, from England; with a parcel of lazy, idle, white folks about her. Such cargoes will never do for our trade, neighbour.

_2d Plant._ No, no; we want slaves. A terrible dearth of 'em in Barbadoes, lately! But your dingy passengers for my money. Give me a vessel like a collier, where all the lading tumbles out as black as my hat. But are you sure, now, you ar'n't mistaken? [_To 1st Planter._]

_1st Plant._ Mistaken! 'sbud, do you doubt my glass? I can discover a gull by it six leagues off: I could see every thing as plain as if I was on board.

_2d Plant._ Indeed! and what were her colours?

_1st Plant._ Um! why English----or Dutch----or French----I don't exactly remember.

_2d Plant._ What were the sailors aboard?

_1st Plant._ Eh! why they were English too----or Dutch----or French----I can't perfectly recollect.

_2d Plant._ Your glass, neighbour, is a little like a glass too much: it makes you forget every thing you ought to remember. [_Cry without_, "A sail, a sail!"]

_1st Plant._ Egad, but I'm right though. Now, gentlemen!

_All._ Aye, aye; the devil take the hindmost.

[_Exeunt hastily._

_Enter NARCISSA and PATTY._

SONG.

_Freshly now the breeze is blowing,_
_As yon ship at anchor rides;_
_Sullen waves, incessant flowing,_
_Rudely dash against the sides._
_So my heart, its course impéded,_
_Beats in my perturbed breast;_
_Doubts, like waves by waves succeeded,_
_Rise, and still deny it rest._

_Patty._ Well, ma'am, as I was saying----

_Nar._ Well, say no more of what you were saying--Sure, Patty, you forget where you are; a little caution will be necessary now, I think.

_Patty._ Lord, madam, how is it possible to help talking? We are in Barbadoes here, to be sure--but then, ma'am, one may let out a little in a private morning's walk by ourselves.

_Nar._ Nay, it's the same thing with you in doors.

_Patty._ I never blab, ma'am, never, as I hope for a gown.

_Nar._ And your never blabbing, as you call it, depends chiefly on that hope, I believe.

_Patty._ I have told the story of our voyage, indeed, to old Guzzle, the butler.

_Nar._ And thus you lead him to imagine I am but little inclined to the match.

_Patty._ Lord, ma'am, how could that be? Why I never said a word about Captain Campley.

_Nar._ Hush! hush! for heaven's sake.

_Patty._ Aye! there it is now. But if our voyage from England was so pleasant, it wasn't owing to Mr. Inkle, I'm certain. He didn't play the fiddle in our cabin, and dance on the deck, and come languishing with a glass of warm water in his hand, when we were sea-sick. Ah, ma'am, that water warm'd your heart, I'm confident. Mr. Inkle! No, no; Captain Cam----

_Nar._ There is no end to this! Remember, Patty, keep your secrecy, or you entirely lose my favour.

_Patty._ Never fear me, ma'am. But if somebody I know is not acquainted with the Governor, there's such a thing as dancing at balls, and squeezing hands when you lead up, and squeezing them again when you cast down. I'm as close as a patch box. Mum's the word, ma'am, I promise you.

[_Exit._

_Nar._ How awkward is my present situation! Promised to one, who, perhaps, may never again be heard of; and who, I am sure, if he ever appears to claim me, will do it merely on the score of interest--pressed too by another, who has already, I fear, too much interest in my heart--what can I do? What plan can I follow?

_Enter CAMPLEY._

_Camp._ Follow my advice, Narcissa, by all means. Enlist with me under the best banners in the world. General Hymen for my money! little Cupid's his drummer: he has been beating a round rub-a-dub on our hearts, and we have only to obey the word of command, fall into the ranks of matrimony, and march through life together.

_Nar._ Then consider our situation.

_Camp._ That has been duly considered. In short, the case stands exactly thus--your intended spouse is all for money; I am all for love. He is a rich rogue; I am rather a poor honest fellow. He would pocket your fortune; I will take you without a fortune in your pocket.

_Nar._ Oh! I am sensible of the favour, most gallant Captain Campley; and my father, no doubt, will be very much obliged to you.

_Camp._ Aye, there's the devil of it! Sir Christopher Curry's confounded good character knocks me up at once. Yet I am not acquainted with him neither; not known to him even by sight; being here only as a private gentleman, on a visit to my old relation, out of regimentals, and so forth; and not introduced to the Governor, as other officers of the place. But then, the report of his hospitality--his odd, blunt, whimsical friendship--his whole behaviour--

_Nar._ All stare you in the face; eh, Campley?

_Camp._ They do, till they put me out of countenance.

_Nar._ What signifies talking to _me_, when you have such opposition from others? Why hover about the city, instead of boldly attacking the guard? Wheel about, captain! face the enemy! March! Charge! Rout 'em!--Drive 'em before you, and then--

_Camp._ And then--

_Nar._ Lud ha' mercy on the poor city!

_Enter PATTY, hastily._

_Patty._ Oh lud, ma'am, I'm frightened out of my wits! sure as I'm alive, ma'am, Mr. Inkle is not dead; I saw his man, ma'am, just now, coming ashore in a boat, with other passengers, from the vessel that's come to the island.

[_Exit._

_Nar._ Then one way or other I must determine.--[_To CAMPLEY._] Look'ye, Mr. Campley, something has happened which makes me wave ceremonies.--If you mean to apply to my father, remember, that delays are dangerous.

_Camp._ Indeed!

_Nar._ I mayn't be always in the same mind, you know. [_Smiling._]

[_Exit._

_Camp._ Nay, then--Gad, I'm almost afraid too--but living in this state of doubt is torment. I'll e'en put a good face on the matter; cock my hat; make my bow; and try to reason the Governor into compliance. Faint heart never won a fair lady.

SONG.

_Why should I vain fears discover,_
_Prove a dying, sighing swain?_
_Why turn shilly-shally lover,_
_Only to prolong my pain?_

_When we woo the dear enslaver,_
_Boldly ask, and she will grant;_
_How should we obtain a favour,_
_But by telling what we want?_

_Enter TRUDGE and WOWSKI, (as from the ship), with a dirty runner to one of the inns._

_Run._ This way, sir; if you will let me recommend----

_Trudge._ Come along, Wows! Take care of your furs, and your feathers, my girl!

_Wows._ Iss.

_Trudge._ That's right.--Somebody might steal 'em, perhaps.

_Wows._ Steal!--What that?

_Trudge._ Oh Lord! see what one loses by not being born in a christian country.

_Run._ If you would, sir, but mention to your master, the house that belongs to my master; the best accommodations on the quay.--

_Trudge._ What's your sign, my lad?

_Run._ The Crown, sir.--Here it is.

_Trudge._ Well, get us a room for half an hour, and we'll come: and harkee! let it be light and airy, d'ye hear? My master has been used to your open apartments lately.

_Run._ Depend on it.--Much obliged to you, sir.

[_Exit._

_Wows._ Who be that fine man? He great prince?

_Trudge._ A prince--Ha! ha!----No, not quite a prince--but he belongs to the Crown. But how do you like this, Wows? Isn't it fine?

_Wows._ Wonder!

_Trudge._ Fine men, eh?

_Wows._ Iss! all white; like you.

_Trudge._ Yes, all the fine men are like me. As different from your people as powder and ink, or paper and blacking.

_Wows._ And fine lady--Face like snow.

_Trudge._ What! the fine lady's complexions? Oh, yes, exactly; for too much heat very often dissolves 'em! Then their dress, too.

_Wows._ Your countrymen dress so?

_Trudge._ Better, better a great deal. Why, a young flashy Englishman will sometimes carry a whole fortune on his back. But did you mind the women? All here--and there; [_Pointing before and behind._] they have it all from us in England.--And then the fine things they carry on their heads, Wowski.

_Wows._ Iss. One lady carry good fish----so fine, she call every body to look at her.

_Trudge._ Pshaw! an old woman bawling flounders. But the fine girls we meet, here, on the quay--so round and so plump!

_Wows._ You not love me now?

_Trudge._ Not love you! Zounds, have not I given you proofs?

_Wows._ Iss. Great many: but now you get here, you forget poor Wowski!

_Trudge._ Not I. I'll stick to you like wax.

_Wows._ Ah! I fear! What make you love me now?

_Trudge._ Gratitude, to be sure.

_Wows._ What that?

_Trudge._ Ha! this it is, now, to live without education. The poor dull devils of her country are all in the practice of gratitude, without finding out what it means; while we can tell the meaning of it, with little or no practice at all.--Lord, Lord, what a fine advantage christian learning is! Hark'ee, Wows!

_Wows._ Iss.

_Trudge._ Now we've accomplished our landing, I'll accomplish you. You remember the instructions I gave you on the voyage?

_Wows._ Iss.

_Trudge._ Let's see now--What are you to do, when I introduce you to the nobility, gentry, and others--of my acquaintance?

_Wows._ Make believe sit down; then get up.

_Trudge._ Let me see you do it. [_She makes a low courtesy._] Very well! and how are you to recommend yourself, when you have nothing to say, amongst all our great friends?

_Wows._ Grin--show my teeth.

_Trudge._ Right! they'll think you've lived with people of fashion. But suppose you meet an old shabby friend in misfortune, that you don't wish to be seen speak to--what would you do?

_Wows._ Look blind--not see him.

_Trudge._ Why would you do that?

_Wows._ 'Cause I can't see good friend in distress.

_Trudge._ That's a good girl! and I wish every body could boast of so kind a motive for such cursed cruel behaviour.--Lord! how some of your flashy bankers' clerks have _cut_ me in Threadneedle street.--But come, though we have got among fine folks, here, in an English settlement, I won't be ashamed of my old acquaintance: yet, for my own part, I should not be sorry, now, to see my old friend with a new face.--Odsbobs! I see Mr. Inkle--Go in, Wows; call for what you like best.

_Wows._ Then I call for you--ah! I fear I not see you often now. But you come soon----

SONG.

_Remember when we walked alone,_
_And heard, so gruff, the lion growl:_
_And when the moon so bright it shone,_
_We saw the wolf look up and howl;_
_I led you well, safe to our cell,_
_While tremblingly,_
_You said to me,_
_--And kiss'd so sweet--dear Wowski tell,_
_How could I live without ye?_

_But now you come across the sea,_
_And tell me here no monsters roar;_
_You'll walk alone, and leave poor me,_
_When wolves, to fright you, howl no more._
_But ah! think well on our old cell,_
_Where tremblingly,_
_You kiss'd poor me--_
_Perhaps you'll say--dear Wowski tell,_
_How can I live without ye?_

[_Exit WOWSKI._

_Trudge._ Who have we here?

_Enter FIRST PLANTER._

_Plant._ Hark'ee, young man! Is that young Indian of yours going to our market?

_Trudge._ Not she--she never went to market in all her life.

_Plant._ I mean, is she for our sale of slaves? Our black fair?

_Trudge._ A black fair, ha! ha! ha! You hold it on a brown green, I suppose.

_Plant._ She's your slave, I take it?

_Trudge._ Yes; and I'm her humble servant, I take it.

_Plant._ Aye, aye, natural enough at sea.--But at how much do you value her?

_Trudge._ Just as much as she has saved me--My own life.

_Plant._ Pshaw! you mean to sell her?

_Trudge._ [_Staring._] Zounds! what a devil of a fellow! Sell Wows!--my poor, dear, dingy, wife!

_Plant._ Come, come, I've heard your story from the ship.--Don't let's haggle; I'll bid as fair as any trader amongst us. But no tricks upon travellers, young man, to raise your price.----Your wife, indeed! Why she's no christian!

_Trudge._ No; but I am; so I shall do as I'd be done by: and, if you were a good one yourself, you'd know, that fellow-feeling for a poor body, who wants your help, is the noblest mark of our religion.--I wou'dn't be articled clerk to such a fellow for the world.

_Plant._ Hey-day! the booby's in love with her! Why, sure, friend, you would not live here with a black?

_Trudge._ Plague on't; there it is. I shall be laughed out of my honesty, here.--But you may be jogging, friend; I may feel a little queer, perhaps, at showing her face--but, dam me, if ever I do any thing to make me asham'd of showing my own.

_Plant._ Why, I tell you, her very complexion----

_Trudge._ Rot her complexion--I'll tell you what, Mr. _Fair-trader_, if your head and heart were to change places, I've a notion you'd be as black in the face as an ink-bottle.

_Plant._ Pshaw! the fellow's a fool--a rude rascal--he ought to be sent back to the savages again. He's not fit to live among us christians.

[_Exit PLANTER._

_Trudge._ Oh, here comes my master, at last.

_Enter INKLE, and a second PLANTER._

_Inkle._ Nay, sir, I understand your customs well; your Indian markets are not unknown to me.

_2d Plant._ And, as you seem to understand business, I need not tell you, that dispatch is the soul of it. Her name you say is--

_Inkle._ Yarico: but urge this no more, I beg you; I must not listen to it: for, to speak freely, her anxious care of me demands, that here,--though here it may seem strange--I should avow my love for her.

_Plant._ Lord help you for a merchant!--It's the first time I ever heard a trader talk of love; except, indeed, the love of trade, and the love of the _Sweet Molly_, my ship.

_Inkle._ Then, sir, you cannot feel my situation.

_Plant._ Oh yes, I can! we have a hundred such cases just after a voyage; but they never last long on land. It's amazing how constant a young man is in a ship! But, in two words, will you dispose of her, or no?

_Inkle._ In two words, then, meet me here at noon, and we'll speak further on this subject: and lest you think I trifle with your business, hear why I wish this pause. Chance threw me, on my passage to your island, among a savage people. Deserted,--defenceless,--cut off from companions,--my life at stake--to this young creature I owe my preservation;--she found me, like a dying bough, torn from its kindred branches; which, as it drooped, she moistened with her tears.

_Plant._ Nay, nay, talk like a man of this world.

_Inkle._ Your patience.--And yet your interruption goes to my present feelings; for on our sail to this your island--the thoughts of time mispent--doubt--fears--for call it what you will--have much perplexed me; and as your spires arose, reflections still rose with them; for here, sir, lie my interests, great connexions, and other weighty matters--which now I need not mention----

_Plant._ But which her presence here will mar.

_Inkle._ Even so--And yet the gratitude I owe her--

_Plant._ Pshaw! So because she preserved your life, your gratitude is to make you give up all you have to live upon.

_Inkle._ Why, in that light indeed--This never struck me yet, I'll think on't.

_Plant._ Aye, aye, do so--Why, what return can the wench wish more than taking her from a wild, idle, savage people, and providing for her, here, with reputable hard work, in a genteel, polished, tender, christian country?

_Inkle._ Well, sir, at noon----

_Plant._ I'll meet you--but remember, young gentleman, you must get her off your hands--you must, indeed.--I shall have her a bargain, I see that--your servant!--Zounds, how late it is--but never be put out of your way for a woman--I must run--my wife will play the devil with me for keeping breakfast.

[_Exit._

_Inkle._ Trudge.

_Trudge._ Sir!

_Inkle._ Have you provided a proper apartment?

_Trudge._ Yes, sir, at the Crown here; a neat, spruce room they tell me. You have not seen such a convenient lodging this good while, I believe.

_Inkle._ Are there no better inns in the town?

_Trudge._ Um----Why there is the Lion, I hear, and the Bear, and the Boar--but we saw them at the door of all our late lodgings, and found but bad accommodations within, sir.

_Inkle._ Well, run to the end of the quay, and conduct Yarico hither. The road is straight before you: you can't miss it.

_Trudge._ Very well, sir. What a fine thing it is to turn one's back on a master, without running into a wolf's belly! One can follow one's nose on a message here, and be sure it won't be bit off by the way.

[_Exit._

_Inkle._ Let me reflect a little. Part with her!--My interest, honour, engagements to Narcissa, all demand it. My father's precepts too--I can remember, when I was a boy, what pains he took to mould me.--School'd me from morn to night--and still the burden of his song was--Prudence! Prudence! Thomas, and you'll rise. His maxims rooted in my heart, and as I grew--_they_ grew; till I was reckoned, among our friends, a steady, sober, solid, good young man; and all the neighbours call'd me _the prudent Mr. Thomas_. And shall I now, at once, kick down the character which I have raised so warily?--Part with her--sell her!--The thought once struck me in our cabin, as she lay sleeping by me; but, in her slumbers, she passed her arm around me, murmured a blessing on my name, and broke my meditations.

_Enter YARICO and TRUDGE._

_Yar._ My love!

_Trudge._ I have been showing her all the wigs and bales of goods we met on the quay, sir.

_Yar._ Oh! I have feasted my eyes on wonders.

_Trudge._ And I'll go feast on a slice of beef, in the inn, here.

[_Exit._

_Yar._ My mind has been so busy, that I almost forgot even you. I wish you had stayed with me--You would have seen such sights!

_Inkle._ Those sights have become familiar to me, Yarico.

_Yar._ And yet I wish they were not--You might partake my pleasures--but now again, methinks, I will not wish so--for, with too much gazing, you might neglect poor _Yarico_.

_Inkle._ Nay, nay, my care is still for you.

_Yar._ I am sure it is: and if I thought it was not, I would tell you tales about our poor old grot--bid you remember our palm-tree near the brook, where in the shade you often stretched yourself, while I would take your head upon my lap, and sing my love to sleep. I know you'll love me then.

SONG.

_Our grotto was the sweetest place!_
_The bending boughs, with fragrance blowing,_
_Would check the brook's impetuous pace,_
_Which murmur'd to be stopp'd from flowing._
_'Twas there we met, and gaz'd our fill:_
_Ah! think on this, and love me still._

_'Twas then my bosom first knew fear,_
_--Fear to an Indian maid a stranger--_
_The war-song, arrows, hatchet, spear,_
_All warn'd me of my lover's danger._
_For him did cares my bosom fill:--_
_Ah! think on this, and love me still._

_For him, by day, with care conceal'd,_
_To search for food I climb'd the mountain;_
_And when the night no form reveal'd,_
_Jocund we sought the bubbling fountain._
_Then, then would joy my bosom fill;_
_Ah! think on this and love me still._

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_An Apartment in the House of SIR CHRISTOPHER CURRY._

_Enter SIR CHRISTOPHER and MEDIUM._

_Sir Chr._ I tell you, old Medium, you are all wrong. Plague on your doubts! Inkle _shall_ have my Narcissa. Poor fellow! I dare say he's finely chagrined at this temporary parting--Eat up with the blue devils, I warrant.

_Med._ Eat up by the black devils, I warrant; for I left him in hellish hungry company.

_Sir Chr._ Pshaw! he'll arrive with the next vessel, depend on't--besides, have not I had this in view ever since they were children? I must and will have it so, I tell you. Is not it, as it were, a marriage made above? They _shall_ meet, I'm positive.

_Med._ Shall they? Then they must meet where the marriage was made; for hang me, if I think it will ever happen below.

_Sir Chr._ Ha!--and if that is the case--hang me, if I think you'll ever be at the celebration of it.

_Med._ Yet, let me tell you, Sir Christopher Curry, my character is as unsullied as a sheet of white paper.

_Sir Chr._ Well said, old fool's-cap! and it's as mere a blank as a sheet of white paper. You are honest, old Medium, by comparison, just as a fellow sentenced to transportation is happier than his companion condemned to the gallows--Very worthy, because you are no rogue; tender hearted, because you never go to fires and executions; and an affectionate father and husband, because you never pinch your children, or kick your wife out of bed.

_Med._ And that, as the world goes, is more than every man can say for himself. Yet, since you force me to speak my positive qualities--but, no matter,--you remember me in London; didn't I, as member of the Humane Society, bring a man out of the New River, who, it was afterwards found, had done me an injury?

_Sir Chr._ And, dam'me, if I would not kick any man into the New River that had done me an injury. There's the difference of our honesty. Oons! if you want to be an honest fellow, act from the impulse of nature. Why, you have no more gall than a pigeon.

_Med._ And you have as much gall as a turkey cock, and are as hot into the bargain--You're always so hasty; among the hodge-podge of your foibles, passion is always predominant.

_Sir Chr._ So much the better.----Foibles, quotha? foibles are foils that give additional lustre to the gems of virtue. You have not so many foils as I, perhaps.

_Med._ And, what's more, I don't want 'em, Sir Christopher, I thank you.

_Sir Chr._ Very true; for the devil a gem have you to set off with 'em.

_Med._ Well, well; I never mention errors; that, I flatter myself, is no disagreeable quality.--It don't become me to say you are hot.

_Sir Chr._ 'Sblood! but it does become you: it becomes every man, especially an Englishman, to speak the dictates of his heart.

_Enter SERVANT._

_Serv._ An English vessel, sir, just arrived in the harbour.

_Sir Chr._ A vessel! Od's my life!----Now for the news--If it is but as I hope--Any dispatches?

_Serv._ This letter, sir, brought by a sailor from the quay.

[_Exit._

_Sir Chr._ [_Opening the letter_] Huzza! here it is. He's safe--safe and sound at Barbadoes. [Reading]----

_Sir,
My master, Mr. Inkle, is just arrived in your harbour_,

Here, read, read! old Medium--

_Med._ [Reading.] Um'--

_Your harbour;--we were taken up by an English vessel, on the
14th ult^{o}. He only waits till I have puffed his hair, to pay
his respects to you, and Miss Narcissa: In the mean time, he has
ordered me to brush up this letter for your honour, from_

_Your humble Servant, to command_,
TIMOTHY TRUDGE.

_Sir Chr._ Hey day! Here's a style! the voyage has jumbled the fellow's brains out of their places; the water has made his head turn round. But no matter; mine turns round, too. I'll go and prepare Narcissa directly; they shall be married slap-dash, as soon as he comes from the quay. From Neptune to Hymen: from the hammock to the bridal bed--Ha! old boy!

_Med._ Well, well; don't flurry yourself--you're so hot!

_Sir Chr._ Hot! blood, ar'n't I in the West Indies? Ar'n't I governor of Barbadoes? He shall have her as soon as he sets his foot on shore. "But, plague on't, he's so slow."--She shall rise to him like Venus out of the sea. His hair puffed? He ought to have been puffing, here, out of breath, by this time.

_Med._ Very true; but Venus's husband is always supposed to be lame, you know, Sir Christopher.

_Sir Chr._ Well, now do, my good fellow, run down to the shore, and see what detains him.

[_Hurrying him off._

_Med._ Well, well; I will, I will.

[_Exit._

_Sir Chr._ In the mean time I'll get ready Narcissa, and all shall be concluded in a second. My heart's set upon it.--Poor fellow! after all his rumbles, and tumbles, and jumbles, and fits of despair--I shall be rejoiced to see him. I have not seen him since he was that high.--But, zounds! he's so tardy!

_Enter SERVANT._

_Serv._ A strange gentleman, sir, come from the quay, desires to see you.

_Sir Chr._ From the quay? Od's my life!----'Tis he--'Tis Inkle! Show him up directly.

[_Exit Servant._

The rogue is expeditious after all.--I'm so happy.

_Enter CAMPLEY._

My dear fellow! [_Shakes hands._] I'm rejoiced to see you. Welcome; welcome here, with all my soul!

_Camp._ This reception, Sir Christopher, is beyond my warmest wishes--Unknown to you----

_Sir Chr._ Aye, aye; we shall be better acquainted by and by. Well, and how, eh! tell me!--But old Medium and I have talked over your affair a hundred times a day, ever since Narcissa arrived.

_Camp._ You surprise me! Are you then really acquainted with the whole affair?

_Sir Chr._ Every tittle.

_Camp._ And, can you, sir, pardon what is past?--

_Sir Chr._ Pooh! how could you help it?

_Camp._ Very true--sailing in the same ship--and--But when you consider the past state of my mind----the black prospect before me.--

_Sir Chr._ Ha! ha! Black enough, I dare say.

_Camp._ The difficulty I have felt in bringing myself face to face to you.

_Sir Chr._ That I am convinced of--but I knew you would come the first opportunity.

_Camp._ Very true: yet the distance between the Governor of Barbadoes and myself. [_Bowing._]

_Sir Chr._ Yes--a devilish way asunder.

_Camp._ Granted, sir: which has distressed me with the cruellest doubts as to our meeting.

_Sir Chr._ It was a toss up.

_Camp._ The old gentleman seems devilish kind.--Now to soften him. [_Aside._] Perhaps, sir, in your younger days, you may have been in the same situation yourself.

_Sir Chr._ Who? I! 'sblood! no, never in my life.

_Camp._ I wish you had, with all my soul, Sir Christopher.

_Sir Chr._ Upon my soul, Sir, I am very much obliged to you. [_Bowing._]

_Camp._ As what I now mention might have greater weight with you.

_Sir Chr._ Pooh! pr'ythee! I tell you I pitied you from the bottom of my heart.

_Camp._ Indeed! if, with your leave, I may still venture to mention Miss Narcissa--

_Sir Chr._ An impatient, sensible young dog! like me to a hair! Set your heart at rest, my boy. She's yours; yours before to-morrow morning.

_Camp._ Amazement! I can scarce believe my senses.

_Sir Chr._ Zounds! you ought to be out of your senses: but dispatch--make short work of it, ever while you live, my boy. Here she is.

_Enter NARCISSA and PATTY._

Here girl: here's your swain.

[_To NAR._

_Camp._ I just parted with my Narcissa, on the quay, sir.

_Sir Chr._ Did you! Ah, sly dog----had a meeting before you came to the old gentleman.--But here--Take him, and make much of him--and, for fear of further separations, you shall e'en be tacked together directly. What say you, girl?

_Camp._ Will my Narcissa consent to my happiness?

_Nar._ I always obey my father's commands, with pleasure, sir.

_Sir Chr._ Od! I'm so happy, I hardly know which way to turn; but we'll have the carriage directly; drive down to the quay; trundle old Spintext into church, and hey for matrimony!

_Camp._ With all my heart, Sir Christopher; the sooner the better.

SIR CHRISTOPHER, CAMPLEY, NARCISSA, PATTY.

Sir Chr. _Your Colinettes, and Arriettes,_
_Your Damons of the grove,_
_Who like fallals, and pastorals,_
_Waste years in love;_
_But modern folks know better jokes,_
_And, courting once begun,_
_To church they hop at once--and pop--_
_Egad, all's done!_

All. _In life we prance a country dance,_
_Where every couple stands;_
_Their partners set--a while curvet--_
_But soon join hands._

Nar. _When at our feet, so trim and neat,_
_The powder'd lover sues,_
_He vows he dies, the lady sighs,_
_But can't refuse._
_Ah! how can she unmov'd e'er see_
_Her swain his death incur?_
_If once the squire is seen expire,_
_He lives with her._

All. _In life, &c. &c._

Patty. _When John and Bet are fairly met,_
_John boldly tries his luck;_
_He steals a buss, without more fuss,_
_The bargain's struck._
_Whilst things below are going so,_
_Is Betty pray to blame?_
_Who knows up stairs, her mistress fares_
_Just, just the same._

All. _In life we prance, &c. &c._

[Exeunt.