you a mortgage on some of his winter clothes, with equity of redemption before November-or you shall have the reversion of the French velvet, or a post-obit on the blue and silver: [Bell rings.] these, I should think, Moses, with a few pair of point ruffles, as a collateral security.—[Bell rings.]—Egad, I heard the bell! I believe, gentlemen, I can now introduce you. Don't forget the annuity, little Moses! This way, gentlemen. I'll ensure my place, you know.

Sir O. If the man be a shadow of the master, this is the temple of dissipation indeed! [Exeunt.

SCENE III.—Antique Hall.

CHARLES SURFACE, CARELESS, SIR HARRY, &c. at a table, with wine, &c.

Charles S. 'Fore heaven, 'tis true!-there's the great degeneracy of the age. Many of our acquaintance have taste, spirit, and politeness; but, plague on't, they won't drink wine.

Care. It is so indeed, Charles! they give into all the substantial luxuries of the table, and abstain from nothing but wine and wit. O, certainly society suffers by it intolerably: for now, instead of the social spirit of raillery that used to mantle over a glas of bright Burgundy, their conversation is become just like the Spa water they drink, which has all the pertness and flatulency of Champaigne, without its spirit or flavour. Sir H. But what are they to do who love play better than wine?

Care. True: there's Sir Harry diets himself for gaming, and is now under a hazard regimen.

Charles S. Then he'll have the worst of it. What! you wouldn't train a horse for the course by keeping him from corn? For my part, egad! I am never so successful as when I am a little merry: let me throw on a bottle of Champaigne, and I never lose.

Aul. Hey, what?

Charles S. At least, I never feel my losses, which is exactly the same thing.

Care. Ay, that I believe.

Charles S. And then, what man can pretend to be a believer in love, who is an abjurer of wine? 'Tis the test by which the lover knows his own heart. Fill a dozen bumpers to a dozen beauties, and she that floats at the top is the maid that has bewitched you.

Care. Now then, Charles, be honest, and give us your real favourite.

Charles S. Why, I have withheld her only in compassion to you. If toast her, you must give a round of her peers, which is impossible-on earth.

Care. Oh! then we'll find some canonized vestals, or heathen goddesses that will do, I warrant!

Charles S. Here then, bumpers, you rogues! bumpers! Maria! Maria!

Sir H. Maria who?

Charles S. O. damn the surname 'tis too formal to be registered in Love's calender;-Maria!

All. Maria!

Charles. S. But now, Sir Harry, beware, we must have beauty superlative.

Care. Nay, never study, Sir Harry: we'll stand to the toast, though your mistress should want an eye, and you know you have a song will excuse you.

Sir H. Egad, so I have! and I'll give him the song instead of the lady.

SONG.

Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen;
Here's to the widow of fifty;

Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean,
And here's to the housewife that's thrifty.

I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.

Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize;
Now to the maid who has none, sir:
Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
And here's to the nymph with but one,

sir.

Chorus. Let the toast pass, &c.

Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow;
Now to her that's as brown as a berry:
Here's to the wife with a face full of woe,
And now to the damsel that's merry.
Chorus. Let the toast pass, &c.

For let 'em be clumsy, or let 'em be slim,
Young or ancient, I care not a feather;
So fill up your glasses, nay, fill to the brim,
And let us e'en toast them together.

Chorus. Let the toast pass, &c.

All. Bravo! Bravo!

Enter TRIP, and whispers CHARLES SURFACE. Charles S. Gentlemen, you must excuse me a little. Careless, take the chair, will you?

Care. Nay, prithee, Charles, what now? This is, one of your peerless beauties, I suppose, has dropt in by chance?

Charles S. No, faith! To tell you the truth, 'tis a Jew and a broker, who are come by appointment. Care. O damn it! let's have the Jew in.

Sir H. Ay, and the broker too, by all means. Care. Yes, yes, the Jew and the broker. Charles S. Egad, with all my heart! Trip, bid the gentlemen walk in-[Exit Trip.]-though there's one of them a stranger, I can assure you.

Care. Charles, let us give them some generous Burgundy, and perhaps they'll grow conscientious. Charles S. O hang'em, no! wine does but draw forth a man's natural qualities; and to make them drink would only be to whet their knavery.

Enter TRIP, MOSES, and SIR OLIver Surface.

Charles S. So, honest Moses, walk in, pray, Mr. Premium-that's the gentleman's n'ame; isn't it, Moses?

Moses. Yes, sir.

Charles S. Set chairs, Trip-sit down, Mr. Premium-glasses, Trip-sit down, Moses. Come, Mr. Premium, I'll give you a sentiment; here's Success to usury!-Moses, fill the gentleman a bumper. Moses. Success to usury!

Care. Right, Moses-usury is prudence and industry, and deserves to succeed.

Sir O. Then-Here's all the success it deserves. Care. [Rising, and coming forward.] No, no, that won't do! Mr. Premium, you have demurred at the toast, and must drink it in a pint bumper.

Sir H. A pint bumper, at least.

Moses. O pray, sir, consider-Mr. Premium's a gentleman.

Care. And therefore loves good wine.

Sir H. Give Moses a quart glass-this is mutiny, and a high contempt for the chair.

Charles S. No, hang it, you shan't! Mr. Premium's a stranger.

Care. Plague on 'em then-if they won't drink, we'll not sit down with them. Come, Harry, the dice are in the next room-Charles, you'll join us when you have finished your business with the gentlemen? Charles S. I will! I will! [Exeunt all the Gentlemen.] Careless!

Care. [Returning.] Well!

Charles S. Perhaps I may want you.

Care. O, you know I am always ready: word, note, or bond, 'tis all the same to me.

[Exit. Moses. Sir, this is Mr. Premium, a gentleman of the strictest honour and secrecy; and always performs what he undertakes. Mr. Premium, this isCharles S. Pshaw! have done.-Sir, my friend Moses is a very honest fellow, but a little slow at expression: he'll be an hour giving us our titles. Mr. Premium, the plain state of the matter is this: I am an extravagant young fellow, who want money to borrow-you I take to be a prudent old fellow, who has got money to lend.-I am blockhead enough to

give fifty per cent., sooner than not have it; and you, I presume, are rogue enough to take a hundred if you can get it. Now, sir, you see we are acquainted at once, and may proceed to business without farther ceremony.

Sir O. Exceeding frank, upon my word.—I see, sir, you are not a man of many compliments.

Charles S. Oh no, sir; plain dealing in business I always think best.

Sir O. Sir, I like you the better for it--however, you are mistaken in one thing; I have no money to lend, but I believe I could procure some of a friend; but then he's an unconscionable dog; isn't he, Moses? And must sell stock to accommodate you-mustn't he, Moses? Moses. Yes, indeed! You know I always speak the truth, and scorn to tell a lie!

Charles S. Right. People that speak truth generally do but these are trifles, Mr. Premium. What! I know money isn't to be bought without paying for't.

Sir O. Well-but what security could you give? You have no land, I suppose?

Charles S. Not a mole-hill, nor a twig, but what's in the bough-pots out of the window!

Sir O. Nor any stock, I presume?

Charles S. Nothing but live stock-and that's only a few pointers and ponies. But pray, Mr. Premium, are you acquainted at all with any of my connexions? Sir O. Why, to say truth, I am.

Charles S. Then you must know that I have a dev'lish rich uncle in the East Indies, Sir Oliver Surface, from whom I have the greatest expectations.

Sir O. That you have a wealthy uncle I have heard; but how your expectations will turn out,

lieve than you can tell.

more, I be

Charles S. O no!-there can be no doubt. They tell me I'm a prodigious favorite, and that he talks of leaving me every thing.

Sir O. Indeed! this is the first time I've heard of it. Charles S. Yes, yes, 'tis just so-Moses knows 'tis true, don't you, Moses?