La. Rod.  I mould rather chuse a peaceful Race, whose Virtue shou’d prefer ’em to the State, where Wisdom, like a Goddess, sits triumphant, to awe, to charm, to punish and reward, and check the Fury of such headstrong Coursers.

Bram.  A Race of Side-Box-Beaus, that love soft easie Chairs, Down-Beds, and taudry Night-Gowns; I admire those renown’d Emperors, that chop Peoples Heads off for their Diversion, and the glorious King of France, that makes his Family Kings whenever he pleases; that gives People yearly Pensions to bellow out his praise; whose Edicts fly about like Squibs and Crackers, and as much laughs at Parliaments and Councils, as a Whore of Distinction does at the Reforming-Society.

La. Rod.  Such Princes are meant Scourges to the Earth; no Mortal’s fit for absolute Command; Men have their Passions; Monarchs are but Men, and when Love, Jealousie, or Fear possess ’em, the Tyrants spurn, and rack their guiltless People, who tamely bend, and court their fatal Madness; our happy Realm knows no Despotick Sway; not only Kingdoms here, but Hearts unite, the Sov’reign and the Subjects bless each other; a Constitution so divinely fram’d; such gen’rous Concord, such resistless Harmony, that Nature wonders at her own Perfections; a Climate and a People so serene!

Bram.  Look you, Madam, I’m no more an Enemy to the Government than to your Ladiship:  Your Ladiship has a good Estate, Estate, and your Person is mightily dish’d out, fine and lovely and plump, therefore if your Ladyship thinks fit to marry me, and the Government to give me a Place of a Thousand a Year, I’m an humble Servant to both, otherwise I wou’dn’t care three Whiffs o’ Tobacco, if the Government sunk, and your Ladiship were blown up in the Clouds.

La. Rod. Plain-dealing, Major, ought to be inestimable, especially in a Statesman, but you needn’t give your self any trouble about me, you’re not a Creature tame enough for a Husband:  The Lion that’s us’d to range the Woods, if once ensnar’d, grows ten times more outragious.  What think you, Cousin, shou’d we entangle the Major.

Mrs. Lov. We must never come near him, Madam, for I’m afraid he’ll devour us all.

Bram. Devour you all, Mrs. Oatcake, a Man must be damnable hungry to feed upon your Chitterlings. [Aside.] Now have I a good mind to hire two or three honest Fellows to swear her into a Plot, have her Estate confiscated to the Government, and get a Reward of half of it for so serviceable a piece of Loyalty and Revenge; but to mortifie her more compleatly, I’ll go make my Addresses to the Divine Lady Toss-up. [Exit.

    Enter Nicknack.