Sir Har.  They do belong to me; here’s a Crown for you to drink; pray leave us.

Tot.  If you be Sir Harry Sprightly, my Grand-Mother will be very angry when she hears how these Fellows ha’ daub’d my Cloaths.

Sir Har. [To Shrimp.] Was that the Place I order’d you to carry the Boy to.

Tot.  Boy, the Gentlewoman I ha’ been with, did’n’t think mee a Boy.

Sir Har.  What Gentlewoman?

Tot.  Why, we ha been at the Tavern, where we drunk pure Sack, and saw Madam Betty, the Orange-Lady; and afterwards we went to fine Madam Over-done’s stately Lodgings in Vinegar-Yard, where we ha’ been as merry as my Grand-Mother, when she gets drunk with Plague-Water. [Feels his Pockets.] Ah Lard!  Mr. Shrimp, where’s my Hundred Pound Bill?

Sir Har.  The Lady you ha’ been with, I guess, has pickt your Pocket, and these Fellows are to share it with her.

Tot.  She pick my Pocket! why she had a Furbelow-Scarf on.

Sir Har.  Come, come, I’ll reimburse you, and send you back into the Country; you are not sharp enough for the Profession design’d you; where you may boast among your ignorant Acquaintance, that you have a perfect Knowledge o’ the Town, for you have met with two very great Rogues, got drunk at a Tavern, been at a common Brothel, and have had your Pocket pickt of a Hundred Pounds. [To Knapsack.] For you, Friend, the Collonel will take care of you; [To Shrimp.] and for you, Rascal——­

Bram.  I profess, Sir Harry, a Couple of promising Youths; a Boy shou’d n’t be trusted with so much Money; these Persons have seen the World, and know how to employ it——­Gentlemen, if your Masters discard you, I’ll entertain you. [Aside.] I find by their Phis’nomies they’ll be rising Men; and tho’ they came sneaking into the World, like other People, and paid a Tax for their Births, they’ll go out of it a more sublime way, and cheat the Church of their Burials.

Col.  Punish’d they shall be, but ’tis now unseasonable; this Day I’d wish an universal Jubilee——­What say you to a Dance, good People, my Lady’s Servants are all musical.

A DANCE.

Col. The Wav’ring Nymph, with Pride and Envy sir’d,
    Ranges the World, to be by all admir’d;
    Thro’ distant Courts, and Climes, she bears her way,
    And like the Sun, wou’d course ’em in a Day;
    At length Fatigu’d, she finds those Trifles vain,
    Meer empty Joys, repeated o’er again: 
    But when by Nature urg’d, weak Fancy fails,
    And Reason dictating, sound Sense prevails;
    Wisely she takes the Lover to her Arms,
    And owns her self subdu’d by Love’s more potent Charms.

The EPILOGUE,

Spoken by Mrs. Bradshaw.