Host. Did you call, gentlemen?

     Trapparti. Yes, and bawl too, Sir.  Here the gentlemen are almost
     famished, and nobody comes near ’em.  What have you in the house now
     that will be ready presently?

     Host. You may have what you please, Sir.

     Hypolita. Can you get us a partridge?

     Host. We have no partridges; but we’ll get you what you please in
     a moment.  We have a very good neck of mutton, Sir, if you please,
     it shall be clapt down in a moment.

     Hyp. Have you any pigeons or chickens?

     Host. Truly, Sir, we have no fowl in the house at present; if you
     please, you may have anything else in a moment.

     Hyp. Then, prithee, get us some young rabbits.

     Host. Upon my word, Sir, rabbits are so scarce, they are not to
     be had for money.

     Trap. Have you any fish?

     Host. Fish!  Sir; I dressed yesterday the finest dish that ever
     came upon a table; I am sorry we have none, Sir; but, if you
     please, you may have anything else in a moment.

     Trap. Hast thou nothing but Anything else in the house?

     Host. Very good mutton, Sir.

     Hyp. Prithee, get us a breast, then.

     Host. Breast!  Don’t you love the neck, Sir?

     Hyp. Ha’ ye nothing in the house but the neck?

     Host. Really, Sir, we don’t use to be so unprovided, but at
     present we have nothing else left.

     Trap. Faith, Sir, I don’t know but a Nothing else may be very
     good meat, when Anything else is not to be had.

Sometimes there is a little smartness in the dialogue, and in the “Careless Husband,” Lord Foppington uses such strange expletives as “Sun burn me,” “Stop my breath,” “Set my blood.”  But the greater part of any amusement that there is, depends, as in the Roman Comedy, upon the tricks of low-minded mercenary servants.

Although neither of the two last-named writers was English by descent, they were both so by adoption, and the same may be said of the next author, Farquhar, who was born at Londonderry in 1678, but whose Irish characters want the charm of the pure national comicality.  He was the son of a clergyman who sent him to the University, but his taste being averse to the prescribed course of study, he left it, and became an actor.  Want of voice soon excluded him from the stage, and he entered the army—­a profession which we might conclude, from the experiences of Wycherley and Vanbrugh, was somewhat favourable for the cultivation of dramatic talent.  The constant companionship of men of wild and fanciful dispositions, the leisure for observing their talents and peculiarities, and the perpetual demand for the exercise of light repartee, would all tend to furnish effective materials for the stage.  Farquhar soon married, and his poverty, with an increasing family, led to his producing a play nearly every year from 1703 to 1707.  Finally he sold out, and was in deep distress.  Speaking of his condition with his accustomed gaiety, he says:—­