Val. Yes, I do; I'll write a play.

Jer. Hem!-Sir, if you please to give me a small certificate of three lines-only to certify those whom it may concern, That the bearer hereof, Jeremy Fetch by name, has for the space of seven years truly and faithfully served Valentine Legend, Esquire; and that he is not now turned away for any misdemeanour, but does voluntarily dismifs his master from any future authority over him

Val. No, sirrah; you shall live with me still.

Jer. Sir, it's impofsible-I may die with you, starve with yon, or be damned with your works: but to live, even three days, the life of a play, I no more expect it, than to be canonized for a muse after my decease.

Val. You are witty, you rogue, I shall want your help-I'll have you learn to make couplets, to tag the ends of acts. D'ye hear? get the maids to crambo in an evening, and learn the knack of rhyming; you may arrive at the height of a song sent by an unknown hand, or a chocolate-house lampoon.

Jer. But, sir, is this the way to recover your father's favour? Why, Sir Sampson will be irreconcileable. If your younger brother should come from sea, he'd never look upon you again. You're undone, sir; you're ruined; you won't have a friend left in the world, if you turn poet.-Ah, pox confound that Will's coffee-house, it has ruined more young men than the Royal Oak lottery!-Nothing thrives that belongs to it. The man of the house would have been an alderman by this time with half the trade, if he had set up in the city.-For my part, I never sit at the door, that I don't get double the stomach that I do at a horse race. The air upon Banstead Downs is nothing to it for a whetter; yet I never see it, but the spirit of famine appears to me-sometimes like a decayed porter, worn out with pimping, and carrying billet-doux and songs; not like other porters for hire, but for the jest's sake. Now like a thin chairman, melted down to half his proportion, with carrying a poet upon tick, to visit some great fortune; and his fare to be paid him, like the wages of sin, either at the day of marriage, or the day of death.

"Val. Very well, sir; can you proceed?

"Jer. Sometime like a bilked bookseller, with a 66 meagre terrified countenance, that looks as if he "had written for himself, or were resolved to turn 66 author, and bring the rest of his brethren into "the same condition. And lastly, in the form of a worn-out punk, with verses in her hand, which her vanity had preferred to settlements, without 66 a whole tatter to her tail, but as ragged as one of "the muses; or as if she was carrying her linen to "the paper-mill, to be converted into folio books

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of warning to all young maids, not to prefer poetry "to good sense; or lying in the arms of a needy -66 wit, before the embraces of a wealthy fool.”

Enter SCANDAL.

Scand. What! Jeremy holding forth?

Val. The rogue bras (with all the wit he could muster up) been declaiming against wit.

Scand. Ay? Why then I'm afraid Jeremy has wit: for wherever it is, it's always contriving its own ruin.

Jer. Why so I have been telling my master, sir. Mr. Scandal, for Heaven's sake, sir, try if you can difsuade him from turning poet.

Scand. Poet! He shall turn soldier first, and rather depend upon the outside of his head, than the lining! Why, what the devil! has not your poverty made you enemies enough? must you needs shew your wit to get more?

Jer. Ay, more indeed: for who cares for any body that has more wit than himself?

Scand. Jeremy speaks like an oracle. Don't you see how worthiefs great men and dull rich rogues avoid a witty man of small fortune? Why, he looks like a writ of inquiry into their titles and estates; and seems commifsioned by Heaven to seize the better half.

Val. Therefore I would rail in my writings, and be revenged.

Scand. Rail! at whom? the whole world? Impotent and vain! Who would die a martyr to sense, in a country where the religion is folly? You may stand at bay for a while; but, when the full cry is

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against you, you sha'nt have fair play for your life. If you can't be fairly run down by the hounds, you will be treacherously shot by the huntsmen.-No, turn pimp, flatterer, quack, lawyer, parson, be "chaplain to an atheist, or stallion to an old woman," any thing but poet. A modern poet is worse, more servile, timorous, and fawning, than any I have named: without you could retrieve the ancient honours of the name, recal the stage of Athens, and be allowed the force of open honest satire.

Val. You are as inveterate against our poets, as if your character had been lately exposed upon the stage. Nay, I am not violently bent upon the trade. -[One knocks.] Jeremy, see whose there. [Jeremy goes to the Door.]-But tell me what you would have me do?-What do the world say of me, and my forced confinement?

Scand. The world behaves itself, as it uses to do on such occasions. Some pity you, and condemn your father: others excuse him, and blame you. Only the ladies are merciful, and wish you well: since love and pleasurable expence have been your greatest faults.

JEREMY returns.

Val. How now?

Jer. Nothing new, sir. I have dispatched some half a dozen duns with as much dexterity as an hungry judge does causes at dinner-time.

Val. What answer have you given them?

Scand. Patience, I suppose the old receipt! Jer. No, faith, sir: I have put them off so long with patience and forbearance, and other fair words, that I was forced to tell them in plain downright English

Val. What?

Jer. That they should be paid.
Val. When?

Jer. To-morrow.

Val. And how the devil do you mean to keep your word?

Jer. Keep it? Not at all: it has been so very much stretched, that I reckon it will break of cou

by to-morrow, and nobody be surprised at the matter!-[Knocking.]-Again! Sir, if you don't like my negotiation, will you be pleased to answer these yourself?

Val. See who they are. [Exit Jeremy.] By this, Scandal, you may see what it is to be great. Secretaries of state, presidents of the council, and generals of an army, lead just such a life as I do; have just such crowds of visitants in a morning, all soliciting of past promises; which are but a civiler sort of duns, that lay claim to voluntary debts.

Scand. And you, like a truly great man, having engaged their attendance, and promised more than ever you intended to perform, are more perplexed to find evasions, than you would be to invent the honest means of keeping your word, and gratifying your creditors.

Val. Scandal, learn to spare your friends, and do not provoke your enemies. This liberty of your tongue will one day bring confinement on your body, my friend.

Enter JEREMY.

Jer. O, sir, there's Trapland the scrivener, with two suspicious fellows like lawful pads, that would knock a man down with pocket tipstaves! And there's your father's steward; and the nurse, with one of your children, from Twit'nam.

Val. Pox on her! could she find no other time to fling my sins in my face? Here! give her this, [gives Money] and bid her trouble me no more; "a thoughtless, two-handed whore! She knows my "condition well enough, and might have overlaid "the child a fortnight ago, if she had any forecast "in her."

Scand. What, is it bouncing Margery, with my godson?

Jer. Yes, sir.

Scand. My blessing to the boy, with this token [gives Money] of my love. "And, d'ye hear, bid Margery put more flocks in her bed, shift twice a "week, and not work so hard, that she may not " smell so vigorously.-I shall take the air shortly." Val. " Scandal, don't spoil my boy's milk."-Bid

Trapland come in. If I can give that Cerberus a sop, I shall be at rest for one day.

[Jeremy goes out, and brings in Trapland. Val. O Mr. Trapland! my old friend! welcome. -Jeremy, a chair quickly: a bottle of sack and a toast-fly-a chair first.

Trapl. A good morning to you, Mr. Valentine; and to you, Mr. Scandal.

Scand. The morning's a very good morning, if you don't spoil it.

Val. Come, sit you down; you know his way. Trapl. [Sits.] There is a debt, Mr. Valentine, of fifteen hundred pounds, of pretty long standingVal. I cannot talk about businefs with a thirsty palate.-Sirrah! the sack!

Trapl. And I desire to know what course you have taken for the payment.

Val. Faith and troth, I am heartily glad to see you-my service to you! fill, fill, to honest Mr. Trapland-fuller!

Trapl. Hold! sweetheart-this is not to our businefs. My service to you, Mr. Scandal!-[drinks] I have forborne as long

Val. T'other glass, and then we'll talk-Fill, Jeremy,

Trapl. No more, in truth-I have forborne, I say→ Val. Sirrah! fill! when 1 bid you.-And how does your handsome daughter ?-Come, a good husband to her. [Drinks,

Trapl. Thank you-I have been out of this money

Val. Drink first. Scandal, why do you not drink? [They drink. Trapl. And, in short, I can be put off no longer. Val. I was much obliged to you for your supply: it did me signal service in my necefsity. But you delight in doing good. Scandal, drink to me, my friend Trapland's health. An honester man lives not, nor one more ready to serve his friend in distrefs; though I say it to his face. Come, fill each man his glass.

Scand. What? I know Trapland has been a whore-master, and loves a wench still. You never knew a whore-master that was not an honest fellow.