OCR Text |
Show 24 Sir Harry Wildair 3 being Fire. Shoot their Coach-horfes. Stand. A noble Plot.- But n o w it's laid, liow fhall we put it in execution? for not one of thefe Fellows ftirs about without his Guard duCorps. Then they're ftout as Heroes; for 1 can affure you, that a Beau with fix Foot-men fhall fight you any Gentleman in Chriftendom. Enter Servant. Ser. Sir, here's Mr. Clincher below, w h o begs the Honour to kifs your Hand. Stand. Ay, W h y here's another Beau. Fire. Let him come, let him come; I'll fhew you how to manage a Beau prefently. Stand. Hold, hold, Sir; this is a fimple inoftenfive Fellow; that will rather make us Diverfion. Fire. Diverfion! Ay. Why, I'll knock him down for Diverfion. Stand. N o , no; prithee be quiet; I gave him a furfeit of tntriguing fome Months ago before I was marry'd. Here, bid him come up. He's worth your Acquaintance, Brother. Fire. M y Acquaintance ! What is he ? Stand. A Fellow of a ftrange Wethercock-hcad, very hard, but as light as the W i n d ; constantly full of the Times, and never fails to pick up fome Humour or other out of the pub-lick Revolutions, that proves diverting enough. Some rime ago he had got the Travelling Maggot in his Head, and was going to the Jubilee upon all occafions ; but lately, fince the new Revolution in Europe , another Spirit has poiTefs'd him, and he runs ftark m a d after N e w s and Politicks. Enter Clincher. Clin. News, news, Coll. great Eh! what's this FeF-low ? Methinks he has a kind of fufpicious Air. Your Ear, Coll. The Pope's dead. Stand. Where did you hear it ? Clin. I read it in the publick News. (Whifpering. Stand. Ha, ha, ha. And why d'ye whifper it for a Secret ? Clin. Odfo ! faith, that's true. But that Fellow there; , what is he ? Stand. M y Brother Fireball, juft come home from the Baltick. Qin. Odfo! Noble Captain, I'm your moft* humble and obedienl Servant, from the Poop to the Forecaftle. Nay, a kits o' 'tother fide, pray. Now, dear Captain, tell uw the New?. Odfo ! I'm fb pleas'd I have met you ! Well, theNew3, dear Captain. You fail'd a biave Squadron-of M e n of W a r to the Baltick. - J"VeU, and what then ? eh! |