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Show go The Jn conft ant : Or, per'd in your Prayers at Church. 'Sdeath, Sir, d'ye fmile 1 Gen. Not I, upon m y word. D.r. W h y then look grave as an O w l in a Barn, or a Fryer with his Crown a fhaving. Mir. [Afide to the Gent.] Don't be bully d out of your Humour, Gentlemen; the Fellow's mad, laugh at him, and 111 ftand by you. i Gen. Tgad and fo w e will. Both. Ha, ha, ha. Dur. Ha, ha, ha, very pretty. [Draws.] She threaten'd to kick me. Ay, then, you Dogs, I'll murther ye. (Fights, and beats them off, Mir. runs over to his Mir. Ha, ha, ha, bravely done, Duretete, there you had him, noble Captain, hey, they run, they run, Victoria, Victoria Ha, ha, ha how happy a m I in an excellent Friend! Tell m e of your Virtuofo's and Men of Senfe, a parcel of fowre-fae'd fplenetick Rogues a M a n of my thin Conftitution fhou'd never want a Fool in his Company: I don't affedt vour fire things that improve the Underftanding, but hearty laughing to fatten m y Carcafe: And o' m y Con-icience, a M a n of Senfe is as melancholy without a Coxcomb, as a Lyon without his Jackall; he hunts for our Diverfion, ftarts G a m e for our Spleen, and perfectly feeds us with Pleafure. I hate the Man who makes Acquaintance nice, And ftill difcreetly plagues me with Advice; W h o moves by Caution, and mature Delays, A n d muft give Reafons for whate'er he fay?. The M a n , indeed, whofe Converfe is fo full, Makes m e attentive, but it makes m e dull : Give m e the carelefs Rogue, w h o never thinks; That plays the Fool as freely as he drinks. Not a Buffoon, w h o is Buffoon by Trade, But one that Nature, not his Wants have made. W h o ftill is merry, but does ne'er defign it; And ftill is ridicul'd, but ne'er can find it. W h o when he's moft in earneft, is the beft; And his moft grave Expreflion, is the Jeft. (Exit. The End of the Third ACT. A CT |