LITMIR.BIZ

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Not I, I isn't for none of your figure expressions, d' ye see, becase why, I never larnt to cipher;—every grain of corn a pig! Ha, ha, ha. That's pleasant, ecod; why the Jews wou'dn't dare for to shew their noses out o'doors, everything wou'd smell so woundily of pork! Ha, ha, ha.

      Loveyet. A comical countryman of mine this. [Aside.] What is your name, my honest lad?

      Humphry. Why, if you'll tell me your name, I'll tell you mine, d' ye see; for, one good turn desarves another, as the old saying is, and, evil be to them that evil thinks, every tub must stand upon its own bottom, and, when the steed is stolen, shut the stable door, and, while the grass grows, the mare starves—the horse I mean; it don't make no odds, a horse is a mare, but a mare an't a horse, as father says, d' ye see—and——

      Loveyet. What a monstrous combination of nonsense!

      Humphry. Don't tell me what I am, but tell me what I have been—

      Loveyet. Prithee, Mr. Sancho, let's have no more of those insipid proverbs. You was going to tell me your name.

      Humphry. My name is Cubb—Humphry Cubb, at your sarvice, as the saying is.

      Loveyet. Hah! my worthy friend Frankton——

      Enter Frankton.

      Frankton. My best, my long expected Charles! your arrival has made me the happiest man alive.

      [They embrace.

      Loveyet. I am heartily glad to see you, George, and to meet you so opportunely; 'tis not fifteen minutes since I landed on my native soil, and you are the very person, above every other in the city, whom I wish'd first to see.

      Frankton. Then you have not forgot your friend.

      Loveyet. Far from it, Frankton; be assured that the joy I now feel at meeting with you, is by no means the least I expect to experience.

      Frankton. Our satisfaction is then mutual—your friends are all happy and well, and I know your arrival will not a little contribute to their felicity, as well as mine—but who have you here, Loveyet? Landed not fifteen minutes ago, and in close confab with one of our Boors already?

      Humphry. A boar! why you're worser than he there—he only took father's corn for pigs, but do you take me for a boar, eigh? Do I look like a hog, as the saying is?

      Frankton. Begone, you illiterate lubber!—My dear Charles, I have a thousand things to say to you, and this is an unfit place for conversation.

      Loveyet. We will adjourn to the Coffee-House.

      Frankton. No, you shall go with me to my lodgings.

      Humphry. Why, what a cruel-minded young dog he is! See how he swaggers and struts—he looks very like the Pharisee's head, on old Coming Sir, honest Dick Tipple's sign, I think—No, now I look at him good, he's the very moral of our Tory.

      Loveyet. I wait your pleasure, Frankton.

      Frankton. Then allons!

      [Exeunt Frankton and Loveyet.

      Humphry. [Burlesquing them.] Forward, march—as our Captain says—[Struts after them.]—Literary lubber, eigh! But I'll be up with the foutre.

      Frankton and Loveyet return.

      Frankton. Do you call me a foutre, you rascal?

      Humphry. Call you a future! ha, ha, ha. I was a talking about something that I was a going for to do some other time, sir.—Doesn't future magnify some other time, eigh?

      Frankton. The future signifies the time to come, to be sure.

      Humphry. Well, then, isn't I right? What argufies your signifies, or your magnifies? There an't the toss up of a copper between 'um—I wou'dn't give a leather button for the choice, as the old proverb goes.

      Frankton. Harkee, Mr. Talkative, if you ever——

      Humphry. No, sir, never—that I won't—no, no, you may be sure of that.

      Frankton. Sure of what?

      Humphry. Nothing, sir; we can be sartin of nothing in this world, as Mr. Thumpum says.

      Loveyet. Ha, ha, ha.

      Frankton. Oh, what a precious numskull it is!

      Loveyet. [To Frankton.] I have a letter here, which announces to my father, my intention to leave the West-Indies the beginning of March, but I miss'd of the expected conveyance—I have half a mind to send it yet. I would not have him apprized of my arrival; for I wish to try if he would know me;—and yet I long to embrace my aged and venerable parent.—Will you do me the favour to take this letter to my father, Mr. Cubb? He lives at number two hundred and fifty, in Queen-Street, in a three-story red brick house.—I'll reward you for it.

      Humphry. As for your rewards, I'm above it, d' ye see: If I do it, I'll do it without fear or reward, as the saying is; but if you think fit, you may treat a body to the valuation of a mug or so. Don't you love ale? for they says how the Yorkers is cursed fellows for strong beer.

      Loveyet. What a digression!

      Humphry. I scorn your words—'tis no transgression at all to drink ale—Why, Parson Thumpum himself drinks ale.

      Loveyet. Well, will you carry the letter? You shall have as much strong beer when you come back as you can stagger under.

      Humphry. Why, if I was for to have my beer a-board before I go, I shou'dn't get top-heavy, as the saying is; for I can carry as much weight in my head as e'er a he that wears a head, without staggering.

      Frankton. I dare say you can; you have always plenty of that.

      Humphry. Yes, you're right—I know what you mean; I've got it here a little, as old Mr. Scourge says. [Exeunt Frankton and Loveyet.] But as for what you said just now—no, no, sir; I'll never foutre you, I warrant you—I always curses and swears in plain English, d' ye see—I—what's he gone? I hope he won't come back again for the sixth time; three times has he been in and out within the circumference of a minute. But I won't stay here no longer—I'll go and try if I can't find out where Doll lives, my old sweetheart; I an't so poor, but what I can buy her a ribbon or so; and, if all comes to all, I can get a new pair o' breeches too; for, to be sure, this one doesn't look quite so decent, and if that doesn't fetch her, the devil shall, as the old saying is. I'm cursedly afraid, I sha'n't be able to find out her quarters.

      [Exit.

      Scene III. Mr. Friendly's House.

      Enter Harriet and Maria.

      Harriet. Pray, Maria, how were you entertained at the Assembly last night?

      Maria. Very indifferently, I assure you, my dear: You know, Harriet, I do most cordially hate dancing at any time; but what must one do with one's self these irksome, heavy, dreary Winters? If it were not for cards, visits to and from, and——

      Harriet. Assemblies.

      Maria. Yes, as my last resource, Assemblies, I should absolutely be in a state of despair before Spring.—Then one may take an excursion on York or Long-Island—an agreeable sail on the East-River—a walk in the Broadway, Pharisee-like, to be seen of men, and—to see them—and then how refreshing to take a negligent stroll on the Battery, the Fort, the Mall, and from thence to Miss Such-a-one, then to Mrs. Such-a-one, then to Lady What's-her-name, and then home;—but now I am half of my time as motionless as Pitt's statue; as petrified and inanimate as an Egyptian mummy, or rather frozen snake, who crawls out of his hole now and then in this season to bask in the rays of the sun.

      Harriet. And whenever the sunshine of Mr. Frankton's eyes breaks upon you, you revive.

      Maria. Pshaw—I wish you had Mr. Frankton yourself, since you are so full of his sweet image.

      Harriet. I'm sure you did not

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