wafted your time, faded your beauty, and destroyed your health, for the laudable purposes of contradicting your hufband, and being this fomething and this nothing called the bon ton ? Mrs. Modifh. What would you have had me do? Mercury. I will follow your mode of inftructing I will tell you what I would not have had you do. I would not have had you facrifice your time, your reafon, and your duties, to fashion and folly. I would not have had you neglect your husband's happiness, and children's education. your Mrs. Modifh. As to my daughters' education 1 fpared no expence they had a dancing-mafter, mufic-master, and drawing-maiter, and a French governess to teach them behaviour and the French language. Mercury. So their religion, fentiments, and manners, were to be learnt from a dancing-master, mufic-mafter, and a chamber-maid! perhaps they might prepare them to catch the bon ton. Your daughters must have been fo educated as to fit them to be wives without conjugal affection, and mothers without maternal care. I am forry for the fort of life they are commencing, and for that which you have just concluded. Minos is a four old gentleman, without the leaft fmattering of the bon ton; and I am in a fright for you. The best thing I can advise you is, to do in this world as you did in the other, keep happiness in your view, but never take the road that leads to it. Remain on this fide Styx; wander about without end or aim; look into the Elysian fields, but never attempt to enter into them, left Minos fhould push you into Tartarus: for duties neglected may bring on a fentence not much less fevere than crimes committed. Dialogues of the Dead. 27. Pling to Paternus. The fickness which has run through my family, and carried off feveral of my domeftics, fome of them too in the prime of their years, has deeply afflicted me, I have two confolations, however, which, though they are not equal to fo confi derable a grief, ftill they are confolations: one is, that as I have always very readily manumifed my flaves, their death does not altogether feem immature, if they lived long enough to received their freedoms; the other, that I have allow ed them to make a kind of a will*, which I obferve as religiously as if they were legally entitled to that privilege. I receive and obey their last requests as fo many authoritative commands, fuffering them to difpofe of their effects to whom they pleafe; with this fingle reftriction, that they leave them to fome in my family, which, to perfons in their ftations, is to be efteemed as a fort of commonwealth. But though I endeavour to acquiefce under these reflections, yet the fame tenderness which led me to fhew them thefe indulgences still breaks out and overpowers my strongest refolutions. However, I would not wish to be infenfible to these soft impreffions of humanity; though the generality of the world, I know, look upon loffes of this kind in no other view than as a diminution of their property; and fancy, by cherishing fuch an unfeeling temper, they difcover a fuperior fortitude and good fenfe. Their wisdom and magnanimity I shall not difpute, but manly I am fure they are not; for it is the very criterion of true manhood to feel thofe impreffions of forrow which it endeavours to refift, and to admit not to be above the want of confolation. But perhaps I have detained you too long upon this fubject, though not fo long as I would. There is a certain pleasure in giving vent to one's grief: especially when we pour out our forrows in the bofom of a friend, who will approve, at least pardon, our tears. Farewell. from Genoa? haft thou heard of my daughter? Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her. Shy. Why there, there, there! a diamond gone that coft me two thoufand ducats in Francfort! The curfe never fell upon our nation till now; I never felt it till now. Two thousand ducats in that, and other precious, precious jewels! I would my daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear! O would she were hears'd at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin! No news of them; and I know not what spent in the fearch: lofs upon lofs! the thief gone with fo much, and fo much to find the thief; and no fatisfaction, no revenge; no il luck ftirring but what lights on my shoulders; no fighs, but o' my breathing; no tears, but o' my fhedding! Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too; Antonio, as I heard in Genoa Shy. What, what, what? il luck, ill luck? Tub. Hath an argofie caft away, coming from Tripolis. Shy. Thank God! thank God! is it true? is it true? Tab. Ifpoke with fome of the failors that escaped the wreck. Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal; good news, good news! Tub. Your daughter fpent in Genoa, as I heard, in one night, fourfcore du Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my company to Venice, that fwear he cannot but break. Shy. I am glad of it: I'll plague him, I'll torture him: I am glad of it. Tub. One of them fhew'd me a ring that he had of your daughter for a monkey. Shy. Out upon her! thou tortureft me, Tubal; it was my ruby, I had it of Leah when I was a batchelor; I would not have given it for a wilderness of monkies. Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true; go fee me an officer, befpeak him a fortnight before. I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit; for were he out of Venice, I can make what merchandize I will. Go, go, Tubal, and meet me at our fynagogue; go, good Tubal; at our fynagogue, Tubal. Shakespeare. Humorous Scene between Prince P Henry. Welcome, Jack!-Where haft thou been? Fal. A plague of all cowards, I fay, and a vengeance too, marry and amen! Give me a cup of fack, boy:-ere I lead this life long, I'll few nether focks and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all cowards! give me a cup of fack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? [He drinks.]-You rogue, here's lime in this fack too. There is nothing but rogue. ry to be found in villainous man; yet a coward is worse than a cup of fack with lime in it. A villainous coward! -Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a fhotten herring. There live not three good men unhang'd in England, and one of them is fat, and grows old, Heaven help the while! A bad world! I fay-A plague of all cowards! I fay still. P. Henry. How now, Woolfack! what mutter you? Fal. A king's fon! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy fubjects afore thee like a flock of wild geefe, I'll never wear hair on my face more! You Prince of Wales! P. Henry. Why, what's the matter? Fal. Are you not a coward? answer me that. P. Henry. Ye fat paunch, an' ye call me coward, I'll ftab thee. Fal. I call thee coward! I'll fee thee hang'd ere I'll call thee coward; but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canft. You are strait enough in the shoulders; you care not who fees your back. Call you that backing of your friends? a plague upon U u z fuch fuch backing! give me them that will face me-give me a cup of fack: I am a rogue if I drank to-day. P. Henry. O villain! thy lips are fcarce wip'd fince thou drank't laft. Fal. All's one for that. [He drinks. A plague of all cowards! ftill, fay I. P. Henry. What's the matter? Fal. What's the matter! here be four of us have ta'en a thousand pound this morning. P. Henry. Where is it, jack? where is it ? Fal. Where is it! taken from us, it is a hundred upon poor four of us. P. Henry. What! a hundred, man ? Fal. I am a rogue if I were not at half-fword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have efcaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet, four through the hofe, my buckler cut through and through, my fword hack'd like a hand-faw, ecce fignum! I never dealt better fince I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all cowards! P. Henry. What, fought you with them all? Fal. All I know not what ye call all; but if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish; if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then I am no two-legg'd creature. P. Henry. Pray Heav'n you have not murder'd fome of them! Fal. Nay, that's paft praying for. I have pepper'd two of them; two, I am fure, I have paid; two rogues in buckfam fuits. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a lie, fpit in my face, call me horfe. Thou knoweft my old ward: here I lay, and thus I bore my point: four rogues in buckram let drive at me. P. Henry. What, four! thou saidst but two even now. Fal. Four, Hal, I told thee four. Thefe four came all a-front, and main ly thruft at me: I made no more ado, but took all their feven points in my target, thus. P. Henry. Seven! why they were but four even now. Fal. In buckram? P. Henry. So, two more already. Fal. Their points being broken, be gan to give me ground; but I follow'd me clofe, came in foot and hand, and, with a thought-feven of the eleven I paid. P. Henry. O monftrous! eleven buck. ram men grown out of two. Fal. But as the devil would have it, three mifbegotten knaves, in Kendalgreen, came at my back, and let drive at me; (for it was fo dark, Hal, that thou couldft not fee thy hand.) P. Henry. Thefe lies are like the father that begets them, grofs as a mountain, open, palpable: Why, thou claybrained guts, thou knotty-pated fool; thou obfcene greafy tallow-catch Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the truth? P. Henry. Why, how couldst thou know thefe men in Kendal-green, when it was fo dark thou couldst not fee thy hand? Come, tell us your reafon: what fay'st thou to this? Come, your reason; Jack, your reafon. Fal. What upon compulfion!-No: were I at the ftrappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulfion. Give you a reafon on compulfion! If reafons were as plenty as black-berries, I would give no man a reafon upon compulfion. P. Henry. I'll be no longer guilty of this fin. This fanguine coward, this Bed-preffer, this horfe-back-breaker; this huge hill of flesh Fal. Away, you ftarveling, you elf. fkin, you dry'd neat's tongue, you ftock-fish! O, for breath to utter ! what is like thee? you taylor's yard, you fheath, you bow-cafe, you vile standing tuck P. Henry. Well, breathe a while, and then to't again; and when thou haft tir'd thyfelf in bafe comparisons, hear me fpeak but this :-Poins and I faw P. Henry. Ay, four, in buckram you four fet on four ; you bound them, mits. and were mafters of their wealth: mark now, (661) now, how a plain tale fhall put you down. Then did we two fet on you four, and with a word out-fac'd you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can fhew it you here in the houfe. And, Falstaff, you carry'd your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roar'd for mercy, and ftill ran and roar'd, as ever I heard bull-calf. What a flave art thou, to hack thy fword as thou haft done, and then say it was in fight! What trick, what device, what ftarting-hole canft thou now find out, to and apparent open hide thee from this fhame ? Fal. Ha ha ha!-D'ye think I did not know you ?-By the Lord, I knew you as well as he that made you. Why, hear ye, my mafter, was it for me to kill the heir-apparent? fhould I turn upon the true prince? why, thou knoweft I am as valiant as Hercules; but beware instinct; the lion will not touch the true prince; inftinct is a great matter. I was a coward on inftinct, I grant you and I fhall think the better of myfelf and thee during my life; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But I am glad you have the money. watch toLet us clap to the doors What, fhall night, pray to-morrow. we be merry? shall we have a play extempore? ; P. Henry. Content!-and the argu- § 30. Scene in which MOODY gives Manly. Honeft John! Moody. Meafter Manly! I'm glad I ha' fun ye.--Well, and how d'ye do, Meafter? Manly. I am glad to fee you in London. I hope all the good family are well. Moody. Thanks be prais'd, your ho- Manly. What has been the matter, Moody. Why, we came up in fuch a hurry, you mun think, that our tackle Moody. Why, i'the awld coach, Moody. Why, we were in hopes to ha Manly. So they bring all their bag- Moody. Ay, ay, and good ftore on't Manly. Ha, ha, ha!-And, pray, how Moody. Why, there's my lady and his worship, and the younk 'fquoire, and Mifs Jenny, and the fat lap-dog, and Tripe the cook, that's all-only Doll my lady's maid Mrs. Handy, and Doll puked a little with riding backward; fo then her ftomach was easy. they hoifted her into the coach-box, and Manly. Ha, ha, ha! Moody. Then you mun think, Meafter, there was fome ftowage for the belly, as well as th' back too; children are we had fuch cargoes of plumb-cake, and apt to be famifh'd upo' the road; fo baskets of tongues, and bifcuits, and in cafe of fickness, bottles of cherrycheefe, and cold boil'd beef-and then, brandy, plague-water, fack, tent, and ftrong beer fo plenty, as made th' awld and fend them all well to town, I fay. coach crack again. Mercy upon them! Manly. Ay, and well out on't again, John. Moody. Meafter! you're a wife mon; and, U u 3 and, for that matter, foam I-Whoam's whoam, I fay: I am fure we ha' got but little good e'er fin' we turn'd our backs on't. Nothing but mifchief! fome devil's trick or other plagued us aw th day lung. Crack, goes one thing! bawnce, goes another! Woa! fays Roger-Then, fowfe! we are all fet falt in a flough. Whaw! cries Mifs: Scream! go the maids; and bawl just as thof' they were fuck. And fo, mercy on us! this was the trade from morning to night. Manly. Ha, ha, ha! Moody. But I mun hie me whoam; the coach will be coming every hour $ 31. From Mr. GAY to Mr. F. Stanton-Harcourt, Aug. 9, 1718. The only news that you can expect from me here, is news from heaven, for I am quite out of the world; and there is fcarce any thing that can reach me except the noife of thunder, which undoubtedly you have heard too. We have read, in old authors, of high towers levelled by it to the ground, while the humble valleys have efcaped: the only thing that is proof against it is the laurel, which, however, I take to be no great fecurity to the brains of modern authors. But to let you fee that the contrary to this often happens, I muft acquaint you, that the higheft and moft extravagant heap of towers which is in this neighbourhood stand still undefaced, while a cock of barley in our next field has been confumed to ashes. Would to God that this heap of barley had been all that had perished! for unhappily beneath this little fhelter fat two much more conftant lovers than ever were found in romance under the fhade of a beech-tree. John Hewit was a well-fet man of about five-and-twenty; Sarah Drew might be rather called comely than beautiful, and was about the fame age. They had paffed through the various labours of the year together, with the greateft fatisfaction. If the milked, it was his morning and evening care to bring the cows to her hand. It was but laft fair that he bought her a prefent of green filk for her ftraw hat, and the poly on her filver ring was of his choofing. Their love was the talk of the whole neighbourhood; for feandal never affirmed that he had any other views than the lawful poffeffion of her in marriage. It was that very morning that he had obtained the confent of her parents, and it was but till the next week that they were to wait to be happy: perhaps in the intervals of their work they were now talking of their wedding-cloaths, and John was fuiting feveral forts of poppies and field-flowers to her complexion, to choose her a knot for her wedding-day. While they were thus bufied (it was on the last of July, between two and three in the afternoon) the clouds grew black, and fuch a storm of lightning and thunder enfued, that all the labourers made the best of their way to what shelter the trees and hedges afforded. Sarah was frighted, and fell down in a fwoon on a heap of barley. John, who never feparated from her, fat down by her fide, having raked together two or three heaps, the better to fecure her from the ftorm. Immediately there was heard fo loud a crack, as if heaven had fplit afunder; every one was now folicitous for the fafety of his neighbour, and called for one another throughout the field no answer being returned to thofe who called to our lovers, they stept to the place where they lay; they perceived the barley all in a smoke, and fpied this faithful pair, John with one arm about Sarah's neck, and the other held over, as to fcreen her from the lightning. They were ftruck dead, and ftiffened in this tender pofture. Sarah's left eyebrow was finged, and there ap peared a black fpot on her breast: her lover was all over, black; but not the leaft fign of life was found in either. Attended by their melancholy companions, they were conveyed to the town, and the next day interred in StantonHarcourt church-yard. § 32. Directions for the Management of Wit. If you have wit (which I am not fure that |