Nick.  A City Merchant, Collonel,——­We have Creatures, indeed, that deal in Herrings from Holland, and Cod from Newfoundland; but there are degrees in Merchandizing as well as other Professions.  An Officer o’the Guards is above a Captain o’the Train Bands; and, I hope, there’s difference between a Gentleman that Trades to the Indies, and Merchant Rag that sends old Cloaths to Jamaica; but why, Collonel, shou’d the City be so much despis’d, that has so near an affinity to the Court; we have sense to distinguish Men and Manners, Breeding to pay a Valiant Prince homage, that ev’ry Year triumphs for his Country, and generosity to entertain him, where many a hungry Courtier has been glad to sneak in for a Dinner.

Col. [aside] The Fellow talks Reason, i’faith;—­but prithee, Mr. Nicknack, what Business can a Merchant have at this end o’the Town; for a Man that’s bred up in a Counting-House to pretend to Airs and Graces, is as monstrously ridiculous, as a Play-House Orange-Wench with a Gold Watch by her side.

Nick. Pardon me there Collonel; are Pleasure and Business inconsistent, must ev’ry Citizen be a Drone, that crawls among Furr Gowns, or a Cuckold that’s preferr’d by the Common-Hall; pray tell me, what difference is there between a Merchant of a good Education, and a Gentleman of Two Thousand Pounds a Year, only one has Threescore Thousand Pounds clear in his Pocket, and t’other an Estate that’s mortgag’d to Threescore People; I have a House in Billiter-Lane, the Air’s as good as Pickadilly. Cornish makes my Cloaths, Chevalier my Periwigs, I’m courted ev’ry Day to subscribe for singing Opera’s, and have had Fifteen Actresses at my Levee, with their Benefit-Tickets.

Sir Har. But, methinks, Mr. Nicknack; you that have so plentiful a Fortune, shou’d leave off Business, and reside wholly amongst Men of Figure and Estates.

Nick. My Commerce, Sir Harry, is but in Impertinences without the least prospect of Gain; for the old Gentleman, when with great Industry, he had imported an Estate of Fifty Thousand Pounds, with greater Civility exported himself into the next World and left me all.  Besides, Merchandize is but a sort of Gaming, and if I like it better than Hazard or Basset, why should any Man quarrel with my Genius; but, Gentlemen, your Servant.  I must find out Lady Rodomont; for I have ingros’d the whole Ship’s Cargo to my self, as my Father us’d to do Raw-Silk, and design her the first choice of ev’ry Thing. [Exit.

Col. But what crabbed Don’s this with the knavish Look of an old plodding Conveyancer, whose Face and Profession are enough to raise the Devil.

Sir Har. ’Tis Major Bramble, a factious, seditious old Rogue, that’s neither Whig, nor Tory, but an Enemy to his own Country; he hates the Government, because the Government don’t like him; repines at all our Successes; and his Bosom Friends are Minters, Owlers, Pettifoggers, Nonjurors that won’t swear to the Government, and Irish Evidences that will swear to any thing.