SCENE, a Room in the Rose-Tavern.

The Bell rings.

[Bar-keeper without.] Where a Pox are you all; must Company wait an Hour for a Room?

[A noise of Drawers.] Coming, coming, coming, Sir.

    Enter a Drawer with Lights, Shrimp, Knapsack, and Master Totty.

Draw.  Please to be here, Gentlemen?

Shr.  What’s become of your Beau-Drawer, that wore a long Spanish Wig, lac’d Linnen, silk Stockings, and a Patch?

Draw.  He happen’d, Sir, to make bold with a silver Monteth, and is gone for a Soldier—­What Wine are you for Gentlemen?

Shr. [Aside to the Drawer.] D’you know Sir Harry Sprightly, Friend?

Draw.  Yes, Sir.

Shr.  What Wine does he drink?

Draw.  Three and Six-penny, Sir.

Shr.  I am his Servant, draw us the same.

Tot. Bring me some Sack. [Exit Drawer.

Shr. Well, Master, what think you of London now, is not the rattling of Coaches, the ringing of Bells, and the joyful Cry of Great and good News from Holland, preferrable to the Country, where you see nothing but Barns and Cow-houses, hear nothing but the grunting of Swine, and converse with nothing but the Justice, the Jack-daw, and your old Grand-mother.

Tot. Ay, marry is it, and if they ever get me there again, I’ll give ’em leave to pickle and preserve me; here are Drums and Trumpets, Soldiers and Sempstresses, and fine Sights in ev’ry Street:  In the Country we are glad to go four Miles to see a House o’fire.  Nay, wou’d you believe it, we ha’n’t so much as a Tavern in our Town; Gentlemen are forc’d to use Gammer Grimes’s Thatch’d Ale-house, except the Curate be with ’em, and then they smoke, and drink in the Vestry.

    [Drawer enters with Wine.

Knap. Come, Master, here’s my hearty Service t’you.

Tott. Your hearty Servant thanks you, Sir—­Mr. Shrimp, here’s the Respects of a Gudgeon t’you.

Shr. Ah! you’re an arch Wag.

Tott. But, pray, Mr. Shrimp, where may a body buy a little Wit, my Grand-mother charg’d me to get some; and, she says, bought Wit’s best; ’tis a mighty scarce Commodity i’the Country; we have above two hundred Gentlemen near us that never heard on’t.  Our Chaplain has a little, but they say ’tis n’t the right sort.

Shr. Mr. Knapsack can furnish you with five or ten Pounds worth when you please.

Knap. Mr. Shrimp, Master, has a much better Stock, but that you may n’t think I engross it to my self, as they say Bull does Coffee, what I have is at your Service.

Tott. Sir, my Service t’you again, [drinks] This is much better than Lincoln Ale, fegs.