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such trifles from every pretty gentleman that could spare them. I would set up the largest catler's shop in the kingdom.

Bid. I'm afraid the town will be ill-natured enough to think I have been a little coquettish in my behaviour; but, I hope, as I have been constant to the Captain, I shall be excused diverting myself with pretenders.

Ladies! to fops and braggarts ne'er be kind; No charms can warm them, and no virtues bind:

Each lover's merit by his conduct prove;

Who fails in honour, will be false in love.

[Exeunt.

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SCENE-A Grove.

With a view of the River Lethe.

ACT I.

CHARON and Esor discovered. Cha. Pr'ythee, philosopher, what grand affair is transacting upon earth? There is something of importance going forward, I am sure; for Mercury flew over the Styx this morning, without paying me the usual compliments.

Es. I'll tell thee, Charon; this is the anniversary of the rape of Proserpine; on which day, for the future, Pluto has permitted her to demand from him something forthe benefit of mankind.

Cha. I understand you-his majesty's passion, by a long possession of the lady, is abated; and

so, like a mere mortal, he must now fatter her vanity and sacrifice his power, to atone for deficienciesBut what has our royal mistress proposed in behalf of her favourite mortals?

Es. As mankind, you know, are ever.complaining of their cares, and dissatisfied with their conditions, the generous Proserpine has begged of Pluto, that they may have free access to the waters of Lethe, as a sovereign remedy for their complaints. Notice has been already given above, and proclamation made; Mercury is to conduct them to the Styx, you are to ferry them over to Elysium, and I am placed here to distribute the waters.

Cha. A very pretty employment I shall have of it, truly! if her majesty has often these whims, I must petition the court either to build

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tion.

Cha. I'll make what haste I can, rather than give those fair creatures a topic for conversa[Noise within, Boat, boat, boat! -Coming!-coming!-Zounds! you are in a plaguy burry, sure! no wonder these mortal folks have so many complaints, when there's no patience among them; if they were dead now, and to be settled here for ever, they'd be damned before they'd make such a rout to come over but care, I suppose, is thirsty, and till they have drenched themselves with Lethe, there will be no quiet among them; therefore, I'll e'en go to work-and so, friend Esop, and brother Mercury, good bye to ye. [Erit CHARON. Es. Now to my office of judge and examiner, in which, to the best of my knowledge, I will act with impartiality; for I will immediately relieve real objects, and only divert myself with pretenders.

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Old maids shall forget what they wish for in vain,

And young ones the lover they cannot regain; The rake shall forget how last night he was cloy'd,

And Chloe again be with passion enjoy'd; Obey then the summons, to Lethe repair, And drink an oblivion to trouble and care.

The wife at one draught may forget all her wants,

Or drench her fond fool, to forget her gallants;

The troubled in mind shall go cheerful away. And yesterday's wretch, be quite happy today;

Obey then the summons, to Lethe repair,
Drink deep of the stream, and forget all

your care.

Es. Mercury, Charon has brought over one mortal already, conduct him hither. [Exit MERCURY.]-Now for a large catalogue of complaints without the acknowledgment of one single vice-here he comes if one may guess at his cares by his appearance, he really wants the assistance of Lethe.

Enter Poet.

your

Poet. Sir, your humble servanthumble servant-your name is Esop-I know Mer. Act as your wisdom directs, and confor-your person intimately, though I never saw mable to your earthly character, and we shall you before; and am well acquainted with you, have few murmurs. though I never had the honour of your conver

Es. I still retain my former sentiments, never to refuse advice or charity to those that want either; flattery and rudeness should be equally avoided; folly and vice should never be spared; and though by acting thus, you may offend many, yet you will please the better few; and the approbation of one virtuous und, is more valuable than all the noisy applause, and uncertain favours, of the great and guilty.

Mer. Incomparable Esop! both men and gods admire thee! we must now prepare to receive these mortals; and lest the solemnity of the place should strike them with too much dread, I'll raise music shall dispel their fears, and embolden them to approach.

SONG.

Ye mortals whom fancies and troubles perpler, Whom folly misguides, and infirmities ver ;

sation.

Es, You are a dealer in paradoxes, friend. Poet. I am a dealer in all parts of speech, and in all the figures of rhetoric-I am a poet, sir and to be a poet, and not acquainted with the great Esop, is a greater paradox than-I honour you extremely, sir: you certainly, of all the writers of antiquity, had the greatest, the sublimest genius, the

Es. Hold, friend, I hate flattery.

Poet. My own taste exactly, I assure you; sir, no man loves flattery less than myself.

Es. So it appears, sir, by your being so ready to give it away.

Poet. You have hit it, Mr. Æsop, you have hit it I have given it away indeed; I did not receive one farthing for my last dedication, and yet, would you believe it!I absolutely gave all the virtues in Heaven, to one of the lowest reptiles upon earth.

Es. 'Tis hard, indeed, to do dirty work for nothing.

Poet. Ay, sir, to do dirty work, and still be | terest, from my brother authors-but to say the dirty one's self, is the stone of Sysiphus, and truth, my performance was terribly handled,bethe thirst of Tantalus-You Greek writers, in-fore it appeared in public. Es. How so, pray? deed, carried your point by truth and simpli

city, they won't do now a-days--our patrons Poet. Why, sir, some squeamish friends of must be tickled into generosity-you gained mine pruned it of all the bawdy and immorathe greatest favours, by shewing your own me-lity, the actors did not speak a line of the sense rits; we can only gain the smallest, by pub- or sentiment, and the manager (who writes lishing those of other people.-You flourished himself) struck out all the wit and humour, in by truth, we starve by fiction; tempora mu-order to lower my performance to a level with

tantur.

Es. Indeed, friend, if we may guess by your present plight, you have prostituted your talents to very little purpose.

Poet. To very little, upon my word-but they shall find that I can open another veinsatire is the fashion, and satire they shall have -let them look to it, I can be sharp as well as sweet-I can scourge as well as tickle, I can bite as

Es. You can do any thing, no doubt; but to the business of this visit, for I expect a great deal of comĮ any-What are your troubles,

sir?

Poet. Why, Mr. Esop, I am troubled with an odd kind of disorder-I have a sort of whistling —a singing—a whizzing as it were in my head, which I cannot get rid of

A's. Our waters give no relief to bodily disorders, they only affect the memory.

his own.

Es. Now, sir, I am acquainted with your case; what have you to propose?

Poet. Notwithstanding the success of my first play, I am strongly persuaded that my next may defy the severity of critics, the sheer of wits, and the malice of authors.

Es, What! have you been hardy enough to attempt another?

Poet. I must eat, sir-I must live--but when I set down to write, and am glowing with the heat of my imagination, then-then this damned whistling-or whizzing in my head, that I told you of, so disorders me, that I grow giddy—In short, sir, I am haunted, as it were, with the ghost of my deceased play, and its dying groans -Now, sir, if you are for ever in my earswill give me but a draught of Lethe, to forget this unfortunate performance, it will be of more real service to me than all the waters of Helicon.

Poet. From whence all my disorder proceeds Es. I doubt, friend, you cannot possibly --I'll tell you my case, sir-You must know, I wrote a play some time ago, presented a dedi-write better, by merely forgetting that you have written before; besides, if, when you cation of it to a certain young nobleman-he approved, and accepted of it; but before I could drink to the forgetfulness of you own works, taste his bounty, my piece was unfortunately you should unluckily forget those of other peodamned:-I lost my benefit, nor could I have ple too, your next piece will certainly be the recourse to my patron, for I was told that his worse for it. lordship played the best catcall the first night, and was the merriest person in the whole au

dience.

Es. Pray, what do you call damning a play? Poet. You cannot possibly be ignorant, what it is to be damned, Mr. Esop?

Es. Indeed I am, sir-we had no such thing among the Greeks.

you

Poet. No, sir!-No wonder, then, that Greeks were such fine writers-It is impossible to be described, or truly felt, but by the author himself-If you could but get a leave of absence from this world for a few hours, you might perhaps have an opportunity of seeing it yourself- There is a sort of a new piece comes upon our stage this very night, and I am pretty sure it will meet with it's descrts; at least it shall not want my helping haud, rather than you should be disappointed of satisfying your

curiosity.

Es. You are very obliging, sir;-but to your own masfortunes, if you please,

Poet. You are certainly in the right-What then would you advise me to?

Es. Suppose you could prevail upon the audience to drink the water; their forgetting your former work, might be of no small advantage to your future productions.

Poet. Ah, sir! if I could but do that--but I am afraid-Lethe will never go down with the audience.

Es. Well, since you are bent upon it, I shall indulge you-if you please to walk in that grove, (which will afford you many subjects for your poetical contemplation) till I have examined the rest, I will dismiss you in your

turn.

Poet. And I in return, sir, will let the world know, in a preface to my next piece, that your politeness is equal to your sagacity; and that you are as much the fine gentleman as the philosopher. [Exit Poet.

Es. Oh! your servant, sir-In the name of misery and mortality, what have we here. Enter an Old Man, supported by a Servant. Old Man. Ob! la! oh! bless me, I shall never you, friend?

Port. Envy, malice, and party, destroyed me --You must know, sir. I was a great damner myself, before I aas daraned-So the frolics of my youth were returned to me with double in-recover the fatigue-Ha! what are

Old Man. What! What! will his drink get

are you the famous Esop? and are you so kind,
so very good, to give people the waters of forget-me money, does he say?
fulness for nothing?

Es. I ain that person, sir; but you seem to have no need of my waters; for you must have already out-lived your memory.

s. No, sir, the waters are of a wholesomer nature-for they'll teach you to forget your money.

Old Man. Will they so? Come, come, John, Old Man. My memory is indeed impaired, we are got to the wrong place-the poor old it is not so good as it was; but still it is better fool here does not know what he says-let us go than I wish it, at least in regard to one cir-back again, John-I'll drink none of your wacumstance; there is one thing which sits very ters: not I-forget my money!-Come along, heavy at my heart, and which I would willingly John. [Exeunt. forget.

Es. What is it, pray?

Old Man. Oh, la!-oh!-I am horribly fatigued I am an old man, sir, turned of ninety-We are all mortal, you know, so I would fain forget, if you please that I am to die.

Es. My good friend, you have mistaken the virtue of the waters; they can cause you to forget only what is past; but if this was in their power, you would surely be your own enemy, in desiring to forget what ought to be the only comfort of one so poor and wretched as you seem. What! I suppose now, you have left sonic dear, loving wife behind, that you can't bear to think of parting with.

Old Man. No, no, no; I have buried my wife, and forgot her long ago.

Es. What, you have children then, whom are unwilling to leave behind you!

you

Old Man. No, no, no; I have no children at present-hugh-I don't know what may

have.

Es. Is there any relation or friend, the loss

of whom

Old Man. No, no; I have out-lived all my relations; and as for my friends—I have none to lose.

Es. What can be the reason, then, that in all this apparent misery, you are so afraid of death, which would be your only cure?

Old Man. Ob, lord!I have one friend. and a true friend indeed, the only friend in whom a wise man places any confidence-I have Get a little farther off, John-[Serand retires.I have, to say the truth, a little money-it is that, indeed, which causes all my

uncasiness.

Es. Thou never spokest a truer word in thy life, old gentleman-[Aside.]-But I can cure you of your uneasiness immediately.

Old Man. Shall I forget then that I am to die, and leave my money behind me?

Es. No-but you shall forget that you have it-which will do altogether as well-One large draught of Lethe, to the forgetfulness of your money, will restore you to perfect case of mind; and as for your bodily pains, no water can rehieve them.

Old Man. What does he say, John, eh? I am hard of hearing.

John. He advises your worship to drink to forget your money.

Es. Was there ever such a wretch! If these are the cares of mortals, the waters of oblivion cannot cure them.

Re-enter Old Man and Servant.

Old Man. Look'e, sir, I am come a great way, and am loth to refuse favours that cost nothing, so I don't care if I drink a little of your waters. Let me see, aye, I'll drink to forget how I got my money; and my servant there, he shall drink a little, to forget that I have any money at all-and, d'ye hear, John! take a hearty draught. If my money must be forgot, why e'en let him forget it.

Es. Well, friend, it shall be as you would have it; you'll find a seat in that grove yonder, you may rest yourself till the waters are

where distributed.

Old Man. I hope it won't be long, sir, for thieves are busy now; and I have an iron chest in the other world, that I should be sorry any one peeped into but myself; so pray be quick, sir.. [Exeunt. Es. Patience, patience, old gentleman. But here comes something tripping this way, that seems to be neither man nor woman, and yet an odd mixture of both.

Enter a Fine Gentleman.

Fine Gent. Hark'e, old friend, do you stand drawer here?

Æs. Drawer, young fop! do you know where you are, and who you talk to?

Fine Gent, Not I, dem me! But 'tis a rule with me, wherever I am, or whosoever I am with, to be always easy and familiar.

Es. Then let me advise you, young gentleman, to drink the waters, and forget that case and familiarity.

Fine Gent. Why so, daddy? would you not have me well bred?

Es. Yes; but you may not always meet with people so polite as yourself, or so passive as I am; and if what you call breeding, should be construed impertinence, you may have a return of familiarity, may make you repent your education as long as you live.

Fine Gent. Well said, old dry-beard; egad, you have a smattering of an odd kind of a sort of a humour; but come, come, pr'ythee, give me a glass of your waters, and keep your advice to yourself.

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