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much sail o'your head-Top and top gallant, by the mess!

Mrs. F. No? why so?

Ben. Why, an you do, you may run the risk to be overset : and then you'll carry your keels above water-he, he, he!

Ang. I swear, Mr. Benjamin is the veriest wag in nature; an absolute sea wit. Sir S. Nay, Ben has parts; but, as I told you

before, they want a little polishing. You must not take any thing ill, madam.

Ben. No, I hope the gentlewoman is not angry; I mean all in good part: for, if I give a jest, I'll take a jest; and so, forsooth, you may be as free with me.

Ang. I thank you, sir; I am not at all offended.But methinks, Sir Sampson, you should leave him alone with his mistress. Mr. Tattle, we must not hinder lovers. Tatt. Well, Miss, I have your promise.

[ Aside to Miss. Sir S. Body o'me, madam, you say true.-Look you, Ben, this is your mistress.-Come, miss, you must not be shame-faced ; we'll leave you together.

Miss P. I can't abide to be left alone. Mayn't my cousin stay with me?

Sir S. No, no. Come, let's away.

Ben. Look you, father, mayhap the young woman mayn't take a liking to me.

Sir S. I warrant thee, boy. Come, come, we'll be gone. I'll venture that.

[Exeunt Sir Sampson, Tattle, and Mrs. Frail. Ben. Come, mistress, will you please to sit down? For, an you stand a stern a that'n, we shall never grapple together.-Come, I'll hawl a chair; there, an you please to sit, I'll sit by you. Miss P. You need not sit so near one; if

you

have any thing to say, I can hear you farther off; I an't deaf.

Ben. Why that's true, as you say, nor I an't dumb; I can be heard as far as another. I'll heave off, to please you. [Sits farther off.] An we were a league asunder, I'd undertake to hold discourse with you, an 'twere not a main high wind indeed, and full in my teeth. Look you, forsooth; I am, as it were, bound for the land of matrimony : 'tis a voyage, d'ye see, that was none of my seeking; I was commanded by father, and if you like of it, mayhap I may steer into your harbour. How say you, mistress? The short of the thing is, that, if you like me, and I like you, we may chance to swing in a hammock together.

Miss P. I don't know what to say to you, nor I don't care to speak with you at all.

Ben. No? I'm sorry for that. But pray why are you so scornful?

Miss P. As long as one must not speak one's mind, one had better not speak at all, I think ; and truly I won't tell a lie for the matter.

Ben. Nay, you say true in that; it's but a folly to Jie: for to speak one thing, and to think just the cona trary way, is, as it were, to look one way, and to row another. Now, for my part, d’ye see, I'm for carry,

more.

ing things above board ; I'm not for keeping any thing under hatches so that, if you ben't as willing as I, say so, a God's name ; there's no harm done, Mayhap you may be shame-faced; some maidens, thof they love a man well enough, yet they don't care to tell’n so to's face. If that's the case, why silence gives consent.

Miss P. But I'm sure it is not so, for I'll speak sooner than you should believe that; and I'll speak truth, though one should always tell a lie to a man; and I don't care, let my father do what he will, I'm too big to be whipt; so I'll tell you plainly, I don't like you, nor love you at all; nor never will, that's

So, there's. your answer for you; and don't trouble me no more, you ugly thing.

Ben. Look you, young woman, you may learn to give good words, however. I spoke you fair, d'ye see, and civil. As for your love, or your liking, I don't value it of a rope's end—and mayhap I like you as little as you do me. What I said was in obe. dience to father. Gad, I fear a whipping no more than you

do. But I tell you one thing if you should give such language at sea, you'd have a cat o'nine tails laid cross your shoulders. Flesh! who are you? You heard t'other handsome young woman speak ci. villy to me, of her own accord. Whatever you think of yourself, Gad, I don't think you are any more to compare to her, than a can of small-beer to a bowl of punch.

Miss P. Well, and there's a handsome gentleman, and a fine gentleman, and a sweet gentleman, that was here, that loves me, and I love him; and if he sees you speak to me any more, he'll thrash your jacket for you; he will, you great sea-calf.

Ben. What! do you mean that fair-weather spark that was here just now? Will he thrash my jacket?Let'n-let'n. But an he comes near me, mayhap I may giv'n a salt eel for's supper, for all that. What does father mean, to leave me alone, as soon as I come home, with such a dirty dowdy?-Sea-calf? I an't calf enough to lick your chalked face, you

cheese curd, you.-Marry thee! Oons I'll marry a Lapland witch as soon, and live upon selling contrary winds, and wrecked vessels.

Miss P. I won't be call'd names, nor I won't be abused thus, so I won't. If I were a man- - [Cries] you durst not talk at this rate.no, you durst not, you stinking tar-barrel.

Enter Mrs. FORESIGHT and Mrs. FRAIL.

Mrs. For. They have quarrelled, just as we could wish.

Ben. Tar-barrel? Let your sweetheart there call me so, if he'll take your part, your Tom Essence, and I'll say something to him-Gad, I'll lace his muskdoublet for him. I'll make him stink; he shall smell more like a weasel than a civet cat, afore I ha' done with 'en. Mrs. For, Bless me! what's the matter, Miss? What, does she cry?Mr. Benjamin, what have you done to her ?

Ben. Let her cry: the more she cries the less she'll -she has been gathering foul weather in her mouth, and now it rains out at her eyes.

Mrs. For. Come, Miss, come along with me; and tell me, poor child.

Mrs. F. Lord, what shall we do? There's my bro. ther Foresight and Sir Sampson coming. Sister, do you take Miss down into the parlour, and I'll carry Mr. Benjamin into my chamber; for they must not know that they are fallen out. Come, sir, will you venture yourself with me? [Looking kindly on him.

Ben. Venture ? Mess, and that I will, though it were to sea in a storm.

| Exeunt.

Enter Sir SAMPSON and FORESIGHT. Sir S. I left them together here. What, are they gone? Ben is a brisk boy: he has got her into a corner- -father's own son, faith! he'll touzle her, and mouzle her. The rogue's sharp set coming from sea. If he should not stay for saying grace, old Foresight, but fall to without the help of a parson, ha? Odd,

if he should, I could not be angry with him ; 'twould be but like me, a chip of the old block. Ha! thou’rt melancholic, old prognostication ; as melancholic as if thou hadst spilt the salt, or paired thy nails on a Sunday. Come, cheer up, look about thee : look up, old star-gazer. Now is he poring upon the ground for a crooked pin, or an old horse-nail,

with the head towards him,

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