 | The Taxes |  |
SCENE IV.
Enter Mr. BAYES with the Taxes. Mr. Salt-Tax, as before, beating a march upon his box.Mr. BAYES.
Well, gentlemen, my business with you
now, is to reward you for your long
attendance, with the good news, that Lord Worthy
has stood your friend, and prov'd himself to be
a true lover of his country. But however, I must
tell you, that some of our wise stock-jobbers, had
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as a Jacobite—but—this was generally
look'd upon, to be such a stale, and worn-out piece
of contrivance, that it gain'd no credit—but, not
to keep you any longer in suspence, I can assure
you, that all our affairs are greatly mended—
the method of paying our duties, is to be put upon
an easier footing—and the salaries we have for so
many years paid to collectors, is to be apply'd to
better purposes—so that I can now, with great
joy, congratulate you upon your happy deliverance
from ink-bottles dangling at button-holes,
and gauging walking-sticks, from this day
forward—There are all your good friends—
the excisemen—except the tradesmen among them
(and they are to be sent back to their shops again)
are all going to be metamorphos'd into honest
tars—and there is such spinning going forward,
for jackets and trowses—all hands are employ'd—
they work double tides—a trip to sea, will soon
take off the odium that now lies upon their characters;
and as soon as they have learned to tie their
silk handkerchiefs, and cock their narrow-brim'd
hats with an air, they may hope to reconcile
themselves again to their countrymen—And
now, gentlemen, and ladies, you'll give me great
pleasure, to tell me, you think my play ends
tolerably well—all I can say, in the behalf of
it, is—that my design was honest—and, unless
you have some excisemen, some jews, or stock-jobbers,
amongst you, I don't doubt but you will
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—This is quite lucky, Sir Jonathan,
shall I presume, to beg the favour of you, upon
this happy occasion, to give us the song, you
was so obliging to entertain us with, the other
night—I know you are too good-humour'd, to
put us off with an excuse, as your voice is too good
to want one— [Turning to the audience]
The
song is rather—too grave—but consider, gentlemen!—
we can't be too serious in the cause of
Liberty!
THE SONG,
Sir Jonathan
sings.
Let the French hop and sing, and a cage relish best,
Like birds, who their freedom have lost from the nest,
But Britons, deserving a much better fate,
Should they chance to be catch'd by the lime-twigs of state,
Are birds that have fled, and sweet liberty known,
Whose songs are no more, when their freedom is gone!
So Judah's sweet harps on the willows were hung,
In a land of oppression, untun'd, and unstrung,
To ask of the captives a song was in vain,
Till liberty strung them, and tun'd them again.
Mr. BAYES.
By this song I intended to please the graver part
of my audience, who enter deeply into things, and
make sober reflections—but, as I would willingly
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with a dance—Here! Mr. Salt-Tax, I find
your Box is in pretty good tune—Mr. Window-Tax,
Mr. Window-Tax,—Oh!—I see you are here
—well—now, Jack, I believe you may take off your
patch, and release your eye from darkness—and,
sweet Mrs. Mead, shall I beg the favour of you, to
honour my good friend here, with being his partner
—you two shall lead up—and, Mr. Malt-Tax,
where are you?—Ho! very well—here
Mrs. Hop, come, you two are old acquaintance!
I believe you may now venture to throw away
your crutch—you two shall be the next couple—
and here, Mr. Candle-Tax, and Mrs. Gin—
Madam! I am extremely obliged to you, that
you did not replenish your cask, for, in winding
up the bottom, if any of my actors had kill'd
themselves, with your pernicious liquor, as my
play is not a tragedy, it would have been quite
out of character—you two shall stand third—well,
Mr. Salt-Tax, I believe we are now ready—if you
please to strike up, and jig it away.
THE DANCE.
[Exeunt omnes.
| The Taxes | |