University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

MOTHER PUNCHBOWL, CAPTAIN BILKUM, STORMANDRA.
STORMANDRA.
Oh! Mother Punchbowl, teach me how to rail;
Oh! teach me to abuse this monstrous Man.

MOTHER.
What has he done?

STORMANDRA.
Sure a Design so base,
Turk never yet conceiv'd.

MOTHER.
Forbid it, Virtue.

STORMANDRA.
It wounds me to the Soul—he wou'd have bilk'd me.

MOTHER.
Ha! in my House! oh! Bilkum, is this true?
Who set thee on, thou Traitor, to undo me,
Is it some envious Sister, such may be;
For even Bawds, I own it with a Blush,
May be dishonest in this vicious Age.
Perhaps, thou art an Enemy to us all,
Wilt join malicious Justices against us.
Oh! think not thus to bribe th'ungrateful Tribe,
The Hand to Bridewel which thy Mother sends,
May one Day send thee to more fatal Goal;
And oh! (avert the Omen all ye Stars)
The very Hemp I beat may hang my Son.

BILKUM.
Mother, you know the Passage to my Heart,
But do not shock it with a Thought so base.
Sooner Fleet-Ditch like Silver Thames shall flow,
The New-Exchange shall with the Royal vye,
Or Covent-Garden's with St. Paul's great Bell:
Give no Belief to that ungrateful Woman;
Gods! who wou'd be a Bully to a Woman?
Canst thou forget—(it is too plain thou canst)
When at the Rummer, at the Noon of Night,
I found thee with a base Apprentice boxing?
And tho' none better dart the clinched Fist,
Yet wast thou over-match'd, and on the Ground
Then like a Bull-Dog in Hockleian Holes,
Rush'd I tremendous on the snotty Foe,
I took him by the Throat and kick'd him down the Stairs.

STORMANDRA.
Dost thou recount thy Services, base Wretch,
Forgetting mine? Dost thou forget the Time,
When shiv'ring on a Winter's icy Morn,
I found thy doatless Carcase at the Roundhouse,
Did I not then forget my proper Woes,
Did I not send for half a Pint of Gin,
To warm th'ungrateful Guts? pull'd I not off
A Quilted-Petticoat to clothe thy Back?
That unskinn'd Back, which Rods had dress'd in red,
Thy only Title to the Name of Captain?
Did I not pick a Pocket of a Watch,
A Pocket pick for thee?

BILKUM.
Dost thou mention
So slight a Favour? Have I not for thee
Fled from the Feather-bed of soft Repose,
And as the Watch proclaim'd approaching Day,
Robb'd the Stage-Coach?—Again, when Puddings hot,
And Well-fleet Oisters cry'd, the Evening come,
Have I not been a Foot-pad for thy Pride!

MOTHER.
Enough, my Children, let this Discord cease,
Had both your Merits had, you both deserve
The Fate of greater Persons—Go, my Son,
Retire to rest—gentle Stormandra soon
Will follow you. See kind Consent appear,
In softest Smiles upon her lovely Brow.

BILKUM.
And can I think Stormandra will be mine!
Once more, unpaid for mine! then I again
Am blest, am paid for all her former Scorn.
So when the doating Hen-peck'd Husband long
Hath stood the Thunder of his Deary's Tongue;
If, Supper over, she attempt to toy,
And laugh and languish for approaching Joy,
His raptur'd Fancy runs her Charms all o'er,
While Transport dances Jiggs thro' ev'ry Pore,
He hears the Thunder of her Tongue no more.