University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter Malt-Tax, Gin, Usquebaugh, Cyder-Tax, Mead, Beer, Ale, Metheglin, Perry, Mum, Soap, Candles, Starch, Leather, Coffee, Tea, Chocolate, Paper, Pastboard, Callicoes, Gilt and Silver Wire, Vellum, Parchment, Silver Plate, Window-Tax, Coach-Tax, Land-Tax, Hop-Tax, Glass-Tax, Stain'd and Died Stuffs, Silk, Linnen, &c. &c. &c.
Preceded by Mr. Salt-Tax beating a March upon his Box.
Mr. BAYES.
[Meeting them]

Mrs Mead, I am very glad to see
you—Mrs. Hop, this is very obliging—
Mr. Candle-Tax, you are a
man of your word—Gentlemen—
I thank you: I suppose you are all here!—

But—What— [pausing, and holding up his hands]

A good—round—hopeful tribe, upon my
honour!— [as they are still crouding in]
—Nay—
nay—if there are still more of you—we shall
certainly want room—I own I should have consider'd
things a little better!—But who could
have thought, I should have been so much out
in my reckoning—when 'tis matter of fact, that
we have frequently had two armies introduced
upon this very spot—and yet now I can't say
but what I begin to question, whether or no,
they had so many men in them.—What!—
Still crouding in—Nay then—However let us see
as many of you as we can, gentlemen,—Too
many!—too many, truly!—But I am obliged to
you for your giving me this meeting. I thought
it necessary you should make your appearance
here in propriis personis— [advancing towards Mr. Salt-Tax]

—If I don't mistake, I think your
name is Salt-Tax—

SALT-TAX.

You are perfectly right, sir,—I came according
to your order, and I hope not out of season.

Mr. BAYES.

No—no—quite apropòs—I introduce you
first out of compliment to the audience, to give
some relish to the action: for in this evening's
entertainment I would have nothing insipid!—
Things of this nature, Mr. Salt-Tax, ought to
shew something of taste—

SALT-TAX.

Ah! Mr. Bayes, you know I love a joke, as
well as any man living: But [shaking his head]

these are but poor times for jesting—I am confident,
you can be no stranger to what the most
industrious set of men in the kingdom suffer, thro'
the burdens laid upon my shoulders—I must say—
I look'd upon myself to have a natural exemption
from any fresh impositions. But—tho' my claim
is so obvious—you see 'tis over-rul'd,—and I
can't conceive how to account for't—unless it is,
because I am so remarkably fix'd in the Country
Interest; or rather, because I am look'd upon by
the Courtiers—to be tooth and nail an enemy
from the very soul of me to all Corruption.

Mr. BAYES.

Come—come—my good friend, this may turn
out a better day than you think for—But as
I have a great deal of business upon my hands,
I must beg your pardon for the present—I should
be extremely glad to have a little more conversation
with you at another time—But your neighbour
there will have reason to take it amiss, unless
I just ask him how he does. Well—Mr. Malt-Tax
—This is extremely obliging, to let me see
you this morning.—I don't know how it is—
but I find every body here is complaining of the
badness of the times!

MALT-TAX.

And not without reason!—You know,
Maister Bayes—I am a plain spoken man,—and
as I have the proverb o'my side, in good liquor
there is truth, you may believe me when I tell
you, these times are brewing no good for us—
Nay for that matter, 'tis not myself alone (for I
don't speak out of self-interest) but there are all
my relations great sufferers!—There's my Cousin
Hop there! poor soul, that can't stand a high-lone
without the help of a stick, and consequently
ought to be look'd upon as an object of charity,
(O terrible times!) must now pay for herself by
the pound!—Why, Mr. Bayes—this is a most
bitter tax—and tho' one of our family has still
some spirits left, my relation Mrs. Gin yonder,
yet—she has a heavy reckoning to pay—
But—Mum!—is all I say—Silence can bring a
man into no scrapes!—

Mr. BAYES.

What is that your Cousin Gin there?—Your
servant, madam; I ask pardon for taking these
freedoms with you—But I hope your cask is out
at present, 'twill be highly necessary for me to
take some care of my Dram-atis Personæ.

Mrs. GIN.

I assure you, Mr. Bayes, I have not a drop
left—and I begin to be so sensible of the mischief

I have done in the world, that I believe I shall
soon leave off trade; my conscience will never
let me carry on business much longer.

Mr. BAYES.

So much the better—'tis a sad thing to be accessary
to the destruction of such numbers of People
—But— [advancing to Mr. Cyder-Tax]
I must
beg leave to pay my compliments to my good
friend here.—Well—Mr. Cyder-Tax, what
news have we in our good county of Hereford?

CYDER-TAX.

Why there is a core Mr. Bayes—there is a core
that sticks in every honest man's stomach.—
These home-impositions break our backs—They
impair us—They dry up the juices of our constitution.
—Lay what you will upon our foreign
commodities; but let our own manufactures escape
a reckoning—I could be as patient as any man to
take (as the saying is) the rough with the smooth—
But to let such good subjects as we are, meet with
nothing but rough usage, 'tis treating us ill, Mr.
Bayes, 'tis graffing a crab upon a redstreak—

Mr. BAYES.

Come, come, never mind what's past—I tell
you the times are growing better.—But— [advancing to Mr. Window-Tax]

is not that Mr.
Window-Tax? I must just speak to him—What
—Jack—is that patch over your eye a policy
of thine to save a shilling—

WINDOW-TAX.

Why, Maister Bayes, it is but following the
practice of the country, if I have stopp'd up
half my lights—This is quite wrong. To make
us pay for God's blessings, one should think,
cou'd have never enter'd into any man's head,
that must not have been a great worker in darkness;
and if it is one of the works of darkness,
there is no harm, I hope, in calling it a devilish
Tax.—You'll own this is bad enough!—But every
demand, it seems, that is now made, like a bell,
is to take Toll back-stroke and fore-stroke—
Why, Mr. Bayes, the very Glass pays as well as
the Light!—I have often heard of persons
paying for their peeping—and I think this is making
out the proverb with a vengeance!

Mr. BAYES.

Well—Gentlemen I'm glad to find there is still
left some spirit among you. I must tell you, 'tis a
day of great business with me, and I can't conveniently
stay to pay my compliments to every
one of you in particular—but I shall see you again
in the evening—and then I hope I shall be able to
tell you some good news, that will well reward
you for your waiting—

[Exit Mr. Bayes, with the Taxes.

SCENE II.

A Study.
Lord WORTHY alone—with a roll in his hand.
LORD WORTHY.
I could no longer hold!—My attempt at court
Has found success that e'en exceeded hope!
Our gracious princess, with a dumb attention,
Whose silence gave me confidence of speech,
As melted wax the seal, receiv'd my counsels—
For as I stood with watchful eye remarking
Th'affections, which my honest freedom rais'd,
Pleas'd, I observ'd surprize and tenderness
Catching her looks by turns—Once in her eye
Glow'd red hot anger, which soft pity soon
Melted to briny drops, that trickled down
Her rosy—dewy cheek!—Another meeting
Secures the wish'd-for point!—At ten this morning
I'm promis'd farther hearing!—Thoughts deliver'd
In th'airy garb of speech, make faint impressions.
So!—
This roll shall go with me!—I'll try to leave it!—
'Tis that in which I've taken care to state
What our poor country suffers—this bulg'd vessel
That cries for help in signals of distress.

SCENE III.

A Coffee-House.
HEARTY and TRADEWELL, reading the papers.
Enter Sir JONATHAN JOLLY.
HEARTY.
[Rising.

Bless me if here is not Sir Jonathan Jolly—
Hah! my good friend—How long have
you been in town?

SIR JONATHAN.

I arrived yesterday—I call'd at your house,
and they told me you was here.—Give me
thy hand honest Tradewell—I am glad to see
thee with all my heart—

TRADEWELL.

Indeed, this is an unexpected favour.—You
wear special well Sir Jonathan.

[They take their seats.
Sir JONATHAN.

You know, Tradewell, I was never one of
those fellows, that suffer themselves to be eaten up
by the hyp—About a month ago I had a little
touch of the gout or so—but that's nothing—I
am now got pretty stout again.

TRADEWELL.

Well—Have you heard the news?—I can tell
you it has rais'd all our spirits—There's our
princess has certainly sent for Lord Worthy to
court, who has almost lost his own title in that of
The True Briton, and you must own, he is a
man, Sir Jonathan, that is not to be warp'd by
any offers!—

Sir JONATHAN.

You know I was always a well-wisher to my
country—and if Lord Worthy has taken those
steps, I hope 'twill answer your expectation—
But 'till I see the event, I shall beg leave to reserve
my opinion.—As things have gone for
some years past, who can answer for any man's
character?—It must be a rare honesty indeed
that can stand trial now-a-days—When those
gentlemen, who in the country go by the name of
patriots, once make their appearance at court, I
look upon them, as old money call'd in to be new
coin'd—Let them go in there with what face they
will, you'll see them come out again with the court
stamp—mill'd in the same manner—Faith there's
no difference.

TRADEWELL.

Come, come, Sir Jonathan, you must not be
so incredulous—We must give fruits time to
ripen—We must have a little patience.

Sir JONATHAN.

Let me first see something good going forward
and I'm contented.—But Jack Hearty, you
are a great stranger in our parts—Are we never to
crack another bottle together at Fudler's-Hall?—
Come, come, leave this idle business of the town—
honest folks have little to do here—and go back
with me into the country—We'll hunt together
this season—There's our Robin tells me,
that last spring he turn'd out twenty cubs into
the woods and the broad leazes.—Prithee,
Jack, never plague thyself any longer with
politicks—'tis a cursed dry study.

HEARTY.

Sir JONATHAN.

Jack Hearty!—I don't deny but what all this
sounds pretty enough—and may do well enough
too in—speculation—But take my word for't, Old
England is so degenerated! and the general turn of
thinking so much alter'd, that I am afraid, you
may talk of your bodies and your buildings, 'till

your heart aches—and you'll be just such gainers,
as I should be, were I to enter my broken-winded
Flora, for one of the King's Plates!—
The publick good is quite distanc'd—self-interest
is all in all—Places, Jack, are tempting things—
and your Pensions, let me tell you, are like hoods
upon hawks—your staunch courtiers are kept in
the dark—are never permitted to see any thing but
the quarry they are to fly at—and as soon as they
have done the work set them—the lure is thrown
out—they come tamely to your hand, and the
hood goes on again—

TRADEWELL.

Indeed—indeed, Sir Jonathan, you are too
diffident—when our affairs are so apparently upon
the mending hand—still to distrust is throwing
a damp upon the publick joy—

Sir JONATHAN.

Well—well—we shall soon see how things
will turn out.—I must say that for Lord
Worthy, I never heard he had any taste for
luxury!—He is no gambler—and the world
never censured him for being avaritious—He
has hitherto behaved himself with too much honour
and generosity, to raise any suspicion that he is pursuing
self-interested views.—I really take him
to be an honest, sensible, clever fellow, and it
must be allow'd, there's no one better acquainted

with or constitution; so that faith, 'tis possible
he may do great things, if he can fairly come
at the ear of the Princess.—But what say you,
gentlemen, to one evening at the Rummer?—
Do you bring with you two or three of my old
acquaintance, and I'll engage honest Tom Wishwell
to give you the meeting. I am at present engag'd
at the Cocoa-Tree, [pulling out his watch]
and
I see I shall but just save my distance—

HEARTY.

What say you, Tradewell, are you engaged
to-morrow in the evening—

TRADEWELL.

No—I'll be with you, without fail—

Sir JONATHAN.

Then—to-morrow night I shall see you again—
the sooner the better—but don't fail to bring
some of my old friends with you; we shall be
the merrier—well, your servant.

[Exit Sir Jonathan.
HEARTY.

You see the old knight is as honest as ever—
but you find you could not perfectly bring him
over to your way of thinking, that we are going
to CHANGE Measures, as well as Hands—
and I can't say but his diffidence has partly made
a convert of my opinion.—It is very certain, we

are at a low ebb—if there was but one spark of
the old English honour, rak'd up under the ashes,
possible to be lighted up again—there might be
some hopes.—Ah! Tradewell! when we have
been so long accustomed, to have our characters
and consciences treated as saleable commodities,
where shall we find the spirit to resent such
usage.—How would THIS have been
taken by our ancestors?—Can a greater insult
be offer'd?—and yet, you see, we have some
men among us that take it—patiently!—I don't
know how it is—but the offer of a Place or
Pension, is instantly to palliate the affront—nay—
to make the injury change shape with obligation—
like the Mountebank's throwing a custard in his
Merry Andrew's face, when the fellow turns
round with a grin, licks his chops, and makes a
leg for the favour.

TRADEWELL.

Believe me, Hearty, we have no reason to
despair—my accounts may be depended on!—
I have 'em from my state Barometer (as I call it)
the countenance of our old friend Wishwell—which
I have observ'd of late has stood at CHEARFUL—
I have never known it fail in the course of a long
acquaintance; you know he keeps up a good intelligence
—weighs things well—and is cautious of
delivering his opinion, 'till it has been assay'd by
good authority—To tell you the truth, he has let
me into a secret, which after I have seen him

again, your ear will probably be no stranger to—
I promis'd to call upon him this morning.

HEARTY.

You will oblige me then, if you'll let me see
you in your return.

TRADEWELL.

You shall—I have a little business your way,
and if you are going home I'll certainly call
upon you—

SCENE IV.

An Apartment in the Palace.
BRITANNIA sitting on a couch, leaning on her arm in a pensive posture.
Enter Lord WORTHY.
BRITANNIA.
[Raising herself, and advancing towards him.
My lord, your stay, tho' you are punctual,
Has somewhat tried our patience—Ah my good lord
Had not your counsels made such long delays
Redress had made more haste—

WORTHY.
Most gracious liege,
Past sufferings, like the deep shades in paintings,
Will give a brighter glow to ripening blessings:
Health leaving us awhile, quickens our joy,
When 'tis recover'd to it's cherub-bloom:
And wanton plenty meets a louder welcome
After cold barrenness has for a time
Lock'd up the womb of the earth,
And mock'd the labourer's toil—
But now the golden season's breaking out,
And the discouragement, that nipp'd the hands
Of Britain's genius with benumbing frost,
Begins to melt, and the rich tide of industry
Has leave to flow by the kind quick'ning warmth
Of royal favour—

BRITANNIA.
Indeed our state too long
Has groan'd beneath it's burden—but it's sufferings
Having now reach'd our ear—our princely love,
Like the sun's rays, should instantly be felt,
And chear our people's hopes—THAT LIGHT of heav'n
Is daily pointing in it's great example
Our path of duty—we shou'd SHINE to BLESS.

WORTHY.
What else is glory? till it takes these measures,
If possibly it catches vulgar eyes,
'Tis but a counterfeit, a tinsel lustre,
That's only priz'd by ignorance of worth;
A will-o-'wisp, that leads the mind to error,
But neither lights—nor warms—
Whereas true greatness, seeks to serve mankind,
Stoops to the earth—and beams on distant objects—
It's sphere is measur'd by the help it gives;
In it's effects still present, and refulgent
In ev'ry being, that's nourish'd by it's heat!

BRITANNIA.
And therefore, my good lord, with open heart
(The Bondsman of our tongue) when we assur'd you
At our last meeting, of our ready zeal
Instant to probe the wound, and seek the cure
Of our disorders—There's one general point,
We can't recede from—We'll have no transfer books
For grievances!—The scheme to gain our liking,
Must seek the good of all—There's none shall suffer,
But those who well deserve it—Widows, and orphans,
Debarr'd their right, would like a blast from heaven,
Cut off our budding hopes—Justice first answer'd,
Shall warrant our proceedings—it shan't concern us,
'Mongst men of narrow souls, if murmur's tongue
Treats us too freely—

[Lord Worthy upon his knee, offering the roll to Britannia, which she accepts of.
WORTHY.
The roll here given your highness—
Speaks your own thoughts—it seeks with tenderness
T'apply the salve, nor has it thoughts t'offend
Justice, or honour; nor seeks it to release
The tribute, due to maintenance of greatness.
'Tis not to lessen, but encrease dependents;
To make each member of the government,
In peace it's advocate, in war it's soldier—
'Tis to dismantle falshood, to shew truth
In it's pure spotless garment habited—
Distinguish loyalty, from venal services—
And spread a general joy, by placing worth
In honour's seat, that's grown almost a stranger
By being kept at distance, undermin'd
By pale-fac'd envy's sculking artifice,
Working like moles in th'earth, daubing the pasture
On which they feed with dirty eminencies—

BRITANNIA.
My lord, we're satisfy'd—and will peruse
The roll with close attention—in the mean time
We would have swift-wing'd hope dispatch'd, to promise
Some general blessing—to try how things will bear—
'Tis this should pave the way—for opposition
Now grown unpopular will fall it's crest,
When freedom's ray is rising—
And like a bird of darkness,
Will rather seek to sculk, and hide itself
From the fair light, that blinds it—

WORTHY.
This also was my care—an air serene
Now smooths the clouded brow—My appearance here
Has open'd wonder's eye, and given a tongue
To long-dejected hope, which smiling now
Is variously employ'd in drawing schemes
Of future greatness; yet with chaste distrust,
Checking it's high presumption, humbly leaves,
The plan, that calls our honour, from the darkness,
In which it long has slept, with fuller confidence,
To your own waking care, and watchful foresight,
Waiting with gay impatience it's success.

BRITANNIA.
Enough, my lord, from this your plan left with us
Of our New Building, trusting to your wisdom,
We shall with all dispatch, erect our state,
A rival, to the greatness it enjoy'd
In former ages—Our love shall not defer it;
We'll take it now t'our thoughts—but as reflection
Is best alone; we would be left awhile—
Should doubts arise we shall require your counsels.

WORTHY.
May heaven assist you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Parlour.
HEARTY Writing.—Enter TRADEWELL.
HEARTY.
This is kind—have you seen Wishwell?

TRADEWELL.
I have—

HEARTY.
And well—what news?—

TRADEWELL.
He tells me 'tis confirm'd—that this good lord
Has been again most graciously received,
Keeps stedfast to his plan, and close pursues
His honest purpose—and the general joy
Proclaims success—no business else is talk'd of.
Our gracious Princess and this worthy lord
Alone engross all conversation:
Meet whom you will in publick, with sweet accent,
Denoting inward joy, the speech still turns
On royal goodness, and on patriot love—
One, taking you by th'hand, “Our debts, says he,
“Whose overflowings long have laid us waste,
“Now pent within their channels, shall no longer
“Licence perfidious powers to take advantage!”
With hope erect (the happy change of things
Rend'ring all ranks familiar) another tells you,
Unask'd, without the leave of an acquaintance,
“Our british lyon has too long been passive,
“To leap o'er sticks, and show ridiculous feats,
“At the insulting orders of those states,
“Which in the days of our great ancestors
“Stood trembling at his roar!”—

HEARTY.
But, my good friend!
Tho' these reports, like a reviving cordial,
Have rais'd me up, all circumstances weigh'd
Is not our case too desperate?—Let me ask you,
It is not with design to throw a damp
Upon the publick joy—
But with such debts, almost to bankruptcy,
Sunk as we are, pray how are we to raise
Th'immense supplies our injured honour calls for?
Staggering, with bending joints, beneath our burdens,
How shall our shoulders bear a heavier load?

TRADEWELL.
Save us from being given up as pledges
To griping usurers—we've love and duty
(Still verdant underneath oppression's weight)
That never have forsook us—we have these
Still left with us!—
To yield the loan, for honour and protection,
Chearful as ever!—The stream t'our capitol
Conveying our collections is not sought
To be diverted, but the point that's wanted,
Is how to cleanse the channel of it's filth,
Root out the matted weeds that stop it's current
With their foul feedings—to clear it of it's banks
Of mud and rubbish, which now top the brink,
And stop the labouring oar!—

HEARTY.
I see your purpose!—O! could this be practis'd,
Our purse would gladly meet the calls of state,
And in our rising joys past miseries
Would all be soon forgot—

TRADEWELL.
You judge quite right—
Supplies would in no sort be term'd a grievance,
If those who are entrusted with their uses
Observe the rule that nature gives them,
To teach just application!—her full springs
Flow down her hills unforc'd, trilling their way
To the next stream, which swelling with the loan,
To the full-fed river hollows out its course;
Between whose shelving banks, they sail to th'ocean,
Our watry bulwark, and from thence exhal'd
By heat's attractive power, are drawn towards heaven
To fill the clouds with fatness, watching occasion
In their descent t'enrich our fields and pastures.

HEARTY.
Nature, 'tis true, has given us noble rules
For civil life, were we dispos'd to follow 'em.

TRADEWELL.
This is lord Worthy's purpose.—

HEARTY.
May it prosper—
To generous views kind heaven will grant success,
'Tis it's own work, which it delights to bless.