 | The Taxes |  |
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.
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.
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.
'Tis only so when we mistake the science,
And make it little better than the hawker
Of flying rumour—There the error lies—
Reports so gather'd alway come too late,
Or fall too short to keep distress aloof—
Believe me—these are not the arts t'instruct
The citizen in duty—These require
A deeper search into the state of things;
'Tis to set open the machine, and look
Into the inside work of our connections,
That nature points out to us, and to bring
The subject on a level with our reach,
From our own wond'rous mechanism, the lesson
Of every day's familiarity,
She proves t'our very senses, how each member
Requires it's fellow's help, the less honour'd,
Vying in use and operation
With those of subtler make!—
A case, tho' to sight obvious, yet o'erlook'd
Draws our neglecting it, to one o'th'extremes
Of Pride, that lifts it's head too high, or Murmur,
That grumbles inward, just as the lot falls,
And our condition's lowly or advanc'd—
To tune her compliments to sacred science,
To which herself gave birth, the fitly-fram'd
Well-order'd edifice discovers to us
The model of community! Each part,
From base to pinnacle, by contact close,
Supporting and supported!
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
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
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
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
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—
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