Wit for money, or, Poet Stutter a dialogue between Smith, Johnson, and Poet Stutter : containing reflections on some late plays and particularly, on Love for money, or, The boarding school.

Wit for Money: OR, Poet STUTTER. A DIALOGUE.

Smith, Johnson, and Poet Stutter.

Smith.

PRithee, Frank, give me leave to retire, I have a mind to Read this Afternoon.

Johnson.

Indeed, Jack, you shall read men then—I wanted company and came to look for you, or any honest fellow, to spend it comfortably.

Smith.

A good design, but hard to be compass'd, my friend, this Season, when the best part of both Sexes having taken the Field, a Man of Sense, or a Woman of Fashion, are as hard to be met here, as a Souldier in time of Action, or a Country At∣torney out of Term time.

Johnson.

But yet I hope the Spring hath not swept the Town so clean of good Company, but the Gleanings may serve you and I that are sharp set.

Smith.

Faith, that's to be doubted of, except like Platonicks, the pleasures of the Mind make the whole Feast; for at this pre∣sent

hour I cannot tell what may make up the Regalio—there∣fore I must center my happiness in my Closet.

Johnson.

What think you of a Bottle—for I'm resolv'd not to part with you.

Smith.

As I think of Company, that which is good is hard to be met with, for I had rather sit with half a score Shop-keepers smoaking and talking of Trade; or as many Country Petty fog∣gers putting of Cases, than be condemn'd to drink my Bottle of most of the Stum'd mixtures which your Blue-Apron'd Retailers sell us so dear—besides two as they say's no company.

Johnson.

Let's to the Coffee-House then, we may meet a third man, or hear the News.

Smith.

That is to say, Lyes in abundance; be plagu'd with the foolish Reflections and Inferences, which Grave Block-heads make about this or that; hear them take a Town, or relieve it in their Cockle-brains; or descant two hours upon the Wagers, have been won or lost lately about Mons: Or what's worse, by Herding among them, be taken for one of our (wou'd be) Poli∣ticians; that Medley of Folly, Laziness and Knavery, who are continually in a ferment.

Johnson.

Ay, those whose Pregnant Heads seem like the Moun∣tains, so very big of great Notions, when after the pangs they and their foolish Hearers labour under, a poor silly Mouse is the Delivery.

Smith.

No, I had rather sit out a whole long dull Tragedy, or a second part of the Three Dukes of Dunstable.

Johnson.

And that were a torment not to be endured—but now you talk of Plays, what thing you of going there now?

Smith.

They do not Act to day; besides if they did, 'tis odds but 'tis some silly new one doom'd to death, like a monstrous Birth, as soon as it hath seen the light, and which, tho shoulder'd and propt up by a powerful party, to get the Author a third day, must fall of it self after, to live in the Booksellers Shop, at the mercy of the Worms, for want of other Criticks, to gnaw it

Johnson.

I wonder those fooleries dare appear in print.

Smith.

Oh Sir! as long as Scribblers can find Booksellers to buy them, and they Fools to read 'em, they need not care, what the wiser part will say, they are Case-harden'd, and you need

not expect them to leave Writing, till they leave dull Flattery, Whores their Jilting, Lawyers refuse bribes, or the House to act their Plays, as I believe they will for the future, lest all others, tho good, fall into disrepute; and the House be as empty at a new good Play in Winter, as it is at a bad one in the Long Vacation.

Johnson.

But there are good old Plays, which like Stock-Horses, must bear the dead weight and charge of the others.

Smith.

Ay, and there is need they shou'd; but the Town of late, have like true Libertines, shunn'd Faces and Plays once seen, whether good or bad, and serv'd them all alike; but there's hopes they'll Recant, and after their roving fit, they may be more con∣stant; for to be tir'd with change, is the first step towards the settling our affections; and since when we have been but one Week in the Country, we find so much the want of the Play-House, that the very Strowlers are then welcome to us. I dare say, the Town can no more be without Plays, than a brisk young Widdow without a Husband or a Gallant.

Johnson.

Let's go to the Booksellers, and see what new Books are sprung up since last Night.

Smith.

With all my heart: but methinks thou mak'st Mush∣rooms of them: If some Reverend Author, or Waspish Satyrist heard thee, thou wou'd be in danger of a lash in his next Weeks Pamphlet.

Johnson.

Authors and Satyrists do you call them? Scribblers, Libellers, and Lampooners, are more suitable Epithets for many of them; and for my part, I oftner take up their Papers to pick out their Nonsense, and laugh at it, than to find any thing wor∣thy observation.

Smith.

Oh, I have found out another use for them; formerly I cou'd not sleep, tho I desired it; but having bought a Book call'd The Moralist, I began to read it one Night, having no other by my Bed side, when even Opium cou'd not purchase me sleep, and before I had read two Pages, I slept so fast, that I found the next Morning my Candle in the Socket, and the Book in the Chamber-pot.

Johnson.

And a very fit place for it, and all such dull, insipid, heavy, unweildy sustain.

Smith.

I am not of your mind, when it may save a Man Half a-Crown in Opium. I want to buy another.

Johnson.

You need not have that again, 'tis but getting the Weesil Trap'd, the Triannal Mayor, Collin's Walk, Butlers Ghost; (and a very Ghost indeed it is) alias: The fourth part of Hudibras, and half a score Plays, by the same hand, cum multis aliis, of others, and they will have the same effect to a Miracle; Experto crede Roberto.

Smith.

Why, how came you to remember what all the World hath forgot?—

Johnson.

But the Booksellers you shou'd have added—for I be∣lieve there is not Ten Men in the Nation, besides the Author, Bookseller, Printer and Corrector, e're read them through. To tell you the truth, as Mr. Dryden sacrifices a Bussy d' Ambois to the memory of Ben Johnson, I sacrifice one of these yearly to the memory of Shakespear, Butler, and Oldham; but this is a Book∣sellers—go in—

Smith.

Where is the last Momus Ridens?

Johnson.

Here it is—the Author hath left off, and when the Bookseller is as weary of Printing, as the Town of buying a Pen∣ny Lampoon, 'tis high time for the Author, after the recruit of a third day, to leave you, without taking leave, and like the Fox, to cry the Grapes are sowre, when his Pegasus a tip Toes, can∣not reach at the sweet Copy Money.

Smith.

reads.

We want but an Vnion to make them all Fools, And bid the starv'd Armies to Baise nos Culs.

Like the Kings of Brentford, the Author makes his Momus speak French, but with this difference, that it does not much shew his breeding.

Johnson.

Oh! yes, 'tis very pretty: Why, to bid the French kiss his A—se must needs be very taking. For fear they should forget it, he hath bid them do it three or four times—But is not this very pretty, speaking of the French King—

His Wars have already exhausted such Charge, Their Gentry for Dinner scarce get a brown George.

Smith.

As for their Gentry doubtless some of them are poor enough; but as for exhausted such Charge, I cannot tell how to make sence of it.

Johnson.

Nor he, nor any Man I'm sure; do you think he minds Grammar? He forgot it, or ne're learnt it at School. And as for Exhausted such charge, he has been at such a charge of Wit, that his stock is Exhausted; and that's the reason he has left off—and let's leave him off too—

Smith.

Prithee who's the Author of it?

Johnson.

Poet Stutter.

Smith.

Then I don't wonder 'tis such—Why, he can't Write—

Johnson.

What do you mean? He was Prentice to a Scriviner.

Smith.

I mean, he can't write sence.

Johnson.

Therefore he's the fitter to Write such things; they only seem calculated for the Meridian of the City Coffee-Houses, where sense is as great a stranger as amongst the true bred Teagues, or the Bethlemitish Collegians; who yet sometimes will drop you a Witticism by chance. One while he rails at the Priests, ano∣ther at the French, laughs at the Irish; and in the whole, banters all, and the work's done. They are all alike, from the first to the last; I wou'd confine him to Scotch Songs, I mean such of them as our Gay People of both Sexes call Scotch, tho' they want as much the Dialect, as the sense of some of that Country.

Smith.

Prithee why?

Johnson.

Because, as I said, he much wanting sense, is the fitter to write them, it being an essential part of them to have none; and the more, since his faculty of Singing renders him the more capable to fit a Horse to a Saddle; that is, words to a Tune.

Smith.

Oh, yes, he's not a little proud of that: I believe that in the Elizian Fields, he'll hardly give the Wall to Horace, or any of the Lyrick Poets. He contradicts his Notion of Musici∣ans, and gives his noted Omnibus hoc vitium the Lye, tho no man verifies it more than himself. Indeed, he is a Tolerable Eccho, his only quality is a Voice.

Johnson.

That made a Modern Wit say of him, in a late Pre∣face, That a Man of sense wou'd not do Penance in his Company, without the amends of his Singing.

Smith.

I have read it—But what's here, the very book you spoke of—The Moralist?

Johnson.

I'll buy it—I see 'tis a continuation of the Weesils, tho the Author hath left the style of Reynard the Fox; to whose

humour, and the malice and dangerous Notions of his first Libel, he ought, I think, to attribute its Reception with some people, as much as his Under-Brothers of the Scribbling Herd, the Sale of their Parabolizing Bears, Puppies and Magpies.

Enter Poet Stutter.

Stutter.

Gentlemen, your most humble Servant.

Johnson.

Oh! your Servant, Mr. Stutter, I was just a going to buy a piece of Poetry here, 'tis the Moralist, is it worth reading?

Smith.

As much as any thing you have seen since Sir William Davenant's Rational Sceptick, it overthrows all the Doctor's Vindications, and levels all the Parson's Arguments; the Hind and Panther talk'd like Parrots to this. Let me see—

There are more Notions than the case does need. 'Tis true, much more than any one will read; Vnless he'll sit six hours to doze and pore, And be as wise just as he was before: For, in opinion almost all the Nation Agree, it ne'er was writ for confutation; But, for the profit, as the sale begins, To make your Court—

Johnson.

Ay, Ay, Let me tell you this passage falls very heavy upon some body that shall be nameless—

aside

—his very self— to him again—'Tis the very quintessence of Hobbs and Seneca, and beyond Waller for smoothness. No scrutinous Casuist ever solv'd a knotty point more clearly, nor wheadling Town Jilt use more flowing words to her amorous Cully.

Stutter.

Ay, considering the subject, I think 'tis well enough: The Now-Laureat never writ such a thing in his Life.

Johnson.

No, I dare swear he never did—

aside

—Nor any one that hath a grain of Wit. The dull Coxcomb swallows flattery by whole-sale, faster than a half starv'd Fleet-street plyer do's Sack and Bisket.—Prithee dear Poetry who writ it?—

Stutter.

An honest Moralist, I faith, that shall be nameless; you or I, for ought I know.

Johnson.

Then you pretend to Morality; but how do's it agree with it, to come on a Man that hath a thousand Aggressors al∣ready, and never meddled with you; and what is more, is guilty of no other fault than you, that is, to have altered his principle—

Morality teaches us to use others, as we would be us'd our selves: What now if some one or other should stick to your skirts and expose you as much?

Stutter.

I fear it little, my Emblem is the Thistle, Nemo me impune lacesset, 'twould do me and my books a kindness, and like the Sun after an Eclipse, I should appear the more glorious.

Johnson.

A very pretty Simile, and much to the purpose, for Phoebus the God of Poetry, is the Sun.

Smith.

Ay—but there is this difference, that the Sun has 12 Houses, but our little Phoebus here has not one. But my friend, how came you to write the Weesil Trap'd after the Weesils? And if I am not mistaken, the Tryennial Mayor, as well as the Mo∣ralist. Methinks their principles differ as much as a Lay-Elder and a Lawn Sleeve, or Poet Stutter in the two last Reigns, and Poet Stutter in this.

Stutter.

Oh! you wrong me, I never chang'd my Religion.

Smith.

That may well be, because perhaps you never had any; but for your principles, I am sure you have alter'd them more in two years, than the Taylors have the fashions since the Restauration—but that's no newer thing to some of your pro∣fession, than to a true Courtier in times of change—

Johnson.

Prithee don't be too severe, but remember all Trades must live. Why should not a Writer sell to both parties his Wit for Money, as well as a Vintner his Claret, or a Town Woman her fa∣vours? What if a man will exalt a Weesil, and Trap him afterwards, rail at the Clergy in one place, and commend them in another, side with the Grumblers in one thing, then lash them in the next, Write Trimming Songs and Panegyricks on the City Magistrates in this Reign, and wish them Shamm'd, Kick'd and Damn'd, in the last: Blame Doctors for Writing Pro and Con, yet do it one Week after another. It doth not signify a farthing (from whence it comes,) 'tis like Musick, the different and thwarting parts set one another off. Do you think Rats and Weesils, Mo∣ralizing Atheists, dull Panegyricks, worse than Lampoons and Lampoons, more glorious to those they are meant to, than Panegy∣ricks by those hands? Songs, Ballads, Drolls and Farces, signi∣fy a pin on either side? No, to mind those things, is the bu∣siness of those that have none; and tho the Authors of those

mighty trifles strut it like Turky-cocks, and think themselves wrong'd for want of a Lawrel to rear their Blockheads, dignify their Nonsense, and hide their Ignorance; the wiser part let them go on, and write on still as the worst of punishments, and the best of rewards, for their teeming Noddles, while like Aesop's fly on the Camels head, they think themselves men of mighty weight, as if they were the Primum Mobile of State Af∣fairs, and every Revolution the Influence of their Verse, tho, like Town Jilts, 'tis Money they Respect, and every Party may be served alike, and laught at in their hearts; this I mean of our Ambidexters only.

Stutter.

Pray Mr.—a— spare your self the pains to be my Ad∣vocate; on my word, tho you plead briskly, you will not de∣serve a Fee at my hands; do but hear my Lord Roscommon, he mitigates the matter much more.

I pity, from my Soul, unhappy Men, Compell'd by need to prostitute their Pen; Who, Lawyer like, must either starve or plead, And follow right or wrong, where Guinea's lead.

But because you are Men of Honour and Sense, I shall not think an hour ill bestow'd to argue the matter a little farther with you; this place is too publick, nor has it been without some sweat I have heard you and refrain'd my self: If you please, we will ad∣journ to the Tavern, and with a sober Bottle renew the Argu∣ment, Wine is a Friend to the Muses.

Johnson.

I believe so, and wonder why Poets are said to drink of the Fountain Hippocrene.

Smith.

Oh! Sir, 'tis to shew that all their thoughts must be clear as Chrystal, their words flow easy, their design be natural, their matter innocent, not able to intoxicate our Reason as Wine, Wine you know alters men, it makes the old young, the sad mer∣ry, the poor rich, the coward stout, the weak strong, enlivens the face, advises the wise—and also makes him mad; I believe many of our Plays have been written in Claret—

Stutter.

Come, let's go—and take a Dose of it, since as you say 'tis a Pannacea, a cure for all Evils, and the Gentleman U••her to Mirth and Happiness. On my word, your Notion is not amiss (and by the way I'll not forget it) I will only give this

Sheet to the Bookseller, and wait on you if you'll tell me where.

Smith.

Don't go, we shall be Tongue-kill'd with his stuff.

Johnson.

Prithee come, 'twill be variety for once; besides we'll make him Sing—Let it be quickly then at the Cross-keys.

Stutter.

There's such a noise there always, the Pit on my first day, or Billings-gate it self, might pass for quiet places to it.—

Smith.

Nay, one of your Similes will serve, for I think the Play-House was a Billings-gate then.

Johnson.

Name your Tavern then.

Stutter.

Let it be the Rose, I am sure of a Glass of the best there.—

Johnson.

Agreed—you'll follow.

Stutter.

Presently.

Smith.

I wonder how he ventures to the Tavern with us, seeing how we have used him already; I should as soon have be∣lieved he would have come at a Lords Mayors Feast to Sing his Ioy to Great Caesar, or, London's Loyalty.

Johnson.

He is a better Courtier than you imagine, and will endeavour to make you Neuter if he cannot win you to his Par∣ty; not unlike the Jesuites, who purchase all the Books are writ against them, that they may not be read by other people; or like those, who Fee some Lawyers not so much to use them, as to hinder them from Pleading for their Adversaries.

Smith.

It can be no easy matter to reconcile me to the Pro's and Cons of such Mercenary Pens, they bring the whole Body Politick of Poetry into disgrace and contempt, like Drawcansir, they spare neither Friend nor Foe, provided there be something to be got by it; and as the Whores give Love for Money, they as meanly expose Wit for Money, till Punk and Scribbler grow as loath'd and common one as the other. The Law hath pro∣vided a House of Correction for the one, and since Satyr is too mild to lash the others, 'tis pity there is not some other means us'd to silence them, that the better Pens, and the Men of ho∣nester Principles, may no longer suffer for the faults of those; and when these Torrents and Inundations of the spurious, mud∣dy, mingled stuff of those Dabblers, which now drowns the Town, is drain'd, Wit and Merit need not be asham'd to appear abroad, but flow in their Natural Channel.

Johnson.

Faith thou'rt in the right.

Smith.

Well, I am sorry we have ingaged our selves with this fellow, it were better to hear another Rehearsal of Bays, or ano∣ther reading of his City Mouse and Country Mouse.

Johnson.

Prithee do not be disheartned, we will have rare sport.

Smith.

It will be dear bought if you have any; it were a bet∣ter bargain to hear Merry Andrew's Insipid Jokes, in hopes of a Jest every half hour, Court an affected senseless Musician for a Song, or humour an old peevish Relation on the prospect of a Legacy.

Johnson.

Why, thou art more Splenatick than a Mathemati∣cian disturbed in his Calculations, or a Poet whose Play hath been Damn'd before his third Day. Thou art a meer Usurer of thy Conversation, thou wilt not lend thine without a large Interest of Wit. Come, Jack, your stock is large, be a little more lavish on't, to him 'tis Charity, he lives upon the scraps of such as you, and you need not grudge to see the Brats of your Brains father'd by another.

Smith.

Nor those of my Body, Frank, tho I should hate to see them ill dress'd or distorted, and such I guess his Education will make any ones, when the best fancy or plot Midwifd by him into the World, will either be crippled, or at the best look like a Child half starv'd at Nurse.

Johnson.

Do you take him for such an ill Taylor that he cannot dress any Wit as it ought to be?

Smith.

Even so, witness his laying violent hands on Shakespear and Fletcher, whose Plays he hath altered so much for the worse, like the Persecutors of Old, killing their living Beauties by join∣ing them to his dead lameless Deformities.

Johnson.

Oh! if there be Poetical Justice to be had in the Elezian Fields, how he'll be maul'd, and if in this World, he were serv'd like Aesops Jay, and every Bird should claim their fea∣thers, how Naked he would be.

Smith.

Not so naked neither, he is Voluminous enough with the Leaves of his Books; like another Adam to cover his naked∣ness, and tho most of our Authors might well call their Books pickt Sentences, select Lines, Collections of fine things, and

Miscellanies of other mens thoughts, should one, Chymist like, separate the different Metals of which their compound is made up, there would remain of their own a great deal of substantial, weighty, solid—

Johnson.

Lead, you mean.

Smith.

Matter.

Johnson.

Then pray no more of that matter, we have discant∣ed but too much on it already, let's talk of something else till our Poet after come, you'll be sure of a belly full of it then.

Smith.

Let's talk of what you will; tho', let me tell you, I would have my friend, like an Ingenious Preacher, extract a good Doctrine out of a barren Text. But here he comes.

Stutter.

Gentlemen, I hope I have made my word good; I love to be as punctual to my friends, as—

Smith.

An Author to his Bookseller, when he is to pay him his Copy Money; a passionate Lover to his first assignation, or a moneyless Parasite to my Lords Hour of setting down to Din∣ner, or—

Stutter.

The Sun to his appointed setting—and there I was before you. But what News do you hear, Gentlemen?—

Johnson.

They say the Armies—

Stutter.

Oh! I did not ask about Warlike News: But News from Wits Commonwealth. What new Lampoon hath the Vogue? What Songs now fill the Air? What Satyr bites the Town? Or, to speak more largely, What new Play puts the Criticks to their old Talent of finding fault? Or Jacobite like, biting their Fin∣gers for want of power to bite others.

Johnson.

Why, Tom, I should have expected such questions from thee, as little as from a Court Lady what's the fashion, a Seaman how's the Wind, or a Watchman what's a Clock— What Song, What Lampoon, What Satyr, Or what Play, in short, can please the Town, but what is Coyn'd in your Mint? I can go no where, but like Air, you are still to be found. From Wapping to Tuttlefields, from Southwark to Shoreditch, you fill the Nations mouth. The trudging Carman whistles your har∣monious Poetry to his Horse, the Glass Coach Beau whispers them to his as senceless Nymph, the grumbling Jacobite mut∣ters them in Corners to his Abdicated Brethren, the Coffee-house

Bard, his Nose Sadled with Spectacles, pores over your Comical Remarks, as much as on the no less divertive Observator. Your Ballads, when half asleep, from the Street, in a high Base and a low Treble, wish me a good rest when I can catch it. The Cookmaid and Scullion listen to them, and the very Coachmen ingratiates himself to the antiquated Chamber-maid with them. They will not escape the quiet Nursery, for there they Rock Baby asleep. In Guild-Hall, some of the Anti-New Raparees exalt them up to the very Hustins, and from the Philistine Goliah, now make you their third Giant. I see them on every Post, and shoals of them at every Booksellers, and must for a while have abdicated the Play-house, had I not as much Complaisance for them as I have had for some of the foregoing Comical Enter∣tainments.

Stutter.

Sir, I hope you make that difference between their Plays and mine, which the success of the one and the other claim: My Play may live to bear the charge of theirs, and clear a brace of 1000 l. to the House.

Smith.

Oh, Sir, I never judge of things by their success, The Emperour of the Moon, and other trifles, could brag of that if it were allowable.

Stutter.

What, Sir, compare my Play to The Emperour of the Moon, when it makes the Lawrel shake on one's head, and another despair of it again—

Smith.

If one of the two you mean despairs of the Lawrel, 'tis what can't be help'd, but if it shake on the others Head, I believe 'tis when he laughs at some mens presumptions, tho' I'm no Mans Champion, win it and wear it, Tom, when you have writ as many good Plays as they, and your Tory ones are for∣got; perhaps you may be in a better way—tho' by the way I'd advise you to write no more—

Stutter.

How, Sir, write no more! What ca—ca—can you mean by this?—speak—Zoons—

Smith.

Oh, Sir, if you are so furious, speak by your self.

Johnson.

Prithee, Tom, hear him, he's no Foe to you, and to my knowledge brought a good party to clap swingingly on your first day; which, by the way, was no small advantage to the Play.

Stutter.

Oh, Sir, I had a powerful party against me, tho' I would not give a farthing for a Play that cannot stem the tide of a Faction; but what can be your reasons, Mr. Smith, for my leaving off Writing?—

Smith.

Why, Sir, in the first place; like the Sun, to which you compar'd your self just now, this must be your Meridian, and when things are at their highest, the next step is to decline. To deal more plainly with you, the Town deserves not to be oblig'd by you, tho' you cou'd soar higher than Mr. Phoebus himself. I remember that in your De∣dication to the Fond Husband, you assure your Patron it is your Own, tho' some are pleas'd to doubt the contrary; and it grieves me to tell you, Mr. Stutter, they cannot think this last yours nei∣ther, but rather that it was given you by some Person of Quali∣ty, who more modest yet than Virgil, let's you enjoy the Ho∣nour and Profit of it, without issuing out a Sic nos non Vobis.

Stutter.

Not mine! Then, Sir, let me tell you, I have friends that know better, and I challenge any of the Criticks, tho' my constant and inveterate Enemies, to tell me of one single thing in the Plot, or Conversation of it, but what is Genuine, my own, and no Mans else. As for Plot, Sir, I'll not yield it to any Poet or Politician; and there's my Plotting Sisters for one, which I'll match with any Play in Europe: Either She wou'd if she cou'd, Squire of Alsatia, Soldiers Fortune; or any other—

Smith.

So you may indeed, the putting out of Candles, chang∣ing of Gowns; Tables and Traps are well enough imagin'd.

Stutter.

Well enough—ay, and so they are; but pray what do they say besides?—Let me know all.

Smith.

I will—They say that most of what takes in your new Play, is gay Farce, the rest is sad, whining, heavy Love; the one too brisk, the other too dull, and both in Extreams. Some say, that like the Italian Painter, who kill'd his friend the better to draw the Agonies of a dying Man, you have sacri∣fic'd your Hospitable Acquaintance at the Boarding-Schools, to the improving the Characters of your Play.

Stutter.

Indeed, I have some Acquaintance there, but they may rather than complain, thank me for not exposing them more—I could have made the thing look with a worse face.

Smith.

That is—those whom you have lam'd, of a Leg or an Arm, may thank you for not killing them quite; but to go on, they say the best of the Plot is stolen.

Stutter.

I steal a Plot—give me patience—

Smith.

Out of a Play of Mrs. Behns, call'd The City Heiress; that the humour and discourse between Iilt-all and Amorous, are much the same as between Wilding, and Diana his kept Mistress, whom he tells his Unkle is an Heiress, to get Money of him, when afterwards she, like your Iilt, proving false to Wilding, marrys his Unkle, who finds himself at last cheated with a Whore instead of an Heiress.

Johnson.

Pray, Mr. Stutter, is not this something like your Plot?

Stutter.

Zoones, 'tis much like it, I must confess, but Wits jump—I vow I had forgot it, but it doth not signify a rush, the Town has forgot that long ago.

(aside.)

Pray Heaven some other malicious prying Book-monger may'nt find it out—Be∣sides, 'twill never be acted again, 'twas one of the Tory Plays, which won't do now the tide's turn'd.

Smith.

No more than your Royalist, Sir Barnaby Whigg, and the rest of your Court Plays, where Passive Obedience and Ius Divinum, are asserted as Infallible Doctrines, and all Sins venial but desire of Liberty.

Johnson.

Oh don't blame the Royalist, if it were but for the sake of that Devout Gentleman, who duly every morning came to Worship the Royal Oak, with as much Devotion as the Pilgrims at Loretto.

Stutter.

For Gods sake, Gentlemen, no more of it, they were little things writ, and suitable with the times, which I and my Brothers may be somewhat asham'd of in these—

Smith.

I believe 'tis that throws you as much upon the ex∣treams, as if nothing could attone but the Counterpart, witness the Lady Addleplot, which tho her part is so short that it is hard∣ly worth the dressing him that acts it, claws it off so smartly, that it put some in mind of your Renegadoes, who ever prove severer Task-masters, than your natural Musselmen, and the worse Turks of the two—

Stutter.

Well, let 'em take it among them that think them∣selves concern'd; as for my new Play, I'm sure 'tis good, and bar this thing in the City Heiress, which by the by, I wou'd pray you to keep to your selves, 'tis all my own, and like the File, it may defy the Teeth of the Criticizing Snakes; they may hiss and bite, but like true Steel, 'twill wear out their Tongues and Teeth: I am sure they cannot have the Impudence to say other∣wise.

Smith.

Oh but they have, Mr. Stutter, they are even so im∣pudent as to say—

Stutter.

Wh—wh—why what the Devil can they say?

Smith.

They say that the Kid-napping of the Heiress to the East-Indies in your Play, looks very much like some such thing in Sir Hercules Buffoon, that your Sir Rowland Rakehell hath the Knavery of Selden, with the humour and profaneness of Sir Her∣cules; and your Ramps are like Innocentia, one of the Heiresses there. And that the List which the Lady Addleplot reads of their party, is the same thing almost with that which the Irish Priest reads in the Amorous Bigott, and though the words are somewhat different, the humour is the same.

Johnson.

What! more discoveries: What say you to this, little Stutter, Guilty or not Guilty?

Stutter.

Why, Sir, in the first place, I say I never took a hint from any man; in the next, that those Characters you mention'd are like mine, I utterly deny—

Johnson

aside.

With the confidence of an Actor, the sincerity of a Poet, and the truth of an Irish Evidence.

Stutter.

Faces you know may be alike, but for all that they are not the same; what has Sir Rowland to do with Sir Hercules? Or my Ramps with his Ramps?—Besides their Dress, and the main drift of the Action, is quite another thing.

Smith.

That may be, and yet the Character may be borrow∣ed, for in Humours and Characters, it happens as with those German Pictures, where a Man or a Woman are drawn so, that a dozen different dresses painted on Izing-glass may suit to the same face; and so it may be said the humour is still the same, tho you dress it another way; it hath the same looks tho' it be disguis'd; as your French man is, for though you have made

him a Jacobite French man, yet he is but a French man still, and such a French man as no Beau will ever be fond of aping; so that after so many excellent Masters from whom you've drawn your Copy, and who have tired their Pens, and then the Town on that subject, 'tis to be admired you have not drawn him better; and as for crying up his King, we had enough of that in Bury-Fair. Indeed the merry (not to say the unthinking) part of the Audience were well pleas'd with him, and always will; the en∣mity between the Nations giving a relish to the Part, even in Bartholomew-Fair, tho had he, who acted the part like a good Fiddle, been well tun'd, he would have made better Musick.

Stutter.

Sure the Town will not be so barbarous as to deny me the drawing a French man right—

Johnson.

'Twere hard they should; I have heard you say your Father was one. Though I've heard a friend of mine say, you speak French worse than your French-man English.

Smith.

aside.

No wonder then if he sings and saunters about so much, dresses like them, and talks as much. Let me see, he hath a French Face, lean and dun: all the true Cast. Hark you, little Stutter, did not you draw it for your self? Come, confess amongst friends—

Stutter.

Zoons—ca—ca—ca—can any man have patience to hear all this? Gentlemen, here's my Club—

Johnson.

Pox, don't be angry Tom, he's but in jest. Come, here's t'ye, some of you Writers are as high after your third days, as your Whores with settlements, as you said. Dear Stutter, prithee let's be merry; put up your Money, we know you have some—Why! there's no arguing with you, your Wit runs out in a passion like Bottle Ale in the Dog days.

Stutter.

'Sblood! 'twould make even patience mad. But come, Sir, you that are so critical; can you make any more objections?

Smith.

Not a word, Sir; I hate a noise, and regard your health and mine: tho' let me tell you, that those who refuse to hear of their faults, will remain in them, and be Company only for fools and flatterers; If they be real to know them is a means to mend, and if they▪ be not, our sober arguing may undeceive those who before thought us in an Error.

Stutter.

There you are right, but to have the honour of inven∣ting my Characters and Humours taken from me, is such a thing, as I am sure no author can bear; the name of Plagiary is more odious to me than that of Whore to a virtuous Woman, or the imputation of Cowardise to a Man of Honour.

Johnson.

Ay, and the taking your Plots and Humours from you, a greater grief than the ravishing from a kind Mother her dear beloved Daughter; tho' I confess, some people said that your Nicompoop is just the very Image of Bisket in Epsom-Wells, who is a quiet humble civil City Cuckold, govern'd and beaten by his Wife, whom he very much fears, loves, and is proud of: She too calls him Nicompoop and fumbler; he courts her Gallant to go to her, begs leave to go play at Bowls, gets fuddled, and is alike reprimanded; so that they said, you may well bragg in your Epilogue that your Cuckolds Character is not ill drawn, when you had so good an Original to copy after. But I believe 'tis not so.

Stutter.

Some Criticks have no mercy; because they cannot take from me the humours between my dear Granadeer and his Son, What does one of them behind the Scenes t'other day, but say 'tis Foreign from the main action, and hath no more dependance on it, than the Scene between Prince Prettiman and Tom Thimble in the Rehearsal hath to the Two Kings of Brentford. And in short that I might as well have given him a Mother and have a dozen Children, and a Father to the French-man, and to Amorous, and to every one of them, and have made as many more Walks, or Plays in a Play, as there are Acts and Scenes in this.—

Johnson.

Why 'faith that was unkind, they had as good say that Topknots and Cravat-strings are not necessary garniture.—

Smith.

For my part I judge them to be no more necessary than Shoulder-knots and Feathers, of which Fantastick mode, Heaven be praised, the Town is reformed; and I wish those unuseful digressions on our Stage, like overgrown branches, were lop'd off too.

Johnson.

Then you may cut off half the Plays of some of our Authors, much fuller of digressions, indeed, then some of our mo∣dern Rhetorical Sermons▪ Come, Bays was not so much out when he said, What's your Plot but to bring in fine things. Let your lean, envious Student, who like the Architect will have a rule

to work by, and go by the Compass and Plummet, show us a better Play of his own if he can; here, my little Friend, here's to thee, and a good success to thy next.

Stutter.

Now I vow you're obliging.

Johnson.

And so you'll be, dear Stutter, if you'll give us a Song.

Stutter.

I vow to gad I can't sing; your Friend here, Mr. What-d'ye-call-him, hath put me so out of order.—

Smith.

'Prithee, Mr. Stutter, take what I told you the right way, you would not be flattered, would you? but prithee a Song.—

Stutter.

Oh Sir, Incense is odious to me; besides I deserve none.

Smith.

Come, come, we know what you deserve, now you are unjust and wrong your self, but pray take no notice of what I said, 'twas only à lusus verborum. I love arguing to my heart.

Johnson.

Ay, sometimes he and I will argue it for an hour or two.

Smith.

Wits disputing, like knives, grind and sharpen one anothers edge.

Stutter.

A very quaint simile.—

Aside

—And that shall be my own. You have a World of them Mr. Smith, for my part I don't overload my Plays with Wit: Plot and Humour are my Provinces. Tho I think they have been worse used by ill Pens, than Hungary by the Tartars.

Smith.

'Tis pitty they have been so depopulated: But prithee give us a Song.

Stutter.

Indeed I cannot now: a Man cannot sing at all times.

Reads.

My answer to my Brother Horace's omnibus hoc vitium, And that which Tunes the Cobler Tunes us all.

Smith.

What tunes the Cobler?—

Stutter.

Why, a merry Heart.

Johnson.

Well, prithee let the Cobler alone, and give us a Song.

Stutter.

Stay, I'll begin it all, there is not above 100 verses, I have it by Heart, 'tis my darling,—

If this strange Vice in all good Singers were.

Smith.

For God's sake a Song.—

Stutter.

Well, I'll skip some—

I soon perceiv'd when I his version met, 'Twas more from prejudice than judgment writ.

—Aside

—I perceive too by your own confession, that you make use of his version to converse with him.

Johnson.

Gad I will side to your Brother Horace if you don't sing presently.

Stutter.

Well, but hear my verses first.

Smith.

We have read them, and will have a Song first.

Stutter.

But my Verses—

Johnson.

We'll hear 50 of your Verses for every Song you'll Sing us; that's very fair.

Stutter.

No—that's too little; I have a new Poem to desire your advice in, you are men of Wit; but I'll have 150 Verses for every Song.

Smith.

I vow that's too hard, you have no conscience; but pass for threescore.

Stutter.

Have you seen an Ode I translated from the Greek of Anacreon in my last collection?

Johnson.

No; but pray let us have a Scotch Song, dear Tom, I know thou art a Devil at them.

Stutter.

Oh, Sir, I will not thank the Town for giving me the preheminence over all my Contempo—po—po—raries in Lyricks; envy it self will give me that, tho' 'tis a Talent even Horace the great Lyrick Poet wanted, or I am mistaken.

Smith.

Pray Mr. Stutter, seeing you understand Greek, which by the way I am glad of, for your sake, the unkind Town saying you do not understand Latin, oblige me to explain this passage in Euripides:

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉—

Stutter.

Let me see the Book Sir—Pox of this Heathen Greek, it hath not the Latin on the other side, tho' if it had 'twould be much one to me.

To himself.

Smith.

Well, how do you render that in English?

Stutter.

Why? I thought you were for a Scotch Song—and I have—fa la la la.

Smith.

But the Greek Verse first.

(aside.)

I'll confound him.

Stutter.

What do you make of it, let's see?

Smith.

I do not understand it very well, it talks of Lethe, Ob∣livion.

Stutter,

Gad, so it may, and I believe I have drank of Lethe's Lake, for I have quite forgot it. Pox of this Greek, 'tis only fit for Pedants, and as unbecoming a Gentleman as Pedlars French.

Smith.

You mistake sure, Mr. Stutter: Euripides, Sophocles, Aristophanes, and the other Greek Authors, were ever esteem'd the Fountains of Dramatick Poetry.

Stutter.

For my part, I neither mind them nor Aristotle, or Longinus, my dear Horace doth my business.

Smith

apart.

For which you may thank the Translators.

Stutter.

Tho understand him and his Rules, and follow them never so strict, you may miss the way to please the Town, and your Play be hiss'd off by the Criticks, for all your Rules, I'faith. For my part, I am of Terence's mind, since 'tis our bu∣siness to please the Court and Town, and have a large Audience. Let's write so as to please them and the Major party. That hath been my Rule, and I have found it successful, and I'll not leave it for all the Musty Ancients, till I find one more profitable: But you shall have a Song.

Johnson.

Had it not been to be rid of this Greek, he would not have Sung this hour.

Stutter.

I reckon I have made some 7953 Songs, 2250 Bal∣lads, and 1956 Catches, besides Madrigals, Odes, and other Lyrick Copies of Verses ad infinitum. Are you for a new one? I seldom am a day without making one or two.

Johnson.

What you like best your self, Tom, good Songs are ever new to me.

Stutter.

Abroad as I was walking upon a Summers day, There I met with a Beggar Woman cloathed all in Gray: Her Clothes they were so torn, you might have seen her skin, She was the first that taught me to see the Golin, Ah! see the Golin my Jo, see the Golin.

She took her Bearn up, and wrapt it weel in Clothes, And then she takes a Golin and stick between her Toes, And ever as the Lurden cry'd or made any din,

She shook her foot and cry'd my Jo, see the Golin; Ah! see the Golin my Jo, see the Golin.

Smith.

A very pretty Tune indeed.

Stutter.

But how do you like the words? To praise the Tune only, is commending a frame, and saying nothing of the picture.

Johnson.

Oh the words are singular; odd—odd, mighty pret∣ty odd words.

Stutter.

Ay, that see the Golin, my Jo, see the Golin: Gad, I wonder how I come by all these pretty things: I have a world of them.

Johnson.

Who but your self would have had such a pretty thought, my Jo, see the Golin?

Stutter.

Ay, that Golin, it seems there's nothing in it.

Johnson.

Oh, but you are mistaken, 'tis worth a whole Epick Poem.

Stutter.

That Golin—Sir, you do me honour; tho let me tell you, I had rather be the Author of that Golin than of Absa∣lom and Achitophel.

Johnson.

So had I, tho I look upon it as the best Poem we have had these 20 years.

Stutter.

Oh: I perceive you have not read mine on a late Duke's going to America; I'll read it to you, 'tis not above 300 lines.

Johnson.

'Sdeath, he is at again—

aside.

—Prithee first let me admire that Ring on thy Finger, if it be right 'tis worth 50 pounds. Ah, Rogue, I never saw you wear it before to day, nor that fine Watch; why those are substantial moveables.

Smith

apart.

Yes, and may pawn for half their cost in the long Vacation. Why friend, you have laid out half your third day on that, I believe you have a mind like Bias, one of the Sa∣ges of Greece, to say upon occasion, Omnia Mecum Porto.

Stutter

apart.

Now would I give any thing to know his mean∣ing.

Smith

apart.

He is angry, I'll turn it off, perhaps he doth not understand it. I would say, you carry all good things along with you.

Johnson.

Prithee let him display his Jewels and be fine.

to Smith.

'twill make him the more ridiculous; what if like Monsieur Ra∣gou, he hath a mind to lay out his whole stock in Ribonds? Indeed, 'tis a lovely Ring, dear Stutter, let me see it.

Stuttter.

A Tribute to the Muses; the grateful Offering of a kind admirer of my Works.

Johnson.

I'll say that for Tom, that tho some of the Men look upon him by the wrong end of the prospect, and the Criticks for his Satyrs would use him worse than his Eldest Brother Or∣pheus was by the Women, yet the kinder Sex take a truer view of his merits. And tho Dragon grows old, yet he keeps up among them, a Song for Cinthia, another for Cloe, are worth Jewels and Gold, and many times better things.

Smith.

That's a pretty Trade, I must confess, and much like the Barters with the Indians, an exchange of Toys for pretious Stones.

Stutter.

By your leave, I reckon my Toys as good as theirs, and if I receive their pretious Stones, I seldom fail to return the gratitude in the same kind.

Johnson.

Ah, Wag! there thou'rt before Bays for a dry Bob, and I can but admire how ingeniously they are spread in thy Play; some of them are Master-strokes of that kind, for that and good honest Atheistical Songs, andabusing the Black-coat as thou call'st it, thou bear'st away the Lawrel.

Stutter.

Oh, I am for things that are out of the way, and you shall no more see any thing of mine without something in't, that's stinging or odd; than a Sermon without Quotations, a Tragedy without Bombast, and an Almanack without Lyes.

Johnson.

Nay, I'll say that for thee, that tho some envious Wits say thou'rt a Drone, thou art as Waspish as the best of them, and if they cannot perceive thy Wit, 'tis because 'tis so very fine, that 'tis very hard to be seen, tho I should esteem it as much the more for being so, as a Machine in an Opera for moving with a subtle Wire.

Stutter.

Now you talk of Ladies, let's have their Health; the little Rogues are so fond of me.

Johnson.

Why do you not secure some one of them, though it were but a Lady Dowager, her Jointure would be better than a Patrimony on Parnassus.

Stutter.

Oh, I love to live at large, and the pleasure of the Chase many times exceeds that of the Quarry; besides, I vow, I can never talk of for better for worse, but they desire me to Sing t'other Song. Gad, I believe they are affraid 'twould spoil my Voice, and that the Town should lose the benefit of my Writing; and they use me as your Lords do their old Servants, whom they never prefer, for fear of losing their good Service. Besides, I have always kept too many Irons at work, and like a Greyhound coursing two Hares at once, I have had always the ill luck to miss both—but I intend to pursue close some one of them, I have half a dozen in my eye, and one of them will do, fa la la fa la.

Smith.

I'll say that for him, he is as fond of talking of them, —

aside

—as of his last Song, or Copy of Verses. Prithee sing tother Song.

Stutter.

Make your Honours Miss, Tholl—loll—loll. Now to me Child—

Smith.

Oh, prithee Tom, let's have another, I heard the Bal∣lad-singers at it in the Streets already.

Stutter.

A Man would almost forswear making any thing pub∣lick, that Rascally Tribe Invades it presently, and murders it as much as a bad Irish Actor a good part. I think my Songs are like my Mistresses, fated when they go from me to be common, but I'll have an Action against him who Printed that without my leave.

Smith.

Thy leave Tom? Why, I have heard the Tune, and most of the Words, these two years; my Dancing Master told me who first made them, but I have forgot it.

Stutter.

Well, who ever made that Whim first, if he can Dance no better than he Writes, he shall never cut a good Ca∣per: I am sure I added and alter'd much, besides the relish at the end of each Stanza, and then few people know it. But how did you like my Letter with the Loaf and Butter, was not that pret∣ty? Ah ah ah.

Smith.

Ay, very pretty, 'thas made me laugh twenty years ago at School, tho I must confess, you have improved it as much as Bussy Dambois by your late alterations and amendments.

Stuter.

Ay, what a wretched thing it was before I mended it;

'tis pity Tragedy doth nor take in this Age, or else 'twould over∣top your All for Love, Oedipus, &c. But how did you like the hu∣mour of the Dance of Spirits?

Smith.

Oh, 'twas very necessary to inform the Audience of the Pistolling Bussy; I perceive you are not in that of Mr. Bays's Opinion, tho you love to elevate, you hate to surprize.

Stutter.

What think you of the Comical part of the Play? That was all my own I assure you.

Johnson.

I believe so; 'tis as diverting and natural as any thing you ever writ, principally the Fencing Masters with the Bed∣staffs: All that's good in the Play must be yours, and what's bad Chapmans.

Stutter.

Ay, I think the Comical part is very well brought in, and much to the purpose, tho I ask'd one his Opinion of it, and the ignorant fool told me 'twas pretty Farce: Ah ah ah.

Smith.

But pray, what did you bring the Fencing Master and the Steward upon the Stage for?

Stutter.

Why to talk together and Fence, what should I bring them there for else?

Smith.

I do not perceive your drift in it, for they never appear afterwards; and I think a Scene between Monsieur and Dambois, about the killing the King his brother, well wrought, and some o∣thers to prepare the events (which are brought in abruptly) and to avoid dull Narrations had been more to the purpose; it makes those that are Judges say, that were it not for Mr. M—fords excellent acting, which is the Soul of the Play, it would have been still-born. And to speak in your style, it now hath a World of spots, and could have been a World without spots, and have had nothing to do with Heavens strait Axle-tree, and the World of Fustian you have either made or left in it. I have heard of the World turn'd into a withdrawing Room, but never till now of Heaven made a Coach with its Axle-tree. Some Criticks are as angry with you for that, as the Dissenters with Queen Bess, for the Relicks of Ceremonies.

Stutter.

Being in haste, I overlookt some of the old stuff, and could not well avoid it, for had I taken it all out, there had re∣mained nothing old in the Play but the Name, and I had done like the fellow who bought him a new outside to his Lining, and

a new Lining to his outside; tho I as much hate to wear an Au∣thors old Socks, as to sing anothers words, a fault you'll seldom find me guilty of. There is a great deal of Art in altering a Play for the better, and you may almost as soon make an old face look young again; but I think no old Author ever suffer'd much under my hands.

Johnson.

But the Audience did—

aside

—Oh, no: one would think you had bath'd them in that Fountain which turns decre∣pit Age to sprightly Youth: for when they have been as it were Bedridden, and confin'd in Closets to the Dead Letter half an Age, you bring them on the Stage Singing and Dancing like mad; and like you, as full of Bell Air, and as spruce, as if they were just shot out of a Bow from Paris, and so Rhetorical, that in a series of Complemental Phrases, Verborum Ambagibus, we are lost in amazement, before we can reach the middle of your Pe∣riods; you have found out the Transfusion of Wit and Style, I think, better than the Physicians have done that of the blood.

Stutter.

Oh! those things cost me nothing, my Genius lyes that way, but the Toyl lyes in Teaching the Actors, in Marti∣alling them right, and bringing them on; 'tis a sad drudgery, one must as it were clap them on the back, and spit in their mouths, to incourage them, tho they are marring a good thing, and murthering a Part: I Teach them like Parrots, tho to deal plainly with you, I am affraid some of them most ungrate∣fully, laugh at me behind my back, and are so us'd to counterfeit upon the Stage, that they can no more leave it off when they are from it, than an Irish-man his Accent, a thorough-pac'd swearer his Oaths, and your Yea and Nay Quaking Friend, his Cant and Formality. I believe 'tis they have possess'd the Town with the Report of my want of Wit; they Interlope in our Trade as you know. Now should I speak any witty thing to them, it may be; as they have good memories, they would at Night set it down to deck their Plays, or treat every company they come into with it, and so make any fine thing common pre∣sently, and unfit to be us'd by me when I have company that deserves it; for, like a hidden store, I reserve them for my friends, and always one finer than all the rest at parting, like a Grace-cup, to leave a good relish of my sense when I am gone,

as I observe that a good round Jest at the end of a Scene, com∣mands a Clap. Indeed, those things, like Coronation Robes, are more for state than use, and must not be worn thredbare—

Johnson.

So that sometimes, my friend, you take as much pains to hide your VVit, as you do at others to show it.

Stutter.

And with good reason too, when I am with the Play∣ers. Gad, tho it were but before the Candle-snuffer, I dare not utter one good word—who can tell but he hath a Play upon the stocks, and ready to be Launch'd next Term.

Johnson.

Come, say no more of it, I am sure they have done you a great deal of Justice, and I know some of them that de∣serve your esteem; you must do like that King who would not remember the wrongs done him when a Duke. And so the Au∣thor of Love for Money, must forget the dejected and wrong'd Duke of Dunstable.

Smith.

But pray, by the by, why from one Gentleman of Fletcher's, did you make three Dukes? Methinks it seem'd too great an Imposition on the sense of the Audience.

Johnson.

VVhy? Bays gave you two Kings of Brentford, and three Dukes, I think, was more surprizing.

Stutter.

I thank you, Mr. Johnson, for hitting my true mean∣ing; that was a good Play! but those Scenes of Basset, which gave offence to a very great Lady, were the Ruine of it, tho no∣thing could be prettier. And that with a great deal more, is my own: but now that Lady is gone, I will have it revived before I oblige the Stage with another Play.

Johnson.

So you may, as well as Bussy Dambois, and with as much Justice have the Banditti too; I believe the one will take as much as t'other.

Stutter.

Now you make me sigh when you speak of the Ban∣ditti, that poor Play fell a sacrifice to the Criticks, they envy me because I think my self as good as they, as in reason I am, and perhaps better too. They Martyrized my Play to pull down my Reputation, which began to eclipse that of the most Celebrated Dramatick Authors; but I think I fitted them in my Epistle Dedicatory to the Foreman of my Partial Jury, Sir Critick Cat-call; you have read it without doubt.

Ionhson.

Ay, ay, you puzzled them I'm sure, with your Visible

and Invisible Patrons, and gave them three or four sheets of Com∣plements and VVitticisms they could not understand, nor have the the patience to read, without taking Snuff.

Stutter.

They had better ne'r have meddled with me, I stung them to the quick, and had I had no more Wit than they, I had had more Duels to fight than any desperate Bravo, or quarrel∣some Gamester, e're fought or bragg'd of in their Lives.

Johnson.

How did you put them off then?

Stutter.

Very easily I'saith: I told them that if Fighting was their Province, Writing was mine. That I invaded no mens proprieties, but if they would attack me at my own Weapon, I was ready to give them the satisfaction of an Author, draw my Pen in the Quarrel, and give them dash for dash, but that I had too great a veneration for the Ladies, to endan∣ger any thing they were pleas'd to set a value on. And in short, at any thing else I begg'd their pardon, and was their humble servant—And this, with abdicating the Coffee-house, and ex∣changing their Company, for the Society of the more sober and tractable Gentlemen of the Country and City, quasht the business. Tho now I dare appear; and tho a Star of the first magnitude shines so bright among you, that even in its eclipse I fear'd, before, 'twould shine brighter than I. Now I think my Boarding-School may make as great a blaze as his Spanish Frier.

Smith.

Have a care young Phaeton, Comets may blaze a while, as you, after a Famous Author have observed, but the unctious matter being spent, they must return to their first obscurity.

Stutter.

My stock will blaze when others snuffs are out; a Rising Star is worth two setting Suns: And now that in the style of my Siege of Memphis, opportunity reaches forth her silver hairs and bids me hold.

By dint of merit, I'll the Lawrel snatch; I'll not for it's reversion tamely Watch, It's fading green I'll instantly revive, Drones shall not eat the Honey of the Hive: To Court I'll hye, and claim it as my due, Outdo them all; nay, even my self outdo: I'll Write and Sing, and Write, till it will do.

Nay, rather than I'll leave my Cause i'th' Lurch, I'll—I'll—I'll—

[Scratches his Head.]

Smith.

Fast, seem Godly, Pray, and go to Church— the Rhyme will be left in the lurch else. This was a smart fit of Rhyming if it had but held out; I see you have your Poetical Concordance in your head pretty ready. Prithee what Rhimes to Jehovah, Chimny, Month, or to Scurvy?

Stutter.

Scurvy—humph—Scurvy—Stay—Pox, that's a Scurvy Rhime, and a Scurvy question now: The nearest to it, is a very good friend of mines Name, that begins with a D—

Smith.

Who is a Scurvy Rhymer.—

aside.

Stutter.

But waving that; I'll not be affraid of old worn-out Ri∣vals, Impavidum ferient ruinae, as I remember Monsieur Lavardin said of his Holiness Pope Innocent XI. in whose praise I writ a Poem— A pox on't, you have put me out, and spoil'd my Rapture.

Smith.

He hath his bits of Latin as ready as a Spanish Monk his Breviary, tho neither of them understand a word on't but by Translations.

Aside.

Johnson.

Well, go on and prosper, Tom, you would be sure of success, were we ruled by Laws such as those of the Kingdom of the Moon; which, by the way, I think as well imagined as those of Sir Tho. Moore's Utopia. They say that there old men honour and serve the young, as being in body and mind fitter for the service of their Country. 'Gad, I believe you had fared ve∣ry well in that World, their Language being all Musick, and their Money all Verse.

Smith.

But the Musick must be good, and the Verse bear the Hall-mark, for like the late Brass Irish Coyn, it does not go for what Fools may take it, but for its real value; and one Stanza of Spencer's there, may outweigh a whole Quarles, or a Verse of Hudibras, a Cart-load of his Ghosts.

Stutter.

Sir, I have grafted of twig upon him, which I have called his Ghost, and for all your opinion, I believe that if any man hath come to his heighth, 'tis I have done it; no Author ever exploded my Works, nor writ against them so as to come to particulars, which is no small pride and comfort to me, since the most celebrated Pens have been often carp'd at, and examin'd, even in the best of their Works; and Indictments of Poetical Thefts, Murders and Treasons drawn against them. No man was ever yet so bold as to answer me, so that sometimes I have

been forced to answer my self, when my hand was in. I be∣lieve they have lookt on my Poetry, as Armies on those Towns they dare not Besiege; I have had now and then a Bomb thrown at me, but tho surrounded with Enemies, none of them ever presumed beyond a Blocade, for had they made a formal attack, they had certainly lost by it, and been repulsed worse than the Turks were at Vienna.

Johnson.

Without doubt it would have been a longer Siege than that of Troy, Candia, or Ostend, and their only way to reduce you would have been by famine; for then being starv'd for want of sense, you could not have held out. The flying squadrons of your Songs form'd into bodies of light Horse, your Ballads into Dragoons, your Lampoons into Horse Granadeers, and Catches into Volonteers, would have made work with them: Your Li∣bertine and smutty Copies of Verses, had been your Enfans per∣dus, the Burlesque Poems led the Van, your Comedies had made your main body of Foot join'd with the book you writ in praise of Archers, to darken the Sky with its Arrows, and all those Plays you have altered had been Auxiliaries, whilst you at the head of your Boarding-School, mounted on a Weesil, with an Owl for your Emblem display'd in your Standard, a Life Guard of Scotch Songs, your Satyrs for your Artillery, the Siege of Mem∣phis bringing up the rear, and your Odes and other Poems in the body of Reserve, would have made altogether so bold, spruce, and numerous an Army, that Xerxes, Darius, or the Madianites, never muster'd the like, and he must have been more than a Leo∣nidas, an Alexander, or a Gideon, that dared encounter you.

Stutter.

Very prettily applied, Mr. Johnson; I protest had you been General of an Army, you could not have done it better. What think you of it, Mr. Smith; you say nothing? People may talk now of Sir Iohn Suckling, Waller and Denham, for Writing well, 'twas easie for them, who never writ above an Eighteen penny book; but had they writ as much as I, 'ga•• it had been worth speaking of. Ah! Mr. Smith, do you think now, any Author dare encounter me, and take my Works to pieces?

Smith.

No, faith Sir: De nihilo nihil dicitur, I think it would be as needless as Sir Nicholas Gimcracks dissection of a Cock Lob∣ster, or the answering all the impertinent questions sent to the

Athenian Mercury▪ and now, Sir, I have answer'd yours

Stutter.

You have Sir—But what's to pay, Boy, call my man—Ga—ga—gad—Damn ye, run you Dog▪

His Boy comes i••

Sirrah, get me a Chair; 's••ud and Guns, ma—ma—make hast▪

Exit Boy

Johnson.

A pretty Boy this; how long have you kept him Tom▪

Stutter.

Kept him Sir: Zoons, is that a proper question to a Gentleman

Smith.

'Tis since his last Play; he has been invisible since the three Dukes of Dunstable.

Stutter.

Hell and Furies! What's to pay? Here's money; farewel▪

Johnson.

Prithee stay and put up your money, there's nothing to pay.

Exit Stutter.

—Thou wouldst be very unfit to make a Courtier▪ Mr. Smith, thou hast as little Complaisance as Manly in the Plain-dealer, or Stamford in the Impertinents; thou art a meer Heraclitus, what diverts others puts thee out of humour.

Smith.

Who can be otherwise, and hear the insipid sayings, vain thoughts, and ridiculous boasts of a conceited, touchy, illi∣terate, pragmatical Nothing, who seldom writes a line, but either dullness, false thought, or something amiss, appears in it, and searce says one thing but may be better said; to hear another stutter half an hour for a good word, were a pleasure to this, but to hear him stutter Nonsence is unsufferable.

Johnson.

For my part, I cannot repent the having thrown away a little idle time in so facetious and odd a Conversation, a daily course of this would soon bring a surfeit, but a small touch E••••passant, may be as much indulged as a meal of Roots and fruit, when either we want better Dainties, or their constant use hath rendred them unpallatable; and when time is as heavy on my hands as it was when we met, I so little repent the expence of it now, that I may lay out as much more in chewing the Cud, and committing to Paper what we have said. And tho what hath been already Printed, between us and Bays, be indeed as much above this as he is above Stutter, yet this may, perhaps, give as much satisfaction to the Reader, since a Spanish Frior, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 an All for Love, have nor always had as good an Audience as a Love for Money.

FINIS.

Notes

• Momus Ridens N. 20.
• Mor.
• 17th page of Trick for Trick.