MOS. No, 'twouldn't do.
TRIP. A small sum -- but twenty pounds. Hark'ee, Moses, do you think you couldn't get it my by way of annuity?
|SIR OLIV. [aside]. An annuity! ha! ha! ha! a||50|
MOS. But you must insure your place.
TRIP. Oh, with all must insure your place.
TRIP. Oh, with all my heart! I'll insure my place,
|and my life too, if you please.||55|
SIR OLIV. [aside]. It's more than I would your neck.
TRIP. But then, Moses, it must be done before this d--d register1 takes place -- one wouldn't like to have one's name made public, you know.
|MOS. No, certainly. But is there nothing||60|
TRIP. Why, nothing capital of my master's wardrobe has dropped lately; but I could give you a mortgage on some of his winter clothes, with
|equity of redemption before November -- or you||65|
|MOS. Well, well. (Bell rings.)*||70|
TRIP. Gad, I heard the bell! I believe, gentlemen, I can now introduce you. Don't forget the annuity, little Moses! This way, gentleman, insure my place, you know.
|SIR OLIV. [aside]. If the man be a shadow of||75|
CHARLES [SURFACE], CARELESS, &C., &C.
at a table with wine, &c.
CHAS. SURF. 'Fore heaven, 'tis true! -- there's the great degeneracy of the age. Many of our acquaintance have taste, spirit and politeness; but, plaque on't, they won't drink.
|CARE. It is so, indeed, Charles! they give in||5|
CHAS. SURF. Oh, certainly society suffers by it intolerably! for now, instead of the social spirit of
|raillery that used to mantle over a glass of bright||10|
1 GENT. But what are they to do who love play
|better than wine?||15|
CARE. True! there's Harry diets himself for gaming, and is now under a hazard regimen.3
CHAS. SURF. Then he'll have the worst of it. What! you wouldn't train a horse for the course by
|keeping him from corn! For my part, egad, I||20|
|2 GENT. Aye, that I believe.||25|
CHAS. SURF. And, the, what man can pretend to be a believer in love, who is an abjurer of wine? 'Tis the test by which the lover knows his own heart. Fill a dozen bumpers to a dozen beauties, and she that
|floats at top is the maid that has bewitched you.||30|
CARE. Now then, Charles, be honest, and give us your real favorite.
CHAS. SURF. Why, I have withheld her only in compassion to you. If I toast her, you must give a
|round of her peers -- which is impossible -- on||35|
CARE. Oh, then we'll find some canonised vestals or heathen goddesses that will do, I warrant!
CHAS. SURF. Here then, bumpers, you rogues! bumpers! Maria! Maria -- (Drink.)*
1 GENT. Maria who?
CHAS. SURF. O, damn the surname! -- 'tis too formal to be registered in Love's calendar -- but now, Sir Toby Bumper, beware -- we must have
CARE. Nay, never study, Sir Toby: we'll stand to the toast, though your mistress should want an eye -- and you know you have a song will excuse you.
SIR TOBY. Egad, so I have! and I'll give him the
|song instead of the lady. [Sings.]||50|
Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen;
Here's to the widow of fifty;
Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean,
And here's to the housewife that's thrifty.
Drink to the lass --
Chorus. Let the toast pass -- 55
I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.