BY RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN
A street in Bath.
Coachman crosses the stage. -- Enter FAG,
looking after him.
FAG. What! -- Thomas! -- Sure, 'tis he? -- What! -- Thomas! -- Thomas!
COACH. Hey! -- Odd's life!1 -- Mr. Fag! -- give us your hand, my old fellow-servant.
|FAG. Excuse my glove, Thomas: -- I'm||5|
COACH. Sure, Master, Madam Julia, Harry, Mrs.
|Kate, and the postilion be all come!||10|
COACH. Aye! Master thought another fit of the gout was coming to make him a visit: -- so he'd a mind to gi't the slip, and whip! we were all off at an
FAG. Aye, aye! hasty in everything, or it would not be Sir Anthony Absolute!
COACH. But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does young master? Odd! Sir Anthony will stare to see the
FAG. I do not serve Captain Absolute now.
COACH. Why sure!
FAG. At present I am employed by Ensign Beverley.
|COACH. I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed||25|
FAG. I have not changed, Thomas.
COACH. No! why, didn't you say you had left young master?
|FAG. No. -- Well, honest Thomas, I must||30|
COACH. The devil they are!
|FAG. So it is indeed, Thomas; and the En||35|
COACH. So, so! -- What, this is some freak, I warrant! -- Do tell us, Mr. Fag, the meaning o't -- you
|know I ha' trusted you.||40|
FAG. You'll be secret, Thomas?
COACH. As a coach-horse.
FAG. Why then the cause of all this is -- LOVE, Love, Thomas, who (as you may get read to you) has
|been a masquerader ever since the days of Ju||45|
COACH. Aye, aye; -- I suessed there was a lady in the case: -- but pray, why does your master pass only for Ensign? -- Now if he had shammed
|General, indeed ----||50|
FAG. Ah! Thomas, there lies the mystery o' the matter.--Hark'ee, Thomas, my master is in love with a lady of a very singular taste: a lady who likes him better as a half-pay Ensign than if she knew
|he was son and heir to Sir Anthony Absolute, a||55|
COACH. That is an odd taste indeed! -- but has she got the stuff, Mr. Fag? is she rich, hey?
FAG. Rich! -- why, I believe she owns half the
|stocks! -- Z--ds!2 Thomas, she could pay the||60|
|COACH. Bravo! -- Faith! -- Odd! I warrant||65|
FAG. As fond as pigeons.
COACH. May one hear her name?
|FAG. Miss Lydia Languish. -- But there is an||70|
|COACH. Well -- I wish they were once bar||75|
FAG. Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well -- 'tis a
|good lounge. ((Though at present we are, like||80|