Chas. Surf. Here then, bumpers, you rogues! bumpers! Maria! Maria—

Sir Har. Maria who?

Chas. Surf. Oh, damn the surname!—’tis too formal to be registered in Love’s calendar—Maria!

All. Maria.

Chas. Surf. But now, Sir Harry, beware, we must have beauty superlative.

Care. Nay, never study, Sir Harry: we’ll stand to the toast, though your mistress should want an eye, and you know you have a song will excuse you.

Sir Har. Egad, so I have! and I’ll give him the song instead of the lady.

[Sings.

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.

Chorus.       Let the toast pass,—

Drink to the lass,

I’ll warrant she’ll prove an excuse for a glass.

Here’s to the charmer whose dimples we prize;

Now to the maid who has none, sir;

Here’s to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,

And here’s to the nymph with but one, sir.

Chorus.       Let the toast pass, &c.

Here’s to the maid with a bosom of snow:

Now to her that’s as brown as a berry:

Here’s the wife with a face full of woe,

And now to the damsel that’s merry.

Chorus.       Let the toast pass, &c.

For let ’em be clumsy, or let ’em be slim,

Young or ancient, I care not a feather;

So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brim,

So fill up your glasses, nay, fill to the brim,

And let us e’en toast them together.

Chorus.      Let the toast pass, &c.

All. Bravo! Bravo!

Enter Trip, and whispers Charles Surface.

Chas. Surf. Gentlemen, you must excuse me a little.—Careless, take the chair, will you?

Care. Nay, pr’ythee, Charles, what now? This is one of your peerless beauties, I suppose, dropped in by chance?

Chas. Surf. No, faith! To tell you the truth, ’tis a Jew and a broker, who are come by appointment.

Care. Oh, damn it! let’s have the Jew in.

1 Gent. Ay, and the broker too, by all means.

2 Gent. Yes, yes, the Jew and the broker.

Chas. Surf. Egad, with all my heart!—Trip, bid the gentlemen walk in.—[Exit Trip.] Though there’s one of them a stranger, I can tell you.

Care. Charles, let us give them some generous Burgundy, and perhaps they’ll grow conscientious.

Chas. Surf. Oh, hang ’em, no! wine does but draw forth a man’s natural qualities; and to make them drink would only be to whet their knavery.

Re-enter Trip, with Sir Oliver Surface and Moses.

Chas. Surf. So, honest Moses; walk in, pray, Mr Premium—that’s the gentleman’s name, isn’t it, Moses?

Mos. Yes, sir.