SCENE II.--_The French House.--A table, bottles, and candles.

_Enter_ Mr. GERRARD, MARTIN, _and_ Monsieur de PARIS.

_Mons._ 'Tis ver veritable, _jarni!_ what the French say of you Englis: you use the debauch so much, it cannot have with you the French operation; you are never enjoyee. But come, let us for once be _infiniment gaillard_, and sing a French sonnet. [_Sings,--"La bouteille, la bouteille, glou, glou."_

_Mar._ [_To_ GERRARD.] What a melodious fop it is!

_Mons._ Auh! you have no complaisance.

_Ger._ No, we can't sing; but we'll drink to you the lady's health, whom (you say) I have so long courted at her window.

_Mons._ Ay, there is your complaisance: all your Englis complaisance is pledging complaisance, _ventre!_--But if I do you reason here, [_Takes the glass._]--will you do me reason to a little French _chanson à boire_ I shall begin to you?--[_Sings._] _"La bouteille, la bouteille--"_

_Mar._ [_To_ GERRARD.] I had rather keep company with a set of wide-mouthed, drunken cathedral choristers.

_Ger._ Come, sir, drink; and he shall do you reason to your French song, since you stand upon't.--Sing him "Arthur of Bradley," or "I am the Duke of Norfolk."

_Mons._ Auh! _tête bleu!_--an Englis catch! fy! fy! _ventre!_--

_Ger._ He can sing no damned French song.

_Mons._ Nor can I drink the damned Englis wine. [_Sets down the glass._

_Ger._ Yes, to that lady's health, who has commanded me to wait upon her to-morrow at her window, which looks (you say) into the inward yard of the Ship tavern, near the end of what-d'ye-call't street.

_Mons._ Ay, ay; do you not know her? not you! _vert bleu!_

_Ger._ But, pray repeat again what she said.

_Mons._ Why, she said she is to be married to-morrow to a person of honour, a brave gentleman, that shall be nameless, and so, and so forth.--[_Aside._] Little does he think who 'tis!

_Ger._ And what else?

_Mons._ That if you make not your appearance before her window to-morrow at your wonted hour of six in the morning, to forbid the banns, you must for ever hereafter stay away and hold your tongue; for 'tis the first and last time of asking.--Ha! ha! ha!

_Ger._ 'Tis all a riddle to me: I should be unwilling to be fooled by this coxcomb. [_Aside._

_Mons._ I won't tell him all she said, lest he should not go: I would fain have him go for the jest's sake--Ha! ha! ha! [_Aside._

_Ger._ Her name is, you say, Hippolita, daughter to a rich Spanish merchant.

_Mons._ Ay, ay, you don't know her, not you! _à d'autre, à d'autre, ma foi!_--ha! ha! ha!

_Ger._ Well, I will be an easy fool for once.

_Mar._ By all means go.

_Mons._ Ay, ay, by all means go--ha! ha! ha!

_Ger._ [_Aside._] To be caught in a fool's trap--I'll venture it.--[_Drinks to him._] Come, 'tis her health.

_Mons._ And to your good reception--_tête bleu!_--ha! ha! ha!

_Ger._ Well, monsieur, I'll say this for thee, thou hast made the best use of three months at Paris as ever English squire did.

_Mons._ Considering I was in a dam Englis pension too.

_Mar._ Yet you have conversed with some French, I see; footmen, I suppose, at the fencing-school? I judge it by your oaths.

_Mons._ French footmen! well, well, I had rather have the conversation of a French footman than of an Englis 'squire; there's for you, da--

_Mar._ I beg your pardon, monsieur; I did not think the French footmen had been so much your friends.

_Ger._ Yes, yes, I warrant they have obliged him at Paris much more than any of their masters did. Well, there shall be no more said against the French footmen.

_Mons. Non, de grace!_--you are always turning the nation _Française_ into ridicule, dat nation so accomplie, dat nation which you imitate so, dat in the conclusion, you butte turn yourself into ridicule, _ma foi!_ If you are for de raillery, abuse the Dutch, why not abuse the Dutch? _les gros villains, pendards_, insolents; but here in your England, _ma foi!_--you have more honeur, respecte, and estimation for de Dushe swabber, who come to cheat your nation, den for de Franch footman, who come to oblige your nation.

_Mar._ Our nation! then you disown it for yours, it seems.

_Mons._ Well! wat of dat? are you the disobligee by dat?

_Ger._ No, monsieur, far from it; you could not oblige us, nor your country, any other way than by disowning it.

_Mons._ It is de brutal country, which abuse de France, and reverence de Dushe; I will maintain, sustain, and justifie, dat one little Franch footman have more honeur, courage, and generosity, more good blood in his vaines, an mush more good manners an civility den all de State-General together, _jarni!_--Dey are only wise and valiant wen dey are drunkee.

_Ger._ That is, always.

_Mons._ But dey are never honest wen dey are drunkee; dey are de only rogue in de varlde who are not honeste when dey are drunk--_ma foi!_

_Ger._ I find you are well acquainted with them, monsieur.

_Mons._ Ay, ay, I have made the toure of Holland, but it was _en poste_, dere was no staying for me, _tête non!_--for de gentleman can no more live dere den de toad in Ir'land, _ma foi!_ for I did not see on' chevalier in de whole countree: alway, you know, de rebel hate de gens de quality. Besides, I had made sufficient observation of the _canaille barbare_ de first nightee of my arrival at Amsterdamme: I did visit, you must know, one of de principal of de State-General, to whom I had recommendation from England, and did find his excellence weighing soap, _jarni!_--ha! ha! ha!

_Ger._ Weighing soap!

_Mons._ Weighing soap, _ma foi!_ for he was a wholesale chandeleer; and his lady was taking de tale of chandels wid her own witer hands, _ma foi!_ and de young lady, his excellence daughter, stringing harring, stringing harring, _jarni!_--

_Ger._ So!--and what were his sons doing?

_Mons._ Augh--his son (for he had but one) was making the tour of France, Espagne, Italy, and Germany, in a coach and six; or rader, now I tink on't, gone of an embassy hider to dere master Cromwell, whom dey did love and fear, because he was someting de greater rebel. But now I talk of de _rebelle_, none but the rebel can love the _rebelle_. And so much for you and your friend the Dushe; I'll say no more, and pray do you say no more of my friend de Franch, not so mush as of my friend de Franch footman--da--

_Ger._ No, no;--but, monsieur, now give me leave to admire thee, that in three months at Paris you could renounce your language, drinking, and your country, (for which we are not angry with you,) as I said, and come home so perfect a Frenchman, that the draymen of your father's own brewhouse would be ready to knock thee on the head.

_Mons._ Vel, vel, my father was a merchant of his own beer, as the _noblesse_ of Franch of their own wine.--But I can forgive you that raillery, that bob,[56] since you say I have the eyre _Français_:--but have I the eyre _Français_?

_Ger._ As much as any French footman of 'em all.

_Mons._ And do I speak agreeable ill Englis enough?

_Ger._ Very ill.

_Mons. Véritablement?_

_Ger. Véritablement._

_Mons._ For you must know, 'tis as ill breeding now to speak good Englis as to write good Englis, good sense, or a good hand.

_Ger._ But, indeed, methinks you are not slovenly enough for a Frenchman.

_Mons._ Slovenly! you mean negligent?

_Ger._ No, I mean slovenly.

_Mons._ Then I will be more slovenly.

_Ger._ You know, to be a perfect Frenchman, you must never be silent, never sit still, and never be clean.

_Mar._ But you have forgot one main qualification of a true Frenchman, he should never be sound, that is, be very pocky too.

_Mons._ Oh! if dat be all, I am very pocky; pocky enough, _jarni!_ that is the only French qualification may be had without going to Paris, _ma foi!_

_Enter_ Waiter.

_Wait._ Here are a couple of ladies coming up to you, sir.

_Ger._ To us!--did you appoint any to come hither, Martin?

_Mar._ Not I.

_Ger._ Nor you, monsieur?

_Mons._ Nor I.

_Ger._ Sirrah, tell your master, if he cannot protect us from the constable, and these midnight coursers, 'tis not a house for us.

_Mar._ Tell 'em you have nobody in the house, and shut the doors.

_Wait._ They'll not be satisfied with that, they'll break open the door. They searched last night all over the house for my Lord Fisk, and Sir Jeffery Jantee, who were fain to hide themselves in the bar under my mistress's chair and petticoats.

_Mons._ Wat, do the women hunt out the men so now?

_Mar._ Ay, ay, things are altered since you went to Paris; there's hardly a young man in town dares be known of his lodging for 'em.

_Ger._ Bailiffs, pursuivants, or a city constable, are modest people in comparison of them.

_Mar._ And we are not so much afraid to be taken up by the watch as by the tearing midnight ramblers, or huzza women.

_Mons. Jarni!_ ha! ha! ha!

_Ger._ Where are they? I hope they are gone again.

_Wait._ No, sir, they are below at the stair-foot, only swearing at their coachman.

_Ger._ Come, you rogue, they are in fee with you waiters, and no gentleman can come hither, but they have the intelligence straight.

_Wait._ Intelligence from us, sir! they should never come here, if we could help it. I am sure we wish 'em choked when we see them come in; for they bring such good stomachs from St James's Park, or rambling about in the streets, that we poor waiters have not a bit left; 'tis well if we can keep our money in our pockets for 'em. I am sure I have paid seventeen and sixpence in half-crowns for coach-hire at several times for a little damned tearing lady, and when I asked her for it again one morning in her chamber, she bid me pay myself, for she had no money; but I wanted the courage of a gentleman; besides, the lord that kept her was a good customer to our house and my friend, and I made a conscience of wronging him.

_Ger._ A man of honour!

_Mons. Vert_ and _bleu!_ pleasant, pleasant, _ma foi!_

_Ger._ Go, go, sirrah, shut the door, I hear 'em coming up.

_Wait._ Indeed I dare not; they'll kick me down stairs, if I should.

_Ger._ Go, you rascal, I say. [_The_ Waiter _shuts the door, 'tis thrust open again._

_Enter_ FLOUNCE _and_ FLIRT _in vizards, striking the_ Waiter, _and come up to the table._

_Ger._ [_Aside._] Flounce and Flirt, upon my life!--[_Aloud._] Ladies, I am sorry you have no volunteers in your service; this is mere pressing, and argues a great necessity you have for men.

_Flou._ You need not be afraid, sir; we will use no violence to you; you are not fit for our service: we know you.

_Flirt._ The hot service you have been in formerly makes you unfit for ours now; besides, you begin to be something too old for us; we are for the brisk huzzas of seventeen or eighteen.

_Ger._ Nay, faith, I am not too old yet; but an old acquaintance will make any man old:--besides, to tell you the truth, you are come a little too early for me, for I am not drunk yet. But there are your brisk young men, who are always drunk, and, perhaps, have the happiness not to know you.

_Flou._ The happiness not to know us!

_Flirt._ The happiness not to know us!

_Ger._ Be not angry, ladies; 'tis rather happiness to have pleasure to come than to have it past, and therefore these gentlemen are happy in not knowing you.

_Mar._ I'd have you to know, I do know the ladies too, and I will not lose the honour of the ladies' acquaintance for anything.

_Flou._ Not for the pleasure of beginning an acquaintance with us, as Mr. Gerrard says: but it is the general vanity of you town fops to lay claim to all good acquaintance and persons of honour; you cannot let a woman pass in the Mall at midnight, but, damn you, you know her straight, you know her;--but you would be damned before you would say so much for one in a mercer's shop.

_Ger._ He has spoken it in a French-house, where he has very good credit, and I dare swear you may make him eat his words.

_Mons._ She does want a gown, indeed; she is in her _déshabillé_. This _déshabillé_ is a great mode in England; the women love the _déshabillé_ as well as the men, _ma foi!_ [_Peeping under her scarf._

_Flirt._ Well, if we should stay and sup with you, I warrant you would be bragging of it to-morrow amongst your comrades, that you had the company of two women of quality at the French-house, and name us.

_Mar._ Pleasant jilts! [_Aside._

_Ger._ No, upon our honours, we would not brag of your company.

_Flou._ Upon your honours?

_Mar._ No, faith.

_Flou._ Come, we will venture to sit down then: yet I know the vanity of you men; you could not contain yourselves from bragging.

_Ger._ No, no; you women now-a-days have found out the pleasure of bragging, and will allow it the men no longer.

_Mar._ Therefore, indeed, we dare not stay to sup with you; for you would be sure to tell on't.

_Ger._ And we are young men who stand upon our reputations.

_Flou._ You are very pleasant, gentlemen.

_Mar._ For my part I am to be married shortly, and know 'twould quickly come to my mistress's ear.

_Ger._ And for my part I must go visit to-morrow betimes a new city mistress; and you know they are as inquisitive as precise in the city.

_Flirt._ Come, come; pray leave this fooling; sit down again, and let us bespeak supper.

_Ger._ No, faith, I dare not.

_Mar._ Besides, we have supped.

_Flou._ No matter, we only desire you should look on while we eat, and put the glass about, or so. [GERRARD _and_ MARTIN _offer to go._

_Flirt._ Pray, stay.

_Ger._ Upon my life I dare not.

_Flou._ Upon our honours we will not tell, if you are in earnest.

_Ger._ Pshaw! pshaw!--I know the vanity of you women; you could not contain yourselves from bragging.

_Mons. Ma foi!_ is it certain? ha! ha! ha!--Hark you, madam, can't you fare well but you must cry roast-meat?

You spoil your trade by bragging of your gains; The silent sow (madam) does eat most grains.--da--

_Flirt._ Your servant, monsieur fop.

_Flou._ Nay, faith, do not go, we will no more tell--

_Mons._ Than you would of a clap, if you had it; dat's the only secret you can keep, _jarni!_

_Mar._ I am glad we are rid of these jilts.

_Ger._ And we have taken a very ridiculous occasion.

_Mons._ Wat! must we leave the lady then? dis is dam civility Englis, _ma foi!_

_Flirt._ Nay, sir, you have too much of the French air, to have so little honour and good breeding. [_Pulling him back._

_Mons._ Dee you tinke so then, sweet madam, I have mush of de French eyre?

_Flirt._ More than any Frenchman breathing.

_Mons._ Auh, you are the curtoise dame; _morbleu!_ I shall stay then, if you think so. Monsieur Gerrard, you will be certain to see the lady to-morrow? pray not forget, ha! ha! ha!

_Ger._ No, no, sir.

_Mar._ You will go then?

_Ger._ I will go on a fool's errand for once. [_Exeunt_ GERRARD _and_ MARTIN.

_Flou._ What will you eat, sir?

_Mons._ Wat you please, madam.

_Flou._ D'ye hear, waiter? then some young partridge.

_Wait._ What else, madam?

_Flirt._ Some ruffs.

_Wait._ What else, madam?

_Flirt._ Some young pheasants.

_Wait._ What else, madam?

_Flirt._ Some young rabbits; I love rabbits.

_Wait._ What else, madam?

_Flou._ Stay--

_Mans._ Dis Englis waiter wit his "Wat else, madam," will ruin me, _tête non!_ [_Aside._

_Wait._ What else, madam?

_Mans._ "Wat else, madam," agen!--call up the French waiter.

_Wait._ What else, madam?

_Mons._ Again!--call up the French waiter or _cuisinier, mort! tête! ventre! vite!_--Auh, madam, the stupidity of the Englis waiter! I hate the Englis waiter, _ma foi!_ [_Exit_ Waiter.

_Flirt._ Be not in passion, dear monsieur.

_Mons._ I kiss your hand, _obligeante_ madam.

_Enter a French_ Scullion.

_Cher Pierrot, serviteur, serviteur._--[_Kisses the_ Scullion.]--_Or-ça à manger._

_Scull. En voulez-vous_ de cram schiquin?

_Flou._ Yes.

_Scull._ De partrish, de faysan, de quailles?

_Mons._ [_Aside._] This _bougre_ vil ruine me too; but he speak wit dat _bel_ eyre and grace, I cannot bid him hold his tongue, _ventre! C'est assez, Pierrot, va-t'en._ [_Exit_ Scullion, _and returns._

_Scull._ And de litel plate de--

_Mons. Jarni! va-t'en._ [_Exit_ Scullion, _and returns._

_Scull._ And de litel plate de--

_Mons. De grace_, go dy way. [_Exit_ Scullion, _and returns._

_Scull._ And de litel de--

_Mons. De fromage de Brie, va-t'en!_--go, go.

_Flou._ What's that? cheese that stinks?

_Mons._ Ay, ay, be sure it stinke extremente. _Pierrot, va-t'en;_ but stay till I drink dy health:--here's to dat pretty fellow's health, madam.

_Flirt._ Must we drink the scullion's health?

_Mons._ Auh, you will not be _désobligeante_, madam; he is the _cuisinier_ for a king, nay, for a cardinal or French abbot. [_Drinks. Exit_ Scullion.

_Flou._ But how shall we divertise ourselves till supper be ready?

_Flirt._ Can we have better _divertissement_ than this gentleman?

_Flou._ But I think we had better carry the gentleman home with us, and because it is already late, sup at home, and divertise the gentleman at cards, till it be ready.--D'ye hear, waiter? let it be brought, when 'tis ready, to my lodging hard by, in Mustard-Alley, at the sign of the Crooked-billet.

_Mons._ At the Crooked-billet!

_Flirt._ Come, sir, come.

_Mons. Morbleu!_ I have take the vow (since my last clap) never to go again to the _bourdel_.

_Flou._ What is the _bourdel_?

_Mons._ How call you the name of your house?

_Flirt._ The Crooked-billet.

_Mons._ No, no, the--bawdy-house, _vert_ and _bleu!_

_Flirt._ How, our lodging! we'd have you to know--

_Mons._ Auh, _morbleu!_ I would not know it; de Crooked-billet, ha! ha!

_Flirt._ Come, sir.

_Mons._ Besides, if I go wit you to the _bourdel_, you will tell, _morbleu!_

_Flou._ Fy! fy! come along.

_Mons._ Beside, I am to be married within these two days; if you should tell now--

_Flirt._ Come, come along, we will not tell.

_Mons._ But you will promise then to have the care of my honour? pray, good madam, have de care of my honour, pray have de care of my honour. Will you have care of my honour? pray have de care of my honour, and do not tell if you can help it; pray, dear madam, do not tell. [_Kneels to them._

_Flirt._ I would not tell for fear of losing you, my love for you will make me secret.

_Mons._ Why, do you love me?

_Flirt._ Indeed I cannot help telling you now, what my modesty ought to conceal, but my eyes would disclose it too:--I have a passion for you, sir.

_Mons._ A passion for me!

_Flirt._ An extreme passion, dear sir; you are so French, so mightily French, so agreeable French--but I'll tell you more of my heart at home: come along.

_Mons._ But is your pation sincere?

_Flirt._ The truest in the world.

_Mons._ Well then, I'll venture my body with thee for one night.

_Flirt._ For one night! don't you believe that; and so you would leave me to-morrow? but I love you so, I cannot part with you, you must keep me for good and all, if you will have me. I can't leave you for my heart.

_Mons._ How! keep, _jarni!_ de whore Englis have notinge but keepe, keepe in dere mouths now-a-days, _tête non!_--Formerly 'twas enoughe to keep de shild, _ma foi!_

_Flirt._ Nay, I will be kept, else--but, come, we'll talk on't at home.

_Mons._ Umh--so, so, ver vel; de amour of de whore does alway end in keep, ha! keep, _ma foi!_ keep, ha!--

The punk that entertains you wit her passion, Is like kind host who makes the invitation, At your own cost, to his _fort bonne collation._

[_Exeunt._

ACT THE SECOND.