Volume I Part 43 (2/2)

_Will._ But here, behold the Life and Soul of Man! this is the amorous Pouder, which _Venus_ made and gave the G.o.d of Love, which made him first a Deity; you talk of Arrows, Bow, and killing Darts; Fables, poetical Fictions, and no more: 'tis this alone that wounds and fires the Heart, makes Women kind, and equals Men to G.o.ds; 'tis this that makes your great Lady doat on the ill-favour'd Fop; your great Man be jilted by his little Mistress, the Judge cajol'd by his Semstress, and your Politican by his Comedian; your young Lady doat on her decrepid Husband, your Chaplain on my Lady's Waiting-Woman, and the young Squire on the Landry-Maid-- In fine, Messieurs,

_'Tis this that cures the Lover's Pain, And _Celia_ of her cold Disdain._

_Feth._ A most devilish Fellow this!

_Blunt._ Hold, shartlikins, _Fetherfool_, let's have a Dose or two of this Pouder for quick Dispatch with our Monsters.

_Feth._ Why Pox, Man, Jugg my Giant would swallow a whole Cart-Load before 'twould operate.

_Blunt._ No hurt in trying a Paper or two however.

_Car._ A most admirable Receit, I shall have need on't.

_Will._ I need say nothing of my divine Baths of Reformation, nor the wonders of the old Oracle of the Box, which resolves all Questions, my Bills sufficiently declare their Virtue.

[Sits down. They buy.

Enter _Petronella Elenora_ carried in a Chair, dress'd like a Girl of Fifteen.

_s.h.i.+ft._ Room there, Gentlemen, room for a Patient.

_Blunt._ Pray, Seignior, who may this be thus muzzl'd by old Gaffer Time?

_Car._ One _Petronella Elenora_, Sir, a famous outworn Curtezan.

_Blunt._ _Elenora_! she may be that of _Troy_ for her Antiquity, tho fitter for G.o.d _Priapus_ to ravish than _Paris_.

_s.h.i.+ft._ _Hunt_, a word; dost thou see that same formal Politician yonder, on the Jennet, the n.o.bler Animal of the two?

_Hunt._ What of him?

_s.h.i.+ft._ 'Tis the same drew on the Captain this Morning, and I must revenge the Affront.

_Hunt._ Have a care of Revenges in _Spain_, upon Persons of his Quality.

_s.h.i.+ft._ Nay, I'll only steal his Horse from under him.

_Hunt._ Steal it! thou may'st take it by force perhaps; but how safely is a Question.

_s.h.i.+ft._ I'll warrant thee-- shoulder you up one side of his great Saddle, I'll do the like on t'other; then heaving him gently up, _Harlequin_ shall lead the Horse from between his Wors.h.i.+p's Legs: All this in the Crowd will not be perceiv'd, where all Eyes are imploy'd on the Mountebank.

_Hunt._ I apprehend you now--

[Whilst they are lifting _Petronella_ on the Mountebank's Stage, they go into the Crowd, shoulder up _Carlo's_ Saddle. _Harlequin_ leads the Horse forward, whilst _Carlo_ is gazing, and turning up his Mustachios; they hold him up a little while, then let him drop: he rises and stares about for his Horse.

_Car._ This is flat Conjuration.

_s.h.i.+ft._ What's your Wors.h.i.+p on foot?

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