The Englishman from Paris Part 5

_Roger._ He is greatly chang'd indeed; here's my sarvice to you.

_Sideboard._ He must have spent a great deal of Money abroad.

_Roger._ Ay, ay, Sir Robert never stinted un for that.

_Sideboard._ We were all in a sad way about him at one time.

_Roger._ Ay, that was when the French Marquis run un thro' the Body; Lord help ye, I was in a sad Pucker--as sure as you are there I thought we had lost un--thoff he deserv'd it in part too. I'll tell you how it was. He was got one day bragging of his Amorous, I think they call it--and so some young thing was toasted--she was painted up to the Eyes, I warrant her--they all paint there Master Sideboard, like so many Dolls.

_Sideboard._ So I have heard.

_Roger._ Here's my sarvice to you--and so when the young woman was toasted, odds my Heart, what does the Squire, but says he, what signifies drinking she--I have had she; thoff he never had her atall Master Sideboard, a had not indeed. I have had she, says the Squire, give us a new face. Had she says the Marquis do you know she is my Sister? I know that says the Squire, and I lov'd her the better for it.

And so the Marquis grew b.l.o.o.d.y angry and run un thro' the small Ribs--a did indeed.

_Sideboard._ We were all afraid he would have died.

_Roger._ Here's my sarvice to you, a wish a had never set a foot in their Country. I never had so much as a hearty meal while I was among un, excepten a Month or two in the beginning, when the Squire liv'd with some of his Country Folks in the Rue de Butchery--I think they call it.

_Sideboard._ No place like our Country, I believe Roger, let 'em say what they will.

_Roger._ You have hit it Master Sideboard, you have indeed. Dear Heart, they have such Laws there--why a poor Servant dare not give his Opinion there of the Government.

_Sideboard._ No!

_Roger._ No--if he does, he's taken up with a Letter Scratched, and sent to the Bastile, and if you ask a reason for it, all they say to you is--de parlour oi. Why now here we can each talk of folks at Helm and of Taxes, and know as much of the matter as any of un.

_Sideboard._ That's the Privilege of an Englishman, Roger.

_Roger._ And then a Sarvant there has no Vails--a Butler's place is nothing there, a poor Gentleman may come and dine there, and you're oblig'd to be as civil to him, as if he had money in his Pocket, and was oblig'd to give you more than his dinner is worth, as they do in England. I had rather live with an honest Citizen, who brings his friend home from change to his own dinner, mayhap a Leg of Mutton and a Pudding, and if you fix yourself well at the Door, you are sure to touch un for a Hog.

_Sideboard._ A poor servant had better be a country curate than that.

_Roger._ I am sure I hated them all the time I was there and their lingo and all. Such outlandish Names they have for things--what do you think they call a Horse? Cheval. And Beef, now what do you think they call Beef?

_Sideboard._ I can't say.

_Roger._ They call it Beff--and sometimes they call it Bulli, the honest Beef of old England is call'd Beff by un. And what do you think they call the French King?

_Sideboard._ The grand Monarque.

_Roger._ It's worser than that, it is not as you read in the Flying Mercury and the Country Journal, but they call un the King of France, they do indeed.

_Sideboard._ Hus.h.!.+ The bell rings, I must go into 'em.

_Roger._ Do so, Master Sideboard, and I'll step down--Beff, I'll tell you what Master Sideboard, it's my Opinion they'll never come to speak English while they live--Beff. (_Exeunt_)

(_Scene discovers them_ [JACK, WILDFIRE, FOXCHASE, SIR ROBERT, ABBe, _and_ FLORID] _at Table_)

_Jack._ Mort de ma Vie! I am burnt alive.

_Wildfire._ Come, come, off with your Gla.s.s.

_Foxchase._ Ay, ay, off with this b.u.mper.

_Jack._ Gentlemen, I believe you take me for the Fire Eater, I can't swallow liquid Flames; can't we have the coffee and the Liquor?

_Wildfire._ There's more trouble with one Fellow that won't drink, than with fifty that will, off with it I say.

_Sir Robert._ Drink Boy, you're fairly hunted.

_Jack._ (_Drinks_) Vive l'Amour.

_Wildfire._ And so Monsieur Abbe, you say that the French are making great Armaments.

_Abbe._ Ver great Marine, Monsieur, ver great Marine.

_Jack._ The French are a very politic Nation; they never make a Treaty, but with an Intent to break it, when it suits their Conveniency--so you'll find they will at last give Laws, as Fas.h.i.+ons to Europe.

_Wildfire._ Never fear, you'll find that John Bull will be too many for Louis Baboon any day in the year. Let 'em land here, we'll shew 'em what a figure Slaves will cut in a Land of Liberty. Come now, I'll give you a Toast--Monsieur need not drink it, but as he began the subject he must excuse my National Partiality--here's Old England for ever.

_All._ Hurra! Hurra! Hurra!

_Jack._ L'Angleterre.

_Wildfire._ L'Angleterre! Say it in plain English, Old England.

_Florid._ (_Drunk_) Ay, ay, give me another b.u.mper to it--it's both agreeable to the Public Sense and the Moral Sense.

_Jack._ Old England. (_Squeamishly_)

_Foxchase._ Wounds! I wish they have not made a Papist of him.

_Jack._ A Papist! Do you suppose there's Religion in France?

_Abbe._ Ah! Pour ca non--parmi les honetes Gens, wid les Espirits forts, dare is none at all. Religion it is ver pretty Bagatelle to quarrel about, but ma foi, dat is all.

_Florid._ Yes, they have the Religion of Nature, and the Theory of agreeable Sensations. (_Drinks_) They have the Ideas of Beauty and Virtue, and by the favor of the Sylvan Nymphs, they pursue their platonic Loves (_Drinks_) and invoking first the Genius of the Place--what is the Bottle come round again? This is indulging the Pleasurable Perceptions arising from the Organ of Bodily Sensations (_Drinks_) and invoking first the Genius of the Place (_Very drunk_) obtain some faint and distant view of the Sovereign Genius, and first Beauty.

_Wildfire._ Pha! Sauce with your Jargons--come Foxchase give us an honest song.

_Foxchase._ With all my Heart. (_During the song Jack steals off_)

_Wildfire._ Hang the Fellow--he's off.

_Foxchase._ Let's after him. (_Exeunt_)

_Florid._ Ay, let's bring him back to indulge the Social Affections.