fifty Days lost ev'ry Year for want of Balls and Operas on a _Sunday_.

Sir _Har._ Our Nation, Madam's so far gone in Parties,
That Faction's even carry'd to Diversions,
One Party strives for Sense, and t'other Sound;
The _Major_ here, I think opposes both.

_Bram._ So I do--What signifies a Comedy of Fools; han't we the Courts
of _Westminster_ to divert us; and your Tragedies, where Kings and
Emperors are murder'd; in a quarter of an Hour after they are at
_Buxton's_ Coffee-House, playing at _All-Fours_; then your Singing-Op'ras,
I hate your _Italian_ Squaling, like a Woman in Labour; and 'fore-gad,
Madam, 'tis a most miraculous thing to me, that a Lady of your Experience,
who has travers'd the World, and ought to know Nature in a wonderful
Perfection, shou'd admire an Eunuch.

La. _Rod._ You shou'd have liv'd in former Ages, _Major_, when odious
Tilts and Tournaments were in Vogue; our Pleasures are too curious for
your Taste, I fancy the _Bear-Garden_ suits your Genius mightily.

_Bram._ Ay, Madam, there's Celestial Sport and Pastime; the Musick of the
Dogs, the Harmony o' the Butchers, to see, a Mastiff tear a Bull by the
Throat, the Bull once wounded, goring o'er the Ground, cants a fat Woman
higher than the _Monument_--I love Reality in my Diversions; but at a
_Play-House_ I never laugh'd but once, and that was at a most agreeable
Noise the Footmen made in the Upper-Gall'ry.

La. _Rod._ Savage Creature!

_Nick._ Your brutish Temper, _Major_, wou'd make one fancy you were born
in _Greenland_, and suckl'd by a _Wolf_.

_Bram._ Better be suckl'd in _Greenland_ than in _Essex_; a _Wolf's_ a
nobler Creature than a _Calf_; for now young Fellows are so nicely bred,
so fondl'd, and so furbelow'd with Follies, they scarce retain the Species
of a Man; for my part, I have Magick in my Looks, I have frighted a
High-Priest into Quakerism; converted a _Jew_ to no Religion at all, and
possess'd Squire _Lacy_ with a Spirit of Prophetick Lying; I can turn a
Justice of Peace into a _Jack-Daw_, a Citizen into any tame kind of Beast,
and an old fadling Judge into a fidgetting Dry-Nurse--But I find, Madam,
you are got into a Beau-Chat, where my rough Language is as disagreeable,
as martial Musick at _White_'s Chocolate-House; tho', were I a Lady of a
great Estate, I'd show as great Sagacity in despising the Fops, and think
my Fortune prodigiously repaid in the Affections of so renown'd a Person
as _Major-Bramble_. [_Exit._

_