their Wit.
O'er Scandal, Tea, Cards, or dull am'rous Papers,
The Ladies had the Spleen, the Beaux the Vapors.
Some went among the Saints without Devotion;
Nay more, 'tis fear'd went thro' a wicked Motion.
But the kind Female Traders well may boast,
When we're shut up, their Doors are open'd most.

I dare engage, they, by the Vint'ners back'd,
Wou'd raise a Fund, so they alone might act.
With them 'tis ne'er Vacation, tho' we lose,
The Courts shut up, they Chamber Practice use.

Since therefore without Plays, tho' call'd a Curse,
The Good grow bad, the Bad grow worse and worse,
Show misled Zeal what Ills infest the Age,
And truly to reform, support the_ British Stage.

Dramatis Personæ.

MEN.

Sir Harry Sprightly. Mr.Mills.

Brigadier Blenheim, just return'd from the Army. Mr.Wilks

Mr. Nicknack, a Beau-Merchant. Mr.Cibber.

Major Bramble, a factious old Fellow. Mr.Johnson.

Master Totty, a great Boy. Mr.Bullock.

Knapsack, an Attendant on the Collonel. Mr.Pinkethman.

Shrimp, Sir Harry's Valet. Mr.Norris.

WOMEN.

Lady Rodomont. Mrs.Oldfield.

Lady Toss-up. Mrs.Porter.

Mrs. Lovejoy, Cousin to Lady Rodomont. Mrs.Bradshaw.

Mrs. Flimsy, Lady Toss-up's Woman. Mrs.Saunders.

Orange-Woman. Mr. Pack.

Mercer, Manto-Maker, Sempstress, Toyman, India-Woman, and other Attendants.

SCENE LONDON.

In the Month of December.

THE
Fine Lady's Airs:
OR, AN
EQUIPAGE of LOVERS.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Sir Harry discover'd dressing; and Shrimp attending.

Sir Har. Where had you been last Night, you drunken Dog, that you cou'dn't take care of me when I was drunk.

Shr. I happen'd, Sir, to meet with some very honest Gentlemen, that have the Honour to wait upon other Gentlemen, where Wit and Humour brighten'd to that degree, we pass'd about the Glass, 'till we lost our Senses.

Sir Har. Wit, you Rascal! Have you Scoundrels the impudence to suppose your selves reasonable Creatures?

Shr. Sir, we are as much below Learning, indeed, as our Masters are above it; but why mayn't a Servant have as good natural Parts?

Sir Har. Mend your Manners, Sirrah; or you shall serve the Queen.

Shr. Ev'ry Man ought to mend his Manners, Sir, that pretends to a Place at Court; but the Queen's mightily oblig'd to some People.—Has a Gentleman an impudent rakish Footman, not meaning my self, Sir, that wears his Linen, fingers his Money, and lies with his Mistress;—You Dog, you shall serve the Queen.—Has a Tradesman a Fop Prentice, that airs out his Horses, and heats his Wife, or an old Puritan a graceless Son, that runs to the Play-House instead of the Meeting, they are threathen'd with the Queen's Service; so that Her Majesty's good Subjects, drink her Health, wish success to her Arms, and send her all the Scoundrels i'the Nation.

Sir Har. Fellows that han't sense to value a Civil Employment are necessary to front an Army, whose thick Sculls may repulse the first Fury of the Enemy's Cannon Bullets.

Shr. I hope, then, the English are so wise to let the Dutch march foremost.—But why, Sir, shou'd you Gentlemen ingross all the Pleasures o'Life, and not allow us poor Dogs to imitate you in our own Sphere;—You wear lac'd Coats; We lac'd Liv'ries;—You play at Picquet; We at All-Fours;—You get drunk with Burgundy; We with Geneva;—You pinck Holes with your Swords; We crack Sculls with our Sticks;—You are Gentlemen; We are hang'd.

Sir Har. A fine Relation; but, methinks, the latter Part of it might deter you from such Courses.

Shr. I'm a Predestinarian, Sir; which is an Argument of a great Soul, and will no more baulk a drunken Frolick, than I would a pretty Lady that takes a Fancy to me.

Sir Har. No more of your Impertinence; attend, I hear Company (Shrimp goes to the Door) Brigadier Blenheim return'd from the Army!

Enter Collonel, and Knapsack.

Sir Har. My noblest, dearest Collonel, let me imbrace you as a Britain, and as a Friend. Ajax ne'er boasted English Valour; Ulysses ne'er such Conduct; nor Alexander such Successes. The Queen rejoices; the Parliament vote you Thanks; and ev'ry honest Loyal Heart bounds at our General's Name.

Col. Ay, Sir Harry, to be thus receiv'd, rewards the Soldier's Toils; and, faith, we have maul'd the fancy French-men, near Twenty Thousand we left fast asleep, taught the remaining few a new Minuet-step, and sent 'em home to sing Te Deum.

Knap. Ay, Sir, and if they are not satisfied, next Campaign the English shall stand still, and laugh at their Endeavours; the Dutch Snigger-snee 'em; the Scotch Cook them; and the wild Irish eat 'em.

Col. Oh! The glorious Din of War; the Energy of a good Cause, and the Emulation of a brave Confederacy.—To sound the Charge; Make a vigorous Attack, the Enemy gives ground,—To pour on fresh Vollies of a sure Destruction, and return deafn'd with shouts o' Victory, and adorn'd with glitt'ring Standards of the vanquish'd Foe.

Knap. To hang up in Westminster-Hall, and make the Lawyers stare off their Briefs;—But the Harmony of sounding a Retreat,—to hug my self with two Arms, and walk substantially upon both my Pedestals, or the health of Mind in lying sick at Amsterdam.

Col. Ay, here's a sorry Rascal, that lags always behind, and is afraid to look Death i'the Face.

Knap. Why, really, Sir, 'tisn't manners to march before the Colonel; and upon a warm Engagement, I have heard you talk musically of good Conduct. Besides, that Mr. Death is but a Hatchet-face Beau, so lean, and wither'd like an old Dutchess, or a Doctor o' Physick, I had as live see the Devil.

Sir Har. But when the Lines are forc'd, the Enemy slain, and the Placs loaded with rich Plunder.—

Knap. None so nimble, none so valiant, none so expert as your very humble Servant Nehemiah Knapsack.

Col. But, who are the raigning Beauties o'the Age? What Favours will they grant a Soldier after a hard Campaign, fatiguing Marches, desp'rate Attempts, and narrow Escapes, to preserve them from Rapine, Violence, and Slav'ry, that they may laugh away the Day in gay Diversions, and pass the silent Night in silver Slumbers on their Downy Beds?

Sir Har. Just as many Favours as you have Money or Mechlin Lace to purchase: Women apprehend not the Danger of War, and therefore have no Notion of Gratitude.