In the _Double Dealer_, Lady _Plyant_ cries out _Jesu_ and talks Smut in the same Sentence.[120] Sr. _Paul Plyant_ whom the Poet dub'd a Fool when he made him a Knight, talks very Piously! _Blessed be Providence, a Poor unworthy Sinner, I am mightily beholden to Providence_[121]: And the same word is thrice repeated upon an odd occasion.[122] The meaning must be that _Providence_ is a ridiculous supposition, and that none but Blockheads pretend to Religion. But the Poet can discover himself farther if need be. Lady _Froth_ is pleas'd to call _Jehu_ _a Hackney Coachman_.[123] Upon this, _Brisk_ replies, _If Jehu was a Hackney Coachman, I am answer'd----you may put that into the Marginal Notes tho', to prevent Criticisms----only mark it with a small Asterisme and say----Jehu was formerly a Hackney Coachman._ This for a heavy Piece of Profaness, is no doubt thought a lucky one, because it burlesques the Text, and the Comment, all under one. I could go on with the _Double Dealer_ but he'll come in my way afterwards, and so I shall part with him at present. Let us now take a veiw of _Don Sebastian_. And here the _Reader_ can't be long unfurnish'd. _Dorax_ shall speak first. _Shall I trust Heaven With my revenge? then where's my satisfaction? No, it must be my own, I scorn a Proxy._[124] But _Dorax_ was a Renegado, what then? He had renounc'd Christianity, but not Providence. Besides; such hideous Sentences ought not to be put in the Mouth of the Devil. For that which is not fit to be heard, is not fit to be spoken. But to some people an Atheistical Rant is as good as a Flourish of Trumpets. To proceed. _Antonio_ tho' a profess'd Christian, mends the matter very little. He is looking on a Lot which he had drawn for his Life: This proving unlucky, after the preamble of a Curse or two, he calls it, _As black as Hell, an other lucky saying! I think the Devils in me:----good again, I cannot speak one syllable but tends To Death or to Damnation._[125] Thus the Poet prepares his Bullies for the other World! Hell and Damnation are strange entertaining words upon the _Stage_! Were it otherwise, the Sense in these Lines, would be almost as bad as the Conscience. The _Poem_ warms and rises in the working: And the next Flight is extreamly remarkable: _Not the last sounding could surprize me more, That summons drowsy Mortals to their doom, When call'd in hast they fumble for their Limbs:_[126]