The Amazonian, with a hat, feather, and drum, is a beauty of Mr. Hogarth's school, belongs to a company of comedians, and is beating up for an audience. The gaping astonishment of two rustics who are looking at her is inimitably described. One of them, awe-struck by her figure, has pulled off his hat in reverence of her charms; the other "wonders with a foolish face of praise." A buskined hero, arrayed perhaps for an Alexander, has his career of glory stopped by a sheriff's officer, who pays no respect "To Macedonia's madman, or the Swede." The hero puts his hand to his sword, but the bailiffs follower secures his other arm, and aims a bludgeon at his head. A younger branch of the family of the Simples, with a whip in one hand and the other hooked on a young girl's arm, is so lost in gaping astonishment at the variety of objects around him, that he neglects his pockets, which an adroit candidate for Tyburn is clearing of their contents. While one fellow kisses a girl,[102] another endeavours to decoy her two companions. A prize-fighter, furrowed with scars, makes his triumphal entry on a blind horse, and, calling up a face of terror, and grasping his sword, hurls a proud defiance to all who dare appear as his competitors. A juggler, in a senatorial wig, displays magic wonders with the cups and balls; and above him is a fellow with a pair of artificial legs extended on a board: one of these legs a man beneath is either attempting to break, or using as a lever to give a summerset to a tumbler, who kneels upon the other. A hat displayed on the end of a pole is the prize of the best wrestler on the green; and a holland chemise will reward the _fair racer_ swiftest of foot. A quack doctor, in laced hat, long periwig, and embroidered coat, mounted upon a stage and attended by his merry-andrew, dispenses his infallible medicines. To attract the notice of a gaping crowd, this iron-throated descendant of Paracelsus eats fire. That ancient puppet-show joke of Mr. Punch's horse picking the pocket of the chequered fool of the farce, is exhibited in a balcony, on one side of which is a bout at cudgels by puppets all alive! Under a show-cloth, which announces "The Siege of Troy[103] is here," are a company rehearsing some part of the play. By a sun upon the breast of the figure in a mitre, we know him to be the high-priest of Apollo, the venerable Chryses. While one arm of this sage of many sorrows is twined round the pole which supports the wooden horse, the other is stretched out in moving supplication, entreating the hearers to "Relieve a wretched parent's pain, And give Chryseïs to his arms again." Chryseïs, however, is perfectly satisfied with her situation. Seated in all the pride of conscious beauty close to the haughty Atrides, and glorying in his protection, she prefers the lover to the parent. The inexorable chief nods his plumed crest, grasps his truncheon, and "looks with threatening brow on all around."