_Mount._ Different sorts, and for different customers. Here's a Liquor for Ladies--it expels the rage of Gaming and Gallantry; Here's a Pill for Members of Parliament--good to settle Consciences. Here's an Eye-Water for Jealous Husbands--it thickens the Visual Membrane, through which they see too clearly. Here's a Decoction for the Clergy--it never sits easy, if the patient has more than One Living. Here's a Draught for Lawyers--a great promoter of Modesty. Here's a Powder for Projectors--'twill rectify the fumes of an Empty Stomach, and dissipate their airy castles. _Mask._ Have you a Nostrum that can give patience to Young Heirs, whose Uncles and Fathers are stout and healthy? _Mount._ Yes; and I have an Infusion for Creditors--it gives resignation and humility, when Fine Gentlemen break their promises, or plead their privilege. _Mask._ Come along:--I'll find you customers for your whole cargo. _Enter_ Hardy, _in the Dress of_ Isaac Mendoza. _Hardy._ Why, isn't it a shame to see so many stout, well-built Young Fellows, masquerading, and cutting _Couranta's_ here at home--instead of making the French cut capers to the tune of your Cannon--or sweating the Spaniards with an English _Fandango_?--I foresee the end of all this. _Mask._ Why, thou little testy Israelite! back to Duke's Place; and preach your tribe into a subscription for the good of the land on whose milk and honey ye fatten.--Where are your Joshuas and your Gideons, aye? What! all dwindled into Stockbrokers, Pedlars, and Rag-Men? _Har._ No, not all. Some of us turn Christians, and by degrees grow into all the privileges of Englishmen! In the second generation we are Patriots, Rebels, Courtiers, and Husbands. [_Puts his fingers to his forehead._] _Two other Masks advance._ _3d Mask._ What, my little Isaac!----How the Devil came you here? Where's your old Margaret? _Har._ Oh, I have got rid of her. _3d Mask._ How? _Har._ Why, I persuaded a young Irishman that she was a blooming plump Beauty of eighteen; so they made an Elopement, ha! ha! ha! and she is now the Toast of Tipperary. Ha! there's Cousin Racket and her Party; they sha'n't know me. [_Puts on his Mask._ _Enter Mrs._ Racket, _Lady_ Frances, _Sir_ George, _and_ Flutter. _Mrs. Rack._ Look at this dumpling Jew; he must be a Levïte by his figure. You have surely practised the flesh-hook a long time, friend, to have raised that goodly presence. _Har._ About as long, my brisk Widow, as you have been angling for a second Husband; but my hook has been better baited than your's.--You have only caught Gudgeons, I see. [_Pointing to_ Flutter. _Flut._ Oh! this is one of the Geniuses they hire to entertain the Company with their _accidental_ sallies.----Let me look at your Common-Place Book, friend.--I want a few good things.