_Bram._ Those Gentlemen, Sir _Harry_, you're pleas'd to term scoundrels, I honour; he that takes sanctuary in the _Fleet_, has an immediate place in my Heart; the Heroes of the _Mint_ are a formidable Body, magnanimously sowse ev'ry Fellow in a Ditch that dares to infringe their Liberties; he that's committed to _Newgate_ is in a fair way to Immortality;--He that stands in the Pillory is exalted to a very high Station; the Observator is my very good Friend; and he that writes the Review a Person of a most incomparable Assurance. _Col._ But where's the Satisfaction of admiring what's Rascally? _Bram._ You're mistaken, Sir, Virtue's oppress'd; these are the only Men of worth i'the Nation, and since the World's compos'd chiefly of Knaves and Hypocrites, it behoves ev'ry honest Fellow to over-reach the World; therefore he that runs away from his Creditors is a Man of admirable Principles, and his Creditors are very great Rogues. _Col._ But why d'you hate the Government, _Major_, what harm has that done you. _Bram._ Why, Sir, I was formerly in a very good Office, was turn'd out for Bribery, and have had none giv'n me since, therefore while the Government takes no notice of me, I'll take no notice of the Government. Sir _Har._ You are a Person, _Major_, the Government ought to take notice of, I assure you--And d'you think a Man of your Character and Conversation qualify'd for a publick Post. _Bram._ Certainly, Sir _Harry_, who makes a better Soldier than a Midnight-Scourer; who proves a sharper Judge than a Serjeant that takes Fees on both sides; or who thumps the Cushion better than he that has thumpt all the Wives i'the Parish; therefore that am acquainted with all you call Rogues i'the Kingdom, think my self notably qualify'd for a _Custom-House-Officer_--but whether the Government employs us, or not, my Companions are the happiest People i'the World; we meet ev'ry Day at a House within the Rules of the _Fleet_, where we have fat Venison, that's Stole out of _Windsor-Park_; _French_ Wine, that's Run i'the _Wild o' Kent_; drink Confusion to our Arms, and talk Treason, till the Vintner crys, _Huzza, Drawer bring in my Bottle_. And there are of our Club, Four Broken-Officers, Six Suborning-Attorneys, a Disaffected-Cobler, Two Highway-Men, and Eleven _Jacobite_, Outlaw'd-Parsons. Sir _Har._ If you are such an Enemy to your native Country, why don't you course the World, and please your self.