La. _Rod_. I mould rather chuse a peaceful Race, whose Virtue shou'd prefer 'em to the State, where Wisdom, like a Goddess, sits triumphant, to awe, to charm, to punish and reward, and check the Fury of such headstrong Coursers. _Bram_. A Race of Side-Box-Beaus, that love soft easie Chairs, Down-Beds, and taudry Night-Gowns; I admire those renown'd Emperors, that chop Peoples Heads off for their Diversion, and the glorious King of _France_, that makes his Family Kings whenever he pleases; that gives People yearly Pensions to bellow out his praise; whose Edicts fly about like Squibs and Crackers, and as much laughs at Parliaments and Councils, as a Whore of Distinction does at the _Reforming-Society._ La. _Rod_. Such Princes are meant Scourges to the Earth; no Mortal's fit for absolute Command; Men have their Passions; Monarchs are but Men, and when Love, Jealousie, or Fear possess 'em, the Tyrants spurn, and rack their guiltless People, who tamely bend, and court their fatal Madness; our happy Realm knows no Despotick Sway; not only Kingdoms here, but Hearts unite, the Sov'reign and the Subjects bless each other; a Constitution so divinely fram'd; such gen'rous Concord, such resistless Harmony, that Nature wonders at her own Perfections; a Climate and a People so serene! _Bram_. Look you, Madam, I'm no more an Enemy to the Government than to your Ladiship: Your Ladiship has a good Estate, Estate, and your Person is mightily dish'd out, fine and lovely and plump, therefore if your Ladyship thinks fit to marry me, and the Government to give me a Place of a Thousand a Year, I'm an humble Servant to both, otherwise I wou'dn't care three Whiffs o' Tobacco, if the Government sunk, and your Ladiship were blown up in the Clouds. La. _Rod._ Plain-dealing, _Major_, ought to be inestimable, especially in a Statesman, but you needn't give your self any trouble about me, you're not a Creature tame enough for a Husband: The Lion that's us'd to range the Woods, if once ensnar'd, grows ten times more outragious. What think you, Cousin, shou'd we entangle the _Major_. Mrs. _Lov._ We must never come near him, Madam, for I'm afraid he'll devour us all. _Bram._ Devour you all, Mrs. _Oatcake_, a Man must be damnable hungry to feed upon your Chitterlings. [_Aside._] Now have I a good mind to hire two or three honest Fellows to swear her into a Plot, have her Estate confiscated to the Government, and get a Reward of half of it for so serviceable a piece of Loyalty and Revenge; but to mortifie her more compleatly, I'll go make my Addresses to the Divine Lady _Toss-up_. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Nicknack.