_Enter_ Harlequin _riding in a Calash, comes through the Gate towards the Stage, dress’d like a Gentleman sitting in it. The_ Officer _lays hold of his Horse_. _Off_. Hold, hold, Sir, you I suppose know the Customs that are due to this City of _Naples_, from all Persons that pass the Gates in Coach, Chariot, Calash, or _Siege Volant_. _Har_. I am not ignorant of the Custom, Sir, but what’s that to me. _Off_. Not to you, Sir! why, what Privilege have you above the rest? _Har_. Privilege, for what, Sir? _Off_. Why, for passing, Sir, with any of the before-named Carriages. _Har_. Art mad?--Dost not see I am a plain Baker, and this my Cart, that comes to carry Bread for the Vice-Roy’s, and the City’s Use?--ha. _Off_. Are you mad, Sir, to think I cannot see a Gentleman Farmer and a Calash, from a Baker and a Cart. _Har_. Drunk by this Day--and so early too? Oh, you’re a special Officer? unhand my Horse, Sirrah, or you shall pay for all the Damage you do me. _Off_. Hey Day! here’s a fine Cheat upon the Vice-Roy: Sir, pay me, or I’ll seize your Horse. [Har. _strikes him. They scuffle a little_. --Nay, and you be so brisk, I’ll call the Clerk from his Office. [_Calls_.]--Mr. Clerk, Mr. Clerk. [_Goes to the Entrance to call the_ Clerk, _the mean time_ Har. _whips a Frock over himself, and puts down the hind part of the Chariot, and then ‘tis a Cart. Enter_ Clerk. _Cler_. What’s the matter here? _Off_. Here’s a Fellow, Sir, will persuade me, his Calash is a Cart, and refuses the Customs for passing the Gate. _Cler_. A Calash--Where?--I see only a Carter and his Cart. [_The_ Officer _looks on him_. _Off_. Ha, what a Devil, was I blind? _Har_. Mr. Clerk, I am a Baker, that came with Bread to sell, and this Fellow here has stopt me this Hour, and made me lose the sale of my Ware; and being drunk, will out-face me I am a Farmer, and this Cart a Calash. _Cler_. He’s in an Error, Friend, pass on. _Har_. No, Sir, I’ll have satisfaction first, or the Vice-Roy shall know how he’s serv’d by drunken Officers, that are a Nuisance to a Civil Government. _Cler_. What do you demand, Friend? _Har_. Demand,--I demand a Crown, Sir. _Off_. This is very hard--Mr. Clerk--If ever I saw in my Life, I thought I saw a Gentleman and a Calash. _Cler_. Come, come, gratify him, and see better hereafter. _Off_. Here, Sir,--if I must, I must. [_Gives him a Crown_. _Cler_. Pass on, Friend. [_Ex_. Clerk. [Har. _unseen, puts up the back of his Calash, and whips off his Frock, and goes to drive on. The_ Officer _looks on him, and stops him again_. _Off_. Hum, I’ll swear it is a Calash--Mr. Clerk--Mr. Clerk, come back, come back. [_Runs out to call him. He changes as before_. _Enter_ Officer _and_ Clerk. --Come, Sir, let your own Eyes convince you, Sir. _Cler_. Convince me, of what, you Sot?