_Foss._ How shall I reward thee for so much Goodness? let our wedding as yet be a secret in the family. In the mean time I'll introduce my niece Phoebe Clinket to your acquaintance: but alas, the poor girl has a procidence of the pineal gland, which has occasioned a rupture in her understanding. I took her into my house to regulate my oeconomy; but instead of puddings, she makes pastorals; or when she should be raising paste, is raising some ghost in a new tragedy. In short, my house is haunted by all the underling players, broken booksellers, half-voic'd singing-masters, and disabled dancing-masters in town. In a former will I had left her my estate; but I now resolve that heirs of my own begetting shall inherit. Yonder she comes in her usual occupation. Let us mark her a while. _Enter Clinket and her maid bearing a writing-desk on her back. Clinket writing, her head dress stain'd with ink, and pens stuck in her hair._ _Maid._ I had as good carry a raree-show about the streets. Oh! how my back akes! _Clink._ What are the labours of the back to those of the brain? thou scandal to the muses. I have now lost a thought worth a folio, by thy impertinance. _Maid._ Have not I got a crick in my back already, that will make me good for nothing, with lifting your great books? _Clink._ Folio's, call them, and not great books, thou monster of impropriety: But have patience, and I will remember the three gallery-tickets I promis'd thee at my new tragedy. _Maid._ I shall never get my head-cloaths clear-starch'd at this rate. _Clink._ Thou destroyer of learning, thou worse than a book-worm; thou hast put me beyond all patience. Remember how my lyrick ode bound about a tallow-candle; thy wrapping up snuff in an epigram; nay, the unworthy usage of my hymn to Apollo, filthy creature! read me the last lines I writ upon the deluge, and take care to pronounce them as I taught you. _Maid._ Swell'd with a dropsy, sickly nature lies, And melting in a diabetes, dies. [_Reads with an affected tone._ _Clink._ Still without cadence! _Maid._ Swell'd with a dropsy---- _Clink._ Hold. I conceive---- The roaring seas o'er the tall woods have broke, And whales now perch upon the sturdy oak. Roaring? stay. Rumbling, roaring, rustling, no; raging seas. [_Writing._ The raging seas o'er the tall woods have broke, Now perch, thou whale, upon the sturdy oak. Sturdy oak? no; steady, strong, strapping, stiff. Stiff? no, stiff is too short. FOSSILE and TOWNLEY come forward. What feast for fish! Oh too luxurious treat! When hungry dolphins feed on butchers meat. _Foss._ Niece, why niece, niece? oh, Melpomene, thou goddess of tragedy, suspend thy influence for a moment, and suffer my niece to give me a rational answer. This lady is a friend of mine; her present circumstances oblige her to take sanctuary in my house; treat her with the utmost civility. Let the tea-table be made ready.