1. The Duke of Atholl, who says more good things than anybody, being behind the scenes the first night of the Beggars’ Opera, and meeting Cibber there, Well, Colley, said he, how do you like the Beggars’ Opera? Why it makes one laugh, my lord, answered he, on the stage; but how will it do in print? O! very well, I’ll answer for it, said the duke, if you don’t write a preface to it.[1] [1] See Cibber’s preface to Provoked Husband. 2. There being a great disturbance one night at Drury Lane play-house, Mr. Wilks, coming upon the stage to say something to pacify the audience, had an orange thrown full at him, which he having taken up, making a low bow, This is no civil orange, I think, said he. 3. Joe Miller sitting one day in the window at the Sun Tavern in Clare Street, a fishwoman and her maid passing by, the woman cried, “Buy my souls, buy my maids.” Ah! you wicked old creature, said honest Joe, what are you not content to sell your own soul, but you must sell your maid’s too? 4. A poor man who had a termagant wife, after a long dispute, in which she was resolved to have the last word, told her, If she spoke one more crooked word, he’d beat her brains out. Why then, ram’s-horns, you rogue, said she, if I die for it. 5. A hackney-coachman, who was just set up, had heard that the lawyers used to club their threepence a-piece, four of them, to go to Westminster; and being called by a lawyer at Temple Bar, who, with two others in their gowns, got into his coach, he was bid to drive to Westminster Hall; but the coachman still holding his door open, as if he waited for more company, one of the gentleman asked him, why he did not shut the door, and go on? The fellow, scratching his head, cried, You know, master, my fare’s a shilling; I can’t go for ninepence. 6. Two free-thinking authors proposed to a bookseller, that was a little decayed in the world, That if he would print their works, they would set him up; and, indeed, they were as good as their word, for in six weeks time he was in the pillory. 7. A gentleman was saying one day at the Tilt Yard Coffee-house, when it rained exceedingly hard, that it put him in mind of the general deluge. Zoons, sir, said an old campaigner, who stood by, who’s that? I have heard of all the generals in Europe but him. 8. A certain poet and player, remarkable for his impudence and cowardice, happening many years ago to have a quarrel with Mr. Powel, another player, received from him a smart box on the ear; a few days after, the poetical player having lost his snuff-box, and making strict inquiry if anybody had seen his box, What, said another of the buskined wits, that which George Powel gave you the other night?