_Haz._ Here, Maid, a Tankard of your Drink.
_Flirt._ Quickly, _Nell_, wait upon the Gentleman.
_Dull._ Please you, Sir, to taste of our Liquor.--My service to you. I see you are a Stranger, and alone; please you to come to our Table? [He rises and comes.
_Flirt._ Come, Sir, pray sit down here; these are very honourable Persons, I assure you: This is Major _Dullman_, Major of his Excellency’s own Regiment, when he arrives; this Mr. _Timorous_, Justice a Peace in _Corum_; this Captain _Boozer_, all of the honourable Council.
_Haz._ With your leave, Gentlemen. [Sits.
_Tim._ My service to you, Sir. [Drinks. What, have you brought over any Cargo, Sir? I’ll be your Customer.
_Booz._ Ay, and cheat him too, I’ll warrant him. [Aside.
_Haz._ I was not bred to Merchandizing, Sir, nor do intend to follow the drudgery of Trading.
_Dull._ Men of Fortune seldom travel hither, Sir, to see Fashions.
_Tim._ Why, Brother, it may be the Gentleman has a mind to be a Planter; will you hire your self to make a Crop of Tobacco this Year?
_Tim._ Not work, Sir! Zoors, your Betters have workt, Sir. I have workt my self, Sir, both set and stript Tobacco, for all I am of the honourable Council. Not work, quoth a!--I suppose, Sir, you wear your Fortune upon your Back, Sir?
_Haz._ Is it your Custom here, Sir, to affront Strangers? I shall expect Satisfaction. [Rises.
_Tim._ Why, does any body here owe you any thing?
_Dull._ No, unless he means to be paid for drinking with us,--ha, ha, ha.
_Haz._ No, Sir, I have money to pay for what I drink: here’s my Club, my Guinea, [Flings down a Guinea. I scorn to be oblig’d to such Scoundrels.
_Booz._ Hum--call Men of Honour Scoundrels. [Rise in huff.
_Tim._ Let him alone, let him alone, Brother; how should he learn Manners? he never was in _Virginia_ before.
_Tim._ Or some broken Citizen turned Factor.
_Haz._ Sir, you lye, and you are a Rascal. [Flings the Brandy in his Face.
_Tim._ Adz zoors, he has spil’d all the Brandy. [_Tim._ runs behind the Door, _Dull_, and _Booz._ strike _Hazard_.
_Haz._ I understand no Cudgel-play, but wear a Sword to right myself. [Draws, they run off.
_Flirt._ Good Heavens! what, quarelling in my House?
_Haz._ Do the Persons of Quality in this Country treat Strangers thus?