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?