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.