5th Waiter. I would have done so, Sir; but the object of his call now, he says, is only to know who he is obliged to.
Mr. H. Why, me.
5th Waiter. Yes, Sir.
Mr. H. Me, me, me; who else, to be sure?
5th Waiter. Yes, Sir; but he is anxious to know the name of his benefactor.
Mr. H. Here is a pampered rogue of a beggar, that cannot be obliged to a gentleman in the way of his profession, but he must know the name, birth, parentage, and education of his benefactor! I warrant you, next he will require a certificate of one's good behavior, and a magistrate's license in one's pocket, lawfully empowering so and so to—give an alms. Anything more?
5th Waiter. Yes, Sir; here has been Mr. Patriot, with the county petition to sign; and Mr. Failtime, that owes so much money, has sent to remind you of your promise to bail him.
Mr. H. Neither of which I can do, while I have no name. Here is more of the plaguy comforts of going anonymous, that one can neither serve one's friend nor one's country. Damn it, a man had better be without a nose, than without a name. I will not live long in this mutilated, dismembered state; I will to Melesinda this instant, and try to forget these vexations. Melesinda! there is music in the name; but then, hang it! there is none in mine to answer to it.
[Exit.