Har. No, not all. Some of us turn Christians, and by degrees grow into all the privileges of Englishmen! In the second generation we are Patriots, Rebels, Courtiers, and Husbands. [Puts his fingers to his forehead.]
Two other Masks advance.
3d Mask. What, my little Isaac!——How the Devil came you here? Where's your old Margaret?
Har. Oh, I have got rid of her.
3d Mask. How?
Har. Why, I persuaded a young Irishman that she was a blooming plump Beauty of eighteen; so they made an Elopement, ha! ha! ha! and she is now the Toast of Tipperary. Ha! there's Cousin Racket and her Party; they sha'n't know me.
[Puts on his Mask.
Enter Mrs. Racket, Lady Frances, Sir George, and Flutter.
Mrs. Rack. Look at this dumpling Jew; he must be a Levïte by his figure. You have surely practised the flesh-hook a long time, friend, to have raised that goodly presence.
Har. About as long, my brisk Widow, as you have been angling for a second Husband; but my hook has been better baited than your's.—You have only caught Gudgeons, I see.