Scaramouche, and poor People, with a Basket of Bread and Money.
Scar. Come hither, poor Devils; stand in Order, and be Damn'd. I came to distribute what your deceased good Master hath bequeath'd. [They all stare at Scar.
Harl. God bless you, Mr. Steward.
Scar. Let me tell you, Gentlemen, he was as good a Man as ever piss'd, or cry'd Stand on the High-way.
[Scaramouche takes out a Leaf and a Shilling, holds it out, and Harlequin takes it.
He spent a good Estate, 'tis true; but he was no Body's Foe but his own. I never left him while he was worth a Groat. [Again.] He would now and then Curse in his Passion, and give a Soul to the Devil, or so; yet, what of that? He always paid his Club, and no Man can say he owes this. [Again.] He had a Colt's Tooth, and over-laid one of his Maids; yet, what of that? All Flesh is frail. [Again.] 'Tis thought that her Body workt him off on his Legs; why, what of that? his Legs were his own, and his Arse never hung in your Light. [Again.] Sometimes, you'll say, he wou'd rap out an Oath; what then, Words are but Wind, and he meant no more harm than a sucking Pig does by squeaking. [Again.] Now let's consider his good Deeds; he brew'd a Firkin of strong Drink for the poor every Year, and kill'd an old Ram every Easter: The Meat that was stale, and his Drink that was sowre, was always yours. [Again.] He allow'd you in Harvest to Glean after his Rake. [Again.] And now, at his Death, has given you all this. [Again.
Scar. So, setting the Hare's Head against the Goose Giblets, he was a good Hospitable Man; and much good may do you with what you had.
Poor. I have had nothing.
2 Poor. Nor I.
3 Po. Nor I.