the particular Scenes, and of the piece in general, but fball only fay, that the Success this piece has met with upon the Stage, gives encouragement to our Dramatic Writers to follow its Model; and evidently demonftrates that this fort of Drama is no less fit for the Theatre than those they have fucceeded in.

THE

WHAT D'YE CALL IT.

A TRAGI-COMI-PASTORAL

FARC E.

SCENE, A Country Juflice's Hall, adorned with Scutcheons and Stags Horns.

Enter STEWARD, SQUIRE, KITTY, DOCK, and others in Country Habits.

STEWARD.

your

drefs

O, you are ready in your parts, and in too, I fee; your own best cloaths do the business. Sure never was play and actors fo fuited. Come, range yourselves before me, women on the right, and men on the left. Squire Thomas, you make a good figure. [The actors range themselves.

SQUIRE.

Ay, thanks to Barnaby's Sunday cloaths; but call me Thomas Filbert, as I am in the play.

STEWARD.

STEWARD.

Chear up, daughter, and make Kitty Carrot the fhining part: Squire Thomas is to be in love with you to-night, girl.

KITTY.

Ay, I have felt Squire Thomas's love to my coft. I have little ftomach to play, in the condition he hath put me into.

STEWARD.

Jonas Dock, doft thou remember thy name?

Dock.

My name? Jo-Jo Jonas. name my godfathers gave me. mothy Pea- Pea- Peafcod; ay, be fhot for a deferter.

STEWARD.

[afiae.

No-that was the My play name is TiPeafcod-and am to

And you, Dolly?

DOLLY.

An't please ye, I

am Dorcas, Peafcod's fifter, and

-I am the

am to be with child, as it were.

ift COUNTRYMAN.

And I am to take her up, as it were——

Conftable.

2d COUNTRYMAN.

And I am to see Tim shot, as it were

Corporal.

STEWARD.

But what is become of our fergeant ?

DORCAS.

Why Peter Nettle, Peter, Peter.

NETTLE.

-I am the

[Enter Nettle.

These stockings of Sufan's coft a woundy deal of pains the pulling on: But what's a fergeant without red stockings?

Dock.

Dock.

I'll drefs thee, Peter, I'll drefs thee. Here, stand ftill, I muft twift thy neckcloth; I would make thee hold up thy head, and have a ruddy complexion; but pr'ythee don't look black in the face, man. [Rolling his neckcloth.] Thou must look fierce and dreadful. [Making whiskers with a burnt cork.] But what fhall we do for a grenadier's cap?

STEWARD.

Fetch the leathern bucket that hangs in the belfry; that is curiously painted before, and will make a figure.

NETTLE.

No, no, I have what's worth twenty on't: the Pope's mitre, that my master Sir Roger feiz'd, when they would have burnt him at our market town.

So, now let ev'ry body withdraw, and prepare to begin the play. [Exeunt actors.] My daughter debauch'd! and by that booby Squire! well, perhaps the conduct of this play may retrieve her folly, and preferve her reputation. Poor girl! I cannot forget thy tears.

Enter Sir Roger.

Sir ROGER.

Look ye, Steward, don't tell me you can't bring them in. I will have a ghoft; nay, I will have a competence of ghofts. What, fhall our neighbours think we are not able to make a ghoft? A play without a ghoft is like, is like-i'gad it is like nothing. STEWARD.

Sir, be fatisfied; you shall have ghosts.

Sir ROGER.

And is the play as I order'd it, both a Tragedy and a Comedy? I would have it a paftoral too; and if

you