gentlemen will come to this debate with all the temper and impartiality that his Majesty recommends, and the importance of the subject requires. A subject of greater importance than ever engaged the attention of this House! That subject only excepted, when, nearly a century ago, it was the question whether you yourselves were to be bond or free. In the mean time, as I cannot depend upon health for any future day, such is the nature of my infirmities, I will beg to say a few words at present, leaving the justice, the equity, the policy, the expediency of the act to another time.

I will only speak to one point, which seems not to have been generally understood. Some gentlemen seem to have considered it as a point of honor. If gentlemen consider it in that light, they leave all measures of right and wrong, to follow a delusion that may lead to destruction. It is my opinion that this kingdom has no right to lay a tax on the Colonies. When in this House we give and grant, we give and grant what is our own. But in an American tax, what do we do? We, your Majesty's Commons of Great-Britain, give and grant to your Majesty, what? our own property ? No. We give and grant to your Majesty, the property of your Majesty's Commons of America. It is an absurdity in terms.

There is an idea in some, that the Colonies are virtually represented in this House. I would fain know by whom an American is represented here? Is he represented by any knight of the shire, in any county in this kingdom? Or will you tell him that he is represented by any representative of a borough; a borough, which perhaps no man ever saw? This is what is called the rotten part of the Constitution. It cannot continue a century. If it does not drop, it must be amputated. The idea of a virtual representation of America, in this House, is the most contemptible idea that ever entered into the head of a man. It does not deserve a serious refutation.

The

The Commons of America, represented in their several assemblies, have ever been in possession of the exercise of this, their constitutional right of giving and granting their own money. They would have been slaves if they had not enjoyed it.

A great deal has been said without doors, of the pow er, of the strength of America. It is a topic which ought to be cautiously meddled with. In a good cause, on a sound bottom, the force of this country can crush America to atoms. I know the valour of your troops. I know the skill of your officers. There is not a company of foot that has served in America, out of which you may not pick a man of sufficient knowledge and experience, to make a governor of a colony there. But on this ground, on the Stamp-Act, when so many here will think it a crying injustice, I am one who will lift up my hands against it.

In such a cause, your success would be hazardous. America, if she fell, would fall like the strong man. She would embrace the pillars of the State, and pull down the constitution along with her. Is this your boasted peace? Not to sheath the sword in its scabbard, but to sheath it in the bowels of your countrymen? Will you quarrel with yourselves, now the whole House of Bourbon is united against you?

The Americans have been wronged. They have been driven to madness by injustice. Will you punish them for the madness you have occasioned? Rather let prudence and temper come first from this side. I will undertake for America, that she will follow the example.

Upon the whole, I will beg leave to tell the House what is really my opinion. It is, that the Stamp-Act be repealed absolutely, totally, and immediately,

SCENE

Es. Don't be angry, young lady; the gentleman is your husband, I suppose.

Mrs. Tat. How do you know that, Sir? What, you an't all conjurers in this world, are you?

Es. Your behaviour to him is a sufficient proof of his condition, without the gift of conjuration.

Mrs. Tat. Why, I was as free with him before marriage as I am now; I never was coy or prudish in my life.

Es. I believe you, madam; pray, how long have you been married? You seem to be very young, madam.

Mrs. Tat. I am old enough for a husband, and have been married long enough to be tired of one. Es. How long, pray?

Mrs. Tat. Why, above three months: I married Mr. Tatoo without my guardian's consent.

Es. If you married him with your own consent, I think you might continue your affection a little longer. Mrs. Tat. What signifies what you think, if I don't think so? We are quite tired of one another, and are come to drink some of your le-lethaly-le-lethily, I think they call it, to forget one another, and be unmarried again.

Es. The waters can't divorce you, madam; and you may easily forget him without the assistance of lethe.

Ms. Tat. Aye! how so?

Es. By remembering continually he is your bus band there are several ladies have no other receipt. But what does the gentleman say to this?

Mrs. Tat. What signifies what he says? I an't so young and so foolish as that comes to, to be directed by my husband, or to care what either he says, or you say.

Mr. Tat. Sir, I was a drummer in a marching regiment, when I ran away with that young lady. I immediately bought out of the corps, and thought myself made forever; little imagining that a poor vain fellow was purchasing fortune at the expense of his happiness. Es. 'Tis even so, friend; fortune and felicity are as often at variance as man and wife.

Mr. Tat. I found it so, Sir. This high life (as I thought it) did not agree with me, I have not laugh'd, and scarcely slept, since my advancement; and unless your worship can alter her notions, I must e'en quit the blessings of a fine lady and her portion, and, for content, have recourse to eight pence a-day and my drum again.

Es. Pray, who has advised you to a separation? Mrs. Tat. Several young ladies of my acquaintance; who tell me, they are not angry at me for marrying him; but for being fond of him since I have married him; and they say I should be as complete a fine lady as any of them, if I would but procure a separate di

vorcement.

Es. Pray, madam, will you let me know what you call a fine lady ?

Mrs. Tat. Why, a fine lady, and a fine gentleman, are two of the finest things upon earth.

Es. I have just now had the honor of knowing what a fine gentleman is; so, pray confine yourself to the lady.

Mrs. Tat. A fine lady, before marriage, lives with her papa and mamma, who breed her up till she learns to despise them, and resolves to do nothing they bid her; this makes her such a prodigious favorite, that she wants for nothing. And when once she is her own mistress, then comes the pleasure!

s. Pray let us hear.

Mre

Mrs. Tat. She lies in bed all the morning, rattles about all day, and sits up all night; she goes every where, and sees every thing; knows every body, and loves no body; ridicules her friends, coquets with her lovers, sets them together by the ears, tells fibs, makes mischief, buys china, cheats at cards, keeps a lap-dog, and hates the parson; she laughs much, talks loud, never blushes, says what she will, does what she wil', goes where she will, marries whom she pleases, hates her husband in a month, breaks his heart in four, becomes a widow, slips from her gallants and begins the world again. There's a life for you; what do you think of a fine lady now?

Es. As I expected. You are very young, madam, and if you are not very careful, your natural propensity to noise and affectation will run you headlong into folly, extravagance, and repentance.

Mrs. Tat. What would you have me do?

Æs. Drink a large quantity of lethe to the loss of your acquaintance; and do you, Sir, drink another, to forget this false step of your wife; for whilst you remember her folly, you can never thoroughly regard her; and whilst you keep good company, madam, as you call it, and follow their example, you can never have a just regard for your husband; so both drink and be happy.

Mrs. Tat. Well, give it me whilst I am in humour, or I shall certainly change my mind again.

Es. Be patient till the rest of the company drink, and divert yourself in the mean time with walking in the grove.

Mrs. Tat. Well, come along, husband, and keep me in humour, or I shall beat you such an alarum as you never beat in all your life.

EXTRACT