difference is there between a Merchant of a good Education, and a
Gentleman of Two Thousand Pounds a Year, only one has Threescore Thousand
Pounds clear in his Pocket, and t'other an Estate that's mortgag'd to
Threescore People; I have a House in _Billiter-Lane_, the Air's as good as
_Pickadilly_. _Cornish_ makes my Cloaths, _Chevalier_ my Periwigs, I'm
courted ev'ry Day to subscribe for singing Opera's, and have had Fifteen
Actresses at my Levee, with their Benefit-Tickets.

Sir _Har._ But, methinks, Mr. _Nicknack_; you that have so plentiful a
Fortune, shou'd leave off Business, and reside wholly amongst Men of
Figure and Estates.

_Nick._ My Commerce, Sir _Harry_, is but in Impertinences without the
least prospect of Gain; for the old Gentleman, when with great Industry,
he had imported an Estate of Fifty Thousand Pounds, with greater Civility
exported himself into the next World and left me all. Besides, Merchandize
is but a sort of Gaming, and if I like it better than Hazard or Basset,
why should any Man quarrel with my Genius; but, Gentlemen, your Servant.
I must find out Lady _Rodomont_; for I have ingros'd the whole Ship's
Cargo to my self, as my Father us'd to do Raw-Silk, and design her the
first choice of ev'ry Thing. [_Exit._

_Col._ But what crabbed Don's this with the knavish Look of an old
plodding Conveyancer, whose Face and Profession are enough to raise the
Devil.

Sir _Har._ 'Tis Major _Bramble_, a factious, seditious old Rogue, that's
neither Whig, nor Tory, but an Enemy to his own Country; he hates the
Government, because the Government don't like him; repines at all our
Successes; and his Bosom Friends are Minters, Owlers, Pettifoggers,