The Course.—A Shouting within.

Enter Tallyho and Jockey.

Tall. Huzza! Ecod, Dick, my boy, you did the thing nicely!

Jockey. Didn't I, your honour? I said I'd win for you—Huzza!

Tall. Huzza! we've banged the monsieurs. Hey for Yorkshire! d'ye hear—See Whirligig well rubbed down, and give her a horn of egg, milk, oil, and saffron; and while you lead her down the course in triumph, let the French horns play, Britons strike home. [Sings.] Merry be the first of August.—Let's see, besides the fifteen thousand from this French Colonel Epaulette,—ay, I shall win twenty thousand by the day; and then my slang match to-morrow—Eh, Dick?

Jockey. Ay, sir; Whirligig and old England against the Globe—Huzza!

[Exit.

Enter English Waiter.

Eng. Wait. Sir, my mistress would be glad to know how many she must provide dinner for.

Tall. Eh! Dinner!—true: Tell old Moll Casey to knock her whole house into one room, and to roast, boil, bake, and fricassee, as if she hadn't an hour to live—we're a roaring, screeching party——

Enter Lackland.

Lack. Yes, tell your mistress we're a numerous party—I've left my name at the bar.

[Calling out.

[Exit Waiter.

Tall. Yes, I dare say they have your name in the bar—I see, by his grin, he wants to come Captain Borrowman, but 'twon't do.

[Aside.

Lack. Ah, Tallyho, my dear fellow, I give you joy—Upon my honour I never saw finer running in the whole course of——

Tall. I won't lend you sixpence.

Lack. Sir!

Tall. It's a fine day.

Lack. Why, sir, as to the—ha! ha! ha! Upon my soul, you are the most——

Tall. So I am, ha! ha! ha!

Lack. Ha! ha! ha! Oh, I have you, ha! ha! ha!

Tall. No, you han't, ha! ha! ha! Nor you won't have me, ha! ha! ha! I'm not to be had—know a thing or two—up to all—if you're flint, I'm steel.

Lack. Well, but don't strike fire to me—reserve your flashes of wit or——

Tall. You will catch them, as your coat is a kind of tinder, ha! ha! ha!

Lack. Sir, I desire you will find some other subject for your jokes.

Tall. True, your coat is rather a thread-bare subject, ha! ha! ha!—touching the cash makes a body so comical, ha! ha! ha!

Lack. Cash; ay, your wit is sterling to-day, Tallyho, and as you carry your brains in your pocket, I wish you'd change me a twenty pound joke.

Tall. Ha! ha! ha! Ah, well, Lackland, you're so full of jokes, that you even laugh at the elbows, ha! ha! ha! that is the best humoured suit of clothes—

Lack. [Calmly.] Sir, if you were any body else, upon my honour, I'd knock you down!

Tall. Hold, if you raise your arm, you'll increase the laugh—Come, don't be angry, [Looks out.] and I'll help you to a graver sort o'coat, that's not quite so much upon the broad grin, ha! ha! ha! Hush! I'll introduce you to Colonel Epaulette yonder.

Lack. [Looking.] That, ay, a right Frenchman; one might guess by his mirth that he has lost to day.

Tall. True; but I keep up the old saying, ha! ha! ha! they may laugh that win.

Lack. I've heard the most unaccountable stories of his attempt at our style of doing things.

Tall. Yes, I'm his tutor; I teach him all our polite accomplishments.

Lack. Polite! then I suppose he can drink, swear, play at cricket, and smoke tobacco.

Tall. Yes, he comes on, but I'll give him up to you—or you to him, to get rid of you.

[Aside.

Lack. Yet, I am told this French gentleman has a most benevolent heart—a man of much worth.

Tall. Yes, he is worth twenty thousand a year.

Lack. I like a man of twenty thousand a year—hem! tell him who I am.

[With great Consequence.

Tall. I'll tell him, you're a wrangling mastiff, pointer-made—he thinks so highly of our courage, with him, the boldest bully, is the bravest Briton, ha! ha! ha!—he's so fond of our English customs, ha! ha! ha! why, he'd introduce himself to a duchess, with a zounds; and thinks if he can come out with a dozen dammes or so, he speaks very good English.

Enter Colonel Epaulette, singing.

Colonel E. Rule Britannia, Britannia rule de vay. Ah, my victorious squire—[Sings.] If you should like, De Yorkshire tyke, an honest lad behold me.

Both. Tol lol de rol, &c.

Colonel E. I lose five tousand to you on dis match—Dere is one tousand on de Paris bank, two de bank of England, von Drummond, and von Child.

[Gives Notes.

Lack. Tallyho, as I have none of my own, I'll adopt that child.

Colonel E. [Looks at Lackland with Admiration.] Ha! ha! ha! Le drole!

Tall. Oh yes, it's a very good joke. [Puts up Notes.] Colonel, this here is Squire What d'ye call him—Squire, that there is Colonel Thing-o-me, and now you know one another, shake fists.

Lack. Sir, your most obedient.

Tall. Colonel, this is an honest fellow, and a finished gentleman; a jig or allemande—Robin Gray or Mallbrook—he'll whip you through with a small sword, or break your head with a cudgel.

Colonel E. I'm much oblig'd to him, but is he fond of play?

Tall. Play! He'll pull the longest straw for a twenty pound joke, or run with you in a sack for a ginger-bread hat.

Lack. Sir, my friend Tallyho is rather lavish in his recommendations—I have the honour to be known, and, indeed, live with some persons, not of the lowest order, in this, and—every country.

Tall. Yes, he has so many great acquaintances, and so polite himself—look at his hat—he has almost saluted away the front cock.

Lack. I hate ceremony, but one must be civil, you know.

Tall. Says so many good things too!—A capital bon motter.

Lack. Hang it!—no, Tallyho, my wit is rather o' the—sometimes, indeed, comes out with a little sally, that——

Colonel E. Sir, I should be proud to be introduced to your little Sally.

Lack. Ha! ha! ha! You shall, Colonel—my little Molly, and my little Jenny, and—ha! ha! ha! you see what I am, Colonel—rather an ordinary fellow, [Conceitedly.] but the ladies do squint at me, now and then, ha! ha! ha!—overheard a most diverting confab amongst that group of ladies yonder, as I passed them—Oh, dear! look at him, says one—at who? says another—that smart gentleman, says a third—I vow, a monstrous pretty fellow, says a fourth—but who is he? perhaps he's the English ambassador—oh, madam, not he, oh, not him, no, no—but at last they all concluded, from a certain something in my air, that I can be no other than—the Emperor, incog.—ha! ha! ha!

All. Ha! ha! ha!

Tall. Well said, Master Emperor! ha! ha! ha! but I will new robe your Imperial Majesty. [Apart to Lackland.] I'll touch him for a coat for you—A man of high taste in our modes. [Apart to the Colonel.] I'll try and get him to change a suit with you.

Lack. Why, I must say, I'm somewhat partial to the Newmarket style.

Colonel E. I tink his coat look de Oldmarket style.

Tall. Yes, but from your coat, and your feathered head, he took you for a drummer.

Colonel E. SacrÉ Dieu! he did not—Zounds—Damme!

Tall. [To the Colonel.] Yes; but he's such a shot, he'd snuff a candle on your head!

Colonel E. Sir, I vill snuff my head myself; and I vill snuff my nose myself, in spite of any body.

[Takes Snuff in a hasty manner.

Lack. Colonel, without offence to your nose, lend me your little finger.

Tall. Do, he'll give it you again.

Colonel E. [Shaking Hands with Lackland.] Ah, I see he is de true Englishman; for he has de courage to fight, and de good nature to forgive.—Mr. Lackland, vill you dine vid me to-morrow?

Lack. Dine! my dear fellow, I'll breakfast with you—I'll stay a whole month in your house.

Colonel E. [With Joy.] Indeed!

Tall. Yes, and you'll find it cursed hard to get him out of it, he's so friendly.

Colonel E. [To Lackland.] Gi' me your hand—You're a most hospitable fellow! Zounds! Damme!

Lack. Oh, pray, Tallyho, isn't that your sister Celia?

Tall. [Looking.] Yes, that's sister Celia.

Lack. Haven't seen her some time—A fine girl, indeed!

Tall. I wish I'd left her behind, in Paris.—Badger'd—pestered with petticoats, when one has their betts and their business to mind.

Colonel E. I vill vait on de lady.

Lack. Yes, we'll all wait on the lady.—I shall engage her hand at the ball to-night.

Tall. Lackland, be quiet: she has a fortune.

Lack. Well, has her money spoiled her dancing?

Tall. No; but I am her guardian, Master Emperor.

Lack. Ha! ha! ha! then, by Heaven! I'll attack Miss Buffalo, or what is that—the grocer's——

Tall. What, then you have thrust your copper face into Sir John Bull's family?

Lack. Bull! ay, I thought it was some beast or other.

Colonel E. Oh, my Lady de Bull—Oh, dat is she, dat is recommend to me by a noble duke in Paris.

Tall. The daughter Doll is a fine filly—We start for matrimony, on our return to Paris.

Lack. After dinner, I'll challenge him in pint bumpers of Casey's burgundy.

Colonel E. And I sall shake an elbow, and set de merry caster.

Tall. Very well, very well, gentlemen, have at you both—yoicks—hurrah!

AIR.—TALLYHO.

[Exeunt.

Enter Celia, calling after them.

Celia. Brother! why, brother! was there ever such a mad mortal! Lud, I wish he'd left me in Paris. I wish I hadn't left England—Fontainbleau!—better to have shone on the Steyne, at Brighton—Bless me! I wish I had only one dear beau, if but to keep me out o'the way o'the coaches—talk of French gallantry, and attention to the ladies! I protest, we've quite spoiled them—No, I find I have no chance here, while rivalled by Eclipse, Gimcrack, and Whirligig—Now, if love would but throw the handsome officer in my way, that entertained me so agreeably at the Sunday opera, at Paris.

Enter Henry and Rosa.

Henry. [Seeing Celia.] Yes, 'tis she, 'tis my charming unknown.

[Aside.

Celia. Is that lady with him? [Rosa takes Henry's Arm.] takes him by the arm!—I wonder women haven't some regard to decency, in public!

[Exit, singing.

Rosa. [Agitated, and looking about.] If Lord Winlove follows me,—death to him, or my brother, must be the consequence. [Aside.] Henry, if you design to take me to the convent to-night, we shall be too late—the gate's shut at vespers.

Henry. [Looking after Celia,] 'Sdeath, if I lose her now, difficult, perhaps, to meet again—and, if I quit Rosa, she'll——

Enter Lapoche.

Lap. Ah, Mademoiselle Rosa! I'm glad you have escape from dat cruel rogue of a—[Henry turns.] my dear friend, I am so overjoice I overtake a you—I did vash you all over dis great horse field—I did ask a for you all de littel jockeyboy, and I vas vip, and push, and kick, and tump about, from dis a post, to dat a post—

Henry. Well, pray what did you want with me?

Lep. Only in your hurry, I did forget to give you de receipt for your lodging money.

Henry. Oh, I forgot to pay you, that's it; but I wasn't gone.—[Looking out.] If she mixes in that crowd, I shall certainly lose her—may I venture to leave Rosa in this fellow's care? [Aside.] Lepoche, I want to speak to a person yonder, you'll oblige me exceedingly, if you'll not quit this lady till I return.

Lep. [Apart.] I varrant I vil stick close.

Henry. Rosa, I shall be back in a few minutes.

[Exit.

Lap. [Aside.] Ah, dat you may never come back, except to pay a me.

Rosa. Cruel Henry! so severely to censure me for a passion, of which, your own heart is so susceptible!

Lap. Oh my dearest, sweetest——

Rosa. Tell me, have you seen the gentleman since?

Lep. De pretty gentilhomme dat love a you? oui.

Rosa. Where?

Lep. Dis morning, in my looking glass.

Rosa. How perplexing! Tell me, man—I mean the gentleman that—has that gentleman been to inquire for me since?

Lep. Ah, sly coquin—I have hear all about you—You, 'scape from de convent in man's coat, to de gentleman—den here you run avay vid de captain from de gentleman, and now, I see it in your eye, you vant to run back to de gentleman again.

Rosa. You're not much out there.

Lep. I see she love me ver much. [Aside.] I vill go see vere de captain is got—hush you little devil of a sly pretty rogue!

[Exit.

Rosa. How perverse! by loitering here, Lord Winlove and Henry must certainly meet, and I have the worst to dread from their violence of temper.

Enter Lapoche.

Lap. All is safe—your captain is facing up to anoder lady—come to my house vid me.

Rosa. 'Tis certainly the surest, and speediest means of seeing my lord again—then the necessity of relieving him from the anxiety, into which, my absence must have thrown him—I'm strongly tempted, notwithstanding the impertinence of this fellow.

Lep. She ver fond of me, vonce I have her in my power, if she be unkind—up I lock her for de Lady Abbess. [Aside.] Oh, you pretty pattern for a tailor's wife—I do adore de dimple of your chin—your hand soft as Englis broad cloth—your lip, Genoa velvet, and your eye bright as de Birmingham button.

SCENE II.

Another Part of the Course.

Enter Celia and Henry.

Henry. Charming creature! since the joy inspired by your conversation at the opera, and the grief of such a hopeless parting, to the instant of this lucky meeting, I have not enjoyed a moment's peace.

Celia. You think this a lucky meeting, sir; I congratulate you on your good fortune, and leave you to the enjoyment of your happiness.

[Courtesies and going, he takes her Hand.

Henry. One moment, my love!

Celia. Very fine, this; so here my captive presumes to make his conqueror a prisoner of war!

Henry. I am your captive, your slave—thus I kiss my chain; [Kisses her Hand.] and thus on my knee—

Celia. Stop, you'll soil your regimentals.

Henry. Dear, charming—[Aside.] I wish I knew her name.

Celia. Ha! ha! ha! do forgive me.

Henry. I am enchanted with your gaiety, charmed with your beauty—

Celia. 'Pray, were you ever enchanted, or charmed before?

Henry. But never lov'd till now.

Celia. Oh, if you're serious, I must—Come, come, come, I'll talk no more to you; walk that way, and I'll walk this way.

Henry. Nay, but my angel—

Celia. Well, well, I know all that, but if you really expect to meet me in the field again, you must send me a challenge by my brother—Eh—but I'll not tell you, for you seem to be conceited enough already.

AIR.—CELIA.

[Exit.

Henry. Charming woman!

Tallyho. [Without.] Yoics! I'll bring in the stragglers—I'm the boy to fill the rooms, and empty the bottles.

Henry. Oh, here's Tallyho—as this brother she speaks of, is a man of the turf, probably he knows him—I'll just ask him, and—then for my sister Rosa.

Enter Tallyho.

Tall. I'm an excellent whipper-in for the bottle—Oh, ho! [Looking at Henry, then takes him under the Arm.] Come along.

Henry. Where?

Tall. To get drunk, to be sure—You wear his Majesty's cloth, and go to bed sober, when my English Whirligig has beat the mounseers!—Such a pack of jolly dogs! such burgundy!—won't you come and get drunk with us?

Henry. Certainly, my boy—but, pray, Tallyho, can you tell me—you saw the young lady that parted from me now—admirably handsome!——

Tall. Handsome! Yes, every body says she's like me.

Henry. I shall soon call her mine.

Tall. The devil you shall!

Henry. I have some hopes; the only obstacle is a brother—but, perhaps, you know him—one of our stupid, thick-headed fellows, without an idea, beyond a cock, or a horse.

Tall. For fifty pounds, I have as many ideas as you.

Henry. You!

Tall. Yes, Mr. Captain; who gave you commission to talk o'my thick head?

Henry. What a blunder! [Aside.] But, really, Squire, is that young lady your sister?

Tall. Celia? yes, to be sure she is my sister, and that's your share of her too. [Snaps his Fingers.] She has a great fortune, and you captains are damned poor—but, huzza! I have it, tol de rol lol!—[Sings and capers.] You shall fill your pockets with French gold—Louis d'ors, sous and souces, you damned son of a—give me your hand.

Henry. Now, what—what is all—

Tall. You shall go halves in my slang match to-morrow. Colonel Epaulette has matched his Black Prince, to run against my Kick-him-Jenny—it's play or pay.—You shall back his Black Prince, take all the odds—I will get my jockey to lame Kick-him-Jenny; and, to give a colour for her not being able to run, I've mounted Sir John Bull to take an airing on her, ha! ha! ha!—I warrant she plays him some prank or other, so, as he's a bad horseman, I'll lay her accident upon him—she can't run—pays forfeit—you sweep the field—touch them all—and when you've gathered in the cash, we'll meet privately, and divide it, even, fair and honest, in our pockets—Damme, there's our snug ten thousand a piece with a twopenny nail!

Henry. And this, perhaps, you call honour?

Tall. Yes, 'tis good turf honour.

Henry. What! to be a scoundrel?

Tall. Oh, very well; if you're so nice—ay, now, you're a very delicate chicken! But, harkye, the next time you see sister Celia, don't look at her.

[Going

Henry. Stop, Tallyho—I think I'll punish my knowing one. [Aside.] On second thoughts, I will join with you in this roguery.

Tall. Then you're a cursed honest fellow—my sister's yours.

Henry. Ay, with her consent——

Tall. Her consent! if we make the match, what has her consent to do with it?—but I'll settle that—come, you shall have it from her own mouth, this instant.

Henry. But what shall I do with Rosa?

[Aside, and looking out.

Tall. What, are you making a set, my pointer? Come, and be merry with us—Why, I'll get drunk to-night, though I'm in love up to the saddle girts—Oh, my darling Dolly!

Henry. Oh, Miss Bull—Ay, we shall soon have you a bridegroom too.

Tall. Yes, ha! ha! ha! I shall soon be a happy bull-calf.

DUETT.—HENRY and TALLYHO.

Tall. Your hand,

Henry. Your hand,

Tall. My hero,

Henry. My buck,

Tall. No more words;

Henry. No more pother!

Tall. My sister is yours, }

Henry. Your sister is mine,

Both. And the bargain is struck,

Tall. My brother!

Henry. My brother!

Both. The field round,

Tall. We'll slang 'em,

Henry. We'll slang 'em,

Tall. And if they complain, the captain shall bang 'em.

Henry. In this and that, and every nation,

Tall. Every rank, and every station,
All, all declare,
That cheating is fair,

Henry. If it takes but the knowing one in.

Tall. Miss Polly, how coy!
With her amorous boy,
Cries, dear sir! Oh fie, sir! and bridles her chin;
You impudent man, you,
How can you? how can you?

Henry. 'Tis all

Tall. 'Tis all

Both. To take the knowing one in;
For all declare,
That cheating is fair,
If it takes but the knowing one in.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

An Apartment in the Hotel.

Enter Sir John Bull, with a large Patch upon his Forehead, and French Waiter.

Sir J. B. Ah, see when they catch me upon a race horse again!—That scoundrel, Tallyho, did it to break my neck—Above all the beasts o'the field, to mount me upon Kick-him-Jenny! But I must get something to this cut—Have you no 'pothecaries here in France? [Waiter bows, and cringes.] I say, get me a doctor—[Waiter bows and cringes.]—I want a surgeon.

[Loud.

Waiter. Oui, you be Sir John—

[Bows, &c.

Sir J. B. D'ye understand?—I was riding, and Tallyho's mare threw me—[Roaring, Waiter bowing, &c.] You scoundrel! what, d'ye stand grinning at me? Get somebody to dress my head.

Waiter. Oui, monsieur.

[Exit.

Sir J. B. Oh dear, oh dear! get me once out of France—Then my wife and daughter! such a pair of mademoiselles, as they are making of themselves, to receive this great French Colonel Epaulette——Egad, here they come, in full puff!

Enter Lady Bull and Dolly, extravagantly dressed.

Sir J. B. [Bows ridiculously.] A-la-mode de Paree!

Miss Dolly B. Bless me, papa, what's the matter?

Lady B. What, have you been fighting, Sir John?

[Looking at his Forehead.

Sir J. B. Fighting! no, my Lady Bull—I got upon Kick-him-Jenny, she threw me off, and broke my head.

[Eying them curiously.

Lady B. What is he at now?

Sir J. B. Eh, nothing. [Looking, and smothering a Laugh.] George, get me a pipe.

Miss Dolly B. La, papa, let's have no piping here!

Lady B. Pipes! what man, d'ye think you're at Dobney's bowling-green?

Miss Dolly B. Consider, we are now at Fontainbleau, in France, papa, the very country seat of the beau monde.

Sir J. B. Oh, very well—Mrs. Casey, get me yesterday's Ledger.

Lady B. Ledger! Oh, now, he's got to Garraway's—I tell you again, you are not at Margate, raffling for twopenny toys.

Miss Dolly B. Or dancing in your boots, at Dandelion, papa—La now, do, pa, get into the mode, like us!

Sir J. B. Thank you, daughter, but I'm not quite so modish.

Lady B. But, consider, my dear, if Colonel Epaulette does us the honour of a visit, how he'll be shocked at your appearance!

Sir J. B. Thank you, thank you, wife; but I don't think I'm quite so shocking.

Lady B. Then, if he does introduce us to the prince—Sir John, to tell you a secret, I have already sent for one Mr. Lapoche, a celebrated French tailor, to make you a new suit of clothes for the occasion.

Sir J. B. A French tailor for me!—very well, very well, ladies.

Enter First Waiter.

Waiter. Mr. Lackland, madam; would you chuse to see him?

Sir J. B. Ay, ay, let the poor devil come up.

[Exit Waiter.

Lady B. Mr. Lackland! ay, here's more of your—a pretty thing, to come all the way to France, to pick up English acquaintances! and then, such a paltry—shabby——

Enter Lackland, elegantly dressed in Colonel Epaulette's Clothes.

Lack. Ladies, your most obedient—How d'ye do, Bull?

Sir J. B. [Looking at him with Surprise.] Shabby!—Eh!—Why, in the name of—Oh! ho!—Ha! ha! ha!—recovered the arables, or another old fool from Throgmorton Street?

Lack.Oh, pray don't let my presence disconcert any body—Ladies, I dined with my friend Tallyho, and Colonel Epaulette; the colonel understanding that I admitted Sir John here, to some share of my notice, begged I'd make his respects, and that he'd wait on you immediately.

Lady B. Now, Miss Bull, summon all the graces.

Miss Dolly B. Oh, lud! and the powder's all—the duchess's barber must titivate me up directly.

Lack. Miss, don't mind me—people say I'm particular—but I'm the most condescending—Bull, be seated.

Sir J. B. Bull! I will not be seated.

Lack. Yes, she is a fine girl, indeed.

Sir J. B. Who, Doll? Yes, Doll's a dev'lish fine girl, and I shall give fourscore thousand pounds with her.

Lack. What!—[Aside.] This may prove a good hit—but such a vulgar family!—Hearkye—pray—[With Haughtiness and Contempt.] You've kept shop?

Sir J. B. Fifteen years—the Grasshopper, on Garlick Hill.

Lack. And you sold raisins, and—

Sir J. B. Yes, I did, and figs too.

Lady B. D'ye hear him?

Lack. [Aside.] Hem! Yes, I'll marry her—a dowdy—he's a seller of figs—yet, fourscore thousand—

Sir J. B. And yet, do you know——

Lack. [Puts him back gently.] Softly—Ma'am, [To Miss Dolly Bull.]—upon my soul, you're a very fine creature!

Miss Dolly B. Sir! [Aside.] Lord, I like him, vastly!

Lack. I say, ma'am, I—but, hold—I had best begin with a compliment to the mother though—Ma'am,—[Looks first at Lady Bull, then at Sir John.]—Figs! [Stifling a Laugh.] Ma'am, your dress is extremely elegant—admirably fancied—and——

Sir J. B. Yet if I was to advise——

Lack. [Puts him back, without looking at him.] Be quiet, Bull—with so many native charms—difficult to say, whether ornaments grace the person, or the person ornaments the dress.

Miss Dolly B. He's vastly well bred, mamma.

Lady B. Yes, but speaks English too plain for a gentleman.

Lack. Miss Bull's spirit and good humour, is the emblem of English liberty, and your ladyship, [Bows.] the Ninon de l'Enclos of Britain.

Sir J. B. [Aside.] Ninon-don—talks French—I lent him a guinea too—well!

Lack. I presume, ladies, you go to the ball to-night—if disengaged, miss, I should be proud of the honour of your hand.

Miss Dolly B. Yes, sir, with all my heart, sir.

Sir J. B. Your heart, hussy! didn't you promise Squire Tallyho?

Miss Dolly B. True, papa; but then, I hadn't seen this gentleman.

Lady B. Haven't I hopes of Colonel Epaulette, for you?

Miss Dolly B. Ay, but none of us have ever seen the colonel—he mayn't like me, and, perhaps, I mayn't like him.

Lady B. Dolly, you're too ready with your yes.

Lack. Consider, if your ladyship had always cruelly said no, Miss Dolly could never have been the admiration of the Court of Versailles.

Sir J. B. Yes, and I dare say——

Lack. Softly, my honest fellow.

Sir J. B. [Stamping.] What d'ye mean, friend—honest fellow! I don't believe you know who you're talking to!—[Aside.] Oh, oh! Tallyho is likely to be jockeyed here—[Calls out.] Bob, if Squire Tallyho comes, show him——

Lady B. Show him out of the house.

Miss Dolly B. What! the Squire?

Tallyho sings without.

Lack. Here comes Tallyho—Yes, Casey's burgundy has quite done him up.

Lady B. Fontainbleau! one might as well be at Ascot Heath.

Enter Tallyho, drunk, and singing.

Tall. Or, I'll leap over you, your blind gelding and all, tol de rol—Ha! ha! ha! Sir John, I am so sorry you should be hurt by that fall!

Sir J. B. Ha! ha! ha! Yes, I see you are very sorry.

Tall. But how is your leg?

Sir J. B. My leg! it's my forehead.

Tall. Ah! ha! my old prize fighter!

Sir J. B. I've been fighting your battles here.—

[Lady Bull looks scornfully at Tallyho.

Tall. Right, Sir John—[Observing her.] for I see, if the grey mare's the better horse, I lose the filly.

Lady B. I can't stay with this savage.

Lack. Will your ladyship honour me—Miss Dolly, your lily hand—

[Takes her Hand.

Tall. [Interposing.] No matter whether her hand is a lily, or a tulip, or a daffydowndilly—by your leave, neighbour—

[Gets between Dolly and Lackland.

Lack. Sir, you know I am always ready to correct insolence; if a man insults me, 'tisn't his fortune can protect him—[Turning to Sir J. Bull.] pr'ythee, Bull, step and ask if I left my snuff-box in the bar below. Mr. Tallyho, when you're inclined to quarrel, I am always ready to go out with you.

Tall. My Lady Bull will go out with you, and I wish her much joy of her company.

[Bows very low.

[Exit Lackland, leading Lady Bull.

Sir John, I am so hurt that my mare should—how is your collar bone now?

Sir J. B. Pshaw! don't you see it's my forehead—Go out with him! isn't that one of your sword and pistol terms?

Tall. Oh yes, at those amusements, in a small room, that gentleman is, indeed, pretty company.

Miss Dolly B. Lord, he must be charming company, in a small room!

[With great Glee.

Sir J. B. An impudent dog! to send me out for his snuff-box too.

Miss Dolly B. I do like him monstrously!

Tall. Like him! why, Doll, you're a fox upon a double ditch—none can tell which side you'll leap—ho, ho! what, am I thrown out here, old Hurlo-thrumbo?

Sir J. B. Me—I don't know what this fellow has been about here, among them, with his snuff, and his feathers—but where have you been, Tallyho? I tell you, if you'd have Doll, you must stick to her, my boy.

Miss Dolly B. Ay, that you must, indeed, my boy—Lord, Squire, what has made you so tipsy?

Tall. Love and burgundy—swallowing your health, my sweet Dolly Douse—

Sings.

[Takes her Hand.

When you come across my noddle—tipsy-gipsy—I get upon the half cock, and then—a dozen bumpers makes me—tol de rol lol—ha! ha! ha! old dad—how cursed comical you looked, when Kick-him-Jenny flung you over her ears, ha! ha! ha! damme, you came upon all fours, like a tom cat with a parachute, ha! ha! ha!

Miss Dolly B. Ha! ha! ha! Oh, what a rare fellow you are, ha! ha! ha!—what fine game you do make of my father! ha! ha! ha!

Sir J. B. Game o'your father! why, you confounded jade—

Tall. Sir John, I am sorry my mare broke your nose.

Sir J. B. Zounds! don't you see it's my forehead?—but, however, I forgive you, since—ha! ha! ha!—I'm so pleas'd at your winning the race to-day, and beating the mounseers, that, if I'd twenty daughters, and each with a plumb in her mouth, you should have them all.

Tall. [Looking at his Tablets.] Plumb! Oh, true, Sir Jackey, my lad, I have you down here, for a fifty.

Sir J. B. How?

Tall. That you owe me.

Sir J. B. Me? I never borrowed sixpence of you, in my life.

Tall. No, but you lost fifty pounds though.

Sir J. B. [Alarmed.] Lost! oh, lord! I had a fifty pound note in my pocket book—[Takes out his Pocket Book.] No, 'faith, here it is.

Tall. Then you may as well give it me, Jackey.

Sir J. B. Give it you! for what?

Tall. Why, don't you know you laid me fifty pounds upon the colonel's Joan of Arc, and didn't my Whirligig beat her?

Sir J. B. Damn your Whirligig!

Miss Dolly B. Oh, lord, father! how can you damn his Whirligig?

Tall. Come, fifty pounds here—down with your dust!

Miss Dolly B. Ay, papa, down with your dust!

Sir J. B. You hussy! I'll dust your gown for you!

Tall. Why, didn't you lay?

Sir J. B. Lay! I remember, I said, I thought the brown horse run the fastest.

Tall. Yes, but when I laid fifty he'd lose, didn't you say done?

Sir J. B. And so you come the dun upon me—pho, pho! none of your jokes, man.

Tall. Jokes! you shall pay me in earnest.

Sir J. B. Pay you—what the devil, do you think I'll give you fifty pounds, because one horse thrusts his nose out before another? Doll, that's a rogue!

Tall. Rogue! Cut while you're well—I'll make no more words—that bet was done and done, and if you don't pay me, I'll post you at Tattersal's—indeed, I will, Sir Jackey, my lad.

Miss Dolly B. Never mind old Fogrum—run away with me.

[Apart to Tallyho.

Sir J. B. Oh, very well—there—[Gives a Note.] by winning fifty pounds, you lose my daughter, and fourscore thousand; and now post that at Tattersal's, Tally, my lad—Dolly, child, go to your mamma.

Miss Dolly B. I won't—I won't go to my mamma—I'll meet you, bye and bye, at the Colonel's.

[Apart to Tallyho.

Sir J. B. You won't—you shall, hussy!

Miss Dolly B. I won't—I won't—[Crying and sobbing.] Oh, the cruelty of old tough fathers, to force young, tender maidens, away from the sweet, amiable swains, that so dearly love them! oh! oh! oh!

Sir J. B. Go in there, you jade! [Forces her off.] how cunning you look now, Tally, my lad!

[Exeunt Miss Bull and Sir John.

Tall. Don't force her away from her beautiful swain—[Looks disappointed, and whistles.] So, here's a pretty commence! but if Doll meets me at the Colonel's, I'll whip her off; and if Captain Henry has laid the betts upon my slang match, I shall roll in rhino—first, marry Doll, in private—then, London—hey for a wedding, in full cry, and, then for the dear delights of London!

AIR.—TALLYHO.

In London, my life is a ring of delight;
In frolics, I keep up the day and the night,
I snooze at the Hummums till twelve, perhaps later;
I rattle the bell, and I roar up the waiter;
"Your honour," says he, and he tips me a leg;
He brings me my tea, but I swallow an egg;
For tea in a morning's a slop I renounce,
So I down with a glass of the right cherry bounce.
With swearing—tearing!
Ranting—jaunting!
Slashing—smashing!
Smacking—cracking!
Rumbling—tumbling!
Laughing—quaffing!
Smoking—joking!
Swagg'ring—stagg'ring!
So thoughtless, so knowing, so green, and so mellow!
This—this is the life of a frolicsome fellow.
My phaeton I mount, and the plebs they all stare,
I handle my reins, and my elbows I square;
My ponies so plump, and as white as a lily!
Through Pallmall I spank it, and up Piccadilly;
Till, losing a wheel, egad, down I come, smack!
So, at Knightsbridge, I throw myself into a hack,
At Tattersal's, fling a leg over my nag;
Then visit for dinner, then dress in a bag.
With swearing, &c.