Town.

Enter First Waiter.

1 Waiter. Here, you, George!—I say, George!

Enter Second Waiter.

2 Waiter. What the deuce a bawling do you keep!

1 Waiter. What d'ye mean running about the streets, with your hands in your pockets, at such a time, and the house full of company, and——

2 Waiter. Why, didn't mistress desire me to look for Captain Huff, in order to see if he could bully this here Mr. Lackland out of the house; as there's no chance of his ever being able to pay his bill here?

1 Waiter. Bully him out! I don't think the captain and his whole regiment can do that.

Lackland and Mrs. Casey without.

Mrs. Casey. Mr. Lackland, I desire you'll leave my house.

2 Waiter. See, what a woman's tongue can do!—here he comes, and my mistress at his heels.

Lack. Upon my honour, Mrs. Casey, I'm amazed that any gentleman would enter your doors!

Mrs. Casey. Upon my honour, Mr. Lackland, you may take yourself out of my doors!

1 Waiter. She's done it—here comes the poor beau!

Enter Lackland and Mrs. Casey.

Mrs. Casey. Why, I tell you, Sir Harry Bisque's valet has locked up all his master's baggage in it, and you can have that chamber no more.

Lack. I'll ruin your house—no more carriages—I'll bring no more coronets about your doors, to inquire after me, madam—by Heaven, I'll ruin your house!

Mrs. Casey. Ay, my house may be ruined, indeed, if I haven't money to pay my wine merchant. I'll tell you what, my honest lad, I've no notion of folks striving to keep up the gentleman, when they cannot support it; and when people are young and strong, can't see any disgrace in taking up a brown musket, or the end of a sedan chair, or—a knot—[Looking at his Shoulders.] any thing better than bilking me, or spunging upon my customers, and flashing it away in their old clothes.

Lack. See when you'll get such a customer as I was! Haven't I left the mark of a dice box upon every table?—was there a morning I didn't take a sandwich? or a day passed, without my drinking my four bottles?

Mrs Casey. Four bottles! But how many did you pay for?

Lack. Never mind that, that's my affair—By Heaven, madam, I'll ruin your house!—d'ye hear? [Calling.] Carry my baggage over to the Lily.

Mrs. Casey. Ay, take his baggage upon a china plate, for it's a nice affair.

Lack. Hey, my baggage!

[Calling.

Mrs. Casey. Ah, man, what signifies your conceit?—such a bashaw! here you come and call, like a lord, and drink like a lord, and there you are in my books six whole pages, without a scratch, like a lord Ogh, you've run up a thumping bill, and, I warrant, you'll pay it like a lord.

[Courtesies ironically.

Lack. That I shall, ma'am; produce your bill.

[Takes out a Purse, and chinks it.

Mrs. Casey. Oh, miracles will never cease—well, I said all along, that your honour was a prince.

[Courtesies.

Lack. Madam, my bill!

Mrs. Casey. Lord, your honour, what need your honour mind the bill now? sure your honour may pay it any time.

[Courtesies.

Lack. Very true, Mrs. Casey, so I can.

[Puts up the Purse.

Mrs. Casey. But, however, since your honour insists upon paying it now, you shall see it—Here, Bob! [Calling.] Squire Lackland's bill—then Heavens save your handsome face, and your handsome hand, and your handsome leg—pretend to be without money!—Oh dear, how jokish these gentlemen are!—Here, Bob, Squire Lackland's bill—quick, quick!

[Exit Mrs. Casey and Servants.

Lack. I am sure, I'm vastly obliged to Colonel Epaulette, for this recruit of finance, if 'twas only to rescue me from this Irish harpy—Come, I do very well—Oh, lucky, lucky cards!—after paying her bill, I shall have as much as will set me up at the faro bank—Dem it, I mustn't—cannot think of this grocer's daughter—vile city bulls and bears—no, no, Tallyho may have her—Oh, here he comes!

Enter Tallyho, crossing quick, and singing.

Oh, Tallyho!

Tall. Couldn't stop to speak to a duke—not even a clerk of the course.

Lack. I'll bet you fifty guineas, you stop with me though.

Tall. But my little doe Doll waits for me at Colonel Epaulette's—a word—she's going off with me—so I must leave my match in the hands of my jockeys—Soho, puss!

[Going.

Lack. A word.

Tall. What the devil, d'ye think people of business can stand gabbling—lose time with people that's got no money—this is a place of sport, and those that can't——

Lack. What d'ye mean, sir—gabbling!—Can't sport!—Sir, I have spirit, and ability—

[Shows the Purse.

Tall. Spunk and rhino!

Lack. Gabble—can't sport—there—[Gives him the Purse, and takes out a Pack of Cards.] the highest card against that, if you dare—Can't sport!—You shall find me spunk.

Tall. You're spunk—tol de rol lol—At you, my merry harrier.

Lack. [Cutting the Cards.] Trey.

Tall. [Cutting.] His nob.—I have won!

[Mimicking Lackland, and puts up the Purse.

Lack. Damnation! [Tallyho sings, going.] Tallyho, you'll never miss it—return me the purse.

Tall. The purse—to be sure, my dear boy, you shall have it—there's the purse.

[Takes out the Money, and throws him the empty Purse.

Sings.]

[Exit, singing.

Lack. Perdition seize cards, dice—every cursed tool of fortune—that infernal—blind—partial hag! Oh here comes Mrs. Casey, with her sedan chair, and brown musket, upon me—what—what shall I do?

Enter Mrs. Casey, Waiters, Boots, Cook, &c.

Mrs. Casey. Here, your honour—here's your honour's bill—Bob has drawn it out fairly—

Lack. Damn you and Bob!

Mrs. Casey. What d'ye say, honey?

Lack. What, do you think a gentleman has nothing else to do, but to encumber his pockets, and to carry about lumps of cursed, heavy gold, when you and Bob take a fancy to thrust long scrawl papers into his hand?

Mrs. Casey. Why, didn't you desire me to get your bill? and hadn't you your purse out just now to pay me?

Lack. There, you see my purse out just now, but nothing in that.

Mrs. Casey. Well, upon my honour, this is a pretty caper!—all because I'm a lone woman—I see there's no doing without a bit of a man after all.

Lack. Well, I find marriage is the dernier resort after all.

1 Waiter. Your honour will remember the waiters?

Cook. The cook, your honour?

Boots. Your honour won't forget Jack Boots?

Lack. Jack Boots too!—Scoundrels—saucy—impertinent—insolent——

[Drives off Waiter, Cook, &c.

Enter Lepoche.

Lep. Monsieur Lackland, I hear you have hooked up some cash; so, before it's all gone, pay me my money.

Lack. You too!—you little infernal miscreant, I'll pay you!

[Beats him.

Lep. Ah misericorde! Ah pauvre moi!

[Exit.

Lack. In spite of figs, raisins, canvass sleeves, and moist sugar, have at Miss Bull, of Garlick Hill, and her fourscore thousand!

[Exit.

Enter Lepoche, peeping.

Lep. Vat, is he gone? [Softly.]'Tis vell for him he is gone; Monsieur Lackland, you be von damned scoundrel, villain of de rogue—rascal! [Vaunting.] and I voud break your——

Enter Robin, from Mrs. Casey's House.

Robin. I say, master—

Lep. [Starts, much frightened.] Heigho! Oh, if it had been Monsieur Lackland, how I voud—hem!—vat you vant, Monsieur?

[Imperiously.

Robin. What do I want? I want you, if you're the French tailor.

Lep. Oh, I must not affront my customer—[Aside.] Vel, sir, I be de taileur, a votre service.

[Bows.

Robin. Then, my master, Sir John Bull, is ever so impatient for you.

Lep. Oh, Sir John Bull—Ah, to take measure of him, for de new clothes—malpeste! I ave as much business as de grand financier.

Robin. Will you come?

Lep. Aprez vous, monsieur.

Robin. What?

Lep. After you, monsieur.

Robin. Oh!

[Exeunt, Lepoche, ceremoniously.

SCENE II.

Sir John's Apartments in the Hotel.

Enter First Waiter, introducing Colonel Epaulette in an English Dress.

Colonel E. Only tell Sir John and my Lady de Bull, dat Colonel Epaulette is come to vait on dem.

Waiter. Sir!

Colonel E. Dat Colonel Epaulette is come to vait on dem.

Waiter. I shall, sir.

[Exit.

Colonel E. By all I can hear, de must be vile bourgeois, but on account of my lord's recommendation, I must show dem some civility, and Squire Tallyho tells me, dey have a fine daughter too—Ay, my English dress is lucky upon de occasion—dey must be vonderfully pleased vid it. Lepoche, my taileur, has not been in London for noting, and I am much oblige to Mr. Lackland for his advice in my affairs—I hope dey did tell my Ladyde Bull too, dat I vas coming to wait on her.

[Retires.

Enter Sir John Bull, in a Passion, and Robin.

Sir J. B. You've been, sirrah, but where have you been?

Robin. Why, wasn't I sent for the French tailor?

Sir J. B. The French tailor! Oh, to take measure of me—well, where is he?

Robin. I don't know, he came into the house with me.

Sir J. B. Very well; since it must be so, go, and send him here.—[Exit Robin.] Ha! ha! ha! any thing to please mademoiselle my wife, since I must be a jackanapes, and have a French tailor, ha! ha! ha! Oh, 'gad here he is!

Colonel E. Oh, dis must be Sir John—[Aside.] Sir, I am your most obedient servant.

Sir J. B. Servant, friend!

Colonel E. I presume, you are Sir John de Bull.

Sir J. B. Ay.

Colonel E. Sir, I have receive a lettre, from my friend de Duke——

Sir J. B. His friend the Duke—what a grand tailor it is!

[Aside.

Colonel E. I ave great reason to tink I am dear to him, and he recommend you to me in de highest terms.

Sir J. B. Sir, if you are dear to your friends, no doubt but your terms will be high to me.

Colonel E. Sir!

Sir J. B. However, since my wife will have it so—out with your shears.

Colonel E. Sir!

Sir J. B. Let's see your book of patterns.

Colonel. E. Pattern!

Sir J. B. Yes, to chuse my colour.

Colonel E. I carry de colour! vat, you take me for an ensign?—but I excuse, as de custom of your country gives a privilege—

Sir J. B. I can't answer for my country, but you shall have my custom—Now, pray, friend, how many men may you have?

Colonel E. About a tousand.

Sir J. B. [Aside.] A thousand journeymen! must have great business.

Colonel E. About a tousand in my regiment.

Sir J. B. Oh, you work for a regiment?

Colonel E. Vork! I no understand vat he mean—Sir, de ladies——

Sir J. B. You understand the work for the ladies?

Colonel E. Monsieur, in compliance vid the lettre of his grace, I shall show every civilite, and, if you please, vill ave de honour of introduce my Lady de Bull, and mademoiselle, her daughter, to de prince.

Sir. J. B. You! My Lady Bull introduced by a tailor!

Colonel E. Tailor! Aha! Sir, if you vere not an Englishman, your life—your life, sir, should answer for dis affront—but from my respect to your country, I pardon you.

Sir J. B. Affront! What! are you above your business, you proud monkey, you?

Colonel E. You are under some gross error, or you are a person void of manners—if de former, you are a fool by nature; if de latter, a clown by habit—and as both is beneath my resentment, I sall look to my noble friend for an explanation of dis affront offered to Colonel Epaulette.

[Exit.

Sir J. B. Colonel Epaulette! Oh, the devil! what a blunder I have made!—[Calls out.] My lady—my Lady Bull!

Enter Lady Bull.

Lady B. What's the matter—what's the matter now with you, Sir John?

Sir J. B. The mischief to play—here has been Colonel Epaulette, and I unfortunately mistook him for the French tailor that I expected, to take orders for my new clothes.

Lady B. Sir John, why will you ever attempt to speak to persons of distinction?—Take a Colonel of the Gendesarmes for a tailor—how absurd!—[Calls.] Who waits?—Sir John, pray stay and explain this affair.

Sir J. B. Me!—damme, I wouldn't face him again for the pay of his whole regiment.

[Exit.

Lady B. [Passionately.] Who waits, I say?

Enter Robin.

Show that gentleman up stairs.

Robin. Who, madam?

Lady B. The tailor, as your master calls him.

Robin. The tailor—oh, here he comes, madam.

[Exit.

Lady B. Ay, here is the colonel, endeed—no regimentals—yes, I heard of his dressing entirely in the English manner.

Enter Lepoche.

[Courtesies very respectfully.] Sir, I almost blush to see you, and scarce know how to apologize for Sir John's mistake.

Lep. Madam, I vait upon Sir John, to——

Lady B. Really, sir, he's ashamed to appear in your presence, after——but he has contracted such unfashionable habits, that he——

Lep. Madam, I vill equip him vid de fashionable habit, dat he need not shame to appear in de royal presence.

Lady B. Sir, you have had a loss to-day?

Lep. Oui, I lose my lodger.

Lady B. By this day's running?

Lep. Oui, they did run away.

Lady B. Sir, I mean the match.

Lep. Oui, dey make de match.

Lady B. But, sir, I wish better success to your Joan.

Lep. [Aside.] Success to my Joan!

Lady B. But, for all your turf amusements, I dare say, you are a great man in the cabinet—in committees—privy councils, and board of works.

Lep. Board of vorks! [Aside.] Ay, she mean my shopboard.

Lady B. And, I warrant, you are in all the deep French political secrets—you know all the ministers' measures.

Lep. Oui, I take all deir measures.

Lady B. We were informed, sir, in Paris, that you were much with the prince.

Lep. Oui, I am quite free in de family.

Lady B. And, when it suits you to introduce us to his highness—

Lep. Me? non!—de prince? I could introduce you to de head butler indeed—

Lady B. Introduce us to the butler!—Ay, ay, from Sir John's rustic behaviour, the colonel here, thinks us fit for no better company.

Enter Sir John, Lepoche takes out Pattern-Book.

Oh, Sir John, I have been endeavouring to apologize for you, to the colonel here.

Lep. [Looks about.] Colonel!

Sir J. B. Egad, I fancy this is the tailor, indeed.

Lep. I am, at your service, sir.

Lady B. How!

Sir J. B. Ha! ha! ha! My lady, why will you pretend to speak to persons of distinction?—mistake a tailor, for a colonel, and a gendesarmes! ha! ha! ha!

Lady B. A tailor! then you're a very impudent little fellow!

Lep. Vell, miss, your moder voud not call me so.

Sir J. B. Her mother, you villain!

Lady B. Sir John, pray don't abuse the young man.

Sir J. B. Abuse! You little rascal, how dare you have the impudence to be taken for a colonel?—Get away, this instant, or, I'll crop you, with your own shears—Get along, you rascal.

[Pushes out Lepoche.

Enter Robin.

Robin. Madam, there's Miss Dolly gone off,—and Mrs. Casey says, it's upon some marriage scheme, or other.

Lady B. My daughter!

Sir J. B. My Doll!

Robin. And from what I can learn from Squire Tallyho's man, she's to meet his master.

Lady B. There's your honest Yorkshireman, Sir John Bull!

Robin. I think they say, sir, she's gone to Colonel Epaulette's lodge.

Sir J. B. Ay, there's your honourable Frenchman, my Lady Bull!—but, come along—I'll have my daughter!—Rob me of my child!—Oh, for a search warrant!—Oh, for an English jury! Come along.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

An Apartment in the Colonel's Lodge.

Enter Colonel Epaulette and Miss Dolly Bull.

Colonel E. Miss, I do congratulate my felicity in meeting of you.

Miss Dolly B. I'm sure, I'm much obliged to you, indeed, Colonel.

Colonel E. [Aside.] If I could get her, instead of my fille de opera, I should be up vid her fader, for calling me a tailor.

Miss Dolly B. [Aside, looking out.] Lord, I wonder what keeps Squire Tallyho!

Colonel E. Miss, vas you ever in love?

Miss Dolly B. Not above nine times, I thank you, sir.

[Courtesies.

Colonel E. Hey!

Miss Dolly B. Nine! Yes, three times before I got out of my slips—twice at Hackney boarding school—I don't reckon my guitar-master—then Frank Frippery—Mr. Pettitoe—No, sir, only eight, for I never would listen to the handsome staymaker, of Duck Lane.

Colonel E. Miss, vill you be in love de ninth time, and run avay vid me?

Miss Dolly B. Lord, sir, are you going to run away?

Colonel E. Oui, I vill scamper off vid you.

Miss Dolly B. Oh, now I understand you—but why scamper off, sir, when I'm sure mamma would consent?

Colonel E. Oui, consent—but dat is so mechanique!—

Miss Dolly B. True, sir, it does sound of Bow bell; and, as you say, scampering off is such a funny thing, he! he! he!—[Aside.] Ecod, I've a great mind, if I should, how Squire Tallyho would be surprised!

Colonel E. Allons, ma chere.

[Going.

Miss Dolly B. Stop, will you excuse me afterwards to Squire Tallyho?

Colonel E. For vat?

Miss Dolly B. Because I promised to run away with him.

Colonel E. Indeed!

Miss Dolly B. Yes, but don't tell mamma—Sure, 'twas for that I came here to meet him.

Colonel E. Yes, but here I come first.

Miss Dolly B. True, sir, and first come, first served, as pa used to say, in the shop at home—he! he! he!

Colonel E. Come, then, my dearest angel!—Aha—Stay, mademoiselle, I vill order my gentilhomme to pack up some poudre, and pomade, and my dancing pump, as von cannot tell vat may happen—den, hey for love and pleasure!

[Exit.

Miss Dolly B. [Calling after him.] Colonel, make haste!

Tall. [Without.] Halloo, Doll! hip, my dainty Dolly!

Miss Dolly B. Squire Tallyho!—Oh, dear, what shall I do?

Enter Tallyho.

Tall. Well, Doll, are you ready, my sweet Gosling?—I've got a fine rosy, drunken friar here—but, when I get you over into Yorkshire, we'll be married over again—you remember my chaplain, honest Parson Thump?

Miss Dolly B. Lord, Squire, don't tell me of Parson Thump—what kept you so long?—here have I been crying my eyes out for you.

Tall. Crying—fudge—show—why, your eyes do look as if—-Ah, come now, you've an onion in your handkerchief?

Miss Dolly B. No, indeed, as I hope for—he! he! he!

Tall. Now, now, there—now, what's that for?

Miss Dolly B. I was laughing, to think of our marriage.

Tall. I begin to think, marriage is no laughing matter, Doll—now, I tell you truly, I like you as well as any thing I ever saw—Good points—fancy, thirteen hands high, and, by my lady's account, rising nineteen years last grass—but I tell you some things you must learn, to be my wife.—My mother, you must know, was a fine lady, all upon the hoity-toities, and so, good for nothing—Says father to me, one evening, as the last whiff of his fourth pipe sighed to the tears of the third tankard—Gaby, my dear boy, never marry a woman that can't breakfast on beef—carve a goose—won't withdraw from table, before "King and constitution," and sing a jolly song at first bidding—and then, says he, [Snores.] take care o'the girls, Gaby—and dropping asleep—yes, father, says I, I'll take care o'the girls—and with that, I slipped a brace of yellow boys out of his purse, and, next day, bought Peggy Trundle, the housemaid, a pair of Bath garters, silver shoe-buckles, and a marquisate pin, for her stomacher, he! he! he!

Miss Dolly B. I shouldn't ha' thought of your entertaining me with your old father's pipe, and Peggy Trundle's stomachers—if you're come here to run away with me, why, do the thing at once, and let's have no more talk about it.

Tall. True, Doll, such a fortune as yours, don't offer every day—I've a chaise at the door, and a sulky for Father Dominic, and, as your dad may be for pursuing us, I won't depend upon those rascally French postboys—it's all crack, smack, jabber, grin, and bustle—great noise, and little work, with them—No, no, I'll put on a jacket and great boots—a good disguise too—I'll drive you myself, gee up, my queen—you'll see how we'll tatter the road—do it there, whipcord—shave the signpost—Ah, softly up hill, good Bully—bit of hay to cool their mouths—pint o' twopenny, and a new lash—then, spank the Unicorn slapdash—Gee up—once we're coupled, let Sir John come whistle for you—Gee up—Ah, Button—do it there—softly, my honies—gee-ah! ha!

[Imitating.

[Exit.

Miss Dolly B. Upon my word, this is clever—so, a gentleman can't go to be married, without his great boots! and t'other youth couldn't go without his dancing pumps—Ecod, if one of my old sweethearts was to step in now, I am so vexed, I should be strongly tempted to give them both the double.

Lackland. [Without.] Oh, the lady's this way.

Miss Dolly B. Who have we now? I protest, the sprightly, elegant gentleman, that sent papa for his snuff box—he's a vastly pretty fellow!

Enter Lackland.

Lack. At last I have found her—I hate courtship—no occasion here, I fancy—so sans ceremonie—here goes—[Aside.] Ma'am, your most obedient—

Miss Dolly B. How d'ye do, sir?

[A short Courtesy.

Lack. Well, my dear, 'tis at last settled—

Miss Dolly B. Sir!

Lack. Yes, though with some difficulty; I am now determined to marry you.

Miss Dolly B. Marry me!

Lack. A fact—but don't let your joy carry you away.

Miss Dolly B. You'll carry me away!

Lack. I said I would, and I never break my word.

Miss Dolly B. Said! to who, pray?

Lack. To myself—and you know, if a gentleman breaks his word to himself, what dependence can the world have on him—You're a fine creature—but I would not tell a lie for all the women in France.

Miss Dolly B. [Aside.] What a high notion of honour!—a much handsomer man too, than either Tallyho, or the colonel—Ecod, he's a charming, flashy beau!—I have a great mind——

Lack. [Aside.] Just as I thought—of fifty lovers with this young lady, I see, the last is the most welcome.

Miss Dolly B. I vow, I've a mind—but pa says you've no money.

Lack. Me! no money! pleasant enough that, 'faith, ha! ha! ha!—why, he might as well say I borrowed a guinea from him.

Miss Dolly B. Ecod, now I remember, he did say it too.

Lack. Oh, well, he was right—Why, what an old lying—but—he's your father, therefore let it be so, ha! ha! well, I have no money—[With pretended Irony.] I am the poorest dog in nature, ha! ha! ha! Well, that is very good, 'faith—such a joke——

Miss Dolly B. Joke? lord, I knew it was—I thought you must have been very rich, by your fine clothes.

Lack. Clothes—oh, I've only borrowed them from somebody, or other, you know—where could I get money to buy such clothes as these, ha! ha! ha!—well, this is excellent, ha! ha! ha!

Miss Dolly B. Ha! ha! ha! I knew you must have a great estate.

Lack. Me!—Oh, I haven't an acre, nor, may be, a mansion in Herefordshire—nor, perhaps, I haven't a house in Portman Square.

Miss Dolly B. Portman Square!

Lack. Without a guinea in the funds—perhaps, at this moment, I haven't half a crown in the world, I'm such a miserable dog, ha! ha! ha!

Miss Dolly B. Ha! ha! ha! Estate in Herefordshire!—Oh, Lud! then we can make, at least—ay, twenty hogsheads of cyder.

Lack. Make cyder—hem! Oh, you elegant——[Aside.] Garlick Hill!

Miss Dolly B. I've a monstrous mind—Now answer me one question, that's all—If I should consent to run off with you, would you leave me standing here, for great travelling boots, or your dancing pumps?

Lack. Me! Not for the Pigot diamond!

Miss Dolly B. No?—come along.

Lack. Where?

Miss Dolly B. Lord, don't you know?

Lack. If we had but a chaise, and a priest—

Miss Dolly B. One's in the house, and t'other's at the door below.

Lack. Indeed! My dear, you're young, and frank—I throw myself, and all my fortune, at your feet, in spite of figs, raisins, canvass sleeves, and moist sugar—Oh, you amazing fine creature!

Miss Dolly B. Oh, you astonishing charming man!

[Exeunt.

Enter Colonel Epaulette, speaks as entering.

Colonel E. All is ready—Allons, ma chere mademoiselle.

Enter Tallyho, in French Boots, &c. speaks as entering.

Tall. Well, Doll, here I am, booted and pistoled—[Looks about.] How!

Colonel E. Aha! de lady is gone.

Tall. Ay, where is she gone?

Colonel E. Oui, vere have you put her?

Tall. [Resolutely.] Yes, tell me what you have done with her.

Colonel E. Moi?—I did leave her here.

Tall. You mean, you found her here, master poacher.

Enter Sir John Bull.

Tall. So, there, you wouldn't give your daughter to an honest Englishman, and now, she's whipped up by a poaching Frenchman!—I give you joy of your son-in-law, my old nag, ha! ha! ha!

Sir J. B. [To Colonel E.] Where is Doll?

Colonel E. Ask dat gentleman dat did stole her.

Sir J. B. Hearkye, you Yorkshire bite, you sha'n't rob me of my child.

Tall. What, the devil, are you mad, old Holofernes! It's that there greyhound has whipped up little puss.

Sir J. B. I believe it.

Colonel E. Diable m'emporte—Zounds—Splutter and oons—it is no such ting.

Tall. It is.

Colonel E. It is not—You are as wrong in dis, as when you took me for a taileur.

Sir J. B. Where have you hid my child? restore her, or, I'll Cressy and Agincourt you—I'll be a Black Prince to you. Why, Dolly Bull!

[Calling.—Exit.

Colonel E. Nay, but, Sir John——

Tall. I am so vexed and perplexed—Oh, if I had you at Dover, I'd fight you—ay, with a pair of queen Anne's pocket pistols.

Colonel E. Monsieur, any thing to oblige you—I vil fight, or let it alone—all von to me—ma foi! Who's there? [Calls.] Hey! Le Fleche, Justine!—

[Exit.

Tall. Oho! since I find I am jockeyed in this match, I must look sharp to my other matches—See what Captain Henry has been about—This French pony is now in his own stall, and let him stay there—A silly tit! to prefer monsieur, to such a tight lad as I!—but if I get once back to dear London, with a fob full of French gold, see, if I let the finest lady in the land fetter my gamarets.

SCENE IV.

Lepoche's House.

Enter Lepoche, strutting.

Lep. Aha! 'tis certain dat I ave someting in my air dat is grande—I wrong my bon addresse and figure, to stick to dis taileur trade; Oui, dat is de reason of Madame Rosa's scorn. If de Lady de Bull did take me for a colonel, dressed as I vas, vat must I be a-la-mode de noblesse?—Aha! I have a tought; I vill surprise Madam Rosa into de love for my person! [Sings.] Oui, le Marquis de Papillon clothes fit me exactement—how lucky I did not take dem home yesterday!—Aha! Oh, here come de Madame Rosa!

[Retires.

Enter Rosa.

Rosa. Ah, could I again behold my dearest lord—every separation, from those we love, seems a chasm in existence—No danger, I think, from my brother Henry; he's now too busy with his own love, to give any interruption to mine: and, yet, I think, had his passion for this young lady but commenced previous to that of Lord Winlove's for me, Henry would not now lament the life, which, he imagines, he has taken.

Enter Lopoche in a tawdry Dress—Kneels before her.

Rosa. [Not recollecting him.] Pray, sir, if I may—

Lep. Heigho! Behold de gentilhomme dat love a you—throw your arms round my neck like solitaire, and give me kiss, my charming fair.

Rosa. Trifling—Impertinent!

Lep. Impertinent—Aha! [Rises in a Passion.] Do you know who you talk to, mademoiselle?—Impertinent!—You are great lady, indeed, but I vas just now, (little as you may tink of me) taken for a colonel, by my Lady de Bull, though, perhaps, not so great as you, but, by gar, she vas tree times as big—Impertinent!—See, I vill be revenge—may I never set a stitch, but I vill have satisfaction—I am enragÉ!

Enter Nannette.

You, Nannette, stand out of my valk, or I may put my feet upon you.

Nan. Oh, lud, what's the matter?

Rosa. Nannette, step with me into my chamber.

[Exit.

Lep. Dere you may stay in your chamber—Aha! since you scorn me, Madame Runavay, I vill deliver you up to de Lady Abbess.

Nan. But Miss Rosa wants me.

Lep. I vant you, and I am your maÎtre—[Towards the Door.] you vant a gentilhomme, do you?—but, dere, madam, you may play vid your pincushion—vantrebleu! Aha; I am so fine and clever, I must ave somebody—Nannette, you come and kiss me.

Nan. Pooh! Nonsense!

Lep. Comment!

Nan. Lud, sir, what signifies your strutting about there like a jackdaw, and there's the foreman waiting to take home that suit of clothes on you.

[Exit.

Lep. So—I vas just now impertinent, and now I am jackdaw—fort bien!—de devil's in all de vomen about me to-day—[Knocking without.] Malpeste!—[Looking.] here is dat Lord Winlove returned again—By gar, he vill cut my throat—best hide a littel.

[Exit.

Enter Lord Winlove.

Lord W. No, I cannot drive her from my heart—let me not condemn her too hastily—I'll first know to a certainty who accompanied her from this house yesterday morning—My death, from that rencontre with Henry, is everywhere believed, and even a reward offered for apprehending him—Well, one comfort, I'm a living witness of his innocence—But now for his lovely sister—Ah, see where she sits! dissolved in grief and tears.

[Runs out to her.

Enter Henry.

Henry. Here you, Lepoche! Where is this fellow?—what has he done with Rosa? 'Pray Heaven she ha'n't given him the slip! Now, with Tallyho's consent, and the amiable Celia's acceptance of my passion, I've no alloy to my golden delights, but the mournful memory of Lord Winlove, thus revived, in my unhappy sister's recent elopement.—Was she still in possession of her unsullied name, I, of my Celia's love, and the esteem of such a friend as Lord Winlove could have been—Fortune might do her worst.

AIR.—HENRY.

Let Fame sound her trumpet, and cry, "To the war!"
Let glory re-echo the strain;
The full tide of honour may flow from the scar,
And heroes may smile on their pain.
The treasures of autumn let Bacchus display,
And stagger about with his bowl,
On science, let Sol beam the lustre of day,
And wisdom give light to the soul.
Let India unfold her rich gems to the view,
Each virtue, each joy to improve;
Oh, give me the friend, that I know to be true,
And the fair, that I tenderly love!
What's glory, but pride? A vain bubble, is fame,
And riot, the pleasure of wine.
What's riches, but trouble? and title's a name;
But friendship and love, are divine.