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Title: Fontainbleau
Author: O'Keeffe, John
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Fontainbleau" ***

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  [Illustration: FONTAINBLEAU

  ACT III                                     SCENE I.















The title of this play gives a sensation of both pain and
pleasure.--Fontainbleau was a favourite residence of a number of the
French kings, and the spot where the princes of the blood resorted, with
all the nobility of the land, when the sports of the field, or the
course, were the particular objects of their pastime. Pastime is a word
no longer used in the vocabulary of the court of France--Every moment
has now its impending cares, and teems with the fate of empires!

At the time this opera was written, (in 1784) the late Duke of Orleans
frequently visited England, and was remarkable for his passionate
attachment to British modes and manners. The character of Colonel
Epaulette, in this drama, was supposed to be founded on this, his
highness's extravagant partiality. There is that trait, indeed, of the
duke's propensity, in Epaulette; but in all other respects, the colonel
neither soars, nor grovels, with his royal archetype, in any one action
of notoriety.

The author would not take the liberty to characterise a foreigner,
without dealing, at the same time, equally free with one of his own
countrymen. The part of Lackland was taken more exactly from life, than
that of Epaulette, from a gentleman well known abroad by every English
traveller; and whose real name is so very like the fictitious one here
adopted, that a single letter removed, would make the spelling just the

The reader will observe in this Lackland, so much of debased nature, and
of whimsical art; so much of what he has probably met with upon
journeys, or amongst common intruders at home, that he will regret, that
the author, in his delineation, swerves now and then from that standard
of truth, to which he, possibly, at first meant to adhere; and for the
sake of dramatic effect, has made this hero, in effrontery, proceed
somewhat too far beyond its usual limits.

The family of the Bulls, especially Miss Bull and her father, are
likewise portraits rather too bold; but they are humorous pictures, and,
no doubt, perfect copies of such citizens, as inhabited London a few
centuries past.

Squire Tallyho gives, like them, some idea of former times; for his
manners do not exactly correspond with those of the modern gentlemen of
the turf.

Lapoche is, perhaps, an exact Frenchman of the time in which he was
drawn; and, as such, the most agreeable object for an Englishman's
ridicule. The mistakes which occur, to both Mr. and Mrs. Bull, in
respect to this insignificant, and that pompous man, Epaulette, are
incidents of very rich humour, though they place the opera more in that
class of the drama, which is called farce, than in that of comedy. Such
is the incident, but more excellent in its kind, of Lackland's courtship
of Miss Dolly, and her equal affection for her three suitors.

The real lovers, in this piece, would all be extremely insipid, but that
they all sing; and music is called, "the voice of love."

When music had fewer charms for the British nation, operas were required
to possess more of interesting fable than at present is necessary--for
now, so rapturous is the enjoyment derived from this enchanting art,
even by the vulgar, that plot, events, and characters of genuine worth,
would be cast away in a production, where music had a share in bestowing


  LORD WINLOVE            _Mr. Incledon._
  SIR JOHN BULL           _Mr. Waddy._
  COLONEL EPAULETTE       _Mr. Farley._
  SQUIRE TALLYHO          _Mr. Munden._
  LACKLAND                _Mr. Lewis._
  HENRY                   _Mr. Bellamy._
  LAPOCHE                 _Mr. Melvin._

  LADY BULL               _Mrs. Davenport._
  ROSA                    _Miss Bolton._
  MISS DOLLY BULL         _Miss Waddy._
  CELIA                   _Miss Davies._
  MRS. CASEY              _Mrs. Dibdin._
  NANNETTE                _Mrs. Liston._




    _A Town.--Sign on one Side, the Lily of France, on the other, the
    British Lion._

    _Bells ring.--Enter MRS. CASEY and First WAITER._

_Mrs. Casey._ Come, Bob, what are you about, boy? The company tumble in
upon us like smoke; quick, all the cooks at work, do you hear me now?

                                                          [_Bell rings._

_1 Waiter._ Yes, ma'am. Coming, coming.


_Lackland._ [_Within._] You scoundrel, I'll teach you to talk to a

_2 Waiter._ [_Within._] Oh, very well, very well, sir.

_Mrs. Casey._ Hey day!

    _Enter Second WAITER, stumbling in._

What's the matter now?

_2 Waiter._ Only Mr. Lackland, ma'am; you know you ordered me to keep
the Globe for the large company; there, he takes possession of it; and
though I told him it was bespoke, he would dine no where else:--orders a
bottle of champagne, and because I didn't fly with it, kicked me down
stairs, though I cried coming up, sir.

_Mrs. Casey._ Champagne, and not a Louis in his pocket!--d'ye hear, tell
Mr. Lackland, it's my desire he'll quit my house.

_2 Waiter._ Your desire! Ecod, ma'am, he said he'd make you bounce.

_Mrs. Casey._ Make me bounce! A shabby, spunging----though without a
second coat, the fellow's as proud as a Galway merchant.--Make me bounce
in my own house!--pretty well, that, upon my honour!

_Lack._ [_Within._] What! house!

_Mrs. Casey._ Run, don't you hear?

_Lack._ [_Within._] Where is that infernal----

_2 Waiter._ Infernal! that's you, ma'am, he's calling.

_Mrs. Casey._ Hush! here he is. [_Exit Second WAITER._] Because I'm a
lone woman, he thinks to impose upon the house.

    _Enter LACKLAND._

_Lack._ Landlady, your attendance is shameful!

_Mrs. Casey._ Why, the truth is, sir, my waiters have enough to do if
they properly attend on folks who have money to pay for what they call

                                             [_Takes out her Snuff Box._

_Lack._ [_Takes a Pinch._] And even your snuff, is execrable!

_Mrs. Casey._ Lookye, Mr. Lackland, that you're a gentleman every body
knows; and you've a good estate, only it's all gone; and you're allowed
to be a six bottle man, and a choice companion. Ah! the beginning of a
good song at the latter end of a bottle is a capital thing for a
house--Now, here, during the race time, I'll give you your board at the
table d'hôte, and money in your pocket to pay the reckoning, if you'll
only be a good jolly fellow, and encourage the company to drink, by a
funny song, or a comical story.

_Lack._ What! live by entertaining a company?

_Mrs. Casey._ Yes; that's what I call earning your bread like a

_Lack._ Make me your decoy-duck? Mrs. Casey, you're a widow, you'll
oblige me if you'll marry somebody immediately.

_Mrs. Casey._ And why so, pray?

_Lack._ Madam, that I might have the superlative honour of twisting your
husband by the nose.

                                                        [_Bows gravely._

_Mrs. Casey._ Well, upon my honour, you're a very mannerly fellow! but I
wish I had a husband, for your sake--Oh, I wish I had a husband!

    _Enter GAGGER._

_Gag._ Madam, there's a Paris chaise stopped, and the master of the Lily
of France has got hold of them already.

_Mrs. Casey._ Then he shall soon quit his hold, that he shall, as sure
as my name is Casey.--Bob, do you go and try to bring them this way, and
I'll go see the rooms prepared myself. [_Goes to the Door._] Ah, my
dearee, I wish I had a husband!

                                        [_Exeunt MRS. CASEY and GAGGER._

_Lack._ [_Looking._] An English officer.



_Henry._ There--[_Throws Money into the BOY'S Hat, who is
discontented._] never satisfied!

_Postb._ Monsieur, c'est toût poste royale, de Paris jusqu'a

_Henry._ Oh, double postage for the horses! Ay, ay, if we approach a
mansion of the grand monarque, we must pay for it.--Seven posts.

                                                    [_Gives more Money._

                                                        [_Exit POSTBOY._

_Lack._ [_Comes forward._] By Heaven, my old college chum, Harry

_Henry._ Pray, friend, can you direct me to the best--[_Stops, and looks
attentively on LACKLAND._] Is it possible? but I heard something of
this--Can you be Charles Lackland?

_Lack._ How d'ye do, Harry?

_Henry._ My poor fellow! [_With Concern._] But how has all this come

_Lack._ Eh?

_Henry._ I feel for you, sincerely!

_Lack._ What d'ye mean? Oh, my--[_Looking at his Clothes._] Pshaw! never
mind a man's outside; I've a heart within, equally warm to an old
friend, in snow, or sunshine.

_Henry._ That I have passed so many happy, happy days with!

_Lack._ Have--ay, and will again.

_Henry._ All gone?--Play, I suppose?

_Lack._ Ay, my dear fellow! play, and pleasure, and--but what the devil,
musty melancholy! Come to sport here at the races, eh? flush?

_Henry._ Why, 'faith, Lackland, as to cash, my affairs, at present, are
little better than your own.

_Lack._ Ahem! Egad, that's rather unlucky for us both.

_Henry._ But my mind, my dear Charles! I am this moment the most
unhappy--in a word, you see me here an exile, fled from the hands of
justice!--You remember my sister Rosa?

_Lack._ What, little romping Rose, that used to steal our fish, and
throw our cards in the fire? Eh, did I dream, or wasn't there a match
talked of, between her and Lord Winlove?

_Henry._ All over, my dear Lackland! guided only by the weakness of her
sex, and the art of ours, she was prevailed on by Lord Winlove to take
the road to the Continent; I overtook them at Rochester, demanded
reparation of my sister's character by an instant marriage--I was
violent--my lord's pride, hurt at a charge, which, perhaps, he did not
deserve--a pistol was the umpire--he lost his life, and, in apprehension
that a verdict might endanger mine, I was compelled to assume the
disguise of a woman, to effect my escape.

_Lack._ Bravo! shot a lord! I wing'd a marquis yesterday--poor Rosa!
where is she now?

_Henry._ I have lodged her in the convent of Villeneuve.

_Lack._ And have taken the races of Fontainbleau in your way back to

_Henry._ I'll tell you frankly, though you'll say, rather inconsistent
with my present situation; I'm drawn hither purely by the hopes of
meeting an amiable young lady, who engaged my conversation at the Sunday
opera, in Paris.

_Lack._ Her name?--Good family, eh?

_Henry._ I'm a total stranger to both--talks of her brother's having
horses to run, and of their intention of being there at the races.

_Lepoche._ [_Without._] Je n'y manquerai pas.

_Lack._ [_Aside._] This cursed tailor! now I shall be dunned and

    _Enter LAPOCHE._

_Lap._ Monsieur Lackland, I ville no longer vait for my----

_Lack._ [_Apart to him._] Hush! I'll make your fortune--A customer,
rolling in money. Captain, if you're unprovided with neat lodgings, and
a good tailor, here's your man, and there's his house.

_Lap._ Oh, de new customer! bon--speak de goot vort for me.

_Lack._ He has good apartments.

_Lap._ Oh, very goot--Speake more.

_Lack._ I will. [_To LAPOCHE._] This ill-looking little rascal--

                                                            [_To HENRY._

_Lap._ Much obligé to you.

_Lack._ [_Apart to HENRY._] If you are slack in cash, [_Loud._] you'll
find his lodgings convenient.

_Lap._ Very convenient, because----

_Lack._ [_Apart._] Because when he asks for his money, you may kick him
down stairs.

_Lap._ Much obligé to you, sir.

                                                    [_Bows to LACKLAND._

_Lack._ [_Apart._] My way of doing things. [_Loud._] Wasn't I a good
customer, Lapoche?

_Lap._ Oui, it does a tradesman's heart goot to see
you--[_Aside._]--outside of his door.

_Lack._ I paid you eight livres a week, wasn't it?

_Lap._ Oui, monsieur, you did--[_Aside._]--promise me dat.

_Lack._ [_Looking._] Ladies! Must attend where beauty calls--[_Pulls
down his Ruffles._] My dear Henry, at your time, I am yours; from a beef
steak to a bottle of burgundy--can't stay now--you know I was always a
Philander among the ladies.


_Lap._ Always great gander among the ladies.

_Henry._ Poor Lackland!

_Lap._ Lately from Londres, monsieur? I was vonce great man in Londres;
but now I am anoder man.

_Henry._ Another man! what, then, my motley friend, I suppose you have a
character for every country?

_Lap._ Oui, I have appear in many character, but Londres vas my grand
theatre--Ah! England is de great field of battle for us soldiers of
fortune; and ven I could no longer fight my vay----

_Henry._ Why, then you----

_Lap._ Oui, I ran avay. Ah, monsieur! in England, I vas high, and I vas
low--I vas dit, and I vas dat:--I vas cook, parfumeur, maitre de langue,
juggle, and toos drawer--in short I vas every ting.

_Henry._ And pray, my good friend, what are you now?

_Lap._ I am now myself, in my true charactere--A tailor, à votre

_Henry._ A tailor! what, and come here to the races of Fontainbleau, to
sport your Louis d'ors upon the jockeys of France?

_Lap._ Non, monsieur, but I am come here to sport de pretty jacket upon
de jockeys of France. Ah! I vill show so fine de green jockey, de blue
jockey, and de red jockey!--dey may talk of vip and spur, but de beauty
of de race come from my shear and timble.

_Henry._ Pray, which is your best hotel here?

_Lap._ Hotel! Ah, monsieur, vy no lodge in my house? So convenient for
de single gentilhomme!--[_Aside._] I will not tell him of de lady, my
lodger, because I love her myself.

_Henry._ Well, I don't know but private lodgings, at this time, may be
preferable to the noise and bustle of an hotel.

_Lap._ Eh bien, monsieur, vill you look at my lodgment?

_Henry._ With all my heart.

_Lap._ Je vous attend.--[_Calls._] Nannette!--And if you like them, you
may send your baggage and little ting after you.--Nannette! prepare for
de new lodger.


    _Enter GAGGER, and MRS. CASEY, from Tavern._

_Gag._ This way, Sir John--this way, your honour! Madam, it's Sir John
Bull, and Lady Bull, and Miss Bull, and all the family.

_Sir John._ [_Without._] I wish, my Lady Bull, you'd let Robin have
rolled us up to the door.

_Mrs. Casey._ Ha! upon my honour, it is Sir John Bull and his lady--this
is the truth of an English family.

    PORTERS, with small Bandboxes, &c._

_Mrs. Casey._ Sir John, you are welcome from Paris.

_Sir J. B._ Welcome from Paris! [_Mimicking._]---Where the devil are you
taking us? Such a way, to walk over your damned pavement!

_Lady B._ Oh fie, Sir John! Do you consider where you are? When English
gentlemen come to France, they should leave their dammes at Dover.

_Sir J. B._ I wish I had left you, or myself there, damme!--what are
these fellows doing with the things?

_Lady B._ Don't you see, the gentlemen are porters, Sir John?

_Sir J. B._ Porters! pickpockets--paid by the ounce: One Thames Street
porter, would take the whole seven and their bundles on his knot; here's
a proof--

    _Enter ROBIN, with a very large Trunk._

My trunk, Robin?

_Rob._ Yes, your honour; four of the monsieurs trying to carry it,
dropped it in the dirt, yonder.

                                                        [_Puts it down._

_Lady B._ Robin, you must immediately find Colonel Epaulette's lodge,
and let him know we are arrived.

_Sir J. B._ Yes, when you've taken care of the trunks:--and, d'ye hear,
Robin, you'll find Squire Tally-ho there, tell him that I'm come, and
that Dolly's longing to see him. [_Exit ROBIN._] But where is she?

_Lady B._ Ay, where's Dolly Bull?

    _Enter MISS DOLLY BULL._

_Miss Dolly B._ Here I am, mamma. [_To MRS. CASEY._] Ma'am, pray which
is the inn?

_Lady B._ Inn! Hotel, miss, if you please.

_Miss Dolly B._ Miss! Mademoiselle, if you please, ma'am.

_Sir John B._ Aha! well said Dolly--there was French upon French.

_Lady B._ Dear sir, which is the hotel?

                                                 [_To FRENCH INNKEEPER._

_Sir J. B._ How cursed polite, to a waiter too! only because he's


_French Innk._ Dis vay, mademoiselle--I keep de Lily of France.


_Sir J. B._ Let's in, I'm plaguy hungry.

_French Innk._ Ah, monsieur, de nice Vermecelle-soup, de bon ragout, and
de grande salade.

_Sir J. B._ Ragouts! Pshaw!

_Mrs. Casey._ D'ye hear, George, carry that big piece of roast beef up
to the Lion.

_Sir J. B._ [_Goes to her._] Ay, and carry me up to the Lion, I like to
dine in good company:--Who are you madam?

_Mrs. Casey._ I'm Mrs. Casey, at your service, sir; and I keep this
house, the Lion of England.

_Sir J. B._ And are you English?

_Mrs. Casey._ Yes, that I am, born in Dublin; an honest Irish woman,
upon my honour.


  _The British Lion is my sign,
      A roaring trade I drive on,
  Right English usage, neat French wine,
      A landlady must thrive on.
  At table d'hôte, to eat and drink,
      Let French and English mingle,
  And while to me they bring the chink,
      'Faith, let the glasses jingle._

              _Your rhino rattle,
              Come men and cattle.
                  Come all to Mrs. Casey.
              Of trouble and money,
              My jewel, my honey!
                  I warrant, I'll make you easy._

  _Let love fly here on silken wings,
      His tricks I shall connive at;
  The lover, who would say soft things,
      Shall have a room in private:
  On pleasures I am pleas'd to wink,
      So lips and kisses mingle,
  For, while to me, they bring the chink,
      'Faith, let the glasses jingle,
                          Your rhino rattle, &c._

_Sir J. B._ Bravo, Mrs. Casey!--introduce me to your roast beef.

                                [_Exeunt LADY BULL, DOLLY, and PORTERS._

    _Enter LACKLAND._

_Lack._ Sir John Bull, I think they call him, from the city--[_Aside._]
Monsieur, Je vous veux parler--

_Sir J. B._ Don't vow parley me, I am English.

_Lack._ You are?--Your pardon, I see it in your honest face.

_Sir J. B._ Well, what have you to say to my honest face?

_Lack._ Say? me!--Damme, if I have any thing to say--but, only--how d'ye

_Sir J. B._ Why, pretty well; how are you?--A damned impudent fellow!


_Lack._ And how have you left all friends in a--a--a--Throgmorton

_Sir J. B._ Throgmorton Street!

_Lack._ That is--I mean--You're come to Fontainbleau, and just
arrived:--my heart warmed at the sight of my countryman, for I'm English
too,--a little unfortunate, but----

_Sir J. B._ You're poor, eh?

_Lack._ Why, sir,--I have had money--

_Sir J. B._ And what did you do with it?

_Lack._ Sir, I laid it out in experience.

_Sir J. B._ Oh! then, I suppose, now, you're a very cunning fellow.

_Lack._ I know the world, sir--I have had rent rolls, lands, tenements,
hereditaments, mansions, arables, pastures, streams, stewards, beasts,
tenants, quarter-days, and such other incumbrances.

_Sir J. B._ What, and you've got rid of them all?

_Lack._ Oh, yes.

_Sir J. B._ You're a devilish clever fellow:--but couldn't you have got
your teeth drawn at the same time?--I suppose, now, you've little use
for them.

_Lack._ Ha! ha! ha! very clever--smart and clever!--Oh, you vile dog!
[_Aside._] As you're English, I feel an attachment;--harkye--a damned
sharping place, this--you may profit by my advice; avoid strangers,
particularly our own countrymen;--all upon the sharp--they'll introduce
themselves, intrude their conversation, amuse you with some flam of
their families, and spending fortunes, and losses; and the story
generally ends in borrowing money from you, that is, if you are fool
enough to lend it.--Now, my dear sir, 'tis my pleasure to warn a
gentleman, like you, of the tricks and deceptions, of these sort of

_Sir J. B._ I'm very much obliged to you--give me your hand--will you
eat a bit of mutton with us?

_Lack._ Sir, I should be proud of the honour, but something
awkward--this dishabille!--and as I understand you have ladies, you
know, they expect a man--the fellow here over the way, detains a
handsome suit of mine, only for--sir, if you could oblige me with a
guinea, I should repay you with many thanks.

_Sir J. B._ What, when the arables come back!--A guinea--well, I don't
mind as far as--distress in a strange country, is--what's your name?

_Lack._ Lackland, at your service.

_Sir J. B._ A guinea, you say--there, Mr. Lackland----

                                                      [_Gives a Guinea._

_Lack._ Sir, I am eternally obliged to you.--I fancy I may pass in these
clothes, eh?

_Sir J. B._ Yes, yes, you may pass--[_Aside._]--for a shoplifter.

_Lack._ Waiter! [_Calling._]--If you'll give me leave, I'll treat you
with a flask of most excellent champagne.

                                                      [_Goes to Tavern._

_Sir J. B._ Treat with champagne! my own money too!--champagne! and I
doubt if the fellow has got a shirt to his ruffles.

_Lack._ Upon my soul, you're a very fine old gentleman!--mind my
advice--I warn you against our countrymen--they'll only borrow your
money, and laugh at you after!--Ha! ha! ha!

_Sir J. B._ Ha! ha! ha! So they'll laugh at me after! Ha! ha! ha!

_Lack._ Now you know their tricks; mind you keep your hand on your cash.

_Sir J. B._ Yes, yes; the moment they talk of Throgmorton Street, you
may be sure I will, ha! ha! ha!

_Lack._ Ha! ha! ha! very well--Ha! ha! ha!--Bless your jolly face, how a
laugh becomes it! Ha! ha! ha!

_Sir J. B._ My jolly face!--good--Ha! ha! ha!

_Lack._ Ha! ha! ha! I'm thinking how surprised you'll be, when I pay you
this guinea to-morrow!

_Sir J. B._ I shall be surprised, indeed!

_Lack._ Ay, I have bought my experience by wholesale.

_Sir J. B._ Yes, and you now retail it out at a guinea a dose.

_Lack._ My dear sir, I shall always acknowledge myself your debtor.

_Sir J. B._ I dare say you will.

    _Enter second WAITER._

_Lack._ Show a room, scoundrel! and change for a guinea.

                                                    [_Exeunt, laughing._


    _A Chamber at LAPOCHE'S House.--Folding Doors a little open._

    _Enter ROSA, reading._


  _Canst thou forget, what tears that moment fell,
  When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell!
  As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil,
  The shrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale._

Poor Eloisa in her cloister, spoke my sentiments!--I begin to repent my
elopement.--By this time the abbess has heard of my departure from the
convent.--Heigho! I wonder if Lord Winlove has got my letter--I wish he
was come!


  _Oh, ling'ring time! why with us stay,
      When absent love we mourn?
  And why so nimbly glide away,
      At our true love's return?_

  _Ah, gentle time! the youth attend,
      Whose absence here I mourn;
  The cheerful hours, in pity, send,
      That bring my love's return!_

  _I feel my heart with rapture beat,
      No longer shall I mourn;
  My lover soon, with smiles I'll meet,
      And hail his dear return._

    _Enter NANNETTE._

_Nan._ Madam, here's a gentleman wants----

_Rosa._ My Lord Winlove himself!--Why didn't I wish sooner?

                                                       [_Exit NANNETTE._

    _Enter LORD WINLOVE._

_Lord W._ My charming Rosa!

_Rosa._ Oh, my lord!

_Lord W._ My dear creature! how could you think of Fontainbleau, of all
places--and at such a time too! so full of English, and fifty people
that may know both you and me! Safer, as I advised you, waiting for me
at Villeneuve, and, by a cross route, got to Paris.

_Rosa._ Nay, don't be angry with me! if I had remained at all in the
village, the abbess might have discovered my retreat; for, though in my
noviciate, I dare say, she's highly incensed at my escape.

_Lord W._ Your letter says, you got out of the convent in boy's clothes,
ha! ha! ha!

_Rosa._ Yes; and I was e'en obliged to change them before I reached
Fontainbleau. Oh, my lord! this is a wicked step of me!

_Lord W._ The impiety was mine, my love! to rob Heaven of an angel--But
how unlucky! here, my dear, you've got into the house of this
Lapoche--the most busy little coxcomb!

_Rosa._ I wish, indeed, I had been any where else!

_Lord W._ Well, we may get from hence to-night: my death, from that
rencontre with your brother, is every where believed.

_Rosa._ My dear lord! now only yours--I know no guide but your opinion.

_Lord W._ My sweet Rosa! though I wasn't to be threatened into a
marriage, by the young Chamont, your brother, when he overtook us at
Rochester; on my return to England, I shall, with pride, acknowledge my
sweet Rosa to be Lady Winlove.


  _Flow'rs their beauties all surrender,
    When the sun withdraws his ray;
  Now they shine in borrow'd splendour,
    Painted by the beam of day.
  With each good fair Eden planted,
    Ev'ry sweet that sense could move,
  Passion, sighs, though all is granted,
    No enjoyment without love.
  Dearest maid! thy smiles bestowing,
    Bright and gay, my hours shall be;
  By this heart, with rapture glowing,
    Thou art light and love to me._

    _Enter NANNETTE._

_Nan._ Oh, madam! madam! here my master has brought in a new lodger with
him; the charmingest, beautifulest young officer--our countryman too!--

_Lord W._ Young officer!

_Nan._ I ask pardon, sir; I didn't see you.

_Lord W._ Then I see the necessity for our immediate departure: I'll
instantly order a chaise, and remove you, my love, out of this group of
jockeys, grooms, peers, and pickpockets.


_Nan._ Ah, madam! See all the men in the globe, give me an Englishman
after all!--This pretty officer--[_Opens the folding Doors wider--HENRY
discovered asleep on a Sofa._]--Dear madam, look! asleep--yes, he
complained to my master, that he had been up all night.

                             [_Makes Signs to ROSA, to go and kiss him._

_Rosa._ Oh fie, Nannette!--D'ye hear, Nannette, when that gentleman
returns, you'll call me to him.


_Nan._ Lud, how nice we are!--then I'll win the gloves
myself--[_Stealing softly towards him--HENRY stirs._] Oh lud! he's

_Henry._ [_Coming forward._] This travelling by night--thought to have
slept in the chaise; but, not a wink----

_Nan._ Did you call, sir?

_Henry._ Who are you, my little countrywoman?

_Nan._ Nanny, sir, at your service: [_Courtesies._]--Master will call me
Nannette, though, in the French fashion.

_Henry._ Oh, you're the little English fille de chambre to Monsieur
Lapoche, the French tailor?

_Nan._ At your service, sir.


  _Indeed, I'll do the best I can
  To please so kind a gentleman,
  You lodge with us, and you shall see,
  How careful poor Nannette will be:
  So nice, so neat, so clean your room,
  With beau-pots for the sweet perfume!
      An't please you, sir,
        When you get up,
      Your coffee brown,
        In China cup,
      Dinner, desert,
        And bon souper,
      Sur mon honneur,
        At night you be,
      With waxen taper light to bed
      By poor Nannette, your chambermaid._

    _Enter LAPOCHE, gets round, and turns NANNETTE from HENRY._

_Lap._ Ah! here is fine doings in my house!--And you come here vid your
vaxen taper, and your caper; your smile and your smirk, on dis English
boy--Pardi! I vill knock his head against de--[_Turns to HENRY._] Hope
you had a good sleep, sir. [_To NANNETTE._] Get you down stair--I vill
tump his nose flat; allez, allez! [_Exit NANNETTE._] I hope you find
every ting agreeable, sir--hope nobody disturb you, and dat you like
your apartements;--here you have all conveniency; here you may have two
course and desert; S'il vous plait, you may invite your English friend
to drink de bon vin--here in my house you may all get so merry, and so
drunk, and laugh and roar, and sing, and knock your fistes against von
anoder's head, so friendly, à la mode de Londres--Aha!--you please to
valk dis vay, sir; I vill show you your chambre à manger.

    _Enter NANNETTE._

_Nan._ Here is----

_Lap._ Go, get you gone. Vat, you come again here, peeping at de men.

_Nan._ Monsieur, I only want----

_Lap._ You vant! Oui, I know vat you vant. Allez, allez! Begar, I shall
have no girl to myself--all de girl in my house vill come after dis
jolie garçon!

_Nan._ Sir, you won't let me tell you, that Colonel Epaulette has sent
to know if his new liveries are finished; and the great English squire,
Mr. Tally-ho, has sent for his hunting frock.

_Lap._ Colonel Epaulette and Squire Tally-ho, monsieur, dese are my
great customer; dey match de two horse to run on de race to-morrow:
Dat Squire Tally-ho is fine man. Ah! I do love to vork for Milor
Anglaise!--dis vay, s'il vous plait, monsieur--you vill excuse a
me--[_To NANNETTE._] Come, he vill excuse a you too.



    _Another Room at LAPOCHE'S._

    _Enter ROSA._

_Rosa._ I wonder what can keep Lord Winlove! I wish we were once upon
the road!--this anxiety is tormenting; I long, though why desire, to see
England, when all I love, is here?

    _Enter NANNETTE._

Oh, Nannette, is the gentleman come?

_Nan._ No, ma'am, but I desired the boy to show him to this apartment.

_Henry._ [_Without._] What! is the lady this way?

_Nan._ The devil take the blockhead! may I die, if it isn't the young
English officer, he's sending up here.

_Rosa._ Shut the door, I'll be seen by nobody--Undone! my brother

    _Enter HENRY._

_Henry._ Is it possible? can it be!--My dear, will you step down a
moment? [_Exit NANNETTE._] My sister Rosa!

_Rosa._ What shall I do?

_Henry._ Escaped from the convent, I suppose?--Tell me, Rosa, what--lost
to every sense of virtue! to fly from the only place that could afford
an asylum for your shame?

_Rosa._ My dear brother! though appearances are against me, yet, when
you are acquainted with certain circumstances, which prudence forbids
me, at present, to account for----

_Henry._ Talk of prudence, and your fame blemished--your character
departed with its destroyer.--But, of your Lord Winlove's memory, let me
be tender, as his life has answered for his share in your offence.

_Rosa._ [_Aside._] He does not know yet of my lord's being alive--I
dread his return--their meeting again must, indeed, be fatal.

_Henry._ Tell me, Rosa, why would you quit the convent?

_Rosa._ [_Aside._] I must get Henry out of the house before my Lord
Winlove comes back! how shall I?--Come, take me, I'll go with you there
this instant--do forgive me; come, dear brother!

_Henry._ Yes, yes; I'll lodge you once more:--yet how perplexing! if I
quit Fontainbleau at this juncture, I may lose my wished-for interview,
with the unknown charmer that brought me hither.

_Rosa._ [_Aside._] Ruin! I think I hear--if it should be Lord
Winlove!--Come, Henry, I have but little preparation, and will
immediately attend you.

_Henry._ Be assured I won't part with you now, untill I again deliver
you to the Lady Abbess, with a strict charge, that she'll strengthen
your spiritual chains. [_Aside._] And yet the sympathy of my own heart,
inclines me to excuse the weakness of my sister's.


  _Brooks, to your sources, ah, quickly return!
  Tear drop on tear, and give life to the urn;
  Truth and virtue pass away,
  Ere I for another my true love betray._




    _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!



_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.


_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

_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

_Lack._ Well, but don't strike fire to me--reserve your flashes of wit

_Tall._ You will catch them, as your coat is a kind of tinder, 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.


_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

    _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

                                                         [_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

_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

_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

_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

_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

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

_Tall._ Very well, very well, gentlemen, have at you


  _I'm yours at any sort of fun,
            My buck, I'll tell you so;
  A main to fight, a nag to run,
  But say the word, 'tis done and done,
            All's one to Tallyho._

  _Upon a single card I'll set
            A thousand pound, or so.
  But name the thing, I'll bind the bet,
  And, if I lose, I'll scorn to fret;
            All's one to Tallyho._

  _Suppose you challenge in a glass,
            Sweet Doll, my pretty Doe;
  And think your love could mine surpass,
  I'd swallow hogsheads, for my lass,
            All's one to Tallyho._


    _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.


_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.


_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!


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

    _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.


    _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


  _No hurry I'm in to be married,
    But if it's the will of my brother,
          I'd much rather stay,
          Yet, since in the way,
  I as well may have you as another._

  _A strange custom this, to be marry'd,
    Though follow'd by father and mother,
        The grave and the gay,
        But, since in the way,
  I as well may have you as another._

  _A prude, though she long to be marry'd,
    Endeavours her wishes to smother,
        I'd give you her nay,
        But, since in the way,
  I as well may have you as another._


_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

_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

_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

_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.


_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.


  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._



    _An Apartment in the Hotel._

    _Enter SIR JOHN BULL, with a large Patch upon his Forehead, and

_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.


_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.


_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

_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

_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

_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._

      _At six in the morning, by most of the clocks,
      We rode to Kilruddery, in search of a fox. Tol de rol lol._

_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

_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

_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


  _Had Diana been there, she'd been pleas'd to the life.
  And one of the lads got a goddess to wife._

                                                      [_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

_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!


    _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!
  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._




    _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

_Lack._ Hey, my baggage!


_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.


_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.


_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

_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!


_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.] "_Then he leap'd over Lord Anglis's Wall,
          And seem'd to say, little I value you all._"

                                                         [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?


_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

_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

_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!


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


    _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?


_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.


_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._


    _SIR JOHN'S Apartments in the Hotel._

    _Enter FIRST WAITER, introducing COLONEL EPAULETTE in an English

_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.


_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.


    _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

_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!


_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

_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.


_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

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


_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.


_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

_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

_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.



    _An Apartment in the COLONEL'S Lodge._


_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

_Colonel E._ Miss, vas you ever in love?

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


_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

_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.


_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


_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!



_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

    _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

_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

_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!


    _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._]

_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

_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!


_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,


_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.



    _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!


    _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.


_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.


_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.


    _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

                                                     [_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


  _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._

    _Enter LORD WINLOVE and ROSA._

_Henry._ Lord Winlove alive!

_Lord W._ Sorry to see me so, Henry?

_Henry._ I own, my lord, I am surprised, yet rejoice to find my hand
guiltless of blood, and you still possessed of power to heal my honour,
in doing justice to my unhappy sister. Forgive my former weakness, I now
only appeal to your humanity.

_Lord W._ My dear Henry, I never looked upon your sister, but with the
ardent wish, of an honourable connexion--a jealous honour hurried you to
rashness, and the fondest love rendered me imprudent: thus, we see, the
noblest principles, if guided only by our passions, may prove

    _Enter CELIA, running._

_Celia._ Oh, my dear Captain! but I didn't know you had company--a
thousand pardons--[_Courtesies round._] but, upon my word, I don't know
how to apologize for this strange intrusion of mine--Captain, don't be
vain, if I make this horrible news of your danger, an excuse for my
coming hither.

_Henry._ A thousand thanks for this kind solicitude!--My
lord--Sister--give me leave to introduce a lady, who, I hope, will soon
honour our family by the dearest tie.

_Miss Dolly B._ [_Without._] Run, husband, or they'll catch us.


_Lack._ Let's rally, and face the enemy.

    _Enter SIR JOHN and LADY BULL._

_Sir J. B._ So, you're a pretty jade! but I'll----


_Lack._ No abuse.

                                                           [_Stops him._

_Sir J. B._ What! not my own daughter?

_Lack._ Nobody must abuse my wife.

_Sir J. B._ Wife! I shall go mad!--my daughter
married to a fellow that I saw this morning in white
shoes, and a black shirt?

_Lady B._ Ay, you would have English.

_Sir J. B._ I hope he's a rogue.

                                                       [_LACKLAND bows._

_Henry._ Your son-in-law!

_Sir J. B._ If he was myself--I hope he's a rogue--

_Lady B._ Tell me Dolly, how dare you take up with that person?

_Miss Dolly B._ Why, la, mamma! when the Colonel and 'Squire Tallyho
left me, I was glad to catch at any body.

_Lack._ What's that you say, Mrs. Lackland?--I'm very much obliged to
you--you have done me infinite honour!

                                                     [_Makes a low Bow._

    _Enter TALLYHO._

_Tall._ Eh, what, have you all got about the winning-post here?

_Miss Dolly B._ Yes, and now, you may canter off to Newmarket.

_Tall._ Lackland, I give you joy of little Ginger, for she was never
good, egg, or bird.


_Colonel E._ How do you, good folks, damme? Ah, Miss Dolly coquin, run

_Miss Dolly B._ Yes, Colonel, and didn't even wait for my dancing pumps!

_Colonel E._ How is my good Lady de Bull? zounds!

_Lady B._ Sir, if you're a Frenchman, behave like one.

_Colonel E._ I vill never behave myself, damme!

_Tall._ Oh, Captain, you made the betts against my mare--when do we
share, my Trojan?

_Henry._ Sir, I don't understand----

_Tall._ Why, didn't I pay forfeit, and let the colonel's Black Prince
walk over the course to-day?

_Henry._ And, seriously, did you dare to think that I'd join in such
a scandalous affair?

_Tall._ Then you may fling your cap at Celia.

_Henry._ Hush! you laid me five thousand yourself--consent to my
marriage with your sister, or I'll proclaim you, not only here, at
Fontainbleau, but at every racecourse in England.

_Tall._ I'm had--yes, and tricked, choused, slanged, and banged! Celia,
take him against the field--clever--has nicked me, that have nicked

_Henry._ I fancy, the first real good ever produced by gaming; our
winning is but a decoy, its joys, built upon the grief of others, and
our losses stop but in ruin, or dishonour.

_Tall._ May be so; but, as I set out a young pigeon, I'll die an old

_Sir J. B._ But how shall I get this rook [_To LACKLAND._] out of my

_Colonel E._ Ah, pauvre Lackland! I ave procure de commission for you,
in my regiment.

_Lack._ Thank you, Colonel, but while I can raise the price of a
drumstick, I'll never draw a sword against my country.

_Sir J. B._ What!--your hand, my Briton!--you shall never want a nail
for your hat, in my parlour, at dinner time--you shall post my books,
and take the whip hand of my lady's gig on a Sunday.

_Lack._ Drive a gig! My dear dad, you shall rattle up in your vis-a-vis,
to the astonishment of all Garlick Hill.

_Sir J. B._ My dearee and I ride, side by side, in a vis-a-vis! ha! ha!

_Tall._ Yes, and if you whip your gig down to Yorkshire, I'll mount her
ladyship upon Whirligig, and, Sir Jackey, my lad, up you go again upon

_Sir J. B._ I'll see you astride the dragon, upon Bow steeple first--but
now I'll invite you all to the British Lion, where French claret shall
receive the zest of English hospitality--Eh, my Antigallican son-in-law?

_Lack._ Well said, Bull; but mind, I'll have no illiberal prejudices in
my family--general national reflections, are unworthy the breast of an
Englishman; and, however in war, each may vindicate his country's
honour, in peace, let us not know a distance, but the Streights of


  Lord W. _This patriot fire, within each heart,
            For ever let us nourish._

  Rosa.   _Of Glory still, the golden mart,
            May England ever flourish!_

  Henry.  _Let fashion, with her glitt'ring train,
            Abroad, awhile deceive us;_

  Celia.  _We long to see dear home again,
          The love of England must remain,
            And that can never leave us.
                      This patriot fire, &c._

  Sir J. B.   _My future range,
              The Stock Exchange,
            'Tis there I'll mend my paces;
              Nor gig, nor nag,
              Jack Bull shall drag,
            To French, or English races._

  Lady B.     _At feast, or ball,
              At Grocers' Hall,
            'Tis there I'll mend my paces;
              Yet nothing keep
              Me from a peep,
            At French or English races._


  _Now of each doubt, and perplexity eas'd,
      From Fontainbleau we prance,
  In hopes with our errors, our friends will be pleas'd,
      As 'tis our way in France._


*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Fontainbleau" ***

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