SCENE III.

An Apartment in the Hotel.

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

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

[Loud.

Waiter. Oui, you be Sir John—

[Bows, &c.

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

Waiter. Oui, monsieur.

[Exit.

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

Enter Lady Bull and Dolly, extravagantly dressed.

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

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

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

[Looking at his Forehead.

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

[Eying them curiously.

Lady B. What is he at now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enter First Waiter.

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

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

[Exit Waiter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lack. And you sold raisins, and—

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

Lady B. D'ye hear him?

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

Sir J. B. And yet, do you know——

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

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

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

Sir J. B. Yet if I was to advise——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir J. B. Yes, and I dare say——

Lack. Softly, my honest fellow.

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

Lady B. Show him out of the house.

Miss Dolly B. What! the Squire?

Tallyho sings without.

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 fall!

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

Tall. But how is your leg?

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

Tall. Ah! ha! my old prize fighter!

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

[Lady Bull looks scornfully at Tallyho.

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

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

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

[Takes her Hand.

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

[Gets between Dolly and Lackland.

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

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

[Bows very low.

[Exit Lackland, leading Lady Bull.

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

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

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

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

[With great Glee.

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

Miss Dolly B. I do like him monstrously!

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

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

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

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

Sings.

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 fastest.

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

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

Tall. Jokes! you shall pay me in earnest.

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

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

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

[Apart to Tallyho.

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

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

[Apart to Tallyho.

Sir J. B. You won't—you shall, hussy!

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

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

[Exeunt Miss Bull and Sir John.

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

AIR.—TALLYHO.

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