SCENE III.

An Apartment in the Colonel's Lodge.

Enter Colonel Epaulette and Miss Dolly Bull.

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

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

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

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

Colonel E. Miss, vas you ever in love?

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

[Courtesies.

Colonel E. Hey!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Colonel E. Allons, ma chere.

[Going.

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

Colonel E. For vat?

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

Colonel E. Indeed!

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

Colonel E. Yes, but here I come first.

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

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

[Exit.

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

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

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

Enter Tallyho.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Imitating.

[Exit.

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

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

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

Enter Lackland.

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

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

[A short Courtesy.

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

Miss Dolly B. Sir!

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

Miss Dolly B. Marry me!

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

Miss Dolly B. You'll carry me away!

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

Miss Dolly B. Said! to who, pray?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miss Dolly B. Portman Square!

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

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

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

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

Lack. Me! Not for the Pigot diamond!

Miss Dolly B. No?—come along.

Lack. Where?

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

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

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

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

Miss Dolly B. Oh, you astonishing charming man!

[Exeunt.

Enter Colonel Epaulette, speaks as entering.

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

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

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

Colonel E. Aha! de lady is gone.

Tall. Ay, where is she gone?

Colonel E. Oui, vere have you put her?

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

Colonel E. Moi?—I did leave her here.

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

Enter Sir John Bull.

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

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

Colonel E. Ask dat gentleman dat did stole her.

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

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

Sir J. B. I believe it.

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

Tall. It is.

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

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

[Calling.—Exit.

Colonel E. Nay, but, Sir John——

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

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

[Exit.

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