SCENE II.

Thompson and Fearon's, Holborn; gin-palace at full work; company less select than numerous, and ladies and gentlemen taking "some'ut short" at the counter. Enter, in full uniform. Captain Connor; O'Toole and Blowhard in shell jackets. They call for a flash of lightning, touch glasses affectionately, and bolt the ruin. The captain stumps down for all.

GLEE--_Connor, O'Toole, and Blowhard._

_Capt._

Gin cures love, my boys, and gin cures the colic;

_O'T._

Gin fits a man for fight, or fits him for a frolic;

_Blow._

Come, we'll have another go, then hey for any rollic!

_Trio._

Come, we'll have another go, and hey then for a rollic!

_Blow._--Lass! (_to an attendant, whom he chucks under the chin,_) some more jacky! Connor, do you still Bend at the shrine of her on Ludgate-hill?

_OT. (contemptuously)._--Zounds! a cit's helpmate. That would never do. One of us Guards, and one of taste like you.

_Capt._--Faith, honest Blowhard, and you, my pal, O'Toole, Tho' fond of flirting, yet your friend's no fool! Think ye that I could live upon my pay, And keep four wives on three and six a day? No. Let me have a monied mistress still, My El Dorado be a tradesman's till. Love fed by flimsies, is the love that thrives, And let the mercers keep the Guardsman's wives.

_O'T._--I see how matters stand, my trump; enough.

_Blow._ (_to O'T._)--He's wide awake, Tim. (_To the Capt._) Con. you're up to snuff!

_Capt._--Come, one more round of jacky, and we part,-- I, to the peerless lady of my heart In Stamford-street;--to Knightsbridge barrack you; And mind don't split that I was out at Kew.

(_They take each another johnny, shake hands, and separate. The scene closes._)