_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 amus.e.m.e.nts, 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 G.o.ddess to wife._

[_Takes her Hand._

When you come across my noddle--tipsy-gipsy--I get upon the half c.o.c.k, and then--a dozen b.u.mpers 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._ d.a.m.n your Whirligig!

_Miss Dolly B._ Oh, lord, father! how can you d.a.m.n 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._