Heart. Hopes! of what?

Con. Why, hopes that my lady and I together (for ’tis more than one body’s work), should make Sir John a cuckold.

Heart. Pr’ythee, what did she say to thee?

Con. Say! What did she not say! She said that—says she —she said—Zoons! I don’t know what she said; but she looked as if she said everything I’d have her: and so, if thou’lt go to the tavern, I’ll treat thee with anything that gold can buy; I’ll give all my silver among the drawers, make a bonfire before the doors; swear that the Pope’s turned protestant, and that all the politicians in England are of one mind.

[Exeunt

SCENE II.—A Tavern LORD RAKE, Sir JOHN BRUTE, etc., discovered at a table, drinking

All. Huzza!

Lord R. Come, boys, charge again: so—confusion to all order. Here’s liberty of conscience.

All. Huzza!

Lord R. Come, sing the song I made this morning, to this purpose.

Sir J. ’Tis wicked, I hope.

Lord R. Don’t I tell you that I made it?

Sir J. My lord, I beg your pardon for doubting your taste. Come, begin.

SONG.—Colonel BULLY.

We’re gayly yet, we’re gayly yet,
And we’re not very fow, but we’re gayly yet;
Then sit ye awhile, and tipple a bit,
For we’s not very fow, but we’re gayly yet,
And we’re gayly yet, etc.

There were three lads, and they were clad,
There were three lasses, and them they had.
Three trees in the orchard are newly sprung,
And we’s a git geer enough, we’re but young.
And we’re gayly yet, etc.

Then up went Ailey, Ailey, up went Ailey now;
Then up with Ailey, quo’ Crumma, we’s get a roaring fow.
And one was kiss’d in the barn, another was kiss’d on the green,
And t’other behind the pease-stack, till the mow flew up to her eyn.
Then up went Ailey, Ailey, etc.

Now, fie! John Thompson, run,
Gin ever you run in your life,
De’il get ye! but, hie, my dear Jack,
There’s a mon got to bed with your wife.
Then up went Ailey, etc.

Then away John Thompson run,
And, egad! he run with speed,
But before he had run his length
The false loon had done the deed.
Then up went Ailey, etc.

Lord R. Well, how do you like it, gentlemen?

All. Oh! admirable!

Sir J. I would not give a fig for a song that is not full of sin and impudence.

Lord R. Then my muse is to your taste. But drink away; the night steals upon us; we shall want time to be lewd in. Hey! sally out, sirrah, and see what’s doing in the camp; we’ll beat up the quarters presently.

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