_Pot-boy._--Here's a note. (_To Mr. C._) Lord, but the man looks queer! (_Mr. Clipclose reads it; jumps up, and whistles "Bobbing Joan."_) QUARTETTO. _Mags._ Master, are you mad? _Mr. C._ No; but I'm distracted. _Pot-boy._ Times are wery bad, _Pop._ And I in grief abstracted. _Mags._ Odds! he'll take his life! _Mr. C._ (_kissing the billet._) Sweet note! thou'rt balm and manna! _Mags to Pop._ (_who is reading it over Mr. C.'s shoulder._) Is it from his wife? _Pop._ (_slaps his thigh._) No! from Miss Juliana!" _Clipclose_, when he reads it, rushes out; _Mags_ after him. _Poppleton_ attempts to follow, but is detained by pot-boy. He forks out tanner, and disappears. SOLO--_Apollonicon._ Hurried music descriptive of three cabs: _Clipclose_ in 793, at a rapid pace; _Mags_, 1659; _Poppleton_ 1847, pursuing. Scene closes. 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._) SCENE III.