'Fore George, at logger-heads,--a lucky minute, 'Pon honor, I may make my market in it. Dem it, my air, address, and mien must touch her, Now out of sorts with him,--less God than butcher. O rat the fellow,--where can all his sense lie, To gallify the lady so immensely? Ah! _le grand bete qu'il est!_--how rude the bear is! The world to two-pence he was ne'er at _Paris_. Perdition stop my vitals,--now or never I'll niggle snugly into Juno's favor. Let's see,--(_looking in a glass_) my face,--toll loll-- 'twill work upon her. My person--oh, immense, upon my honor. My eyes,--oh fie.--the naughty glass it flatters,-- Courage,--Ixion flogs the world to tatters. [_Exit Ixion_.] "_Sim._ There is a fine gentleman for you,--In the very pink of the mode, with not a single article about him his own,--his words pilfered from Magazines, his address from French valets, and his clothes not paid for. "_Macd._ But pray, Mr. Simile, how did Ixion get into heaven? "_Sim._ Why, Sir, what's that to any body?--perhaps by Salmoneus's Brazen Bridge, or the Giant's Mountain, or the Tower of Babel, or on Theobald's bull-dogs, or--who the devil cares how?--he is there, and that's enough." * * * * * "_Sim._ Now for a Phoenix of a song. "_Song by_ JUPITER. "You dogs, I'm Jupiter Imperial, King, Emperor, and Pope aetherial, Master of th' Ordnance of the sky.-- "_Sim._ Z----ds, where's the ordnance? Have you forgot the pistol? (_to the Orchestra_.) "_Orchestra._ (_to some one behind the scenes_.) Tom, are not you prepared? "_Tom._ (_from behind the scenes_.) Yes, Sir, but I flash'd in the pan a little out of time, and had I staid to prime, I should have shot a bar too late. "_Sim._ Oh then, Jupiter, begin the song again.--We must not lose our ordnance. "You dogs, I'm Jupiter Imperial, King, Emperor, and Pope aetherial, Master of th' Ordnance of the sky; &c. &c. [_Here a pistol or cracker is fired from behind the scenes_.] "_Sim._ This hint I took from Handel.--Well, how do you think we go on? "_O'Cul._ With vast spirit,--the plot begins to thicken. "_Sim._ Thicken! aye,--'twill be as thick as the calf of your leg presently. Well, now for the real, original, patentee Amphitryon. What, ho, Amphitryon! Amphitryon!--'tis Simile calls.--Why, where the devil is he? "_Enter_ SERVANT. "_Monop._ Tom, where is Amphitryon? "_Sim._ Zounds, he's not arrested too, is he? "_Serv._ No, Sir, but there was but _one black eye_ in the house, and he is waiting to get it from Jupiter. "_Sim._ To get a black eye from Jupiter,--oh, this will never do. Why, when they meet, they ought to match like two beef-eaters."