LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR. Ay, ay, spirits never agree with water-drinkers. DR. ROSY. No, no, you mistake. Rum agreed with her well enough; it was not the rum that killed the poor dear creature, for she died of a dropsy. Well, she is gone, never to return, and has left no pledge of our loves behind. No little babe, to hang like a label round papa’s neck. Well, well, we are all mortal—sooner or later—flesh is grass— flowers fade. LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR. [_Aside_.] Oh, the devil!—again! DR. ROSY. Life’s a shadow—the world a stage—we strut an hour. LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR. Here, doctor. [_Offers snuff_.] DR. ROSY. True, true, my friend: well, high grief can’t cure it. All’s for the best, hey! my little Alexander? LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR. Right, right; an apothecary should never be out of spirits. But come, faith, ’tis time honest Humphrey should wait on the justice; that must be our first scheme. DR. ROSY. True, true; you should be ready: the clothes are at my house, and I have given you such a character, that he is impatient to have you: he swears you shall be his body-guard. Well, I honour the army, or I should never do so much to serve you. LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR. Indeed I am bound to you for ever, doctor; and when once I’m possessed of my dear Lauretta, I will endeavour to make work for you as fast as possible. DR. ROSY. Now you put me in mind of my poor wife again. LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR. Ah, pray forget her a little: we shall be too late. DR. ROSY. Poor Dolly! LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR. ’Tis past twelve. DR. ROSY. Inhuman dropsy! LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR. The justice will wait. DR. ROSY. Cropped in her prime! LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR. For heaven’s sake, come! DR. ROSY. Well, flesh is grass. LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR. O, the devil! DR. ROSY. We must all die— LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR. Doctor! DR. ROSY. Kings, lords, and common whores— [_Exeunt_ LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR _forcing_ Rosy _off_.] SCENE II.—_A Room in_ JUSTICE CREDULOUS’ _House_. _Enter_ LAURETTA _and_ MRS. BRIDGET CREDULOUS. LAURETTA. I repeat it again, mamma, officers are the prettiest men in the world, and Lieutenant O’Connor is the prettiest officer I ever saw. MRS. BRIDGET CREDULOUS. For shame, Laura! how can you talk so?—or if you must have a military man, there’s Lieutenant Plow, or Captain Haycock, or Major Dray, the brewer, are all your admirers; and though they are peaceable, good kind of men, they have as large cockades, and become scarlet, as well as the fighting folks. LAURETTA. Psha! you know, mamma, I hate militia officers; a set of dunghill cocks with spurs on—heroes scratched off a church door— clowns in military masquerade, wearing the dress without supporting the character. No, give me the bold upright youth, who makes love to- day, and his head shot off to-morrow. Dear! to think how the sweet fellows sleep on the ground, and fight in silk stockings and lace ruffles.