_Wildfire._ Never fear, you'll find that John Bull will be too many for Louis Baboon any day in the year. Let 'em land here, we'll shew 'em what a figure Slaves will cut in a Land of Liberty. Come now, I'll give you a Toast--Monsieur need not drink it, but as he began the subject he must excuse my National Partiality--here's Old England for ever. _All._ Hurra! Hurra! Hurra! _Jack._ L'Angleterre. _Wildfire._ L'Angleterre! Say it in plain English, Old England. _Florid._ (_Drunk_) Ay, ay, give me another Bumper to it--it's both agreeable to the Public Sense and the Moral Sense. _Jack._ Old England. (_Squeamishly_) _Foxchase._ Wounds! I wish they have not made a Papist of him. _Jack._ A Papist! Do you suppose there's Religion in France? _Abbé._ Ah! Pour ça non--parmi les honêtes Gens, wid les Espirits forts, dare is none at all. Religion it is ver pretty Bagatelle to quarrel about, but ma foi, dat is all. _Florid._ Yes, they have the Religion of Nature, and the Theory of agreeable Sensations. (_Drinks_) They have the Ideas of Beauty and Virtue, and by the favor of the Sylvan Nymphs, they pursue their platonic Loves (_Drinks_) and invoking first the Genius of the Place--what is the Bottle come round again? This is indulging the Pleasurable Perceptions arising from the Organ of Bodily Sensations (_Drinks_) and invoking first the Genius of the Place (_Very drunk_) obtain some faint and distant view of the Sovereign Genius, and first Beauty. _Wildfire._ Pha! Sauce with your Jargons--come Foxchase give us an honest song. _Foxchase._ With all my Heart. (_During the song Jack steals off_) _Wildfire._ Hang the Fellow--he's off. _Foxchase._ Let's after him. (_Exeunt_) _Florid._ Ay, let's bring him back to indulge the Social Affections. _Sir Robert._ Gentlemen never mind him, let's make an End of our Bottle. I am afraid Mr. Quicksett is in the right. (_Follows_) _Abbé._ (_Sings_) Boire a long trait De ce vin frais Et ne jamais quitter la Table, Que pour Dancer Rire a Chanter C'est se jouir d'un sort delectable. (_Exeunt_) (_Scene another Apartment. Enter_ LADY BETTY _and_ HARRIET) _Lady Betty._ Well, but my dear Harriet, I assure you. _Harriet._ Nay, but Ma'am, how can your Ladyship say so? _Lady Betty._ Surely Madamoiselle Harriet you'll give me leave to know better than one who has never been beyond the Dust and Smoke of melancholy London. _Harriet._ Well, I protest and now I can scarcely refrain from laughing at the Conceit of it. _Lady Betty._ The Conceit! _Harriet._ Dear Ma'am, your Ladyship can't be in earnest, sure, there's no Mystery-- _Lady Betty._ No Mystery--but I tell you there's a Je ne sais quoi-- _Harriet._ Dear Ma'am, I hope your Ladyship won't be in a passion about it.