my memorandum of vat I see in dis country.

(Enter ST. LOUIS)

St. Louis. Two coachmen below Stair want to speak vid you Sir.

Jack. Coachmen! Why you know I'm provided, but it's rumour'd about I'm arriv'd and the fellows are ambitious of being in my Service, that they may see me give myself airs—let 'em come up. My dear Abbé, you can't be too severe in your Remarks on the English Nation.

Abbé. Laisez moi faire—I now go make my memorandum. Let me see—de man dat preach to de Butcher every Sunday—yesterday an Englishman hang himself, but dat is noting new. De preacher at Moorfields—de Robin Hood Society—de dissertation at Macklin's Room—de Mob at de Executions—'twill do ver well, and so Monsieur de Broughton au revoir. Il faut voltiger Monsieur. (Sings)

Sans L'amour et sans ses charmes,
Tout languit dans l'univers. (Exit)

(Enter WILDFIRE and FOXCHASE)

Wildfire. Ha! My Boy Jack! Give us your hand you queer Son of a Bitch.

Foxchase. How dost my Boy? I'm glad to see thee.

Jack. Pardie voila la mode d'Angleterre! St. Louis, did you not say that two coachmen wanted to speak with me?

St. Louis. Pardonnez moi, Monsieur—me no know dat Gentlemen dress like coachman in dis Country.

Jack. Let Roger attend the Door for the future—I'll keep him as a Valet de place.

Wildfire. Ram my Eyes, the same comical Son of a Bitch he ever was—mimicking the French—Scoundrels. Come speak to me, or I'll have you in the Mark.

Jack. I thought, Sir, the bruising Amphithea[t]re had been shut up—but your English Gazettes are always telling abominable Lyes.

Wildfire. Come, my Boy, how do you do?

Jack. Pardie! Voila toujours, how do you do?

Wildfire. Well, but Jack, did you see Buck in Paris?

Jack. Who, Sir?

Foxchase. Buck.

Jack. I know very little of the Gentleman, Sir. I saw him once where I happened to be upon a Visit, and mentioned that I should come over and shew the advantages of Travel, and display to all our Beaux and pretty Gentlemen, an Englishman return'd from Paris; and so whip and Spur, away he set out, that he might make the first Impression, and I hear in his Empressment his Post-chaise broke down on the road.

Wildfire. Well, but you, I was at the old Place last night—about went the Bottle like a Windmill in a Storm. At length we sallied forth, and smash went the Lamp into a thousand Shatters, and the watch cower'd before us like so many Midnight Rascals; at last two or three of 'em stood their ground and [they][12] dealt their Poles about our Ears—but soon we clos'd in upon 'em made their old lanthorn Jaws rattle again, stretched 'em in the Kennel, and so we got clear off. (Lolls on Jack's Shoulder)