(Enter JACK all splashed)
Jack. Pardie! There is no Regulation, no Police in this Country—to serve a Gentleman at this rate, my new vis-a-vis, and touts mes gens—deranged in this manner by them.
Wildfire. What a Pickle the Fellow's in!
Sir Robert. A sad figure indeed.
Jack. This is it to live in a Country of Liberty.
(Enter a chair with the Glasses all shatter'd)
Lady Betty. (Comes out) Oh! I shall certainly expire in this Country! My dear Monsieur de Broughton was there ever anything so barbarous and inhospitable!
Roger. It's my Opinion, if I had not been there to speak English for un, they'd a kill un all.
Mob. (Without) Hurra! No Mounsieurs, no wooden Shoes. (A Noise if the windows were breaking)
Mob. Hurra! No French Spys!