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.