Attie, the bingo's now with me;
I can't resign it yet, d' ye see!
ATTIE (seizing the bowl).
Resign, resign it,—cease your dust!
(Wresting it away and fiercely regarding the sallow gentleman.)
You have resigned it, and you must.
CHORUS.
You have resigned it, and you must.
While the chorus, laughing at the discomfited tippler, yelled forth the emphatic words of the heroic Attie, that personage emptied the brandy at a draught, resumed his pipe, and in as few words as possible called on Bagshot for a song. The excellent old highwayman, with great diffidence, obeyed the request, cleared his throat, and struck off with a ditty somewhat to the tune of "The Old Woman."
OLD BAGS'S SONG.
Are the days then gone, when on Hounslow Heath
We flashed our nags,
When the stoutest bosoms quailed beneath
The voice of Bags?
Ne'er was my work half undone, lest I should be nabbed
Slow was old Bags, but he never ceased
Till the whole was grabbed.
CHORUS. Till the whole was grabbed.
When the slow coach paused, and the gemmen stormed,
I bore the brunt;
And the only sound which my grave lips formed
Was "blunt,"—still "blunt"!