Mace. Zounds, I hope no traps isn’t abroad, and that there ’aint any beaksmen out on the nose!
Sal. (Looking out). Law, lovee, no, it’s only some gemmen out on the spree—I dare say dat dey’ll stand a drop o’ summat all round.
Enter TOM, JERRY, and LOGIC.
Tom. Now, my dear Jerry, here we are amongst the unsophisticated sons and daughters of nature, at All Max in the East. Let the West boast of their highfliers as they will, you’ll find there are still some choice creatures of Society left here.
Log. What, my lily! here take a drop of mother’s milk. (Gives black child gin out of a measure he has received from Landlord). Landlord, let every one have a glass of what they like best, at our cost.
Mace. Regular trumps! I can charge vhat I likes here. (Aside). Now, Muster Bob, vhat’ll you take?
Bob. Oh, ax my Sal.
Mace. Now, Marm Sal, give it a name!
Sal. Vy, bring me de kwarten of de Fuller’s earth.
Tom. Come, it shall be a night of revelry, my pippins—Song—Dance—everything in the world!