Log. I’ve left off drinking in a great measure.
(Merry and singing). “There’s a difference between,” &c., &c.
Jerry. Tom, see how snugly Captain Lushington’s getting abroad of Logic. Come, my boy.
Tom. Remember your appointment with the ladies.
Log. I do like this fiddle, I will have this fiddle. (Pulling Fiddler along).
Tom. Eh, zounds, Doctor, you’re going to smug the fiddler, and prig the pewter. (Taking gin measure away from him). Now then, what’s to pay, landlord?
Mace. All out, vill be fourteen bob and a kick, your honour.
Tom. Well, there’s a flimsy for you; serve the change out in max to the coves and covesses. (Gives money).
Mace. Thank your honour—and good luck to you.
Tom. Now then, Doctor, this way, my boy; come, come along.