Jerry. Yes, I’m told you London tailors are particularly fond of greens—cabbage to wit. But I am not very particular; only let me have something of this cut. (Turning round and showing himself).
Tom. Oh, no, hang that cut; the colour may fit; but the cut never will.
Prime. By the by, if the gentleman’s in a hurry, I’ve a suit of clothes in my carriage, that I was about to take home to the Marquis of Squander, which I think will fit him exactly.
Tom. Eh, the Marquis of Squander—just Jerry’s diameter; why that will be the very thing. Let it be laid on the table directly.
Prime. Young man, bring that there bundle, into this here room. (Regular brings on bundle). You will find these perfectly comme il faut, I can assure you.
Tom. Come, Jerry, cast your skin—peel—slip into the swell case at once, my boy—are you up?
Jerry. Peel! oh, I know—I’m down, Tom, I’m fly.
Tom. Come, Dicky, put him all right—screw him into them.
Prime. You may rely upon me, Mr. Corinthian.
(Jerry is fitted with Coat and Waistcoat; meantime, Tom and Regular box with gloves.—When Jerry is dressed he struts along the front of the stage).