Sue. That’s well said—hey, here they are, now, my dear Trifle.
Enter TOM, JERRY, and LOGIC, full dressed.
Tom. At length, my dear Jerry, we are at Almack’s, though egad I began to think we should be too late.
Jerry. This indeed is a splendid view of Life in London.
Tom. It is; the tip-top! set off to the best advantage, by the best dresses, finished by the best behaviour. (Trifle quizzes through glass up stage).
Log. Yes, witness that puppy, staring us out of countenance with his quizzing glass yonder—why don’t he wear green specs, as I do, if his ogles are queer.
Tom. LETHE! LETHE! my dear Bob—you forget where you are.
Jerry. The half-and-half coves are somewhat different from the swaddies, and gay tykeboys, at the dog pit—Eh, Tom?
Tom. Lethe! Lethe; my dear Jerry—mum!
Trifle. My dear fa-el-low, you really must excuse my interrupting you—but what can you possibly have been preaching to your friend from the country so long—here are three lovely girls waiting to be introduced to you—relations of mine, the Honourable Miss Trifles—we must make up a quadrille.