Enter WAITER, with the Champion’s Cup.
Come, Tom—I pledge you. (Cribb drinks; the Cup is passed).
Jerry. Well, this is the pleasantest way of cupping a man I ever heard of—but come, Bob, give us a song.
Log. With all my heart, only let me sluice my whistle first.
SONG.—Logic. Air.—“Such a beauty I did grow.”
Oh, when I was a little boy,
Some thirty years ago;
I prov’d such an anointed one,
They made me quite a show.
Chorus.—Such a knowing one I did grow.
At tea I stole the sugar,
And I slyly pinched the girls;
I roasted mammy’s parrot,
Shod the cat in walnut shells.
Such a knowing, &c.
At school I play’d the truant,
And would robbing orchards go;
I burned my master’s cane and rod,
And tore the fools’-cap, too.
Such a knowing, &c.
As I learnt nought but mischief there,
To College I was sent,
Where I learn’d to game and swear,
On fun and frolic bent.
Such a knowing, &c.
In town I mill’d the Charlies,
Aim’d at all within the ring;
Became one of the fancy,
And was up to everything.
Such a knowing, &c.
Jerry. Bravo!—but, zounds! Tom, Tom! what are you musing so profoundedly about?
Tom. I was thinking about the women, Jerry; those enchanting girls we danced with a Almack’s—could they be the incognitas that challenged us thither? There is some secret charm about those girls that hasn’t allowed me to rest all night.
Jerry. Well, and do you know, Tom, to tell you the truth, I haven’t been a whit better than yourself. But, I say, only see how confoundedly the dustman’s getting hold of Logic,—we’ll funk him. (Tom and Jerry smoke Logic).
Log. Oh, hang your cigars, I don’t like it; let’s have no funking.
Tom. Well, come, come, rouse up; don’t be crusty, Bob—let’s start on some spree; no doubt we shall spring a lark somewhere. (Rattles heard).