SONG.—Kate.
Air.—“Ackee oh! Ackee oh!”
When the moon o’er Temple Bar
Glimmers slow, and gaslights glow;
And locked in sleep, grave big wigs are
Snoring sound asleep.
We for pleasure gaily run,
Full of frolic, full of fun;
Whisking oh! frisking oh!
To pick up a beau.
Sue. Stand aside, my dear Kate, I see occasion for our being active here! If I may trust my eyes, yonder comes a lovely girl—I must have some sport with her.
Enter MRS. TARTAR.
Mrs. T. There, I’ve shut up the shop, and as it’s Mr. Tartar’s turn to sit as constable of the night, I’ll just take him the street-door key, and then he can let himself in when he pleases—I hope the dear man won’t be long.
Kate. Never mind, ma’am, if he should be—anything in my power——
Mrs. T. Keep your distance, sir—I’ll call the watch.
Sue. Nay, but my dear madam, when beauty like yours is neglected, it is the duty of every man. (Kisses her).
Mrs. T. Don’t take liberties, sir.
Kate. I wouldn’t take liberties for the world. (Kisses her).
Mrs. T. Eh, I shall be ruin’d, I’ll call out—here, watch! watch! (Rattles heard).