Tom and Jerry in Trouble after a Spree.
| And please your Worship here’s three fellows Been hammering of us all about; Broke our boxes, lanthorns, smellers, And almost clos’d our peepers up. Our pipkins broke, Sir!—’tis no joke, Sir, Faith we’re crush’d from head to toe; We’re not the men, Sir!—Hold your tongue, Sir, You must find bail before you go! |
SCENE.—Interior of St. Dunstan’s Watch-house.—Mr. Tartar, Constable of the Night, discovered at table; pen, ink, &c.—Watchman in attendance. Noise heard without.—Cries of “Charge! charge!”
Mr. T. Holloa! a charge! I must get into my big chair, pull off my night-cap, cock my wig, and look official. (Watchman opens the door, and is knocked down by rush).
Enter TOM, JERRY, LOGIC, WATCHMEN, KATE, JANE, SUE, MRS. TARTAR, O’BOOZLE, and M’LUSH, very uproariously. MRS. TARTAR makes signs to MR. TARTAR.
Omnes. Mr. Constable! Mr. Constable—Please your worship, this man!—this woman!
Mr. T. Silence! silence!—Eh, the devil! Sally Tartar, my wife!—and winking at me not to take any notice.
Omnes. Please your worship—I—I——
Mr. T. Silence! silence! Watchman, do you speak first.