SCENE.—Jackson’s Rooms, in Bond Street.—Tom, Jerry, and Logic discovered.
Life in London with us is a round of delight;
It is larking all day, sprees and rambles all night;
Tom, Jerry, and Logic have ever the best
Of the coves in the East, and the swells in the West;
Such pals in a turn-up, so bang up and merry,
As Jerry, Tom, Logic—Tom, Logic, and Jerry,
Ne’er was seen, since the world first by Noah was undone,
So here’s Logic’s, Jerry’s, and Tom’s Life in London!
Tom. We are, indeed, a regular trio; every part well harmonised.
Log. Ay, all sharps! not a flat or a natural among us.
Jerry. I don’t think we were so very sharp last night, though, when we suffered ourselves to be made such apes of in Noah’s Ark.
Tom. You are right, Jerry, we are all at fault here; instead of clasping in my arms my pretty timber merchant—judge my horror, when on approaching a parish lamp, I found myself hugging that duchess of the dust-hole—Dingy Bet.
Log. I was served quite as badly—instead of my seraphic street solicitor, I found myself carrying on the war with Soldier Suke.
Tom. Worse and worse, who did you make yourself agreeable to, eh, Jerry?
Jerry. I beg you won’t mention it!
Tom. Let’s think no more on’t; the tables were fairly turned upon us, and we mustn’t grumble—we have now stepp’d into Jackson’s rooms to decide the bet with Logic as to our weight; and as he has won it, let’s be going—but stop, before we go, what say you to a bout with the foils?