Sir Per. O! here comes my lord.
Lord Lum. 'Sons of care, 'twas made for you,' [Enters, drinking a dish of coffee: TOMLINS waiting with a salver in his hand.] —'Sons of care, 'twas made for you.' Very, good coffee indeed, Mr. Tomlins. 'Sons of care, 'twas made for you.' Here, Mr. Tomlins.
Tom. Will your lordship please to have another dish?
Lord Lum. No more, Mr. Tomlins. [Exit Tomlins.] Ha, ha, ha! my host of the Scotch pints, we have had warm work.
Sir Per. Yes; you pushed the bottle about, my lord, with the joy and vigour of a Bacchanal.
Lord Lum. That I did, my dear Mac; no loss of time with me: I have but three motions, old boy,—charge—toast—fire—and off we go: ha, ha, ha! that's my exercise.
Sir Per. And fine warm exercise it is, my lord,—especially with the half-pint glasses.
Lord Lum. Zounds! it does execution point blanc:—ay, ay, none of your pimping acorn glasses for me, but your manly, old English half-pint bumpers, my dear: they try a fellow's stamina at once:—but, where's Egerton?
Sir Per. Just at hand, my lord; there he stands—looking at your lordship's picture.
Lord Lum. My dear Egerton.