"Z—ds! Charles. Where have you been?" said Chalkley.
"Drinking old Burgundy with a rogue of a bagman who looked like Ranelagh Garden en Fête, for his face was illuminated with every hue of crimson lamp and I stake my wig his nose was as large and round as the Rotunda."
With the arrival of Charles, everybody woke up and there were calls for a song. The gallant Lieutenant was the first to respond with my Lord Dorset's To you fair ladies now at Land.
Let me remind you of that fine old ballad:
| To you fair ladies now at Land |
| We men at Sea indite; |
| But first would have you understand |
| How hard it is to write. |
"Not at all," cried Charles.
| The Muses now, and Neptune too, |
| We must implore to write to you; |
"and chorus, gentlemen, please,"
| With a Fa, la, la, la, la, la |
| The Muses now, and Neptune too, |
| We must implore to write to you. |