LORD B.— (Shrieks with fright)—Not that! Not that! (Bursts into tears.)
LORD S.— I think you are right,—the sacrifice is too great. The sacred ties of friendship will not permit the wanton cruelties suggested, between men who love each other as we do. (They embrace.)
(Enter Counselor, very sorrowful.)
COUNSELOR—(Recitative.)
Love unrequited robs me of my rest, Although the Alton Line is still victorious; But in a song to tell my woes is best, If you, kind friends, will join me in the chorius.
SONG.
When on some snide road, with a terrible load, and an engine not up to an Alton one, You lie ill at ease, in a berth filled with fleas, all ready to make an assault on one, With your mind in a pother on this, that, and t' other, Because, in your doubt and perplexity, You travel'd this way, while happy as play Goes the Chicago & Alton just next t' ye.
Then the counterpane tickles—you feel like mixed pickles, Your pillow as hard as a bullet, And your sheet is so small it wont cover at all, No matter 'tis which way you pull it; Then you rave, and you swear, and tear out your hair, With none but yourself to lay fault on, And swear by the Heaven, if once you're forgiven, To abjure all lines but the Alton.