Inkle and Yarico: An opera, in three acts

by George Colman

Trudge. [Going behind.] Oh! Threadneedle-street, Thread—

Inkle. Peace.

Trudge. [Hiding.]—Needle-street. [They hide behind trees. Natives cross. After a long pause, Inkle looks from the trees.]

Inkle. Trudge.

Trudge. Sir. [In a whisper.]

Inkle. Are they all gone by?

Trudge. Won't you look and see?

Inkle. [Looking round.] So all is safe at last. [Coming forward.] Nothing like policy in these cases; but you'd have run on, like a booby! A tree, I fancy, you'll find, in future, the best resource in a hot pursuit.

Trudge. Oh, charming! It's a retreat for a king, sir: Mr. Medium, however, has not got up in it; your uncle, sir, has run on like a booby; and has got up with our party by this time, I take it; who are now most likely at the shore. But what are we to do next, sir?

Inkle. Reconnoitre a little, and then proceed.