I do belie my manhood; and if misery,
With gentle hand, touches my bosom's key,
I bellow straight, as if my tough old lungs
Were made of organ-pipes.
[Huzza without.
Hey! how sits the wind now?
Enter Citizens, crying Huzza! and Succour! La Gloire, in the midst of them, loaded with Casks of Provision, &c.
La Gloire. Here, neighbours! here, here I am dropt in among you, like a lump of manna. Here have I, following my master, the noble Count Ribaumont, brought wherewithal to check the grumbling in your gizzards. Here's meat, neighbours, meat!—fine, raw, red meat!—to turn the tide of tears from your eyes, and make your mouths water.
All. Huzza!
2 Cit. Ah! mon Dieu! que je suis gai!—meat and sun too!—tal lal lall la!