Our glasses were empty, and the fair was filling; so we took the hint and our hats, and were soon among the lions.
An Ancient Pistol-looking scarecrow with a cockaded something, between an old cocked hat, and an old hat cocked, on his shaggy pole; a black patch over one eye; a sham lame left leg; half a pair of half boots, and a jacket without sleeves, brandishing harlequin's wooden sword, and belabouring a cracked drum, beat up for recruits, and thus accompanied his tattoo.
With his brigade of brags
Captain Bobadil comes;
Soldiers furl your flags,
Crape and muffle your drums!
Let John Bull and the bell
Both be dismally told!
One, for a funeral knell;
One, the reward of the bold.