And roaring frolics too, if that’s your kind.
A Fifth.
Thou over-wanton losel, thou!
Dost itch again for some new row?
I loathe the place; and who goes thither,
He and I don’t go together.
A Servant Girl.
No! no! back to the town I’d rather fare.
Another.
We’re sure to find him ’neath the poplars there.