AIR.—MRS. CASEY.
The British Lion is my sign,
A roaring trade I drive on,
Right English usage, neat French wine,
A landlady must thrive on.
At table d'hôte, to eat and drink,
Let French and English mingle,
And while to me they bring the chink,
'Faith, let the glasses jingle.
Your rhino rattle,
Come men and cattle.
Come all to Mrs. Casey.
Of trouble and money,
My jewel, my honey!
I warrant, I'll make you easy.
Let love fly here on silken wings,
His tricks I shall connive at;
The lover, who would say soft things,
Shall have a room in private:
On pleasures I am pleas'd to wink,
So lips and kisses mingle,
For, while to me, they bring the chink,
'Faith, let the glasses jingle,
Your rhino rattle, &c.
Sir J. B. Bravo, Mrs. Casey!—introduce me to your roast beef.
[Exeunt Lady Bull, Dolly, and Porters.
Enter Lackland.
Lack. Sir John Bull, I think they call him, from the city—[Aside.] Monsieur, Je vous veux parler—
Sir J. B. Don't vow parley me, I am English.
Lack. You are?—Your pardon, I see it in your honest face.
Sir J. B. Well, what have you to say to my honest face?
Lack. Say? me!—Damme, if I have any thing to say—but, only—how d'ye do?