Henry. Oh, here's Tallyho—as this brother she speaks of, is a man of the turf, probably he knows him—I'll just ask him, and—then for my sister Rosa.
Enter Tallyho.
Tall. I'm an excellent whipper-in for the bottle—Oh, ho! [Looking at Henry, then takes him under the Arm.] Come along.
Henry. Where?
Tall. To get drunk, to be sure—You wear his Majesty's cloth, and go to bed sober, when my English Whirligig has beat the mounseers!—Such a pack of jolly dogs! such burgundy!—won't you come and get drunk with us?
Henry. Certainly, my boy—but, pray, Tallyho, can you tell me—you saw the young lady that parted from me now—admirably handsome!——
Tall. Handsome! Yes, every body says she's like me.
Henry. I shall soon call her mine.
Tall. The devil you shall!
Henry. I have some hopes; the only obstacle is a brother—but, perhaps, you know him—one of our stupid, thick-headed fellows, without an idea, beyond a cock, or a horse.