Lack. Jack Boots too!—Scoundrels—saucy—impertinent—insolent——
[Drives off Waiter, Cook, &c.
Enter Lepoche.
Lep. Monsieur Lackland, I hear you have hooked up some cash; so, before it's all gone, pay me my money.
Lack. You too!—you little infernal miscreant, I'll pay you!
[Beats him.
Lep. Ah misericorde! Ah pauvre moi!
[Exit.
Lack. In spite of figs, raisins, canvass sleeves, and moist sugar, have at Miss Bull, of Garlick Hill, and her fourscore thousand!
[Exit.