Sir John. I would not give a Fig for a Song that is not full of Sin and Impudence.
Lord Rake. Then my Muse is to your Taste. But drink away; the Night steals upon us; we shall want Time to be lewd in. Hey, Page! Sally out, Sirrah, and see what's doing in the Camp; we'll beat up their Quarters presently.
Page. I'll bring your Lordship an exact Account.
[Exit Page.
Lord Rake.. Now let the Spirit of Clary go round. Fill me a Brimmer Here's to our Forlorn Hope. Courage, Knight, Victory attends you.
Sir John. And Laurels shall crown me; drink away, and be damn'd.
Lord Rake. Again, Boys; t'other Glass, and damn Morality.
Sir John. [Drunk.] Ay—damn Morality—and damn the Watch. And let the Constable be married.
All. Huzza!