SERJEANT TROUNCE.
Under me, to be sure.
LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR.
Isn’t Lieutenant O’Connor your officer?
SERJEANT TROUNCE.
He is, and I am commander over him.
LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR.
What! be your serjeants greater than your captains?
SERJEANT TROUNCE.
To be sure we are; ’tis our business to keep them in order. For instance, now, the general writes to me, dear Serjeant, or dear Trounce, or dear Serjeant Trounce, according to his hurry, if your lieutenant does not demean himself accordingly, let me know.— Yours, General Deluge.
LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR.
And do you complain of him often?
SERJEANT TROUNCE.
No, hang him, the lad is good-natured at the bottom, so I pass over small things. But hark’ee, between ourselves, he is most confoundedly given to wenching.
Enter CORPORAL FLINT.
CORPORAL FLINT.
Please your honour, the doctor is coming this way with his worship—We are all ready, and have our cues. [Exit.]
LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR.
Then, my dear Trounce, or my dear Sergeant, or my dear Serjeant Trounce, take yourself away.