SERJEANT TROUNCE.
So then, to order.—Put on your mutiny looks; every man grumble a little to himself, and some of you hum the Deserter’s March.
Enter LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR.
LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR.
Well, honest lads, what is it you have to complain of?
SOLDIER.
Ahem! hem!
SERJEANT TROUNCE.
So please your honour, the very grievance of the matter is this:—ever since your honour differed with justice Credulous, our inn-keepers use us most scurvily. By my halbert, their treatment is such, that if your spirit was willing to put up with it, flesh and blood could by no means agree; so we humbly petition that your honour would make an end of the matter at once, by running away with the justice’s daughter, or else get us fresh quarters,—hem! hem!
LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR.
Indeed! Pray which of the houses use you ill?
FIRST SOLDIER.
There’s the Red Lion an’t half the civility of the old Red Lion.
SECOND SOLDIER.
There’s the White Horse, if he wasn’t case-hardened, ought to be ashamed to show his face.
LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR.
Very well; the Horse and the Lion shall answer for it at the quarter sessions.
SERJEANT TROUNCE.
The two Magpies are civil enough; but the Angel uses us like devils, and the Rising Sun refuses us light to go to bed by.