DR. ROSY.
Kings, lords, and common whores—
[Exeunt LIEUTENANT O’CONNOR forcing Rosy off.]
SCENE II.—A Room in JUSTICE CREDULOUS’ House.
Enter LAURETTA and MRS. BRIDGET CREDULOUS.
LAURETTA.
I repeat it again, mamma, officers are the prettiest men in the world, and Lieutenant O’Connor is the prettiest officer I ever saw.
MRS. BRIDGET CREDULOUS.
For shame, Laura! how can you talk so?—or if you must have a military man, there’s Lieutenant Plow, or Captain Haycock, or Major Dray, the brewer, are all your admirers; and though they are peaceable, good kind of men, they have as large cockades, and become scarlet, as well as the fighting folks.
LAURETTA.
Psha! you know, mamma, I hate militia officers; a set of dunghill cocks with spurs on—heroes scratched off a church door— clowns in military masquerade, wearing the dress without supporting the character. No, give me the bold upright youth, who makes love to- day, and his head shot off to-morrow. Dear! to think how the sweet fellows sleep on the ground, and fight in silk stockings and lace ruffles.
MRS. BRIDGET CREDULOUS.
Oh, barbarous! to want a husband that may wed you to- day, and be sent the Lord knows where before night; then in a twelvemonth perhaps to have him come like a Colossus, with one leg at New York, and the other at Chelsea Hospital.
LAURETTA.
Then I’ll be his crutch, mamma.
MRS. BRIDGET CREDULOUS.
No, give me a husband that knows where his limbs are, though he want the use of them:—and if he should take you with him, to sleep in a baggage-cart, and stroll about the camp like a gipsy, with a knapsack and two children at your back; then, by way of entertainment in the evening, to make a party with the serjeant’s wife to drink bohea tea, and play at all-fours on a drum-head:—’tis a precious life, to be sure!