[Clapping them on the back.

Waiter. But hist! we are observed.

Trou. Let us by a song conceal our purposes.

RECITATIVE ACCOMPANIED.[[283]]

Cas. Hist! hist! nor let the airs that blow

From night’s cold lungs our purpose know!

Pudd. Let Silence, mother of the dumb,

Beef. Press on each lip her palsied thumb!

Wait. Let Privacy, allied to sin,

That loves to haunt the tranquil inn—