Under. The most good-for-nothing family in the parish.
Shears. By these shears, parchment of mine shall never cross a shoulder in it.[Exit.
Under. Zounds, I’ll go home and bury myself for the good of my family.[Exit.
John O’Keeffe.
TOM GROG.
Present—Tom Grog and Rupee.
Rupee. I drink tea at Sir Toby Tacit’s this evening. Tom, you’ll come—I’ll introduce you to the ladies; you’ll see my intended sposa, Cornelia.
Grog. Ay, give me her little waiting-maid, Nancy. If I can get her to my berth in the Minories, I shall be as happy as an Admiral.
Rupee. Admiral! apropos—I shall be married to-morrow—Tom, you’ll dress to honour my wedding?
Grog. Ay, if the tailor brings home my new rigging. But now you talk of a wife, the first time I ever saw my wife, the pretty Peggy, was on Portsmouth ramparts, full dress’d, streamers flying, gay as a commissioner’s yacht at a naval review—What cheer, my heart! says I—she bore away; love gave signal for chase, so I crowded sail, threw a salute shot across her fore-foot to make her bring-to; prepared for an engagement, we came to close quarters, grappled. I threw a volley of kisses at her round-top, she struck—next day, with a cheer, I took my prize in tow to Farum Church, and the parson made out my warrant for command—captain of the Pretty Peggy fifteen years; then she foundered in Blanket Bay—Death took charge, and left me to swim thro’ life, and keep my chin above water as long as I cou’d.