O'Sheevo.—He's the very boy to do that. A bigoted ram's horn under his hands, would be forced to relinquish its prejudices. Nobody stoops to conquer in his academy. Send for another jug, and we'll go on with our discussion. Smart letter that of the old Duke's.
Oldham.—Who'll be commander-in-chief when the old Briton dies?
Pipeclay.—It'll depend upon the ministry of the day, which I hope will be a distant one. If he could only anticipate his posthumous fame now, how complete would be his glory.
O'Sheevo.—Sure, he's got his posthumous fame already: he's not obliged, like the ancients, to immortalise himself by committing suicide.
Lovell.—Certainly not, Major. Well, you know the Duke sees the necessity of defending our coasts—
Pipeclay.—And of increasing the army. I have a plan of my own for raising men, which I shall propose, some day or other, to the Horse Guards.
Oldham.—There's no difficulty in getting men; any quantity may be raised in Ireland.
O'Sheevo.—That's true, because any quantity are knocked over every day there; but they, poor men! are beyond the skill of even an adjutant.
Pipeclay.—At any rate I should like to give my system a fair trial.
O'Sheevo.—I have no opinion of systems; I've known many men entirely ruined by them.