[Verbena totters, and falls heavily in a dead faint, R.C., upsetting a flower-stand; Lord Bleshugh staggers, and swoons on sofa, C., overturning a table of knicknacks; Sir Poshbury sinks into chair, L.C., and covers his face with his hands.
Sp. (looking down on them triumphantly). Under the Harrow, by Gad! Under the Harrow!
[Curtain, and end of Act I.
STRIKING HOME.
Punch loquitur:—
Well, you have got your way, my lad,
And may it prove good all round.