Johnny B. Filthy troop, is it? Mind yourself! The change is coming! The pikes will be up and the traders will go down!
[All seize him and sing.]
When the Lion shall lose his strength,
And the braket thistle begin to pine,—
The harp shall sound sweet, sweet at length
Between the eight and the nine!
Thomas. Let me out of this, you villains!
Nanny. We'll make a sieve of holes of you, you old bag of treachery!
Biddy. How well you threatened us with gaol! You skim of a weasel's milk!
Johnny B. You heap of sicknesses! You blinking hangman! That you may never die till you'll get a blue hag for a wife!