All the Mess. Oh, Doctor!—oh! oh! oh!
Dr. Scott. A dry-salter, Major, is na' worse than a tailor, and I have seen a tailor's son cut a canny dash in the army afore noo.
All the Mess. Have done, Doctor, pray have done!
Colonel Diamond. The Doctor has Dunn, I assure you. (Although the Colonel's pun was evidently a poser—all laughed a little; but the Colonel himself, although he could not refrain from the deliverance of it, was certainly sorry for having been so witty, and a short silence intervened.)
Major Flowers. Oh, by the by, Colonel, I have received a letter from Lady Fanny, and she tells me that it is rumoured—a—that we are to be sent to Ireland.
All the Mess. To Ireland!
Capt. Tache. I'll exchange, upon my honour.
Lieut. Golding. I'll resign.
Lieut. Lavender. We shall be starved, as I live.
Capt. Bright. We shall be murdered.