Col. Diamond. Doctor, you ought to know that the Nonpareils never sing.
Dr. Scott. Vara weel—ha' it your ain way.
Capt. Bright. By the by, Lady Mary, her sister, gives a ball to-night.—Don't we go, Colonel?
Col. Diamond. I should like it, because the Lancers are to be there.—We must cut them out.
Major Flowers. Oh, certainly!—Decidedly!
Capt. Golding. The Lancers look very well: they have got a fair dress; but still they are mere light-dragoons. They are too new, and have not yet acquired the polish of the Hussars.
All the Mess. Certainly not!—mere light-dragoons!
Col. Diamond. Besides, they have lately lost ground.—It has gone abroad upon them. They can never hope to succeed.
Several of the Mess. How, pray Colonel?—What has happened?
Col. Diamond. They absolutely dance.