Sandy. Ser.
Dr. Scott. Is there a fire in my room?
Sandy. Yes, Ser.
Dr. Scott. Gang then an' mak' a bason o' gruel, an'—d'ye hear?—take my snuff-box, an' fill it; an' put my slippers afore the fire.
[Exit Sandy at a walk.]
Col. Diamond. What, off! Doctor.
Dr. Scott. Yes, I'm gauin' to bed; an' if you a' consulted yer health an' yer pockets, ye wad do sae likwise.
All the Mess. Ha! ha! ha! Good night! Good night!
Dr. Scott. I tell ye what lads,—yer a' gude sodgers in spite o' yir claethes, an' yir gimcrackery, an' yir nonsense; for I've seen some o' ye faight afore noo. Lord Wellington said that his dandy officers were the best o' a'; an' maybe they are as gude as others; but I tell ye what, it's na' by turning naight into day, an' whisking aboot amangst a crood o' gigling lassies, that ye'll improve yoursels in the art o' war, or the strength that is as useful an' necessary for it. Good naight to ye a'!
All the Mess. Good night, Doctor, good night.