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_Tall._ Yes, and if you whip your gig down to Yorks.h.i.+re, I'll mount her ladys.h.i.+p upon Whirligig, and, Sir Jackey, my lad, up you go again upon Kick-him-Jenny.
_Sir J. B._ I'll see you astride the dragon, upon Bow steeple first--but now I'll invite you all to the British Lion, where French claret shall receive the zest of English hospitality--Eh, my Antigallican son-in-law?
_Lack._ Well said, Bull; but mind, I'll have no illiberal prejudices in my family--general national reflections, are unworthy the breast of an Englishman; and, however in war, each may vindicate his country's honour, in peace, let us not know a distance, but the Streights of Dover.
FINALE.
Lord W. _This patriot fire, within each heart, For ever let us nourish._
Rosa. _Of Glory still, the golden mart, May England ever flouris.h.!.+_
Henry. _Let fas.h.i.+on, with her glitt'ring train, Abroad, awhile deceive us;_
Celia. _We long to see dear home again, The love of England must remain, And that can never leave us.
This patriot fire, &c._
Sir J. B. _My future range, The Stock Exchange, 'Tis there I'll mend my paces; Nor gig, nor nag, Jack Bull shall drag, To French, or English races._
Lady B. _At feast, or ball, At Grocers' Hall, 'Tis there I'll mend my paces; Yet nothing keep Me from a peep, At French or English races._
CHORUS.
_Now of each doubt, and perplexity eas'd, From Fontainbleau we prance, In hopes with our errors, our friends will be pleas'd, As 'tis our way in France._
THE END.
