_Cribb._ Thank’ye, Mr. Corinthian; I’ll always do my best to satisfy you in any way.
_Tom._ There is one way, Tom, in which you would very soon satisfy us.
_Jerry._ Yes, and I’m thinking not a little to our dis-satisfaction. I am of opinion that every gentleman should practice the art of self defence, if it were only to protect him from the insults of vulgar ignorance; though I by no means set myself up as a champion for boxing.
_Log._ No, for if you did we’ve a champion here who would set you down. We’ll drink his health, and may he ever prove as successful as when he floor’d the Black Miller at Thistleton Gap. (_All drink_).
_Tom._ Tom, your health. (_Cribb rises_). Silence for Tom’s speech--doff your castor, Tom--that’s the time of day.
_Cribb._ Gentlemen, my humble duty to you. Here’s all your healths, and your families. Bless your soul, I can claim no merit for what I’ve done; fighting came naturally like, and thinking others might be as fond of it as myself, why, I always gave them a bellyfull.
_Tom._ Bravo, Tom, an excellent speech--Cicero never spoke better.
_Tom._ Oh, here comes the cup. Look out, Jerry.
_Enter_ WAITER, _with the Champion’s Cup_.
Come, Tom--I pledge you. (_Cribb drinks; the Cup is passed_).
_Jerry._ Well, this is the pleasantest way of cupping a man I ever heard of--but come, Bob, give us a song.
_Log._ With all my heart, only let me sluice my whistle first.
SONG.--LOGIC. AIR.--“_Such a beauty I did grow._”
_Oh, when I was a little boy, Some thirty years ago; I prov’d such an anointed one, They made me quite a show._ CHORUS.--_Such a knowing one I did grow._
_At tea I stole the sugar, And I slyly pinched the girls; I roasted mammy’s parrot, Shod the cat in walnut shells. Such a knowing, &c._
_At school I play’d the truant, And would robbing orchards go; I burned my master’s cane and rod, And tore the fools’-cap, too. Such a knowing, &c._
_As I learnt nought but mischief there, To College I was sent, Where I learn’d to game and swear, On fun and frolic bent. Such a knowing, &c._
_In town I mill’d the Charlies, Aim’d at all within the ring; Became one of the fancy, And was up to everything. Such a knowing, &c._
_Jerry._ Bravo!--but, zounds! Tom, Tom! what are you musing so profoundedly about?