University of Virginia Library

[Ah, where's my dear Hubby, whom Fate, in its malice]

Wife.
—Ah, where's my dear Hubby, whom Fate, in its malice,
Snatched away long ago.

Toot.—
Now, I'll bet he's at Calais.

Wife.
—I'll bet he's not, though. But, Tooty, my dear,
Suppose him at Calais, when think he'll be here?

Toot.
—Be here! let us count. This is Thursday you say,
His passport and baggage will take the whole day;
Then other vexations fall in by the hundred—
Surrounded, examined, palavered, and plundered.
But he'll set off to-morrow, and then, I divine,
We shall have him next Sunday between us to dine;
For he'll whirl along rapidly through the relays,
Cheek by jowl with Machere, and in Parker's post-chaise.

Wife.
—All that's but a fancy. I'll bet what you dare
He's not here on Sunday, nor is he now there.

Toot.
—I'll hold you ten guineas, and sixpence to boot.

Wife.
—Done.

Toot.—
Done, here's my hand for't.

Hub.—
I'll go halves with Toot.