Enter  JEMMY  and  MAGOG,  s.  E.  L.,  arm-in-arm,
Jemmy  carrying  a  lanthorn,  Magog  very  drunk,
and  smoking  a  short  pipe,  both  singing.
Mag.  Oh,  Mr.  Blackbottle,  you  are  the  Mogul  of
all  butlers.  My  father,  the  beadle,  never  tucked
such  wine  under  his  gold-laced  waistcoat ;  it  would
have  done  his  old  cocked  hat  good  to  have  tasted
it.  Jemmy,  Jemmy,  this  won't  do !
Jem.  What  won't  do  ?

Mag.  I'm  afraid  we're  drunk  and  disorderly ;  if
so,  as  parish  constable,  I  must  take  myself  into
custody,  and  fine  myself  five  shillings.  Jemmy,
lend  me  five  shillings  to  fine  myself  with.  Never
neglect  your  duty,  Jemmy,  that's  a  parish  officer's
golden  rule.
Jem.  Mr.  Magog,  if  yon  can't  contrive  to  contain
your  poppindickler,  you'll  fall  on  terra's  farmer,
as  Dr.  Bone  observes.
Mag.  Mind  your  own  business.  I  know  my  duty.
I'm  an  upright  man !

(Jemmy  Uts  go  of  him,  and  he  falls  across,  -R.)
Jem.  Will  you  get  up  ?

Mag.  It's  all  very  well  to  say  get  up,  but  how
do  you  do  it  ?  (Sings.)

"I'd  crown  resign  to  call  her  mine,

—    Sweet  lass  of  Kichmond  hill."

jemmy,  I  should  like  to  go  a-skating.
Jem.  I  dare  say;  a  rum  figure  you'd  cut.  Come,
Mr.  Magog,  correct  yourself  upright ;   for  if  you
stay  here  a-wobbling  them  ditties   in  the  cold,
you'll  catch  an  incommittee  fever,  and  there'll  be
a  bill  for  the  parish  to  pay.
Mag.  Do  you  know  I'm  the  parish  constable  ?
Jem.  I'm  awar  on  it.
Mag.  You're  awar  on  it.  (Sings.)

"  Here's  a  health  to  them  that's  awa!"
I'm  constable,  and,  as  such,  I  authorize  you  to
take  me  up.
(Jemmy  tries  ineffectually  to  raise  him  up.)
Jem.  I  never  had  so  much  trouble  for  sixpence.
