our ordnance.

"You dogs, I'm Jupiter Imperial,
King, Emperor, and Pope aetherial,
Master of th' Ordnance of the sky; &c. &c.
[_Here a pistol or cracker is fired from behind the scenes_.]

"_Sim._ This hint I took from Handel.--Well, how do you think we go
on?

"_O'Cul._ With vast spirit,--the plot begins to thicken.

"_Sim._ Thicken! aye,--'twill be as thick as the calf of your leg
presently. Well, now for the real, original, patentee Amphitryon. What,
ho, Amphitryon! Amphitryon!--'tis Simile calls.--Why, where the devil is
he?

"_Enter_ SERVANT.

"_Monop._ Tom, where is Amphitryon?

"_Sim._ Zounds, he's not arrested too, is he?

"_Serv._ No, Sir, but there was but _one black eye_ in the
house, and he is waiting to get it from Jupiter.

"_Sim._ To get a black eye from Jupiter,--oh, this will never do.
Why, when they meet, they ought to match like two beef-eaters."

According to their original plan for the conclusion of this farce, all