St. Patrick’s Day or the Scheming Lieutenant

Bri. No, give me a husband that knows where his limbs are, though he want the use of them–and if he should take you with him–to sleep in a baggage cart, and stroll about the camp like a gipsey, with a knapsack and two children at your back–then by way of entertainment in the evening, to make a party with the Serjeants wife, to drink bohea tea, and play at all fours on a drumhead, ‘tis a precious life to be sure.