“Come, none o’ that ’ere, old Strike-a-light,” interposed Mr. Weller, elbowing himself into the front rank. “Beg your pardon, sir, but this here officer o’ yourn in the gambooge tops, ’ull never earn a decent livin’ as a master o’ the ceremonies any vere. This here, sir,” continued Mr. Weller, thrusting Grummer aside, and addressing the magistrate with pleasant familiarity, “this here is S. Pickvick, Esquire; this here’s Mr. Tupman; that ’ere’s Mr. Snodgrass; and farder on, next him on the t’other side, Mr. Winkle⁠—all wery nice gen’l’m’n, Sir, as you’ll be wery happy to have the acquaintance on; so the sooner you commits these here officers o’ yourn to the treadmill for a month or two, the sooner we shall begin to be on a pleasant understanding. Business first, pleasure arterwards, as King Richard the Third said when he stabbed the t’other king in the Tower, afore he smothered the babbies.”