steward, who told her, that Mrs. Silvia was gone from her father's, and nobody could tell whither. Wor. Silvia gone from her father's! This will be news to Plume.-Go home, and tell your lady how near I was being shot for her.

[Exeunt severally.

Bal. Won't you discharge him? Plume. Not under a hundred pound sterling. Bal. You shall have it, for his father is my intimate friend.

Plume. Then you shall have him for nothing. Bal. Nay, sir, you shall have your price. Plume. Not a penny, sir; I value an obligation to you much above a hundred pound.

Bal. Perhaps, sir, you shan't repent your gene

Bal. Was ever man so imposed upon! I had her promise, indeed, that she should never dispose of herself without my consent. I have consented with a witness, given her away as my act and deed. And this, I warrant, the captain thinks will pass; no, I shall never pardon him the villany, first of robbing me of my daughter, and then the mean opinion he must have of me, to think that I could be so wretchedly imposed upon; her extravagant passion might encourage her in the attempt, but the contrivance must be his. I'll know the truth presently.

Enter Captain PLUME.

Pray, captain, what have you done with your young gentleman soldier ?

Plume. He's at my quarters, I suppose, with the rest of my men.

Bal. Does he keep company with the common soldiers?

Plume. No, he's generally with me. Bal. He lies with you, I presume? Plume. No, faith, I offered him part of my bed; but the young rogue fell in love with Rose, and has lain with her, I think, since he came to town.

Bal. So, that between you both, Rose has been finely managed.

Plume. Upon my honour, sir, she had no harm from me.

Bal. [Aside.] All's safe, I find !-[Aloud.] Now, captain, you must know that the young fellow's impudence in court was well grounded; he said I should heartily repent his being listed, and so I do from my soul.

Plume. Ay! for what reason?

Bal. Because he is no less than what he said he was, born of as good a family as any in this county, and is heir to twelve hundred pound a year.

Plume. I'm very glad to hear it-for I wanted but a man of that quality to make my company a perfect representative of the whole commons of England.

Bal. Yes, sir, and you must once more go home to your father.

Silv. My father! then I am discovered.-O sir! [Kneeling.] I expect no pardon.

Bal. Pardon! no, no, child, your crime shall be your punishment. Here, captain, I deliver her over to the conjugal power for her chastisement; since she will be a wife, be you a husband, a very husband. When she tells you of her love, upbraid her with her folly; be modishly ungrateful, because she has been unfashionably kind, and use her worse than you would anybody else, because you can't use her so well as she deserves.

Plume. And are you Silvia, in good earnest ? Silv. Earnest! I have gone too far to make it a jest, sir.

Plume. And do you give her to me in good

earnest ?

Bal. If you please to take her, sir.

Plume. Why then I have saved my legs and arms, and lost my liberty; secure from wounds, I am prepared for the gout; farewell subsistence, and welcome taxes !-Sir, my liberty, and hopes of being a general, are much dearer to me than your twelve hundred pound a year.-But to your love, madam, I resign my freedom, and to your beauty my ambition: greater in obeying at your feet, than commanding at the head of an army.

Enter Mr. WORTHY.

Wor. I am sorry to hear, Mr. Balance, that your daughter is lost.

Bal. So am not I, sir, since an honest gentleman has found her.

Enter MELINDA.

Mel. Pray, Mr. Balance, what's become of my cousin Silvia?

Bal. Your cousin Silvia is talking yonder with your cousin Plume.

Mel. Wor. How!

Silv. Do you think it strange, cousin, that a woman should change? but, I hope, you'll excuse a change that has proceeded from constancy. I altered my outside, because I was the same within; and only laid by the woman to make sure of my man; that's my history.

Mel. Your history is a little romantic, cousin, but since success has crowned your adventures, you will have the world o' your side, and I shall be willing to go with the tide, provided you'll pardon an injury I offered you in the letter to your father.

Plume. That injury, madam, was done to me, and the reparation I expect shall be made to my friend; make Mr. Worthy happy, and I shall be satisfied.

Mel. A good example, sir, will go a great way: when my cousin is pleased to surrender, 'tis probable I shan't hold out much longer.

Enter Captain BRAZEN.

Braz. Gentlemen, I am yours.-Madam, I am not yours.

Mel. I'm glad on't, sir.

Braz. So am I.-You have got a pretty house here, Mr. Laconic.

Bal. 'Tis time to right all mistakes.-My name, sir, is Balance.

Braz. Balance! Sir, I am your most obedient! -I know your whole generation. Had not you an uncle that was governor of the Leeward Islands some years ago?

Bal. Did you know him?

Braz. Intimately, sir. He played at billiards to a miracle. You had a brother too, that was captain of a fireship-poor Dick- he had the most engaging way with him-of making punch-and then his cabin was so neat-but his boy Jack was the most comical bastard-ha! ha! ha! ha ha! a pickled dog, I shall never forget him.

Plume. Well, captain, are you fixed in your project yet? are you still for the privateer?

Braz. No, no, I had enough of a privateer just now; I had like to have been picked up by a cruiser under false colours, and a French pickaroon for aught I know.

Plume. But have you got your recruits, my dear?

Braz. Not a stick, my dear.

Plume. Probably I shall furnish you.

Enter ROSE and BULLOCK.

Rose. Captain, captain, I have got loose once more, and have persuaded my sweetheart Cartwheel to go with us; but you must promise not to part with me again.

Silv. I find, Mrs. Rose has not been pleased with her bedfellow.

Rose. Bedfellow! I don't know whether I had a bedfellow or not.

Silv. Don't be in a passion, child, I was as little pleased with your company as you could be with mine.

Bull. Pray, sir, dunna be offended at my sister, she's something underbred; but if you please, I'll lie with you in her stead.

Plume. I have promised, madam, to provide for this girl; now will you be pleased to let her wait upon you? or shall I take care of her?

Silv. She shall be my charge, sir; you may find it business enough to take care of me.

Bull. Ay, and of me, captain; for wauns! if ever you lift your hand against me, I'll desert.

Plume. Captain Brazen shall take care o' that. -[To Captain BRAZEN.] My dear, instead of the twenty thousand pound you talked of, you shall have the twenty brave recruits that I have raised, at the rate they cost me.-My commission I lay down, to be taken up by some braver fellow, that has more merit and less good fortune, whilst I endeavour, by the example of this worthy gentleman, to serve my queen and country at home.

With some regret I quit the active field,
Where glory full reward for life does yield;
But the recruiting trade, with all its train
Of lasting plague, fatigue, and endless pain,
I gladly quit, with my fair spouse to stay,
And raise recruits the matrimonial way.

[Exeunt omnes.

ALL ladies and gentlemen that are willing to see the comedy, called the Recruiting Officer, let them repair to-morrow night, by six o'clock, to the sign of the Theatre-Royal in Drury-lane, and they shall be kindly entertained.

We scorn the vulgar ways to bid you come,
Whole Europe now obeys the call of drum.
The soldier, not the poet, here appears,
And beats up for a corps of volunteers:
He finds that music chiefly does delight ye,
And therefore chooses music to invite ye.

Beat the Grenadier March. -Row, row, tow!— Gentlemen, this piece of music, called An Overture to a Battle, was composed by a famous Italian master, and was performed with wonderful success at the great operas of Vigo, Schellenberg, and Blenheim; it came off with the applause of all Europe, excepting France; the French found it a little too rough for their delicatesse.

Some that have acted on those glorious stages,
Are here to witness to succeeding ages,
That no music like the grenadier's engages.

Ladies, we must own, that this music of ours is not altogether so soft as Bononcini's; yet, we dare affirm, that it has laid more people asleep than all the Camillas in the world; and, you'll condescend to own, that it keeps one awake better than any opera that ever was acted.

The Grenadier March seems to be a composure excellently adapted to the genius of the English, for no music was ever followed so far by us, nor with so much alacrity; and, with all deference to the present subscription, we must say, that the Grenadier March has been subscribed for by the whole Grand Alliance: and, we presume to inform the ladies, that it always has the pre-eminence abroad, and is constantly heard by the tallest, handsomest men in the whole army. In short, to gratify the present taste, our author is now adapting some words to the Grenadier March, which he intends to have performed to-morrow, if the lady who is to sing it should not happen to be sick.

This he concludes to be the surest way
To draw you hither; for you'll all obey
Soft music's call, though you should damn his

play.

G. FARQUHAR.

But as in grounds best cultivated, tares
And poppies rise among the golden ears;
Our product so, fit for the field or school,
Must mix with nature's favourite plant-a fool :
A weed that has to twenty summers ran,
Shoots up in stalk, and vegetates to man.
Simpling our author goes from field to field,
And culls such fools as may diversion yield;
And, thanks to nature, there's no want of those,
For rain or shine, the thriving coxcomb grows.
Follies to-night we show ne'er lash'd before,
Yet such as nature shows you every hour;
Nor can the pictures give a just offence,
For fools are made for jests to men of sense.

TT

SCENE I.-A Room in BONIFACE's Inn.

Enter BONIFACE running.

Bon. Chamberlain ! maid! Cherry! daughter Cherry! all asleep? all dead?

Enter CHERRY running.

Cher. Here, here! why d'ye bawl so, father? d'ye think we have no ears?

Bon. You deserve to have none, you young minx! The company of the Warrington coach has stood in the hall this hour, and nobody to show them to their chambers.

Cher. And let 'em wait, father; there's neither red-coat in the coach, nor footman behind it. Bon. But they threaten to go to another inn tonight.

Cher. That they dare not, for fear the coachman should overturn them to-morrow.-Coming! coming! Here's the London coach arrived. Enter Coach-passengers with trunks, bandboxes, and other luggage, and cross the stage.

Bon. Welcome, ladies! Cher. Very welcome, gentlemen!-Chamberlain, show the Lion and the Rose. [Exit with the company.

Enter AIMWELL and ARCHER, the latter carrying a portmantle.

Bon. This way, this way, gentlemen! Aim. [To ARCHER.] Set down the things; go to the stable, and see my horses well rubbed. Arch. I shall, sir.

[Exit.

Aim. You're my landlord, I suppose? Bon. Yes, sir, I'm old Will. Boniface, pretty well known upon this road, as the saying is.

Aim. O Mr. Boniface, your servant! Bon. O sir!-What will your honour please to drink, as the saying is?

Aim. I have heard your town of Lichfield much famed for ale; I think I'll taste that.

Bon. Sir, I have now in my cellar ten tun of the best ale in Staffordshire; 'tis smooth as oil, sweet as milk, clear as amber, and strong as brandy; and will be just fourteen year old the fifth day of next March, old style.

Aim. You're very exact, I find, in the age of your ale.

Bon. As punctual, sir, as I am in the age of my children. I'll show you such ale !-Here, tapster, broach number 1706, as the saying is.-Sir, you shall taste my Anno Domini.-I have lived in Lichfield, man and boy, above eight-and-fifty years, and, I believe, have not consumed eight-and-fifty

ounces of meat.

Aim. At a meal, you mean, if one may guess your sense by your bulk.

Bon. Not in my life, sir, I have fed purely upon ale; I have eat my ale, drank my ale, and I always sleep upon ale.

Enter Tapster with a bottle and glass, and exit. Now, sir, you shall see!-[Pours out a glass.] Your worship's health.-Ha! delicious, delicious!

fancy it burgundy, only fancy it, and 'tis worth ten shillings a quart.

Aim. [Drinks.] 'Tis confounded strong! Bon. Strong! it must be so, or how should we be strong that drink it?

Aim. And have you lived so long upon this ale, landlord?

Bon. Eight-and-fifty years, upon my credit, sirbut it killed my wife, poor woman, as the saying is. Aim. How came that to pass?

Bon. I don't know how, sir; she would not let the ale take its natural course, sir; she was for qualifying it every now and then with a dram, as the saying is; and an honest gentleman that came this way from Ireland, made her a present of a dozen bottles of usquebaugh-but the poor woman was never well after: but, howe'er, I was obliged to the gentleman, you know.

Aim. Why, was it the usquebaugh that killed her? Bon. My lady Bountiful said so. She, good lady, did what could be done; she cured her of three tympanies, but the fourth carried her off. But she's happy, and I'm contented, as the saying is.

Aim. Who's that lady Bountiful you mentioned? Bon. Ods my life, sir, we'll drink her health.[Drinks.] My lady Bountiful is one of the best of women. Her last husband, sir Charles Bountiful, left her worth a thousand pound a year; and, I believe, she lays out one-half on't in charitable uses for the good of her neighbours. She cures rheumatisms, ruptures, and broken shins in men; green-sickness, obstructions, and fits of the mother, in women; the king's evil, chincough, and chilblains, in children: in short, she has cured more people in and about Lichfield within ten years than the doctors have killed in twenty; and that's a bold word.

Aim. Has the lady been any other way useful in her generation?

Bon. Yes, sir; she has a daughter by sir Charles, the finest woman in all our country, and the greatest fortune. She has a son too, by her first husband, squire Sullen, who married a fine lady from London t'other day; if you please, sir, we'll drink his health.

Aim. What sort of a man is he?

Bon. Why, sir, the man's well enough; says little, thinks less, and does-nothing at all, faith. But he's a man of great estate, and values nobody. Aim. A sportsman, I suppose?

Bon. Yes, sir, he's a man of pleasure; he plays at whisk and smokes his pipe eight-and-forty hours together sometimes.

Aim. And married, you say? Bon. Ay, and to a curious woman, sir. But he's a-he wants it; here, sir.

[Pointing to his forehead. Aim. He has it there, you mean? Bon. That's none of my business; he's my landlord, and so a man, you know, would notBut-ecod, he's no better than-Sir, my humble service to you.-[Drinks.] Though I value not a farthing what he can do to me; I pay him his rent at quarter-day; I have a good running-trade;