Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub

Say old men whate'er they will,
'Tis a lover still

Makes day and night roll cheerly:
What makes our May

All holiday,

But the lad we dote on dearly?

Well, my dear Nancy, you must endeavour to throw off that dress as soon as possible. I'll tell you what, here are some ladies in the camp, who condescend to notice me; I'll endeavour to introduce you to them, and they may be of great service to you; in the mean time, should you by chance meet with William, be sure you don't discover yourself.-Hush! here is the serjeant.

Re-enter Serjeant DRILL.

Drill. Why, Nelly, how's this? you have had a long conversation together. I began to think you had run away with my new recruit.

Nell. Oh, there's no great danger, serjeant;

he's no soldier for me: pray, is he perfect in his exercise?

Drill. Oh, as handy a lad as ever was !-Come, youngster, convince her.

[NANCY goes through the exercise. Nell. Very well, indeed! but, serjeant, I must beg of you to befriend him as much as you can, for my sake.

Drill. Any service in my power you may command; but a soldier's life is not the easiest in the world, so they ought to befriend each other.

[blocks in formation]

SCENE I-A Grove near the Camp.

Enter NELL, speaking without.

ACT II.

Nell. William! come to speak to him another time. Sure nothing could be more lucky: however, I must obey their ladyships' instructions, and keep him in ignorance, that they may be present at the discovery. Poor fellow! it's almost a pity too, when one has it in one's power to make him so happy.

Enter WILLIAM.

Will. I am sorry, Nell, to make you wait; but it was an old friend.

Nell. Ay, ay, some one from Suffolk, I suppose, who has brought you news of your dear Nancy. Will. I wish it had: it's unaccountable that I don't hear from her.

Nell. Unaccountable ! not at all: I suppose she has changed her mind.

Will. No, Nelly, that's impossible; and you would think so had you heard how she plighted her faith to me, and vowed, notwithstanding her parents were my enemies, nothing but death should prevent our union.

Nell. Oh, I beg your pardon: if her father and mother indeed are against you, you need not doubt her constancy. But come, don't be melancholy. I tell you I want to have you stay somewhere near the inn, and perhaps I may bring you some intelligence of her.

Will. How! dear Nell?

Nell. Though indeed I think you are very foolish to plague yourself so; for even had Nancy loved you well enough to have carried your knapsack, you would have been very imprudent to have suffered her.

Will. Ay, but prudence, you know, is not a soldier's virtue. It's our business to hold life itself cheap, much more the comforts of it. Show me a young fellow in our regiment, who, if he gains the heart of a worthy girl, is afraid to marry her for

want of a little wealth, and I would have him drummed out of the regiment for discretion.

Nell. Very fine! but must not the poor girl share in all your fatigues and mishaps?

Will. There, Nell, I own is the objection; but tenderness and affection may soften even these ; yet, if my Nancy ever makes the trial, though I may not be able to prevent her from undergoing hardships, I am sure my affection will make her wonder at their being called so. I wish I could once boast that the experiment was made.

AIR.

My Nancy quits the rural train
A camp's distress to prove ;
All other ills she can sustain

But living from her love:
Yet, dearest, though your soldier's there,
Would not your spirits fail,

To mark the hardships you must share,
Dear Nancy of the dale?

Or should you, love, each danger scorn,
Ah! how shall I secure

Your health, 'mid toils which you were born
To soothe, but not endure?

A thousand perils I must view,
A thousand ills assail;
Nor must I tremble e'en for you,
Dear Nancy of the dale.

[Exeunt.

[blocks in formation]

[Pulls out a pocket-book and pencil.] I can't think what it is makes my hand shake so, unless it is Mr. Blaud's wine that is got into my head. So, so let me study my orders a little, for I am not used to this business.-O. P. and P. S.-Who the devil is to understand that? Oh, here is the explanation: P. S. the prompter's side, and O. P. opposite the prompter. So, I'm to mark down the view as it is to be taken on one side, and the other. Very well: P. S. and O. P. Let me see. Somewhere hereabout is certainly the best point to take it from. [Retires.

Enter Serjeant DRILL and the Two Countrymen. 1 Coun. There, you rogues, there he is! 2 Coun. Ay, ay, that's him, sure enough: I have seen him skulking about these two days; if he ben't a spy I'll suffer hanging.

Drill. He certainly must be a spy, by his drawing figures.

2 Coun. Do seize on him, or the whole camp may be blown up before we are aware.

O'Daub. Prompter's side.

Drill. Hush!-we shall convict him out of his own mouth.

O'Daub. O yes, tainly be P. S.

the star and garter must cer

Drill. P. S. What the devil does he say?

2 Coun. Treason, you may be sure, by your not understanding him.

O'Daub. And then O. P. will have the advantage.

Drill. O. P. that's the Old Pretender.-A damned jacobite spy, my life on't!

1 Coun. And P. S. is Prince Charles, I suppose. Drill. No, you fool! P. S. is the pretender's

son.

2 Coun. Ay, ay, like enough. O'Daub. Memorandum-the officers' tents are in the rear of the line.

2 Coun. Mark that!

O'Daub. N. B. the generals' tents are all houses. 1 Coun. Remember that!

O'Daub. Then the park of artillery ;-I shall never make anything of that.-Oh! the devil burn the park of artillery!

Drill. There's a villain! he'll burn the park of artillery, will he?

O'Daub. Well, faith! this camp is easier taken than I thought it was.

Drill. Is it so, you rogue? but you shall find the difference on't.-Oh, what a providential dis

covery.

O'Daub. To be sure the people will like it much, and in the course of the winter it may surprise his majesty.

Drill. O the villain ! seize him directly.-Fellow, you are a dead man if you stir !—We seize you, sir, as a spy.

O'Daub. A spy !-Phoo, phoo! get about your business!

Drill. Bind him, and blindfold him if he resists. 2 Coun. Ay, blindfold him for certain, and search him too: I dare say his pockets are crowded with powder, matches, and tinder-boxes, at every

corner.

O'Daub. Tunder and ouns! what do you mean? 1 Coun. Hold him fast.

O'Daub. Why here's some ladies coming, who know me. Here's lady Sarah Sash, and lady

Plume, who were at the fête-champêtre, and will give me a good character.

Drill. Why, villain, your papers have proved you a spy, and sent by the old pretender.

O'Daub. O Lord! O Lord! I never saw the old gentleman in all my life.

Drill. Why, you dog, didn't you say the camp was easier taken than you thought it was? 2 Coun. Ay, deny that.

Drill. And that you would burn the artillery, and surprise his majesty?-So, come, you had better confess before you are hanged.

O'Daub. Hanged for a spy!-Oh, to be sure, myself is got into a pretty scrape!

Drill. Bring him away; but blindfold him : the dog shall see no more.

O'Daub. I'll tell you what, Mr. Soldier, or Mr. Serjeant, or what the devil's your name, upon my conscience and soul I'm nothing at all but an Irish painter, employed by monsieur Lanternburg.

Drill. There, he has confessed himself a foreigner, and employed by marshal Leatherbag. 2 Coun. Oh, he'll be convicted by his tongue. You may swear he is a foreigner by his lingo. 1 Coun. Bring him away. I long to see him hanging.

O'Daub. Tunder and wounds! if I am hanged, what will become of the theatre, and the managers; and the devil fly away with you all together, for a parcel of red blackguards! [They hurry him off.

SCENE III.-Part of the Camp.

Enter Lady GORGET, Lady SASH, and Lady PLUME. Lady Plume. Oh, my dear lady Sash, indeed you are too severe; and I'm sure if lady Gorget had been here she would have been of my opinion.

Lady Sash. Not in the least.

Lady Plume. You must know, she has been rallying my poor brother, sir Harry Bouquet, for not being in the militia, and so ill-naturedly!

Lady Sash. So he should indeed; but all I said was, he looked so French and so finical, that I thought he ran a risk of being mistaken for another female chevalier.

Lady Plume. Yet, you must confess that our situation is open to a little raillery: a few elegances of accommodation are considerably wanting, though one's toilet, as sir Harry says, is not absolutely spread on a drumhead.

Lady Sash. He vows there is an eternal confusion between stores military and millinery; such a description he gives! On one shelf, cartridges and cosmetics, pouches and patches; here a stand of arms, there a file of black pins; in one drawer, bullet-moulds and essence-bottles, pistols and tweezer-cases, with battle-powder mixed with marechelle.

Lady Gor. Oh, the malicious creature! Lady Plume. But pray, lady Sash, don't renew it; for see, here comes sir Harry to join us.

Enter Sir HARRY BOUQUET.

Sir Har. Now, lady Sash, I beg a truce.-Lady Gorget, I am rejoiced to see you at this delectable spot.-Where, lady Plume, you may be amused with such a dismal variety!

Lady Gor. You see, lady Plume, he perseveres.

Lady Sash. I assure you, sir Harry, I should have been against you in your raillery.

Sir Har. Now, as Gad's my judge, I admire the place!-here's all the pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war !-Mars in a vis-à-vis, and Bellona giving a féte-champêtre.

Lady Plume. But now, seriously, brother, what can make you judge so indifferently of the camp from anybody else?

Sir Har. Why, seriously, then, I think it the worst planned thing I ever beheld. For instance now, the tents are all ranged in a straight line : now, lady Gorget, can anything be worse than a straight line?-and is not there a horrid uniformity in their infinite vista of canvas?-no curve, no break, and the avenue of marquees abominable!

Lady Sash. Oh, to be sure! a circus or a crescent would have been vastly better.

Lady Gor. What a pity sir Harry was not consulted!

Sir Har. As Gad's my judge, I think so; for there is great capability in the ground.

Lady Sash. A camp cognoscenti! Positively, sir Harry, we will have you publish a treatise on military virtue.

Sir Har. Very well! But how will you excuse this? the officers' tents are close to the common soldiers'. What an arrangement is that now! If I might have advised, there certainly should have been one part for the canaille, and the west end of the camp for the noblesse and persons of a certain rank.

Lady Gor. Very right; I dare say you would have thought of proper marquees for hazard and quinze.

Lady Plume. To be sure! with festino tents and opera pavilions.

Sir Har. Gad, the only plan that could make it supportable for a week! Well, certainly the greatest defect in a general is want of taste.

Lady Sash. Undoubtedly; and conduct, discipline, and want of humanity, are no atonements for it.

Sir Har. None in nature.

Lady Plume. But, sir Harry, it is rather unlucky that the military spirit is so universal, for you will hardly find one to side with you.

Sir Har. Universal indeed; and the ridicule of it is, to see how this madness has infected the whole road from Maidstone to London. The camp jargon is as current all the way as bad silver: the very postilions that drive you talk of their cavalry, and refuse to charge on a trot up the hill; the turnpikes seem converted into redoubts, and the dogs demanded the countersign of my servants instead of the tickets. Then, when I got to Maidstone, I found the very waiters had got a smattering of tactics; for inquiring what I could have for dinner, a cursed drill-waiter, after reviewing his bill of fare with the air of a field-marshal, proposed an advanced party of soup and bouilli, to be followed by the main body of ham and chickens, flanked by a fricassee, with salads in the intervals, and a corps-de-réserve of sweetmeats, and whipped syllabubs to form a hollow-square in the centre.

Lady Plume. Ha! ha! ha! sir Harry, I am very sorry you have so strong a dislike to everything military; for unless you would contribute to the fortune of our little recruit

Sir Har. O madam, most willingly! And

very apropos, here comes your ladyship's protégée, and has brought, I see, the little recruit, as you desired.

Enter NELL and NANCY.

Nell. Here, Nancy, make your curtsy, or your bow, to the ladies, who have so kindly promised you protection.

Nan. Simple gratitude is the only return I can make; but I am sure the ladies, who have hearts to do so good-natured a deed, will excuse my not being able to answer them as I ought.

Nell. She means, an please your ladyships, that she will always acknowledge your ladyships' goodness to the last hour of her life, and, as in duty bound, will ever pray for your ladyships' happiness and prosperity.-[To NANCY.] That's what you mean, you know.

Lady Plume. Very well. But, Nancy, are you satisfied that your soldier shall continue in his duty?

Nell. O yes, your ladyship; she's quite satisfied. Lady Plume. Well, child, we're all your friends; and be assured your William shall be no sufferer by his constancy.

Nell. There, Nancy! say something. Lady Sash. But are you sure you will be able to bear the hardships of your situation? [Retires up with NANCY. Lady Plume. [To NELL.] You have seen him, then ?

Nell. O yes, your ladyship.

Lady Plume. Go, and bring him here.-[Exit NELL.] Sir Harry, we have a little plot which you must assist us in.

Nan. [Coming forward with Lady SASH.] O madam, most willingly!

SONG.

The fife and drum sound merrily

A soldier, a soldier's the lad for me:
With my true love I soon shall be;
For who so kind, so true as he!
With him in every toil I'll share;
To please him shall be all my care:
Each peril I'll dare, all hardship I'll bear;
For a soldier, a soldier's the lad for me.
Then if kind Heaven preserve my love,
What rapturous joys shall Nancy prove!
Swift through the camp shall my footstep bound,
To meet my William, with conquest crown'd:
Close to my faithful bosom prest,
Soon shall he hush his cares to rest;
Clasp'd in these arms, forget war's alarms;
For a soldier, a soldier's the lad for me.

Lady Plume. Now, Nancy, you must be ruled by us.

Nan. As I live, there's my dear William! Lady Plume. Turn from him-you must! Nan. Oh, I shall discover myself!—I tremble so unlike a soldier.

Re-enter NELL with WILLIAM.

Nell. Why, I tell you, William, the ladies want to ask you some questions.

Sir Har. Honest corporal, here's a little recruit, son to a tenant of mine; and as I am told you are an intelligent young fellow, I mean to put him under your care.

Will. What, that boy, your honour? Lord

bless you, sir, I shall never be able to make anything of him!

Nan. I am sorry for that.

[Aside. Lady Sash. Nay, corporal, he's very young. Will. He is under size, my lady: such a stripling is fitter for a drummer than a rank and file. Sir Har. But he's straight and well made. Nan. I wish I was ordered to right about.

[Aside. Will. Well, I'll do all in my power to oblige your ladyship.-Come, youngster, turn about.Ah, Nelly, tell me, is't not she?

Sir Har. Why don't you march him off? Nell. Is he under size, corporal?-Oh, you blockhead!

Nan. O ladies, pray excuse me !-My dear William ! [Runs into his arms.

Nell. They'll never be able to come to an explanation before your ladyships.-Go, go, and talk by yourselves. [NANCY and WILLIAM retire up the stage.

Enter Serjeant DRILL, the Two Countrymen, Fife, &c. Drill. Please your ladyships, we have taken a sort of a spy this morning, who has the assurance to deny it, though he confesses himself an Irish painter. I have undertaken, however, to bring this letter from him to lady Sarah Sash.

Sir Har. What appears against him?

Drill. A great many suspicious circumstances, please your honour: he has an O before his name, and we took him with a draught of the camp in his hand.

Lady Sash. Ha! ha! ha! this is ridiculous enough 'tis O'Daub, the Irish painter, who diverted us some time ago at the fête-champêtre.Honest serieant, we'll see your prisoner, and I fancy you may release him.

[blocks in formation]

Drill. While the loud voice of war resounds from afar, Songs of duty and triumph we'll pay;

When our monarch appears, we'll give him three cheers,

With huzza! huzza! huzza!

Nan. Ye sons of the field, whose bright valour's your shield,

Love and beauty your toils shall repay:
Inspired by the charms of war's fierce alarms,
Huzza! huzza! huzza!

Will. Inspired by my love, all dangers I'll prove;
No perils shall William dismay:

In war's fierce alarms, inspired by those charms,
Huzza! huzza! huzza!

Chorus. May true glory still wave her bright banners around;

Still with fame, power, and freedom, old England [Exeunt omnes.

be crown'd.

[blocks in formation]

MADAM,-In requesting your permission to address the following pages to you, which, as they aim themselves to be critical, require every protection and allowance that approving taste or friendly prejudice can give them, I yet ventured to mention no other motive than the gratification of private friendship and esteem. Had I suggested a hope that your implied approbation would give a sanction to their defects, your particular reserve, and dislike to the reputation of critical taste, as well as of poetical talent, would have made you refuse the protection of your name to such purpose. However, I am not so ungrateful as now to attempt to combat this disposition in you. I shall not here presume to argue that the present state of poetry claims and expects every assistance that taste and example can afford it; nor endeavour to prove that a fastidious concealment of the most elegant productions of judgment and fancy is an ill return for the possession of those endowments. Continue to deceive yourself in the idea that you are known only to be eminently admired and regarded for the valuable qualities that attach private friendships, and the graceful talents that adorn conversation. Enough of what you have written has stolen into full public notice to answer my purpose; and you will, perhaps, be the only person, conversant in elegant literature, who shall read this address and not perceive that by publishing your particular approbation of the following drama, I have a more interested object than to boast the true respect and regard with which I have the honour to be, Madam, your very sincere and obedient humble servant,

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

SCENE, LONDON: in DANGLE's House during the First Act, and throughout the rest of

the Play in DRURY-LANE THEATRE.

« VorigeDoorgaan »