THE stage is still the mirror of the day, Upon my word I wish these wars would cease!" Search in the latest as in all the past, The clubs are poor; let them their Louis bring, She starts, she wakes, she quivers, kneels and SCENE I.-The Road near the Camp. Enter Old Man. ACT I. Old Man. Come along, neighbours, come along; we shall be too late for the suttlers' market. Enter Second Man. 2 Man. Put on, put on, neighbours.-Here, Robin, where are you, boy? Rob. [Without.] I'm coming, feather, as soon as I can get the colt up; for the plaguy beast is down again, and mother and chickens are all in the slough. Old Man. Why, is the colt down again?--You graceless dog, help your mother up.-Oh, neighbour Farrow has helped her up, I see. Enter Old Woman. Old Wom. Husband, as sure as you are alive, that rogue of a boy drove the colt in the dirt for the purpose, and down we came with such a wang Old Man. What a mercy it is the chickens escaped !-Come, put on, neighbours. Enter ROBIN and Colt. Rob. Why, feather, how could I help it ?—The colt has not had an eye in his head these eight years. Old Wom. Oh, here comes our kinswoman and her daughter Enter Miss. Bless me, child! you are in such a heat, you'll quite spoil your complexion. Miss. Lord, neighbours, you hurry one so! 2 Wom. Put on, put on ;-make haste, we shall be too late. O dear, here comes Nell; and she'll scold us all for cheating the soldiers. 3 Wom. Damn that wench! she won't cheat herself, nor let other honest people do it, if she can help it; and she says she likes a soldier so well she would sell them goods for nothing. 2 Man. Come, neighbours, now we shall see what bargains your daughter will make at the camp. 2 Wom. Ay, ay, soldiers are testy customers : they won't buy of the ugly ones.-Oh, here Nell comes. Enter NELL. Nell. Why, how now? what you are consulting how you shall cheat the poor soldiers! For shame! for shame! how can you use the poor fellows so? a parcel of unfeeling wretches!-Poor fellows, that risk their lives to defend your property, and yet you make it your study to defraud them. Old Wom. It's very hard, Nell, you won't let us have a little picking among 'em.-What is it to you what we do? Nell. Yes, it is to me; I never will bear to see a soldier cheated, with my eyes open. I love a soldier, and will always stand by them. Miss. Mind your own business, Nell. Nell. What's that you say, Miss Minx ?— Here's a wench dressed out: the poor soldiers are forced to pay for all this finery, you impudent slut you! 2 Man. Why, Nell, if you go on at this rate we'll tell his worship, Mr. Gage, of you: he's an exciseman, and a great friend to us poor folks. Nell. What's that you say, master Grinder? Come forward, you sneaking, snivelling sot you! -I think your tricks are pretty well knownWasn't you caught soaking eggs in lime and water to make them pass for new ones? and did not you sit in the stocks for robbing the 'squire's rookery to make your pigeon pies ? 2 Wom. Well, well, we'll tell Mr. Gage, and then what will he say to you? Nell. Tell Mr. Gage, will you !-he's a pretty protector indeed; he's a disgrace to his Majesty's inkhorn-while he seizes with one hand, he smuggles with the other. Why, no longer ago than last summer, he was a broken attorney at Rochester, and came down here, and bought this place with his vote, and now he is both a smuggler and contractor. O' my conscience, if I had the management of affairs, I would severely punish all such fellows who would be so base as to cheat a poor soldier. 2 Wom. If his worship was here, you dare not say so. Here he comes, here he comes !-Now you'll change your note. Nell. Will I!-you shall see if I do. No, no ; I'll tell him my mind: that's always my way. Enter GAGE. All. Ah, Mr. Gage. Gage. Heyday! what's the matter? What the plague, is there a civil war broke out among you? 1 Wom. Why, Mr. Gage, Nell here has been scolding us for cheating the soldiers. 2 Wom. Yes, and says you encourage us in it. Gage. Encourage you! to be sure I do, in the way of trade. All. Ay, in the way of trade. 1 Wom. Yes, and she has been rating the poor girl, and says I dress her up thus only to make the better bargains. Gage. And ecod you are in the right of it; your mother is a sensible old woman. Well said, dame; put plenty in your baskets, and sell your wares at the sign of your daughter's face. 1 Wom. Ay, ay, so I say. Gage. Right-soldiers are testy customers, and this is the market where the prettiest will always make the best bargains. All. Very true, very true! Gage. To be sure-I hate to see an awkward gawky come sneaking into the market, with her damned half-price countenance, and is never able to get scarce double the value of her best goods. Nell. I can hold no longer!-Are you not ashamed, you who are a contractor, and has the honour to carry his Majesty's inkhorn at your button-hole, to teach these poor wretches all your court tricks?-I'll tell you what-if I was to sit on a court-martial against such a fellow as you, you should have your deserts, from the pilfering suttler to the head contractor; you should have the cat o' nine tails, and be forced to run the gauntlet, from Coxheath to Warley Common, that you should. 1 Man. How durst you talk so saucily to his worship? Nell. Hold your tongue, or I'll throttle you, you sheep-biter. [Collaring him. 1 Man. O Lord, your worship! if you don't put her under an arrest, she'll choke me. Gage. [Aside to NELL.] Come, Nell, hold your tongue, and I'll give you a pound of smuggled hyson, and throw you a silk handkerchief into the bargain. Nell. Here's a rogue !-Bear witness, neighbours, he has offered me a bribe ;-a pound of tea. -No, sir, take your pitiful present, and know that I am not to be bribed to screen your villanies by influence and corruption. [Throws it at him. Gage. Don't mind her; she's mad, she talks treason. Away with you!-I'll put everybody under an arrest that stays to listen to her. All. Ay, ay, she's mad.-Come along; we shall be too late for market. [GAGE drives them all off. Gage. Here, Nell, will you take the tea? [Offers it to her. O'Daub. Ah, my little Gage !-to be sure I am not in luck; I will not want an interpreter to show me the views about here:-and by my shoul, I'll force you to accept my offer. Gage. Why, what's your errand? O'Daub. Why, upon my conscience, a very dangerous one-Jack the Painter's job was a fool to it :-I am come to take the camp. Gage. The devil you are! O'Daub. Ay, and must bring it away with me in my pocket too. Gage. Indeed! I am a sort of deputy superintendant under Mr. Lanternberg, the great painter; that as soon as he executes a thing, I always design it after him, my jewel; so I'm going to take a side front view of it. Gage. What then, they are going to introduce the camp on the stage, I suppose? O'Daub. To be sure you have hit it-Coxheath by candle-light, my jewel. Gage. And will that answer? O'Daub. Oh, to be sure it will answer, when a jontleman can have a warm seat, and see the whole tote of it for two thirteens, and be comfortable into the bargain. Why it has cost me above three guineas already, and I came the cheapest way too; for three of us went halves in the Maidstone Dilly, my dear. Gage. Well, and how do you like the prospect? O'Daub. Upon my shoul, my jewel, I don't know what to make on't, so I am come to be a little farther off, that I may have a nearer view of it. I think it looks like my cousin O'Doiley's great bleach-yard in the county of Antrim.-[BOUILLARD sings without.] Tunder and wounds! what outlandish creature is this coming here? Gage. Oh, that is monsieur Bouillard, the suttler. O'Daub. Then perhaps he can help me to a bit of something to eat, for I feel a sort of craving in my stomach after my journey. Gage. Why, he's a very honest fellow, and will be happy in obliging you.-Oh, here he comes. Enter BOUILLARD. Bouil. Ah! begar, monsieur Gage, I am glad I have found you: begar, I have been through Berkshire, Suffolk, and Yorkshire, and could not find you. O'Daub. Through Berkshire, Suffolk, and Yorkshire What the devil does he mean? Gage. Oh, he means through the regiments. Bouil. Begar, monsieur Gage, I must depend on you for supply. I have got one, two, tree brigade dinners bespoke, besides the fat alderman and his lady from London. Gage. Then you must send out a party of cooks to forage at Maidstone. Bouil. Parbleu, monsieur Gage, I must look to you; for begar, I have got nothing in de house to eat. O'Daub. Then the devil burn me if I come to dine with you, honey! Bouil. Oh, sire, I have got everyting for you and monsieur Gage. You shall have anyting you like in von moment! O'Daub. Ah, ha! I tank you, honey. But pray now, Mr. Blaud, if your own countrymen were to come over here, would not you be a little puzzled to know which side to be on? Bouil. Puzzled!-parbleu, monsieur, I do assure you I love de English ver well, and vill never leave dem vile dey are victorious; and I do love mine own countrymen very well; but depend on it, O'Daub. Ay, here's my military chest; these monsieur Gage, I vill always stay with de strongest. are my colours, you know. Gage. Oh, I guess your errand. O'Daub. Then, faith, it's a very foolish one. You must know, I got so much credit at the fête champêtre there, that little Roscius recommended me to the managers of Drury-lane, and so now Gage. You see, Mr. O'Daub, my friend, monsieur Bouillard, is divested of all national prejudice, I assure you. Bouil. Prejudice !-begar, I have too much honour ever to leave de English while dey do vin de battle. But, monsieur Gage, vill you bring your friend, and taste my vine? I have got everyting for you and your friend. I assure you, monsieur Gage, I vill never forsake de English, so long as dey are victorious; but if mine own countrymen were to come and make de English run, I would run a little way with dem; and if mine own countrymen were likely to overtake dem, I would stop short, bow to dem, and say, How do you do, my ver good countrymen? Begar, I shall be ver glad to see you both; so come along-but depend on mine honour, monsieur Gage, I vill never leave de English vile dey do vin de battle.-No, never, never! [Exit singing. Gage. Well said, monsieur Bouillard ! O'Daub. Your sarvant, Mr. Blaud! though, faith, to do him justice, he has forgot the fashion of his country; for when he is determined to be a rogue he is honest enough to own it. But pray, what connexion have you with the suttlers? You are no victualler here, are you? Gage. Not absolutely a victualler, but I deal in various articles. O'Daub. Indeed! Gage. Yes, but business is done here only by contract. O'Daub. A contractor! why, what the devil, you are not risen to such preferment as that sure? I never knew you was able to furnish any contract. Gage. Nothing more easy; the circumstance depends upon the quantity, not the quality. I got on very well lately, but at first it brought me in several confounded scrapes. O'Daub. As how? Gage. Why, I undertook to serve a regiment with hair powder. O'Daub. Hair powder! What, and you sent them flour, I suppose? Gage. Flour, no, no-I should have saved nothing by that: I went to the fountain head-the pit, and gave them a plentiful stock of lime. O'Daub. Lime! brick and mortar lime? O'Daub. And, what the plague, was not the cheat found out? Gage. Why at first it answered the purpose very well while the weather was fine it did charmingly; but one field-day they were all caught in a fine soaking shower: the smoke ran along the lines; ecod their heads were all slacked in an instant, and by the time they returned to the camp, damme if all their heads were not as smooth as an old halfcrown! O'Daub. A very cross accident indeed! Gage. Yes, I stood a near chance of being tied up to the halberts; but I excused myself by saying they looked only like raw recruits before, but now they appeared like old veterans of service. O'Daub. But you lost your contract, I suppose? Gage. Yes, but I soon got another; a shaving contract to a company of grenadiers. O'Daub. 'Faith, I never knew you practised that business. Gage. Never handled a razor in all my life: I shave by deputy; hired Sam Sickle down from London-an excellent hand! handles a razor like a scythe-be'll mow you down a regiment of beards in the beating a reveille. O'Daub. Upon my conscience, a pretty way this of working at second-hand! I wish myself could do a little by proxy. Gage. But come, what say you for something to eat, and a glass of my friend Bouillard's wine, and drink his majesty's health? O'Daub. With all my heart, my dear, and to the two camps, if you will. Gage. Two! what two do you mean? O'Daub. Why, the one at Coxheath, and the other at Drury-lane. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A Grove near the Camp. 1 Coun. I tell you I will certainly list; I ha' made up my mind on't. 2 Coun. Well, well, I'll say no more. 1 Coun. Besides, the camp lies so convenient, I mayn't have such another opportunity. 2 Coun. Why, it's main jolly to be sure, and all that so fair. Now, if I were to list, I should like hugely to belong to a regiment of horse, and here is one of the grandest troop com'd lately. I see'd two of the officers, mighty delicate-looking gentlemen; they were dressed quite different from the others their jackets, indeed, are pretty much the same; but then they wear a sort of petticoat, as 'twere, with a large hat and feather, and a mortal sight of hair. I suppose now they are some of your outlandish troops; your foreign Hessians, or such like. Drill. Great Cæsar, once renown'd in fame, Then should our vaunting enemies come, By freedom's flag we'll beat our drum, Then come, my lads, our bounty share, Row, dow, dow, &c. Drill. Come, my lads, now is your time to serve the king, and make men of yourselves: well, my lad, what do you say? 2 Coun. I canno' leave my farm. Drill. Your farm!-what, would you plough and sow for the hungry Frenchmen to come and reap? Come, my lads! let your fields lie fallow this year, and I'll ensure you double crops ever after. Why now, here's a fellow made for a soldier: there's a leg for a spatterdash, with an eye like the king of Prussia. 1 Coun. Ay, but, serjeant, I hanna' the air. Drill. The air! oh, we'll soon learn you that. Why now, here's little Ralph; there's a fellow for you: he has not been listed a fortnight, and see what a presence-there's dignity! Oh, there is nothing like the drill for grace! 1 Coun. Serjeant, I'm your man. 2 Coun. And so am I. Drill. That's right, my lads! this is much better than to be dragged away like a slave, or be scratched off the church door for the militia. Now you have present pay, and the bounty-money into the bargain. But come, my lads, let me ask you a few questions, and then the business is done. Nan. Ah, serjeant, did you not begin to think you had lost me? But come, will you leave me a few minutes with Nelly? Drill. With all my heart.-Come, my lads, let's to the Heart of Oak, where we'll drink his majesty's health. [Exit singing, Countrymen, &c. following. Nan. Why, Nelly, don't you know me ? Nell. Know you! egad, I do not know whether I do or not sure it can't be-and yet, sure it is Nancy Granger? Nan. It is her, my dear Nelly, who kisses you now with the truest sense of gratitude for your former kindness and friendship. Nell. My dear girl!-Odso! I must take care of my reputation.-But what in the name of fancy brings you here, and in this dress, child? Nan. How can you ask me that question, Nelly? You are no stranger to the love William and I have for each other: a few days would have united us for ever, had not cruel fate separated us; the regiment being ordered to march immediately, no resource was then left but my flying from my father's house: I procured a dress from one of our neighbour's sons, and that love which induced me to forsake my sex still supports me under every affliction. Fortunately, on my way, I met the serjeant, and after some entreaty was enlisted, and equipped as you see. What think you, Nell, does not my dress become me? Nell. Yes, indeed, I think you make a smart little soldier. Nan. Why, indeed I am rather under size; but I fancy in action I could do more real execution than those who look bigger, and talk louder. But tell me, my dear Nelly, where is William? I long to see him does he ever speak of his poor Nancy? sure he cannot be faithless. Nell. Why, really, Nancy, I have some doubts. Nan. Heavens! is it possible? Nell. Ah, my poor little soldier, I only did it to try your affection. Your William is true, and worthy of your love. Nan. You have made a greater shock on my spirits, than even an army of Frenchmen could have done. AIR. When war's alarms enticed my Willy from me, Each fond remembrance brought fresh sorrow on me; Which drove him far, And left silly me thus to bewail. But I no longer, though a maid forsaken, Thus will mourn like yonder dove; For ere the lark to-morrow shall awaken, I will seek my absent love: The hostile country over, Nor cannons' roar, Nell. But, my dear girl, consider; do you think you can cheerfully go through the toil and fatigue, and not repine after your own happy situation you left behind you? Nan. Ono; I still must love, though I should regret the occasion of our difficulties. Nell. Difficulty! why then, marry him at the drum-head, and that will end all your difficulties. AIR. What can our wisest heads provide, For the child we dote on dearly, But a merry soul, and an honest heart Who with kisses and chat, Let the prude at the name or sight of man Pretend to rail severely; But, alack-a-day! unseen she'll play With the lad who loves her dearly. |