1st. Man.
How durst you talk so saucily to his worship?
Nell.
Hold your tongue, or I’ll throttle you, you sheep biter.
(collaring him.)
1st. Man.
O lord! your worship, if you don’t put her under an arrest she’ll choak me.
Gage.
(Aside.)
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 villainies 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 every body under an arrest that stays to listen to her.
All.
Aye, aye, 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.)
Nell.
No Sir, I wont.
Gage.
Well then I will.
(puts it in his pocket.)
AIR.
NELL.
Now coaxing, caressing,
Now wheedling, distressing,
As fortune delights to exalt or confound,
Her smile or her frown
Sets them up, knocks them down,
Turning, turning, turning as the wheel goes round.
II.
O fie, Mr. Gage!
Quit the tricks of the age;
Scorn the slaves that to fortune, false fortune are bound,
Their cringes and bows,
Protections and vows,
Turning, turning, &c.
Exit Nell.
Gage.
Foolish girl, not to accept a bribe, and follow the example of her betters. — But who have we here?
Enter O DAUB.
O Daub.
Ah, my little Gage! to be sure I am not in luck; I will not want an interpreter to shew 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.
Aye, and must bring it away with me in my pocket too.
Gage.
Indeed!
O Daub.
Aye, here’s my military chest; these are my colours you know.
Gage.
O, I guess your errand.
O Daub.
Then faith it’s a very foolish one. You must know, I got so much credit at the Fete Champetre there, that little Roscius recommended me to the Managers of Drury Lane, and so now I am a sort of deputy superintendant under Mr. Lanturnburg, 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.
O, to be sure it will answer, when a jontlemen 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 dont know what to make o’nt, 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.
(Boulard fings without)
Tunder and wounds! what outlandish creature is this coming here?
Gage.
O, that is Monsieur Boulard, 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 BOULARD.
Boul.
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.
O, he means through the regiments.
Boulard.
By gar, mounsieur 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.
Boulard.
Parblue, monsieur Gage, I must look to you, for by gar I have got nothing in de house to eat.
O Daub.
Then the devil burn me if I come to dine with you honey.
Boulard.
O, Sire, I have got every ting for you and Monsieur Gage. You shall have any ting you ike 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?
Boulard.
Puzzled! — parblue 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, Monsieur Gage, I vill always stay with do strongest.
Gage.
You see, Mr. O Daub, my friend Monsieur Boulard is divested of all national prejudice, I assure you.
Boulard.
Prejudice — by gar 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 every ting for you and your friend, I assure you. M. 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 you do, my ver good countrymen. By gar 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 Boulard.
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 connection 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 no 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 flower I suppose.
&nb
sp; Gage.
Flower! no, no — I should have saved nothing by that: I went to the fountain head — the pit, and gave ’em a plentiful stock of lime.
O Daub.
Lime? brick and mortar lime?
Gage.
Yes, 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 was all caught in a fine soaking shower; the smoke ran along the lines, ecod their heads were all slack’d in an instant, and by the time they returned to the camp, damme if all their heads were not as smooth as an old half crown.
O Daub.
A very cross accident indeed.
Gage.
Yes, I stood a near chanceof 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; — he’ll mow you down a regiment of beards in the beating a revally.
O Daub.
Upon my conscience, a pretty way this of working at secondhand. 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 Boulard’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.
Enter TWO COUNTRYMEN.
First Countryman.
I TELL you I will certainly list; I ha’ made up my mind on’t.
2nd. C.
Well, well, I’ll say no more.
1st. C.
Besides the camp lies so convenient, I mayn’t have such another opportunity.
2nd. C.
Why its 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 drest 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,
1st. C.
Aye, like enough. Here comes the sarjeant. Ecod he can sing louder than his own drum. Zooks! see how brave they march. Well, walking is a mighty dull way of going after all.
Enter SERJEANT, DRUMMER, RECRUITS, &c.
SONG.
SERJEANT.
Great Caesar once renownd in fame,
For a mighty arm, and a laurel brow,
With his VE-NI, VI-DI, VI-CI came,
And he conquerd the world with his row dow dow.
Chor.
Row, dow, dow; row, dow, dow,
And he conquerd the world, &c.
Then should our vaunting Enemies come,
And winds, and waves their cause allow,
By Freedom’s Flag we’ll beat our drum,
And they’ll fly from the sound of our row, dow, dow.
Row, dow, dow, &c.
Then come my lads, our Bounty share,
Whose honest hearts British Valour avow,
In Freedom’s cause to Camp repair,
And follow the beat of my row, dow, dow.
Row, dow, dow, &c.
Serj.
Come my lads now is your time to serve the King, and make men of yourselves: Well my lad, what do you say?
2nd. C.
I canno’ leave my farm.
Serjeant.
Your farm? — what would would you plow and sow for the hungry Frenchmen to come and reap. Come my lads! let your fields lie fallow this year, and I’ll insure 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.
1st C.
Aye, but serjeant, I hanna’ the air.
Serjeant.
The air, O, we’ll soon learn you that; why now here’s little Ralph; there’s a fellow for you, he has not been listed afortnight, and see what a presence — there’s dignity! O, there is nothing like the drill for grace.
1st C.
Serjeant, I’m your man.
2nd C.
And so am I.
Serj.
That’s right my lads; this is much better than to be dragg’d away like a slave, or be scratch’d 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.
TRIO.
Ser.
Yet ere you’re permitted to list with me,
Answer me strait twice questions three.
1st. C.
No lies, master Serjeant, well tell unto you,
For tho’ we be poor lads we’re honest and true.
Ser.
First, can you drink well?
1st. C.
Cheerly, cheerly.
Ser.
Each man a gallon?
2nd. C.
Nearly, nearly.
Ser.
Love a sweet wench too?
Both.
Dearly, dearly.
Ser.
The answer is honest, bold, and fair;
So drink to the King, for his soldiers you are.
Chorus.
The answer is honest, &c.
Ser.
When bullets are whizzing around your head,
You’ll boldly march on wherever you’re led.
2nd. C.
To death we’ll rush forward without delay,
If good master serjeant, you’ll shew us the way
Ser.
Next, can you swear well?
2nd. C.
Bluffly, bluffly.
Ser.
Handle a frenchman —
1st. C.
Roughly, roughly.
Ser.
Frown at a cannon?
Both.
Gruffly, gruffly.
Ser.
The answers are honest, bold, and fair,
So drink to the King for his soldiers you are.
Chorus.
The answers are honest, &c.
Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!
Enter NELL.
Nell.
Well said my lads, I am glad to see so many good hearts in the country — O, but was not you saying one of your recruits knows me!
Ser.
O, yes Nell, a lad from suffolk. Hark’ye, where’s the Suffolk boy as we call him? O, here he comes.
Enter NANCY.
Nancy.
Ah serjeant, did you not begin to think you had lost me? But come, will you leave me a few minutes with Nelly.
Ser.
With all my heart. Come, my lads, let’s to the heart of oak, where we’ll drink his Majesty’s health.
(Exit singing The answer, &c. and two huzzas.
Nancy.
Why Nelly, don’t you know me?
Nell.
Know you? Egad I don’t know whether I do or not — sure it can’t be — and yet, sure it is Nancy Granger.
Nancy.
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?
Nancy.
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 neighbours 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 inlisted 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.
Nancy.
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.
Nancy.
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.
Nancy.
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,
My fond heart with grief did figh,
Each fresh remembrance brought fresh sorrow on me;
I waked ere yet the morn was nigh,
No other could delight him,
Ah! why did I ere slight him,
Cooly answering his fond tale?
Which drove him far,
Amid the rage of war,
And left silly me thus to bewail.
But I no longer thus, a maid forsaken,
Nor will I mourn like yonder dove,
For ere the dawn to-morrow shall awaken,
I’ll go seek my absent love:
The distant hills all over,
I’ll fly to seek my lover,
Scorning every threat’ning fear;
Nor distant shore,
Nor cannon’s loud roar,
Shall longer keep me from my dear.
Nell.
Delphi Complete Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan Page 36