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?
Nancy.
O no, I still must love, though I should regret the occassion 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 doat on dearly;
But a merry soul, and an honest heart
In a lad who loves her dearly;
Who with kisses and chat,
And all all that,
Will sooth him late and early,
If the truth she tell,
When she knows him well,
She’ll swear she loves him dearly.
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,
Say old men whate’r they will,
’Tis a lover still
Makes day and night roll cheerly
What makes our may
All holiday,
But the lad we doat on dearly.
Nell.
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, besure you dont discover yourself — Hush! here is the serjeant.
Enter SERJEANT.
Ser.
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.
O, there’s no great danger serjeant; he’s no soldier for me; pray is he perfect in his exercise?
Ser.
O, 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.
Ser.
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.
TRIO.
O the joy! when the trumpets sound,
And the march beats around,
When the steed tears the ground,
And shouts to the skies resound,
On glittering arms the sun-beams playing,
Heighten the soldier’s charms.
The sife and the roll of the distant drum
Cry hark! the enemy come!
To arms! the attack’s begun.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
A Grove near the Camp.
Enter NELL, speaking without.
WILLIAM! come speak to him another time, sure nothing could be more lucky; however, I must obey their ladyship’s instructions, and keep him in ignorance, that they may be present at the discovery. Poor fellow, its almost a pity too, when one has it in ones power to make him so happy.
Enter WILLIAM.
Will.
I am sorry Nell to make you wait, but it was an old friend.
Nell.
Aye, aye, 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.
O, I beg your pardon; if her father and mother indeed are against you, you need not doubt her constancy. But come, dont 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.
Tho’ 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.
Aye, but prudence, you know, is not a soldiers virtue. Its our business to hold life itself cheap, much more the comforts of it. Shew me a young fellow in our regiment who, if he gains the heart of a worthy girl, and afraid to marry her for want of a little wealth, 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, tho’ 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 share,
Ah! how shall I secure,
Your health, ‘mid toils which you are 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.
SCENE II.
An open View near the Camp.
Enter O DAUB;
O Daub.
Well, to be sure this same Camp is a pretty place with their drums, and their fifes and their gigs and their marches, and their Ladies in their regimentals; upon my conscience I believe they’d form a troop of side-saddle cavalry if there was any hopes of an invasion. But now I am alone by myself, tis time I should be after taking my plan; and here I see are some of my directions for it.
(pulls out a pocket book and pencil.)
I cant 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? O! 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 and the TWO COUNTRYMEN.
1st. Countryman.
There you rogues, there he is!
2nd. C.
Aye aye, that’s him sure enough, I have seen him skulking about these two days, if he ben’t a spy I’ll suffer hanging.
Ser.
He certainly must be a spy by his drawing figures.
2nd. C.
Do seize on him or the whole camp may be blown up before we are aware!
O Daub.
Prompter’s side.
Ser.
Hush! we shall convict him out of his own mouth.
O Daub.
O yes, the star and garter must certainly be P. S.
Ser.
P. S. What the devil does he say?
2nd C.
Treason you may be sure, by your not understanding him.
O. Daub.
And then O. P. will have the advantage.
Ser.
O. P. That’s the old Pretender. A damn’d Jacobite spy, my life on’t.
1st. C.
And P. S. is Prince Charles, I suppose.
Ser.
No, you fool; P. S. is the Pretender’s Son.
2nd. C.
Aye, aye, like enough
O. Daub.
Memorandum — the officers tents are in the rear of the line.
2nd. C.
Mark that.
O Daub.
N B. the Generals tents are all houses.
1st. C.
Remember that.
O Daub.
Then the park of Artillery; I shall never make any thing of that. Oh! the devil burn the park of artillery!
Ser.
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.
Ser.
Is it so, you rogue? but you shall find the difference on’t. O, what a providential discovery!
O Daub.
To besure the people will like it much, and in the course of the winter it may surprise his majesty.
Ser.
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.
Ser.
Bind him, and blinfold him if he resists.
2nd. C.
Aye, blindfold him for certain, and search him too; I dare say his pockets are crouded with powder, matches, and tinder-boxes at every corner.
O Daub.
Tunder and owns! what do you mean?
1st. C.
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 Fete-Champetre, and will give me a good character.
Ser.
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.
Ser.
Why, you dog, did’n’t you say the camp was easier taken than you thought it was.
2nd. C.
Aye, deny that.
Ser.
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? O, to besure myself is got into a pretty scrape.
Ser.
Bring him away; but blindfold him, the dog shall see no more.
O Daub.
I’ll tell you what, Mr. soldier, or Mr. Sarjeant, 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,
Ser.
There, he has confessed himself a foreigner, and employed by Marshal Leatherbag.
2nd. C.
Oh, he’ll be convicted by his tongue. You may swear he is a foreigner by his lingo.
1st. C.
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 black-guards!
(They hurry him off.)
SCENE III.
Part of the Camp.
Enter, LADY GORGET, LADY SASH, and LADY PLUME.
L. Plume.
O! 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.
L. 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.
L. Sash.
So he should indeed; but all I said was, he looked so french and so finical, that I thought he ran a risque of being mistaken for another female chevalier.
L. Plume.
Yet, you must confess, that our situation is open to a little raillery: A few elegancies of accomodation are considerably wanting, though one’s toilet, as Sir Harry says, is not absolutely spread on a drum-head.
L. Sash.
He vows there is an eternal confusion between stores military, and millinery; such a description he gives — On one shelf, cartriges and 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.
L. Gorget.
O, the malicious creature!
L. Plume.
But pray, Lady Sash, don’t renew it, for see here comes Sir Harry to join us.
Enter SIR HARRY BOUQUET.
Sir Harry.
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.
L. Gorget.
You see, Lady Plume, he perseveres.
L. Sash.
I assure you, Sir Harry, I should have been against you in your raillery.
Sir Harry.
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-a-vis, and Bellona giving a Fete-Champetre.
L. Plume.
But now, seriously brother, what can make you judge so indifferently of the camp from any body else?
Sir Harry.
Why seriously then, I think it the worst planned thing I ever beheld, for instance now, the tents are all ranged in a strait line, now Lady Gorget, can any thing be worse than a strait line; and is not there a horrid uniformity in their infinite vista of canvas? no curve, no break, and the avenue of marquees abominable.
L. Sash.
O, to be sure a circus or a crescent would have been vastly better.
L. Gorget.
What a pity Sir Harry was not consulted.
Sir Harry.
As Gad’s my judge I think so; for there is great capability in the ground.
Lady Sash.
A camp cognoscenti possitively, Sir Harry, we will have you publish a treatise on military virtue.
Sir Harry.
Very well, but how will you excuse this; the officer’s tents are close to the common soldiers; what an arrangment 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.
L. Gorget.
Very right. I dare say you would have thought of proper marquees for hazard and quinze.
L. Plume.
To be sure, with festino tents, and opera pavilions.
Sir Harry.
Gad, the only plan that could make it supportable for a week; Well, certainly the greatest defect in a general is want of taste.
L. Sash
Undoubtedly, and conduct, discipline, and want of humanity, are no atonements for it.
Sir Harry.
None in nature.
L. 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 Harry.
Universal indeed; and the ridicule of it is to see how this madness had infected the whole road from Maidstone to London; the camp jargon is as current all the way as bad silver; the very postillions 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 enquiring what I could have for dinner, a cursed drilled waiter, after reviewing his bill of fare, with the air of a field marshal, proposed an advanced party of soup and bouille to be followed by the main body of ham and chickens, flanked by a fricasee, with sallads in the intervals and corps de reserve of sweetmeats, and whipt syllabubs to form a hollow square in the centre:
Ha! ha! ha! Sir Harry, I am very sorry you have so strong a dislike to every thing militaty; for unless you would contribute to the fortune of our little recruit —
Sir Harry.
O madam, most willingly; and very apropos here comes your ladyship’s protagec, and has brought I see the little recruit, as you desired.
Enter NELL and NANCY.
Nell.
Here Nancy make your curtsey, or your bow to the ladies, who have so kindly promised you protection.
Nancy.
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. That’s what you mean, you know.
(aside to Nancy.
L. 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.
L. 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.
L. Sash.
But are you sure you will be able to bear the hardships of your situation.
(retires up with Nancy.
L. Plume.
(to Nell.)
You have seen him then?
Nell.
O, yes, your ladyship.
L. Plume.
Go and bring him here.
(Exit Nell.)
Sir Harry we have a little plot, which you must assist us in.
Nancy.
(Coming forward with Lady Sash)
O, madam, most willingly.
SONG.
The fife and drum sounds 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 footsteps bound,
To meet my William with conquest crown’d,
Close to my faithful bosom prest,
Delphi Complete Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan Page 37