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:
L. Plume.
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,
Soon shall he hush his cares to rest;
Clasp’d in these arms, forget wars alarms,
For a soldier, a soldier’s the lad for me.
L. Plume.
Now Nancy, you must be ruled by us.
Nancy.
As I live there’s my dear William!
L. Plume.
Turn from him — you must.
Nancy.
O, I shall discover myself — I tremble so unlike a soldier.
Enter NELL with WILLIAM.
Nell.
Why I tell you, William, the ladies want to ask you some questions.
Sir Harry.
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 any thing of him.
Nancy.
(aside.)
I am sorry for that.
L. 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 Harry.
But he’s straight and well made.
Nancy.
I wish I was ordered to right about.
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 Harry.
Why don’t you march him off?
Nell.
Is he undersize corporal? O, you block-head!
Nancy.
O ladies pray excuse me! — My dear William!
(runs in his arms.
Nell.
They’ll never be able to come to an explanation before your ladyships — Go, go and talk by yourselves.
(they retire up the stage.
Enter SERJEANT, two COUNTRYMEN, Fife &c.
Ser.
Please your ladyships, we have taken a sort of a spy this morning, who has the assurance to deny it, tho’ he confesses himself an Irish painter. I have undertaken however to bring this letter from him to lady Sarah Sash.
Sir. Harry.
What appears against him?
Ser.
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.
L. Sash.
Ha, ha ha! this is ridiculous enough, ’tis O Daub, the Irish painter, who diverted us sometime ago at the Fete-Champetre. Honest serjeant we’ll see your prisoner, and I fancy you may release him.
Sir Harry.
Pray serjeant what’s to be done this evening?
Ser.
The line, your honour, turns out, and as there are pleasure tents pitched, perhaps the ladies will condescend to hear a march and chorus, which some recruits are practising against his majesty comes to the camp.
L. Sash.
Come Sir Harry, you’ll grow fond of a camp life yet.
Sir Harry.
Your ladyships will grow tired of it first I’ll answer for it.
L. Sash.
No, no.
Sir Harry.
Yes, on the first bad weather you’ll give orders to strike your tents and toilets, and secure a retreat at Tunbridge.
A march while the scene changes to a View of the Camp.
FINALE.
SERJEANT.
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!
NANCY.
Ye sons of the field, whose bright valour’s your shield,
Love and beauty your toils shall repay;
Inspir’d by the charms, of wars fierce alarms,
Huzza! huzza! huzza!
WILLIAM.
Inspir’d by my love all dangers I’ll prove,
No perils shall William dismay;
In wars fierce alarms, inspir’d by those charms,
Huzza! huzza! huzza!
CHORUS.
May true glory still wave her bright banners around,
Still with fame, pow’r & freedom old England be crown’d.
FINIS.