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But foon the storm began to low'r ;-
It struck the tree that held the flower-
Her lover died, fhe droop'd her head,
In forrow o'er his lowly bed:

And fading like her cheek's foft bloom,
Sunk like a lilly to the tomb;-
Still will the tears, foft pity gave,
Refresh the flowers that deck her grave.

SCENE III-Outfide of the Angel Inn.

Enter Corporal BARREL, and Recruiting Party, feveral Countrymen with Cockades in their Hats.-Drum and Fife playing the Air, "Roast Beef."

Corp. Huzza my boys!-if thofe are not a fet of as fine recruits as ever carried a mufket, my name is not Barrel-another fuch a day's work, will make my Officer a Captain; and, if merit fhould meet it's reward, will turn me, a noify Corporal, into an Orderly Serjeant, in boys-in with you. (As they go into the Tap Enter WILLIAM SEAGRAVE.

Will. Corporal

Corp. Hey! What do ye want?-Who are ye?

Will. An Englishman,-have been a failorwould be a foldier.-(Will. ftands with his hands clafp'd, and eyes fixed on the ground)

Corp. That's a brave fellow-afide.) he looks like a Frenchman, for all that he's as pale and thin as foup-meagre; I wonder what he lives

upon.

Will. (Abftractedly.) Dear Patty!

Corp. Dear Patty!-the devil!

Will. This will be a temporary relief-the has laboured inceffantly.

Corp. Well, friend, here are two guineas.
Will. For two months'

Corp. Two months!

Will. 'Tis my turn now tho' we cannot find the bond-Old Worldly may still be induced to pay the money.

Corp. Pay the money! Oh-the Captain will give you the bounty money,

Will. He's rich.

Corp. Not very-but then you'll have

Will. A hundred pounds, it is nothing to him. Corp. A hundred pounds!

Will. 'Twould be to us-every thing.

Corp. If you think of getting a hundred pounds, friend, I fear you'll be difappointed.

Will. I fear fo too.-(to the Corporal.)

Corp. Well, there's the 'lifting money and the cockade, however.

Will. (Again thoughtful) Should he still refuse, I muft write to my landlord

Corp. (Takes out his note book.) Where born?
Will. -In London

Corp. -Very well, (writes. Where do you live?
Will.I have loft the direction, but-
Corp. Eh!

Will. I think 'tis in Gracechurch-Street. Corp. Oh-I did'nt know, there was such a street in this town. (writes.) How tall?

Will. Near the Monument

Corp. S'blood he's mad-I muft measure himWill. By the yard, the number, I thinkCorp. How old?

Will.

Forty-feven

Corp. (Looking at him in aftonishment, and writing.) Forty-feven-impoffible

Will. Right-exactly, and the name

Corp. (Still writing.) Ay, the name?

Will. Obadiah Broadbrim.-That will do

Corp. Will it-well, I've put it all down according to orders; but I'll be fhot if the captain can make it

out.

Will. When muft I ar pear?

Corp. At roll-call this evening.-But come, come in, and have fome roaft beef and fome punch.Were you ever found guilty of eating and drinking? Will. Never, while I had a fifter perishing for want.

[Exit:

Corp. What the devil can he mean-perifhing for want! Poor fellow, I am afraid his head's out of order for he has fo bother'd me with his description, and alarm'd me by his behaviour-that rot me if I know whether I ftand on my head or my heels. Well, this recruiting's fine fun however-such variety-I went laft night to fee the ftrolling players, dear, dear, how they did get on, talking of all forts of liquors 'till at laft I furely knew-whether I was in a play-house or a wine-vault.

SONG.-BARREL.

A play-houfe of liquor, 'tis found,
Reminds us, I've inftances twenty,
Some plays much in Spirits abound,
And then we have Mellow-Drams plenty,
A manager's Draft we all know,
When business runs dry is no thumper;
But fhould all his houfe overflow,
He cries, dam'me to-night, I've a bumper.

rume.

Many actors are certainly rum,
And folks in the critical line,
Say comedians are given to mum,
And tragedians are given to whine,

A bumper, &c.

For this, and Obadiah Broadbrim's Song, in the Second Act, I am indebted to the inimitable pen of George Colman, Esq.

Then Juliet 'tis plain has her beer,

To the family vault e'er they've brought her :
Fair Ophelia alone 'tis we hear

Who poor creature had too much of Water.
Of water, &c.

King Lear in the midft of his court,
Inquires which way Burgundy went;
And Richmond tho' juft come to Port,
Soon rouses King Dick from his Tent;
While Blackftrap Othello the fhock
Of jealousy feels through his brain,
lago fticks close to his Hock,
And tips him a dofe of fham-pain.

Thus a theatre waving dry facts,
Is a tavern for critic fpectators;
And when they are flow 'twixt the acts,
The audience alas are the waiters.

Plays like wines are fome four and some sweet,
They please and difguft various throttles;
The plays that fucceed are call'd neat,

And damn'd pieces are all the cork'd bottles. [Exit.

SCENE.-Room at an Inn-Waiters without calling coming, &c. a confusion of bells heard, three doors leading to chambers-with names written on them, Lion, Star, Drum,-Lieutenant FERVOR is feen at the Table with papers.

Fer: This will do, this will do, this will do-none of your hum-drum moping, melancholy country villages this, all fpirit, life, and buftle, nothing like a populous market town to recruit in,-bells ringing, (pulls the bell violently.) colours flying, drums beating,

(waiter without, 'coming Sir'.)-Waiters all attention, by the bye, nothing I like fo much as civility. (waiter croffes the flage very quick.) Holloa, my fine fellow!a word with you,

Wait, Coming directly Sir.

[Exit Waiter. Fer. Impudent rafcal!-Try again, (rings the bell.) I fhall get every information from the landlord-he's a civil man-fee that by his face.

Enter Landlord, looking very angry, with a bill of fare in bis band.

Oh Landlord,-wifh'd to fay-much pleased with the apartment-very clean and comfortable-fuit me exactly, (Looking round the room with nods of approbation to the Landlord, afide.) nothing like flattery, always answers, very good room indeed Landlord.

Land. Yes Sir, the gentlemen of the Excife always dine in this room-we expect thein in lefs than half an hour, fo if you have done writing, Sir-(going to move the table, &c.)

Fer. Stop-can't you be quiet a moment.

Land. Impoffible Sir, there's company in every room in the house.

Fer. Houfe full! what's to become of me? (bells ring.)

Land. (Hurrying.) Blefs my foul, I never was fo hurried in my life.

Fer. That's right,-that's right, nothing like bustle to keep people alive.-But where am I to fleep?

Land. In the Drum Sir,

Fer. A Drum! what d'ye mean?

Land. A fnug room over the coach office gate.

(pointing.) Fer. 'Sdeath, there'll be buftle enough there.-Coaches coming in all night. Eh?

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