Serj. Your farm!—what, 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.

Serj. 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 a fortnight, and see what a presence-there's dignity! O, there is nothing like the drill for grace.

1st C. Serjeant, I'm your man.

2d 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 bountey-money into the bargain. But come, my lads, let me ask you a few questions, and then the business is done.

TRIO.

Serj. Yet ere you're permitted to list with me;
Answer me straight twice questions three.
4st C. No lies, master serjeant, we'll tell unto you,
For tho' we be poor lads, we're honest and true.
First, can you drink well?

Serj. 1st C.

Serj. 2d C.

Serj.
Both.

Cheerly, cheerly.

Each man a gallon?

Nearly, nearly.

Love a sweet wench too!

Dearly, dearly.

Serj. The answer is honest, bold and fair;

So drink to the king, for his soldiers you are.
Chorus. The answer is honest, &c.

Serj. When bullets are whizzing around your head. You'll boldly march on wherever you're led. 2d C. To death we'll rush forward without delay,

If, good master serjeant, you 'll shew us the way.

Both.

Gruffly, gruffly.

Serj. 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 know me?

Serj. 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?

Serj. 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 answers, &c. and two

huzzas.

Nancy. 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.

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 dearl 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 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.

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 too 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 entic'd my Willy from me,
My fond heart with grief did sigh:

Each fresh remenbrance 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,

Coolly 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 :

R

The distant hills all over, I'll fly to seek my lover, Scorning every threatning fear! Nor distant shore,

Nor cannon's loud roar,

Shall longer keep me from my dear.

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?

Nancy. O no, 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 wissest heads provide,
For the child we doat on dearly,

But a merry soul, and a honest heart
In a lad who loves her dearly;
Who with kisses and chat,

And all all that,

Will soothe 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'er 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 a soon as possible. I'll tell you what, here are some ladies in the camp, who con

descend 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, be sure you don't discover yourself-Hush! here is the serjeant.

Enter SERJEANT.

Serj. Why, Nelly, how's this? you 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?

Serj. 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. Serj. Any service in my power you may command; but a soldier's life is not the easiest in the world, they ought to befriend each other.

TRIO.

O the joy! whent he 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 fife 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 to speak to him another time; sure nothing could be more lucky; however, I must obey their ladyships' instructions, and keep him in ignorance, that they may be present at the discovery. Poor fellow, it's almost a pity too, when one has it in one's power to make him so happy.