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Enter Nell and 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.

Šir 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 aboul-ah, Nelly, tell me, is't not she?

Sir Harry. Why don't you march him off?
Nell. Is he under size, corporal! O you blockhead!

Nancy. O ladies, pray excuse me!--My dvar William!

[Runs into 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. Serj. Please your ladyships, we have laken a sort of a spy this morning, who has the assurance to deny it, tho' he confesses himself and Irish Painter. I have undertaken, however, to bring this letter from him to lady Sarah Sash.

Sir Harry. What appears against him?

Serj. A great many suspicious circumstances, please your honour; he has an 0 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 some

time ago at the Fêtc-Champêtre. 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?

Serj. 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 had weather you'll give orders to strike your tents and toilets, and secure a relreat 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 With huzza! huzza ! huzza!

[cheers, 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 war's fierce alarms,
Huzza! huzza! huzza !

WILLIAM.
Inspir’d by my love all vlangers I'll prove,

No perils shall William dismay;
In war's fierce alarms, inspir'd by those charms,

Huzza! huzza! huzza!

S

CHORUS

May true glory stil wave her bright banners around, Still with fame, pow'r, and freedom, old England be

crown'd.

REMARKS. TICKELL, Sheridan's brother-in-law, is said to have been the Author of this piece; but as it is usualy ascribed to the latter, we have chosen to insert it in his works. It is not calculated to advance the credit of either Author: and so many abortive attempts at wit will not be found, in any other part of the present volume, as in that filled by “The Camp.'

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ACT I. SCENE I.—Breakfast table, with coffee-equipage ,

two chairs, Mr. and MRS. DANGLE, discovered at breakfast, reading newspapers.

Dan [Reading.] Pshaw!—Nothing but politics and I hate all politics but theatrical politics,-Where's the Morning Chronicle?

Mrs. D. Yes, that's your Gazette.
Dan. So, here we have it. — 'Theatrical intelligence

extraordinary.'--'We hear there is a new tragedy in rehearsal at Drury Lane Theatre, call’d the “Spanish Armada,” said to be written by Mr. Puff, a gentleman well known in the theatrical world : if we may allow ourselves to give credit to the report of the performers, who, truth to say, are in general but indifferent judges, this piece abounds with the most striking and received beauties of modern composition.'--So I am very glad my friend Puff's tragedy is in such forwardness.Mrs. Dangle, my dear, you will be very glad to hear that Puff's tragedy

Mrs. Dan. Lord, Mr. Dangle, why will you plague me about such nonsense ?-Now the plays are begun I shall have no peace.—Isn't it sufficient to make yourself ridiculous by your passion for the theatre, without continually leasing me to join you? Why can't you ride your hobby-horse without desiring to place me on a pillion behind you, Mr. Dangle?

Dan. Nay, my dear, I was only going to read

Mrs. D. No, no, you will never read any thing that's worth listening to :-haven't you made yourself the jest of all your acquaintance by your interference in matters where you have no business? Are you not call’d a theatrical Quidnunc, and a Mock Mecænas to second-hand authors ?

Dan. True ; My power with the managers is pretty notorious; but is it no credit to have applications from all quarters for my interest ?-From lords to recommend fiddlers, from ladies to get boxes, from authors to get answers, and from actors to get engagements.

Mrs. D. Yes, truly ; you have contrived to get a share in all the plague and trouble of theatrical property, without the profit, or even the credit of the abuse that attends it.

Dan. I am sure, Mrs. Dangle, you are no loser by it, however; you have all the advantages of it: mightn't you last winter, have had the reading of the new Pantomime a fortnight previous to its performance? And doesn't Mr. Notter let you take places for a play before it is advertis'd, and set you down for a

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