to carry them to a trapes, and a constable to carry both to the round-house. Cla. Ay, but this fox-hunter, sir Solomon, will come home dirty and tired as one of his hounds; he'll be always asleep before he's a-bed, and on horseback before he's awake; he must rise early to follow his sport, and I sit up late at cards for want of better diversion. Put this together, my wise uncle. Sir Sol. Are you so high fed, madam, that a country gentleman of fifteen hundred pounds ayear won't go down with you? Cla. Not so, sir; but you really kept me so sharp, that I was e'en forced to provide for myself; and here stands the fox-hunter for [Claps CLE. on the shoulder. my money. Sir Sol. How! Cla. And hark you in t'other ear, sir-Because I would not have you expose your reverend age by a mistake, know, sir, I was the young spark, with a smooth face and a feather, that offered you a thousand guineas for your consent, which you would have been glad to have taken. Care. What say you, madam, (to divert the good company) shall we send for him by way of mortification? Lady Dain. By all means; for your sake, methinks, I ought to give him full despair. Care. Why, then, to let you see, that 'tis a much easier thing to cure a fine lady of her sickly taste, than a lover of his impudencethere's Careless for you, without the least tineture of despair about him, [Discovers himself. All. Ha, Careless! Lady Dain. Abused! undone ! Cle. Nay, now, madam, we wish you a superior joy; for you have married a man instead of a monster. Care. Come, come, madam; since you find you were in the power of such a cheat, you may be glad it was no greater: you might have fallen into a rascal's hands; but you know I am a gentleman, my fortune no small one, and, if your temper will give me leave, will deserve you. Lady Sad. Come, e'en make the best of your fortune; for, take my word, if the cheat had not been a very agreeable one, I would never have had a hand in't.-You must pardon me, if I can't help laughing. Lady Dain. Well, since it must be so, I parSir Sol. The devil! If ever I traffic in wo-don all; only one thing let me beg of you, men's flesh again, may all the bank stocks sir; that is, your promise to wear this habit fall when I have bought them, and rise when I one month for my satisfaction. have sold them!- -Hey-day! what have we here? more cheats. Cle. Not unlikely, sir; for I fancy they are married, Enter LADY DAINTY and CARELESS, disguised. Lady Sad. That they are, I can assure youI give your highness joy, madam, Lady Dain. Lard, that people of any rank shoule use such vulgar salutations! though, methinks, highness has something of grandeur in the sound. But I was in hopes, good people, that confident fellow, Careless, had been among you. Care. Oh, madam, that's a trifle! I'll lie in the sun a whole summer for an olive complexion, to oblige you. Lady Dain. Well, Mr Careless, I begin now to think better of my fortune, and look back with apprehension of the escape I have had; you have already cured my folly, and, were but my health recoverable, I should think myself completely happy, Care. For that, madam, we'll venture to save you doctor's fees; And trust to nature: time will soon discover, Your best physician is a favoured lover. [Exeunt omnes. SCENE I-The Market-Place-Drum beats any man; for you must know, gentlemen, that I the Grenadier's March. Enter SERJEANT KITE, followed by THOMAS APPLETREE, COSTAR PEARMAIN, and the Mob. KITE, making a speech. IF any gentlemen, soldiers, or others, have a mind to serve his majesty, and pull down the French king; if any 'prentices have severe masters, any children have undutiful parents, if any servants have too little wages, or any husband too much wife, let them repair to the noble Serjeant Kite, at the sign of The Raven, in this good town of Shrewsbury, and they shall receive present relief and entertainment-Gentlemen, I don't beat my drums here to insnare or inveigle am a man of honour besides, I don't beat up for common soldiers; no, I list only grenadiers; grenadiers, gentlemen- -Pray, gentlemen, observe this cap-this is the cap of honour; it dubs a man a gentleman in the drawing of a trigger; and he, that has the good fortune to be born six foot high, was born to be a great man—Sir, will you give me leave to try this cap upon your head. Cos. Is there no harm in't? won't the cap list me? Kite. No, no; no more than I can-Come, let me see how it becomes you. Cos. Are you sure there be no conjuration i it? no gunpowder-plot upon me? Kite. No, no, friend; don't feàr, mar Cos. My mind misgives me plaguily-Let me see it-[Going to put it on.] It smells woundily of sweat and brimstone. Smell, Tummas. Tho. Ay, wauns does it. Cos. Pray, serjeant, what writing is this upon the face of it? Kite. The crown, or the bed of honour. Cos. Pray now, what may be that same bed of honour? Kite. Oh! a mighty large bed! bigger by half than the great bed at Ware-ten thousand people may lie in it together, and never feel one another. Cos. My wife and I would do well to lie in't, for we don't care for feeling one another-But do folk sleep sound in this same bed of honour? Kite. Sound! ay, so sound that they never wake. Cos. Wauns! I wish again that my wife lay there. Kite. Say you so! then I find, brother— Cos. Brother! hold there, friend; I am no kindred to you that I know of yet-Look ye, serjeant, no coaxing, no wheedling, d'ye see—if I have a mind to list, why so-if not, why 'tis not so-therefore, take your cap and your brothership back again, for I am not disposed at this present writing-No coaxing, no brothering me, faith! : Kite. I coax! I wheedle! I'm above it, sir I have served twenty campaigns-but, sir, you talk well, and I must own that you are a man, every inch of you; a pretty, young, sprightly fellow-I love a fellow with a spirit; but I scorn to coax; 'tis base; though, I must say, that never in my life have I seen a man better built. How firm and strong he treads! he steps like a castle! but I scorn to wheedle any man-Come, honest lad! will you take share of a pot? Cos. Nay, for that matter, I'll spend my penny with the best he that wears a head; that is, begging your pardon, sir, and in a fair way. Kite. Give me your hand, then; and now, gentlemen, I have no more to say but thishere's a purse of gold, and there is a tub of humming ale at my quarters 'tis the king's money, and the king's drink-he's a generous king, and loves his subjects-I hope, gentlemen, you won't refuse the king's health? All Mob. No, no, no. Kite. Huzza, then! huzza for the king, and the honour of Shropshire! All Mob. Huzza! Kite. Beat drum. left London-an hundred and twenty miles in thirty hours is pretty smart riding, but nothing to the fatigue of recruiting. Enter KITE. Kite. Welcome to Shrewsbury, noble captain! from the banks of the Danube to the Severn side, noble captain, you're welcome! Plume. A very elegant reception, indeed, Mr Kite. I find you are fairly entered into your recruiting strain-Pray, what success? Kite. I've been here a week, and I've recruited five. Plume. Five! pray what are they? Kite. I have listed the strong man of Kent, the king of the gipsies, a Scotch pedlar, a scoundrel attorney, and a Welch parson. Plume. An attorney! wert thou mad? list a lawyer! discharge him, discharge him, this minute! Kite. Why, sir? Plume. Because I will have nobody in my company that can write; a fellow that can write can draw petitions—I say, this minute discharge him! Kite. And what shall I do with the parson? Kite. Hum! he plays rarely upon the fiddle. Plume. Keep him, by all means-But how stands the country affected? were the people pleased with the news of my coming to town?" Kite. Sir, the mob are so pleased with your honour, and the justices and better sort of people are so delighted with me, that we shall soon do your business-But, sir, you have got a recruit here, that you little think of. Plume. Who? Kite. One that you beat up for the last time you were in the country. You remember your old friend Molly at The Castle? Plume. She's not with child, I hope? Plume. If they should, we'll take her with us; 1 she can wash, you know, and make a bed upon occasion. Kite. Aye, or unmake it upon occasion. But your honour knows that I am married already. Plume. To how many? Kite. I can't tell readily-I have set them down here upon the back of the muster-roll.[Draws it out.] Let me see-Imprimis, Mrs [Exeunt shouting, drum beating a grena- Shely Snikereyes; she sells potatoes upon Or dier's march. Enter PLUME in a riding habit. Plume. By the grenadier's march, that should be my drum, and by that shout it should beat with success-Let me see-four o'clock-[Looking on his watch.] At ten yesterday morning I mond Key in Dublin-Peggy Guzzle, the brandy woman at the Horse-Guards at WhitehallDolly Waggon, the carrier's daughter at HullMademoiselle Van Bottomflat at the Buss-then Jenny Oakum, the ship-carpenter's widow at Portsmouth; but I don't reckon upon her, for she was married at the same time to two lieu Plume. But, hold-have you made any use of your German doctor's habit since you arrived? Kite. Yes, yes, sir; and my fame's all about the country for the most faithful fortune-teller, that ever told a lie-I was obliged to let my landlord into the secret, for the convenience of keeping it so; but he is an honest fellow, and will be faithful to any roguery that is trusted to him. This device, sir, will get you men and me money, which I think is all we want at present But yonder comes your friend, Mr WorthyHas your honour any further commands? Plume. None at present. [Exit KITE.] 'Tis, indeed, the picture of Worthy, but the life's departed. Enter WORTHY. What, arms across, Worthy! methinks you should hold them open when a friend's so near-The man has got the vapours in his ears, I believe. I must expel this melancholy spirit. Spleen, the worst of fiends below, [Slaps WORTHY on the shoulder. Wor. Plume! my dear captain! welcome. Safe and sound returned! Plume. A jilt! pho! is she as great a whore ? Wor. No, no. Plume. Tis ten thousand pities! But who is she? do I know her? Wor. Very well. Plume. That's impossible-I know no woman that will hold out a ten years siege. Wor. What think you of Melinda? Plume. Melinda! why she began to capitulate this time twelvemonth, and offered to surrender upon honourable terms: and I advised you to propose a settlement of five hundred pounds ayear to her, before I went last abroad. Wor. I did, and she hearkened to it, desiring only one week to consider when, beyond her hopes, the town was relieved, and I forced to turn my siege into a blockade. Plume, Explain, explain. Wor. My lady Richly, her aunt in Flintshire, dies, and leaves her, at this critical time, twenty thousand pounds. Plume. Oh, the devil! what a delicate woman was there spoiled! But, by the rules of war, now- -Worthy, blockade was foolish-After such a convoy of provisions was entered the place, you could have no thought of reducing it by famine; you should have redoubled your attacks, taken the town by storm, or have died upon the breach. Plume. I escaped safe from Germany, and Wor. I did make one general assault, but was sound, I hope, from London: you see I have lost so vigorously repulsed, that, despairing of ever neither leg, arm, nor nose. Then for my inside, gaining her for a mistress, I have altered my 'tis neither troubled with sympathies nor antipa- conduct, given my addresses the obsequious and thies; and I have an excellent stomach for roast-distant turn, and court her now for a wife. beef, Plume. So; as you grew obsequious, she grew haughty, and, because you approached her like a goddess, she used you like a dog. Wor. Exactly. Plume. 'Tis the way of them all-Come, Worthy; your obsequious and distant airs will never bring you together; you must not think to surmount her pride by your humility. Would you bring her to better thoughts of you, she must be reduced to a meaner opinion of herself. Let me see-Suppose we lampooned all the pretty women in town, and left her out? or, what if we made a ball, and forgot to invite her, with one or two of the ugliest? Wor. These would be mortifications, I must confess; but we live in such a precise, dull place, that we can have no balls, no lampoons, no Plume. What! no bastards! and so many re cruiting officers in town! I thought 'twas a maxim among them to leave as many recruits in the country as they carried out. Wor. Nobody doubts your good-will, noble captain, in serving your country with your best blood; witness our friend Molly at The Castle: there have been tears in town about that b ness, captain. Plume. I hope Sylvia has not heard of it. Wor. Oh, sir, you have thought of her? I began to fancy you had forgot poor Sylvia. Plume. Your affairs had quite put mine out of my head. Tis true, Sylvia and I had once a- | greed to go to bed together, could we have adjusted preliminaries; but she would have the wedding before consummation, and I was for consummation before the wedding: we could not agree. Wor. But do you intend to marry upon no other conditions? Kite. Your worship very well may-for I have got both a wife and a child in half an hour-But, as I was saying-you sent me to comfort Mrs Molly-my wife, I mean-but what d'ye think, sir? she was better comforted before I came. Plume. As how? Kite. Why, sir, a footman, in a blue livery, had brought her ten guineas to buy her babyclothes. Plume. Who, in the name of wonder, could send them? Kite. Nay, sir, I must whisper that—Mrs Sylvia. Plume. Sylvia! generous creature! Wor. Sylvia! impossible! Kite. Here are the guineas, sir-I took the gold as part of my wife's portion. Nay, farther, sir, she sent word the child should be taken all imaginable care of, and that she intended to stand godmother. The same footman, as I was coming to you with this news, called after me, and told me, that his lady would speak with me—I went, and, upon hearing that you were come to town, she gave me half-a-guinea for the news, and orbe,dered me to tell you, that Justice Balance, her father, who is just come out of the country, would be glad to see you. Plume. Your pardon, sir, I'll marry upon no condition at all-If I should, I am resolved never to bind myself down to a woman for my whole life, till I know whether I shall like her company for half an hour. Suppose I married a woman that wanted a leg-such a thing might unless I examined the goods before-handIf people would but try one another's constitutions before they engaged, it would prevent all these elopements, divorces, and the devil knows what. Wor. Nay, for that matter, the town did not stick to say that- Plume. I hate country towns for that reasonIf your town has a dishonourable thought of Sylvia, it deserves to be burnt to the ground-I love Sylvia, I admire her frank generous dispositionthere's something in that girl more than woman— her sex is but a foil to her-the ingratitude, dissimulation, envy, pride, avarice, and vanity, of her sister females, do but set off their contraries in her. In short, were I once a general, I would marry her. Wor. Faith, you have reason-for, were you but a corporal, she would marry you-But my Melinda coquettes it with every fellow she sees I'll lay fifty pounds she makes love to you. Plume. I'll lay you a hundred, that I return it, if she does. Look'e, Worthy, I'll win her, and give her to you afterwards! Wor. If you win her, you shall wear her, faith. I would not value the conquest, without the credit of the victory. Enter KITE. Kite. Captain, captain! a word in your ear. Plume. You may speak out; here are none but friends. Kite. You know, sir, that you sent me to comfort the good woman in the straw, Mrs Molly my wife, Mr Worthy. Wor. O ho! very well! I wish you joy, Mr Kite. Plume. There's a girl for you, Worthy!-Is there anything of woman in this? no, 'tis noble, generous, manly friendship. Shew me another woman, that would lose an inch of her prerogative that way, without tears, fits, and reproaches. The common jealousy of her sex, which is nothing but their avarice of pleasure, she despises, and can part with the lover, though she dies for the man-Come, Worthy-where's the best wine? for there I'll quarter. Wor. Horton has a fresh pipe of choice Barcelona, which I would not let him pierce before, because I reserved it for your welcome to town. Plume. Let's away, then-Mr Kite, go to the lady with my humble service, and tell her, I shall only refresh a little, and wait upon her. Wor. Hold, Kite !-have you seen the other recruiting captain? Kite. No, sir; I'd have you to know I don't keep such company. Plume. Another! who is he? Wor. My rival, in the first place, and the most unaccountable fellow-but I'll tell you more as we go. [Exeunt SCENE II.-An apartment. MELINDA and SYLVIA meeting. Mel. Welcome to town, cousin Sylvia! [Salute.] I envied you your retreat in the country; for Shrewsbury, methinks, and all your heads of shires, are the most irregular places for living. Here, we have smoke, scandal, affectation, and pretension; in short, every thing to give the |