« 이전계속 »
In ancient times, when Helen's fatal charms
Drury Lane, 1816. Covent Garden, 1814. Balance
Mr. R. Philips. Mr. Cbapınan. Scale .
Mr. Powell. Mr. Brook. Scruple.
Mr. Gattie. Mr. Atkins. Worthy
Mr. Barnard. Mr. Hamerton. Captain Plume Mr. Rae. Mr. C. Kemble. Captain Brazen
Mr. Harley. Mr. Jones, Kite
Mr. Jobosione. Mr. Matthews. Bullock.
Mr. Oxberry. Mr. Emery. Costar Pearmain. Mr. Manden. Mr. Liston. Thomus Appletree . Mr. Knight. Mr. Simmons. Welsh Collier Mr. Minton. Mr. King. Melinda
Mrs. Egerton. Sylvia
Mrs. Mardyn. Mrs. H. Johnston. Lucy
Miss Cooke. Mrs. Gibbs. Rose
Miss Kelly. Miss Booth. Woman.
Mrs. Coveney. Mrs. Coates. Wife
Miss Tidswell. Mrs. Emery.
Constable, Recruits, Mob, Servants, and Attendants.
SCENE I. The Market Place.
KITE, followed by THOMAS APPLETREE, COSTAR
any gentlemen soldiers or others have a mind to serve his majesty, and pull down the French king; if any 'prentices have severe másters, any children have undutiful parents; if any servants have too little wages, or any husband too much wife, let them repair to the noble sergeant 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 ensnare or inveigle any man; for you must know, gentlemen, that I am a man of honour: besides, I don't beat up for common soldiers; no, I list only grenadiers; grenadiers, gentlemen. - Pray, gentleinen, observe this cap
-- this is the cap of honour; it dubs a man a gentleman in the drawing of a trigger; and be that has the good forlune to be born six feet high was born to be a great
man.-Sir, will you give me leave to try this cap apon
[To Costur Pearmain. Cos. Is there no barm in't? won't the cap list me?
Serg. K. No, no, no more than I can.—Come, let me see how it becomes you.
Cos. Are you sure there be no conjuration in it? no ganpowder-plot upon me?
Serg. K. No, no, friend ; don't fear, man. 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, sergeant, what writing is this upon the face of it?
Serg. K. The crown, or the bed of honour.
Serg, K. Oh! a mighty large bed! bigger by half
-But do folk sleep sound in this satne bed of honour?
Serg. K. Sonnd! ay, so sound that they never wake. Cos. Wauns! I wish again that my wife lay there. Serg. K. Say you so! then I find, brother
Cos. Brother! hold there, friend; I am no kindred to you that I koow of yet.-Lookye, sergeant, 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!
Serg. K. I coax! I wheedle! I'm above it, sir; I have serv'd twenty campaigns—But, sir, you talk well, and I must own that you are a man every inch of you; a prelty, 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?