PROLOGUE.

In ancient times, when Helen's fatal charms
Rous'd the contending universe to arms,
The Grecian council happily deputes
The sly Ulysses forth to raise recruits.
The artful captain found without delay
Where great Achilles, a deserter, lay:
Him fate had warn'd to shun the Trojan blows,
Him Greece requir'd-against the Trojan foes.
All their recruiting arts were needful here,
To raise this great, this tim'rous volunteer.
Ulysses well could talk-he stirs, he warms,
The warlike youth_be listens to the charms
Of plunders, fine lac'd coats, and glittring arms.
Ulysses caught the young aspiring hoy,
And listed him who wrought the fate of Troy.
Thus by recruiting was bold Hector slain;
Recruiting thus fair Helen did regain.
If for one Helen such prodigious things
Were acted, that they even listed kings;
If for one Helen's artful, vicious charms,
Half the transported world was found in arms;
What for so many Helens may we dare,
Whose minds as well as faces are so fair?
If by one Helen's eyes old Greece could find
Its Homer fir'd to write, ev’n Homer blind;
Then Britous sure beyond compare may write,
That view so many Helens every night.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

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. Orger.

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-SHREWSBURY.

SCENE I. The Market Place.
Drum beats the Grenadier's Murch. Enter SERGEANT

KITE, followed by THOMAS APPLETREE, COSTAR
PEARMAIN, and the Mob.
Serg. K.

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

your head?

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.
Cos. Pray now, wbat may be that same bed of honour?

Serg, K. Oh! a mighty large bed! bigger by half
than the great bed at Ware-ten thousand people may
Jie in it together, and never feel one another.
Cos. My wife and I would do well to lie in't-

-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?