but a man of that quality to make my company a perfect representative of the whole commons of England.

Bal. Won't you discharge him?

Plume. Not under a hundred pounds sterling. Bal. You shall have it; for his father is my intimate friend.

Plume. Then you shall have him for nothing. Bal. Nay, sir, you shall have your price. Plume. Not a penny, sir; I value an obligation to you much above an hundred pounds.

Bal. Perhaps, sir, you sha'n't repent your generosity-Will you please to write his discharge in my pocket-book? [Gives his book.] In the mean time, we'll send for the gentleman.-Who waits there?

Enter a Servant.

Go to the captain's lodging, and inquire for Mr Wilful; tell him his captain wants him here immediately.

Serv. Sir, the gentleman's below at the oor, inquiring for the captain.

Plume. Bid him come up.-Here's the discharge, sir.

Bal. Sir, I thank you-'Tis plain he had no hand in't. [Aside.

Enter SYLVIA.

Syl. I think, captain, you might have used me better than to leave me yonder among your swearing, drunken crew; and you, Mr Justice, might have been so civil as to have invited me to dinner; for I have eaten with as good a man as your worship.

Plume. Sir, you must charge our want of respect upon our ignorance of your quality-but now you are at liberty-I have discharg'd you. Syl. Discharg'd me!

Bal. Yes, sir, and you must once more go home to your father.

Syl. My father! then I'm discoveredsir! [Kneeling.] I expect no pardon.

-Oh,

Bal. Pardon! no, no, child; your crime shall be your punishment:-here, captain, I deliver her over to the conjugal power for her chastisement. Since she will be a wife, be you a husband, a very husband-When she tells you of her love, upbraid her with her folly; be modishly ungrateful, because she has been unfashionably kind; and use her worse than you would any body else, because you cann't use her so well as she deserves.

Plume. And are you Sylvia, in good earnest? Syl. Earnest! I have gone too far to make it a jest, sir.

Plume. And do you give her to me in good earnest ?

Bal. If you please to take her, sir.

Plume. Why, then, I have saved my legs and arms, and lost my liberty; secure from wounds, I am prepared for the gout:-farewell subsistence, and welcome taxes-Sir, my liberty and the hope of being a general are much dearer to me than your twelve hundred pounds a-year-but to

your love, madam, I resign my freedom, and to your beauty my ambition-greater in obeying at your feet than commanding at the head of an army.

Enter WORTHY.

Wor. I am sorry to hear, Mr Balance, that your daughter is lost. Bal. So am not I, sir, since an honest gentleman has found her.

Enter MELINDA.

Mel. Pray, Mr Balance, what's become of my cousin Sylvia?

Bal. Your cousin Sylvia is talking yonder with your cousin Plume.

Mel. And Worthy!-How!

Syl. Do you think it strange, cousin, that a woman should change? But I hope you'll excuse a change that has proceeded from constancy: I altered my outside because I was the same within, and only laid by the woman to make sure of my man that's my history.

Mel. Your history is a little romantic, cousin; but since success has crowned your adventures, you will have the world on your side, and I shall be willing to go with the tide, provided you'll pardon an injury I offered you in the letter to your father.

Plume. That injury, madam, was done to me, friend :-make Mr Worthy happy, and I shall be and the reparation I expect shall be made to my

satisfied.

Mel. A good example, sir, will go a great way -When my cousin is pleased to surrender, 'tis probable I sha'n't hold out much longer.

Enter BRAZEN.

Braz. Gentlemen, I am yours-Madam, I am not yours.

Mel. I'm glad on't, sir,

Braz. So am I-You have got a pretty house here, Mr Laconic.

Bal. 'Tis time to right all mistakes.-My name, sir, is Balance.

Braz. Balance! Sir, I am your most obedient I know your whole generation-Had not you an uncle that was governor of the Leeward Islands some years ago?

Bul. Did you know him?

Braz. Intimately, sir-He played at billiards to a miracle-You had a brother, too, that was a captain of a fire-ship.-Poor Dick-he had the most engaging way with him of making punchand then his cabin was so neat-but his poor boy Jack was the most comical bastard-ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! a pickled dog; I shall never forget him.

Plume. Well, captain, are you fixed in your project yet? are you still for the privateer?"

Braz. No, no-I had enough of a privateer just now; I had like to have been picked up by a cruiser under false colours, and a French pickaroon, for aught I know.

Plume. Have you got your recruits, my dear?
Braz. Not a stick, my dear!
Plume. Probably I shall furnish you.

Enter ROSE and BULLOCK.

Rose. Captain, captain, I have got loose once more, and have persuaded my sweetheart Cartwheel to go with us; but you must promise not to part with me again.

Syl. I find Mrs Rose has not been pleased with her bed-fellow.

Rose. Bed-fellow! I don't know whether I had a bed-fellow or not.

Syl. Don't be in a passion, child; I was as little pleas'd with your company as you could be with mine.

Bul. Pray, sir, donna be offended at my sister; she's something under-bred; but if you please I'll lie with you in her stead.

Plume, I have promised, madam, to provide for this girl: now, will you be pleased to let her wait upon you, or shall I take care of her?

Syl. She shall be my charge, sir; you may find it business enough to take care of me.

Bul. Ay, and of me, captain; for, wauns! if ever you lift your hand against me, I'll desert

Plume. Captain Brazen shall take care o' that. My dear! instead of the twenty thousand pounds you talked of, you shall have the twenty brave recruits that I have raised, at the rate they cost me-My commission I lay down, to be taken up by some braver fellow, that has more merit, and less good fortune-whilst I endeavour, by the example of this worthy gentleman, to serve my king and country at home.

With some regret I quit the active field,
Where glory full reward for life does yield;
But the recruiting trade, with all its train
Of endless plague, fatigue, and endless pain,
I gladly quit, with my fair spouse to stay,
And raise recruits the matrimonial way.

[Exeunt omnes.

ALL ladies and gentlemen that are willing to see the Comedy called The Recruiting Officer, let them repair, to-morrow night, by six o'clock, to the sign of the Theatre Royal, in Drury-Lane, and they shall be kindly entertained.

We scorn the vulgar ways to bid you come ;
Whole Europe now obeys the call of drum.
The soldier, not the poet, here appears,
And beats up for a corps of volunteers;
.He finds that music chiefly does delight ye,
And therefore chooses music to invite ye.

Beat the Grenadiers' March-Row, tow, row-Gentlemen, this piece of music, call'd an Overture to a Battle, was composed by a famous Italian master, and was perform'd, with wonderful success, at the great operas of Vigo, Schellenbergh, and Blenheim: it came off with the applause of all Europe, excepting France; the French found it a little too rough for their delica

tesse.

Some that have acted on those glorious stages
Are here, to witness to succeeding ages,
No music like the grenadiers' engages.

Ladies, we must own that this music of ours is not altogether so soft as Bonancini's; yet we dare affirm that it has laid more people asleep than all the Camillas in the world; and you'll condescend to own that it keeps one awake better than any opera that ever was acted.

The Grenadiers' March seems to be a composure excellently adapted to the genius of the English; for no music was ever follow'd so far by us, nor with so much alacrity: and, with all deference to the present subscription, we must say, that the Grenadiers' March has been subscrib'd for by the whole grand alliance; and we presume to inform the ladies, that it always has the preeminence abroad, and is constantly heard by the tallest, handsomest men in the whole army. In short, to gratify the present taste, our author is now adapting some words to the Grenadiers' March, which he intends to have perform'd tomorrow, if the lady who is to sing it should not happen to be sick.

This he concludes to be the surest way
To draw you hither; for you'll all obey
Soft music's call, tho' you should damn his play.

BY

WHEN strife disturbs, or sloth corrupts an age,
Keen satire is the business of the stage.
When the Plain Dealer writ, he lash'd those
crimes

Which then infested most--the modish times:
But now, when faction sleeps, and sloth is fled,
And all our youth in active fields are bred;
When thro' Great Britain's fair, extensive round,
The trumps of Fame the notes of Union sound;
When Anna's sceptre points the laws their

course,

And her example gives her precepts force,There scarce is room for satire; all our lays Must be, or songs of triumph, or of praise.

But as, in grounds best cultivated, tares
And poppies rise among the golden ears;
Our product so, fit for the field or school,
Must mix with Nature's favourite plant-a fool:
A weed that has to twenty summers ran,
Shoots up in stalk, and vegetates to man.
Simpling, our author goes from field to field, '
And culls such fools as may diversion yield:
And, thanks to nature, there's no want of those,
For rain or shine the thriving coxcomb grows.
Follies to-night we shew ne'er lash'd before,
Yet such as Nature shews you ev'ry hour:
Nor can the picture give a just offence,
For fools are made for jests to men of sense.

AIMWELL,

ARCHER,

MEN.

BONIFACE, Landlord of the Inn.

tunes.

SULLEN, a country Blockhead.

Sir C. FREEMAN, a Gentleman from London. FOIGARD, a French Priest.

GIBBET, a Highwayman.

HOUNSLOW,

BAGSHOT,

his Companions.

WOMEN.

Lady BOUNTIFUL, an old, civil, country Gentl woman, that cures all distempers.

DORINDA, Lady Bountiful's Daughter,
Mrs SULLEN, her Daughter-in-law.
GIPSY.

CHERRY.

SCENE I.-An Inn.

Enter BONIFACE, running.

[Bar bell rings. Bon. Chamberlain, maid, Cherry, daughter Cherry! All asleep, all dead?

Enter CHERRY, running.

Cher. Here, here.-Why d'ye bawl so, father? D'ye think we have no ears?

Bon. You deserve to have none, you young minx-the company of the Warrington coach has stood in the hall this hour, and nobody to shew them to their chambers.

Cher. And let 'em wait, father; there's neither red-coat in the coach, nor footman behind it.

Bon. But they threaten to go to another inn to-night.

Cher. That they dare not, for fear the coachman should overturn them to-morrow. [Ringing.] Coming, coming.-Here's the London coach arriv'd.

Enter several People, with trunks, band-boxes, with other luggage, and cross the stage. Bon. Welcome, ladies. Cher. Very welcome, gentlemen.-Chamberlain, shew the Lion and the Rose.

[Exit with the company.

Enter AIMWELL, in a riding habit; ARCHER, as footman, carrying a portmanteau. Bon. This way, this way, gentlemen. Aim. Set down the things; go to the stable, and see my horse well rubb'd.

Arch. I shall, sir.

[Exit.

Aim. You're my landlord, I suppose? Bon. Yes, sir; I'm old Will Boniface, pretty well known upon this road, as the saying is.

Aim. O, Mr Boniface, your servant Bon. O, sir-What will your honour please to drink, as the saying is?

Aim. I have heard your town of Litchfield much fam'd for ale: I think I'll taste that.

Bon. Sir, I have now in my cellar ten tun of the best ale in Staffordshire; 'tis smooth as oil, sweet as milk, clear as amber, and strong as brandy, and will be just fourteen years old the fifth day of March next, old style.

Aim. You're very exact, I find, in the age of your ale.

Bon. As punctual, sir, as I am in the age of my children:-I'll shew you such ale. Here, tapster, broach number 1706, as the saying is Sir, you shall taste my anno Domini-I haveliv'd in Litchfield, man and boy, above eight-and-fifty years, and, I believe, have not consumed eightand-fifty ounces of meat.

Aim. At a meal, you mean, if one may guess your sense by your bulk,

Bon. Not in my life, sir: I have fed purely upon ale: I have eat my ale, drank my ale, and I always sleep upon ale.—

Enter Tapster, with a tankard. Now, sir, you shall see. [ Filling it out.] Your worship's health. Ha! delicious, delicious-fancy it Burgundy, only fancy it, and 'tis worth ten shillings a quart.

Aim. [Drinks.] 'Tis confounded strong. Bon. Strong! It must be so, or how would we be strong that drink it?

Aim. And have you liv'd so long upon this ale, landlord?

Bon. Eight-and-fifty years, upon my credit, sir; but it kill'd my wife, poor woman! as the saying is.

Aim. How came that to pass?

Bon. I don't know how, sir: she would not let the ale take its natural course, sir; she was for qualifying it every now and then with a dram, as the saying is; and an honest gentleman that came this way from Ireland made her a present of a dozen bottles of usquebaugh—but the poor woman was never well after ;-but, however, I was obliged to the gentleman, you know.

Aim. Why, was it the usquebaugh that killed her?

Bon. My lady Bountiful said so-she, good lady, did what could be done; she cur'd her of three tympanies, but the fourth carried her off; but she's happy, and I am contented, as the saying is.

Aim. Who's that Lady Bountiful you mentioned? Bon. Ods my life, sir, we'll drink her health. [Drinks.] My lady Bountiful is one of the best of women: her last husband, Sir Charles Bountiful, left her worth a thousand pounds a-year ; and, I believe, she lays out one half on't in charitable uses, for the good of her neighbours: she cures rheumatisms, ruptures, and broken shins in men; green sickness, obstructions, and fits of the mother in women; the king's evil, chin-cough, and chilblains in children: in short, she has cured more people, in and about Litchfield, within ten years, than the doctors have kill'd in twenty;

and that's a bold word.

Aim. A fine sportsman, truly! and married, you say?

Bon. Ay, and to a curious woman, sir.-But he's a-He wants it here, sir. [Pointing to his forehead. Aun. He has it there, you mean.

Bon. That's none of my business; he's my landlord; and so a man, you know, would notBut, I'cod, he's no better than- -sir, my humble service to you. [Drinks.] Though I value not a farthing what he can do to me: I pay him his rent at quarter-day; I have a good running trade; I have but one daughter, and I can give herBut no matter for that.

Aim. You're very happy, Mr Boniface.-Pray, what other company have you in town?

Bon. A power of fine ladies; and then we have the French officers.

Aim. O! that's right; you have a good many of those gentlemen: pray, how do you like their company?

Bon. So well, as the saying is, that I could wish we had as many more of 'em: they're full of money, and pay double for every thing they have; they know, sir, that we paid good round taxes for the taking of them, and so they are willing to reimburse us a little:-one of 'em lodges in my house.

Enter ARCHER.

Arch. Landlord, there are some French gentlemen below, that ask for you.

Bon. I'll wait on 'en-Does your master stay long in town, as the saying is? [To ARCHER. Arch. I cann't tell, as the saying is. Bon. Come from London?

Arch. No.

Bon. Going to London, may-hap.
Arch. No.

Bon. An odd fellow this! [Bar bell rings.] I beg your worship's pardon; I'll wait on you in half a minute. [Exit. Now, my

Aim. The course is clear, I seedear Archer, welcome to Litchfield.

Arch. I thank thee, my dear brother in iniquity. Aim. Iniquity! pr'ythce leave canting; you need not change your style with your dress.

Arch. Don't mistake me, Aimwell; for 'tis still my maxim, that there's no scandal like rags, nor any crime so shameful as poverty. Men must not be poor: idleness is the root of all evil: the world's wide enough; let 'em bustle: fortune has taken the weak under her protection, but men of sense are left to their industry.

Aim. Upon which topic we proceed, and, I think, luckily, hitherto. Would not any man swear, now, that I am a man of quality, and you my servant, when, if our intrinsic value were known

Arch. Come, come, we are the men of intrinsic value, who can strike our fortunes out of ourselves; whose worth is independent of accidents

Aim. As to our hearts, I grant ye they are as willing tits as any within twenty degrees; but I can have no great opinion of our heads from the service they have done us hitherto, unless it be that they brought us from London hither to Litchfield, made me a lord, and you my servant.

Arch. That's more than you could expect already. But what money have we left?

Aim. But two hundred pounds.

Arch. And our horses, clothes, rings, &c. Why, we have very good fortunes now, for moderate people: and let me tell you, that this two hundred pounds, with the experience that we are now masters of, is a better estate than the ten thousand we have spent. Our friends, indeed, began to suspect that our pockets were low, but we came off with flying colours, shewed no signs of want, either in word or deed.

Aim. Ay, and our going to Brussels was a good pretence enough for our sudden disappearing; and, I warrant you, our friends imagine that we are gone a volunteering.

Arch. Why, 'faith, if this project fails, it must e'en come to that. I am for venturing one of the hundreds, if you will, upon this knight-errantry; but in case it should fail, we'll reserve the other to carry us to some counterscarp, where we may die as we liv'd,-in a blaze.

Aim. With all my heart; and we have liv'd justly, Archer; we cann't say that we have spent our fortunes, but that we have enjoy'd 'em.

Arch. Right: so much pleasure for so much money: we have had our pennyworths; and had I millions, I would go to the same market again. O London, London! Well, we have had our share, and let us be thankful: past pleasures, for aught I know, are best, such as we are sure of; those to come may disappoint us. But you command for the day, and so I submit.-At Nottingham, you know, I am to be master.

Am. And at Lincoln I again.

Arch. Then, at Norwich I mount, which, I think, shall be our last stage; for if we fail there, we'll embark for Holland, bid adieu to Venus, and welcome Mars.

Aim. A match!