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Bal. Come, gentlemen, there needs no great ceremony in adjourning this court.-Captain, you shall dine with me.

Kite. Come, Mr Militia Serjeant, I shall silence you now, I believe, without your taking the law of me. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.-The Fields.

Enter BRAZEN, leading in LUCY, musked.
Braz. The boat is just below here.

Enter WORTHY, with a case of pistols under his

arm.

Wor. Here, sir, take your choice.

[Going between 'em, and offering them. Braz. What! pistols! are they charged, my dear?

Wor. With a brace of bullets each.

Bruz. But I'm a foot-officer, my dear! and never use pistols; the sword is my way, and I won't be put out of my road to please any man. Wor. Nor I neither; so have at you.

[Cocks one pistol. Braz. Look'e, my dear! I don't care for pistols-Pray, oblige me, and let us have a bout at sharps. Damn it! there's no parrying these bullets.

Wor. Sir, if you ha'n't your bellyful of these, the sword shall come in for second course.

Braz. Why, then :-fire and fury! I have eaten smoke from the mouth of a cannon, sir: don't think I fear powder, for I live upon't. Let me see: [Takes one] and now, sir, how many paces distance shall we fire?

Wor. Fire when you please; I'll reserve my shot till I am sure of you.

Braz. Come, where's your cloak?

Wor. Cloak! what d'ye mean?

Braz. To fight upon; I always fight upon a cloak; 'tis our way abroad,

Lucy. Come, gentlemen, I'll end the strife.

Wor. Lucy!-take her.

[Unmasks.

-Huzza!

Braz. The devil take me if I do[Fires his pistol.] D'ye hear, d'ye hear, you plaguy harridan, how those bullets whistle? Suppose they had been lodged in my gizzard?

Lucy. Pray, sir, pardon me.

Bruz. I cann't tell, child, till I know whether my money is safe. [Searching his pockets.] Yes, ves, I do pardon you; but if I had you at the Rose Tavern, in Covent-Garden, with three or four hearty rakes, and three or four smart napkins, I would tell you another story, my dear! [Exit. Wor. And was Melinda privy to this?

Lucy. No, sir; she wrote her name upon a piece of paper at the fortune-teller's last night, which I put in my pocket, and so writ above it to the captain.

Wor. And how came Melinda's journey put off?

Lucy. At the town's end she met Mr Balance's steward, who told her that Mrs Sylvia was

gone from her father's, and nobody could tell whither.

Wor. Sylvia gone from her father's! this will be news to Plume. Go home, and tell your lady how near I was being shot for her. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.-A Room in BALANCE'S House.

Enter BALANCE and Steward.

Stew. We did not miss her till the evening, sir; and then, searching for her in the chamber that was my young master's, we found her clothes there; but the suit that your son left in the press when he went to London was gone.

Bal. The white, trimm'd with silver?
Stew. The same.

Bal. You ha'n't told that circumstance to any body?

Stew. To none but your worship.

Bal. And be sure you don't.-Go into the dining-room, and tell Captain Plume that I beg to speak with him.

Stew. I shall.

[Exit.

Bul. Was ever man so imposed upon! I had her promise, indeed, that she would never dispose of herself without my consent-I have consented with a witness; given her away as my act and deed-and this, I warrant, the captain thinks will pass. No, I shall never pardon him the villany, first, of robbing me of my daughter, and then the mean opinion he must have of me, to think that I could be so wretchedly imposed upon :—her extravagant passion might encourage her in the attempt, but the contrivance must be his. I'll know the truth presently.—

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Bal. So that, between you both, Rose has been finely manag'd.

Plume. Upon my honour, sir, she had no harm from me.

Bal. All's safe, I find-Now, captain, you must know, that the young fellow's impudence in court was well grounded; he said I should heartily repent his being listed; and so I do from my soul.

Plume. Ay! for what reason?

Bal. Because he is no less than what he said he was; born of as good a family as any in this county, and he is heir to twelve hundred pounds

a-year.

Plume. I'm very glad to hear it; for I wanted

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 Sercant.

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 door, inquiring for the captain.

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

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, Bal. Sir, I thank you-'Tis plain he had no hand in't. will have the world on your side, and I shall you [Aside. be willing to go with the tide, provided you'll pardon an injury I offered you in the letter to your father.

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 discovered-Oh, sir! [Kneeling] I expect no pardon.

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 ?

Bul. 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 your twelve hundred pounds a-year-but to

than

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

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

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

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 pickroon, for aught I know,

Plume. Have you got your recruits, my dear?
Bruz. 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.

[Excunt omnes.

EPILOGUE.

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 compo sure excellently adapted to the genius of the English; or 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.

THE

BEAUX STRATAGEM.

BY

FARQUHAR.

PROLOGUE.

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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.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

BONIFACE, Landlord of the Inn.

AIMWELL,

MEN.

2 two Gentlemen of broken for- SCRUB, Servant to Mr Sullen.

tunes.

ARCHER,
SULLEN, a country Blockhead.

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

GIBBET, a Highwayman.

HOUNSLOW, his Companions.
BAGSHOT,

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SCENE, Litchfield.

SCENE I.-An Inn.

Enter BONIFACE, running.

ACT I.

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

Enter CHERRY, running.

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 shil

Cher. Here, here.-Why d'ye bawl so, father? lings a quart. 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.

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.

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

[Exit with the company.
Enter AIMWELL, in a riding habit; ARCHER, as
footman, carrying a portmanteau.
Bon. This this
way, 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.

Aim. Why, was it the usquebaugh that killed

Bon. My lady Bountiful said soshe, 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. Has the lady been any other way useful in her generation?

Bon. Yes, sir, she has a daughter, by Sir Charles, the finest woman in all our country, and the greatest fortune: she has a son, too, by her first husband, 'Squire Sullen, who married a fine lady from London t'other day: if you please, sir,

we'll drink his health.

Aim. What sort of a man is he?

Bon. Why, sir, the man's well enough; says little, thinks less, and does-nothing at all, faith; but he's a man of great estate, and values nobody.

Aim. A sportsman, I suppose?

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