TRUMPETER.
What would the boor? Out, rascal, away!
PEASANT.
Some victuals and drink, worthy masters, I pray,
For not a warm morsel we've tasted to day.
TRUMPETER.
Ay, guzzle and guttle—'tis always the way.
HULAN (with a glass).
Not broken your fast! there—drink, ye hound!
He leads the peasant to the tent—the others come forward.
SERGEANT (to the Trumpeter).
Think ye they've done it without good ground?
Is it likely they double our pay to-day,
Merely that we may be jolly and gay?
TRUMPETER.
Why, the duchess arrives to-day, we know,
And her daughter too—
SERGEANT.
Tush! that's mere show—
'Tis the troops collected from other lands
Who here at Pilsen have joined our bands—
We must do the best we can t' allure 'em,
With plentiful rations, and thus secure 'em.
Where such abundant fare they find,
A closer league with us to bind.
TRUMPETER.
Yes!—there's something in the wind.
SERGEANT.
The generals and commanders too—