FIRST YAGER.
See! see!
Here meet we a jovial company!
TRUMPETER.
Who can these greencoats be, I wonder,
That strut so gay and sprucely yonder!
SERGEANT.
They're the Yagers of Holk—and the lace they wear,
I'll be sworn, was ne'er purchased at Leipzig fair.
SUTLER-WOMAN (bringing wine).
Welcome, good sirs!
FIRST YAGER.
Zounds, how now?
Gustel of Blasewitz here, I vow!
SUTLER-WOMAN.
The same in sooth—and you I know,
Are the lanky Peter of Itzeho:
Who at Glueckstadt once, in revelling night,
With the wags of our regiment, put to flight
All his father's shiners—then crowned the fun—
FIRST YAGER.
By changing his pen for a rifle-gun.
SUTLER-WOMAN.
We're old acquaintance, then, 'tis clear.
FIRST YAGER.
And to think we should meet in Bohemia here!
SUTLER-WOMAN.
Oh, here to-day—to-morrow yonder—
As the rude war-broom, in restless trace,
Scatters and sweeps us from place to place.
Meanwhile I've been doomed far round to wander.