John T. Alas!
War. How! does this cause sorrow?
John T. Yes, truly.
War. And why? To me the prospect is most welcome.
John T. Because, upon a course of glorious years,
In tented fields, you proudly may revert;
But I——
Suf. Thou'rt spared from sights that might have shocked
Thy wiser manhood. War is a noble game,
But full of much humanity deplores.
John T. But I was never born for dull, still paths;
The trumpet's clang, and the loud din of battle
Suit me.
Arl. Pity such taste cannot be humoured.
With scarce a raw recruit to man his ranks,
The flower of French nobility with us
Conjoined—
John T. Shame on them all! I do despise them.
Suf. Despise! thou dost forget thee.