Sir Har. A fine Relation; but, methinks, the latter Part of it might deter you from such Courses.
Shr. I'm a Predestinarian, Sir; which is an Argument of a great Soul, and will no more baulk a drunken Frolick, than I would a pretty Lady that takes a Fancy to me.
Sir Har. No more of your Impertinence; attend, I hear Company (Shrimp goes to the Door) Brigadier Blenheim return'd from the Army!
Enter Collonel, and Knapsack.
Sir Har. My noblest, dearest Collonel, let me imbrace you as a Britain, and as a Friend. Ajax ne'er boasted English Valour; Ulysses ne'er such Conduct; nor Alexander such Successes. The Queen rejoices; the Parliament vote you Thanks; and ev'ry honest Loyal Heart bounds at our General's Name.
Col. Ay, Sir Harry, to be thus receiv'd, rewards the Soldier's Toils; and, faith, we have maul'd the fancy French-men, near Twenty Thousand we left fast asleep, taught the remaining few a new Minuet-step, and sent 'em home to sing Te Deum.
Knap. Ay, Sir, and if they are not satisfied, next Campaign the English shall stand still, and laugh at their Endeavours; the Dutch Snigger-snee 'em; the Scotch Cook them; and the wild Irish eat 'em.
Col. Oh! The glorious Din of War; the Energy of a good Cause, and the Emulation of a brave Confederacy.—To sound the Charge; Make a vigorous Attack, the Enemy gives ground,—To pour on fresh Vollies of a sure Destruction, and return deafn'd with shouts o' Victory, and adorn'd with glitt'ring Standards of the vanquish'd Foe.
Knap. To hang up in Westminster-Hall, and make the Lawyers stare off their Briefs;—But the Harmony of sounding a Retreat,—to hug my self with two Arms, and walk substantially upon both my Pedestals, or the health of Mind in lying sick at Amsterdam.
Col. Ay, here's a sorry Rascal, that lags always behind, and is afraid to look Death i'the Face.