Colonel. I do mistrust the soft and temperate air
That hath so long enwrapped us. No "returns
Of bakers," visitations of the Staff,
Alarms or inquisitions have disturbed
Our ten days' rest. Nothing but casual shells
And airy bombs to mind us of the War.
Adjutant. Oh, Sir, thy zeal hath mated with thy conscience
And bred i' the mind mistrustful doubts and fears,
A savage brood, which being come to manhood
Do fight with sweet content and eat her up.