University of Virginia Library

After a Warlike Symphony, an Alarm with Trumpets and Drums.
Enter an English Officer.
Arm, Britons! hark! how from afar
Alarming Drums and Trumpets call to War.
“France, whose exerted Pow'rs decrease,

The Lines that are thus mark'd (“) are left out in the Singing lest the Performance should be too long.

“Collects them for a last Effort;
“But when she cannot fright, will court
“And bribe us into Peace.

Enter Britons.
Officer.
See how all the Brave assemble!
How they hurry
All to Glory!
William Thunders, Armies tremble.
Death or Conquest is the Cry.
Now we sally,
Now they fly;
Now they rally,
Charge, and dye.
Cannons roaring,
Squadrons pouring;
Shouting,
Routing,
We pursue 'em,
We Subdue 'em.
Rage and Horror, Groans and Fear,
Blood and Slaughter ev'ry where.

The Chorus with all the Instruments repeat the foregoing Lines from See how all the Brave, &c.
Enter a Lady at the Close of the Chorus, and the Martial Musick immediately changes, at her first Word, into softer Notes, with accompaniments of Flutes

Enter many People of several Nations: Among them a Spaniard, and a Spanish Woman with Castanets; then a Dutch Boor and Boorin, a French Valet and Waiting-Woman, and an English Clown and his Wife dance after their Country Fashion.
After the four Nations have danc'd severally, the English Clown speaks to the rest.
Eng. Clo.

Hold Neighbours; since our Country has set
you all a Dancing, you shall eene dance after our Country
Fashion: As for my Brother Hans the Dutch-man, his Hopping,
(Dancing I shou'd have said) agrees well enough with
mine; As well, I cot, as the Fiddle and the Dancing Bear.

Dutchm.

Yaw varacktick Broeder.

[Most of the rest is omitted.
Eng. Clo.

But this Outlandish Spaniard; And you, Master
Monsieur, don't foot it a whit like unto us; why, you
wriggle and frisk about like the Hobby Horse in a Morrice;
but that's no wonder, for they say the very Dogs, Heav'n
bless us! dance in your Country. Then there's he there bristles
like one of our Turkeys; stalks about like a Boy on

a pair of Stilts, and snaps his Fingers like Roger our Barber,
or like the Puppet in the Recreation of the orld.

Eng. Wo.

Come Husband wee'll e'ne change Partners; let
me alone for teaching one of the Gentlefolks.

Eng. Clo.

Odszooks, you're in woundy haste to be doing
with Gentlefolks, goody Nimble-hips: These Wives are always
plaguy ready to change Partners, and shake their Tails
with Strangers: Well no matter, there's the French Monsieur,
go bestir your Stumps together: Let Jack Spaniard take Hans
the Dutch-mans Vroe; And let her be sure to put him in
when he's out: Come Master Signior, As my Dame says,
Wee'll change Wives; Odszooks, that's all the Fashion with
us now adays; wert not for changing now and then, there
would not be half the Dancing that there is among us—
Hey-day! I fancy this same Spaniard is like most other folks,
he does not care any Body should dance with his Wife; But
he's for dancing with every body's Wife but his own. Od's
niggs, tis all a Case; for once it shall be as I say: Come
Cuckolds all arow.—Play me an English Horn-pipe.

A French Officer makes his Adresses to an English Lady.
Fr. Off.
Madame, me be, de tout Mon Cœur,
Your very humble Serviteur.
Begar me wish to have de Peace,
Only to come embrace your Knees.
Your Roy Guillaume is brave en Diable;
Me saw him take Namur dat's impregnable.
‘We all lookt on, for we had den
‘But hundra twenty tousan Men.
Your Soldier can do Wonders too
And love to Fight as we to Dance;
But had day all been such as you,
Begar, dey wou'd have Conquer France.

E. Lad.
Still the same I find you are,
Skill'd alike in Love and War.
Gallantry in both you shew,
But a little Falshood too;
And with Strong deluding Art,
Win a Fort, or bribe a Heart;
Tho' 'tis like Inconstant Men,
But to give 'em up again.

French Of.
We be like all de Vorld indeed,
And give up vat we cannot keep;
But if me get Possession here,
Me never give you up, Begar.

[Struggles with her.
Eng. Lady.
Forbear, forbear!

Er. Of.
Ma Chere! My Dear!

Engl. L.
'Tis all in vain.

Fr. Off.
Is't all in vain?

Eng. L.
'Tis all in vain.

Fr. Off.
Is't all in vain? Jer'nie! me then— me,—Begar, me go home again.

Both.
Adieu, adieu, go home again.
To him a French Woman.
‘Oh! Vat do I see?
‘Will dis Ingrat still vanton be,
‘And to gain oders Ruin me?

E. Lad.
‘Let roving Thoughts and wandring cease,
‘And sigh no more for Foreign Charms:
‘At Home enjoy the sweets of Peace,
‘In your fond faithful Consorts Arms.

[All three repeat the last four Lines]
An English Officer to the English Lady.
He.
‘Now, my Dear the War is over,
‘And I can be wholly thine.
‘Come be kind: Yield to your Lover,
‘And no Flame shall last like mine.

She.
‘Hold, Sir Bully! who'd surrender
‘When the Siege is hardly laid?
‘'Tis not ev'ry bold Pretender,
‘Whose first Summons is obey'd.

He.
‘'Tis our way now to be daring,
‘And at once to come and take;
‘Pressing, storming, without caring,
‘What Resistance you can make.

She.
‘Feeble Towns may thus be taken,
‘Chiefly when surpriz'd or sold;
‘Then they're plunder'd, and forsaken;
‘But I can defend my Hold.

He.
‘You'll be us'd as ill, if early
‘On good Terms you do not yield.

She.
‘I'm asham'd to beat a Parly,
[Bashfully.
‘But you're Master of the Field.

He.
‘You shall be well treated; fear not:
‘Let the Fortress be resign'd.

She.
‘Oh! Your Servant, Sir, I dare not,
‘'Till the Articles are Sign'd.

Both.
‘Come, 'tis just it should be so,
‘Since, like Foes, all Lovers deal:
‘Here's my Hand, now let us go,
‘And within we'll Sign and Seal.

[Exeunt.
A CLOWN.

Enter an Irish Rapparee.
His Mistress.

A Country Lass.
Come Girls, let's be merry; the War's at an end;
We all shall get Husbands: The times now will mend:
There's I and our Mary,
Black Susan and Sarah,
Were Woundily Weary,
With living Unwed;
In a woful quandary,
How we should do to tarry.
None ask'd me to Marry,
Or part with my Maidenhead.
Our best Lads to the Wars went so fast,
And the rest were most of 'em such Loobies,
E Cod, I fear'd we at last
Must ha' suiter'd the Lubberly Boobies.

Enter a Soldier, who runs and kisses her.
Dear Joany,
My Hony.
What hast thou forgot me? O—How the Wench Stares!
I'm Thomas the Thresher, just come from the Wars.
I'm still thy Sweet-heart; and by Cannons and Mortars,
I'le take thee by Storm; and I'll beat up thy Quarters.

He.
By Cannons and Mortars,
I'll beat up thy Quarters.

She.
Hold, Thomas! you may not
Nay, Thomas you sha' not.

She.
Go, I hate you, I vow;
You look, and you talk like a Gentleman now.
Come, off with this Geer,
And d'on the Reparel, that once you did wear.
Go, I hate you, I vow.
You look, and you talk like a Gentleman now.

He.
Well since the War's over, my Brav'ry shall down.
Off goes the brave Soldier, on goes the plain Clown.

[He pulls off his Red Coat, Throws down his Arms and his Wig, and appears, in a Moment, drest like a Country Fellow; she leers on him all the while, and then at last runs and kisses him.
She.
Oh now: how I like thee! Oh now I'm thy own!
Thou art Handsomer now,
And finer, I vow,
Than all the spruce Gentry and Boars in our Town.
Both Merrily.
Thus now we agree.
Let all do like me, She, Like thee.
To keep their Necks free.
Leave threshing of Jackets, and get 'em all Wives;
Then thresh in their Barns, with a thump, thump, thump;
Then thresh in their Barns, and lead all merry Lives.

Enter a Young Savoyard with a Rareeshow.
O Rareeshow! brave Show!
VVho see my fine Show?
[He lays down his Show, opens it and shows it, singing first a Savoyard Song.
[He turns the Motion at every Burthen.
[Sings the Savoyard's Ditty, and Exit.
Twelve Grenadeers rejoyce for the King's Return, and exercise at the sound of the Hautbois and other Instruments.
The Grand Chorus.