 | The recruiting serjeant |  |
17
SCENE IV.
The Serjeant, the Countryman, the Mother.SERJEANT.
Comrade, your hand: I love a lad of soul;
Your name, to enter on my muster roll;
To Justice Swear'em then, to take our oath:
COUNTRYMAN.
Hold, Serjeant, hold, there's time enough for both.
If I've a moind to list, I'll list, d'ye see;
But some discourse first, betwixt yow and me.
A souldier's life—
SERJEANT.
The finest life that goes;
Free quarters ev'ry where—
COUNTRYMAN.
Ay, that we knows.
SERJEANT.
Then wenches!
COUNTRYMAN.
You've free quarters too, with they;
Girls love the red coats—
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Gad, and well they may.
COUNTRYMAN.
But when to fareign wars your men resort
Fighting—a battle—
SERJEANT.
'Tis the rarest sport.
COUNTRYMAN.
Tell us a little about that.
SERJEANT.
I will.
WIFE.
Don't listen to him, Joe!
COUNTRYMAN.
Do you be still.
AIR.
SERJEANT.
What a charming thing's a battle!
Trumpets sounding, drums a beating;
Crack, crick, crack, the cannons rattle.
Ev'ry heart with joy elating.
With what pleasure are we spying,
From the front and from the rear,
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Heads, and limbs, and bullets flying!
Then the groans of soldiers dying:
Just like sparrows, as it were,
At each pop,
Hundreds drop;
While the muskets prittle prattle:
Kill'd and wounded,
Lie confounded;
What a charming thing's a battle!
But the pleasant joke of all,
Is when to close attack we fall;
Like mad bulls each other butting,
Shooting, stabbing, maiming, cutting;
Horse and foot,
All go to't,
Kill's the word, both men and cattle;
Then to plunder:
Blood and thunder,
What a charming thing's a battle!
| The recruiting serjeant | |