Though in my hand no filver tankard shine,
Nor my dry lip be dy'd with claret wine,
Yet I can fleep in peace-

Sir ROGER.

(After having drunk. Woman, forbear.

Behold how low you have reduc'd a maid.
Thus to your worfhips on my knees I fue,
(A posture never known but in the pew)
If we can money for our taxes find,

[Kneeling.

Take that-but ah! our fweethearts leave behind. To trade fo barb'rous he was never bred,

The blood of vermine all the blood he shed:

How fhould he, harmless youth, how fhould he then Who kill'd but poulcats, learn to murder men?

I'll

DORCAS.

O Thomas, Thomas! hazard not thy life;
By all that's good, I'll make a loving wife:
prove a true pains-taker day and night,
I'll spin and card, and keep our children tight.
I can knit stockings, you can thatch a barn;
If you earn ten-pence, I my groat can earn.
How fhall I weep to hear this infant cry?

[ber hand on her belly.

He'll have no father.

-and no husband I.

KITTY.

Hold, Thomas, hold, nor hear that fhameless witch:

I can fow plain-work, I can darn and ftitch;

I can bear fultry days and frosty weather;
Yes, yes, my Thomas, we will go together;
Beyond the feas together will we go,
In camps together, as at harveft, glow.
This arm shall be a bolster for thy head,

I'll fetch clean ftraw to make my foldier's bed;
There, while thou fleep'ft, my apron o'er thee hold,
Or with it patch thy tent against the cold.
Pigs in hard rains I've watch'd, and fhall I do
That for the pigs, I would not bear for you?

FILBERT.

Oh, Kitty, Kitty, canft thou quit the rake,
And leave these meadows for thy fweetheart's fake?
Canft thou so many gallant foldiers fee,

And captains and lieutenants flight for me?
Say, canst thou hear the guns, and never shake,
Nor start at oaths that make a christian quake?
Canft thou bear hunger, canft thou march and toil
A long long way, a thoufand thousand mile?
And when thy Tom's blown up, or shot away,
Then canft thou starve ?—they'll cheat thee of my pay.
Sir ROGER.

Take out that wench

Sir HUMPHRY.

[Drinking.

[Drinking.

I'll fee her ftand

But give her penance meet.

Juftice STATUTE. [Drinking alfo
-next Sunday—in a sheet.
DORCAS.

Ah! why does nature give us fo much caufe
To make kind-hearted laffes break the laws?
Why should hard laws kind-hearted laffes bind,
When too foft nature draws us after kind?

SCENE

SCENE II.

Sir ROGER, Sir HUMPHRY, Juftice STATUTE, FILBERT, SERGEANT, KITTY, GRANDMOTHER, AUNT, SOLDIER.

SOLDIER.

Sergeant, the captain to your quarters fent ;
To ev'ry ale-house in the town I went.
Our Corp'ral now has the deferter found;
The men are all drawn out, the pris'ner bound.

SERGEANT.

Come, foldier, come

KITTY.

[To Filbert.

-Ah! take me, take me too.
GRANDMOTHER.

Stay, forward wench ;

AUNT.

What would the creature do?

This week thy mother means to wash and brew.

KITTY.

Brew then she may herself, or wash or bake;
I'd leave ten mothers for one sweetheart's fake.
O juftice moft unjust!

.

FILBERT.

Rueful indeed, I trow.

KITTY.

O woeful day!

FILBERT.

A day indeed of woe!

KITTY.

When gentle folks their fweethearts leave behind,
They can write letters, and fay fomething kind;
But how fhall Filbert unto me endite,

When neither I can read, nor he can write?
Yet, Juftices, permit us ere we part

To break this nine-pence, as you've broke our heart,

As this divides, thus are we torn in twain.

[Joining the pieces.

KITTY.

And as this meets, thus may we meet again. [She is drawn away on one fide of the Stage by Aunt and Grandmother.

Yet one look more

FILBERT.

[Haul'd off on the other fide by the Sergeant. One more ere yet we go.

To part is death.

KITTY

FILBERT.

'Tis death to part.

KITTY.

-Ah!

FILBERT.

-Oh!

SCENE

Sir ROGER, Sir HUMPHRY, Juftice STATUTE. They feem in earneft difcourfe.

Sir ROGER.

I fay the Prefs act plainly makes it out.

Sir HUMPHRY.

Doubtless, Sir Roger.

Juftice STATUTE,

-Brother, without doubt.

A Gheft rifes

ift GHOST.

I'm Jeffry Cackle.

-You my death shall rue ;

For I was prefs'd by you, by you, by you.

[Pointing to the Juflices.

Another Ghoft rifes.

2d GHOST.

I'm Smut, the farrier.

-You my death shall rue ;

For I was prefs'd by you, by you, by you.