Coll. Oh! The thoughts of scatt'ring small Shot among the sparkling Tribe, to feast my Senses upon dear Variety, have ev'ry Day a new dazling Beauty, and ev'ry Hour to taste the Joys of Love.

Sir Har. Don't fancy, Collonel, because you have beat the French you must conquer all the Ladies; there are Women that dare resist you boldly, will exact your Courage beyond attacking a Fortress, and maintain a hotter Engagement.

Col. If you mean Women of the Town, some of 'em wou'd give a Man a warm Reception—Yet I long to be traversing the Park, ogling at the Play, peeping up at Windows, and ferreting the Warren o' Covent-Garden, till I seize on some skittish dapper Doxie, whose pretty black Eyes, dimpling Cheeks, heaving Breasts, and soft Caresses, wou'd melt a Man—for half a Guinea.

Knap. How I long too, to wheedle in with some Buxom Widow, that keeps a Victualling-House, to provide me with Meat, Drink, Washing and Lodging—to find out some delicious Chamber-Maid, that will pawn her best Mohair-Gown, sell even her Silver-Thimble, and rob her Mistress to shew how truly she loves me; or intrigue with some Heroick Sempstress, that will call me her Artaxerxes, her Agamemnon, and give me six new Shirts.

Sir Har. And now the tedious Summer is elaps'd, and Winter ushers in neglected Joys; Armies march home victorious from the Field, Ladies from Parks and Plains that mourn'd their absence; a Croud of Pleasures glut the varying Appetite, and Friends long absent meet with gayest Transports.

Col. Ay, Winter is the gay, the happy Season: I hate a Solitary Rural Life, as if one were at variance with the World; to walk with Arms a-cross, admire Nature's Works in Woods and Groves, talk to the Streams, and tell the Trees our Passion, while Eccho's make a Mock at all we say— Give me the shining Town, the glittering Theatres; there Nature best is seen in Beauteous Boxes, where Beaus transported with the Heavenly Sight, the little God sits pleas'd in ev'ry Eye, and Actors dart new Vigour from the Stage, supported By the Spirit of full Pay—But what great Fortunes buz about the Town; Red-Coats have carry'd off good store of Heiresses, and that's the sure, tho' not the sweetest Game; besides, Sir Harry, they talk of Peace, and we that have nothing but the Sword to trust to, ought to provide against that dreadful Day.

Knap. Really, Sir, I have had some Thoughts of Marriage too; there's nothing like being settl'd, to have a House of one's own, and Attendants about one; besides, I'm the last Male, of a very ancient Family, and shou'd I die without Children, the Knap-sacks wou'd be quite extinct.

Sir Har. The Talk, the Pride, and Envy of the Town is Lady Rodomont, whose Wit surprizes, whose Beauty ravishes, and a clear Estate of Six thousand a Year distracts the admiring Train; but the Misfortune is, she has Travell'd, had Experience, well vers'd in Gallantries of various Courts; she admits Coquets, and rallies each Pretender, so resolutely fond of Liberty, she slights the most accomplish'd of Mankind, there Collonel is a Siege to prove a Roman or a Grecian Bravery.

Col. A Roman or a Grecian, say you, bold Britains laugh at all their baubling Fights; and had Achilles, with his batt'ring Rams, felt half the Fury of an English General, Troy had ne'er bully'd out a Ten Years Siege—but Ladies are more craftily subdu'd; you mustn't storm a Nymph with Sword and Pistol, pursue her as you wou'd a tatter'd Frenchman, push her Attendants into the Danube, then seize her, and clap her into a Coach—I'll baffle her at her own Argument, swear I'd not wed a Phoenix of her Sex, and laugh at Dress and Beauty, Wit and Fortune, when purchas'd only at the Price of Liberty—then sweeten her again with ogling Smiles, look Babies in her Eyes, and vow she's handsome; and when she thinks each artful Glance has caught me, that now's the time to Conquer, and to Laugh, and with malicious Cunning mentions Marriage, I'll start, and change, and beg her not to name it, for 'tis a Thought that rouses Madness in me, 'till out of Spight and Spleen, and Woman's Curiosity, the Knot's abruptly ty'd, to prove my feign'd Resolves, and boast her Power.

Sir Har. Tis well design'd, and may the Soldier animate the Lover: For my part, I'm so devoted to my Pleasures, and so strangely bigotted to a single Life, I have sold an Estate of Two thousand a Year, to buy an Annuity of Four: I love to Rake and Rattle thro' the Town, and each Amusement, as it happens, pleases. The Ladies call me Mad Sir Harry, a Careless, Affable, Obliging Fellow, whom, when they want, they send for. I wear good Cloaths to 'Squire'em up and down; have Wit enough to Chat, and make'em Giggle, and Sense enough to keep their Favours secret—But from Romantick Love, Good Heav'n defend me. A Moment's Joy's not worth an Age's Courtship; and when the Nymph's Demure, and Dull and Shy, and Foolish and Freakish, and Fickle, there are Billiards at the Smyrna, Bowles at Marybone, and Dice at the Groom-Porter's—Are you for the Noon-Park.

Col. With all my Heart.

Sir Har. There the Beau-Monde appear in all their Splendour—Here, Shrimp, [Enters.] entertain the Collonel's Servant—An Hour hence you'll hear of us at White's. [Exeunt.

Shr. Mr. Knapsack, are you for a Dish of Bohee: My Master has been just drinking, and the Water boils— [Goes out, and returns with a Tea-Table.

Knap. Not to incommode you about it, Mr. Shrimp.

Shr. Well, Mr. Knapsack, we brave Britains conquer all before us: Why you have done Wonders this Campaign.

Knap. Ay, Mr. Shrimp, the Name of an English General Thunder-strikes the French, as much as it invigorates the Allies; for when he comes, he cuts you off Ten or Twenty thousand, with the same Ease as a Countryman wou'd mow down an Acre of Corn; tho', after all, I was in some pain for our Forces, not being able to do 'em any personal Service; for you must know, Mr. Shrimp, I am mightily subject to Convulsions, and just before ev'ry Engagement I was unluckily seiz'd with so violent a Fit, they were forc'd to carry me back to the next wall'd Town.

Shr. Are you for much Sugar in your Tea, Sir?

Knap. As much as you please, Sir.

Shr. Have you made many Campaigns, Mr. Knapsack?

Knap. This was the first, Mr. Shrimp, and I'm not positive that I shall ever make another; for next Summer, I believe, some Business of moment will confine me to this Kingdom—Pray, Mr. Shrimp, why don't you exert your self in the Service; the Gentlemen of the Army wou'd be glad of so sprightly an Officer as you among 'em.

Shr. O dear, Mr. Knapsack, I'm of so unfortunate a Stature, they'd trample me under their Feet; besides, I have no Genius to Fighting; I cou'd like a Commission in a Beau-Regiment, that always stays at home, because a Scarlet-Lac'd-Suit, a Sash and Feather command Respect, keep off Creditors, and make the Ladies fly into our Arms.

Knap. Ay, Mr. Shrimp, I don't doubt but you have good store of Mistresses. Why you look a little thin upon the matter, ha!

Shr. No, no, Mr. Knapsack, I'm as moderate at that Sport, as any Man; I must own, when a pretty Lady comes betimes in a Morning to my Master, and he, poor Gentleman, is in a dead Sleep with hard Drinking, I do now and then take her