The Fine Ladys Airs | Page 6

Court; but the Queen's mightily oblig'd to some People.--Has a
Gentleman an impudent rakish Footman, not meaning my self, Sir, that
wears his Linen, fingers his Money, and lies with his Mistress;--You
Dog, you shall serve the Queen.--Has a Tradesman a Fop Prentice, that
airs out his Horses, and heats his Wife, or an old Puritan a graceless
Son, that runs to the Play-House instead of the Meeting, they are
threathen'd with the Queen's Service; so that Her Majesty's good
Subjects, drink her Health, wish success to her Arms, and send her all
the Scoundrels i'the Nation.
Sir Har. Fellows that han't sense to value a Civil Employment are
necessary to front an Army, whose thick Sculls may repulse the first
Fury of the Enemy's Cannon Bullets.
Shr. I hope, then, the English are so wise to let the Dutch march
foremost.--But why, Sir, shou'd you Gentlemen ingross all the
Pleasures o'Life, and not allow us poor Dogs to imitate you in our own

Sphere;--You wear lac'd Coats; We lac'd Liv'ries;--You play at Picquet;
We at All-Fours;--You get drunk with Burgundy; We with
Geneva;--You pinck Holes with your Swords; We crack Sculls with our
Sticks;--You are Gentlemen; We are hang'd.
Sir Har. A fine Relation; but, methinks, the latter Part of it might deter
you from such Courses.
Shr. I'm a Predestinarian, Sir; which is an Argument of a great Soul,
and will no more baulk a drunken Frolick, than I would a pretty Lady
that takes a Fancy to me.
Sir Har. No more of your Impertinence; attend, I hear Company
(Shrimp _goes to the Door_) Brigadier Blenheim return'd from the
Army!
Enter Collonel, and Knapsack.
Sir Har. My noblest, dearest Collonel, let me imbrace you as a Britain,
and as a Friend. Ajax ne'er boasted English Valour; Ulysses ne'er such
Conduct; nor Alexander such Successes. The Queen rejoices; the
Parliament vote you Thanks; and ev'ry honest Loyal Heart bounds at
our General's Name.
Col. Ay, Sir Harry, to be thus receiv'd, rewards the Soldier's Toils; and,
faith, we have maul'd the fancy _French-men,_ near Twenty Thousand
we left fast asleep, taught the remaining few a new Minuet-step, and
sent 'em home to sing Te Deum.
Knap. Ay, Sir, and if they are not satisfied, next Campaign the English
shall stand still, and laugh at their Endeavours; the Dutch Snigger-snee
'em; the Scotch Cook them; and the wild Irish eat 'em.
Col. Oh! The glorious Din of War; the Energy of a good Cause, and the
Emulation of a brave Confederacy.--To sound the Charge; Make a
vigorous Attack, the Enemy gives ground,--To pour on fresh Vollies of
a sure Destruction, and return deafn'd with shouts o' Victory, and
adorn'd with glitt'ring Standards of the vanquish'd Foe.

Knap. To hang up in _Westminster-Hall_, and make the Lawyers stare
off their Briefs;--But the Harmony of sounding a Retreat,--to hug my
self with two Arms, and walk substantially upon both my Pedestals, or
the health of Mind in lying sick at Amsterdam.
Col. Ay, here's a sorry Rascal, that lags always behind, and is afraid to
look Death i'the Face.
Knap. Why, really, Sir, 'tisn't manners to march before the _Colonel_;
and upon a warm Engagement, I have heard you talk musically of good
Conduct. Besides, that Mr._ Death_ is but a Hatchet-face Beau, so lean,
and wither'd like an old Dutchess, or a Doctor o' Physick, I had as live
see the Devil.
Sir Har. But when the Lines are forc'd, the Enemy slain, and the Placs
loaded with rich Plunder.--
Knap. None so nimble, none so valiant, none so expert as your very
humble Servant Nehemiah Knapsack.
Col. But, who are the raigning Beauties o'the Age? What Favours will
they grant a Soldier after a hard Campaign, fatiguing Marches,
desp'rate Attempts, and narrow Escapes, to preserve them from Rapine,
Violence, and Slav'ry, that they may laugh away the Day in gay
Diversions, and pass the silent Night in silver Slumbers on their Downy
Beds?
Sir Har. Just as many Favours as you have Money or Mechlin Lace to
purchase: Women apprehend not the Danger of War, and therefore
have no Notion of Gratitude.
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