The Fine Ladys Airs | Page 7

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