SONG. The life for me is a soldier's life! With that what glories come! The notes of the spirit-stirring fife, The roll of the battle-drum; The brilliant array, the bearing high, The plumed warriors' tramp; The streaming banners that flout the sky, The gleaming pomp of the camp. CHORUS. A soldier's life is the life for me! With that what glories come! The notes of the spirit-stirring fife, The roll of the battle-drum! HAROLD. So, corporal, at last we are to have a muster of the combined forces of the kingdom. CORPORAL. Yes, the king is never so happy as when he has all his children, as he calls US, about him. HAROLD. And plaguy good he takes of his CHILDREN! He looks after our domestic as well as our public interests! It was a strange whim in old Fritz to offer each of his soldiers one of the factory girls for a wife! CORPORAL. I wonder the old hero does not marry some of them himself. HAROLD. He would rather look after his soldiers than meddle with the fancies of the women--and at his age too! CORPORAL. Nonsense! The king is a boy--a mere boy--of seventy! But he does meddle with the women sometimes. HAROLD. Say you so? CORPORAL. Ay, and old ones too. It was but the other day that he pensioned a poor widow, whose only son fell in a skirmish at his side. Heaven bless his old cocked hat! HAROLD. Yes is it not singular that one so mindful of the rights of old women should compel the young ones to toil as they do in the factory? CORPORAL. Tush, tush, man!--that's none of your concern, nor mine. What have we to do with state affairs? HAROLD. Right, corporal; and it's not worth while for us to trouble our heads about other people's business. CORPORAL. You're a sensible fellow-- HAROLD. Right again; and I would return the compliment if you did not wear such a flashy watch-riband (looks at it.) CORPORAL. That's personal! HAROLD. I mean it to be so. What the devil do you wear it for? CORPORAL. To gratify a whim. I like this riband. It was a present from an old sweetheart of mine. Look what a jaunty air it gives one!--and where's the harm of keeping up appearances?-- HAROLD. What silly vanity! But let me give you a piece of advice: beware of the scrutiny of the king--he has an eye like a hawk, old as he is; and if he should happen to spy your watch-riband-- CORPORAL. Pooh, pooh!--he would not notice such a trifle.--But who comes yonder? That Hungarian Karl. Let's make way for him.--He's a fellow I don't fancy. What a man to woo and win Sophia Mansfield! HAROLD. He'll never win her, woo her as he may. Count Laniska will look to that. [HAROLD, CORPORAL and party retire into tents. (Enter KARL, in great agitation.) SONG--KARL. Confusion!--Again rejected By the maid I fondly love! Illusion!--In soul dejected! Jealous fears my bosom move. Dear Sophia!--Hope's deceiver! Whom I love; but love in vain! Can I to my rival leave her? No--the thought distracts my brain!