_Third Cook._ German sausage won in fight On some dark and stormy night, Dim and murky watercress Stolen from a Sergeants' Mess, Slabs of cheese and chunks of ham, Lumps of plum and apple jam, Bits of paper, ends of string, Mixed with any damned thing, In the cauldron mingle quick So the stew be dense and thick. _All._ Fire burn and dixie bubble, Double toil or there'll he trouble. [_Exeunt._ SCENE III.--_Outside kitchen. Alarums._ _Enter_ Orderly Corporal. _Orderly Corporal._ Here's a pretty pass. Eyewash, eyewash, eyewash. And such a running to and fro and a go this way and a go that way, and a burnishing up of old brass and a shouting of horrid words, as though the Devil himself were inspecting his own furnace. Faith, an I were eyewashing Beelzebub I could catch it no hotter. [_Shouting within._ Anon, anon. I will eyewash it no further. [_Exit._ _Flourish. Enter_ Colonel, Adjutant, Quartermaster and Sergeant-Cook. _Colonel._ Is all prepared? _Sergeant-Cook._ The dinners would content RHONDDA himself. _Quartermaster._ The General comes. _Flourish. Enter_ General _and_ Attendants. _General._ Good Colonel, Our greetings are the warmer for the thought Of visits past. _Colonel._ The service that we owe In doing pays itself. Will you inspect The dinners? _General._ First we'll greet the Adjutant, Whom well we recollect. _Adjutant._ This is an honour Which makes our labours light. Will you be pleased To inspect the dinners? _General._ Yes, but let us first Discuss the general welfare of the troops Whose good's our care. _Sergeant-Cook (aside to Colonel)._ The time is getting long; The stew's congealing fast. _Colonel._ Good General, Your grace toward our people doth confound Th' expression of our gratitude. The hour For dinner is at hand. An you would grace The issue with your presence it would make The meal the sweeter. _General (aside)._ There doth seem to be More than politeness in these invitations. (_To Colonel_) I am no cook to judge by sight and touch The flavour of a dish. Issue the dinners To all the rank and file, that so my pleasure In marking their expressions of content Be equal to the praise I shall bestow. _Voice within._ Help! help! The cooks have fainted in the stew. _Adjutant._ They'll not be noticed. _Colonel._ Now hath fortune proved My master. I'll not live a slave to Chance. [_Eats some of the stew and dies._ _General._ Conscience hath claimed her toll and is content. We'll go inspect another regiment. CURTAIN.