_2nd Sol._ I grant it; you know I have an antipathy to the French--I hate to see the dogs. Look you here, gentlemen, I was shot quite through the body, look you. _Trim._ Prithee, look where it entered at your back. _2nd Sol._ Look you, Mr. Trim, you will have your joke, we know you are a wit--but what's that to a fighting man? _Enter_ KATE. _Kate._ Mr. Trim! Mr. Trim! _Trim._ Things are not as they have been, Mrs. Kate. I now pay the Company, and we that pay money expect a little more ceremony. _Kate._ Will your honour please to taste some right French brandy? _Trim._ Art thou sure, good woman, 'tis right? [_Drinks._ How--French--pray--nay, if I find you deceive me, who pay the men----[_Drinks._ _Kate._ Pray, good master, have you spoken to my lord about me? _Trim._ I have, but you shall speak to him yourself. Thou hast been a true campaigner, Kate, and we must not neglect thee. Do you sell grey pease yet of an evening, Mrs. Matchlock? [_Drinks again._ _Kate._ Anything to turn the penny, but I got more by crying pamphlets this year, than by anything I have done a great while. Now I am married into the Company again, I design to cross the seas next year. But, master, my husband, a Temple porter, and a Parliament man's footman, last night by their talk made me think there was danger of a peace; why, they said, all the prime people were against a war. _Trim._ No, no, Kate, never fear; you know I keep great company. All men are for a war, but some would have it abroad, and some would have it at home in their own country. _Kate._ Ay, say you so? Drink about, gentlemen, not a farthing to pay; a war is a war, be it where it will. But pray, Mr. Trim, speak to my lord, that when these gentlemen have shirts I may wash for 'em. _Trim._ I tell you, if you behave well to-night, you shall have a fortnight's pay each man as a reward; but there's none of you industrious. There's a thousand things you might do to help out about this town, as to cry, puff, puff pies--have you any knives or scissors to grind? or, late in an evening, whip from Grub Street, strange and bloody news from Flanders--votes from the House of Commons--buns, rare buns--old silver lace, cloaks, suits, or coats--old shoes, boots, or hats--But here, here, here's my lord a-coming; here's the captain. Fall back into the rank there; move up in the centre. _Enter_ LORD HARDY _and_ CAMPLEY. _Ld. H._ Let me see whether my ragged friends are ready and about me. _Kate._ Ensign Campley, Ensign Campley, I am overjoyed to see your honour; ha! the world's surely altered, ha! _Cam._ 'Tis so, faith! Kate, why thou art true to the cause, with the Company still, honest amazon. _Kate._ Dear soul, not a bit of pride in him; but won't your honour help in my business with my lord? Speak for me, noble ensign, do. _Cam._ Speak to him yourself; I'll second you.