_Adeline._ Pshaw! pr'ythee, man, put but a confident look on the matter, and we shall do, I warrant. A bluff and blustering outside often conceals a chicken heart. Mine aches, I am sure! but I will hide my grief under the veil of airy carelessness.--Down, sorrow! I'll be all bustle, like the occasion. Come, Gregory! Mark your mistress, man, and learn: see how she'll play the pert young soldier. SONG.--ADELINE. _The mincing step, the woman's air,_ _The tender sigh, the soften'd note,_ _Poor Adeline must now forswear,_ _Nor think upon the petticoat._ _Since love has led me to the field,_ _The soldier's phrase I'll learn by rote;_ _I'll talk of drums, of sword and shield,_ _And quite forget my petticoat._ _When the loud cannon's roar I hear,_ _And trumpets bray with brazen throat,_ _With blust'ring, then, I'll hide my fear,_ _Lest I betray my petticoat._ _But ah! how slight the terrors past,_ _If he on whom I fondly dote,_ _Is to my arms restored at last;--_ _Then--give me back my petticoat!_ [Exit ADELINE. _Gregory._ Well, if I must go, I must. I cannot help following my poor Lady Adeline--affection has led many a bolder man by the nose than I. I wonder, though, how your bold fellows find themselves just before they're going to fight. I wonder if they have any uncomfortable sort of sticking in the throat, and a queer kind of a cold tickling feel in some part of the flesh. Ah! Gregory, Gregory Gubbins! your peaceable qualities will never do for a camp. I never could bear gunpowder, since I got fuddled at the fair, and the boys tied crackers, under Dobbin's tail, in the Market Place. SONG.--GREGORY GUBBINS. _What's a valiant Hero?_ _Beat the drum,_ _And he'll come:--_ _Row de dow dero!_ _Nothing does he fear, O!_ _Risks his life,_ _While the fife--_ _Twittle, twittle twero--_ _Row de dow de dow,_ _Twittle, twittle twero._ _Havock splits his ear, O!_ _Groans abound,_ _Trumpets sound,_ _Ran tan tan ta tero--_ _Twittle, twittle twero._ _Then the scars he'll bear, O!_ _Muskets roar,_ _Small shot pour--_ _Rat tat tat to tero--_ _Pop, pop, pop,_ _Twittle, twittle twero._ _What brings up the rear, O?_ _In comes Death;_ _Stops his breath;--_ _Good bye, valiant Hero!--_ _Twittle twittle, rat a tat,_ _Pop, pop, pop, row de dow, &c. &c._ [Exit. SCENE II. HENRY THE SIXTH'S _Camp, at Hexham._ _Enter a DRUMMER and a FIFER._ _Drum._ Morrow to you, Master Tooting--a merry day-breaking to your worship.