We be the King's men, hale and hearty, Marching to meet one Buonaparty; If he won't sail, lest the wind should blow, We shall have marched for nothing, O! Right fol-lol! We be the King's men, hale and hearty, Marching to meet one Buonaparty; If he be sea-sick, says “No, no!” We shall have marched for nothing, O! Right fol-lol! [The soldiers draw aside, and the coach passes on.] SECOND PASSENGER Is there truth in it that Bonaparte wrote a letter to the King last month? FIRST PASSENGER Yes, sir. A letter in his own hand, in which he expected the King to reply to him in the same manner. SOLDIERS [continuing, as they are left behind] We be the King's men, hale and hearty, Marching to meet one Buonaparty; Never mind, mates; we'll be merry, though We may have marched for nothing, O! Right fol-lol! THIRD PASSENGER And was Boney's letter friendly? FIRST PASSENGER Certainly, sir. He requested peace with the King. THIRD PASSENGER And why shouldn't the King reply in the same manner? FIRST PASSENGER What! Encourage this man in an act of shameless presumption, and give him the pleasure of considering himself the equal of the King of England--whom he actually calls his brother! THIRD PASSENGER He must be taken for what he is, not for what he was; and if he calls King George his brother it doesn't speak badly for his friendliness. FIRST PASSENGER Whether or no, the King, rightly enough, did not reply in person, but through Lord Mulgrave our Foreign Minister, to the effect that his Britannic Majesty cannot give a specific answer till he has communicated with the Continental powers. THIRD PASSENGER Both the manner and the matter of the reply are British; but a huge mistake. FIRST PASSENGER Sir, am I to deem you a friend of Bonaparte, a traitor to your country--- THIRD PASSENGER Damn my wig, sir, if I'll be called a traitor by you or any Court sycophant at all at all! [He unpacks a case of pistols.] SECOND PASSENGER Gentlemen forbear, forbear! Should such differences be suffered to arise on a spot where we may, in less than three months, be fighting for our very existence? This is foolish, I say. Heaven alone, who reads the secrets of this man's heart, can tell what his meaning and intent may be, and if his letter has been answered wisely or no. [The coach is stopped to skid the wheel for the descent of the hill, and before it starts again a dusty horseman overtakes it.] SEVERAL PASSENGERS A London messenger! [To horseman] Any news, sir? We are from Bristol only. HORSEMAN