_Shr_. Ev'ry Man ought to mend his Manners, Sir, that pretends to a Place at Court; but the Queen's mightily oblig'd to some People.--Has a Gentleman an impudent rakish Footman, not meaning my self, Sir, that wears his Linen, fingers his Money, and lies with his Mistress;--You Dog, you shall serve the Queen.--Has a Tradesman a Fop Prentice, that airs out his Horses, and heats his Wife, or an old Puritan a graceless Son, that runs to the Play-House instead of the Meeting, they are threathen'd with the Queen's Service; so that Her Majesty's good Subjects, drink her Health, wish success to her Arms, and send her all the Scoundrels i'the Nation. Sir _Har_. Fellows that han't sense to value a Civil Employment are necessary to front an Army, whose thick Sculls may repulse the first Fury of the Enemy's Cannon Bullets. _Shr_. I hope, then, the _English_ are so wise to let the _Dutch_ march foremost.--But why, Sir, shou'd you Gentlemen ingross all the Pleasures o'Life, and not allow us poor Dogs to imitate you in our own Sphere;--You wear lac'd Coats; We lac'd Liv'ries;--You play at Picquet; We at All-Fours;--You get drunk with Burgundy; We with Geneva;--You pinck Holes with your Swords; We crack Sculls with our Sticks;--You are Gentlemen; We are hang'd. Sir _Har_. A fine Relation; but, methinks, the latter Part of it might deter you from such Courses. _Shr_. I'm a Predestinarian, Sir; which is an Argument of a great Soul, and will no more baulk a drunken Frolick, than I would a pretty Lady that takes a Fancy to me. Sir _Har_. No more of your Impertinence; attend, I hear Company (Shrimp _goes to the Door_) Brigadier _Blenheim_ return'd from the Army! _Enter_ Collonel, _and_ Knapsack. Sir _Har_. My noblest, dearest Collonel, let me imbrace you as a _Britain_, and as a Friend. _Ajax_ ne'er boasted _English_ Valour; _Ulysses_ ne'er such Conduct; nor _Alexander_ such Successes. The Queen rejoices; the Parliament vote you Thanks; and ev'ry honest Loyal Heart bounds at our General's Name. _Col_. Ay, Sir _Harry_, to be thus receiv'd, rewards the Soldier's Toils; and, faith, we have maul'd the fancy _French-men,_ near Twenty Thousand we left fast asleep, taught the remaining few a new Minuet-step, and sent 'em home to sing _Te Deum_. _Knap_. Ay, Sir, and if they are not satisfied, next Campaign the _English_ shall stand still, and laugh at their Endeavours; the _Dutch_ Snigger-snee 'em; the _Scotch_ Cook them; and the wild _Irish_ eat 'em. _Col_. Oh! The glorious Din of War; the Energy of a good Cause, and the Emulation of a brave Confederacy.--To sound the Charge; Make a vigorous Attack, the Enemy gives ground,--To pour on fresh Vollies of a sure Destruction, and return deafn'd with shouts o' Victory, and adorn'd with glitt'ring Standards of the vanquish'd Foe.