And sigh’d to flourish in some Country Town; In some Militia Corps, at distant Quarters, Act the Lothario with the Wives and Daughters. Money, or Interest, never-failing friends, Soon did the job, and Johnny gain’d his ends. Translated then to a Militia Beau, Dear, lively Captain _Newcome_’s all the go! Sports a gay Curricle and pair of Tits, Damns smokey London, and the frowsy Cits; With ardour talks of Marches, Camps, and Fight; Such scenes as these would be his soul’s delight. At length, one day, his spirits flush’d with Wine, Johnny resolved to go into the Line; Writes to Mamma a coaxer to Petition She’d make his Father buy him a Commission. The doating Mother dwells with anxious pause, Ere she could send her darling to the Wars. But as she’d ne’er refused him what he wanted, She paid the Cash, and his request was granted: Soon now the Official letter made it known That Ensign _Newcome_, Fourth or the King’s Own, Would on receipt immediately go, And quick present himself at the Depôt. What thrilling tumults in his bosom came To see amongst the Regulars his name! So dash’d away in wondrous haste and pother, To take a flying leave of Dad and Mother. A soldier bold, now Johnny vaunts and vapours, Anticipates his name in London papers. ‘From admiration we cannot refrain, ‘The gallant Ensign _Newcome_’s going to Spain; ‘To shew our gratitude we don’t dissemble, ‘Heroes like him must make Massena tremble.’ Or, should a Battle ease him of his breath, His Name’s recorded in the list of Death; The _Mortuum Caput_ then they thus would fill, ‘Died Ensign _Newcome_, late of Ludgate Hill-- ‘Of twenty wounds receiv’d in an attack, ‘All in his front, he scorn’d to turn his back. ‘This sad event will be a grievous blow, Sir, ‘To Johnny _Newcome_, Alderman and Grocer.’[1] Young John was well aware to what extent To purchase fame a golden guinea went; At all the Shops where characters were sold, He could be made a Hero for his gold; A valiant Hero then at any rate, Our John resolv’d to be or soon, or late. An Order now arriv’d at the Depôt, ‘That Ensign _Newcome_ should to Hilsea go.’ Altho’ John relish’d not these hasty ways, He bolted off to Hilsea in a chaise; And then a Note was handed to our Spark, ‘That without loss of time he should embark.’ ‘Upon my soul,’ says John, ‘this is no jest, ‘They won’t allow a man a little rest.’ Boxes and trunks were cramm’d into a Boat, And Johnny _Newcome_ found himself afloat. John star’d with wonder when he got on Board, To see himself surrounded by the Flood. The rapid movements so confused his head, He knew not what he did, nor what he said; Had not his appetite, which never fail’d him, With certain griping, knawing hints assail’d him: For John to certain forms was true, and steady, So eager ask’d when dinner would be ready? ‘Dinner[2] I’ll warrant,’ says a churlish Elf,