_La Gloire._ Degrade my profession!--my--look ye, Madelon; I love thee with all my heart--with an honest soldier's heart--else I could tell your father, that a citizen could never get on in the world, without a soldier to do his journey-work:--and your soldier, look ye--'sblood! it makes me fret like a hot day's march!--your soldier, in all nations, when he is rusted down to your quiet citizen, and so sets up at home for himself, is in double respect, for having served such an honourable apprenticeship. _Madelon._ Nay, now, La Gloire, my father meant not---- _La Gloire._ Marry, I would tell your father this to his teeth; which, were it not for my captain and me--two soldiers, mark you me--might not, haply, have been so soon set a going. _Madelon._ Ungenerous! I could not have spoken such cutting words to you, La Gloire.--My poor father only meant, that the wars might separate us. But I had a remedy for that, too, for all your unkindness. _La Gloire._ Pish!--remedy?--well--psha!--what was the remedy, Madelon? _Madelon._ Why, I could have followed you to the camp. _La Gloire._ And wouldst thou follow me then? _Madelon._ Ay, surely, La Gloire: I could follow him I love all over the world. _La Gloire._ And bear the fatigue of a campaign, Madelon? _Madelon._ Any thing with you, La Gloire. I warrant us, we should be happy enough. Ay, and I could be useful too. I could pack your knapsack; sing canzonets with you, to make us merry on a day's march; mix in the soldier's dance upon occasion; and, at sun-set, I would dress up our little tent, as neat as any captain's in the field: then, at supper, La Gloire, we should be as cheerful!---- _La Gloire._ Now could I cut my tongue out for what I have said!--Cuff me; slap my face, Madelon; then kiss me, and forgive me: and, if ever I bestride my great war-horse again, and let him run away with me, and trample over the heart of my best friends, I wish he may kick me off, and break my neck in a ditch for my pains.--But--what--ha! ha!--what should we do with our children, Madelon? _Madelon._ Ah! mon Dieu! I had forgot that:--but if your endeavours be honest, La Gloire, Providence will take care of them, I warrant you. DUETT. LA GLOIRE AND MADELON. Madelon. _Could you to battle march away,_ _And leave me here complaining?_ _I'm sure 'twould break my heart to stay,_ _When you are gone campaigning._ _Ah! non, non, non!_ _Pauvre Madelon_ _Could never quit her rover:_ _Ah! non, non, non!_ _Pauvre Madelon_ _Would go with you all the world over._ La Gloire. _No, no, my love! ah! do not grieve;_ _A soldier true you'll find me:_ _I could not have the heart to leave_ _My little girl behind me._