gift of reading.

_Trounce_: Good soldiers, and fellow-gentlemen, if you make me
your spokesman, you will show the more judgment; and let me alone for
the argument. I'll be as loud as a drum, and point blank from the
purpose.

_All_. Agreed, agreed.

_Flint_. Oh, faith! here comes the lieutenant.--Now, Serjeant.

_Trounce_. So then, to order.--Put on your mutiny looks; every
man grumble a little to himself, and some of you hum the Deserter's
March.

_Enter_ LIEUTENANT O'CONNOR.


_O'Con_. Well, honest lads, what is it you have to complain of?

_Sol_. Ahem! hem!

_Trounce_. So please your honour, the very grievance of the
matter is this:--ever since your honour differed with justice
Credulous, our inn-keepers use us most scurvily. By my halbert, their
treatment is such, that if your spirit was willing to put up with it,
flesh and blood could by no means agree; so we humbly petition that
your honour would make an end of the matter at once, by running away
with the justice's daughter, or else get us fresh quarters,--hem! hem!