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.