SOLDIER

No, but I have lost a day ith field: if you take me a manding but where I am command ding, let show me the house of correction. No sir, but I was bold to show my self to some of my old and familiar acquaintance; but being disguised with my wants, there's no body knew me. O Cavina Facundia! this dog-eloquence of thine will make thee somewhat one day, Scholar; couldst thou turn but this prose into rhyme, there were a pitiful living to be picked out of it. Very well sir; and I'll warrant thee thou shalt never want subject to write of: One hangs himself to day, another drowns himself to morrow, a Sergeant stabbed next day, here a Pettifogger ath' Pillory, a Bawd in the Carts nose, and a Pander in the tail: Hic Mulier, Haec Vir, Fashions, Fictions, Felonies, Fooleries, a hundred havens has the Balladmonger to traffic at, and new ones still daily discovered. Shall I set thee down a course to live? Tush, thats resolved on, beg; when there's use for me, I shall be brave again, hugged, and beloved: We are Like Winter garments, in the height And hight blood-of Summer, putoff, thrown by For moths-meat, never so much as thought on, Till the Drum strikes up stormesagen; and then, Come, my well-lined Soldier, (with valour, Not Valour) keep me warm; O, I love thee; We shall be trimmed and very well brushed then: If we be faced with Fur, it's tolerable; For we may pillage then and steal our prey, And not be hanged for't; when the least fingering In peaceful Summer chokes us: A Soldier, At the best, is even but the forlorn hope Unto his Country, sent desperately out And never more expected: if he come, Peace's war, perhaps, the Law providently Has provided for him, some house or lands May be suspenc't in wrangling controversy And he be hired to keep possession: For there may be swords drawn, he may become The abject second to some stinking Baily; O, let him serve the Pox first, and die a Gentleman. Come, I know my ends, but would feign provide for thee: Canst thou make? Cuckolds, make Cuckolds, it's a pretty trade In a peaceful City; it's women's work, man, And they are good pay-masters. Prithee, what's Latin for a Cuckold, Scholar? I could never learn yet. You're mad fellows you Scholars; I am persuaded, Were I a Scholar now, I could not want. How no Scholars! What's become of um all? Mechanic Rabbies! what might those be! Now it's the Soldiers time, great Jupiter, Now give me leave to enter on my Fortune's, The World's our own. That I believe, They have no ground for any thing they do. This is strange, How come they to attain this knowledge? This has some likelihood. Let them alone; How shall we learn to live? I had rather beith Crown Office: Thou mayest keep School too, and do good service To bring up children for the next age better. And amazing one, Scholar; if ever thou couldst conjure, speak now. Since these arms could wield A mes I have professed it, brightest Deity. My maintenance. Divine Lady, theres yet a competence Which we come short off. Plaints are not ours alone (great Jupiter. ) See, Time himself comes weeping. Scholar, Honour to mighty Jupiter. The World's in a good hand now, if it hold, brother. Fare thee well then, I'll over, yonder to the most glorious Wars That ever famde Christian Kingdom. Give me thy hand: Prosperity keep with thee.