Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 1.pdf/119

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Fred.The brave Sebastian! He was, as I am told, a learned coxcomb, And lov'd a goose-quill better than a sword. What, dost thou call him brave? Thou, who dost bear about that war-worn trunk, Like an old target, hack'd and rough with wounds, Whilst, after all his mighty battles, he Was with a smooth skin in his coffin laid, Unblemish'd with a scar.

Geof. His duty call'd not to such desp'rate service; For I have fought where few alive remain'd, And none unscath'd; where but a few remain'd. Thus marr'd, and mangl'd. (Shewing his wounds.) As belike you've seen, O'summer nights, around th'evening lamp, Some wretched moths, wingless, and half-consum'd, Just feebly crawling o'er their heaps of dead— In Savoy, on a small, tho' desp'rate post, Of full three hundred goodly, chosen men, But twelve were left, and right dear friends were we Forever after. They are all dead now, I'm old and lonely—we were valiant hearts— Fred'rick Dewalter would have stopp'd a breach Against the devil himself. I'm lonely now.

Fred. I'm sorry for thee. Hang ungrateful chiefs! Why art thou not promoted?

Geof. After that battle, where my happy fate Had led me to fulfil a glorious part, Chaf'd with the gibing insults of a slave,