Chapter 1

_Flourish. Enter_ Colonel _and_ Adjutant.

_Colonel._ I do mistrust the soft and temperate air That hath so long enwrapped us. No "returns Of bakers," visitations of the Staff, Alarms or inquisitions have disturbed Our ten days' rest. Nothing but casual shells And airy bombs to mind us of the War.

_Adjutant._ Oh, Sir, thy zeal hath mated with thy conscience And bred i' the mind mistrustful doubts and fears, A savage brood, which being come to manhood Do fight with sweet content and eat her up.

_Colonel._ Alas! it is the part of those who govern To play the miser with their present good For fear of future ill. But who comes here?

_Enter_ Messenger.

_Messenger._ So please you I am sent of General Blood To bid you wait his coming.

_Colonel._ When?

_Messenger._ To-morrow. He purposes to visit your command About the dinner-hour. [_Exit._

_Colonel._ Now let th' occasion Be servant to my wits. "The dinner-hour." Twice hath he come; and first upon parade Inspected all the men; the second time The transport visited. Surmise hath grown To certainty. He will inspect the dinners! Go, faithful Adjutant, stir up the cooks And bid them thicken stews and burnish pots.

_Adjutant._ I take my leave at once and go. [_Exit_ Adjutant.

_Colonel._ Farewell. Now with elusive Chance I'll try a fall And on the fateful issue risk my all. [_Flourish. Exit._