SCENE III.--_A number of armed peasants in an outhouse.

_1st P._ Do you know what we are sent for, brother Harry?

_2nd P._ To go on some secret expedition, I suppose.

_1st P._ And which way shall we bend, think ye?

_2nd P._ God bless you. Why do you ask such a question? It is not for us to know where we are going. We shall know bye and bye, I warrant you, after we have marched two or three score of miles.

_1st P._ And where are our officers?

_2nd P._ They are in the adjoining house. They will be with us presently.

_3rd P._ And how shall we pass the time till they come?

_2nd P._ O, merrily enough. We can dance and sing.

_1st P._ Harry, you can sing. Give us a song.

_2nd P._ [_Sings_

Ours not to sleep in shady bowers,[38] When frosts are chilling all the plain, And nights are cold and long the hours To check the ardor of the swain, Who parting from his cheerful fire All comforts doth forego, And here and there And everywhere Pursues the prowling foe.

_2nd P._ How like you that?

_3rd P._ O, very well. I love to hear anything that touches upon the hardships of a soldier's life.

_4th P._ Give us the rest; give us the rest. I love that song, Harry.

_2nd P._

But we must sleep in frost and snows, No season shuts up our campaign; Hard as the oaks, we dare oppose The autumn's or the winter's reign. Alike to us the winds that blow In summer's season gay, Or those that rave On Hudson's wave And drift his ice away.

For Liberty, celestial maid, With joy all hardships we endure. In her blest smiles we are repaid, In her protection are secure. Then rise superior to the foe, Ye freeborn souls of fire; Respect these arms, 'Tis freedom warms, To noble deeds aspire.

Winter and death may change the scene, The cold may freeze, the ball may kill, And dire misfortunes intervene; But freedom shall be potent still To drive these Britons from our shore, Who, cruel and unkind, With slavish chain Attempt in vain Our freeborn limbs to bind.

_Pasq._ O, excellent--"Our freeborn limbs to bind"--by my soul, they never shall bind mine. Harry, give us another song on our affairs and then we'll be ready.

_All._ Ay, ay; another, another.

_2nd P._ I have not many by heart. I do recollect one at present, but it was made at the beginning of the war.

_All._ No matter, no matter; let's hear it.

_2nd P._ [_Sings_

The cohorts of Britain are now all complete, She has brushed up her soldiers and manned out her fleet; The lion has roared whose trade is to kill, And we are the victims whose blood he must spill.

But ere I am slaughtered and wrapped in a shroud I must tell you the motive that makes him so proud. The monkeys and puppies that bow to his rule Have told him a lie and deceived the old fool.

They say we are cowards, not dressed in red coats, That he without danger may cut all our throats; If we see but a Briton, confounded with fear, We'll throw down our muskets and run like a deer.

That one thousand men with a captain would dare To march from New Hampshire to Georgia, they swear. But here lies the trick of these wonderful men, They tell us they'll do it, but do not say when.

Such a motive to fight would you ever conceive, Yet such is the motive that makes him so brave. On such a presumption, in hopes of applause, He whets up his grinders and sharpens his claws.

But hark, Mr. Lion, and be not so stout, In fancy alone you have put us to rout. To show you how little your threat'nings avail, Here's a kick at your breech and a clip at your tail.[39]

* * * * * * *

But everything seems poisoned where I tread, And I am tortured to perfection.

[_Exit. Enter an officer of the guard_