Part 4 (1/2)

SHARP. Is that bully of his in the army?

BELL. No; but is a pretender, and wears the habit of a soldier, which nowadays as often cloaks cowardice, as a black gown does atheism. You must know he has been abroad--went purely to run away from a campaign; enriched himself with the plunder of a few oaths, and here vents them against the general, who, slighting men of merit, and preferring only those of interest, has made him quit the service.

SHARP. Wherein no doubt he magnifies his own performance.

BELL. Speaks miracles, is the drum to his own praise--the only implement of a soldier he resembles, like that, being full of bl.u.s.tering noise and emptiness--

SHARP. And like that, of no use but to be beaten.

BELL. Right; but then the comparison breaks, for he will take a drubbing with as little noise as a pulpit cus.h.i.+on.

SHARP. His name, and I have done?

BELL. Why, that, to pa.s.s it current too, he has gilded with a t.i.tle: he is called Capt. Bluffe.

SHARP. Well, I'll endeavour his acquaintance--you steer another course, are bound--

For love's island: I, for the golden coast.

May each succeed in what he wishes most.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

SIR JOSEPH WITTOLL, SHARPER _following_.

SHARP. Sure that's he, and alone.

SIR JO. Um--Ay, this, this is the very d.a.m.ned place; the inhuman cannibals, the b.l.o.o.d.y-minded villains, would have butchered me last night. No doubt they would have flayed me alive, have sold my skin, and devoured, etc.

SHARP. How's this!

SIR JO. An it hadn't been for a civil gentleman as came by and frighted 'em away--but, agad, I durst not stay to give him thanks.

SHARP. This must be Bellmour he means. Ha! I have a thought--

SIR JO. Zooks, would the captain would come; the very remembrance makes me quake; agad, I shall never be reconciled to this place heartily.

SHARP. 'Tis but trying, and being where I am at worst, now luck!--cursed fortune! this must be the place, this d.a.m.ned unlucky place--

SIR JO. Agad, and so 'tis. Why, here has been more mischief done, I perceive.

SHARP. No, 'tis gone, 'tis lost--ten thousand devils on that chance which drew me hither; ay, here, just here, this spot to me is h.e.l.l; nothing to be found, but the despair of what I've lost. [_Looking about as in search_.]

SIR JO. Poor gentleman! By the Lord Harry I'll stay no longer, for I have found too--

SHARP. Ha! who's that has found? What have you found? Restore it quickly, or by--