f garnets bright,
See, how it plays in the sunny light!

SHARPSHOOTER (taking the Necklace).
Well, I'll give you to boot, my own canteen--
I'm in love with this bauble's beautiful sheen.
[Looks at it.

TRUMPETER.
See, now!--how cleanly the Croat is done
Snacks! Master Shooter, and mum's the word.

CROAT (having put on the cap).
I think your cap is a smartish one.

SHARPSHOOTER (winking to the Trumpeter).
'Tis a regular swop, as these gents have heard.

SCENE IV.

The above. An Artilleryman.

ARTILLERYMAN (to the Sergeant).
How is this I pray, brother carabineer?
Shall we longer stay here, our fingers warming,
While the foe in the field around is swarming?

SERGEANT.
Art thou, indeed, in such hasty fret?
Why the roads, as I think, are scarce passable yet.

ARTILLERYMAN.
For me they are not--I'm snug enough here--
But a courier's come, our wits to waken
With the precious news that Ratisbon's taken.

TRUMPETER.
Ha! then we soon shall have work in hand.

SERGEANT.
Indeed! to protect the Bavarian's land,
Who hates the duke, as we understand,
We won't put ourselves in a violent sweat.

ARTILLERYMAN.
Heyday!--you'll find you're a wiseacre yet.

SCENE V.

The above--Two Yagers. Afterwards Sutler-woman,
Soldier-boy, Schoolmaster, Servant-girl.

FIRST YAGER.
See! see!
Here meet we a jovial company!

TRUMPETER.
Who can these greencoats be, I wonder,
That strut so gay and sprucely yonder!

SERGEANT.
They're the Yagers of Holk--and the lace they wear,
I'll be sworn, was ne'er purchased at Leipzig fair.

SUTLER-WOMAN (bringing wine).
Welcome, good sirs!

FIRST YAGER.
Zounds, how now?
Gustel of Blasewitz here, I vow!

SUTLER-WOMAN.
The same in sooth--and you I know,
Are the lanky Peter of Itzeho:
Who at Glueckstadt once, in revelling night,
With the wags of our regiment, put to flight
All his father's shiners--then crowned the fun--

FIRST YAGER.
By changing his pen for a rifle-gun.

SUTLER-WOMAN.
We're old acquaintance, then, 'tis clear.

FIRST YAGER.
And to think we should meet in Bohemia here!

SUTLER-WOMAN.
Oh, here to-day--to-morrow yonder--
As the rude war-broom, in restless trace,
Scatters and sweeps us from place to place.
Meanwhile I've been doomed far round to wander.

FIRST YAGER.
So one would think, by the look of your face.

SUTLER-WOMAN.
Up the country I've rambled to Temsewar,
Whither I