COLLECTION
OF
PLAYS.
VOL. II
THE
BOHEMIAN,
A FRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS,
BY
GEORGE SOANE, A. B.
Author of " TJie Innkeeper's Daughter.**
" Peasant of Z/Ucern" 8fc.
" Neque enim cantare sub antro
Pierio, thyrsumve potest eontingere sana
Paupertas, atque seris iuops, quo nocte dieque
Corpus eget .
" Quis locus ingenio, nisi quum se carmine solo
Vexant et, douiinis Cirrhje Nissque feruntur
Pectora nostra, duas non admittentia curas."
JOVEN. Sat. vii.
ILnnlron*
PUBLISHED BY C. CHAPPLE, 66, PALL MALL.
I8I7.
,.:i
From tha Prcfs . thougiit. ^ ""^M, '
Which has its lair within niy brain Tempt not ^
The danger it may bring you Take good heed-
Wake not the sleeping demon here You've seen \p%
Men writhing on the wheel, with bleeding flesdi l^
Wrench'd from itself, and quiv'ring in its ^Q^ftdsjl^
Nature's whole building torn and broken U^ a^|
'Till reason fled in agony and left "
The naked life to howl, in madden'd wrath, ,
O'er the deep fiery throbbings of its pain. *
All this were mercy to my darker thought ; * .
'Tis of such horror that 1 scarcely dare
Trust myself with it, my mind's own progeny ;
'T would make me mad therefore again, take heed.
(Maltingen hi/ signs tells the Aven-
gers to seize Adela and the child.)
Adel. Stand off as ye are men Save, save the
- child!
I ask not love for me Leave my weak strength
To grapple with the danger; but oh, save
Thine unoffending; child Turn not awav
Save, save thy child What hope is for the lamb
When that the shepherd leaves it in the eye
And danger of the wolf, who walks unscath'd
And fearless in his presence.
Her. Chide not, love ;
Your fear hoodwinks your reason ; there's no sense
In these sad fancies more than in the dreams
That oft will show so terrible to sleep.
Adel. I have strong fear upon me ; these mail'd
men.
Whose faces shun the light there is no truth.
No honesty in that, which fears the day.
49
Thieves mask themselves in night, tlie bloody wolf
Prowls in the dark, and howls against the moon
If her light break upon his hour of darkness
Why are they mask'd ?
Her. Because think not of that
Tis nothing one embrace, or ere we part
Adel. Then be that one for ever^In the sight
Of man and heaven, I am thine thy wife
This child is thine And to what saving love
Should a child fly for refuge in the storm.
If not a father's A fond mother's hand
Is all too weak to turn the winged bolt
Tiiat, wreath'd in fire, bursts her feeble guard,
And, smashing her young plant, bears to the earth
Its bruis'd and broken fragments.
Her. Love, no more.
One, oije embrace At night we meet again.
(Herman rushes out Avengers seize
Adela and child.)
Adel. Fiends ! Murderers ! O, for the fabled
strength
Of earth's first children We are lost, my boy.
(The AvEisiGERs force them off'.)
KNDOFACTIf.
ACT III.
'At Aot& 91IO es^m It-
Scene I. TTie refectory of St. St^ph^n's Motms-
tery. Herman enters^ preceded hy the
Lay-porter, and followed by Bertuold.
Her. Say to the father Apselm, I request
A moment's audience on affairs whose need
Brooks no delay^.
Lay P.' ' {* "I shall obey you. Sir. (Lay-por-
^- TER goes in.)
Jfer, Now leave me, for my purpose here admits
No witness to its speech.
Bert. Whate'er it is
Heav'n prosper your intent : And yet I doubt
You waste yourself in arts to loose a knot
Will not be loos'd, when one bold stroke
Would sunder it at dnce.
Her. * ? ^ ;v=^^^ And in that stroke
The cord itself were torn for whose dear use
You cut the knot ; so shall you lose the end
For which you work.
Bert. The world allows you wise.
And therefore you are wise perhaps too wise
And so most dull ; 'tis in the gen'ral speech
That too much light is to the eye as dark
As thickest darkness.
51
Her. You say well.
Bert. Indeed 1
Then profit by the maxim ; for the air
Is not more common to the vulgar sense.
Her. The time is strange ; our actions must put
on
The garb of fashion, and be strange as that
Which is their master But to heal thy thoughts.
Which, I see, hold me as one sick in fear.
Irresolute of act, I tell thee this,
Frances still lives, and will this night be brought
To witness 'gainst my mother.
Bert. '^ 'Tis not so ;
Reason cries out absurd on the belief.
Her, 'Tis no less true ; his wounds were no-
thing; jests; 'i'5'ytAr^ jP
Such as would hardly pale the cheek of youlfii ^'
But his poor age that in its wither d veins
Had scarce so much of blood to keep life warm^
And that too spent with toil, could ill afford
One drop of its supporting sap, and fell .
To a sick trance of sense that imag'd death.
Bert. How learnt you this ?
Her. From one I held
my foe ;
But thus it often is ; as enmity will rise
Where we sow seeds of friendship, so oft times
On hatred's rocky breast, which should not teem
With ought but thistles, friendship's flow'r peeps out
To mock our wonder.
Bert. Seldom, I believe.
Few in the storm will leave their shelt'ring home.
To light a beacon o'er the hidden rock
That threatens ruin to the passing bark.
Her. The world is bad enough, yet some part
good;
e2
52
Half of its time is day, Ijailf i^gbt, but you ri
Paint it all night. ; .b ' ' - I'W
Berf. Well, well! Who was this friend.
Whose unbought kindness almost makes me doubt
The value of his service. Come ; his name.
Her. Ask me no more; I've said enough to still
All worthy doubts, and have no wish to quench
The thirst of curiosity Begone.
Bert. Oh, as you please Yet I nee deem'd
my love . *
Was nearer to your heart than to be spurn'd I
In any task of danger. I did think
My worth in higher rate Well, very well. .
Her. Nay, nay, wrong not youi"self or me by
^ doujl?^ , i^ [ ;>T*D[ib fti vboc
Begot in fancy. You're as eVer dear:
But sorrow in the best of us will blanch
The health p^f mind, and sickness is too apt : W
To utter waywardness ; it speaks from pain.
And not from reason : therefore, take^t not ill.
Or think my love is lesSj for that my words
Sound harsh ; it is not so ; I am the same.
BerL^ .Then let nie stay witli you .
Her^-&bviq m Usd zuM labit That can not be.
Bert. The can not*s in your will, not in the act,
Which is as possible as bend a rush.
Or any other lighter thing to thought :
Be you persuaded.
Her. Do not urge me more.
Bert, In one word, shall I share you with this
hour?
Bejtpryes or no*
Her. No ^And in that word
I show more deep regard than had my will
Been sway'd to th^t yQH,asj^i
Ber{. .o\ k) < Enough-rl go.
.53
But a dark d^y, I see it, is at hand.
When you will wish each single friend were ten
And all too little for the peril's call. , >,
Heftx . Yo are not ang-rv, cousin.
Bert. Griev'd, 'perhapsj
Bnt rev'rence knows not anger ; and though age
Gives me the preference, I do confess
I join the gen'ral homage of thy greatness
And vou deserv'd it once You were more wise.
More valiant, bounteous, temperate, and just,
Than those of highest price. '
Her. I did not know
You were so taught a flatt'rer. -^ "^ ririo-^ XM
Bert. 'TisbuttruA "'^
All that was good, in diflfrent men, combin'd
In fullness in your sing-le state ; nor stood '"^^
My praise alone The stoutest heart would quak<''^"
When Herman frown'd ; the proudest narfte re^oic'd
In Herman's smile ; honour itself did stoop
To do him homage, and in the act became
More honour'd You are alter'd now.
Her. , I am;
Alas ! much chang'd My mother's guilt is mine ;
And how should murder lift its head in pride r-^ ^^
But leave me not in anger.
Bert. Fear not that
Time's ruins are cherish'd though not for themselvesj
Since in themselves is neither use nor form,
But as memorials of the king gone by
You were once great in memory of that,
You've still my homage and with this I leave
Your will to its own guidance. \_Exit Bertkold.
Her. I Bitter I yet
More true, perhaps, in heart than those whose tongues
Use smoother accents 'tis so often When -
Will this monk come? {A long pause, during
which he draws his dagger, and gazes on
54
it in silence.) ""li were better I were dead !
{A second pause. He opens the win-r
dow, and looks out upon the night.)
How dark ! how earthly silent ! Nature sleeps !
Might not one work in this most lonely hour
A deed of iH, invisible to Heav'n ?
The eye of light is keen but night, deep night,
Night with substantial darkness laps us round.
And shuts our world out irom the world above ;
The wind too shrieks ; it speaks with voice might
dumb
The cry of death that else would smite the skies.
The V^iOR huhrs.
Prior. Heaven's peace be pa ihy head^
Her. (not^}erceiving: him.) , His death
Is life to her-Jr^jesr^he must die- no time so lit
As this of darkniess Nothing wakes
Save holiness that pr^ys,aQd grief that weeps,
And sin that watches in the thought of ill.
Too monstrous for t;lie d^y.
Prior. r You seem wrapt up
In earnest meditation that denies
All outward purpose.
Her. Father, I must pray
Your holy pardon ; though my duty slept.
My will was still your servant.
Prior. Peace and health
Be with you, gentle son. You did demand
My presence hither ; what is it you will ?
Her. I would solicit of your love a grace,
Which granted, brings no loss to him that gives.
Yet profits me ; 'tis nothing in itself.
Save that the time has made it precious, as
Things of base worth we often see made rich
55
B}^ estimation boiTow'd of some need.
Or fancy of the moment ; the bright ore
So priz'd in most men's thought is yet more poor
Tlian the trod grass, but that it takes a price
From outward circumstance.
Prior. What is this grace ?
It must be something strange I would not grant
To your request. The eldest of your race
Did found this goodly pile, and from that time
To this same hour that hears us, we have been
Your daily debtors for some bounteous act
The day brought with it, and therein much bound
To do you grateful service. Say then, son.
What is it you would ask?
Her. I know your love,
And do not fear denial. >q nvfi-^fl
Prior. You've'WiS'eatide; ? ^^
If your request be worthy him that asks. '^ oJ srfif ^\
Her. I thank you, father, and do hold me licit
In that my humbleness bears so much price -^^
In your dear reck'ning But to the poirit -'^A
Which makes me here your suitor. ^o'lJeirroffi ool
Prior. Speak, iriyii^n.
Her. 'Tis said the father Fritz, your cloifeteTs^fe
leach, fiiMf in&^iuo il/
Visits the sickness of an aged man, " "^
A prisoner to Maltingen. '
Prior. It is true. > . v
Her. I would fain this man.
Prior. How can I aid'
The current of your wishes ?
Her. Briefly thus.
Send me in place of Fritz A monkish garb
Hides my true seeming ; the pretext may be
That other duties, of more urgent haste,
Detain the wonted visitant.
56.
Prior. d|^fi) bfi^ And say,
Whicli,yeftXlpii^W^f$id, that I sh^uldiead-
The graver cl^^i^fept^raf my high plaeoup i^ibiu\ isY
To this deci^itr what colour for the titnet giom bnA
Of such unseasopi'd visiJtLTheapeiitdajrjj ibiriw IIA
Is close upon eieven.rforfg Aonhf Ji J^d adi iafil odW
Her. >;-^s,vii That's ihd bar ; ''o iuo nwoiO
The faintest tint will hide the face of doiifoS jiuk ^1/;
So light as this; Make such pretext no CausoW*\
To frown upon my asking. ioaogj;idw itsdl
Prior. ,Yfiiy.stcangei)o7 :^nBi lO
Why this request? .snob ar Jjsdliol .Isi^sfl
Mer. 5,ic,t Well; Pivill make your Ic^li?L'
The partner of iny secret ; This sick man \o"v\*i
'Js mine own vassal, Maltingen, my foe bst bn/-
Prior. And you would steal upon his strength,?
not meet .,-:_
Its open Gipposition; 'tis not thusira m ss^abaiJi feidl
The glory of your race was built inBi as I
Her, . Ui^ ,^.vix. ,:..:.... But hear wi-x^i
Ere you condera|nTjtfGiq sdt diirr bsiih ad Ileria iioY
Prior. jDo you hear me-r-^I sayr tin? o'l
This does notmatch the colour of your deeds, a'^W
Which ever wore the livery of day. kiw yrn artuoo'^
You were a hero in the top of praise,' lurd Ji w g il
The boast and wonder of our time, andnot^^^j ftoio''
A midnight murderer. '\
^^^' i^\ b'Ai Ui Nor am I now;
But you'll not hear -My purpose bears no. harm
To him I hate; this vassal is grown old U
In faithful service, and his age is stor'd
With past events that would be talk'd of now.
Prior>. Then let me bear your question. /ri^
Her, .;!a7j ifcfij ^n .' f.[ :i.u */ ' I must thank/'
But can noft U|f^ y.Qnr-kindiieBS'5 'tifr a point . ^
Finds no place in your bopks^ your life of calm^^^
5f
Is most unfit to argue it; and though
You bore my message whole, which might well be/
Yet further question grows upon reply, i*
And more to that 'till hungry doubt is fill'd ; ^
All which to ask, I think^ is not in you, ^" ^O
Who lack the habit, which should wake demari^J^ "i
Grown out of practic'd knowledge ; therefore-ISp^
My suit find no denial.-~Sili&nt still ? - ?? i ',fJX
Prior. Hi You've set a civil war within my miiid,'^^
That whatsoe'er its choice, or to refuse,'^4i^ jnwoi* o1
Or grant your wishes, still the end must be ^ovH
JRegret for that is done. ; 'r a?? zidl vdW
Heru i 100/ siBr What is your fear ? . '
Prior, i-know not what I fear but I do fear-O^
And reason warrants fear -yet my weak love-'^^^ ^l*
Can not deny your asking. uo,v uoy i>aA tovA.
ffer. Father,'tM!ift:s7
This kindness is more worth than your best 'th<:^%^^
Can fancy to itself. Awd e*;w SDfi'S tuo'i io "^oi^ aiiT
Prior. Come, then; within -'^^^
You shall be fitted with the proper gai^fe^'^^ ^^X ^"^^
To suit your purposm-^d mo^ oCl .Tort*\
Her, Thk-^rhiV^' prepar'd,^^ ^rf1
Secure my wish would prosper in your lov^^ dDidW
It is without ; I want but from yovir Miid^ 'Ji^wuaY
Some written witness to my borrow'd slift^.^^^^cl odT
Prior, I had forgot; it is most neeaf&pjhira A
(Prior seats himself at the tahlej^^
,. wnitesJ^^ \t,-jd u n ii'uoy jwff
Her, d'^ ' ? idt ;f>jfid V^%\j} oT
Now, m.other, thou art sav'd but at the price-^^^ "^
Of my eternal weal. Why do I shake? -^'^ dirW
Why does the blood thus curdle in my vein^^^^^'^*^
As it were frozen ? What is this that swells -"^^^^
Towards my throat, and will not be put down? ""^'^
Prior, What ii Jtf^^ou say ? > .
58
Her. I? Nothing Why? , <
Prior. I thought*
You spoke of Maltingen.
Her. Oh no ; or if,
I did but commune with my inward mind.
Prior. 'Tis very well I shortly shall have done.
Her. To save a mother's life the end is good,
Though the means look so ugly that sick thought
Turns from their foulness yet thus nature works.
Evil the instrument by which she gains
Her best of good The tempest that awakes
The ocean's danger, swallowing in wrath
Its many trusted lives, and making lean
The ripe hope of the husbandman, does yet
Cleanse the thick air, whose rank and sultry breath
Was heavy with disease to man and beast.
The aches of weary labour keep health fresh
That else had sicken'd ; yea the chearless face
Of icy winter, frowning on the growth
Of summer's children, yet is good in that
It gives a night to overwearied earth,
Who, from the sliort repose, starts up to toil
With freshen'd vigour.
Prior. (Rising from the table.) It is done.
Her. Again
Yohi have my thanks. {Takes the letter.) ^Add
but your blessing too,
And I'm most happy.
Prior. Son, it shall be your's ;>
(Herman kneels.)
Yet ere my tongue shall utter it, mark this
And hold it sacred. If your thoughts conceal
Evil to ought created, rise, deny
The word ere it is breath'd, bid me take back
My hand tliat stays in blessing on your head ;
For be assur'd In sight of Heav'n I speak^-r-
59
Be well assiir'd, the blessing spoke on sin
Would be as water to the burning thirst
Of livid fever, as opposed, as full
Of certain danger Son, each word would tarn
To deadly curses Now, look up, and say,
Shall my voice bless you ?
Her. I do look up, and r
Why art thou chang'd ? 'tis not thy wonted form
The mild and sparring eye, the trembling age
Whose weakness spoke encouragement to fear
Where are they now ? But on {He looks again at -
the Prior.)
By the great God !
Thou art not what thou wast But yet go on
Prior. The grace of Heav'n be with you ; may
its \ovii
So teach your life that death may have no fear s^
Thy years be niany, and no moment pause '^'^ J^''
To wish their number ended ; be thy joy
As plenteous as autimiD, rich, like that.
In fruit to those who -sultivate its grace ;
And to crown all-wi^t? (98pq * *
Her. {Starting up.) Fatbear! Some other
'^flortim^i '. *^ ';;'> ^i\\ s\\->\
I am not well.
Pr'imi. ' I doubt your mind is sick;
Yon brood upon some evil wish, whose birth
Will be most fatal.
Her. Tis your fear informs
Your reason, not your reason fear.
Put me in better thought; ill weeds will grow
In ev'ry ^oii, and thorns, perhaps, too much.
Choke up my better growing ; yet I hope.
And with fair modesty, I do not own
A ranker nature than my fellows.
6o
: Pmr.- >^)ift'xj^- 'Mb;i no ''Son, "'''"
Your words are gentle as the summer sea,
But your looks. wild as winter; this approves
Your speech is outward, not drawn from the heart}
The tongue may lie, the features never can,
'Till habit harden guilt and blur the truth '^^^
Of the mind's mirror.
/fer. ,;! I intend ti&'i^.'^(^His dag^^^
. 'iSis drops from Ms vest.) U <^ sawj. Jsd F
Prior; What was that felt? . o 'i ui v.
I would not slumber at the dreadful price
Of those dark dreams which visit me in sleep.
Adel. But nature must have rest. You lose
The strength should wrestle with the grasp of grief
In fruitless watching^.
Ida. I must not dare repose ;
You would not ask it, if your thought could scan
The secrets of my slumber ; I want words
To tell its terrors ; 'tis heap'd up of things
Whose form and colour are not of the earth.
And therefore find no type in earthly words. -,
It may sound madness^, but I'd rather hug i
Substantial horror than sleep in the fear
Of my most awful dreams.
AdeL Bat this long watch
Feeds the disease in wasting the mind's health.
Nb dreams will haunt you now, for fancy, tir'd
in its own workings, will soon turn to rest.
And slumber with the body.
Ida. The whole earth
Has not a price so great to tempt my fear
To such a trial; I would rather dwell
In lonely darkness with the fearful dead.
Or hold my night-watch by the murd'rer's gibbet
And list the raven screaming to the wind
His fun'ral song, or with the owlet hoot
To the free fiends that wing the waste of night.
AdeL Ye powers of mercy ! thoughts like tfiese
might rouse
The fear-wought brain to madness Talk not thus.
Ida. Talk not of sleep No ; when my eyelids
sink.
And ray tongue break its words, and my faint limbs
63
Relax in lifclcssness, rouse me, by force,
If words avail not ; let me not sleep
'Tis a sad task, btit such I fear to trust
To menial love, for, should my senses flag.
What might my sleep not utter ?
Adel. O, fear not ;
Affection is immortal as the soul,
And knows not weariness I'll watch 'till day
Makes pale the taper's burning 'tis a joy.
Ida. Thy love is kind ; alas ! that I must tas;
Its dearness to such labour, so abhorr'd, , '
So urg'd beyond its strength ; but 'tis the curse
That follows guilt, it suffers not alone ;
Its touch is ruin ; all that comes within
The circle of its love must share the wrath
That blazes round its head ; it is a fire
Which burns the means that feed it ; to hold kin
Or amity with guilt, is to be lost
By that your love would prosper.
Adel. These sad thoughts
Grow out of weakness and augment the ill
From which they live. Give up your mind to births
Of better nature.
Ida. It was once my joy
To think I lov'd you all but no 'twas false
The mind, that purchases at price of sin
Its own delight, has no affection, can
Have none but for itself, since in that sin
It binds a scourge to fall with heaviest blow
Where most it feigns to love.
Adel. You must shake off
These waking dreams of fancy. ^ Shall 1 call
Your little minstrel, Orrila? Her voice
Has a sweet magic in it, that can steep
Our reas'ning part in slumber, and build up
An airy world of such intense delight,
iS4
That iBrill'd in bctmdless ecstacy of sense.
The soul stands quivVing on the lips, as if.
Impatient of its dwelling, it would mix
With fancy's images.
Ida. E'en as you please.
I am most wretched.
Adel. Orrila !
Enter Orrila.
Ida. How goes
The lazy pace of time? Is it not morn ?
Adel. In truth I know not.
OrriL 'Tis almost one.
Adel. It can not be; I should not think the
night
Had toll'd its hour of parting. By the shade
Which yet hangs on the earth, 'tis scarcely twelve.
Come, Orrila ; your voice must woo the time
To mend his tardiness.
Orril. What is't you will ?
That I should sing to you ?
Adel. Any light air.
That in its merry pace may outstrip sleep.
And hold us waking.
SONG.-^Orrila.
Wake, my love the young day wa.kes.
And, from yonder clouds of night.
The star of morning freshly breaks
In a beam of purple light.
Wake, my love it is the hour !
The sky-lark trills our nuptial song-
Wake, my love has sleep the pow'r
To charm thee to thy lover's wrong ? ^
65
O, wake! O wake I^mx love to bliss, ^''
Th' unconscipus.ros^ by^love is won^
And blushing opes its cups to kiss.
Its bridegroom m the' rjsin;.^ -sun.
{During the song Ida .seems tv struggle
against: }ier'%ea>'mess^ and toicardsthe
conclusion of it fyltradeep,) *
Adel. Kind Oriila, my thanks ;
The warbler of the night ne'er breath'd her love
To the young, harve^t^moon in notes more sw^t^
More rich. She sleeps! Leave us (jp.r^Y Ob-JRILa.)
Her slumber looks '" ."
With the calni face of infancy ; no fear,
No evil recollection of the day, . .
Breaks on its peace; e'en fancy wakes no more;
All its. strange shapes, fanta.stic horrors, sights,
Form'd of the immaterial air, are lost
In slun^,(^r's ^tter darkness ; they are not.
Or being, are unseen Such deep repose
Wants not an eye to watch it ; I will take
The offer of the time, and yield my frame
Its needed rest Dear mother, all good thoughts
Possess thy sleep ; May thy worst dreams be calm
As the hush'd ocean slumb'ring in the light
Of evening's unveil'd star One kiss One kiss
In night be happy, and the waking morn
Be happier than the night Heav'n guard thy rest !
{Exit Adela into an inner room. After a
pause Ida rises in tier sleep.)
Ida. You say right ; the morn is yet far off
No;
I can not think it Adela, my child.
You must not leave me now ; grasp my hand firm ;
1 feel the fit is on me ; I shall sleep
F
66
Sleep in that dreadful dream ; a weight of lead
Sits heavy on my eyes Look on my hands ;
You see there is no blood on them ; they're clean ;
Why then you can not say I murder'd him
Sick I Sick ! Where are we now? 'tis piercing cold!
The wind sighs heavily ! Tombs! tombs! How sad
And gray they glimmer in the moonlight ! Ha !
Who lies here (She seems to read painfully) The
Count poison'd by his wife
Great God! my husband! Hence this is no place
For me to dwell in ^What's this glues my feet
To this damn'd spot No, no I will not die
Close up that grave ; 'tis full of creeping worms !
I will not lie in it, 'tis a cold bed
For warm and living flesh ; let go my hand;
I will not sleep with thee ; thy touch is ice ;
The charnel green is on thy bones ; thy breath
Is heavy with the grave-damp; Look not thus
Hadst thou but eyes I would not dread their gaze
Aye do -grin with thy fleshless jaws laugh ! laugh!
Glare from thy empty sockets I've no fear
Strip but the outward vesture from these bones
And I am like thee! Ha! Hell is broke loose !
Help, Adela ! Help ! Help ! The room's in flames t
The serpents hiss' They fold me in their grasp!
A thousand forked tongues dig in my flesh !
Help, help ^They wind more lightly round my
breast!
My bones are crush'd !
(Adela rushes in.)
Adel. Mother, awake awake
Shake off this horrible conceit Wake ! Wake !
'Tis Adela that calls.
Ida. Do I still live?
And am I safe? This room ! ^These burning lights'
Ye are scarce wasted, yet an age of act
67
Has roird by since I left you I saw him.
Him the fearful one But where is he now ?
I saw him dig my grave.
Adel. 'Twas but a dream't
Ida. I would not wish mine enemy the ill
To sleep in such a dream Hell, hell itself
Has no such torure for the damn'd.
Adel. Awake !
To better things ; these fancies are too dark
For earthly weakness ; think of them no more.
Ida. No rest by night or day ' And horror grows
More dreadful from acquaintance. Can not sleep
Divide me from myself? Is there no place.
No time, of refuge ? Oh, for one short hour.
But one, of still, unbroken sleep but one
'Twere joy past words that I might gather strength
To wrestle with my fate.
Adel. Give not your mind
To such uncomfortable thoughts ; I trust
That all may yet be well.
Ida. When ? When be well ?
For here it can not be ; and why should hope
Look to the grave for rest, since none is found
In sleep, the only form of life, from which
Our untried fancies can derive a thought
To image death My brain ! {Puts her hand to
her head as if struck hy sudden pain) I'll
not stay here.
The air is thick with horror. I must go
Yes, I must go.
AdeL But whither would you go ?
Ida. Forth forth into the night my blood is
hot!
I thirst to feel the wind, to drink its breath
My throat is full to suffocation forth ! [^Exit Ida.
r 2
68
Adel. Dear mother Gone ! I must not let her
dwell
In the wild solitude of dark thoughts ;
And yet such weary life might almost tempt
My better nature to rebel, and sin
'Gainst Heaven's />Oi(;er in the wish for death.
\JEiXit Adel A.
Scene III. A wild rocky country, over^spread ivitk
wood. Gypsies, male and female, seqited
round a Jire, under a hanging cliff,
Edith in peculiarly wild attire, with loose
black hair, sits remote from the others,
her face in her hands, and her hands rest-
ing on her knees, Karl, Conrad, and
Spiess in front.
Spi. {Offering a cup to Edith.)
Wilt drink ? 'tis wine, good wine; that word was
wont
To turn thy sourest mood to laughter Drink
Con. Her mother's death has chang'd the ideot
much.
Spi. Yes, truly has it ; it has made her dumb.
And she would chatter so, I almost lost
The use of my own tongue.
Karl. 'Twere no great harm,
The tongue itself were lost, so no one found
The worthless bauble.
Con. Silence Edith, speak
Karl. She pines still for her mother 'tis no use.
Con. It makes me wonder Troth, I did not
think
She had the sensibility of pain
Save in the body's suflTring.
69
SpL I myself
Am that way very sensible.
Kaj^L 'Tis strange ;
The proper ills of reason should not be
Where reason is not. I have seen ere now
Such creatures, but they had no sense of that
Which troubles healthy minds. {Bugle without)
Con. Our Captain's horn.
Enter Hoffman.
Karl. What news, Captain ?
Hoff'. Much tnuch and good.
j-iil. Let's hear ?
'Hoff. But first, how fares my child?
Con. She pines, poor wretch,
And seems as if she had nor sight, nor ear
For outward things.
Karl. Best leave her to herself;
You will but vex her.
Hoff' Dear unhappy girl !
Thou art the only thing on earth 1 love
And yet I wish thee, dead.
Kard. Think not of her.
Hoff. Think not of her! ^True, true I had
forgot
I am a beast, and dwell 'mong beasts.
Con. The news ?
Spi. Pour out thy havings ; for delay's a tax
More than my sum of patience. Come the news.
Karl. That may well be ; thy whole account
might lie
Unelbow'd in a nutshell.
Spi. Aye ; you talk
Con. What have you heard, good Hoffman ?
Hoff. That which brings
Fresh harvest to our mill Whispers of feud,
'Twixt Maltingen and Herman, are abroad.
'Tis said and that so loudly, other ears
Than Heav'n's, list the tale 'tis said fresh war
Will be, of such extremes that one or both
Must fall ere time is even.
Karl. This sounds well ;
The wheel turns round ; time gives hope
For full revenge on Maltingen, a beast
That's human but in form.
Hoff. I'll have it too ;
And such revenge as shall make black the night.
And be a lasting wonder to the world.
Let him look to himself He hung my wife
For a poor petty theft, whose utmost price,
A chiding word outvalued. Let him look
To his own safety.
Spi. I do marvel much.
You leave your wife, 'twixt Heav'n and earth, a feast
For crows and kites to gorge on.
Con. It were more
For your own honour's name, to rob the birds.
And give her to the worms.
Hoff, There shall she han^,
'Till 1 can place him there, who bound her flesh
To such dishonour ; it is memory's book
Where ev'ry day I read the bloody act
In its first character, which time might else
Write in a milder phrase.
Con. Time, I have heard
Works wond'rous changes, but I think his sponge
Will scarce wipe out the writing of revenge.
Spi. You'll not forget ; ne'er fear.
Hoff'. There have been
hours
When 1 almost forgot to hate ; but then,
E'en then some blessed chance would guide ray steps
To yonder tree I heard the screech-owl hoot.
The raven scream as he wheel'd round his prey.
That swung in heavy motion in the wind
I heard the clanking of the rusty chains
Ha ! ha ! ha ! 'Twas a brave sound, a music fit for
night !
My heart beat quick to hear it ; and my thoughts
What dost thou think they were ?
Karl. Revenge! Revenge!
Hof. Thou'rt right!
Con. I have a pious hope the debt -
Will soon be paid. . a
Karl. These proud ones think the world
Was fashion'd to their use ; they do usurp
In their insatiate appetites the good
Which was created general, and live
In luxury so monstrous, it breeds plagues
That nature never knew, yet think it much
We steal a part of that is truly ours.
To feed the wants of hunger.
Hoff. The full curse
Of poverty be on them.
Karl. Each one takes
That which in fair division would be split
Into a thousand portions.
Hoff. Aye, and why ?
Why is it so? What is in them to hold
This proud pre-eminence ? Why should they feed
The wants of luxury, while others starve
In unaccounted wretchedness } What right ?
Who made the law ? Are not our forms the same .'
Our arms as strong r Our reason as compact ?
Karl. Oh, 'tis most monstrous, 'tis absurd to
sense.
72
Hoff. Yet there are some, and Herman is of
those,
Who wear their fortune with such winning grace.
So fair, so evenly, that not either pride
Nor envv, tax their state. I love this man;
He's bounteous as autumn, vahant, wise ;
His mind is matchless in nobihty,
Of quahties more rare and unconfin'd
Than are in vulgar nature; and in that
Seems as created for superior place.
(Herman enters^ disguised as a monJ{,
with a small basket on his arm.)
Spi. A prize ! A prize !
Karl. Stay, holy father, stay.
Con. You preach up charity ; we're poor enough
To be the practice of your doctrine.
Her. Son,
More of my love than your desert I grant
What you do ask; take this, and if you can.
Mend your hereafter life.
Spi. Why, to confess.
It somewhat needs amendment, but we lack
The means to piece our raggedness ; I swear
It is not of our choice we're poor ; we would
Most willingly be rich.
Her. You should despise
The help of others, who so well can help
Your own necessities ; 'tis a vile life
To dwell in meagre beggary, when youth
Might work the feast of plentiousness For shame !
Spi. 'Tis a thin diet that's the truth ; you'll
ne'er
Grow fat on it. (Edith raises her head; her wliole
appearance becomes animated, and shows
i that she recognizes Herman.)
7^
Her. To bear the grin of scorn,
The spurn of selfishness, the gall of pride,
That tramples while it gives, dog-like, to fawn
Upon the hand that beats you, to inform
The tongue with softness when the swoln heart
throbs
To strike at injury By Heav'n, friends,
I'd rather starve, rot piecemeal, any thing-
Hoff. You're a strange monk.
Con. ' I've no faith in
-your cowl.
Karl. It covers no shorn head.
Her. I have no time
For further waste in idleness Farewell ! {As he is
going out, Edith starts up, and sfojjs
him, singing
; ' Stay, my love, stay.
You must not away.
The moonlight is on the green.
The fairy-elves sing
As they dance in the ring.
And nod to their eltin queen.
Edi. Let my lips kiss thy hands'; thou once
didst give
.Wine to my asking, and didst speak kind words;
Therefore I love thee, Herman.
All. (astonished) Herman !
Her. Yes ;
She has spoke truth: but do not thence take hope
Of profit to yourselves.
Hoff. You wrong us much,
Though your laws call us vicious, outcasts, plagues,
Sores in the gen'ral body's health, for that
We do not bow to its obedience, yet
We can be faithful where we love, and you
' 74
Have done much good to us, sav'd my child's hfe,
Open'd the door to our necessities ;
1'herefore fear not ; nor steal, nor fire, would forced
One treach'rous syllable from our clos'd lips.
Her, You have said honestly ; see that your
deeds
Be as your words.
Edi. Come, my love come, 'tis time :
The moon is up ; the fairy sports are rife.-
Look ! with this flow'r I'll purge thine eyes ; for
know,
The mortal sight is all too gross to see
Their airy natures ; they may not be seen
More than the sightless wind, which fans the
cheek,
To feeling sensible, but to the eye
Less than a shadow.
Her. Her loose fancy plays
So prettily with error, it might make
The reason dote on folly.
Edi. 'Tis a sight
So heavenly fair ! Titania in the midst.
Her throne composed of diamonds, each one
In circle smaller than the needle's point.
But brighter than the stars ; her robe, of film
Through which the moonlight glitters; and her
crown.
The queen-bee's golden wing, shorn to a breadth.
Thin as the silkworm's thread and gemm'd with
drops
Of hardened dew' that sparkle to the moon
More glorious than she. Why do you smile ?
Her. I did not smile.
Edi. 'Tis true ! 'tis very true !
And then the elves, in knotted groups, do sport
About their queen ? some on the silver'd turf
75
Trip in their airy measures to the sound
Of their own voices, sound, too soft for ears
Of human dullness, and as sweet as soft;
Some hunt the waken'd bee with spears of thorn,
And back-returning, feast upon its sweets.
And gird their arms with bracelets of its wings-
Hoff. Be silent, child.
Sji. {aside.) Would you had broke
your neck!
{to Edith.) When thou art dumb, I like thee not,
but when
Thy tongue awakes, thou art intolerable.
Her, Leave her alone.
Edi, I did not speak to thee
Some from their limbs cast off the filmy vests.
And bathe them in the liquid moonlight, some
Do wing the waste of air, and in their flight
Pursue the falling stars ; some change the vows
Of love, but oh, most unlike mortal love
That dies in its own sweetness : 'tis a wild,
A thrilling ecstacy of bliss, without
An earthly time of limit. Th' unclasp'd bud
Of the wood- rose, serves them for couch, whose
breath
Woos slumber by its fragrance Oh, their bliss
Is, as themselves, immortal, without end.
Her. Sweet waywardness! thou rather art a
theme
For envy than for pity ; reason's world
Is briefly bounded in its joys, but thine
Is limitless as fancy. Take this gold ;
'Twill buy thee raiment.
Edi. 'Tis not that I want ;
Give me my mother ; they have chain'd her limbs
To yonder tree Look, there she stands in air.
And struggles to get free ! Do you not see
76
How she swings to and fro ? I hear the chains
Clank! Clank! 'tis a long time ; the moon was small;,
Bent as a bow and she nor eats nor speaks
Why is she silent ?
Hoff. Girl, you'll break my heart!
Her. Farewell ! Farewell !
Edi. Nay stop; I'll weave
for you
A garland of the woodbine and the rose,
Wet with the tears of night. (She gathers the
fiowers and suddenly draws hack.)
What's this? what's this?
(She picks up a scull and brings it to Herman.)
Her. A human scull ! 'tis a fit gift for him
Whose thought is ripe to murder strange ! is this
The hand of Heav'n ? Or shall we call it chance ?
Whate'er it be thy dumbness, speaks with more
Than life's persuasion. How poor is the world
To thought that dwells on thee : at thy sad sight
Hope fades, for thou dost teach the end of hope ;
Thou art man's mirror : his eye can not see
Its proper form, and in that blindness thinks
His features ape immortal loveliness;
But thou dost show him as he truly is.
So foul his own gorge rises at himself.
The outward flesh is but a garment, which
Or time or sickness moulders ; once thrown off.
So looks the naked man, so fiercely grins.
So stares from eyeless sockets Let youth think
Each day will something change of his perfection.
And in that change will bring his form more near
To thy complexion, 'till at last he is
No more than thee. Why should I dwell on this ?
Go, bitter monitor [flinging down the scull.) thy
language hath
No music to my ear.
Hoff. This need not raise
A moment's wonder ; for in time long past,
Some seventy years, or more, on this same spot,
A bloody battle strew'd the field with bones,
Which, lightly buried, will at times peep forth
From the wash'd soil.
Her. All peacS be with you*
Edi. No ;
You must not go; w'ell sit up through the night
By the red watch'd-fire's blaze, and list the cry
Of the shrill cricket No; you must not go
And I will sing to thee, and tell the tales
Of swarthy gnomes, and airy sylphs, and elves
That quaff the moonlight, and of darker sprites
That love the church-yard.
Hoff. Edith, peace ; thy love
Grows troublesome. {Edith retires sullenly, and
seats herself as atjirst.\ Good night!
Her, Again, good night.
{As he is going out, the Prior enters.)
Prior. Stay stay Give back the letter I
much doubt
The goodness of thy purpose and have bar'd
Mine age to night's raw breath to plant a stop
'Twixt thee and thy design.
Karl. What fool is this ? '
Con. The hour is colder than thy age -You'd
best
Old father, take thee to thy bed.
Hoff. Do, do;
Thy words will scarce pass current with the night.
And men like night, though day-light fools may
quake
And crouch them at thy mumbling.
Prior. I speak not
To such as thee Give back the letter.
78
Mer. ^ No,
Not from my life 'till the intent is past,
For which I ask'd it.
Prior. Then I will go on,
And teach thy foe the knowledge of thy aim.
Her. Friends ; I have done you service ; th-e
time calls
For easy quittance.
Hoff. Say ; what would you have r
If man can compass it, believe it done.
Her. Then take that man no violence
Prior. My son !
(Edith starts up, and comes to the
Prior.)
Edi. What! Will they bind thee too ? Thou
wilt be dumb
Like my poor mother there, nor eat, nor drink.
Her. Bear him, I say, to some safe hold ; but
mind ; no force
Use him as that is dearest to your hearts ;
Harm not a lock of him ; the slightest wrong
Done to such rev'rend age were greater sin
Than any burns in hell.
Hoff. That is a point
Finds no regard with us ; but for your will
No harm shall touch him.
Her. Look that it be so.
Prior. No father loves his son with dearer love
Than mine was once to you ; my only griefs
Have been thy griefs ; my only joys thy joys ;
When thou hast held thyself in no regard.
And slumber'd in thy danger, I have wak'd
And watch'd in anxious pray'r for thee and now
But heav'n forgive this wrong.
Hoff. You talk in vain.
Her. It is the time's necessity ; be sure
79
That I have done was from the spur of need.
No farther harm shall reach thee than the less
Of this night's freedom.
Karl, (aside to Hoffman.) No good ever comes
Of this same bastard indecision, born
Of villainy on pity, that grows old
In double will to do and not to do.
Hoffl Keep your own counsel ; it concerns not
you.
Karl. That's very certain.
Her. (aside.) Yet to trust these men
Their trade is blood ; man's life in their esteem
Is cheap as summer flies to wanton boys.
An ill-tim'd word, their own capricious mood
The wantonness of malice that destroys
Because it will Any of these might move
The hand ot slaughter {aloud.) Father, you are
free.
Hqff] This is a foolish act, but yet 'tis brave.
Edi. (starting up.) Now are we free free as
the mountain air. (sings.)
Where the citron grows, .
And the orange blows.
Where the sky- lark sings
On her outspread wings
Hoff. Be still, my Edith.
Edi. I must make an end.
(sings.)
Where the coral is red
In the ocean's bed.
In earth, air, or sea.
Oh, there will we be.
Her, You in part know my purpose as I think,
80
But iiidistinctlyTr-Bc.th.at as it may
I am r^solv'dj iipr can you bar my will
But by betraying me to death ; no words
(Jaiugba^jg^ ^ ; therefore choose, or to betray^
His life, wno rather than do thee a wrong,
Gave theeM^ jife in trust, or wink at that
You woulajjutjc^ not hinder.
Prior, _^*^ -, l^..:- . It were.begt . _
You took from me such choice ; b^irj^(-ee.
My duty is my master, and that asks
My worst impediment to your designO
Leave not my \^ill its freedom then ; Fjmust,
And shall, though to your wrong, oppose' the end,
I fear, is in your purpose. , g
Her. Be it so j '^
Let the ball have its bias ; I'll not stoop
To turtfit frt)m niy path, although it crush m^
[_Exit Herman.
Hoffl Thou art a brave one (to the Pr*4^)^
Go, and, if you can, '^"^ ' *^'^^
Betray his nobleness You call u thieves, "
Outcasts, assassins- and perhaps with truth-
*Btrt thferc^'s this comfort you ^an't call us monks,
(KfpFFMAN i^NrSs fo^'^h'^ Mker Gypsies.)
Prior. ' 'Itiform''inej gracious Heaven, with the
means
To blunt this two-edg'd ill What shall I do ?
Deliberation is the grave of act
And while J pause, time digs a monstrous gulph
Between the thought and that which would be
done.
One effort if it fail thought my heart break
On his head be the peril of the deed.
(Edith stops him.)
Edi. A moment, father.
91
Prior. Do not stay me, child ;
My business asks despatch What wouldst thou
have?
Edi. Thou'rt in the dark ! and can not find thy
way ;
Take thou no counsel of thyself, for fools
Are their own enemies ; and who prefers
His enemy for counsel Dost thou mark? ^
(Sings.)
Oh, good night ! good night !
By the glow-wonn's light
On earth the owlet cries;
Oh, good night ! good night !
By the sun's broad light
In air the eagle flies.
Edi. Carry not a taper in the day light, for a
little
Spark is not seen in a great blaze.
(She reti es to the others.)
Prior. There is more sense in thy words than
in the brain, that gave them birth. Poor thing !
Thou hast said wisely, but thyhead understand*
not the wisdom of thy mouth.
(Exit Prior.)
ND OF ACT III.
83
ACT IV.
Scene I. The interior of a turret in Maltingen's
castle. Maltingen enters, followed hy Wolf.
Malt. How is your prisoner's health ?
Wolf. , The friar says
His wound at first was but of sHght account,
And in Hs present heahng scarcely needs
The trial of his art.
Malt. When was he here ?
IVolf, The morn of yesterday ; his promise held.
He should be here to night.
Malt. T* is well; go, call.
The old man forth. (WoLF^oe^ into the inner room.)
'Tis as it should be;
The ball runs evenly towards the mark.
Good! Good! This penn'd confession of the crime
Sign'd by his hand, and so distinctly vouch'd
By unimpeach'd witness, is alone
Of pow'r to work my end ; but it were fond
To be in certainty, itself, content.
83
When we may be more certain ; the estate
Of most confirm'd security yet stands .
In fear of change; Besides the two-string'd bow
May snap its cord, yet shoot the feather'd bolt ;
The cask with many hoops may lose one gird.
And yet be true to its contents- No ; no ;
I will not think I'm safe while there remains
One single guard to rive on safety's mail.
(Wolf re-enters with Francis.)
Malt. How is it with you, Francis ? {He signs
to Wolf to retire.)
Fra. As with one.
Compact of woe ; IVe liv'd to wish for death ;
Trust me, that's much ; more than the wildest
dreams
Of him that has not felt it.
Malt. Peevish fool !
I've us'd thee in the rev'rence of thine age.
Not after the abhorrence of thy crime;
For musty straw, you've slept on beds of down ;
For water you've drank wine ; for time-stal'd bread,
Barely dol d out to feed, not satiate hunger,
You have been pamper'd in abundant sweets ; A
For the green dungeon's damps, you have been
lodg'd
In the warm rush-strewn chamber ; to crown all
Kindness, the spur of appetite, has ne'er
Been wanting to the feast ; Is it not so ?
Fra. Ah what avails the body's rest on down.
While the mind wakes upon the flinty couch
Of agonizing thought ?
Malt. The fault's your own ;
You are your own tormenter ; but one thing
Excepted from the rule, you can not ask
And be denied your asking.
Fra. And that one
G 2
84
fs all I woutd-^Be merciful Be just-
Make nDt my age the instrument of harm
.To the sworn lord of my qbedience. '''l^
MaU. There is no choice but that you mut ap-
pear
The witness to the crime; it shall not touch ^^ '
Your personal regard : That you're the means
To publish the offence, absolves your part
And bearing in the action. - -
Fran. Say not so ;
Think, how despis'd, how monstrous is the act
To rob that man of all who gave me all !
How shall I wound, whei-e I so long have iov'd
In unconfin'd obedience ? Say, he frown,
Terror will shut my lips, for I have learnt
Through twenty years to tremble at his wrath ;
Say, he look kindly on me, it will bring
The tide of memory strong upon the brain^
And with the benefit^rof time gone by
O'erwhelm my purpose.
Malt. This is idle talk.
You must,, per force, do that, which I have said.
Here is your own confession of the deed ;
I need but take your life, which yet I spare.
To give it full validity, for though
Your living absence might wake doubt to think
Its truth a fiction, for you were not brought
To sp^k what you had written, yet once known
To be divorcM from life, it were believ'd
As amply as your word. Therefore, be wise.
Fpa 'Looks not your hope to yonder unscann'd
iWorld?
As you would have tliat hope bloom into fruit.
Be yielding to my pray'r.
Malt. " Fohd, oM man.
Vex me no more, with thisV ^ou might as well
8*
Think to turn back the ebbed stream of time
As alter my intent.
Fra, Yet, yet be kind:
Malt. Be kinder to yourself, and think thatlav
More lightly turns to hate, than hate to love.
I may hate you for your regard to him.
But never can love him for that regardv
The wind may shake the blossom from therosft
And bare its beauty to a leafless thom^
But all the breath, of sum,mer can. not set
A rose, upon the thistle. Then, beware.
Fra, These locks are few and white I kneel for
grace.,
Mali. Tempt not my wrath ; know) wheii yctur
state is well.
And rest contented in its healt My love
Is now the mansion where you dwell in peaoe , ;
Take timely heed : pull not the building down ':
Lest in its fall it crwsb you. "^
Fra. Take my life; "^'
It were more merciful, ^^"^^^h tm (d.:^v/^aO
Malt. There is no hope \,
Iri your entreaties; you must bend your niTwi^^
To its enforc'd conditiorr,' '"^^ ^* t>iH
Fra. Why""d;why ^''-;
Ye gentle Heavens ! did I riot depart
While yet life's draught was sweet upon the lips r
It was once sweet, so luscious to the taste ! ;
But its first flavour has grown sour by time, *
And now offends the palate. Let me die.
Malt. TU no more words ; first be thy erfand
done.
Then be it at your choice to live, or die.
As may best please you or as nature will.
Fra. Is there no remedy, but I must play
The traitor in mine age ?
Malt. I tejl thee, no.
Before the fourth part of an hour declines,
You will be caU'd ; see, that your words
Are such as truth may warrant no excuse
Your wounds are nothing ; or suppose they were
Of deeper import ; yet your path is short.
And wonld not harm them, for our court is held
E'en in this castle, in the vaults that lie
Beneath its basement.
Wolf enters 'with a letter.
How now ? Whence is this ?
J^olf. A frair waits without, who bears this note
With greetings from St. Stephen's Abbot.
Malt. So!
(Wolf gives the letter to Maltingen, who
reads aloud.)
" Father Fritz being detained from his customary
attendance by more and weighty duties, I herewith
send another of our order, most able to supply his
absence. He is green in years but ripe in know-
ledge ; his time has been thoroughly practiced in
the history of human maladies ; Moreover he is of
rare and infinite skill in the mystery of herbs and
their several applications, in the which assurance I
commend him to your love.
Anselm, Prior of St. Stephens."
Malt. Give the monk entrance. (Wolf goes
out and returns with Herman disguised a^
before.)
Her- Jlealth to thee,
my son.
Malt. The prior of St. Stephens here commends
Your skill in med'cine, and in bounteous terms.
Her. His kindness overrates my humble means j
Yet in my will I'm rich, and may do more
87
Than those of deeper science.
Malt. Not unlike.
Their stands your patient ; as I think, he lacks
But little of your aid That as it may
Your visit must be short And so I leave
Your art to its discretion.
He7\ Heaven's peace
Sill rest with you ! \_Exit Maltingen and Wolf,
Herman for a short time listens to their
receding steps.)
The sound of his last step
Has died away My work may now begin.
Fra. You're welcome, holy father but my mind,
More than my body, needs your helping art.
Her. {Throwing off his disguise.) Francis!
Fra. " My
noble master ! Can it be ?
And thus disguis'd ; Oh, let me kiss your hand !
'Tis a sweet thing, when circled in by hate.
To see again one eye that beams with love.
To hear one tongue that speaks in kindness.
Her. Peace !
Fra. I am so happy pow it seems a? if
I heard my native language after years
Of vainly list'ning to a foreign speech.
Dear, noble master !
Her. Peace! no more of this.
Fra. I must, I must; you do not know how
sweet
The voice of kindness sounds to ears, which time
Has made familiar with reproach.
Her. No more :
This speech offends me.
Fra. I'll be silent then,
Yet my old heart W\\\ bound I've done I'm
dumb!
Ye gracious powers, thanks !
88
Her. Be still, I pay ;; .rl
You can not Bsore displease than by ^i|ch, words,, gbaaVi
Fra, Your wish is my command but you iHrej^'a
_ chang'd T.-;
Most sadly changM!^ Your. voice is brobeij, hoarse/ >
Cold as the sighings of aututnnal winds; .^^^ { ^^{^
The' re of your eye is quite burnt out ; . .,^
The hollow in your cheek looks like the gravec,fjj 3N};>>
Of Kope departed.
Her.- Is then that so strange ?
We are, no more than food for grief and time, '^^
Who. when they've sucVd the marrow of our
^ ' health
Throw the worst part to lean and hungry death, ^>^
Who battens 'on_the offal. .^^ j^^l ; ,3^ buA
^ra. " Tis not thur anisa ^ih'mB i
That you were wont to talk. , ,;, ..^ biu^ -la thoO
ffer. The leavt's in spring
Wave grfe'eft ; they wither in the season's fall.
But time ebbs rapidly- -i'ye-eoifle to speak
On matter^of much import ',. V^ ^ < f8
JFVa.'"- Aye, indeed?
Your words awake those thoughts, which joy had q/^
luU'd : ' ; rjQ
In sweetest slumber^ 1 too have to talk , _
On things of no light weighing But alas!
I know not hoW to utteV them. -^^
H^. '" For that r- !
We shall find after limit Well beihough
I had almost foro^ot Your age is faint,
And needs some spur to quicken it; I've brought '\i
What will refresh your weakness. -(//e takes Jrom . j
his basket a bottle and horn, and Jills the
latter with wirte.
My gen&i 'gen'rous master, 'for the love
That breathes in thi? rem^ffthfance, though xny vvj^o^
Needs not its present use. rm here mBillg'S j^^
E'en in the luxury of appetite.
Her. But you must take the cup take it, I say , j^
Dost think I've mingPd poison in the draught? ,^r^
Fra. I'he Heav'ns forfend 1 My mind held np^^X
such thought , - i ! i ^ cffiX
Give me the cup I dHnk to your best health! .--:
(German tu ns aside, and covers hisfaj^^
in great agitation.) .hjk-hW
Her. To my damnation Hast thou drankrl Q^'Sf^
Fra, 1 havfe;
It relish'd well ! vvoiriT
Her. The dev'lish deed is done ! ,^.^ oHW
And yet I feel no changing in myself _^:^
1 am the same! Why then there is no sip.^^, ^^ ,^ jfixfT
Guilt should be fearful or our fathers lie. ^ x;r
Fra. Are you offended, master, that you ^urn^ r^^
Away from me ? ". ^i^
Her. The fancy, grown diseas'd^ 'ht}
SliQuld shape forth monstrous visions, spectre^'
And forms of hell but to my eyes ffi'e right '
Burns clear and brightly There's no outward chaQgp ^y
All bears its wonted aspect. j Jl^
ira, 1 grow sick. . ,f r
Her. Tisthy last sickness ; thou wilt quickly res||.^ "
In a lone silent house, where fever, gout, a'aW
Slow-wasting atrophy, swift-slaying pest, ^'f-,-/ ^
Pale, bloated dropsy, and life's thousand ills, ^"^
rind no admittance. Comfort thee, old man; loSfJ^
Tis a dark home, but it is wondrous still.
Fra. What do you mean ? Dear master, be
yourself. ,^ -^
Her. Confesfe/fdtlrsd^^ Hea^^^glead^l^
grace " ' ' *
90
The tide has almost ebb'd within thy veins.
Fra. My brain grows giddy All around is dark.
Her. Go to thy pray'rs ; time's foot will hardly
pace
Three little steps and thou art with the dead!
Fra. Poison'd !
Her. E'en so,
Fra. May Heav'n forgive the hand.
Which minister'd the deed. The wheel at last
Turns fully round Mine was the guilt that stole
The father's life, and by the son 1 die.
'Tis just and yet 'tis bitter I Lead me in.
Her. Your hand No, no I can not look on
him, (
JPra. {Staggering to the door of the inner ram.)
My strength is gone. (shuddering violently.^
Cold ! Bitter cold ! Accept
My penitence, ye powers ! Oh ! Forgive !
{He falls down, so that his body lies
in the inner room, his feet at the door
Long silence.
Her. Dead! - Well 'tis that I wish'd Why
should I shake.
As unexpected horror cross'd my path.
To blast the reason ? 'Tis but one man gone !
I have kill'd many in the tented field.
And never blench'd Is not this self-defence ?
His life was to my mother certain death.
And in his death she lives ^Who then shall say
This deed was not well done ?: Down, restless fiend.
That speak'st so loud within ! my ears are dull
To all thy utterings. {Noise without) VLditk^-
Some one comes !
I'll close the door, that knowledge of the act
May sleep till J am gone. {he fastens the door of
the inner I'oom.)-
91
Prior, (without) Be speedy, Wolf;
My business is most earnest. (Herman resiimes
his disnuise)
TVolf. (without) Ho! Within!
Open the door.^ Herman mihars the outer door;
the jPrior rushes in followed by Wolf.)
Prior. Leave us, good friends ; I've speech
For this man's private ear.
Wolf. I understand.
[ExityNo\.Y.
Prior. Herman, my son, look up, Great God I
That face !
I am too late! ^ ^
Her. If to save life, you are ;
If to destroy it, in ripe season.
Prior. Son,
I fear your meaning.
Her. You can not call back
The blow that's struck but yet you can betray
My life to sure destruction. Here I am
'en in the heart and centre of his strength.
Who is mine enemy Raise hurt; your voice.
And I can not escape.
Prior. My son ! My son t
You have done greater wrong to me than age.
This drives the first nail in my coffin Fly
I'll not betray you It were fruitless toil
To lop the gangren'd limb from one that's dead.
Fly quit this place.
Her. O, father if you knew
Prior. No words I had no earthly thing to
love
But you no wife^ child, kin you you were all
And you have reft me of that all but now
'^J'is monstrous as a dream no part coheres
Night blended with the day you were so great!
93
So good! an angel thron'd 'mougst mortal men!
My fond aid heart will break!
Her. Peace, father, peace
Unless you'd goad me into madness.
Prior. Hush. I
Her. It were a joy tp die. A
Prior. Live, and repenil '
God knows ther's ample cause. Begone 5 begone*
^^J^er. Yes, I will go Bu,t Hell burns here
within
I need no other hell. [^a:z^ Hejiman.
Prior. I must protract
The rini(e to give him space for flight. (O^e^ the
^^, .inner door) What's thisj,, | ,;^>.|v
The body of the murder'd! 'Tis a sight
Of unmask'd horror ! I must fashion means
To dam the stream of mischef ere it run
To wider course God grazit that all end here.
[E v.-
\ St. Aven. : .-^-.v' ^ T rise; '''^^' '^' "'
And take thy office as the law commands.-
He that hath knowledge of unspoken guilt.
Let him stand forth Accuse! Accuse! Accuse!
Malt. I know of hidden guih,-r-^nd I accuse!-
Accuse 1 Accuse ! * ^ ^ ^ ' * ^''
94
1st. Aven. Think, justice is most strict.
And measures the accuser by the law
That would have visited the prov'd ofFenee.
The axe you sharpen for another^s neck,
Are you content its edge shall fall on you,
If proof be wanting to your words ?
3IaU. I am.
l.v^. Aven. Short time is now for thought.
Malt. I have
well thought.
Ist Aven. The third and utmost warning
Your next word
Will dig" a srace whose hunger must be fill'd
By the accus'd, or the accusing part. r I
Malt. I wish no other.
1st Aven. Then in Heaven's name !
Whom do you accuse ?
Malt. Ida of Aspenau. (All seem
astonished. The speakers follow each
other, in rapid succession.)
Jst Aven. Ida!
2d Aven. Impossible!
3rd Aven. It can not be.
4th Aven. Vd sooner doubt the wedded truth of
her
Who bore me to the world.
^th Aven. And I !
6th Aven. And I!
7M Aven. This is some trick of error.
Malt. You're too
quick ;
But thus 'tis often found, opinion weds
Not after reason's pref 'rence, but the choice
Of giddy fancy, whose election's built
Upon the loose and unsupporting sand.
95
But I bave proof, proof of so loud a voice,
It will be heard.
IVen. A moment's pause ; I hear
A foot without Who comes ?
Her. (without.) A friend.
JVen. The sign ?
(Herman knocks thrice at long intervaL-.)
JVen. (?o Me Vice-Master.) A brother knocks.
1*^. Aven. His
steps are welcome here ;
Be the door open to his call.
Her. (entering.) All hail !
\st. Aven. I, in the general behalf, return
The word of greeting Health wait on your ways!
Yet you come out of season ; 'tis not fit
We travel back to minister the oath ;
You can nor sit in judgment, nor accuse.
Her. So let it be; I have no wish to bend
The law to my advantage.
1st. Aven. Right! Proceed.
Malt, {spitefully.) We have that to talk of,
which concerns you much.
1*^ Aven. Take up the broken thread of your
discourse ;
Judgment awakes.
Malt. Then I again accuse
Ida of Aspenau.
l.v^. Aven. But the offence ?
Malt. To sate th' unbridled appetite of lust
With a false pai amour, she did conspire
Against her husband's being, drugg'd his bowl
With juice of night-pluck'd hellebore.
Her. A lie !
A damned lie of envy born on hate.
Malt. Too hot! too hot! young man I wear a
sword
96
Het\ As children do -in mock'ry, not forHise.
MaU. Boy! Boy!
1 st Aven. On bodi sides, peace.
Her. Bless thy
kind stars,
I will not match my hate with ought so low.
1st Aven. Silence, again : This is a common
wrong ;
The first that stirs again in this offence
Dies on the instant.
Malt. Let the cause go on.
Is^ Aven. The charge is giv'n--*-Who denies the
charge ?
Her. Who ?--^I ! to the last ebbing of my blood-
1*^ Aven. You can not; 'tis a cause too near
yourself.
You can not.
Her, Can not- But I will I will
2d Aven. (Risif}^ and half unsheathing hu
sword.)
I rise, and with my hand upon the sword.
Deny ! Deny ! Deny I
1^^ Aven. Accuser, speak;
You hear it is denied; brings forth your proof.
3falti It is at hand. (Maltingen whispers to
the 3d Avenger, who goes out.
Her. And yet, I shink, too far
For your stretch'd hand to reach it : Death has set
A vast abyss 'twixt you and your desire ;
Life can not cross its breath to pluck the fruit
Which grows on the remov'd and adverse bank.-
Fiend ! triumph now You think the bowl will run
From its first impulse ; you'll not find it so-*-'
A little rub may turn the rolling ball
From its strait course, and mountains fill the way.
Of your direction.
97
Til e 3d Avenger rsirenter^,
MaU^ Now?
3if Mven. The old man's dead.
Malt. Dead! Dead!
l.y^ Aven. Of whom is this discourse ?
sS Avert. Of one
Who was the vassal of the Aspenau,
Old Francis Klausner.
1st Aven. And v/2f he to seal
The credit of .the words, that taint with guilt *^
The mother of his lord? '
^ Malt. That it is so
l^eed not excite your wonder ; this strange death
1 s mt>re km t6 astoti i sh ihfent. "
Her. (aside.) Your toiie
Is chang'd. . - - " ' " ^.V-
Malt, The caiise of thil'jc) pu<|deh d^^^ f
3d Aven. Poison, it ^e^s/for. liyid spots have
grain'd ^ . . ,. , X . .-4
The breast and cheek^] buf fere'^Ptnb trace to guess
The hand that did the deed. *^" ' '
Malt. ' ' The friar? No;
Suspicion feeds on grosser food besides.
His life has been retired from the world.
Devote to holiness, and 'tis in proof
The passions dwell not in seclusion no
Gold could not tempt him, for his state forbids
The use of gold, nor could he find in hate.
Or wrath, or envy, motives to the deed ;
They must have fitting season, but his life ;
Shuts out the opportunities of time
On which such feelings grow.
Her. (aside.) Your vvisest thoughts
Will fail td ravel out this mystery's web ;
The grave keeps secrets well.
H
$8
Malt. No matter who
The author of the deed ; another time
May serve for that 1 yet have proof to hoop
The round of my accusing.
1st Avert. Bring it forth.
Her. Impossible! There can be no sucli proof.
Malt. Here is the penn'd avowal of the crime
With threefold witnesses to vouch the truth
That, uncompell'd, and of his proper will.
The partner in the crime deliver'd this.
The document of guilt.
Her. (aside.) I must be calm.
'Tis but a moment's struggle with the heart.
1st. Avert, (reads.) " I, Francis Klausner, vas-
sal of the Count of Aspenau, by this document allow
my own guilt, and testify thatida, of Aspenau, did,
by the help of poisonous herbs, through me, admi-
nistered at her instigation, destroy the life of her
late husband. In the hope that confession may ap-
prove repentance, and win an earthly absolution of
ray sins, I make this acknowledgment from the free
suggession of my own heart, and without any other
incitement."
This is a document of worthy faith ;
At least it bears the outward face of truth.
Her. And would you murder life upon a word.
Whose best assurance is that it may be .''
I say the accuser is the foe of her
Whose guilt he challenges, and brings this charge.
Not led by public motives, but spurr'd on
By private hate.
Malt. Pretext !
1.9^ Avert. Suppose it so,
This paper's full and worthily avouch'd,
First, by two knights of unsuspected truth.
Then, by a holy father of St. Stephens ;
Therefore to judgment Champion of th' accus'd!
99
Wilt thou still lay thy hand upon the sword,
And say the charge is false.
2nd Ave?i. Let the axe fall ;
The tree is rotten.
1st Avert. Brothers, you have heard.
Is there among you, one who lifts the shield
Between the victim and the brandish'd sword
Of angry justice ? I hear no reply.
Again I summon you your silence speaks
A second time denial. Yet again
I call on you the victim is condemn'd !
I write her name in blood, and blood must cleanse
The words of condemnation from the page.
Malt. (To Herman.^ Speak out your wrath;
pent longer up 'twill burst
Th<* heart that would conceal it.
Her. Wrath ! Oh no
The ocean, sleeping in a summer night,
When no wind breathes is not more calm than I ;
And in that mood I ask, who is it sets
So little value on his life to dare
Put this decree in act ?
1*^ Aven, You speak, as if
We were but children to correction, not
As men, your equals Tush I
Her. I ask again,
Who dares ?
Malt. I dare.
Her. You'd better thrust
Your hand into the starving tiger's jaws.
1*^ Aven, High words!
Malt. H Bugbears, to frighten boys.
Her. You'll find
There's substance in my speech.
Malt. We'll soon try that.
H2
100
Her, 1 will be brav'd no longer. He who
moves
A finger to this deed commits his hfe
To th' hazard of my wrath.
Ist Aveh. I'll hear no more.
(All the Avengers rise tumultuously.)
2nd Aven. 'Tis treason to his oath.
Isi Aven. He has incurr'd
The penalty of death, and let him die.
3d Aven. Down with the traitor, down.
2nd Aven. Let him not live
To boast his treachery.
Her. Poor shades of men !
Althougb your numbers doubled their amotmt,
I would not blench, nor yield one inch of ground.
But measure in my death the self-same spot
I fought upon in life.
Avengers. Kill him Kill! Kill!
Malt. Brothers, by my authority of place,
I do command you, strike not at his life.
Her. Cowards who bay a single strength Come
on.
My blood is hot Had I but one stout heart
To back my singleness, I would despise
A hundred such aye trample you to dust.
Malt. Hold off! Hold off! Let not a few wild
words
Seeth your cool judgment ; this offence deserves
The lash of punishment, but death is none.
Save to the pale lipp'd coward Let him live.
1*^ Aven. His crime is in the first degree. 5
Malt. So be
Chastisement ; let not retribution pro^e
A debtor to offence, returning less
Than was receiv'd.
U)l
1^^ Aven. It is for you to speak
The form and measure of chastisement.
Malt. Good I
For that, in twofold manner, to the law
He has been traitor, not proclaiming guilt
Because it touch'd his mother; and, yet worse.
Defying that authority, his oath
Had promis'd to obey, it is decreed
Himself shall punish the adultress.
Her. What!
Murder my mother ?
Malt. 'Tis a debt you owe
To your dead father.
1st Aven. It is fitly judg'd.
All. It shall be so; we ratify the word.
Her, Merciful God I This hand shall first de-
cay, .
Be burnt and shrivfell'd up in fire, or ere
It works such horror.
Malt. As you please But yet,
Remember this ; if when the clock tells one
To the new-risen morning, this decree
Is still unacted, vengeance first shall feed
His hungry cravings on your wife and child ;
For on the very turning of the hour.
The double pledge not being then redeem'd.
Both die without a pause. Think well of it;
tet your will bend to that may not be bent
Unto your will.
Her. Do you mean that you say ?
Malt. Yes; most resolvedly.
Her. The prince of hell
Is sure your counsellor It can not be
That unassisted man in his worst hate
Should compass such a thought God I I am
stunn'd !
lOi?
Malt. The hand of time moves swiftly to the
hour;
I speak to you in mercy.
Her. Perfect fiends.
Malt. The council is broke up. Let all attend
With their full bands of followers to aid
Th' accomplishment of justice 'Tis ripe time.
Her. Of justice, say you ? You profane her name
By this unhallovv'd call ; justice should act
From no external cause ; her bosom's free
From hatred's malice, as 'tis dead to love;
No self regard, nor any brib'd respect.
Divert her \&we\ course Knock at your hearts.
And ask how this applies.
Malt. Our faults afford
No screen for others' vices : Sin would pass
Untax'd of justice, if offence might take
Excuse from precedent ; but 'tis not so ;
That many err does not make less the sum
Of individual vice; nor his own guilt
Unfit the hangman for his office But
Bow you to the occasion ; be advis'd ;
The pulse of time beats quick in fev'rish haste ;
Thought travels not more rapidly ; we go.
Her. Yet list to me, for I have listen'd oft
When you have pray'd, and ripen'd your thin hope
With the warm summer of my bounty You
By Heav'n ! 1 can not do it what I think.
That I, perforce, must speak; I can not stoop
To lend fair seeming to my wrath Fiends !
Fiends !
Malt. Tis not in words to traverse the decree ;
She dies, and by your hand ; or, failing that.
Your wife and child must expiate th' offence.
2nd Aven. 'Tis so, and words are useless.
103
Her,
Bloodhounds!
Malt.
Peace !
2>id Aven.
Let's hear him no more.
Her.
Right! All
join in the cry
And snufF with fiery haste the scent of blood.
You, whose estate was built upon my love ;
You too, whose life was once redeem'd at price
Of my own blood, when in the battle's wrath
You fell beneath your foeman ; you, whose wealth
Was my great grandsire's gift ; you, whom my zeal
Peliver'd from the church's heavy ban.
Then made your life as cheap as beasts', when none
So great dar'd give your hunger food.
Or pour one drop of water on your thirst.
When fear or hatred barr'd all other door,
^line was still open to your need.
Malt. ^ Peace ! Peace !
Her. You too have tasted of our bounty ^Nay
Most of your pray'rs might drop a grateful bead
For past or present kindness from our house;
And'Come vou now in this unnat'ral league
To do me such despite, whose thought v^'ould seem
Borrow'd from hell, but that hell's very worst *
Lags far behind it.
Malt. You have done some good ;
And who so wholly bad that he hath not
Some part of good to qualify the ill ?
Men would be devils else.
Her. There wants not much.
And that of form alone, to rate you so.
\st Aven. Pity wakes something here that
takes his part.
Malt. Account it not merit that you're weak.
And call that weakness pity ; in the best
'Tis wrangling with bare words; justice withheld^
104
It matters little, if the bribe be gold
Or pity that persuaded to the wrong.
2nd Aven. Pity's corruption in a fairer form, -
And equally wrongs justice.
Her. Name her not,
Lest from your slander men should curse her truth.
And find a virtue in the doing ill.
Malt. What was this seat of judgment for^ but
that
There might be one tribunal on the earth
Where sin should find no leader, or in love.
Or interest, or passion that offence
Sould by itself be measur'd, no respect
AUow'd to circumstance. Our friends have bled,
And shall he hold prerogative in vice ?
Is sin a thing of price, allow'd to wealth.
Forbid to poverty ?
. Avengers, {tumultuously) No, let her die.
Malt. You've heard and so we leave you to
your thoughts.
Away ! [Exeunt Maltingen and the Avengers.
Her. To thought ! yes, it is time for thought.
{looking at the clock)
Scarce the fourth remnant of an our ! No more !
What's to be done? I must be brief in thought.-
Protect my mother and in that word die
Those of as dear ajccount, my wife and child
Two minutes aie gone, and yet no nearer that
The mind is toiling for How swift time flies !
What were it best to do ? Self-slaughter ends
This agony of doubt But then, yon world-
It is a cursed thought, and leads my foot
Close on damnation's brink I would save all
But how ? My mother dead assures the life
Of my child's mother, and in use we find
A precedent for this ! the limb diseas'd
105
Is sever d from the trunk to save the tronk.-r-
But then alas! nature has not in gift
A second mother Oh this maze of doubt 1-
Two other minutes gone ! Chance be my guid^*
\_Exit IlERMAX-ij
SCENE III. (A room m Herman's castle-^li>A
and the Prior.)
Ida. I'm debtor to your love in more amount
Than hfe can pay, unless my pow'r to do,
Were as my will, unbounded. Oh, I feel
At peace with Heav'n ; the tide of thought flows on
In deep and silent calm, as though no storm
Had ever ruffled it ; fear, wrath, despair.
Have like a shadow pass'd, and only leave
The wonder that they were.
Prior-. Sweet are the dews
or holy penitence! They lift up hope ,
As the night-drops refresh the weary flow'rs.
And wash their faded brilliance.
Ida. I have heard
That in the immediate pause of time, or e'er
I'he spirit quit its home, all earthly mists
Are purg'd from it away. .t
Prior. 'Tis often so. ','
Each moment of the body's dying hour
Relaxes some cord of that wond'rous whole,
Which ties the spirit to the flesh, and as
The work of separation in degree
Goes slowly on, the spirit doth shake off
Its life-infirmities. Bed-ridden eld
Will, a few days before the stroke of death.
Leave its sick couch, unleft for years, and walk ;
Fever's delirium, madness that has grown
E'en with tl^e body's growth, incurable.
io6
Will ebb to reason in the parting hour ;
'Tis gen'ral knowledge.
Ida. Then must I believe
My end is near, for this one day hath swept
The constant images and thoughts of years
From my mind's tablet ; 'tis a wondrous change.
Prior. You wrong yourself, in that you so far
trust
The wild inventions of the fancy : Know,
What reason finds pot, may not be believ'd
Without offence to reason ; and though death
Is possible to all times, e'en to health
As to worn sickness, yet to think him near.
When neither forseen danger nor disease
Announce his coming, is to sense absurd.
Ida. I grant all this ; but there is something here
That gives the lie to reason.
Prior. Trust it not;
There is no truth in these ifnpressions none
They come, as the wind blows, we know not whence;
At best they are no more nor less than dreams.
For sense may sleep although the body wake.
And in the reason's slumber, 'tis approv'd
That fancy is most potent in conceit.
Ida. Mistake me not, kind father ; I do think
That I must shortly die, but that belief
Touches me not with sorrow rather joy ;
I've liv'd to penitence ; in that enough.
The appetite of life is keen in man.
But the most eager appetite distastes
Its constancy of food.
Prior. It glads me much
Your heart is so far reconcil'd to grace
To bear Heav'n's childings with submitted will.
That murmurs not in suff'ring. Rest confirm'd
Earth's dearest blessing is a patient mind.
107
Dearer than riches, glory, genius, health ;
When sorrow chafes life's ocean to a storm.
It splits the strength of the opposing oak
But lightly whistles o'er the yielding rush.
Ida. I do think so father.
Prior. Daughter, good night ;
Duties, of other rank and place, forbid
My longer stay. May Heav'n in you complete
The work so fairly enter'd Rest in peace!
{As he is going out, he is met by Berthold.)
Bert. What makes you, father, in these bust-
ling times
A stranger to your home ? Go ; to your beads
I speak in care of you What should peace do.
When battle is abroad, but sleep at home ?
The lamb skips not in presence of the wolf
Your helmet is the cowl, your armour pray'rs '
The one's soon sunder'd, and wild war, grown deaf
In his own tumult, hears not the still voice
Of holy interrupters.
Prior. I must praise
The care of your intent, although its end
Bring me no profit ; I'm as much below
As you above all fear My blessing rest
In fellowship with your steps.
Ida. He chides well
Your untun'd language.
Bert. I meant no offence.
Prior. 'Tis so understood Son, good night.
Bert. Good night.
\_Exit Prior.
Or I should rather wish the joys of day
Upon your going, for night's parting bell
Will, ere long, wake the morn from ocean's bed
To freshen'd toil.
Ida. What! Is it so late ?
108
Time us'd to crawl on crutches, lam'd by fear.
But to my better'd sense he paces on
In merry quickness.
Bert. Quick enough, God knows !
But as to merry, the word's out of date.
As ill assorted to the time, as songs
Of wine and laughter to a funeral.
Fear for your life.
Ida. No ; if I fear for ought.
It is for Adela, and her young son.
Who, though in my blood's next degree,
Is dear as my own son Ah, why did Herman trust
Aireight so precious on so rough a sea ?
Bert. To steal an hour from danger in the hope
To outstrip danger, who spreads too much sail
To be so cheated, for no harbour s near.
Ida. Oh it was wrong to trust such dear concern
To so much peril.
Bejt. I thought so at first.
And, you know, tax'd him with unsparing spleen ;
But he was right ; I see it clearly now :
Had he, in act, been other than he was.
Your lives had answer'd it, for 'tis plain no trust
Can be with safety center'd in the vassals ;
Many, Fm sure, are of that secret league.
That sets its law above all law, and chills
The heart of duty, plants division 'twixt
The soul of love and its affection, makes
Things knit by nature, sunder from their hold
In civil opposition.
Ida. It can't be, -* "i*' '
But Herman, being of the bond, must^bw
The partners of the bond. 'h *vi
Bert. Aye, so I thought ;
But 'tis their policy to manage thus.
That half the league know not the other half,
10.9
The key-stone of the arch that locks the whole
Being the master, and the one that stands
In next succession.
Ida. Bvit awakes this thought
Suspicious of our vassals ? Three hours since
Your spirits seem'd in confidence to spurn
The neighbourhood of fear. y^jn^M*?
Bert. I do not fear.
Ida. What is it then hath chang'd you.
Bert. Their chang'd looks.
Their alter'd fashion, which interpret more
Than loud-tong'd words. Some into corners creep
In whisp'ring consultation, as they fear'd
The owl, or passing bat, might hear their speech
Ida. Your doubt is all too nimble ; it concludes
From ill assur'd foundations.
Bert. I say no ;
I speak that I see Some have on the face
Of pallid sorrow, which should seem to speak -
We grieve, but can not help you ; some whose
hearts
Hate us for ills chastised in themselves.
Pass with a spiteful smile and scowling eye,
As who should say, we'll have revenge anon.
Ida. Is there no remedy? ,1
Bert. It was for that
I sought your speech.
Ida. In Heav'n's name let me hear.
Why at the first did you not say so much ?
Bert. Because 1 could not and can hardly now
Give utt'rance to my thought ; my tongue seems
tied
Whenever I would speak it.
Ida. But why ? why ?
Wliy should the tongue be slow to utter good ?
Ill thought indeed will cleave untq the mouth.
no
Like to birth of preternat'ral growth,
That grinds the womb in slow dehvery :
But thy mind's thought is kindly, for it is
The remedy of iH.
Bert. True ; but a sharp
*And bitter remedy. The deep "disease
Will not be heal'd by any grace of herbs ;
The knife must extirpate the cank'rous root.
Ida. Well I'm no child to wince beneath the
^ steel.
Or cruel cautery.
Bert. I'm very loathe
But as it must be said, the sooner said
The better to the purpose. ^
Ida. By all means. '
Bert. Your son has pledg'd his wife and child to
death ^
For your enfranchisement. Their peril is
The price and purchase of your safety.
Ida. On!
In God's name, on. bfi^'
Bert. Is it your wish to snatch 'I
Their feet from this abyss ? -
Ida. At any cost ;
In the world's compass there is none too great. i
Bert. There is but one. , '
Ida. Name it.
Bert. 'Tis this ^Your life.
Ida. Take it ; and know I gain by that I lose 5 ^
'Tis a poor gift, for in the giving life '^"H
I part with that, which to my own esteem *
Has little value none yet had I lives
As inany as the single hours of life.
And each more dear than health to worn disease,
I'd wish them to this end,
Ill
Bert. Thou'rt still thyself.
I know no higher praise \ yet let me say,
And in my love, it is a debt that's due
To fair expectance, which has lent a large.
Almost unbounded, credit, to the name
And promise of your character ; this faith
Had never been extended to such height
Had you been poorer in your mind's estate.
Or humbler in your birth But, as the tree
So do men look for rich or worthless fruit,
The grape upon the vine, the meagre sloe
Upon its meagre thorn.
Ida. I could well smile
At your high reckoning of my humble worth.
But that my state, although not sad, hath yet
Something of earnest in it, which doth seem
To quarrel with all thought and show of mirth.
Bert. Be certain, what I spoke was from my
heart ;
I can not flatter, for I know not how ;
And, if I did, I would not ; and to that
Flatt'ry ne'er gives, but where it hopes to feed ;
Its appetite is keen, and if not largely'xfiU'd
It languishes to death : Now, what could hope
Expect from thee so lowly fall'n, that those
Who do not hate, must pity, you.
Ida, And that
Is being parted 'twixt contempt and hate.
For pity's more than cousin to contempt,
Howe'er we colour it, sister at the least
Though of a fairer face.
Bert. 'Tis so indeed.
Footsteps without 'Tis Herman cames.
(Herman enters.)
Now, coz ?
Ida. Some powerful passion shakes you.
112
Her. Aye, despair !
Dark, measureless despair! Is your sense dull.-'
Is your sight blind ? Let me shout in your ear,
Death, death stands at your side with lifted hand
A moment and he strikes.
Ida. Well! Well! my son.
Her. The storm roars round you and yo
dully gaze,
As would an ideot in th^ lightning's flash
That menaces his Hfe.
Ida. It frights not me.
Her. If 'tis not in your wish to drive me mad.
Look as you'd feeling of the danger near.
Horror is not so dreadful as the laugh
Of ideot apathy Mother Behold! {Drawing hi^
dagger.)
I'm sent to murder thee !
Bert. Ye?, she must die,
Biit not by you.
Her. Stand off, I say Stand oiF!
Mother !
Ida. My breast is open to the blow.
Her. Let me look on that face, that wher*
death clouds,
As soon it must, the brilliance of the painting,
And blends the faded colours to a mass
Of dusky shapeksness, the memory still
May keep a faithful copy of the form
'Till time shall break the mirror.
Bert. Be more man;;
Tears may look richly in a woman's eye.
But on the lids of manhood they show strange
As childhood's gew-gaws in the hands of age,
In sooth they're women's gear, and in their weair
We do confound our natures.
Ida. Rouse, 'my son.
Thy sleeping spirit ; be as thou wast wont
113
Her. Would that I might be in the golden
days
Of careless boyhood thou wast inn'cent then.
Ida. Leave us Berthold.
Bert. I go. (aside) But not
so far
But that my eye may gather timely note
For evil's hind' ranee.
Ida. I entreat you, go.-
\E3eit Berthold.
Delay is fatal to your counsel ; and be sure
I will not purchase life by the dear death
Of those who rather have a claim on me
To die for their advantage Then, be swift
Why do you pause ?
Her. You're setting out upon
A distant journey, and it must be long
Before we meet again Never ^perchance
Each moment of such time outweighs an age
Of those that went before Why do I pause ?
And can you question that ? Who would not pause
Upon the shadowy brink of the abyss ?
Ida. Fie! Fie! Such speech unmans your
strength and makes
Stern resolution halt in his intent.
Her. No foolish hope I We part, never again
To meet Never! It is an awful word!
Eternity dwells in it Thought grows wild
When it would measure it.
Ida. Come ; this delay
Of predetermin'd action does disgrace
The heart of manhood. Trust me, I despise
The idle love which makes the heart afraid
To put in act the counsels of the brain.
Still wav'ring? I must die if nor by you,
I
114
By baser hands Gor'd by the angry steel
Of some vile menial No ; an Aspenau
Must only perish by an Aspenau.
Her. O mother! mother! When I lose thee
now.
It is for ever I no more shall hear
The music of your voice no more shall feed
My eyes upon that form, so dearly lov'd !
No more Kind Heav'n have mercy ^"tis too much !
I'm cast to deep perdition, for to live
E'en in immortal joys, and thou away.
What were it, but perdition ?
Ida. Oh, but think
Upon your Adela upon your child !
Her. Mother, to me
The present time is not, the past fills up
The ample space of thought. Again I live
In boyhood's day's and gambol in thine eyes ;
And life s best joy is thy affection's smile.
And its worst evil thy reproving frown.
Ida. Wilt thou still dream ? Time flies on
rapid foot.
Her. Then to the task O, look not on me
thus!
Twas so you look'd when at your feet I laid
The bloody laurels pluck'd from war's red soil
'Twas so you smil'd, and in that smile I found
More hearted joy than in the gen'ral cry
That voic'd my name, or in the living wreath
Which honour twin'd around my brows Put on
Some other form of feature Do not look
Like to thyself, for to that self is join'd
The thousand recollections of past days.
That flit like spirits round me and disarm
The hand of constancy.
115
Ida. Art thou a child r'
Bert, (rushing in) They come! They come!
^ Her. Now then
I can not strike.
Ida. My hand must to the deed ! (She stabs
herself and falls doivn dead, ^t the same
moment the clock strihes one. The Aven-
gers and Maltingen rush in.)
Her. Barbarian ! Fiend !
This this for my revenge. {Herman advances
furiously towards Maltingen with his
drawn dagger, and when near him sud-
denly stops, as if struck with dizziness.)
It will not be.
The world grows wond'rous dark ! (he swoons)
Bert. Heav'ns ! He dies !
1*^. Aven. 'Tis but a moment's ebbing of the
blood
Upon the o'ercharg'd heart, he swoons I no more.
Malt, (aside) Would he were dead ? (Herman
groans deeply.)
Bert. Soft! Soft?
His sense returns ' (Berthold occupies
himself with Herman. 2%e Avengers are
ranged around them. Maltingen stands
sullenly at a distance.)
END OF 4CT IV.
I 2
1I6
ACT V.
SCENE I. A room i Herman's castle. Through
the windows the sun is seen setting amongst
clouds, as if before a storm. Herman enters.
Her. Men's eyes look strangely on me as I Were
A thing of terror, new-born to the world.
One mutter d too of madness I'm not mad !
They're mad to say so Is not this my hand ?
Is not the sun that lights this eve to rest
The ^ame that on the ocean's purple tide
Whisper'd" farewell to yesterday ? Yesterday !
What is yesterday ? A dream that is gone by?
Let me not think on it ! No I can not think
My brain's on fire ! It beats ! It swells ! It
bursts !
Enter Adela and Child.
Adel, Herman ! Dear Herman I (She hneels
and clasps his hand: He draws hack with
a convulsive shudder.)
Her. Hence! ^Thy touch
has thrill'd
The piercing frost of winter through my veins.
Adel. The kiss of love shall warm thee into joy.
Her, I have no heart for joy; 'tis desolate! 'tis
dead !
Pleasures meridian star plays coldly on it.
As the sun glitters on some ice-built rock.
Where bloodless winter sits, and grimly smiles
A s^ if to mock the feebleness of day.
Adel. The tears that sorrow sheds upon thy
cheek
Shall fall like spring's warm rain upon the earth.
Kindling the life lock'd up in winter's snow.
Her. The grave can not be colder than my
bosom.
What ill has this hand done, or this heart thought^,
In secret meditation, 'gainst thy peace.
That thus thou com'st to torture misery ?
Who, and what are you ?
Adel. Will you not know us ?
Her. I do not know myself.
Adel. Speak to him, boy.
Thy notes of love may chide him into kindness.
Her. What dost thou say ? The voice sounds
like the tide.
Whose hollow murmur's beat a distant shore.
The knell of death is ringing in mine ears ;
I hear nought else distinctly.
Adel. Look on thy wife !
Look on thy inn'cent child.
Her. I see him not
Strange shapes are gath'ring round, unearthly forms.
Shadows, and things of death, words can not utter.
'Twas but a dream! 'tis past! what would you
have ?
Adel. It is thy wife that woos thee with her
tears.
It is thy child that pleads to thee for love
118
With silence nearer to the heart than words.
Her. They say I'm mad I know not if 'tis
true
Come hither, woman Look at yon scatter'd oak
The fires of heav'n have visited in wrath
The glory of its form ; its arms are rent,
Its leaves are dankly with'ring on the ground.
Its naked stem is black'ning in the wind
So 'tis with me; I am a blighted trunk;
My reason's blasted ; yet this form is human.
Adel. Oh, for that sleep no time shall ever break ?
Oh, for that darkness, which no sun shall light !
The sleep of death, the darkness of the grave.
Her. Why wouldst thou die? Thou hast no
cause to die;
Thy May is green ; life leaps in thy young veins ;
A mother's blood cries not 'gainst thee to Heav'n.
Adel. His reason wanders still ! All cheerless !
dark !
Her. Why, thou art lovely! fairer than night's
queen !
Whose silver beauty, imag'd from the sun.
Can not be utter'd by the tongue of man.
The rose might borrow blushes from thy cheeks;
The coral steal fresh rubies from thy lips ;
The star of day drink lustre from thine eyes;
And the new May, when first she kiss the earth.
Might woo a balmier sweetness from thy breath.
. .^j.^. {A loud peal of thunder is heard.)
What was that sound ?
Adel. ^ 'Twas nothing but the storm,
That mutters hoarsely in the groaning clouds.
Her. It may be so yet -leave me. {She siezes
his hand.)
Adel. I dare not
I dare not leave thee.
119
Her. Cling not to me thus
My hour is come my taskers shriek with voice,
That wakes the slumb'ring tenants of the grave !
Their dark spell is of pow'r to call the sun
Down from his sphere of fire-^-I may stay.
Adel. We will not leave thee.
Her. Strive not with despair.
Adel. The grasp of love is stronger than despair.
Her. Dost thou not fear me, woman ?
{Storm approaches.)
Adel. I am thy wife !
Her. Sits there not murder on my clenched
hand ?
Laughs not the fiend upon my writhing lip ?
Does not hell's fire burn within mine eye?
Adel. Forbear! Forbear! Thy looks are not of
earth ! (The storm becomes more violent.)
Her. I am not of earth earth will not own me
A mother's blood is hot upon my soul
And wouldst thou cling to me ? Wouldst thou go
forth
To the dark combat with unearthly things
That now are howling in the tempest come
Thy soul is apt to mate them in their darkness.
{He drags off Adela and the Child.)
SCENE II. The interior of a rude cave. The
back of the stage is open, so as to represent the
mouth of it, looking into a wild and rocky country,
which is completely visible to the audience through
the enormous aperture, Gypsies, male and Je-
male; some seated round a Jire, some drinking,
others furbishing arms, and others again sleeping.
In a corner Edith with an infant in her lap.
Karl, Conrad, Spiess, iw frontl.
120
Chorus as the scene opens^
Fill, fill up the glass.
While green grows the grass.
For a moment will come
When our mouths *^hall be dumb.
And the time-toil'd head
Shall rest with the dead
In eternit5''s bed.
Fill, fill up the glass.
For care is an ass j
And each drop that rolls
From our full-flowing bowls
Shall quicken delay.
And sliorten time's day
The half of his way.
Con. Where can our captain loiter ? 'Tis be-
yond
The promised time of meeting: He's not wont
To trifle with his word.
Karl. He'll soon be here.
Doubt not, with some new scheme in hand to fill
The stomach of bold enterprize.
Syi. Aye, aye;
'Tis like enough; he's true gypsy, sets
His life at a pin's value, when there's ought
For profit or revenge But come ; drink ! Drink ^
Karl. That's still the burthen of your song
Drink ! Drink !
Nothing but drink Upon my conscience
Con. Stop
If you had any You should put in that.
Karl. I say again, upon my conscience
121
Spi Pray,
Don't talk of that you have not ; if indeed
It were a thing that might be stolen, then
There would be hope it might in time be thine.
Karl. Why, thou iternal drunkard ! the keen
fox
Is not more hostile to the farm-yard state
Than thou to v/ell-stor'd larders : On my soul
You're never honest but when you are drunk;
And with a strict economy of time
You steal from sleep that you may steal from men.
Con. Now, Spiess, now what say you ?
Spi. Why, this I say-
Cow. Bravo ! Spare him not.
Karl. Out, fools..
Spi. He has no more
Of justice in him than a hungry judge.
Who speaks a hasty sentence in the fear
His supper should take cold.
Con. Dumb him with words ;
Smother him with argument ; it will save
A much more awkward death.
Karl. Now, by my soul
Spi. Which is not yours, being, as sure it is.
Long since gold-barter'd to the fiend
Con. Or sold
For some poor petty sin, for it is full worth
Goes not beyond the robbing of a hen-roost.
Spi. The demon must be prodigal indeed
To buy so poor a soul though at a price
Too small for counting.
Karl. Why thou drunken swine
Spi. There, there again You reckon what I
drink
Not an iota out, but you forget
122
To mention that sanne cruel thirst, which still
By day and night torments me.
Con. Shrewdly said I
Thou art for all in all the finest fool
Edith. {Suddenly begins singing to the i?ifant.)
And thou shalt have gay arms, my boy,
And mix in war's alarms, my boy.
And spur the steed
To battle deed.
For the life of home has no charms, my boy.
Con, Why what's the matter with the ideot
now?
Edith. (Sings again.)
And thou shalt sleep on the breast, my love.
Of beauty's chosen best, my love.
And e'en the most true
Shall be false for you
And make you her bosom's quest, my love
Karl. I marvel, Margaret will trust her child
To the lame keeping of this ideot.
Spi. Why
Should that wake your wonder ? She's sense enough
To keep her from the reach of danger's hoofs :
She'll ne'er be drown'd by trusting to the waves;
Or break her neck to truly learn the height
Of any precipice ; or wound her flesh.
To know by proof the colour of her blood.
Con. And for affection, she has more of that
Than creatures of more wisdom.
Karl. That is true ;
Instinctive kindness is approv'd more dear.
Of more enlarg'd effect, than love which springs
From well-considered judgment : Thus we see
Things of the poorest mind are the most rich
In treasures of affection ; brainless doves
123^. '
Might by their truth of love well put to blush
The boasted truth of manhood.
Spi. By this rule
You should be monstrous loving, for I think i
You and your doves could never fall to war
For the pre-eminence of brain, unless,
Like other well-nam'd warriors, you should fight
For that which is not.
Con. How is that i Say how.
(Tb Karl, who threatens Spiess with his
dagger.)
Nay, no violence : You should rather laugh,
When folly gibes than wear a serious face
Of anger for its chiding. Know you not
The poorness of the subject does make poor
The anger that would chide it ?
Karl. You say right.
Spi. Yes, yes, he's right ; I'm nothing but a
fool.
Karl. And yet I know not why it should excuse
Your back from punishment: Fools are a weed .
That, like the nettle, have not in their growth
The least of use, but yet have pow'r to sting ;
'Twere best to grub up both.
Spi. Pray do'nt say so ;
If I'm a nettle, for the time to come
I'll be a blind one.
Karl. Well, take care you do ;
Or else^ I wear a knife
Con. Be patient, man.
Karl. Well, well I've done.
Con. But now why did
you say
Men fight for nothing come, list to him, Karl. \
Karl. Not I in truth ; I'm weary of such fools;
I like the ideot best.
124
Con. Explain your words ;
You're not of that philosophy, I hope,
Which, with the taste of wine upon the Hps,
Cries out *' This drunken wine, this treac^i'rous foe.
That, with pretext to drive out other ills,
Takes reason prisoner." You are not such,
Spi. That were a jest.
Com. Well then, explain ! explain !
Spi. Why do not your known duellists walk out
To fight for honour, which they never had.
Or if they had it must have long since pawn'd
To some lewd strumpet, or a gamester's dice.
{to Karl) Dost mark me, fool ?
Karl. I see how this will end ;
I shall yet cut your throat.
Spi. No, don't do that ;
'Twill spoil my singing.
Con. Words, as many, and
As bitter as you please Their sharpest edge
Wounds no part but the fancy ; as to knives,
They're dangerous weapons ; best not meddle with
fhem. (Storm without. Edith sings to
the child.
The wind howls ! the thunder breaks !
Lullaby ! Lullaby !
The owl shrieks ; the cricket wakes ;
IjuUaby ! Lullaby !
(Her manner suddenly changes to that of suppres-
sed horror. She sings in an under tone, and the
last " luUahy " is almost indistinct.
Hark ! the raven's death-bell toll !
Lullaby 1 Lullaby! {a long pause follows.)
Peace to the departed soul ! (^crosses her hands
^ Lullaby ! Lullaby ! upon her breast J
125
Hoffman enters hastily to them,
Karl. Well met, captain.
Hoffl Well indeed, my hearts,
And better than you guess.
Karl. Con. and Spi. Let's hear ! Let's hear I-
Hq^. Time now has ripen'd what revenge
conceiv'd.
And gives to hatred pow'r to destroy.
Karl. Maltingen, no doubt.
Hoff. Aye who else but he ?
I have no thought that is not Maltingen.
Karl. But to particulars.
Hqff'. This night will give
His bosom to the dag;ger.
Karl. The how I The how I
Hoffl This night 'tis now upon the time
he goes
To pay a stealthy visit to the wife
Of a brow-antler'd knight, whose castle stands
Upon the forest's edge: and such design
Loves not too many witnesses.
Con. No, sure;
That's plain ; he who would kiss his neighbour's
wife
Must kiss her in the dark.
Spi. Yes, yes, once let
A husband know that he has horns, he'll butt
Most furiously for malice sake.
Hof. Right! Right!
Therefore he only takes a trusty page
Spi. Who, 1 suppose, is as a drum, that speaks
But when 'tis beaten.
Karl. I'm puzzled much
To guess what sort of instrument you are.
That must be beaten to be silent: you
Have not a likeness.
126
Hoff. This boy's one, whose faith
Is a seal to keep the written trust
From all observers.
Spi. Heat will ope the one.
And gold the other.
Karl. Will you yet be still ?
Or must T make you ?
Hof. Hold! I'll have no feuds
Amongst ourselves ; the hatred of the world
.Which dogs our heels, should be an iron bond
To hoop our hearts together.
Karl. I'm content.
And could be always ; but he's like a fly.
That buzzes in one's face, till it compels
I'he hand to brush it off. Patience grows sick
With such a constant blister.
Spi. Patience ! Oh !
He never had so much as might be seen
But with the help of spectacles ; and that
He gave as marriage present to his wife.
To help her bear the buflfets and extremes
Of his mad temper ; and, God knows, the gift,
Had it been doubled, would not be too much.
Karl. You hear ! you hear !
Uoff. Come, come ; no more of this ;
We've other matter for the time.
Spi. I'm still ;
Hush'd as a schoolboy, when, with half turn'd eye
That hardly dares to peep from out its lids.
He spies the ready rod.
Hoff. A moment, peace.
Spi. I'm dumb.
Karl. I wish with all my heart you
were.
Hoff. Do, leave this idle talk I am resolv'd
Not to let slip the offer of the time.
. . 127
Divide our numbers into sep'rate bands.
Each in itself of six. I with one part
Will lie in the strait road ; the rest will take
In diff rent parties diff 'rent points of watch,
So to shut out all possible escape.
Karl. But when ?
Hoff. This very instant.
Spi. What I So soon?
Karl. So mtlch the better.
Hoff. Thus we shall be sure ;
And by the pow'r that made me, if I live.
His mould' ring body swings upon the tree
On which he hung my wife. Should he scape now,
(Which is to sense least probable) and chance
Should lay his corse in consecrated ground,
I'd turn my nails to spades, and dip him up.
Though in the grave, half rotted.
Karl. Comrades, up ;
All to your arms.
Hoff. Without, I'll give each man
The rule and compass of his conduct Speed!
Karl. They are all ready.
Edi. (starting up.) Whither do you go?
To the gay fair ? You'll think of Edith ? -Yes
You'll bring poor ideot Edith home, fine clothes.
White caps Irimm'd with lace.
And paint for the face.
And gloves for the hands.
And ribbons for bands.
And flow'rs for the hair.
And the finest gay wear
That shines in the fair.
Hoff. Will no one take her from me ?
(^on- Come, child,
come.
128
EdL Adieu, my love ; adieu No night so long
But there's a morning follows it except
The night of death they say that has no end
But they don't always say the thing that is ;
Sometimes they mock poor Edith Once they said,
That grief had tears, but I have never wept,
And I am sorry, very sorry, that
My mother will not come to me.
Con. Poor thing I
Hqffl Take her away.
Spi Come, Edith, come with itie.
Edi (sings.)
We must away
Ere the peep of day.
Lest they should see.
How merry we be.
You should not kiss in day-light So adieu.
(Spiess leads out Edith.)
Hoff. The women will remain, and each one join
To make all ready for our journey hence.
Which may be instant on our safe return ;
The purpose of to-night may make this place
Unfit for our abode-r-Now, comrades, on
(The men go out with their muskets in
their hands. The women and children dis-
perse tumultuously through the different
apertures that branch out from the oppo-
site sides.)
SCENE II. TTie interior of the chapel, attached
to the monaster^/ of St. Stephens. Monks, with
lighted tapers J watching and praying over the
grave of Ida. Loud thunder-storm. A few
faint peals of the organ, as the scene opens*
Prior, Cyprian, and other Monks.
129
PiHor. How goes the time?
C^p. 'Tis deep night.
Prior. " What!
no more ?
Will morning never break ?
Ci/p. 'Tis a dark hour ;
The earth is rocking to its strong foundation.
I can not pray.
Prior. It is a time for pray'r!
Man feels his weakness in. an hour like this.
The storm, that hurls the granite from its base.
With grasp of more than earthly might, lays bare
The inmost throbbings in the heart of man.
Ci/p. I have oft watch'd the slumbers of the dead.
Oft hymn'd the holy requiemo'er the grave.
But such a night as this, so wild with woe.
Time has not written on the mem'ry's tablets.
The images of death seem lit with life.
The night is thick with darkness not its own
Strange cries, such as no mortal tongue e'er breath'd.
No mortal ear e'er heard, 'till this sad hour,
Fill up the list'ning pauses of the storm.
1 can not pray.
Prior. Peace, sinful man ! Thy words
Oflend high Heav'n.
Ci/p. Oh, 'tis an awful thought
For beings warm with life, full of its fears.
To be so near the dead, within the world
Of things that live not to our mortal sight,
While that they are the trembling flesh assures
Alas! too well. (A pause: The storm becomes
more violent.)
(To Hildehrand.) Why art thou silent? speak !
For as I gaze upon thy form, it seems
To settle into something unlike life,
A death had wrought his power on the flesH.
13b
Wilt thou not speak ? Oh, let me hear thy voicei,
That I may know thou'rt human still. Speak !
Speak !
mid. 1 hardly dare to breathe, lest my tongue
wake
The slumbers of the dead, and call from earth
Forms, which to look upon, would blast the sight
And wither reason in the storm of horror.
Amh. ^JI^ie is a thought, which talking day-
^ ilght laughs at.
But in this hour, when night shuts out the world.
It has a might would wring proud mock'ry's lip.
To agony unutterable.
Hild. Fear
Would lightly lift his foot upon these stones.
Lest in its echoes his strain'd ears should drink
A voice to freeze his tremblings into death.
Qyp. The day is man's; its world is rich with
Like'lx) Kis oWU' The living streams, the sun.
The painted bloomings on the face of earth,
AH touch his sense with pleasure all have joys
Ripe for his eye, his ear, his heart but night
Unfolds a world his senses can not scan
'Its stillness mocks his ear ; his eye sees not
Through the thick shadowing of its darkness :
It wears the gloom and silence of the grave,
And things of death, alone, can understand it.
Amh. Thy thoughts are like the time, dark,
dark, and horrid !
I pray thee peace. {The Prior, who 'till now has
been in an attitude of prayer, apart from
the Monks, rises up )
Prior. Let the loud requiem chaunt
In holy blessing to the parted spirit.
131
(Solemn peal of the organ. The recitative and air
by the full choir.)
RECITATIVE.
Father of mercy ! thou whose breath
Kindles to life, or chills to death ;
Father of immortality !
To thee thy contrite children cry.
With humbled knee and heart of pray'r.
With rev'rence, deeper than despair
That bows to thee to save.
Oh! let our praty'rs thy mercy win
For this our sister, dead in sin.
And rest upon her grave !
(After the recitative a short plaintive symphony folr
lows, which by degrees, swells into a grand, but
solemn melody, that introduces the air.)
AIR.
Sleep, spirit, sleep ; for Graee is giv'n ;
Hope shields thy grave with angel wing,
With eyes and hands uprais'd to Heav'n
Where life immortal drinks its spring.
(The music gradually becomes fainter, and at last
dies away. A loud and lamentable cry is heard
fcom without.) -
'.^iip */-,
l^ior. What strange and fearful sound was that )
mid. It was
The wail of many voices uttVing woq,
Hark ! Again ! , , .
t' Cyp. Horrible! Most horrible !
It was the anguish'd shriek that terror wakes
In the last, strong, stifled gasp for utterance !
(Urban rushes in pale and.breathleS:S.)
132
Prior. Thy looks are wan as madness ; thy
strain'd eye
Is full of horror.
Ur. Aye, so is the hour !
Full, full of staring horror yea, of things
Which lame the tongue to tell of them.
Oi/p. Speak ! Speak 1
Ur. A dreadful earthquake shakes our lower
world ;
The bosom of the earth is torn ; the graves
Yawn wide, with cold and famis'd maw, as if
Too leanly fed by death, their hunger gap'd
For living food to gorge their appetite.
Ci/p. Is not thy tale of horror full ? Say, yes
For more than mortal fear is on me.
Ur. No!
The lightning hisses palely on the dead.
That have for ages slumber d in their darkness.
In the strong blaze we saw their livid cheeks.
The quivVings of their blue and writhed lips
Yea, their op'd eyes glar'd strangely on the living
With fire not of life ; their wild gaze froze
The blood upon our hearts
Prior. Thy fear modes truth.
Ur. And for a moment's pausing made us that,
W^e fear'd to see, yet still did look upon.
{A violent peal of thunder. The wind beats fmn-
ously against the chapel window and hursts it
open ; through it, a wing of the monastry is dis-
tinctly visible to the audience.) '
Prior. Heav'n's mercy on our heads !
Cyp. Despair alone
Can watch in such a night the bloody lair.
Where murder, pillow'd on the lap of death, <>
Sleeps its unholy sleep.
j4mb ,, , . This corse of blood
'>...' i
133
Pollutes the grave's sanctuary Oh
It wakes the dead, and will not let them rest !
Prior. Peace, child of earth and of its weakness^
peace !
(A violent hurst of the storm. A thunder-^holt
strikes the wing of the monastery, that was visi-
ble to the audience, throKgh the window ; it Jails
with a loud crash amidst the blaze of lightening.
NiKANDER rushes in)
Nik. O5 holy father, fly This rock-built mass
Shakes to its centre Safety, if any where.
Creeps in the lowness of the vale.
Prior. Vain thought!
The hand of Heav'n is over dl ; the vale
Bows to its chiding, as the cloud-girt rock.
Cyp. You trifle with the time.
Ur. Let him not stay;
This mountain in its loftiness stands forth
E'en in the eye and fury of the storm.
Cyp. The tempest bursts again with darker wrath^
That gathers breath from its last short-liv'd pause.
{The thunder rolls more violently.)
Fly, father, fly.
Prior. I may not leave the dead,
'Till morning dawn upon my pray'r, and speak
Heav'n's grace on the absolved spririt. ^/
Cyp. Here
You must not stay : Cmiie ; the quaking earth
Will quickly swallow up these falling walls *
Will you not go ? Brothers, your aid to mine.
Our force is kinder to thee than thy will.
{The MosKH force off the Prior)
Scene the Last A wild spot mnongst woods. The
storm continues. Enter Herman.
Her. Aye, now I am not all alone, as wh^
Wasting in day's companionship with man.
Ir34
Thou art awake, great nature, and I thank thee !
Another world is gath'ring fast around ;
Earth is shut out And if my sorrow sighs,
The wind brings back a cry of deeper woe ;
And if I wail, the thunder answers it >,
In groans of deeper lamentation
Be visible to sight, ye things of other life.
For I do feel your presence.
(Adela enters with the child.)
What ! Thou again !
Adel. Oh, let my anguish woo thee from thy
wanderings ! ,
There is no joy in the tempest's loneness.
Her. In the broad calrp I am alone 'mongst
men ...
I am alpne but this dark world is full I
Art thou not conscious of its unseen beings ?
l>ost thou not feel a world of other life
Is folding thee about ? ,., ,
' Adel. ' , His \yord's have ppw'r
To wrench the rooted ^e?i&Qn in^o madness.
Hefr.^ ^ See! See!
Adel. 'Tis but the fancy's shadowipgs- Nay,
come
To rest Wilt thou not conie ? and wilt thou break
The heart, whose warmest pulses throb for thee ?
Still silent? Still unmov'd ? Look on thy child!
His tenderness is brais'd by the cold blast !
Do not his shudd' rings move thy heart to pity?
Her. Is that thy child ? And hast thou brought
its youth
To wage war with the ruthless storm ? Thy heart
Asks pity, but has never felt it go.
" Adel. It is for thee I've lock'd a mother's breast;
Against a mother's softness, yea for thee
Expos'd my child, my lovely darling child
135
To the rude anger of the elements.
To %vring thy heart to pity on thyself.
('///e clock of the monastery is heard dis-
tlnctly tolling one.)
Her. She calls ! She calls I
j4deL O, look not on me thus,
For my full heart will not much longer hold
To plead to thee for love.
Aer. It is the hour !
Follow.
^del. Oh, whither ?
Her. To her grave She calls !
^del. Who calls ? I only hear the tempest's
voice.
Her. My I can not speak it 'tis good alone
For lips of holiness. Again, she calls !
'She, she who died, beneath the murd'rer's knife.
At this same hour of yesterday Quick ! Quick I
To her grave !
Adel. Thy mother's grave?
Her. Yes yes, yes;
My mother's grave, since you will have me speak
That which, in utt'rance, stings me into madness.
Adel. 'Tis dug in blessed ground, and holy words,
Trom holy men hymn to her souls repose.
Her. 'Tis false! She moulders 'neath a blighted
yew,
Where murder, howling to the midnight storm,
JK.eeps his dark watch for death : 1 should know
this.
For these hands carv'd the earth ; tears from these
eyes
Did warm the frozen sod that bosoms her.
Adel. His eyes are wild with madness, but
Heav'n's love
Still watches o'er the life of innocence.
IBS
Her. You may not tarry.
Adel. Yes ; I'll meet the face
Of awful danger: Though my sins are ripe
Heav'n's watching is o'er thee, my darling boy; ^
The bolt, that falls, will pass thy unscorch'd head.
Nor singe one hair of innocence like thine.
Her. Are thy pray^'rs done ? for thou must
hence with me.
'Tis well ! One kiss I for yet I love thee much !
And thou, my boy. ' : -^; -
{He Jiangs over the child with delight Jor
a moment i and then starts fiom it in
horror.) ._., ,_
'Tis horrible to thought? '^'^ '^i*^ *
Is there no hope, but that my lips must drink '"J**
Of this sad bitter cup ? jju .
{A deep pause; the wind hurts over the
wood with a sudden gush.)
' '- Ah I Shriek not thus !
I'll empty its last di-egs, though each sad drop *^
Were fire on my lips Your hands ! Your hands !' ^
{He places himself between them, and
leads them off. After a short silence,^f ;$6^f S
Are visited on him. -/v.^^^*^ ^^^ '*^^'*^ "'^^ ^
Adel. {without. )^'^ '^i^'My blood for his!
Hei\ {without.) Aye, thine and his and
mine and all too little!
{A second and fainter scream, after which
a dead silence ensues. Herman enters
with a hhody dagger, in his hand.)
137
Her. 'TIs done ! Their souls are mincrling with
the storm !
Now mother! What! Dost haunt me still?
{He Holds out his bloody hands.)
Drink! Drink!
This blood was shed for thee, mother, for thee 1
O, glare not on me with those famish'd eyes I
Art thou not satisfied ? Thou shalt have more
More blood ! blood, warm and welling from this
heart ! -
But turn from me those eyes ^They gleam with
fire
That burns as it were caught from hell.
Prior, (without.) This way
I hear the meanings of a human voice.
Her, What would'st thou have ? Give utt' ranee
to thy will ;
But say, thus shalt thou do and it is done.
Though hell oppose its doing : Breathe but words
That living ear may hear ! What mean those
signs?
That beck'ning with thy shadowy hand to earth ?
That I should burst this prison of the flesh
Which hems the spirit in ? Is it not so ?
O, go not hence in wrath a moment stay
I will but cast this mortal vestment oft*
That weighs me to the earth, and speed to thee.
(He lifts the dagger to stab himself\ when
Berthold, tlie Prior, Cyprian, Hil-
DEBRAND, Ambrosius, NiKANDER, Ur-
ban, and Monks rush in.)
Prior. Tear it from his grasp Man, what
would'st thou do ?
Her. Wing my soul's flight to her Hold me
not back
She lingers still A moment, and she's gone !
L
138
Prior. He speaks in very madness of despair.
Bert. It is too true ! That sovereign mind is
crack'd!
Ci/p. What horrid workings glare in his sunk
eyes !
Hild. 1 dare not look on them.
Prior. 'Tis a sad sight!
Her. See ! See ! She waves to me to follow!
See!
Cyp. Help, brothers, help; madness has strung
his nerves
With strength would rend the hardness of the oak.
Her. Again she bids me to her arms I come
Unloose your grasp it is a mother calls
Do you not hear me? Are your senses dead?
It is a mother calls upon her son
Hang not on mine arm, or it will (He bursts from
them and exclaims^ with a hoarse, wild laugh.
Free ! Free!
Mother, I come I come! (The lightning strikes
him, and he falls in a heap to the earth.
The Monks draw back in terror.)
The Monies. Most horrible !
Most horrible ^
Be t. The latest pang of death
Is past! Thou noble mind, farewell?
I will but live till I've aveng'd thee then
(The Prior crosses his hand upon his
breast, and looks up to Heaven with air
of melancholy devotion.)
Prior. The grace of Heaven on the parted spirit !
(The clash of swords is heard without.)
Malt, (without) Help ! Help or I'm lost.
Prior. What cry was that ?
(Maltingen is now seen at the top of the
rock, Hoffman, Karl, Spiess, and Gyp-
sies following. Karl, who is first in the
pursuit, stops upon seeing the group below)
X
139
Karl. Lights in the vale.
Hoff' Then, shoot ; let him
not 'scape. (Karl Jlres at Maltingen,
who reels down the rock mortal! u ivounded,
and staggers towards the group below.
The Gypsies hmnediately disperse, and
are lost among the woods that cover the
heights.) r .
Malt. I have enough.
Ml. ' ' Maltingen ?
Malt. Follow not
They're fled it is too late ! What means this
sight?
Herman ! 'Twas J that murder'd thee and now--f-
Horror ! I thought that Heaven had no eye
For mortal deeds but now I feel its hand
In quick and awful retribution mark
I do repent absolve my soul, or ere
It quit its earthly mansion 1 repent
Too late I Too late ! Mercy ! for ever lost !
(IMaltingen dies)
Bert. I grieve that thou art dead but 'tis from
' ti : . J hate
Thou should'st have died by me!
Prior. O, talk not thus !
Far other thoughts befit this awful hour!
Prior. Look on us Heaven with the eye of love.
{The Monks are grouped to. ether in an
attitude of terror. Berth old looks stead-
fastly on the dead body of Herman, kneel-
ing by the side of it. The Prior on the
other side, in an attitude of prayer. A
wild plaintive symphony, as the curtain
slowly falls.)
END
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Vivm Ihc Press of VV. Oxberry and Co.
White-bart Yard, Drurj-lane.
WHAT'S A MAN OF FASHION?
A FARCE. IN TWO ACTS.
FREDERICK REYNOLDS, ESQ.
I
AUTHOR OF
The Dramatist ; Blind Bargain; The Will; The Exile } Sfc. ^c. ifc.
NOW PERFORMING WITH UNBOUNDED APPLAUSF.
%^tmt ISlogaf, Cotjcnt dPartieit*
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR WHITTINGHAM AND ARLISS,
PATEBNOSTER ROW.
1815.
Price Two Shillings.
WIIIXnUGHAM and ROWLAND, Prinlers, Goswell Street, London.
DRAMATIS PERSONS,
Admiral Project ------- Mr. Fawcett.
Old Project Mr. Blanch ard.
Young Project ------- Mr. Jones.
Paul Pouncely Mr. Tokely.
Jeremy Mr. Treby.
Nicholas ---- Mb. Atkins.
Landlord Mr. King.
Waiter Mr. Chapman.
Coachman Mr. Howell.
Mrs. Straightlace - Mrs. Davenport.
Emily --- Miss Mathews.
SCENE. A Sea-port Town, and Mrs. Straightlace's
Villa near it.
I / fvn
WHAT'S A MAN OF FASHION?
ACT I.
SCENE. An Apartment in Mrs. Straitlaces's
Villa ; in the Back, a Door, which is strongly
barr'd and bolted. A Clock at the Wing.
Mrs. Straitlace discovered seated at a Table,
on zvhich are Newspapers, a Manuscript Poem,
Ink-stand, Work-box, S[c.
Mrs. Straitlace, (^looking at the Clock J
That's the slowest going clock, still only eleven !
Oh ! how shall I get rid of the next thirty-seven
hours ? I've tried to get on with my new Epic
Poem here, call'd " Chaos come again !" But
in vain ! and then, this paper, (^taking up a news-
paper,) I'm sure I've read this paper twenty times
over ; and particularly this tiresome paragraph
about the long expected singer from Naples,-
this wonderful Signer Starritz ! (^reads.) " He's
coming ' Signer Starritz is positively coming !''
Lord, I wish he would come : or any body
would come !
6
Enter Nicholas.
Nich. Lawyer Pouncely, madam !
Mrs. S. I did'nt wish he'd come : for, as I
say in my Epic Poem, " Oh, Law ! oh ! Chaos !"
(enter Paul Pouncely J Welcome, good Mr.
Pouncely. (Nicholas having iishei^ed him in, Exit,
Pouncely. Good morning, Mrs. Straightlace !
(they sit.) I just rode over from the neighbour^
ing sea port, to what you call, "your Her-
mitage,^' here, on purpose to inform you that,
to-morrow is the fifth of October.
Mrs. S. Indeed, sir ! Why every body
knows that.
Pouncely. Very likely, and perhaps every
body knows, that little more than a year ago,
your whimsical relative. Colonel Eccentric, feel-
ing himself going, sent for me to his bed side,
there I in that very room.
Mrs. S. No, sir ! nobody knows that.
Pouncely. Don't they ? not know that this
singular character, being gay and game to the
last ; smiling, exclaimed : " I have made the
most of life, Mr. Pouncely ! but, as I regret
deeply, I did'nt marry, and have a son to keep
up my name, and inherit my estate I bequeath
all my property to my niece, Emily Eccentric,
on the two following special conditions. First,
that she marry within one twelvemonth from the
day of my decease." That day, is to-morrow !
for to-morrow is the fifth of October ! ( Tittering, )
Mrs. S, Very well, sir ! go on.
Pouncely. " Secondly and lastly, that her
husband and n[iy future heir may as much as
possible resemble myself, I direct that the
said Emily Eccentric choose no professional
character, such as doctor, proctor, trader,
player '*
Mrs. S. No, " nor lawyer," Mr. Pouncely.
Pouncely. No, and that is singular ! " but
that she marry only a man of fashion must
marry only a man of fashion ! which is and be-
fore he could explain, poor facetious gentleman !
he grew so much Wyorse, that he'd scarcely time
to mention you and sign (rises,) So Emily
Eccentric must marry only a man of fashion ;
and now, what is that ! Pray, am I a man of
fashion ?
Mrs. S. You !
Pouncely. Why the question's so gloriously
puzzling, that I once talk'd of filing a bill of
discovery : but then, thinks I, before Chancery
decides, fashion will change a hundred thousand
times ; for if botany were the rage, and fashion-
able fame depended on having an aloe in bloom,
why the court would wait till the aforesaid aloe
was in bloom; so look ye, sworn ally.
Mrs. S. Hush ! lower, Mr. Pouncely, or
Emily there may hear you. (Pointing to a door in
fiat 3 Pouncely shows surprise.) The time ap-
proaching, I thought more close confinement
necessary ; and if all along I've felt it my duty
to conceal both her and the will, 'twas because
Pouncely, Because, if she remain unmarried,
who does the Colonel's whole estate devolve to,
you, good Mrs. Straightlace ?
Mrs. S. Fie, Sir ! when 'tis solely from that
just dread of fashionable husbands, which women
of my honour
Pouncely. Gently ! honour and business, at
least honour and law business, are something
like these fashionable husbands and their wives,
often nam'd, but seldom seen together; and
therefore, in one word, though I consented to
take five per cent, for hush-money, I suddenly feel
that my conscience can't be satisfied without
ten per cent, five thousand being the exact sum
I want to open this new country bank with your
intended husband, Mr. Project. And there
again ! think how I've help'd you .in this love
affair ! how I've pusl/d your love of solitude,
morality. But you hesitate Good morning !
(Going.)
Mrs. S. Stop for your partner's Mr. Project's
sake whom certainly I look on as a suitor.
Pouncely. And who looks on you as a saint j
and who's expected to day or to-morrow ? His
son, that pattern for all young men of the present
age, made his first appearance in our town last
night but what's all this to my five thousand ?
Will you satisfy
Adm. Project. (IVithout.) I will see her.?
Pouncely. Who's that }
Mrs. S. No matter Nicholas has long had
orders to admit nobody in the hermitage, except
you and my fond intended; but that we may
talk without reserve, step into the library come,
Mr. Pouncely and I dare say I shan't let your
conscience remain unsatisfied.
Pouncely. I'm sure you won't, and that you'll
immediately put it under hand and seal. (Sliew-
ing an agreement.) Excuse my not trusting to
promises but now-a-days, nobody keeps them ;
from the place maker who promises sunshine,
to the almanack maker who promises rain !
\Exeunt.
Adm. Project. (Without.) Shew the way.
Nich. (Without.) I say again my mistress
isn't to be seen !
Adm. Project. (Speaking as he enters.) And
I say again, your mistress must be seen. (Ad-
miral enters, dressed in a brozvn coat, zvhite waist-
coat, leather breeches and boots. Nicholas fol-
lowing him in a rage.)
Adm. Project. I say so I, Admiral Project !
who arriving from India a kw weeks ago, and
being on a visit at old Lord Tantivy's hunting
box in the neighbourhood, am come to prove
to my old sweetheart, that " time has not thin'd
my flowing hair /" [Singing.) Why what do
you stare at ? (To Nicholas, who eyes him with
suspicion and contempt.) Admiral Project, sirrah !
Nich. Admiral! come come as if I didn't
know the difference between a real naval officer
and
10
Adm. Project. (Amazed,) How I a real naval
officer ?
Nich. To be sure hav'nt I been in London,
and seen plenty of them in the street, and at the
playhouse ?
Adm. Project. {^Sneeringly.) The playhouse !
Nich. Aye, on the stage ! seen officers not
talking common language, nor dressed in com-
mon clothes ! no, but your right true blue
admiral, strutting in fine uniform, and boasting
about Britannia, hearts of oak humanity !
Adm. Project. Here ! the character of an Eng-
lish sailor, is to depend on his uniform, and his
boasting about Britannia, Hearts of oak and Hu-
manity ! you common-place ideot ! when I'm on
board ship, I talk, dress, and fight like a sailor !
but when I'm on shore, having some notion, that
an admiral has as much right to be a gentleman
as any other gentleman, here I sit, till I'm treat-
ed as a gentleman !
(Drawing a chair and seating himself.)
Nich. You won't !
Adm. Project. I will though ! and stay a month;
if 'tis only to convince you, that a naval officer
can go a hunting without a cock'd hat and epau-
lettes ! can get merry on champagne as well
as grog! and fond as he is of his own country,
can scorn to praise it, at the expense of all
others ! (Turns chair round from Nicholas.! I,
that know London, as well as the Mediterra-
nean ! that when I can't pace the quarter deck.
11
see no harm in walking Hyde Park ! (Turning
towards Nicholas ivho stands staring,) not gone !
look ye instantly send your mistress, or I'll so
far resemble your true blue admiral ! (Holds up
his stick.) You see, true heart of oak !
Nich. I'm (trembling) gone ! [^Exit hastily,
Adm. Project, (smiling.) 'Tis now the fourth
part of a century, since I and my old flame here,
signed together a contract of marriage but meet-
ing a few winters ago, somehow things took an
odd turn for she cough'd, and I hem'd ! and one
complained so of the rheumatism, and the other
of the gout, that at last we tore the contract,
embrac'd, and hopp'd off better friends than
ever ! but now, this hard frost putting an end to
hunting, I don^t know how to amuse myself, we,
sailors, when on shore, can't sit with our hands
before us ; and if she'll only let me renew my
addresses till the thaw comes. (Looking at pa-
pers on the table). What's here ? morning and
evening papers! (Takes one up.) Let's see.
Creads.) " He's coming!" who's coming?
Oh, in large letters at the top ! " Signor Star-
ritz !" confound Signor Starritz ! for this is at
least the twentieth preparatory puff, I have read
of this new alarmist ! I'll try the evening. {'Takes
up evening paper, and reading.) " Naples"
come, here's intelligence ! (Reads on.) " The
nightly, magnificent, and multitudinous crowds
that flock round Signor Starritz !" I give it
up ! for if I go on, I shall only read of Starritz'
bonnets, Starritz' caps and yet, after all.
u
(Smiling and rising.) How can on^ be angry ?
No ! whoever's this new puppet mover, success
to him for his impudence.
EmiL f Within.) Sir ! Admiral ! 'Uyiffl*
A dm. Project. (Turning and expecting to see
Mrs. Straightlace.^
Emily. (Within.) Here ! a poor prisoner !
quick ! the door ! look under the door ! i^WA
Adm. Project. (Rapidly approaching the door.)
A prisoner ! and this hasty writing in pencil '
(snatches it up and reads) " Only a moment to
state, what may seem most extraordinary, but I,
Emily, niece to Col. Eccentric, being bound
within one twelvemonth from the day of his
decease to marry a Man of Fashion, or his whole
fortune devolving to his cousin Matilda Straight-
Jace, she has purposely locked me up ; and having
no lover and the time expiring to-morrow"
Most extraordinary ! poor girl ! but however,
now I do know how to amuse myself. Extra-
ordinary with a vengeance ! if ever I give up
this and to-morrow ! soon ! however I wont
give this up. No, poor girl ! I'll fight, hunt
unkennel, (Trying to open the door without,
effect.)
Emily. ( Within.) In vain ! and listen ! If 4
could escape, where in so short a time, where
shall I find a husband ? v6iw?A
Adm. Project. Where find a husband ? hftjit
much money did the colonel leave ? v.t
Emily. (Within) Fifty thousand pounds.
Adm. Project. Then I'll find you as many bus-
13
bands ! of at any rate, one ; and of the right
sort ! for sooner than the old fox shall win the
chace, d n me but I'll marry you myself! mum *
sombody's coming.
Re-enter Nicholas.
Nich. Sir, my mistress, notwithstanding her
respect for your brother and nephew, the two
worthy Mr. Projects, begs you'll instantly quit
her house.
Adm. Project. The worthy Mr. Projects I
what, the speculator ! Old Mammon has found
out she's to get fifty thousand pounds.
Nich. She get fifty thousand pounds !
Adm. Project. No, she shan't get them ! for
I'm off to the neighbouring sea-port ; where I've
more than one string to my bow j since, if I don't
find a Man of Fashion, why I can make one !
ha, ha ! you understand ril not be long.
Nich. Long ! Why you're not coming back !
Adm. Project. I am ; and tell your mistress,
though not her husband, I may be somebody
else's husband, and I shan't make a bad one !
for what with chacing the enemy abroad, and the
fox at home, my wife will have very little of my
company ! so know all of ye, ( Loudly ^ and near
Emily^s door) I shall soon be back I, the
sporting Admiral On sea or on shore, hark,
forward! Huzza! Tallehoi \^Exeiint,
"iili
14
SClENE. J Street in a Seaport Town. Hotel
at the wing. Sea in the centre^ and a Sailing
Match seen on it One Vessel passes the others.
^' Shouting without y " Mercury; Huzza! for the
Mercury r u^- !^;j ^
Enter Young Project, much agitated,
Y. Proj. Confusion to the Mercury ! the
Town! myself! and the whole bewildering scene!
Where shall I go? who apply to? For if my
father finds me out to be sure I've one chance
-he's not arrived from London and being a
stranger here none of them knowing my
name -)itit3>9fli^;>iil xnoit b^/iinju ^ qiriJ swo^
i^,( Voice witholit, Mr. Project f Mr. Project. )s^
^ Y. Proj. They do, though I'm off. No i
stop is'nt that my partner, Pouncely's clerk?
It is. {Enter Jeremy.) Oh, Jeremy ! it's you,
Jeremy ?
Jeremy, Ay, Mr. Project, and who do you
think Tve just met? who but your uncle, the
Admiral.
Y. Proj. My uncle !
. Jeremy. Even so. And he and your father
not being on good terms, I thought perhaps
you'd wish to keep out of his way you can't
'h^re he is.
' Y. Proj. That my uncle! Though we hav'nt
met since I was a boy, I remember I was then
his favourite 5 and in my present pleasant predi-
15
Cament, if I could but take courage I will 1*11
venture -I'll throw myself on his candour, and
if that fail, I can but throw myself into the sea.
Go, Jeremy, and if my father unexpectedly ar-
rive, say you left me at the old work, coaxing
a customer.
(Jeremy exit, awe? Y. Project walks up the stage.)
Enter Admiral hastily, and not seeing him.
Adm. Project. Plague on't when I asked an
old acquaintance where I could start a man of
rank or fashion, he asked me if I had heard of
my trading brother, and his more trading son,
starting a new country bank here? It seems
young Chip is arrived from Threadneedle Street,
and old Block will soon follow. Let them and
let me follow my speculation. (Going, suddeidy
stops; Once I had once hopes of the boy
but I find Cocker and compting house have so
altered and perverted him
Y. Project, not having heard him, comes forward.
Y. Proj. Your blessing. Uncle.
Adm. Project. Uncle! You?
Y. Proj. I ' Your once lov'd nephew.
; Adm. Project. Begone! I have heard of your
conduct, sir your altered conduct.
Y. Proj. Have you, uncle? then think if my
father should hear of it Lord ! the very thought
- in a word, uqcle, can you lend me two hun*
dred pounds? r'^-"^-?
Adm, Project. I lend ! ^i^ii ?^iiiH>v4 8T
16
!. F. ProJ. Do, pray, uncle; for that's the exact
sum I brought down for business, and its all
gone in pleasure; all lost on sailing matches,
gricket matches
Jdm. Project. Lost! s,
Y. Proj. [melancholy and embarrassed) Lost^
And for the last three months I don^t know what
has possessed me : but after father had gone to
bed, it oftei^ struck me to go to the Opera, and
after that to clubs and coffee-houses: and once,
when he thought I was all day attending a policy
G^use at Guildhall, where should I find myself
but betting the long odds at the Derby.
. Adm. Project, At the Derby !
' Y. Proj. I could'nt help it and I won; and
out of my winnings I bought a hunter. [Admiral
starts) Don't be angry, uncle; I've been but at
one foxchace; but then think of the sport
think of the breaking cover; hounds, horses,
huntsmen, all mad! I darting past the whole
field, n)ounting steeple high, dashing in at the
death, huzzaing with the brush. Look'ye.
uncle, I am above imposing on you; I wont rob
you, by borrowing these two hundred pounds,
for as I feel I shall never stand behind the
compter without blushing, or cast up the ledger
without blubbering, so I'll hide myself (Going.)
Adm, Project. Where ? A
Y. Proj, Heaven knows : but
Adm. Project. I know; here; hide yourself
in my arms. I always liked you in my heart,
boy ; bijt now, (eyeing him all over) my jockey
17
wrist, close stile of sitting, and joyous Talleho ! I
warrant ! fEmbrachig him.)
Y. Project. Why, uncle ! nay, you're jesting !
Adm. Project. I'm not, you sly, roguish,
agreeable ! but go on, confess your other pranks.
' Love ! what sport in love, Tom ?
Y. Project. None ! I'm a novice there, uncle.
Adm, Project, (smacking him on the back.)
Then, there, I'll finish you ! and the modern
high road to high life : at Homes, Fetes, Waltz,
Balls, Suppers ! did you ever give ? (Y. Project
shakes his Head.) then to-night you shall invite
the whole town ! do'nt be surpriz'd: your great
people of the law, and of the City, eat their way
to fame ; your people of fashion get their fame
by making others eat ! Landlord ! Waiter !
(going to the door of the Hotel and ringing the
bell violently.) (if nv.
Y. Project. Stop I know nobody.
Adm. Project. The supper'll make you known !
House ! Landlord ! (Landlord and Waiter
enter.) Where's the List of Subscribers to your
Assembly Room ? (Landlord looks at him con-
sequentially.) Go ! bring the book directly.
Landlord. (Haughtily.) I bring ! what for ?
Adm. Project. This ! (Shewing bank notes.)
Landlord. Go fly George ! (to Waiter, ivht
Exit.) Any thing else, your honour ? '""
Adm. Project. Plenty this gentleman, just
arrived from India, a young nabob, wishes to
celebrate his return by giving to night, at your
rooms, a grand entertainment ! and for his mor
IS
tive, perhaps 'tis to please the ladies ; perhaps
to please the Corporation. > -^
Landlord. Oh! our future member ! "n
Adm, Project. Very likely ! and to insure his
success, every thing must be as novel and as
splendid. (Music and singing within the hofeU
" Donne, Donne ! chiy &'c." From the Italian
air beginning with those words.) Ha ! I guess
who that is ; for in my way here, I heard he had
just landed from the French packet : it's no less
than the long talk'd of, Signor Starritz ! now,
Landlord, if we could have his first appearance !
Landlord. Oh ! that we could I would my-
self pay Signor Starritz, only to take horses ; but
'twas a mistake, from over anxiety ; he's not
landed.
A dm. Project. Now, who's this, then ?
Landlord. A poor Polish emigrant ; who,
having fail'd as music teacher in London, is com-
pell'd to return to his own country : and my
wife, having given him and his three children
some refreshment, he is singing and playing to
her out of gratitude.
Admiral Project. Poor fellow ! and he's not
known ? no nor now I think on't, is Signor
Starritz known. Ha, ha, ha ! 'twere excellent !
I'll try, show me to him, then bring List of
Subscribers, then issue cards of invitation to
every one of them ! Tom, you shall alarm the
whole county.
Y. Project. You've alarm'd me ! for though
I've certainly heard of your feats of valour^'^i^'V
19
4. Adm. Project. You never heard of my other
feats ? never knew that from a boy Tve been a
man of the world ; and whilst your father was a
great Muz at Mile-end, I was a little Pickle at
Eton ? Lead on, landlord ; and if you're sur-
pris'd now, Tom, what will you be to-morrow,
when you find yourself married to a girl you
never saw or heard of? Away to frolic, fashion,
and fifty thousand pounds ! \_Exeunt into Holel.if
,won 'SCENfi ^ Street in the Town. ^^
.Enter Old Project arid a Stage-coacuman.
*; &
. O. Project. So, I'm a day earlier than I exr"
pected ', and now for my two speculations, the
new bank, and the charming Mrs. Straightlace,
with Emily's half a plumb! (Turns to Coachman.)
There, coachman, for your fare from London,
and something handsome overs there's a one
pound note, payable at our new country bank,
only thirty-one days after sight. .^
(Pi^oducing and offering it.)\
, Coachman. Sight ! psha ! cash ' cash ! And
if, as they say, you're related to Admiral Pro^
ject. But it can't be ,?
O. Project. Can't be ! why ?
^ Coachman. Because, t'other day, when he,
old Lord Tantivy, and Parson Supple, were out
hunting on the Downs, they overtook my coach ^
and I, pointing out which way the fox went,
the Admiral gave me this guinea look ! Talk
20
of bills of sight ! Did you ever see such a sight
as this ? (Showing the guinea. y
(Passengers without.) Coachman ! coachman !
Coachman. You hear, (to Old Project.) If
your customers choose to wait, mine won't.
so, (holding out his hand.) Cash !
O. Project. Well, since you've no commercial
confidence, there it is, and a three shilling piece
over. s^
Coachman. A three-shilling piece ! Come,
that's good ! and as this is paying me properly,
thank'ye. [^Exit. j?
O. Project. It is paying you properly, for it's
bad Ha, ha ! And for my guinea-giving, bul-
lion-boasting brother, why (pausing and looking
grave.) I don't half like his being in the neigh-
bourhood. Perhaps he comes to renew his ad-
dresses to Mrs. Straightlace,to attempt to cut me
out. What ! am I again jealous ? no, Matilda
has eyes ; and, suspicious of her, 1 suspect my-
self. So to-night for Tom and money matters j.
to-morrow for love and the Hermitage. [Going.
Enter Jeremy hastily.
Jeremy, Oh, Mr. Project ! how lucky you are
come a day sooner than expected ! For the
"vtrhole town is in commotion ; and my master,
Mr. Pouncely, being out of the way, suddenly
summoned to the quarter sessions.
O. Project. Aye, but my sort, young Steady:
I warrant Tom's at his post. "^ ' '
ft
"^ Jeremy. No, sir, he's out of the way too.
O. Project. He dar^i't ! or if he is, he's only
after new customers.
'"^ J&remy. Very likely, but he's not after the
right customer; the rich stranger, the young
nabob, who to-night gives a grand ball, concert,
and supper. Every body's pushing for his cus-
tom I and out of the three old established bank-
ers, I know to a certainty two are already put-
ting on their best clothes.
O. Project. (Eagerly and. anxiously.) They're
not, Jeremy.
Jeremy. They are. But don't be afraid ; for
Mr. Pouncely, as subscriber, having this card
sent him (producing it) what's very odd, but
very fortunate, this unknown personage, this
strange East Indian, is your namesake.
O. Project. (Snatching the card and reading.)
Mr. Project at home ! So it is ! the same name !
but I say, Jeremy, a very different person ; for
were Tom and I ever such cursed fools as to give
balls and suppers ? (Reads on) " music and
Signor Starritz !" he arrived, and I hear his notes,
without costing any of my own ! Til instantly
put on my best clothes, wheedle the young
nabob out of his rupees, crow over my absent
partners, and then (snapping his Jingers) that
Ibr rival admirals, rival bankers ! (Goings Jeremy
stops him. ) t
30
ACT II.
SCENE. Mrs. Straightlace's Garden ; her
House i a Window, with Iron Bars before it.
Enter the Admiral and Young Project.
p
},jr. Project. So, here we are ; but I am still
afraid.
Adm. Project. What ! after Starritz ! Afraid,
after the little Pole ! I can't help laughing ; but
he was hardly out of bed, before managers of
concerts and theatres were bidding for him, at
the rate of fifty pounds a soloj and a medical
speculator, wanting to get a name, offered him
one hundred pounds to have a fever, just that
they might duet and quack it in the same bulle-
tin : and then, what we both so dreaded, he
began talking ; but he had scarcely said " quelle
drollerre," before they all exclaimed, " there's
wit ! there's nature !" Ha, ha ! And where's the
harm ? A poor ingenious professor is saved from
ruin, and a whole town amused and enraptured.
F. Project. Aye, but we've so much to do, and
in so short a time; only a few hours to bring
about an elopement, a marriage, and complete
my fashionable title in. To be sure I've got on,
I've played, bought hunters, given parties
31
Adm, Project. So you hare, boy ; but honou'"
duelling ever exchanged shots, Tom ?
Y. Project. Never and if I must, uncle
A dm. Project. [Considering.) Why, I believe,
now-a-days, we rather fight for real fame, fair
promotion, and so on. We don't fight for no-
thing no that's out. But another thing but
money matters owe a little ? [In an encourag-
ing tone.)
Y. Project. [In a melancholy tone.) Not since
you paid the two hundred. No, except a trifle to
a City tavern-keeper, for my share of a Burgundy
and a buffalo hump dinner. I had'n't ready
cash.
Adm. Project. That's in ! For many of my
club, with a clear rentall of twenty thousand
pounds per annum, often can't raise ready money
enough to pay for a sandwich. You'll do and
so-^ f Crossing him to go towards the house. J
Y. Project. (Stopping him J But the City
my place of abode Threadneedle Street
Adm. Project. Psha ! what of that ? Hasn^t
there been long as much fashion in the East as in
the West ? Who sport the best dinners, horses,
and carriages ? Who play as deep at Loyd's as
at Brookes's } And for love and intrigue
hark'ye where Cupid's one day sighing midst
the young beaus in Bond Street, he's twenty
plying 'mongst the old bankers in Lombard
Street. You'll do, I say. And now for your dear,
adorable, unseen Emily. By the prison-like ap-
pearance, that's her window.
y. Project. No doubt, and I presume I'm to
strike her at first sight.
A dm. Project. (Nods assent.) Hist ! Emily,
hist ! (Under the window.)
Y. Project. Hist ! She don't hear. Oh ! if I
could but sing ! but I've no voice.
Adm. Project. Then sing without one, 'tis not
unfasliionable.
TRIO Emily, Admiral Project, onrf Young Project.
y. Project.
Adm. Project.
Y. Project.
Adm. Project.
Both.
Fair unknown,
I'm all tender love and passion;
Oh ! look down
On a sighing man of fashion !
Passion !
Fashion !
Oh, look down
On a sighing man of fashion.
Emily (at window) So I'll creep,
Borne by hope and various passion.
Thus to peep '^
A.t the sighing man of fashion !
She's divine !
What, so soon, bewitching, charming !
Oh, be mine!
This sudden love's quite alarming!
I'll prove most true.
That's somewhat new !
I'm wild to know !
My blushes spare ;
But, if I dare,
I'd not say No !
She'll not say No !
Hush! Hush! I hear
The Widow near :
Y. Project.
Adm. Project.
Y. Project.
Adm. Project.
Y. Project.
Adm. Project.
Y. Project.
Emily.
Adm. and Y. Proj.
Emily.
Fly, swiftly fly!
Good by ! good by !
But, trust to me,
I'll set you free :
We'll enter straight
Your prison gate.
She'll still oppose
Adm. and Y. Proj. Away ! dispatch !
We'll win the match !
And make the match,
And be a match.
For all Love's foes.
All. Away! dispatch!
&c. &c.
Adm. arid Y. Proj.
Adm. Project.
Y. Project.
Emily.
{Exeunt.
SCENE. An Apartment zwMrs.Straightlace's
Villa, The same as Scene I. Act I.
Enter Mrs. Straightlace. , ,,^ .
Mrs. S. f All exultation, and speaks rapidly).
My prisoner's safe; and the wish'd-for 'day
arrived at last. Oh, in the words of my " Chaos
come again," " I've made assurance doubly
sure." By the by, that thought being also in
Shakspeare, I must omit it in my second and
following editions. (Begins unbarring and un-
locking the door.) Now for my daily, and my
last visit. [Leads out Emily.) So, the time
expires to-night, and secure from a fashionable
husband, be more than ever grateful to that
friend, who has thus secluded and preserved you.
Emily. Am I preserved? is danger over.? I
doubt it at least if dreams prove true, aunt.
Mrs. S. Dreams ! What dreams }
34
Emily. Why, I dreamt that a brave noble
gentleman brought with him a young fashionable
lover J who look'd at me, and smil'd ; and I look'd
at him, and smil'd again ! and, but for your
cruel iron bars, I should by this time have been
that is I dreamt I should have been an un-
grateful happy married woman !
Mrs. S. You dream of marriage ! how dare
you take such a liberty ? (Emily smiles) and
that alter 'd manner, and those arch-confident
looks ! Why, Nicholas !
Enter Nicholas hastily.
Nich. Here I am, ma'am, and so frighten'd !
first, here's this letter, from Mr. Project
senior.
Mrs. S. From my intended ! (Immediately
reading it.) " I write these few lines to state
that, if you have renew'd your attachment for
the Admiral, as he seems to insinuate, I'm above
intruding; but if you are still constant, two
minutes conversation will oblige your still
devoted O. Project."
Emily. Lord ! is old Mr. Project jealous of
you, aunt ?
Mrs. S. Peace, girl ! and go, Nicholas, go
and assure Mr. Project, that this false Admiral
shall never shew his face under my roof.
Nich. Indeed 1 then you must look sharp
about you, ma'am ; for just now, I saw him and
35
a gay young spark loitering round the garden
gate.
Mrs. S. (Turning, all rage, to Emily.^ So
your dream is true ! Heav'ns ! where could he
hear ? but no matter away, Nicholas tell Mr.
Project I'm all constancy and truth and whilst
I myself guard and secure her in the chamber>
you lock the outer door and take the key (Exit
Nicholas.) In, miss, in ! and whoever is this
unknown Colin, you may as well at once give
him up.
Emily. Never !
SONG. OW wards.
Never till now, I felt love's dart.
Guess who it was that stole my heart,
'Twas he alone, if you'll believe me ; v
In spite of all my friends could say, >^.
Young Colin stole my heart away !
If 'tis joy to wound a lover,
' "" How much more to give him ease !
When his passion we discover.
Oh ! how pleasing 'tis to please.
In spite of all my friends could say.
Young Colin stole my heart away !
\_Exeunt into the chamber Mrs. Straight-
lace heard bolting and barjing the door
^ ' after her.
Enter the Admiral and Young ProjectV
Adm. Project. You hear !^ poor old Nicholas
is locking us in. ' *f' >t
Y. Project. He is and thinks he is locking
us out ! but though we've given him the shp,
uncle remember, Time flies.
Adm. Project. So do we ! and as a proof,
instantly for our little fifty thousand pounder !
(Tries the door.) Of course, still barr'd ! and
therefore we^U just (Looking through the key-
hole) there she is, poor girl ! weeping ! and by
her side yes the old Fox ! Soho ! I'll have
her out.
Y. Project. In vain ! You'll only rouse,
incense. ^
Adm. Project. Be quiet ! don't she expect
her dear intended ?
Y. Project. And what then ?
Adm. Project. Why then, if in his name I can
coax her out, and detain her, till you prepare
Emily for the true hark forward !
Y. Project. (Joyfully.) I see, I understand !
Adm, Project. You do! then mark, {Tap-
ping at the door.) Within there ! 'tis I, Mr.
Project senior ! [Imitating Old Projects voice.)
1, your intended ! She's coming ! I, your dear,
darling, doating She's opening the door !
now, Tom !
Mrs. S. (Opening door, and speaking as she
enters.) Oh ! I'm so glad you're come, Mr.
Project ! (enters) and as to that rude boisterous
old Admiral how ! you here ! (seeing Ad-
miral, and at the same instant Young Project
rushes behind her into the apartment) there !
mercy ! a man rush into Emily's apartment 1
but I'll follow ! catch
37
i^dm. Project, f Taking her hand and detain-
ing her.) Oh Matilda ! long parted, shall I again
lose you ? (She tries to break from him) No !
thus and thus ! thou sole, lovely, adorable ! (still
holding her, and kneeling, between her and the
door.)
.V Enter Old Project hastily.
^.O. Project. Here I am, widow !
Adm. Project. (Kissing Mrs. Straightlace's
hand.) And here we are, bachelor !
Mrs. S'. (Breaking from the Admiral.^ Mr,
Project, 'tis all a conspiracy ! he came to carry off
Emily, and that you may be satisfied, see !
(pointing to the apartment) why now I look
again ! 'tis your son ! only (smiling satisfac-
torily) your amiable son !
O. Project. Certainly, only my amiable son !
Mrs. S. Then I defy you, sir ! (To the Ad-
miral^ he may carry her off! for he's no legal
title ! he's not a man of fashion.
O. Project. Why that's true, (brightening up)
and though he may try, he can't, in the time, get
a fashionable name ; so he may carry her off.
Adm. Project. (Running to the door.) You.
hear !
Enter Young Project and Emily.
Emily. "We do ! and thank'ye, aunt !
Y. Project. And thank you, first cousin i
(speaking affectedly, spying and strutting as in
former scene ^
Mrs. S. [Looking at Young Project with
alarm and astonishment^ This ! heavens ! this
the same correct I retract I [going to take
hold of 'Emily.)
Adm. Project. [Coming between her a/zfi Emily.)
But, Emily, don't retract, and observe first he
goes to operas, clubs, and the Derby next, he
buys a hunter, and is in at the death ; then he
gives a party, that^s to cost him and partners
hundreds, and now he elopes, and not in the old
hacknied style, by stratagem, bribery and dis-
guise, but openly ! before your faces ! and mind,
you're both witness to his fashionable achieve-
ments, and if you like sport, follow, and we'll
shew you plenty.
Y. Project. Plenty.
\_Exeunt Emily, Admiral Project and
Young Project.
Mrs. S. He is! by his whole style of ease and
impudence, I know he's fashionable stop him,
Mr. Project !
O. Project. I will. Nicholas!
Mrs. S. Away (Old Project exit) and un-
known to all, ril seek Mr. Pouncely. Oh ! this
is forestalling my poem Chaos is come again !
\Exit.
\ I
39
SCENE. A Road leading into the Town-,
PouNCELY^s House-door, and Windows.
Enter- in great haste. Admiral Project, Young
Project, and Emily.
- Adm. Project. (Puffing, and fanning himself
with his hat.) A smart brush ! but Nicholas
and the old gentleman are completely at fault.
(Hits Young Project on the shoulder.) Don't
tremble and look sheepish : 'tis a flaw in your
title Pheugh !
Y. Project. If I do tremble, 'tis for poor
Emily. See !
[Emily shows symptoms of being exhausted.
Emily. I shall bebetter soon. ( More overcome)
Adm. Project. Why! what! you're not
going to faint } Don't, my dear girl ! (patting
her hand) don't, for my sake.
Emily. The alarm ! fatigue! But on, lead on!
Adm. Project. Aye, on to the little parson j
on to honest Supple.
Emily. I will. So! (Tries to proceed, but
cannot, and reclines 07z Young Project's shoulder.)
Y. Project. There ! What^s to be done now ?
Adm. Project. (Half crying.) I could faint
myself! She'll be overtaken ! caught ! No cover !
(Seeing the house, and going to knock, the door
immediately opens, and enter Jeremy.^
Y. Project. Jeremy !
1^
Jeremy, Mr. Project !
Y. Project. How fortunate ! for, in my part-
ner's absence, you'll oblige me, friend Jeremy,
by giving us house-room, just to revive the young
lady.
Jeremy. By all means ! pray walk in.
s y^rfm.Pro/e'cL Thank'ye, friend Jeremy ! And,
to oblige me, Emily, (taking her hand) be soon
ready for another start : she will ! and mean-
time ril go prepare the little parson and return.
(Young Project leads in Emily, folloxved by
Jeremy.) I'll not be long ; and my groom,
who I sent express on my best hunter for the
licence, he'll not be long. No, sweet girl ! be-
fore twelve to-night, we'll toast, " Success to
love's true lord of the manor. Hymen, and con-
fusion to all old poachers and interlopers."
\^Exit.
Myiter Pouncely, conducting in Mrs. Straight-
lace, who is muffled vp in a calash and long
cloak.
Mrs. S. (Turning away her head.) Spare me,
Mr. Pouncely j so long since I've ventur'd from
the Hermitage ! and, haply, to be seen by him
*' who doats, yet doubts."
Pouncely. And spare me ! or rather, don't
spare me ! Tell me more of Emily's elope-
ment, of my partner's giving balls. Curse those
dilatory quarter-sessions ! Which way did they
go ? who pursued them ?
Mrs, S. Only Mr. Project and Nicholas.
41
*' Founcely. Snails ! superannuated snails ! But
I I'll rouse the posse comitatis ! call up all my
servants ! stir up every thing above and under-
ground, before they shall nonsuit Paul Pouncely !
(knocks at the door) Within there ! Jeremy !
Jonathan ! [Enter Jeremy.^ Now follow me in
search of the fugitives, in search of Young
Project and
i Jeremy, Young Mr. Project ! why he's here,
sir !
Pouncely. What ! in my house ?
Jeremy. And with him a young lady, so over-
come with fatigue !
Mrs. S. 'Tis Emily ! Oh, my dear Mr.
Pouncely !
Pouncely. And oh, my dear Mrs. Straight-
lace! [half embracing.) I wouldn't have lost
her for five thousand pounds! call the plaintiff!
till the clock strikes twelve, we've only to
lock them both in.
Mrs. S. No they can't escape now ! poor
heiress !
Pouncely. Poor man of fashion ! come (strut-
ting and offering his hand.)
Mrs. S. I would but alone^ in an unmar-
ried man's house I and of whom Mr. Project
was once jealous I
Pouncely. Psha ! and, at the worst, if you
should lose your intended, haven't you a rare
corps-de-reserve ? (Here Admiral Project re-
enters behind and stops.) In fifty thousand pounds
won't old Admiral Project see fifty thousand
charms? Mum ! half-pay mum !
[Exit into the house with Mrs. Straightlace.
Adm. Project. (Coming forward.) Old Ad-
miral, and half-pay ! Why what familiar, full-
pay scoundrers this ? And that muffled up fe-
male ! Surely 'tis not the widow ! If it be ! if
the mild Matilda has stolen from her den !
(Knocks at the door.) They're a long time
coming ! (Instantly repeating knocks.) I don't
dislike a little hot water but too much of a
good thing! However, I'll be calm, cool.
(Knocks again violently.) Zounds ! am I to be
kept here all night ?
Pouncely. (Opening the window over tfie
door.) Who's there ?
Adm. Project. Don't you see ? I, Admiral
Project.
Pouncely. It is Is it ? beware ! good
night.
Adm. Project. Beware ! of what ?
Pouncely. Not of steel traps and spring guns,
for I'm one who don^t need them ! \_sfretches his
headforwardy and speaks loudly.) I'm a lawyer !
beware ! good night ! (hastily shutting down
the wi.ndoiv and exit.)
Adm. Project. So, this is an antagonist ! a
lawyer ! well, having all possible awe for his
profession, I'll I'll plague on't what ! what
shall I do now ? (in a desponding crying tone.)
[During the latter part of this speechy
Young Project has been seen descending
from the zvindow ; here he lights on the
stage, and spinning round, comes sud-
denly against Admiral Project, who
dont at first know him.
Tom! my dear boy, where do you come
from ?
Y. Project. The clouds ! and I'm there still !
I recollect nothing.
A dm. Project. What ! not of Emily ?
Y. Project. Oh, yes ! I can't forget her !
watch'd, guarded by her old gaoler ; poor girl !
I've seen the last of her unless but 'tis
hopeless ?
Adm. Project. What !
Y. Project. Why, before " Pouncely and Co."
could hustle me into one room, and force Emily
into another, I told her we would attempt some-
thing : what that something is to be, Heav'n
knows ! but I*d just time to prepare her for the
signal.
Adm. Project. And what was the signal ?
Y. Project. Rattling of pebbles against her
window.
Adm. Project. Rattling against her window !
and where is her window ?
Y. Project. There, (pointing off) tow'rds
the garden ! but it won't do and if it weren't
for the loss of her, I shoud'n't mind 1 for. Lord !
Lord ! (puffing himself J what a fag it is to be
fashionable !
/
44^
Adm. Project. But I say it will, and it shall
do ! (taking out his watch.) We've an hour left,
a whole hour ! this isn't my first match against
Time ! and with Emily for the stake, sha'n't I
again beat him hollow ? come on ! a race is
nothing, unless 'tis neck to neck ! I'm still the
favourite ! Seven to four, the blue against the
black. "The Admiral against John Doe and
Mistress Roe !" [Exeunt.
SCENE. An Apartment in Pouncely's House ;
large window Curtains drawn; Table with
lighted Candles on it ; Chairs ; Window opens
to a French Balcony.
Enter Pouncely, Mrs. Straightlace, and
Emily.
Mrs. S. (Embarrassed) Nay, Mr. Pouncely,
you of the modern school have no idea of pri-
mitive punctilio !
Pouncely. I tell you, old Project and old Ni-
cholas are far off; both of them knock'd up or
asleep, or so, as we can't part, as none of us
can stir out of this room till the clock strikes
twelve, suppose to while away the dark Decem-
ber hour, Emily sings a song ? come, and then
ril tell a story. (Draws a chair for himself and
artofher for Mrs. S. They both sit.) Come,
begin.
N.
45
Mrs. S. (To Emily, who shows reluctance.)
Aye, instantly ! or
SONG.--i%.
Of lovers parted.
Torn, broken-hearted)
The sad disastrous fate, oh ! pity and deplore ye!
Fair Ella met a knight,
Who lov'd her at first sight ;
But soon as he had pleas'd her.
Two evil spirits seiz'd her !
Methinks I see them now in dread array before me !
I see ! I see !
Two evil spirits now in dread array before me !
Weeping, complaining.
No hope remaining,
The knight at length exclaira'd : " As sure as I adore thee,
I'll combat Against their pow'r.
And ere the midnight hour.
The spirit, black Legalkin^
And the red witch, Grimalkin !
Methinks I see them now in dread array before me !
Yes, yes, I see
Black spirit, and red witch, in dread array before me!
Mrs. S. Speak ! who do you mean by the red
witch ?
Pouncely. And who by the black ? But, no !
the song can't be personal, because her cavalier
wants somebody to attempt his rescue 3 isn't he
there [Pointing off) closely guarded by honest
Jeremy ? So now for my story : " A silly country
attorney," mine's not personal, you see, ** kept a
46
clerk, who us*d to say, at last, master, you'll be
caught in your own trap.*'
Jeremy. (Without.) Mr. Pouncely! Mr.
Pouncely !
Pouncely. (Rising.) Why, zounds ! there's
my clerk ! What's the matter ? surely no acci-
dent ? I'm coming.
Jeremy. (Without.) Mr. Pouncely, I say
Pouncely. Coming, and instantly ! for deuce
is in't if it isn't worth while to watch closely
now ! now, when at the rate of (looking at his
watch) exactly two thousand pounds a minute !
[^Exit.
Mrs. S. (Rising.) Right, Mr. Pouncely.
Emily. Oh reflect. Aunt. Have I done any
thing to mar your marriage ?
Mrs. S. Every thing ; for but for you,
would the jealous Mr. Project have found me
with the Admiral ? But for you, should I have
left my Hermitage, and risked its being even
whisper'd I had been seen entering a bachelor's
doors at midnight ?
Emily. True, my dear Aunt ; but did I wish
you to enter his doors ?
Mrs. S. No, my dear niece ; but having long
guarded you in one house, could I resist seeing
you safe in another ? And you are safe ; and my
susceptible suitor far off j I may at length ex-
claim with a brother poet,
" Whilst your star sinks, mine mounts above the skies ."
O. project. (Without,) Holloa ! Where are
ye all ?
47
Mrs. S. There ! support ! assist ! f Almost
fainting in Emili/s arms.) No ! whilst iVe
power (instantly rallying) first let me secure
you ! in, enter this closet.
Emily. (Half aside.) Any where ! for since
no signal at the window's made
Mrs. S. In, I say ! [Emily enters and Mrs. S.
bolts the door.) And now, is there no skreen I no,
this curtain ! Oh character ! character ! how hard
it is to support thee. (Goes behind the curtain.)
Enter Old Project.
O. Project. Mad ! they're all mad in this
house ! for when almost dropping with fatigue,
I knock'd at the street door, Pouncely and his
servants opened it rush'd out lock'd me in
and gave no other explanation, than that they
were in full pursuit of my runaway son ! as if I
hadn't been in pursuit of him. (Draws a chair
and sits in it.) And so worn, jaded, and tired
out in the service, that, aw, aw ! (i/awning)
positively I can scarcely open this eye, no, nor
wag this foot ; and so, as they're not so knock'd
up or so sleepy I I'll get Tom and Emily out of
my head, aw, aw 1 and dream only of Matilda
dear, constant Matilda ! (Falls asleep.)
Mrs. S. (Peeping from behind the curtain.) Is
he asleep ? He's fast now I so, I'm off, unseen,
un (As she is cautiously coming from be hind the
.curtain, a rattling of stones is heard against the
ivindow behind her ; O. Project partly awaken-
ing and raising his head, Mrs. Straightlace,
notzvithstanding her fright, is obliged to reti^eat
behind the curtain again, but suddenly stops.)
Mercy ! a man's hand 1
Adm. Project. (Coming instantly forward from
behind the curtain, and not seeing Mrs. Straight-
lace, who stands trembling against the back scene.)
Emily ! Emily! (In a low tone.)
Emily. (Within the closet.) Here ! here !
Adm. Project. Thanks ! (Opening closet door,
eind leading out Emily.) Away, run to the
balcony ! your lover is waiting with a ladder
Parson Supple's license and witnesses are all
ready at the church porch ! fly ! there's yet
time ! (Emily kisses his hand all gratitude.)
Now, who'll spoil our sport now ? (As Emily is
rushing behind the curtain, Mr. Straightlace
advances and seizes her.)
Mrs. S. I ! help ! help me to detain her !
Adm. Project. 'Tisn't you she'd detain, Emily.
{Releases^MihY , and takes hold of Mrs. Straight-
face's hand,) 'tis me ! her dear charming !
Mrs. S. Help ! help ! f During this Emily
escapes behind the curtain, and Mrs. Straight-
lace seeing her, a?id struggling in vain to get free
from Admiral Project, faints, and is caught by
Admiral Project in his arms at the same in-
stant Old Project, awakened by the noise, starts
up, and stands aghast Pouncely at the same
time re enters.
Q. Project. (Pointing to M|is. Straightlace
49
in Admiral Project's arms.) There they are
again !
Mrs. S. (Immediately breaking from the Ad-
miral) Barbarian ! brute ! but Emily ! [Almost
breathless) there ! that window !
Pouncely. Escap'd ! I'll follow ! seize-
Adm. Project. [Standing between him and the
windozf.) Beware ! and for your services mum,
. not even half-pay ; mum !
Pouncely. Gone ! how ? when ?
Mrs. S. Now ! this moment !
Pouncely. What! only this moment! and
this dark night, still to find lover, parson ? Let
her go 'tis too late for know, the church clock
is on the point of striking twelve.
Adm. Project. 'Tis not !
Pouncely. It is ! (Church clock strikes one).
Hark! There's music !
Admiral Project. (All anxiety^ listens and
counts.) Not not twelve ! (Church clock con-
tinues striking^ but at intervals of some length.)
Pouncely. (Speaking rapidly.) Twelve the
5th of October past and this the 6th, being a
^ay that brings with it joy, riches. Many happy
returns to you, widow I (she all exultation) To
you, partner ! (Old Project all exultation) and
to you. Admiral !
Adm. Project. (Still counting the clock.) Ten,
eleven! is there no hope? {runs up the stage.)
Tom ! Emily ! {Clock having struck for the last
time.) Twelve ! Confusion ! I'll struggle to the
60
last ! I'll rush tear {violently throzmng aside
the window curtains).
[Enter instantly, and triumphantly, from
the Balcony, Emily, Young Project,
Lord Tantivy, Sir Tim Twaddle, Ad-
miral Project's Groom, and another
Servant, all with their hats on, and large
white favours in them bells ringing a
merry wedding peal,
Y. Project. The match is ours won to a mi-
nute ; and if you want more evidence, peep
through the iron rails, and ask the little parson
for the certificate. Bless the 5th of October,
say I.
Adm. Project. Many happy returns. {Bowing
to Mrs. Straightlace and Pouncely).
Y. Project. {Also bowing round them, and lead-
ing w/7 Emily.) Mrs. Project, wife to the fashion-
able Mr. Project.
Adm. Project. (Tb O. Project.) And fashion,
meaning fifty thousand pounds, what say you,
brother ?
O. Project. Why, that it alters the case !
Tom, your hand.
Mrs. S. Mr. Project !
Adm. Project. Nay, 'tis all settled j and I trust,
that we who do our cjluty in time of war, may,
in time of peace, hunt out such amusement as
will promote the public stock of harmless plea-
sure.
THE END.
AVfaittiDgbam and KowUnd, Printer*, Goswell Street, London.
'1
THE FARO TABLE;
Cfie iilttattjians:
A COMEDY.
PRICE THREE SHILLINGS.
PLAYS LATELY PUBLISHED.
1. BERTRAM ; or, the CASTLE of St. ALDOBRAND, a Tragedy,
in Five Acts. Now performing at the Theatre in Drury Lane.
By the Rev. R. C. Maturin, 7th Edition, Svo. 4s. 6d.
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William Lamb j the Epilogue by Thomas Moore, Esq. Third
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THE FARO TABLE;
OR,
THE GUARDIANS.
A COMEDY.
NOW PERFORMING AT THE THEATRE.ROYAL,
Bturp^iCane*
BY THE LATE
JOHN TOBIN, ESQ.
AUTHOR OF THE HONEY MOON, CURFEW, &C,
ILotttion:
PRINTED FOR JOHN MURRAY,
ALBEMARLE-STREET.
1816.
;a jaAT OHAl 3HT
^MAIaiIAU^
laMUD
/s.
PROLOGUE.
WRITTEN BY E. PEACOCK, ESQ.
Beyond the hopes and fears of earlier days.
The frowns of censure, and the smiles of praise.
Is he, the Bard, on whose untimely tomb.
Your favour bade the Thespian laurel bloom.
Though late the meed that crown'd his minstrel strain,
It has not died, and was not given in vain.
If now our hopes one more memorial rear.
To blend with those that live un withering here.
If on that tomb, where genius sleeps in night.
One flower expands to bloom in lingering light.
Flower of a stem which no returning spring.
Shall clothe anew with buds and blossoming.
Oh ! yet again the votive wreath allow
To grace his name, which cannot bind his brow j
And while our tale the scenic maze pursues.
Still prove kind Guardians to his orphan muse.
.tarn hl".c:m5tn norrt 'mi^ .v
DRAMATIS PERSONiE.
Barton, Sometimes disguised as Levi - - - - Mr. Dowton.
Lord Filligree --.->._-_- Mr. S. Penley.
Sedgemore - ---------- Mr. Wallack.
Waverly ------------ Mr. Rae.
Hint - -----_--_-_- Mr. Harley.
Sapling - ----------- Mr. Oxberry.
Nab, a Bailiff, ---- Mr. Minton.
Robert, Servant to Lady Nightshade - - - - Mr. Coveney.
Servant to Waverley --------- Mr. Ebsworth.
Servant to Lady Wellgrove ------- Mr. Appleby.
Lady Nightshade --------- Mrs. Harlowe.
Lady Wellgrove --------- Mrs. Davison.
Miss Sedgemore ---------- Mrs. Horn.
Betty ------------- Mrs. Scott.
Servants fyc.
SCENE.^London.
X
a8
1
Cf)e jTaro Cable;
A COMEDY.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
WAVERLY'S CHAMBER.
WavERLY discovered reading.
Wav. Lay you here. (Lays dozen the book. J What
enviable sculls must they have, who read law by way
of recreation ! For my part, whether the fault lies
in my blood or my brains, I can't determine, but I
am sure there's too near a connexion between
them, for me ever to make my head a lumber-room
for the Statutes at Large No, I shall never be
Lord Chancellor, that's clear. (Knocking.)
Enter Servant,
Serv. Mr. Barton, Sir.
Enter BarTON.
Wav. {Aside.) Now for a common-place lecture upon
dissipation and extravagance. These old fellows,
when they forget the relish of pleasure themselves,
endeavour to make it nauseous to every body else. '*
Hah I my dear uncle ! I'm heartily glad to see you
in town.
Bart. That may be. Sir, tho' I don't believe a
word of it ; but I'm not heartily glad to see you. Sir -,
and I don't know. Sir, that I shall ever be heartily
glad to see you again, Sirj I have heard of your
tricks, Sir!
f THE FARO TABLE : [ACT I.
Wav. Very likely. Sir ; I know I've a great many
kind friends.
Bart. An't you a sad young dog. Sir ? Answer
me that ! An't you a sad young dog. Sir ?
JVav. Sad, Sir ! I never was in better spirits in
the whole course of my life.
Bart. Instead of keeping your commons, attend-
ing the courts, and reading Blackstone, you must
dangle after petticoats play at faro with people
of quality and keep your bit of blood for the Ascot
and Epsom Races ! What d'ye think. Sir, all this
will come to ?
Wav. More than I shall be able to pay, uncle,
I'm afraid.
Bart. Prodigal ! Spendthrift ! Rake ! Beggar !
You I mean, Sir !
Wav. I beg pardon, Sir^ I thought you were
talking to yourself.
Bart. Hav'n't I done every thing in my power to
make a man of you ? Didn't I fix you as clerk
with one of the first merchants of the first city in the
universe?
Wav. Yes, Sir, you did ^x me there with a ven-
geance, where I enlarged my ideas of men and man-
ners, by making the grand tour of the sugar-market ;
and improved my health and complexion, by squatting
ten hours a day upon a little high stool, to acquire
the accomplishments of filling up bills of lading, and
copying invoices.
Bart. Well, Sir, wasn't I silly enough to take
you from the counting-house and settle you in the
law?
Wav. Yes, Sir, as you couldn't make me a rum
puncheon or a sugar hogshead, you kindly consented
to transform me into a wig-block !
Bart. A wig-block. Sir ? S'death 1 what d'ye
mean ? -Hav'n't I entered you here of the Tem-
ple?
Wav. Yes, Sir; where having been properly
broke, trained, nicked, cropt, and blooded, I might
SCENE I.] A COMEDY. jl
start for the plate in Westminster Hall : and, after
being distanced the first heat, might sit quietly down
in the third row of pale-faced special pleaders, like a
succession plant in a green-house, waiting till the old
ones drop off.
Bart. Why what do you mean, Sir ? Plant in a
green-house I Hav'n't I taken you handsome cham-
bers ? bought you a noble library of (Looks at
the book-case.) Hey I what the devil's become of all
your books ?
Wav. Gone, Sir!
Bart. Gone ?
Wav. Yes, Sir ; as I always pay the greatest de-
ference to your opinion, you see I have taken the
earliest opportunity of following your advice.
Bart. Following my advice. Sir ?
Wav, Yes, Sir, you recommended me to enlarge
my library.
Bart. Well, Sir ?
Wav. So, I immediately opened a treaty with a
celebrated auctioneer, and in three days they were all
at liberty.
Bart, And this you call enlarging your library ?
Wav. Yes, Sirj indeed they looked so melan-
choly in their state of confinement, that the very
sight of them gave me the blue devils; and as you
know I mean to give up the business, I thought it
advisable to take the earliest opportunity of parting
with my stock in trade,
Bart. Yes, Sir; but I see you havn't parted with
your stock of impudence.
Wav. No, Sir, that's generally the last thing a man
parts with in our profession : but, seriously, my dear
sir, how could you think of confining a steed of my
blood and spirit within the dull inclosures of the
law ?
Bart. Better, sir, than running wild like a colt
about a common ; and, sirrah, your coat will be soon
almost as ragged.
4 ' THE FARO table: ' [ACT I.
Wav. Not if you'll do me a favour, nuncle.
Bart. What is that, prodigal ?
Wav. Lend me five hundred pounds.
Bart. Never, sir : what, make me a partner in
your extravagance ?
Wav. Quite the reverse, my dear sir. You know
I must have the money ; and if I apply to my old
friend Levi, fifty per cent, will be the very lowest:
now, if you were to advance it me, I know you
wouldn't charge me more than five at farthest. Nay,
I shouldn't be at all surprised, if you were to lend it
me for a year or two without any interest at all.
Bart, And what security do you propose ?
Wav, Pooh ! you're too much of a gentleman to
talk of security : isn't my honour a very sufficient
security ?
Bart. Your honour ! Yes, yes, to be sure, when
you an't worth a sixpence, your honour will make a
very pretty dividend among your creditors. Pray,
does your old friend Levi lend you money upon your
honour ?
Wav. Upon my honour he does not.
Bart. And when you made over the reversion of
your fortune to him, did he advance the price of it
upon your honour ?
Wav. No -J but I shall fling him there.
Ba?^t. What, evade the contract ?
Wav. Yes, by shooting myself the day before I
come of age, and have the satisfaction in my dying
moments to think I have cheated a Jew.
Bart. A very pretty Christian consolation, upon
my soul ! However, Sir, I see you are not to be re-
claimed, and my time is too precious to be thrown
away upon incorrigible folly.
Wav. 'Gad that's fortunate, my dear uncle ; for
I have an engagement upon my hands, which I
would not break
JBart. For any thing I suppose, but a horse-race
pr a party at Faro ?
SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 5
Wav. Only walk with me to the end of the next
street, and you shall be convinced I have a better
scheme in my head than either a horse-race or a party
at Faro.
Bart. Shew me a scheme worthy the pursuit of a
man of sense, and
Wav. You'll lend me the five hundred hey !
uncle ? {Exit.)
Bart. What a mixture of folly, levity, and kind-
heartedness. Never steady to any one point 3 always
planning structures, and building castles in the air.
What his present scheme can be, heaven knows.
Still I doubt not but I shall reclaim him. But now
to pay a visit to Lady Nightshade and then for my
profligate ward, Sedgemore his detestable disease of
gaming, I am almost afraid, is incurable j but my
friendship for his deceased father, and my duty as his
guardian, compel me to use any means in my power
to retrieve his honour and preserve his estate. I
have just received a letter from him, in my assumed
character of Moses Levi, the Jew, wherein he in-
forms me he is in present want of two thousand
pounds, and must have it within two days. [Reads.)
" Let me have the money. I care not on what
** terms. Money I want, and money I will have.
** C. Sedgemore. "~Yes, my precious ward, I will, as
Moses Levi, again visit you. Advance you this
money get you in my power punish your folly,
preserve your fortune, or abandon you to folly and
disgrace. (Exit.)
SCENE II. Lady Wellgrove's.
Enter Lady Wellgrove, folbwed by Sapling.
Sap. Why cousin ! cousin Letty, I say, why what
makes you run away from a body so ?
Lady Well. Can't you see I don't like your-com-
pany?
6 THE FAUO table: [act I.
Sap. What do you speak so cross to a body for ?
I'm sure I'm always very civil to you, and would do
any thing to oblige you j but you're always so queer
and so j^rumptious.
Lady Well. Why, you know I've been obliged to
give yoiU up; for, in spite of all ray endeavours to
make you a human creature, you don't make the
least progress towards civilization.
Sap. Why, you don't give me any encourage-
ment.
Lady Well. Not give you any encouragement ? -
Didn't I carry you with me on Saturday night to the
Opera? and didn't you begin snoring in the middle
of Cherubjjii's famous Bravura ?
Sap. I'd a nice nap, that's the truth on't : but
you know I woke time enough to encore it ; and ecod,
I don't see but that's as much as many of your dilli
what-d'ye-call-em ?
Lady Well. Dillitanti ?
Sap. Aye, Dillitanti do.
Lady Well. What, I suppose you would rather
have heard the roaring of a dozen fox-hunters in your
father's great hall ?
Sap. No, no, I don't say that : but dash me if I
wouldn't rather hear our Doll in the country call the
bees together with a poker and warming pan.
Lady Well. Didn't I take you with me to see the new
Comedy ? and didn't you set up such a hideous roar
of laughter, that my Lady Sarcasm asked me if I had
brought; you from Exeter 'Change ?
Sap. Well, I went to laugh, didn*t I? and what
do I care for my Lady Sarcasm, and the rest of your
prim, plaistered, antiquated tabbies ? Ecod they
don't mind to laugh, for fear of cracking their com-
plexions. Hang me, if I think there's one of them
"would gtand a good game of romps ; I should like
hugely to try a few of them at Hunt the Slipper, or
Hot Cockles, or Blindman's Buff.
SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 7
Lady Well. Oh you miracle of elegance I Women
of quality play at Hot Cockles or Blindman's Buff!
Sap. Why not ? where's the use of a woman, if
she's never to move? I'm sure the other night, at
Mrs. Kickshaw's, we sat for half an hour as if all the
life of the company had got into the plates and dishes ;
and after all, there wasn't supper enough for a couple
of camelions. Lord ! lord ! how I did long for a
good large dish of gooseberry fool !
Lady Well. Gooseberry fool ! Oh you monster !
Sap. Yes, gooseberry fool ! What makes you
snub a body so? we shouldn't cross one another be-
fore we're married ; we shall have time enough for
that afterwards.
L^ady Well. Married ! who ever dreamt of such a
thing ?
Sap. Why, if you come to that, I dare say you
have a hundred times.
Lady Well. Not of marrying you tho'.
Sap. Why father said you would marry me. You
know he sent me to town on purpose.
Lady Well. Indeed !
Sap. Why you know he did.
Lady Well. Why, then, take my advice: go home
to father, and tell him, I have sent you back as un-
tamable. Go, retire to your native woods; and if
you are determined to marry, marry a lioness or a
she elephant. Why, how could your father think it
possible, that I should ever marry a creature that's
more awkward than a bear, before he has learnt to
dance, and as mischievous as a monkey, without
being half as entertaining? There ! go along ! Mam-
ma's darling, and father's own son. (Exit.)
Sap. [solus.) My mamma's darling and my father's
own son ! what does she mean by that ? I suppose
that I'm a fool as well as father. Well all this must
be vastly polite, because she*s a woman of high breed-
ing. In the country, perhaps, we should call it rude;
but in London ! Well, let her go {snapping his Jin-
gers) that for her I'm going to dine with some jolly
8 THE FARO table: [ACX I.
boys, at one of the great coffee-houses, and if I don*t
drink confusion to her in a bottle of Burgundy, may I
be poisoned with the first glass. Marry her ! A fig
for her ! (^^'"^O
SCENE III.
Lady Nightshade's.
Enter Waverly and BETTY.
"Betty. Hush ! Hush, Mr. Waverly, for heaven's
sake tread more softly.
Wav. Where's Julia ?
Betty. In her chamber, poor young lady, little
dreaming of the plot they are hatching.
Wav. Who ? what plot ?
Betty. Worse than Gunpowder Treason- it will
make your very hair stand on end.
Wav. Does it concern Miss Sedgemore ?
Betty. You shall hear : -7- You must know I have
long suspected my Lady and Lord Filligree; I thought
their midnight confabulations would end in some-
thing; so knowing they were alone together just now
in the drawing-room, I stole gently up the back stairs,
into the next chamber, and look'd thro' the key-hole:
Great discoveries, you know, have been made by
looking thro' a key-hole.
Wav. Well, what did you see ?
Betty. Nothing, Sir, but I heard a great deal.
Wav. Well, what was it about .?
Betty. Why I won't pretend to repeat exactly the
words, but they talked a great deal about a Faro
table, and five thousand pounds, and then your name
was mentioned, and my sweet young lady's, and
something about a foolish attachment, and that it
must never be, and rustic bashfulness, and overcom-
ing her scruples, and then I heard his lordship say
something about a private lodging.
Wav. Ay, are you sure of that ?
SCENE IV.] A COMEDY. g
Betty, Very sure, Sir, I couldn't distinctly hear
where, but I know it was in one of the streets leading
out of one of the squares.
Wav.. So, so, well, what followed ?
Betty. That was ail 1 heard, for as I was turning
my head round to put my other ear to the key-hole,
I fell a-sneezing : so I was obliged to put my hand-
kerchief into my mouth, and steal softly down stairs.
Wav. Are they still alone together ?
Betty. No doubt they are, Sir, contriving the ruin
of the poor innocent. I declare the very thought of
it almost turns me topsy turvy.
Wav. You must immediately convey me into the
room where you heard this conversation.
Betty. Why to be sure I could, but if I was to be
found out and lose my place.
Wav, Well, well, if you should, I'll get you an-
other.
Betty. Perhaps, Sir, when you marry my lady,
you may take me into your service ?
Wav. Ay, ay, any thing.
Betty. This way then. Sir, softly, this way. Sir.
[Exeunt.)
SCENE IV.
ANOTHER ROOM IN LADY NIGHTSHADE*S HOUSE.
Her Ladyship and Lord FiLLlGREE at a table.
L. Fit. Positively your ladyship is right Fm
afraid 1 shall never be able to prevail upon the dear
girl.
Lady Night. Never depend upon it. This Waverly
has quite turned her brain : and tho' I have forbid
him my house, I have lately discovered them carry-
ing on a clandestine correspondence.
L. Fit. Yes, she certainly encourages his ad-
dresses, and repels mine -, tho* positively, her indif-
c
10 THE FARO table: [ACT I.
ference to me is totally unaccountable : her educa-
tion, indeed, has been very confined, and she has
never been used to the addresses of persons of a cer-
tain rank.
Lady Night. And then you know, my lord, by liv-
ing out of the great world, she has imbibed such an-
tediluvian notions of honor and disinterested love, and
mutual attachment. I wonder, for my part where
she has picked up such a parcel of low trumpery
stuff.
L. Fil. To do your ladyship justice, she has learnt
none of it from you.
Lady Night. No, thank heaven ! I have nothing of
that kind to answer for : but as your lordship cannot
take the town by a regular siege, what do you think
of attempting it by a coup-de-main?
L. Fil. Your ladyship talks like a true cam-
paigner, but before we take possession of the citadel,
suppose we settle the division of the spoils ? Miss
Sedgemore's fortune, I understand from your lady-
ship, is forty thousand pounds.
Lady Night. Within a few hundreds.
L. Fil. Out of which, if I marry the lady, you
are to receive five thousand pounds, as a recompence
for your good ofiices.
Lady Night. Nothing less will set up my table for
the winter, in which you know your lordship is to
have a share but against my ward's inclination, I
insist, no violence.
L. Fil. Violence ! Look at me ! Do yton hink
I would offer violence to a young lady ?
Lady Night. No that I'm sure your Lordship is in-
capable of. Hark ! I hear her coming, Now, make
the most of your time, my lord, to prefer your suit,
and, remember, a woman can refuse a man nothing
when her reputation is in his power.
Enter Miss Sedgemqre.
Lady Night, Good morning, Julia, you look quite
SCENE IV.] A COMEDY. U
bewitching to-day. No doubt you heard his Lordship
was here, and determined to confirm your conquest.
L. Fil. And eternally rivet a heart already de-
voted to your beauty.
Miss S. I can assure your Lordship, whatever the
effect has been, I had no such intention.
Lady Night. Come, Juha, this is affectation. You
cannot be ignorant of his Lordship's attachment, tho'
you seem determined not to reward it : however, I
shall leave him to be his own advocate, and only hint,
that when a man of his rank, condescends to address
a person of yours, she must want both sense and
spirit to reject his proposals. [Exit.)
L. Fil. My dear Miss Sedgemore, what your
aunt says is very true; and positively I cannot help
expressing my amazement, that a person of your pe-
netration cannot distinguish betwixt the honor of
such an alliance as mine, and the paltry offers of
plebeian insignificance. Positively you won't every
day meet with such proposals.
Miss S. I hope not, my lord ; for then I should
be exposed to the daily mortification of rejecting
them : but as I find my presence will only subject
me to the renewal of offers, which I have already
thought it my duty to refuse, I hope your Lordship
will pardon my withdrawing.
L. Fil. Not so fast, my pretty little icicle, not so
fast, if you please.
Miss S. What means your Lordship ?
L. Fil. Mean, my charmer? why, I mean to
to deuce take me, if I know precisely what I
mean to do ; but 1 certainly don't mean to let you
escape, without knowing if those lips are as cold as
the chilling words they breathe.
Miss S. If your Lordship attempts rudeness, I
shall alarm the family.
L. Fil. Don't be afraid of that, there's nobody
within hearing.
Miss S. What, then, am I betray'd ?
L, Fil. Only to your happiness. [Seizes her) In
12 THE faRo table: [act I.
vain those frowning eyes reprove my love, for thusf 1
dare their malice and court their persecution.
Miss S. Help ! Ruin ! Help 1 Unhand me !
[Whilst they stri(ggle, WaVERLY comes forwardt)
Wav. Ha ! a cry for help I
L. Fil. Hal Waverly, what, are you there? I
thought, young rtian, you were amusing yourself
with Coke upon Lyttleton.
Wav. I thank your Lordship for having assigned
me a nobler task, that of rescuing virtue, beauty, and
innocence from the artifices of a villain.
L. Fil. Very heroic, upon my soul ; but do yotl
recollect. Sir, who I am? ir
Wav. How should I, when you have forgot your-
self the best mode of reminding me of your rank is
by the superiority of your conduct.
L. Fil, Let me advise you, young man, to give
up the law. You've too much morality by half; and
are, indeed, as totally ignorant of the laws of gal-
lantry.
Wav. As your Lordship is of those of honor but
if your lordship continues any longer to shock this
lady by your presence, whom you have already so
grossly insulted by your villainy; your Lordship
will need a stronger protector than either your birth
or fortune.
L. Fil. You are a most impuderit fellow, posi-
tively ; but take care what you are about : for if you
utter the smallest monosyllable that can be construed
into a challenge ; by all the privileges of a peer, I'll
bring you upon your knees before the upper house.
I will, by all the dignity of parliament. [Exit]
Wav. My dearest Julia!
Miss S. Oh, Charles ! didn't I forbid this inter-
view yet how can I chide a disobedience, which
has thus preserved me from insult ?
Wav. From insult indeed ! I have a story to tell
you; but this is no time. You must immediately fly
this detested house.
SCENE IV.] A COMEDY. IS
Miss S. Whither can I fly ? What is it agitates
you thus?
Wav. -No matter where : fly this instant, I con-
jure you. Your friend Lady W^ellgrove will receive
you. I know the sincerity of her friendship.
Miss S. What can I do ?
Wav. This is no time to hesitate trust yourself,
my sweet Julia, to my protection, and 1 will convey
you to her.
Miss S. There's my hand, then ; to your protec-
tion I resign myself.
Wav. Come, then, my sweet girl, every moment
is precious. [Exeunt)
I^D OF ACT I,
14 THE FARO table: [ACT II.
ACT 11.
SCENE I.
Lady Wellgrove's House.
Lady Wellgrove leading in Miss SedgEMORE.
Lady Well. 1 HIS way, my sweet girl, this room
leads to my apartment, there you may remain with-
out the least danger of discovery.
Miss S. My noble, generous friend.
Lady Well. To prevent the possibility of a surprise,
take this key it fastens the door on the inside, and
will preclude all unwelcome visitors ; and pray calm
your agitated spirits.
Miss S. There was one thing I forgot to mention
to Mr. Waverly, which was, to request that he would
by no means at present inform my brother of the
place of my retreat.
Lady Well. And why not ?
Miss S. Oh Letitia, you know the impetuosity of
his temper, and *till every thing can be properly ex-
plained, I shall never be able to meet him.
Lady Well. But how shall we inform Waverly ?
Miss S. There's the difficulty.
Lady Well. None in the least I'll go to him myself.
Miss S. What, visit a young man in his chambers ?
Lady Well. Why I hope you would not have me
visit an old one.
Miss S. Yes, but in the broad ^?j.
Lady Well. Why is not that better than doing it at
night? I'll go positively that is, if you'll promise
not to be jealous j you may depend upon my visit be-
ing a short one. But first I must lock you up, to
SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 15
prevent any more elopements. Come this way, I'm
your guardian now, and mean to keep you in excel-
lent order; there [Locks her in, and returns.) Visit
a young man at his chambers ? And why not ? ^Vir-
tue feels no alarm at the step j but what says reputa-
tion ? For in these sort of fiery ordeals, though vir-
tue escapes burning, reputation often gets terribly
scorched ; for let friendship move ever so fast in the
cause of humanity, scandal will overtake her.
{Exit)
SCENE II.
Lady Nightshade's.
Enter Barton and a Servant.
Bart. You will be so good as inform her ladyship
sny name is Barton.
Serv. Barton, Sir ?
Bart. Yes, Sir, Barton. [Exit Servant) So, so,
so every thing here wears the appearance of speedy
ruin. Her ladyship, I hear, as the last resource to
support her sinking credit, has opened a faro table
that is, keeps a decoy for the young wild fowl of fash-
ion ; and though she has too much pride to . retrench
one superfluous luxury, is not ashamed to be support-
ed by voluntary contributions of the thoughtless and
the unprincipled, a striking example of the meanness
of the proud, and the littleness of the great.
Enter Lady NIGHTSHADE.
Lady Night. Mr. Barton, your servant, I beg par-
don for having kept you so long waiting.
Bart, No apologies, I intreat. You no doubt re-
ceived my letter, apprizing you of my intentions to
be in town this day ?
Lady Night. Oh yes, I've been expecting you
every hour.
l6 THE FARO table: [ACT II.
Bart. You know our lovely ward has been the
principal cause of my journey, as she will be of age
on Wednescla3^ I am come up for the purpose of de-
livering her fortune into her own hands, and discharg-
ing both your ladyship and myself from the trust.
Her father, you know, left her twenty thousand
pounds, which, during her minority, is increased al-
most to thirty thousand.
Lady Night. A prodigious sum to commit to the
uncontroled disposal of an inexperienced young girl.
Bart. Why it is a great sum to be sure 3 but I
have the firmest dependance upon her prudence and
discretion.
Lady Night. You will perhaps be inclined to alter
your opinion when I inform you, she this morning
withdrew herself from my protection.
Bart. You astonish me ! In what manner ?
Lady Night. Eloped with Mr. Waverly.
Bart. [Aside.) So, so, this was his scheme ^but
what reason could she have for such a proceeding ?
Lady Night. That I am totally at a loss to guess.
Bart. There must be something more in this.
(Aside )
Lady Night. I assure you the affair has given me
very great uneasiness I have been turning it over a
great deal in my mind.
Bart. And what is the result of your ladyship's
contemplations .?
Lady Night. I can't help thinking it would be the
height of imprudence to put her into the immediate
possession of her whole fortune 5 if she should fall
into the hands of some ruin'd spendthrift, or design-
ing fortune-hunter, I should never forgive myself.
Bart. Amiable solicitude ! [aside.) f; icm * .<
Lady Night. 1 know from experience the temjpta*
tions to which a young woman is exposed in this dis-
solute age.
Bart. No doubt your ladyship does.
Lady Night. Yes, and the difficulty of resisting them.
SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 1/
Bart. That I believe you have sometimes found
impossible. {Aside.)
Lady Night. Therefore I have been thinking, if you
were to leave three or four thousand in my hands,
by way of a dernier resort in case of the worst.
Bart. An excellent thought !
Lady Night. Do you approve of it?
Bart. Extrem(-Iy hut why confine yourself to
three or four thousand ? Don't you think ten thou-
sand would be a neater sum ?
Lady Night. Excellent! (j^zWe.) Why if you really
are of that opinion.
Bart. Oh, I think you may just as well take ten
as one.
Lady Night. You shall have my bond for the pay-
ment.
Bart. Totally unnecessary ; your ladyship's word
is just as good : and I suppose if the faro season
should prove profitable, your ladyship will be ready
with the money.
Lady Night. The very first lucky run.
Bart. Now an't you a pretty devil ?
Lady Night. Hey 1 what ! amazement I
Bart. An't you a pretty devil ? you old decoy
duck!
Lady Night., This in my own house !
Bart. Shame ! Shame ! Shame ! There's not a
drop of blood in your body, but should start into
your face, to make some atonement for a proposal so
scandalous.
Lady Night. Why, can I believe my ears ? But
wbat else could I expect for having condescended to
act in a trust with a pettifogging attorney ?
Bart. Your ladyship's condescension was always
great, but it is more particularly so on the present
occasion from its being so disinterested j but why
should we differ in words, when we perfectly agree in
sentiment ; for I am quite of your ladyship's opinion,
that Miss Sed^emore is in no small danger of having
D
IS THE FARO table: [aCT II.
her fortune preyed upon by some ruin'd spendthrift,
or designing fortune-hunter and I shall be particu-
larly cautious that no part of it shall be punted away
among black-leg lords, and bankrupt women of qua-
lity.
Enter Mr. Sedgemore.
Mr. S. What, Barton and my aunt in private
confabulation ?
- Lady Night. Yes ; we have been transacting a
little business. Any news of your sister ?
Mr. S. None I have been to Waverly's cham-
bers; but he went out early this morning, and his
servant can give no account of him.
Lady Night. Then, depend upon it, he's gone off
with her,
Mr. S. I can't believe it.
. Bart. Now I can for he told me this morning
he had a scheme in his head, the' I couldn't get
from him what it was.
Mr. S. Indeed ! That looks suspicious.
Lady Night. Oh, it puts it beyond a doubt,
, Mr. S. However, I have three w^ords to say to
Barton, and then I'll renew my search.
Lady Night. As you have business, I'll leave you
together. Indeed this affair has so deranged my sen-
sibility, that I'm not fit company for any. body.
Heigho I [Exit.)
Bart. Tender-hearted creature !
'Mr. S. Well Barton, have you seen the Jew ?
Bart. He'll be here within these two hours.
Mr. S. And bring the money ?
Bart. If he can procure it.
Mr. S. That's well. Have you giv^n orders for
the timber to be cut ?
Bart. I have obeyed your instructions. But, lity
-dear Sir, reflect a moment before you cut dowh these
venerable memorials of your ancestors.
SCENE
E II.] A COMEDY. 10
Mr. S. Why what the devil else did my ancestors
plant them for, but to be cut down ?
Bart. At least. Sir, spare some of the old oaks.
Mr. S. Oh yes, I'll spare them all to any body
that will give a good price for them. Look'e Barton,
the money I must have I'm bound in honor to pay it,
and not a tree shall be left standing.
JBari. Not one. Sir ?
Mr. S' Not a sapling.
Bart. Leave one standing. Sir.
Mr. S. Not a leaf.
Bart. Only one. Sir one solitary remnant that
having wasted the patrimony of your ancestors, you
may hang yourself upon it.
Mr. S. You grow impertinent. Sir You presume
on your friendship with my father, or perhaps from
being a creditor on my estate.
Bart. Your father did indeed consider me as his
friend J whilst living, he honor'd me with his confi-
dence, and when he died, (excuse these foolish tears,)
appointed me the guardian of his children : 'tis a great
and important trust, young man, and I shall faithfully
discharge it. Therefore, by the memory of that revered
name, who gave you being, I adjure you, sacrifice
not your honour and your noble spirit to the miserable
pursuit of gaming, which in the selfish feelings of
avarice, destroys the social energies of friendship, and
the warmest feelings of the heart.
Mr. S. AVell, well excuse my impatience, I did
not mean to ofiend you. I must preserve the dignity
of my rank, and the pride of my ancestors.
Bart. Rather part with the pride of your ancestors,
that you may preserve their dignity; and consider
how much more noble is the humility, which makes
the honest heart feel proud than the pride which
must one day end in beggary. But I see the subject
is displeasing to you, and will take my leave. What-
ever may be your opinion of me, you will one day
know me for your friend. {Exit.)
20 THE FARO table: [aCT II.
{Alone.)
Mr. S. My friend ! Yes, my only friend. One
who nobly dares to tell nie of mv faults, and shews
me the precipice on which 1 totter. Why, what a
pitiful vice is this ! Where the certain consequence of
miscarriage is ruin and despair and even the exulta-
tion of success is built on the misery of our fellow
creatures. To recede now is, I fear, impracticable, yet
something must be done, and speedily, for it will be
impossible any longer to silence the clamours of my
creditors, with promises which cannot be fulfilled.
Enter Mr. HiNT.
Hint. Beg ten tliousand pardons, but was informed
my Lady Nightshade was here.
Mr. S. No, Sir; her Ladyship has some time left
the room.
Hint. Beg pardon. Sir ; but perhaps, you may have
heard of the elopement ?
Mr. S. Very possibly. Sir. Who is this imperti-
nent puppy ? f Aside.)
Hint. Beg pardon. Sir; but perhaps are acquainted
with the particulars ?
Mr. S. No, Sir; tho* very much interested in the
event, I know very little of the particulars.
Hint. Interested in the event, and not know the
particulars ? Amazing I Now I, who don*t care
three farthings' about the event, have a wonderful cu-
riosity to know the particulars.
Mr. S. Such a curiosity is very wonderful indeed !
Hi7it. Perfectly natural tho*; just sat down to the
public breakfast at my Lady Gusto's, when in rush'd
my Lady Labyrinth and Mrs. Garnish, quite out of
breath, like a couple of Treasury messengers. You
are acquainted with my Lady Labyrinth no doubt ?
Mr. S. Never heard of her. Sir. (Impatiently.)
Hint. Never heard of my Lady Labyrinth ! One
of the best sort of women in the world, only
SCENE II.] A COMEDY. Sl
very unfortunate in telling a story dasb'd into
it notwithstanding, and indeed would have been tole-
rably correct, hadn't she been totally mistaken in
time, place, and circumstance. However, Mrs.
Garnish made amends know Mrs. Garnish, I
presume ?
Mr. S. Never heard of her either. Sir.
Hint. The best story-teller in England great in a
duel ^excellent in a divorce but in an elopement
superlative. To be sure, she does embroider a little,
but then her manner is perfectly inimitable.
Mr. S. Indeed, Sir.
Hint. Kept us in such a constant roar, that I
began to tremble for the consequences. My lady
Stucco was seized with such a convulsion of laughter,
that she crack'd one of her cheeks in the explosion,
and shewed part of her face for the first time these
twenty years.
Mr. S. Then, Sir, I presume you are acquainted
with the whole circumstances.
Hint. All of them mistaken tho'. One said it
Tvas the Italian music-master, a second the Irish foot-
man, a third the Swiss valet ; nay, Mrs. Neverout
maintained to the last, it was Robin the gardener,
and that the parties were seen together precisely at
thirty-five minutes and a quarter past five this morn-
ing, ridirjg double on one of the dock-tailed coach-
horses thro' Kensington turnpike. Ail of them wrong
know nothing about it.
Mr. S. Then, Sir, most probably you do.
Hint. Wants to pump me. [aside ) Who, I ? Oh
no. Sir; not an iota (affecttdly) 1 know nothing
am not fit to be trusted. The ladies to be sure never
place any confidence in me I never know the motto
of their garters, or the colour of their bed-furniture
No, Dam'me, I'm a dull dog hav'n't the art of pe-
netrating into mysteries, of diving into the bottom of
things Miss may be a perfect vestal, for any thing
I know to the contrary.
W THE FARO table: [aCT XI.
Mr. S. Who dares say otherwise ? (hastily.)
Hint. Not I, Sir I say no such thing But if a
young lady, forgetting the usual decorum of her sex,
does choose to appear at the chamber-window of a
young fellow
Mr. S. Well, Sir ?
Hhit. A handsome young fellow, a gay young fel-
low, a wild young fellow.
Mr. S. Has Miss Sedgemore done this. Sir ?
Hint. Who says she has. Sir ? who mentioned
Miss Sedgemore ? Zounds, Sir, d'ye think I can't
keep a secret ?
Mr. S. Oh, Sir, I haven't the least doubt upon
that subject.
Hint. Certainly wants to pump me, but it won't
^o. [Aside.) I say. Sir, if a young lady, who has some-
thing like a reputation to lose, does choose to appear
at the window of a young fellow, the most charitable
construction upon her conduct
Mr. S. Well, Sir ?
Hint. Will be, that it is not very correct. To be
sure, Waveriy is my friend.
Mr. S. Waveriy, Sir?
Hint. No, Sir, who mentioned Waveriy? Not
my practice upon these occasions to mention names
If he had run away with the whole of the Grand
Signer's Seraglio, what's that to me ? Let every man
attend to his own business, that's my way.
Mr S. Then Waveriy is a villain ! (aside.)
Hint. Looks devilish blank upon it. (aside.)
Mr. S. Thoughtless, foolish girl !
pint. Beg pardon. Sir, but know the lady per-
haps?
Mr, ^. Intimately, Sir.
Hint, Beg pardon. Sir, but love her perhaps.
Mr. S. To distraction !
Hint. Beg pardon, Sir, but jil^d perlijaps ^-^-J^ajte
my advice and give her up.
Mr. S, Give up whom, Sir ? (angrily.)
^XJENE II.] A COMEDY. 33
Hint. Nobody, Sir. I don*t advise you to do any
such thing.
Mr. S. Heark'e, Sir, if you breathe the slightest
imputation on the virtue of Miss Sedgemore, it will
be at the hazard of your life. (Exit.)
Hint, Solus.
Hint. Ti, ti, ti, turn Ti, ti, ti, ti. A mighty
queer genius this 1 designed for the church, I suppose
< notdock'd yet tho' thinks he's in the pulpit al-
ready sha'n't bully me tho' In love with her to
distraction don't let me forget that.
Enter ROBERT.
Roht. My lady. Sir, is so much indisposed, that
'she'll not be able to see you this morning.
Hint. Not see me this morning ? this fellow must
know something about it. Hist, hist, Robert come
here, Robert. Isn't your name, Robert ?
Robt. Bob, Sir tho' some for shortness call itie
Robert.
Hint. You've liv'd a long while in the family, Ro-
bert?
Robt. Twelve years last Lammas, your honor.
Hint. A very long service. A great favourite of
your lady's, I know. I have heard her praise your
superior style of polishing plate, and cleaning decan-
ters deep in the secrets of the family Eh, Robert ?
Dare say you know all the particulars of the elope-
ment.
Robt. Elopement, Sir ?
Hint. Bound to secrecy, I see ! [aside] Come,
come, you need not be so confounded close with me
^your young Mistress's elopement
Robt. Haven't heard a syllable of it.
Hint. Not heard of it ! Why, is it possible you
have been blind, deaf, and dumb, upon such an oc-
casion ?
Robt. Lord bless you> the servant that can't upon
24 THE FARO table: [aCT II,
occasions be blind, deaf, and dumb, will never live
long in a great family.
Hint. Very true ; but tell me all you know about
it tell me all you know, and, you dog, I'll make an
exciseman of you.
Robt. If you would make me an emperor, I could
tell you nothing.
Hint. No?
Robt. Not a syllable.
Hint. Why, then, get thy ways for an uninquisi-
tive blockhead ! and the next time you say your
prayers, don't forget to beg for a little more curiosity.
(Pushes him out.) What strange creatures there are
in this world ! Dare say this fellow never troubles his
head about any body's business but his own. If I
could have picked up two or three incidents, with the
help of a little embellishment, I might have done
wonders; but to be obliged entirely to depend on
one's own invention, is rather too hard besides it
may bring me into a scrape for tho' all the w^orld
knows I wont fight, for that very reason I shall be
sure to be challenged. [Exit.)
END OF ACT II.
SCENE I.] A COMEDY. ^5
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Waverly's Ciiambers.
Enter Waverly followed by a Servant.
Pen, Inky and Papers, on Table.
Wav. Mr. Sedgemore called you say ?
Serv. Yes, Sir.
Wav. Did he leave no message, or letter ?
Serv. None at all. Sir. [Knocking at door.)
Wav. See who knocks. [Exit Serv.) Strange
what he could want with me so early.
Enter Servant.
Serv. A lady in a veil. Sir, wishes to speak with
you.
Wav. Shew her in, Sir. {Exit Serv.) Who the
devil can this be ? in a veil too.
Enter Servant, introducing Lady Wellgrove.
You may retire, Sir. [To Servant, who goes out.)
Lady Well. Are we alone ?
Wav. As Adam and Eve were iu Paradise, Madam.
Lady Well. [Unveils.) But are you sure there is no
serpent here in disguise ?
Wav. Lady Wellgrove !
Lady Well. You are visibly surprised, Mr. Waverly,
at the imprudence of this visit ; but when you- hear
it is made on the behalf of Miss Sedgemore, your
candour will, I trust, excuse this sacrifice to pro-
priety.
2,6 THE FARO TABLE : [aCT III.
JVav. The wishes of Miss Sedgemore could re-
ceive no additional influence, except in being com-
municated from so fair a messenger.
Lady Well. Very gallant, indeed, but to the point.
Her brother is yet unacquainted with her escape,
in which you have so generously assisted, and as she
dreads the impetuosity of his temper, I must have
your promise, not to reveal to him, for the present
at least, the place of her retreat. May I promise
her your silence ?
Wav. Certainly.
Ladi/ Well. Having executed my commission, you
will pardon the abruptness of my visit. [As she is
going.)
Enter Servant.
Ser. Mr. Sedgemore, Sir.
Wav. The devil ! Say I'm not at home.
Sew. I've already told him you are. Sir.
Lady Well. What will become of me ?
Wav. Fool ! dolt ! idiot ! [To Servant, who goes
out.) Step into this room. Madam, a minute, and
depend upon my protection.
As he is putting her into the room, enter SEDGEMORE.
Sedg. So, so, so, as I suspected ! I wonder what
face he will put upon the affair. [Aside).
Wav. Ah, Charles Sedgemore ! the very man I
was longing to see (aside.) Wish you was fifty
miles off, with all my heart and soul. How long
have you been in town ? You found the roads very
dirty I suppose. What the devil shall I say to him ?
[aside).
Sedg. His confusion is manifest [aside ).
Wav. Faith, Charles, I'm most heartily glad to
see you.
Sedg. You will give me leave to doubt that. Sir.
By the glimpse of a petticoat, I caught just now, I
SCENE 1.] A COMEDY. $7
suspect my visit is as unwelcome, as it was unex-
pected.
TFav. What, then, you had a glimpse, eh ?
Sedg. Yes, Sir, I had a glimpse.
Wav. How the devil shall I get off now ? {aside).
Well, well, as you see how the land lies, I know
you've more charity than to interrupt my happiness.
AVho do you think it is } You won't believe me, if
I tell you.
Sedg. Perhaps not. Sir.
Wav. Mistress to the Spanish ambassador.
Sedg. Indeed ? His impudence amazes me
(aside).
Wav. Yes, she now and then pays me a charita-
ble visit. I'd introduce you, but she's a lady of very
nice reputation, and talks the prettiest broken Eng-
lish
Sedg. Most probably I shall take the liberty of
introducing myself.
Wav. Why, that will be taking a very unac-
countable liberty indeed.
Sedg. One, however, that I shall think myself
warranted in doing.
Wav. Why then, you'll excuse me for hinting,
that no gentleman ever presses his company, where
he finds it is not agreeable.
Sedg. For that very reason. Sir, I shall intrude
mine. [Sits down in a chair.)
Wav. Why this is very civil, very civil, upon my
soul. Why then, Sir, I must take the liberty of re-
minding you that these apartments are mine.
Sedg. Granted, Sir.
Wav. That every thing in them belongs to me.
Sedg. [Bising.) Are you sure of that. Sir ?
Wav. Yes, Sir, fixtures and moveables.
Sedg. Except the lady in the next room. Sir.
Wav. Why, you know, I don't pretend to an en-
tirety in her.
S8 THE TARO table: [aCT III.
Sedg. Then, Sir, I do, and thus I take possession.
[Attempts to go into the room.)
WiW. By heavens, you pass not here !
Sedg. Sir, let the lady make her appearance and
answer for herself.
Wav. Whoever the lady is, Sir, it is sufficient for
me to know, as it ought to be for you, that she
has put herself under my protection.
Sedg. Then, Sir, I will no longer be trifled with.
' Wav. Nor I intimidated.
[They struggle ^ and Lady Wellgrove ejiters.)
Sedg. Lady Wellgrove ! amazement !
Wav. Now, Sir, I hope you are satisfied.
Ladij Well. Mr. Sedgemore, I can assure you,
however appearances may be against me. I say. Sir,
however extraordinary it may appear that I mean,
that notwithstanding the natural inference
Sedg. The lady talks very pretty broken English,
indeed.
Lady Well. Indeed, Charles, you are in an error.
[Cries.)
Wav. You are upon my soul, Charles.
Sedg. No, Madam, I have been in an error too
long, am now undeceived that I have lov'd you
with the most ardent affection, it is now as much my
shame and regret, as it was once my pride and boast.
However, it is never too late to amend our errors,
and I shall, I trust, expiate the magnitude of my
folly, by the sincerity of my repentance. As to you.
Sir, [to Waverly) for this aggravated insult to my
feelings, I shall expect speedy retribution. [Exit.)
Wav. [After a paused) Was there ever such an
unlucky accident? Sure all the devils in pandemo-
nium have been laying their heads together to
bring it about.
Lady Well. Oh, Mr. Waverly, how frail and tender
a blossom is woman's reputation, which not only
fades under the slightest breath of merited reproach j
SCENE I.J A COMEDY. 39
but whilst employed in the cause of humanity, in-
cautiously nourishes the worm which feeds upon its
quiet. How ought guilt to tremble, when indiscre-
tion is punished so severely. {Exit.)
Wav. So, I am likely to have a day of adven-
tures a jobation from my uncle an elopement with
one lady, and a tete-a-tete with another for which
I suppose I shall get my throat cut before night.
Enter Servant.
Serv. (Gives a letter.) The messenger waits for
an answer.
TFav. From Mr. Sedgemore, T suppose. (Reads.)
" Sir, I write this from the nearest Coffee-house, to
inform you, I shall be at the Ring, in Hyde-Park,
within an hour, when and where I expect you will
give satisfaction, to the much injured Charles Sedge-
more." Within an hour ? why that's allowing very
little breathing time, but when a man is thoroughly
determined to do a rash action, the less time he takes
to consider of it the better. How am I to proceed
in this affair ? Must I give him the meeting ? cer-
tainly, there is no avoiding it. Get me ink and
.fcpaper. Sir. (Sits.) Shall I fight with him ? Where-
fore ? Have I done him an injury ? No. Have I
received one from him ? Yes, but I can forgive it
why then should I risk my own life, or endanger his ?
Because, otherwise the world will post me for a
coward, and I am afraid of its reproaches. Afraid of
its reproaches ? What then, shall I be a coward in
reality, to avoid the mere imputation of it ? I must
give him the meeting however. (Writes.) Here,
Sir, give this to the messenger who waits, and this
you must immediately run with to Mr. Hint's, if he
should be out, get intelligence where he is, and fol-
low him. (Exit Servant.) If the lady had really-
been inclined to do me a favour, I could have been
run through the body for her with the utmost satis-
30 THE i^ARo table: [act tii.
faction, but lo suffer so heavy a penance for a sin I
never committed, is a little beyond my philosophy.
My greatest glory and my pride would be.
Freely to die for her who lives for me ;
But she who lives to bless another's arms,
Why let another combat for her charms.
(Exit Waverly,)
SCENE II.
LADY nightshade's.
Table, Pen, Ink, Paper, and Chairs.
Enter Mr. Sedgemore toith a letter.
Sedg. What am I to think of this letter. It
certainly never could be intended for me (reads.)
" Dear Hint, by a strange fatality of events, I am
" summoned to meet my dearest friend, in an affair
* of honour, whose sister I have preserved from the
" most imminent ruin I have also involved in my
" disgrace a virtuous and innocent lady, who, from
" motives of the purest friendship, has been tempted
" to exercise her humanity at the peril of her repu-
" tation" directed " Charles Sedgemore, Esq/' Is
it possible I I have been too hasty in my suspicions
I know not what to think perhaps
Enter Barton, disguised as Levi.
Bart. I ax pardon for disturbing you, but business
business you know
Sedg. Must be attended to therefore in three
words, can you let me have the two thousand pounds?
Bart. Two thousand pounds !
Sedg. Yes I must have it directly.
Bart. Directly, that ish very short notish.
Sedg. Shall I have it ?
Bart. Two thousand pounds !
Sedg. What say you ?
SCENE II.] A COMEDY. $1,
Bart. Moneysh is very scarce times are hard.
Sedg, What, at your old tricks, friend Levi.
Come, come, I understand you, all this is as much
as to say, you must have 20 per cent.
Bart. Twenty per cent ! bless your soul, d'ye think
I steal de moneysh 1 could'nt do the business under
fifty, 'pon my life.
Sedg. Fifty per cent., well, you shall have it.
Bart. And fifty pounds premium.
Sedg. You shall have it.
Bart. Vel, I vil try w^hat I can do I vil try
what I can do and now we have settled that, sup-
poshe we talk a little about the security.
Sedg. A mortgage on my whole terra firma.
Bart. No, dat ish already mortgaged to Mr.
Barton, your steward.
Sedg. Egad, that's true how the devil should he
know that [aside.) However, I'm going to clear away
the old rubbish from the premises to sweep oft" the an-
tiquated oaks and elms, and you shall have a mortgage
upon them, either standing or lying, as you please.
Bart. Your old elms and your old oaks will be a
very rotten security cause you haven't the power of
cutting till you come of age.
Sedg. Where the devil did he learn that (aside.)
Well, well, that you know will be in a week.
Barf. Yesh, but you want to touch directly.
Sedg. Well, well, get me the money, and damn
the security.
Bart. Damn de security rah 1 dat*s very pretty
talking but I can't do business without security-^if
its vonce known, I shonld be expelled, and thrown
upon the vide vorld.
Sedg. Well then, you shall be the first, and set a -
noble example to your brother usurers.
Bart. I should not be able to convert any one
of my tribe, or your's either.
Sedg. And you won't let me have the money.
Bart. Not without security.
53 THE FARO table: [aCT III.
Sedg. Well what am I to sign are you prepared
with your instruments? I'm ready.
Bart. Oh yes I 1 have every thing prepared
here's de moneysh There's the bond it only wants
your signature Oh I'm a man of business.
Sedg. [Signs.) There [gives the bond.)
Bart. Well dere (gives the money.)
Sedg. And now go to the devil.
Bart. Thank you. Sir much oblig'd to you
now, profligate, your punishment's at hand.
[Exit Barton.)
Sedg. What a miserable reptile is this ^yet how
can I expect that a wretch, whose trade is extortion,
will lend me two thousand pounds without security,
when my very best friends can't muster among them
a single guinea well, well, the errand I am going
upon, may perhaps discharge a debt, which will free
me at once from the importunity of my creditors,
and the perfidy of my friends. If I fall, I shall be
indebted to the hand of my adversary if I survive,
I must then trust to my own.
SCENE III.
ANOTHER APARTMENT IN LADY NIGHTSHADE'S HOUSE.
Table and Chairs.
Enter BARTON [as the JexVy followed by Betty).
Betty. This way, Mr. Jew, if you please, this way,
if you'll sit down in this room, my lady will wait
on you. I'll inform my lady. [Exit Betty.)
Bart. Her ladyship want me ? then there is some
mischief on foot, ecod I shall make more discoveries in
this disguise, than I at first calculated upon here
she comes now to my character.
Enter Lady NIGHTSHADE.
Lady Night. Your servant. Sir.
SCENE III.] A COMEDY. S3
Bart. No, madam, *tis I am your ladyship's
servant.
Lady Night. No ceremony, I insist upon it, pray
be seated. I have business of some importance to
transact, which, as I have heard a very great character
both of your talents and secrecy, I don't think I can
commit into better hands.
Bart. As to my talents I shall not say nothing
as to my secrecy, I am very often employed by ladies
of the first quality.
Lady Night. Then, Sir, the business is this there
are in this case diamonds of considerable value look
at them, and examine them with attention.
Bart. My ward's diamonds, by heaven! (aside.)
Lady Night. Bless me. Sir, you seem very much
surprized.
Bart. I am struck with the beauty of the jewels;
madam. They are pretty baubles, very pretty bau-
bles.
Lady Night. Yes, they cost a vey pretty price,
five thousand pounds I can assure you, was the very
lowest.
Bart. Oh, I am sure of dat for I bought them
myself. [Aside.)
Lady Night. Examine them with the most scrupu-
lous nicety, and tell me candidly whether you think
they could be counterfeited.
Bart. Counterfeited, counterfeited, madam ! [turns
to Lady Nightshade.)
Lady Night. Yes, Sir, counterfeited I have some
thoughts of disposing of them.
Bart. They then belong to your ladyship ?
Lady Night. Yes, a present from my poor deceased
lord.
Bart. I shall never contain myself, (aflfe) and
your ladyship thinks of employing me in the affair.
Lady Night. Why I think you'll do me justice.
Bart. Your ladyship may depend upon the
strictest justice.
F
34 THE FARO table: [act III.
Lady Night. Diamonds are an ornament to be sure
^but then they are of no real use.
Bart. None in the leasht none in the leasht.
Lady Night. For my part, I can't see but paste
looks just as well.
Bart. Oh there ish no difference at all none at
all it shall be done out of hand.
Lady Night. Immediately.
Bart. Then I'll set about it at once. [Rising to go)
Your ladyship will trust them in my hands they will
be as safe as in your own.
Lady Night. Believe me, I haven't the smallest
suspicion of your honesty.
Bart. When your ladyship knows me better, you'll
find me an honester man than you take me for.
Lady Night. Oh, Sir, that is impossible.
Bart. I kindly take my leave I beg your lady-
ship will not stir. (Exit.)
Lady Night. So I think now I shall be even with
them all it is almost impossible the transaction should
be discovered, and if it is, the diamonds have been
thro' other hands, and the fact can never be brought
home to me. The price of them will fit up my
rooms in the highest style, and give my bank an
eclat that will certainly bring me full repayment
with interest, by the end of the season.
END OF ACT III.
SPJEME I.] A COMEDY. 35
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Lady Wellgrove's.
Lady Wellgrove and BARTON.
Lady Well. A thousand thanks, my dear Sir, for
this visit.
Bart. You will perhaps think yourself less obliged
when you understand I am come to give advice.
Lady Well. Indeed you wrong me.' When did I
ever listen to your advice without pleasure ?
Bart. Well, well, to do you justice you have al-
ways been a good girl, but the point on which I am
going to touch is of so tender a nature that
Enter Servant.
Serv. Mr. Hint, Madam.
Lady Well. The impertinent fool, what can he
want ? well, shew him up. [Exit Servant.)
Bart. If you have visitors, I'll take some other
opportunity.
Lady Well. No, don't go. I'll dispatch him imme-
diately.
Enter HiNT.
Hint. Beg pardon, but was informed you were
alone have heard no doubt of the elopement ?
Bart. Of Miss Sedgemore, Sir.
Hint. The same. Sir.
Lady Well. The very thing I wanted to know
about. Pray, Mr. Hint, tell us the particulars.
36 THE FARO TABLE: [aCT IV.
Bart. Do, Sir, favour us with the circumstances.
Hint. (Affectedly) Who I ? psha ! how should
I know any thing about it ?
Lady Well. Come, come, this is all affectation.
Bart. Pray, Sir, oblige us with the particulars.
Hint. ' Gad, I believe you think I know every
thing, though, to do myself justice, there is only one
person besides the parties themselves a certain in-
significant individual a fellow of no discernment or
penetration
Lady Well. Come, come, this is tantalizing.
Bart. Pray, Sir, don't keep us in suspense.
Hint, Why then you must know, one of the post-
boys who drove them the last stage to Gretna Green
Bart. Gretna Green, Sir ?
Hint. Yes, Sir, Gretna Green.
Bart. Why, Sir, the parties eloped only three
hours ago, and it's impossible any information could
have arrived from Gretna Green.
Hint. May be impossible. Sir, but it's very true
for all that believe my information may generally be
depended upon. However, Sir, as you seem to know
a great deal more of the matter than I do, wish
you a very good morning did indeed intend to
give you a chronological and exact account of the
whole proceeding might, perhaps, have told you
that the lady and her gallant set off in one post-chaise,
and were immediately after followed by the lady's
guardian in another.
Bart. Her guardian. Sir?
Hint. Yes, Sir, her guardian. Old Barton as
crusty an old curmudgeon as any in England. Per-
haps, Sir, you mean to dispute that.
Bart. Qh, no. Sir, I perceive you're much better
acquainted with him than I am.
Hint. Might have informed you how the lovers
were detained at Barnet, by one of the horses falling
down with the staggers; and would inevitably have
been overtaken by Old Square-toes, had not the
SCENE I.] A COMEDY. $1
linch-pin suddenly flown out of the wheel of his
chaise, just as fresh horses were put to in their's
that they arrived without further accident on the
Scotch borders that Old Vulcan insisted upon hav-
ing two hundred pounds that the gentleman remon-
strated that the lady almost fainted with the appre-
hension that the ceremony would not be performed
but that the blacksmith was obstinate and the money
was paid. I might have told all this ; nor shall you
ever hear from me, tho' nobody else knows it, that
the poor unfortunate devil of a lover, whom she had
cruelly jilted, (had it from his own mouth) has been
raving ever since, and was this morning conveyed by
his friends to a private madhouse.
Enter Servant.
Serv. A letter for Mr. Hint.
Hint. For me?
Serv. Yes, Sir, the servant who brought it was di-
rected to follow you here. (J^zit.)
Hint. Have I your pardon ? {breaking open the
letter.)
Lady Well. By all means.
Hint. [Reads) " Sir, Tho* averse to the arbi-
*' trament of the sword, I have a character which
" must be supported ; I will therefore meet you at
" the Ring within the hour. Your mugh injured
" friend, George Waverly." (Drops the letter.)
Lady Well. Bless me, Mr. Hint, I am afraid you've
received some uncomfortable news ?
Bart. The sudden death of some near relation,
perhaps?
Hint. Sudden death I this is the most unaccount-
able, surprising sort of thing; within the hour!
Zounds I I wouldn't dine with the Lord Mayor upon
so short an invitation, and can he possibly think
that Why there'd be hardly time to send privately
to Bow-street for the peace-officers this is the most
unaccountable, surprising, miraculous pardon my
S$ THE FARO TABLE : [aCT IV.
abruptness d me, if it is'nt quite incomprehensi-
ble ! {Exit.)
Bart. Pray, is that gentleman one of your intimate
acquaintance ?
Lady Well. Yes, he is as useful as a daily paper ;
except that he comes out a little later. I think his
information is about as important, and his veracity
^s much to be depended upon.
Bart. But to resume the subject which he inter-
rupted. I have been informed of your partiality for
Young Sedgemore; nay, it is rumoured you have
consented to marry him immediately.
Lady Well. My partiality to Mr. Sedgemore, I
candidly avow, but the rest of the rumour is false ;
and you may rest assured, my dear Sir, I shall never
finally resolve on so important a point without con-
sulting you.
Bart. Tho' I have lost the authority of a guardian,
I should indeed have been mortified to have forfeited
the influence of a friend ; and as you have frankly
confessed your love for Mr. Sedgemore
Lady Well. Does not every body love him. Sir?
is he not brave, generous, and accomplished?
Bart. I won't deny his merit j but were his vir-
tues ten times greater than they are, one odious vice
overshades them all 5 his detestable propensity to
gaming.
Lady Well. Oh, that's the intemperance of youth ;
when he is mine, 1 trust I shall have influence enough
to cure him of it.
Bart. Cure him first, and marry him afterwards ;
but to communicate to you a fact, of which you can-
not be too soon apprized, he is already a ruined
man.
Lady Well. Ruin'd ?
Bart. Yes, by me.
Lady Well. Ah I Sir, that's impossible.
Bart. You know his estate is deeply indebted to
me as his steward, besides which, I have, in the cha-
SCENE I.J A COMEDY. ^
racter of a money-lender, advanced him large sums
upon such exorbitant interest, that his whole estate
is in my power, and, within an hour, he will be ar-
rested at my suit.
Lady TVell. My dear Sir, how can you have the
inhumanity
Bart. Spare your reproaches ; tho' he has been
a libertine, I don't mean to proportion his penance to
his transgressions; and, as he is not yet an hardened
sinner, I shall only consign him for a short time to
the house of correction.
Lady Well. I have too high an opinion of your hu-
manity, to suppose you would give unnecessary pain;
but may not the extremity of your purpose, instead
of awakening him to reflection, drive him to despair.?
Bart. Leave me to manage it, and doubt not of
success. If I fail to rouse his pride, still 1 have pre-
served his fortune ; and, if I succeed in rooting from
his bosom this selfish and contemptible vice of gam-
ing, I may proudly present him to you as a husband
every way worthy your affection. (Exit.)
Lady IVell. Farewel, Sir ; tho* I hope every thing,
I cannot but tremble for the event.
Enter Sapling.
Sap. Hist ! hist ! Cousin Letty, stop a moment.
Lady Well. Oh, you creature, don't teaze me now.
Sap. Nay, I don't want to teaze you never. Do
but listen for a moment; it will be worth your while,
for 'tis the last time as I shall ever talk to you of our
love matters.
Lady Well. Well, as you promise it shall be the last
time, let us once more discuss them; we may do it
safely, for we dislike one another too much to quarrel.
Sap. Aye, so we do, that's lucky. You know,
cousin, father sent me up to town to marry you.
Lady Well. I do indeed ; you told me so the mo-
inent you arrived, and have tagged it to every
" How d'ye do" and " Good hye" ever since. -
40 THE FARO table: [aCT IV.
Sap, Now it seems you don't care for father, and
wont do as he orders. Though I dursn't but marry
you, if you were willing, though you were uglier
than old Jenny Goggle, of Gorgon Hall,
Ladi^ Well. Thank you, cousin ; I obeyed my own
parents scrupulously, and will never obey any body
else, out of respect to their memory.
Sap. Well, you must know% just as I was a put-
ting my luggage a top of the heavy, to come up and
marry you, father bid me mind my manners in town,
and keep myself smart and sober, and genteel, or
perhaps you might not take to mej now as you
wont marry me no how, I don't see why I need be
genteel any longer.
Ladi^ Well. As you please, cousin j adopt whatever
graces sit upon you easiest, only keep to our agree-
ment, and be this our last tender conversation.
Sap. Thank you, cousin ; thank you. The graces
that suit me best are a roaring party, and cracking
a dozen or two of wine ; now I know of a rare mer-
ry meeting to night, if you will not tell father.
Lady Well. Oh, never fear me. Run out of bounds
as far as pleases you, I am no spy for the schoolmas-
ter.
Sap. Well, but one word more. You know when
I go back, father will be cantankerous ; now, wont
you write a letter to say I have been as genteel and
graceful as heart could desire ; and that we don't
marry only because we have got no sympathies, or
our hearts an't formed in the same mould j or some
of the fine reasons people give, for not marrying, in
storybooks; father wont understand a word, and
be so rarely taken in.
Lady Well. Well, dear cousin, as I now call you
for the first, and I hope the last time, you shall dictate
your own account of your own merits. I will use all
my talent at embellishment, and your father shall
learn that his son is as much a Chesterfield in man-
ners as an Adonis in person ; and if he doesn't be.-
SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 4l
lieve every syllable, be is the wisest father of the most
foolish child I ever heard of. (Exit.)
Sap. That's the second time she has called me
a fool to-day. That's proper good, just after her
palaver about Adonis, and t'other gentleman she
mentioned. Now I'll shew these I^ndoners we
country lads can be as flashy and high-bred as they.
I'll set-to with e'er a one of them, and I am mainly
mistaken if they wont very soon find that my head's
the hardest in company. [Exit SAPLING.)
SCENE II.
THE PARK.
Enter SeDGEMORE.
Sedg. I am yet some minutes before my time.
Let me once more read his letter. [Reads.) What am
I to conclude from this ? that, in the agitation of his
mind, he has sent me the letter designed for another j
or, that the whole is a paltry contrivance to cover his
design ; no, he never could condescend to so mean
an artifice. (Enter HiNT.) S'death ! this impertinent
puppy again.
Hint. Servant, Sir.
Sedg. Sir, I wish to be alone.
Hint. Wants to destroy himself. [Aside.) Know
you wish to be alone, Sir.
Sedg. Indeed, Sir ?
Hint. Think I can give a pretty shrewd guess at
your business here.
Sedg. Then, Sir, you must know it is a business
of which all men are so much ashamed, that they do
it with few witnesses!
Hint. Certainly going to drown himself in the
Serpentine ; I shall prevent him tho'. (aside.)
Sedg. Waverly not in sight yet.
G
42 THE FARO table: [aCT IV.
Hi7it. If I should save him now, {aside) my
dear Sir, do consider the consequences.
Sedg. Sir, I have considered the consequences.
Hint. Consider what a paragraph it will make-
yesterday morning a young man genteely dress'd was
taken out of the Serpentine-River, without any signs of
life. The means recommended by the Humane Socie-
ty were made use of three hours without effect.
Sedg. This is the most impudent fellow
Hint. The body now lies at St. Martin's bone-
house to be owned.
Enter Waverly.
Oh now my time is come.
Wav. Mr. Sedgemore, your servant. Hint, I
thank you heartily for your punctuality, you received
my letter I suppose ?
Hint. Yes, I received your letter, or you wouldn't
have seen me here, I promise you. (Aside.)
Wav. Mr. Sedgemore, you seem unprovided with
a friend.
Sedg. I hope, Mr. Waverly, we shall be able to
settle our business without one.
Wav, By all means, if that mode is more agree-
able to you.
Hint. What the devil does all this mean ? [Aside.)
Wav. My dear fellow, let me thank you again
for your punctuality, but as it happens I shan't have
occasion for you.
Hint. Shant you ? I'm very glad of it. (Aside.)
Wav. Not the least and as you have already
done me the favor to attend my summons, let me
entreat you to add to the obligation by leaving us
alone.
Hint. That I will with the utmost alacrity I'll
see what's going forward however. (Aside.) Exit,
Wav. Now, Sir, vfe are alone.
Sedg. Mr. Waverly, do me the favor to read that
letter.
5ENE II.] A COMEDY. 4g
Wav. {reads the lettei-) Well, Sir, I am perfectly
acquainted with the letter, tho* not the means by
which it came into your possession.
'. Sedg. Of that the direction will inform you.
Wav. Amazement ! can it be possible ?
Sedg. He's innocent, and I have wrong'd him '
you then intended that letter for another.
Wav. For the gentleman who has just left us.
Sedg. Oh I Waverly, can you forgive the impe-
tuosity of my feelings, and be again my friend ?
Wav. As warmly as ever, my dear fellow, for to
say the truth, appearances were devilish awkward,
(Hint crosses the back of the stage whistling.) Oh \
Hint, are you there.
Hint. Yes, I am here.
Wav, Will you favour me with the letter you re-
ceived this morning ?
Hint. The letter ! oh ! yes, there it is. (Gives it.)
Wav. There was a small mistake in the direction ;
this was intended for you : however, our differences
are now happily settled without sword or pistol.
Hint. Thought there must be some mistake in the
business.
Wav. I beg ten thousand pardons for having kept
you so long in a state of apprehension.
Hint. Apprehension ! oh no, not in the least, not
at all alarmed ; only, you know, if 1 had happened to
have been popp'd off, I should have felt so damned
awkward, not to have been able to give an account
of the affair.
Sedg. This is the gentleman to whom I am oblig-
ed for the information of my sister's being at your
chambers.
Hint. Who ? me. Sir under no obligations of
that sort to me I assure you.
Sedg. Why, Sir, didn't you inform me Miss
Sedgemore had been seen at this gentleman's cham-
bers?
Hint. Lord bless you. Sir, not I never heard of
44 THE FARO table: [act IV.
such a thing, you must certainly have dream't it
did want to pump me, {to Waverly) but wouldn't do
^you know my talent for closeness.
Wav. Oh ! yes, I know it so well, that if I wish'd
a thing to be known to half the town, I would imme-
diately entrust it to you as a profound secret you
remember the affair of poor Miss Classic ?
Hint. Nay, hang it, that's unmerciful now.
Wav. Didn't your talent for invention break off
the long depending match betwixt her and Dr. Double-
chin, and didn't the lady in a violent fit of despair
Sedg. Hang or drown ?
Wav. Neither ; run away with her footman ?
Hint. Out, by Jupiter, for everyone knows it was
the coachman.
Enter Nab, who taps Sedgemore and WaVERLY on the
shoulder.
Nab. Your servant, gem men.
Hint. Hey ! what ! tap on the shoulder slight
hint of a bailiff take it immediately. [Runs off.)
Sedg. Very familiar. Sir, but really I hav'n't the
smallest recollection of your person.
Wav. Nor I.
Sedg. Your name. Sir?
Nab. Nab, Sir, Nab, at your service.
Wav. And your business }
Nab. My business, oh, a mere trifle come, come,
you needn't look so shy upon a brother olTicer.
Sedg. Indeed, Sir, and who is your commander }
Nab. The Sheriff of Middlesex, suppose you read
my commission [serves them with a writ).
Wav. Hell and the devil, at the suit of my uncle !
Sedg. Barton to betray me thus !
Nab. I don't know what you may think of this,
gentlemen, but its what I call doing business
damme its liming two birds with one twig.
Wav. And where, Mr. Birdcatcher, is it your
pleasure
SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 45-
Nab. You'll find your new apartments very snug
and agreeable a clumsy bolt or two upon the door,
and a few ugly iron bars across the window; then the
room, to be sure, is very small, the air none of the
sweetest, and the prospect damnable ; but in all other
respects
Wav. Don't anticipate. Sir, don't anticipate, I've
no doubt we shall find your house a paradise, with
the devil always at our elbow; but as most probably
we shall be there long enough to discover all its
beauties, suppose you shew us the way.
Nab, Sir, with the utmost pleasure.
Wav. Courage, boy, {to Sedg.) we came here to
cut one another's throats, let us now be employed in
the nobler office of rousing one another's philosophy.
{Exeunt.)
pND OF ACT FOURTH.
^6 THE FARO table: [aCTJT^
ACT V.
SCENE I.
A Spunging house.
AVaverly and SedgEMORE sitting at a table.
Wav, Well, Charles, here we are safely caged at
last ! hang it, don't droop, boy, man is at best but
the foot-ball of fortune.
Sedg. Ruin'd past redemption our misfortune
will immediately get wind, and every paltry, sneak
ing tradesman, who an hour ago would almost have
kiss'd the earth to receive my commands, will now
wear the brow of insolent superiority.
Wav. Why the rogues will be busy I'm afraid
what a happy life might a young man lead if none of
his tradesmen ever became importunate before his
undertaker.
Sedg. To be exposed to the insolent demands of
my creditors, and the sneering pity of my friends
I will not endure it. (Takes out a pistol and lays it
on the table.)
Wav. Why what the devil possesses you now ?
Sedg. No matter something must be done to
save me from infamy.
Wav. What, by shooting yourself through the
head Believe me, Charles, the worst way of a man's
atoning for his past irregularities, is by putting it
out of his power ever to make amends for them.
Enter Nab.
Nab. There's one Levi below inquires for you.
SCENE I.] A COMEDY- 47
Wav. Shew him up. [Exit Nab. We'll shoot
him first, however tho' perhaps he has heard of our
misfortunes, and is come to bail us.
Sedg. Rather he is more alert than the rest, and
learning we are caged, he is come to clip our wings.
Wav. Then I'll give him a specimen of what he
is to expect.
Sedg. What d'ye mean ?
Wav. Only to make him bail us. Come ! put
up your pistol till we have occasion for it. Here he
comes.
Enter BARTON.
Bart. Shave you. Gentlemen, both I couldn't
think of taking my leave without inquiring how you
like your new apartments I suppose you can guess
my business here I came to
Wav. Bail us, I know you did.
Bart. Then you know more than ever entered,
my head I came to lodge a detainer against you
both.
Wav. You really did ?
Bart. Yesh, you know, you will have no more
occasion for me.
Sedg. Rather, friend Levi, you will have no more
occasion for us.
Bart. Dat ish de same thing, you know so now
having told you my business, I shall humbly take my
leave.
Wav, Indeed you will not.
Bart. No ?
Sedg. No.
Wav. For thus I lodge a detainer against you.
(Presents a pistol.)
Sedg. And I another. (Presents another pistol.)
Bart. Why this ish new legal process.
Wav. Yes, a compendious mode of settling ac-
counts between debtor and creditor, by double entry.
Bart. Very compendious indeed.
48 ' THE FARO TABLE : [aCT V.
Sedg. Yes, and as you approve of it, suppose we
strike the balance immediately.
JBart. Oh, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob !
Sedg. No canting. Sir.
Bart. Mercy on me, mercy on me !
Wav. Now, Charles, are you prepared ?
Sedg. Give the word.
Wav. Make ready, present
Bart. Stop a moment, stop a moment Bless me,
what would you have ?
Wav. Bail us immediately ^you have acquired
your riches by extortion, and now you shall part with
a little of it by the same means therefore bail us im-
mediately, or
Bart. Impossible!
Sedg. Then here goes.
Bart. Mercy on me ! Stop a minute.
Wav. Not a second promise immediately to bail
us, or you shall be in Abraham's bosom in the snap-
ping of a Trigger.
Bart. Oh, my moneysh, my moneysh I
Sedg. Promise, at once, or the prayers of fifty
synagogues shan't save your bacon
Bart. My bacon 1 1 am a Jew.
Wav, Now, Charles, make ready present F
Bart. {Pidls off his disguise.)
Wav. My uncle ?
Sedg. Barton ?
Bart. Now an*t you a couple of hopeful youths,
an affectionate nephew, and a grateful ward ? Who
without judge or jury would have put me out of the
world by double entry, for having preserved you both
from beggary and ruin. Well, Gentlemen, what have
you to say for yourselves ?
Wav. Not a syllable I don't think I had ever
so little to say for myself in the whole course of my
life.
Bart. Your friend here, perhaps, may give you
some assistance.
SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 49
Sedg. Not I, Sir, upon my honour.
Bart. You young prodigals. I see a blush of
amendment in your cheeks, the herald of returning
virtue. Give me your hands ^}'ou have been a cou-
ple of wild young dogs, but I have redeemed all
behold in me your only creditor, and your true friend.
Sedg. My noble, generous benefactor !
Wav. My ever honoured uncle !
Bart. A truce with your praises, if you please. I
have settled your reckoning here, and we may depart
immediately. I've a coach waiting, you must rein-
state me in my disguise, for I have another game to
play, which I'll explain to you as we go along.
(They re -dress him.)
Wav. Upon my soul, you have pitch'd upon a
most happy disguise to conceal the practice of ge-
nerosity.
Bart. No unmanly reflections. Sir National pre-
judices are as false as they are illiberal. Believe me,
I am not the only one who wears the heart of a
Christian under the habit of a Jew. The seeds of be-
nevolence are planted deep in every human heart ;
there is no bosom so barren and desolate as not to
bear some blossoms of humanity. [Exeunt.)
SCENE II.
LADY WELLGROVE's.
Lady Wellgrove sitting at Table.
Lady Well. What a sleeping sluggard is time, when
we most anxiously wish for his approach. The last
half hour has appeared an age, and the next will be
almost an eternity. I'll steal and see if Julia is yet
awake. [Goes into the chamber and returns.) The
bitterest draught of misery has an opiate for the bo-
som at peace with itself.
H
50 THE FARO table: [aCT V.
Enter Servant.
Serv. My lady Nightshade and Lord Fillagree.
Lady Well. Shew them up. (Exit Servant.) AVhat
can they want ? Perhaps her ladyship may have
heard that I have given an asylum to her Ward, and
is come to claim her.
Enter Lady Nightshade, and Lord Fillagree.
Good-morrow, Madam Lord Fillagree, your servant
the honour of this visit is quite unexpected.
Lady Night. So I should imagine 1 but business of
the first importance
L. Fit. Yes, of the first importance, positively.
Lady Night. You are no doubt acquainted with the
elopement of my niece ?
Lady Well. I will not affect ignorance of it. [Aside)
Lady Night. And I am informed from pretty toler-
able authority the fugitive is now in your house.
Lady Well. It is a fact I will not deny.
Lady Night. I suppose she has trumped up a pretty
story to amuse your Ladyship with, and I have no
doubt has made very free with my character, and his
Lordship's, whose bare civilities as a man of gallantry ^t
were mistaken by her rustic ignorance for violence,
he ! he ! he !
L. Fil. Was there ever any thing half so ridicu-
lous, ha ! ha !
Lady Night. Therefore as your Ladyship has had
the candour to confess she is in your house, I make no
doubt you will immediately restore her to me, who
come to claim her both as her guardian and her
relation.
Lady Well. Your Ladyship must pardon me my
respect for truth has induced me to avow the protec-
tion I have afforded Miss Sedgemore, and my regard
for justice and humanity impel me to continue it.
Lady Night. Very well, madam, vastly well ^you'll
please to recollect she's a Ward of Chancery,
'SCENE II.] A COMEDY. 51
Lady Well. It might perhaps have been better if
your Ladyship had recollected that.
Lady Night. Very well. Madam, vastly well
you'll recollect there's such a thing as law, but I
suppose you are above that.
Lady Well. By no means they only think them-
selves above law who attempt to violate it with impu-
nity. As a relation of Miss Sedgemore, the law has
appointed your Ladyship joint guardian of her honor
and her fortune. You best know how you have exe-
cuted that trust; but till that point is settled, I must
be excused for doubting your title to resume it.
Lady Night. Then, Madam, 1 shall be under the
necessity of searching your house.
Lady Well. Your Ladyship, I trust, will do no-
thing derogatory to the manners of a gentlewoman.
Enter Sapling, drunk.
Sap. Ah ! Jenny, [without) so here I am at last.
L. Fil. Who the devil have we here I
Sap. Damme but we've had a night of it- a set of
high dogs. [Mimic ks them.)
Lady Well. My hopeful cousin in this state.
Sap. Sir Harry, drink off your heel taps my Lord,
what d'ye think of the devil not half hot enough.
Fill as you please, and drink as you fill.
L. Fil. Filthy fellow.
Sap. Buz you my Lord Buz, buz,*buz damme
I think there was nothing but buz and now I'll go
to bed.
Lady Well. Sir, I hope you'll go to bed in your
own house.
Sap. My own house that's a very good joke - :
what, I suppose that isn't my bed-chamber ?
Lady Well. I tell you this is not your chamber
was there ever any thing so unfortunate ?
Sap. Not my chamber I know it by the key-
hole.
Lady Well. I tell you it is not.
Sap. But I say it is. (They struggle SAPLING
5^ THE FAKO table: [aCT V,
comes with his hack against the door, and forces it open
he goes in. Miss Sedgemore comes out, and he follows
her.) Damme but I've bolted her, or rather I have
unbolted her.
Lady Night. So, Miss, you are discovered at last,
and I'll see who'll now interpose between you and my
lawful authority.
L. Fil. Yes, I'll see who'll now interpose between
us and lawful authority.
Sap. (Puts himself in their way.) Not an inch
further I started the game, and you have nothing
to do with it. Besides, she's my own wounded bird,
and no other sportsman shall hunt it down.
Lady Night. A very extraordinary person this.
L. Fil. Very extraordinary person indeed pray
Sir, do you happen to know that this lady is a Ward
of Chancery ?
Sap. Very possibly ; but if the Lord Chancellor
was to come for her, he should not have her pray
Sir, are you his bag-bearer ?
L. Fil. His bag-bearer ! perhaps you are igno-
rant that I'm a peer of the realm.
Sap. Poo, never mind that father's a baronet
keep off. (Puts himself in a boxing attitude.)
L. Fil, I think we had better send for a con-
stable.
Sap. A constable ?
L. Fil. I'll no longer endure it. (The women
scream Waverly and Sedgemore enter.)
Wav. Hollo I what the devil's the matter here?
Sap. Ho ! ho ! more company ! Then I'll go to
bed damme, I'll go to bed. [Staggers off.)
Lady Night. Oh, Charles, I'm glad you're come
your sister is discovered at last.
Sedg. Yes, Madam, so is your Ladyship.
Lady Night. What d'ye mean ?
Sedg. Nothing, only a Jew has been taken up
attempting to dispose of certain diamonds, the pro-
perty of my sister.
Lady Night. Well, Sir?
SCENE II.] ' A COMEDY. 53
Wav. And has confessed to have received the
jewels from your Ladyship, for the purpose of selling
them.
Lady Night. A mighty ingenious story. And pray
where is this honest Jew ?
Wav. Call the Jew into court.
Lady Night, (aside.) Surely he cannot have be-
trayed me at all events J must face it out.
Enter Barton, disguised as the Jew.
Lady Night. Is this the person you speak of?
TVav. / Does your Ladyship affect ignorance of
him ?
Bart. You are too quick upon her Ladyship she
will know me by and bye. Besides her Ladyship
never saw me but once, and then she was more taken
with my talents for secrecy than with the beauty of
my countenance.
JLady Night. And pray. Sir, have you any thing
to accuse me of?
Bart. Oh, nothing at all nothing at all every
one has a right to dispose of their own jewels, especial-
ly when they are left them by their dear deceased lords,
and you have done no more. There ish not the leasht
harm in the transaction -, and now, having confessed
it as a Jew, I am ready to bear witness to it as a
Christian. [Discovers Jiimself.)
Lady Night. Barton I
Bart. I told your Ladyship you would find me an
honester man than you took me for.
Lady Night. This is all a plot to murder my re-
putation.
L. Fit. A most infernal plot, positively.
Lady Night. Very well, gentlemen mighty well
it is now your time to triumph ; but beware how you
sport with the character of a woman of my rank.
Bart. We shall be at least as tender of it as ever
your ladyship was.
Lady Night. Will your lordship leave this place?
L. Fit, Immediately I protest I feel quite un-
M THE FARO TABLE. [aCT V.
comfortable will your ladyship give me leave?
(Offering his hand.)
Lady Night. Oh I the monsters !
[Exeunt LORD FiL. and Lady Night.)
Bart. So, so, so, (looking at Sedgemore and Lady
Wellgrove, zvho keep at a distance from each other).
Now I am sure you both wish to be nearer together,
b}'^ your taking such extraordinary pains to keep at a
distance.
Lady Well. Indeed, Sir, you're very much mistaken.
Bart. [To Sedg.) Zounds, why don't you make
your advances ? she can't in decency surrender till
you begin the attack.
Sedg. Great as my offence has been, my punish-
ment has already exceeded it. Can nothing convince
you of my contrition ?
Lady Well. Nothing. Yes, time, time may shew
your sincerity; tho', upon second thoughts, I don't
think even time can do it. No, I'm so convinced
your offence can never be obliterated by time, that I
think I may as well forgive you at once there (gives
him her hand) ; behave better for the future.
Sedg, Who wouldn't transgress, to be thus for-
given ?
Bart. Here, Julia, are your diamonds (gives the
casket) ; and Waverly, here is a diamond for you of
the first water and the brightest polish (gives Julia to
Waverly). Preserve her faithfully in your bosom,
and set her deeply in your heart, and remember that
nothing can ever rob you of your treasure, whilst you
keep the key to her affections. This has been a busy
day for us all, and we hope our friends here will not
think it labour in vain.
Their helping hands, " The Guardians/* should engage.
Their care ; the real Guardians of the Stage.
FINIS.
EPILOGUE.
(Speaking at the Stage Door.)
1 WILL go forth and speak it let me through, Man.
(Entering.)
The Epilogue's among the rights of woman.
Though through your Timon not a female's heard
The play once done, no man shall say a word.
Ladies, my wrongs are yours. Shall actors flout us
Shall managers pretend to do without us ?
And persevere, for they have dared begin it.
To act a play without a woman in it ?
They cry " 'Tis Shakespeare's." Then I must confess
It much destroys my reverence for Queen Bess.
She, who the French could tame the Spaniard fetter
Might sure have taught her saucy poet better.
Thus fierce with rage no prompter's mandate checks
Ladies, I stand the champion of the sex.
And for our Bard claim i/our applause by right
For women guide our moral plot to-night.
And hard, and bold, and high in praise should be
The task our closing Drama leaves to me.*
A gamester thus by wedlock to reclaim !
How many think I play a desperate game
Yet can good wives, if wise, in every station
On man work miracles of reformation.
And were such wives more common, I'd ensure it.
However great the malady, they'd cure it.
And much their aid is wanted in a nation
That plays so deep the game of speculation. ,
Some to pursue it in St. Giles's meet
Some more genteely in St. James's street.
To hazard thousands at a single throw.
Or sink a penny on a little Go.
Here rises briskly from his morning slumber
One who's been dreaming of a lucky number.
His fortune's made he seeks the shop where prizes
In golden rhymes are promised of all sizes.
With head brim-full of wealth and empty purse
The letter comes. Alas ! 'tis all blank verse.
In vain the lover hangs o'er Chloe's charms
What's love to her while Pam is in her arms.
* Tlie lines from tlie asterisk to the end were written for the purpose by th
authorof the Comedy. -
EPILOGUE.
What on her cheek can raise the glowing blush
A lover's tender vows ? Oh, no a flush.
An Author too stakes deep who dares engage.
His all, in that uncertain game, the Stage.
When ye who here in solemn judgment sit-
Approve his satire or applaud his wit-
He thanks his stars for such a lucky hit.
Scores up his winnings, leaves the table gay.
And stakes again upon another play.
lage.
nt sit 1
It. 3
J. M'Creery, Printer,
SUck'Hoise
A'.>ii/:ij, .
,5i^lJ>iA Q-i^t^
JIO^* it
.-. . .4*1
CHARACTERS.
Old Headstrong, , Mr. Bartley.
Charles Headstrong, Mr. Wallack.
KiTCAT, . ; Mr, Penley.
Harry Sutherland, Mr. Barnard.
Endall, Mr. Harley.
Sam Dabbs, Mr. Munden.
RoBi N Gruff, Mr. Hughes.
Servant, Mr. Evans.
Miss Stirling, Mrs. Orger.
Mary, Miss Ivers.
SCENE, a Village at a distance from London.
WHO*S WHO ?
ACT I.
SCENE I.
A ROOM AT HEADSTRONG's.
Enter Headstrong, followed by Charles.
Char. But listen to me, Sir; be not deaf to my
entreaties.
Head. Booby ! be not blind to your interest.
Char. Only one word, my dear uncle.
Head. 'Tis all' in vain ; " Firmness'^ is the family
motto of the Headstrong^, and 1 am resolved it shall
never be dis^aced in me.
Char. Consider, sir, I have never seen the lady you
would have me marry.
Head. No more have I, sir; yet, you see I am as
quiet as a lamb. Indeed, I have never even seen her
uncle, who is also her guardian, though we have held
a correspondence together these twenty years. How-
ever, not to do things precipitately, and to allow you
time to become acquainted, I shall delay the signing
of the necessary papers a full hour after their arrival,
which 1 expect this very day.
Char. An hour, sir !
Head. Aye ; and for a rational courtship, an hour
6 who's who ?
is a very liberal allowance : not long enough, cer-
tainly, to acquaint you with half her good qualities,
but as to any of an opposite nature, the ladies make it
a rule never to expose those on this side of the mar-
riage ceremony.
Char. A certain something about my heart, a sort
of antipathy presumptive, tells me I shall not like her.
Head. I sincerely hope you will not ; you will then
have an opporotun of giving me a more decided
proof of your bedience. But, no matter ; in this
affair, you are neither of yott at liberty to exercise
your taste. The business is this : Miss Stirling's
father and your's were old friends, and when they
were boys at school, her father said to your father, or
your father said to her's, " If ever you and 1 should
grow up and have children, how odd it would be if
they should marry one another!"
Char. And is that all ?
Head. Not quite ; for the better to secure the
accomplishment of their wishes, there are clauses in
their m ills, providing, that if either of you form a dif-
ferent alliance, unless the written consent of both
your guardians be obtained, the party so offending,
shall be cut off with an annual allowance of fifty
poUtlds, and this remainder of said party's fortune be
appropriated to the charitable ptirpose of erectitig
divers alms-houses and hospitals, and the support of a
fcertaiti numbier 6i 6\A Ivomen.
Char. My dear uncle, I am in extacies !
Head. I ain glad ydti have thdught better of the
matter.
Char. Not so, sir ; bitt I perfceive that you may
dispense M^ith Oltr mar1*iage if you choose, and
Head. All'! but Mr. Kitcat, the youiig lady'fe
guardian and 1 have decided that matter ; and as he fe
a dailin'd obstinfite old fellow,
Char. Aye, and as yoti are a djUBn'fl tibstiriate old
fellow
Head. Tt1l6, Jactaiiap^s ; yoii ttay Sfet yotlt ftfeart
WHO^S WHO ? 7
9t rest, and prepare for the ceremony : or, if you wish
to indulge your charitable propensities, refuse the
lady ; and in return you will receive the affections and
the blessinj^s of all the old women in the county.
Char. But in an affair of this nature, sir, the heart
Head. The heart ! Pooh ! a pumpkin ! the pocket
you blockhead!
Char. Very well, sir, you seem determined to op-
pose me.
Head. Hear me, sir. I have been your guardian
these nineteen years, and an indulgent one you must
allow : 1 humoured you in every thing- while you were
a child, and it would be hard indeed if I could not
make you do as I please, now that you have arrived at
years of discretion.
Char, f impatiently J. Sir, sir, will you argue the
point coolly with me ?
Head. Why since you have a taste for argument,
and I am determined not to be moved by any you can
produce, I will indulge you. But let us be calm, let
us treat the point like logicians, come, sit down.
Char, (with stifled anger J. Certainly, sir ; we'll be
cool and temperate ; we'll argue the point dispassion-
ately, (they sit J If I marry Miss Stirling, I
merely say if I marry Miss Stirling may I bedamn'd.
Head, (starting up J And may I be damn'd if you
don't ; so that end's the debate you scoundrel. [Exit.
Char. Here's a pretty business ! Marry a girl I have
never seen ! O, impossible ! What's to be done ? I'll
acquaint my vmcle at once with my attachment to my
dear Mary ; tell him that ray heart and affections
Psha ! what the devil does he care about my heart and
affections : he'd make me marry a Rhinoceros, if it
wore a collar of gold ; that's hopeless. No, I'll
{Enter Servant, deliver's a Letter, Exit."^ By all that's
fortunate, from Harry Sutherland, the brother of my
Mary ! (reads J Dear Charles, I have this moment
" arrived at this place, with my sister, upon business of
" the utmost importance : come to me instantly. I am
8 ^ WHO*S WHO ?
"at the London hotel. Harry Sutherland." I fly to
meet them. {^Exit.
SCENE II.
A ROOM AT AN INN.
Enter Hahry Sutherland and Mary.
Harry. Well, my dear sister, here we are, and now
fortune be our friend.
Mary. Indeied, Harry, I fear this will prove but a
wild scheme of your's, after all. Yovi are not sure
that your mistress is in this neighbourhood ; and you
have other difficulties to overcome besides the disco-
very of her. In the first place, as your fortune, to say
no worse of it, is but slender, her uncle will refuse
his consent,
Harry. I have the consent of the neice, which in
cases of this nature, is gaining- nine points out of ten.
Mary, You have scarcely seen her : has she al-
ready been so explicit?
Harry. Yes ; by inference : for she has enumer-
ated all the objections her uncle would make to an
offer of marriage from me, without stating a single
one on her own part.
Mary. But should her uncle oppose
Harry. I shall run away with the neice, by all means.
Mary. Then if Charles should not gain his uncle's
consent, I suppose he'll run away with me ; and then,
you kfiow, we can all run away together.
Harry. That is an arrangement I may perhaps,
oppose. As your guardian, I must set my face against
an act
Mary. Which you -would be sorry the guardian of
your mistress should prevent.
who's who } 9
Harry. In every thing, we have two rules of right :
one for the g-uidance of others, the other for our own.
But let's to business ; we may as well know something
about the principal inhabitants of this neighbourhoou,
{rings a hell) and the waiter's a likely man to inform us.
Enter Robin Gruff, bowing aukwardly.
Harry. Oh, you are the waiter : you can perhaps
furnish me with some information that I am in need of.
Robin. Any thing- to make myself agreeable, sir.
Harry. Don't trouble yourself to be agreeable ;
the useful is all we want of you. How long have you
lived here?
Robin. My name be Robin Gruff. I were born up
at mother's, Michaelmas day, in the year of our
Harry. Psha ! 1 can dispense with your memoirs.
How long have you been waiter here ?
Robin. Ten years, sir ; or it may be twenty : I
can't say to a day or so.
Harry. Will you be explicit, my good fellow?
Robin. Thankee, kindly, sir ; one had better be any
thing here nor a waiter.
Mary. This man is so exquisitely stupid, you'll get
no information -from him.
Harry. I'll attempt him again. Have yoru any cor-
respondence with the families hereabouts ?
Robin. I don't correspond with nobody but Peggy
Stiles, sir.
Harry. I don't mean by writing, but
Robin. Nor I, sir. My Peg and I can't write, nor
read neither, sir.
Mary. Can neither read nor write, and yet you
correspond with each other !
Robin. O, we saves all that fuss ; Peg do get some-
body to \^Tite her letters, a'nd I do get somebody to
read 'em.
Harry. A mode of correspondence more to be de-
sired for convenience than secrecy.
B " " ' "^' -
10 WHO^S WHO ?
Robin. O there be no secrets, bless you : she only
tells I not to be in a hurry to be married, till we've
saved a ])it ; for, says Peg, times be main hard, Robin,
and in eight or ten years, we shall have ten or twelve
children ; and that's no joke, sir.
Harry. Your Peg is a close calculator, I perceive.
But now, give me a direct answer to a plain question,
if you can. Who are yovir people of consequence
about here ? '
Rohin. Why that be plain, sure enough. Now let
me see. The most consequentialest of 'em all, be little
Grip, the lawyer.
Harry. F^eave the room, blockhead ; and if there
be any thing human in the house, let it be sent to me.
Robin. Except master, I be the only hviman crea-
ture here ; all the rest be women. But here be
young 'Squire Headstrong coming in, sir, and mayhap
he be more sensible like. \_Exit Robin.
Enter Charles.
Char. Ha ! Sutherland, my boy ! I rejoice to see
you. My dear Mary, this is indeed an unexpected
happiness : to what am I indebted for it?
Mary. To one of Harry's mad whims, I believe.
Harry. My visit, to be sure, is rather unexpected ;
but 1 have an affair on hand, in which you may be
serviceable to me. .,,
Char. Egad, I have a disagreeable job of my own
to settle ; however, let me have your story first, and if
I can serve you, I will.
Harry. Well, then, 1 have had the misfortune ' '
Char. What?
Harry. To fall desperately in love with a little girl
who has a large fortune, without any particular objec-
tion to me.
Char. Then why not marry her ?
Harry. I despair of gaining her guardian's consent.
Char. Have you tried ?
' WHO*S WHO ? 11
Harry. I have never seen him.
Char. Then how am I to serve you ?
Harrij. Even thus. I have discovered that he and
his fair charge are coming' on a visit to some family in
this place, or its vicinity, and only require you to intro-
duce me to all your acquaintance twenty miles round.
Char. A pleasant task trulv. But, who is the
lady?--
Harry. My dear friend, as you have my entire
confidence, I shall not hesitate to tell you: her name
is Louisa Stirling-, neice to Mr. Kitcat, the celebrated
painter.
Char. The devil it is ! and you don't know the
object of her journey hither?
Harry. Not exactly.
Char. Then, my dear friend, as a return of confi- "
dence, I'll tell you : she's coming to marry me.
Harry. How !
Mary. Charles !
Harry. What is the meaning of all this ?
Char. The meaning is, that the young lady's father
and mine, who were bosom friends, entered into a sort
of provisional contract that we should marry each
other.
Harry. And what was the proviso, sir ?
Char. Merely that we should be born ; for they
had determined on the union of their imaginary oft-
spring, long before they were married themselves.
Mary. And you have consented to the marriage ?
Char. Consented to it ! no, nor never will.
Harry. What's to be done in this business ?
Char. Our situation is difficult ; for the consent of
both our guardians (who appear determined on the
marriage) must be obtained, before either Miss Stirling
or myself can marry contrary to the wills of our late
fathers, without forfeiting our fortunes. Nothing can
save us but stratagem.
Harry, As our danger is mutual, so must be our
efforts. ^ . -,
12 who's who ?
Char. We must devise something immediately, for
my intended is hourly expected.
Harry. We may want assistance.
Char. A-propos. There is the apothecary of this
village, a cunning, scheming fellow. I'll speak to
him.
Mary. Indeed, Charles, I tremble for your success.
Char. Tell me that I have your good wishes for my
success, and success is certain.
Harry. Now fly, Charles, and sound the Doctor, vfe
will wait your return.
Char. We have each a treasure at stake, and will
join heads, hearts, and hands to preserve it.
[Exeunt Charles, Harry and Mary.
SCENE III.
THE INTERIOR OF DOCTOR ENDAIL's SHOP.
Sam Dabbs discovered at Work, with Pestle and Mortar,
Sam. People may talk of the happy life of a village
doctor, but the lord help his assistant, say I. Here am
I scraping and squeezing, and shaking and mixing, till
I am familijir with the taste of all the physic in my
master's shop ; and when all is over, and shop shut, I
seek in vain for elegant recreation : no private play-
house, no debating society ! Why did I quit London ?
I am the most miserable, unfortunate dog in the crea-
tion, except my master's patients; and they, poor souls!
but that's their concern. Well, that Job's job'd,
(puttinfr a phial into paper J That's a passport for
poor Mr. Scfualid. I am my master's secretary for
the foreign department : I prepare for the conveyance
of his subjects out of this world into the other. Oh,
here he comes.
^
WHO*S WHO? 13
Enter Doctor Endall.
End. Well, Sam, who has called during my ab-
sence ? has any thing been stining ?
Sam. Stirring! yes. I have been stirring with a
plague to it. I have stirred up three-and-twenty pre-
scriptions, and am as sick of them, as if 1 had taken
them all myself.
End. Sam, Sam, you are a discontented rascal.
Don't I give you two shillings a week, and the run of
my shop the liberty of taking as much physic as
you can saa allow ; and when I return in the evening
from visiting my patients, don't I allow you to ride my
poney to the stable for your recreation ?
Sam. Yes, and to clean him too for my recreation.
End. 1 suppose you want "a sinecure, you useless
blockhead !
Sam. Useless blockhead ! Why then you confess
I'm qualified for one.
End. Here, Mr. Swallow has got his monthly com-
plaint again ; mix up this prescription, and take it in-
stantly.
Sam. Take it instantly! and what good will my
taking it do Mr. Swallow ?-
End. Take it to his house, booby ! read.
Sam. O ! ah ! I see ! " the Monthly Club 'Dinner
Emetic as usualJ" It was a cunning trick of your's,
sir, to propose a club dinner ; it makes my pestle and
mortar jingle from morning till night.
End. Why, I have no reason to complain ; I be-
lieve I get more by it than the landlord of the Cor-
morant who provides it. A naval victory has been as
good as thirty pounds in my pocket.
Sam. How so, sir ?
End. Why half the village have dined together, and
the consequence
Sam. Bless your soul, sir ! In that line, the Novem-
ber practice of a city apothecary is worth all your's
he year through.
14 who's who ?
End. Thanks to the convivial character of our coun-
try^ a man of skill in my profession may find employ-
ment ill every month: for whether we wouhl he merry
or sad ; commemorate a dead patriot, or compliment a
living- one ; rejoice at a victory, or bemoan a defeat ; it
is still a dinner, a dinner, and a dinner. Pray, has ray
good friend C/oseall, the undertaker, been here?
Sam, Your friend !
End. Yes, sir, my friend. Why our friendship is the
common talk of the place.
Sam. True for they say that wherever Doctor End-
all is, Closeall, the undertaker, can't be far off. He
called just now to say he was sorry to hear another
apothecary was coming to settle here ; and then he
grin'd, and looked as happy as if a fever had broken
out in the village.
End. There's g^ratitiide ! I have been the making of
that fellow. He has confess'd that I have sent him
more customers in one year, than ever my predecessor
sent him in three.
' Sam. Why, he says you owe half your patients to
his reconnnendation.
Ertd. That's true ; but he always has them in the
end.- O, Sam, the ingratitude of the world makes
me mad. I'll go and settle in London; my skill is
buried in this village.
Satn. At least the proofs of it are, sir. Now, I'll go
and take the physic out.
End. And make no mistakes, d'ye hear. Yesterday
the emetic for Farmer Thresher's horse* you left at the
mayor's; his worship swallowed it, and it has nearly
been the death of him.
Sam. I will be more careful for the future, sir.
[Exit Sam.
End. Oh, here comes my good friend, Mr. Charles
Headstrong.
Enter Charles.
Char, Dr. Endall, good morning.
who's who ? 15
End. Good morning, sir, I hope you are well I do
indeed, thouob I am an apothecary. And though I sel-
dom shke a man by the hand without mechanically
insinuafiii-^ my finger towards his, pulse ; nor consis-
tent'y w.th my own professional interests, can I say to a
person, " i hope you are well," without wishing him a
chronic, yet to you, Mr. Charles
Char. Yon flatter, doctor.
End. Not at all, sir but to what am T indebted for
the honour of this visit?
Char. Merely a passing call.
End. What, nothing in my way ? You should be care-
ful of your health at this season *of the year, sir; for
though you may not be absolutely ill yet prevention,
you kjiow
Char. But, doctor, I have something important to
communicate to you, and must request your attention.
f aside J I'll frighten him into my service. I'll pass
Kitcat the painter on him, as an apothecary.
End. 1 am dumb, sir.
Char. My uncle
End. 1 hope he's well, sir ; he is a very worthy man,
although he won't take physic : however, as he is my
friend, I won't dwell upon his failings.
Char. Your friend, indeed ! But if I tell you, you'll
be secret?
End. As my own customers defunct.
Char. Well, then, my uncle intends to drive you
out of this place.
End, Impossible !
Char. A fact ! He has sent for a friend frora Lon-
don, an apothecary, and means to recommend him all
over the county.
End. Amazement !
Char. Nay, more: to make the business secure,
and fix the man here, he insists upon my marrying his
niece.
End, Which you have consented to ?
Char. Peremptorily refused !
16 who's who ?
End. What's to be done ? You are my friend ; will
you assist me in opposing- this intruder?
Char. With all my heart ; and as I have as strong
an objection to the niece as a wife, as you can possibly
have to the uncle as a rival, our ett'orts must be mu-
tual. The first step towards saving you from oppo-
sition in your practice, must be the preventing of this
odious marriage.
End. Then refuse the girl at once, and the business
is done.
Char. Not so ; I have reasons against that, and
must have recourse to stratagem. Are you a good
hand at a scheme ?
End, Try me. I'm agent to Twig'em, the great
lottery office-keeper in London ; and, between us, we
have invented schemes but, vanity apart, ask the suf-
ferers.
Char. Well, sir, I'll trust you. There is a young
lady whom I am determined to marry ; but as she has
no fortune, I am certain my uncle will not consent to
our union.
End. Where is she ?
Char. Fortunately she arrived here this morning.
End. Does your uncle know her ?
Char. He has never seen her.
End. Good. When is the doctor's niece expected?
Char. This very day.
End. Good again. Then it's all settled. Let your
chosen fair introduce herself as the neice of
Char. Impossible ! Her uncle is expected to at-
tend her.
End. My assistant, Sam Dabbs, shall pei^sonate him.
Char. Does my uncle know him?
End. Not at all ; he has not been with me above a
month. In London, instead of attendingto his business
behind a druggist's counter, although the fellow was
near forty, he was either studying parts to act at a pri-
yate play-house, or preparing speeches on political re-
fomii and the state of the nation, to deliver at twelve
who's who ? 17
penny evening debating clubs ; so, to save him from
the gallows, his friends sent him to me.
Char. But if the real uncle and niece, should ar-
rive before we effect our purpose
End. We must take our chance for that. Oh, here
comes Sam.
Enter Sam hastily.
Sam. Sir ! Sir ! you must go this instant to Mrs.
Vixen's : she's dying, and her husband particularly
desires
End. Whenever that woman's ill her husband is in a
damn'd hurry for the doctor. But I have work for
you, Dabbs.
Sam. Forme, sir?
Char. Yes ; the business is this : I want to intro-
duce you to my uncle, Mr. Headstrong, as an old gen-
tleman from London. Can you undertake the part ?
Sam. Try me Except Macbeth and Little Pickle,
old men's parts used to be ray forte at our private
theatre.
Char. Then I will give you some employment.
Sam. 1 here, sir, I always told you that I should turn
my acting to some account.
Char. Now, observe, sir the person you have to
represent is a man of eleg-ant manners.
-Sam. Then blow me if I don't touch him off to a T.
In London I was used to elegant company. I was
at Lady Stifle's music party.
End. You!
Sam. Yes, L Don't you know that great folks often
let out their houses like taverns, for concerts ? Signor Cre-
scendo sold me a ticket for a five-and-sixpenny dollar ;
and there was I, and many more like me, for any thing-
her ladyship knew to the contrary, elbowing the first
ladies in the land. But, sir, I don't much like this busi-
ness after all. I came here with a view to mend my
morals, and this looks something like roguery.
Char. It is merely an innocent device, and if you
have any immediate use for twenty pounds, they are
much at your service.
c
18 who's who ?
Sam. Well, sir, if you'll nssure me that the business
we're going- upon is honourable, I'll join you in it
even thoutjfli it be highway robbery.
Char. Then come with me, sir, and I will explain
all to you by the way. Doctor, be sure not to go to
my uncle's just now, lest be should discover that I
have betrayed him: when I think your attendance
needful, I'll send for you. Adieu. \^Exit with Sam.
End. Not go to his uncle's just yet That's very
mysterious. Perhaps, after all, the youngster has in-
vented this story about a rival apothecary, merely to
serve his own purposes. Can that old Headstrong,
after all his professions of friendship for me, be such a
knave ? I'll go and sift him upon the subject ; and if 1
find I have been deceived, I'll not only spoil that young
rascal's ])rofects, but if ever I have an opportunity of
taking a professional revenge, curse me if 1 don't keep
him on dry toast and water gruel for a month. \JExit.
SCENE IV.
A ROOM AT OLD HEADSTRONG's.
^ Enter Old Headstrong.
Head. Egad ! I believe the young dog has come too
at last. Refuse an heiress, the booby ! Heiresses are
scarce game ; and if he had let her slip, I warrant half
the sportsmen in the kingdom wou'd have been at
her heels before the week's end.
Enter Servant.
Ser. Doctor Endall, sir.
Head. Who?
Ser. Doctor Endall, sir.
Head. Very well ; desire him to walk in.
VExit Servant.
Now shall I be tormented for two hours, by that
disagreeable, chattering, intrugive~-
who's who ? 19
Enter Doctor End all.
My dear doctor, I rejoice to see you. This visit is
very kind.
End. You are very good. Truly, sir, your family is
indebted to me for introducing many of its members
into the world.
Head. Aye, and for turning many of them out too.
But, come, sit down and tell me the news. If you were
not so kind as to tell me all that is doing in the world,
I might as well live in a wilderness, (aside) Tiresome
blockhead!
End. You flatter, sir. But now, sir, I come to you for
news. Have you nothing to tell me.? Nothing? Eh,
nothing?
Head. Why, perhaps, I have something to tell you
that will surprise you.
End. Ha ! 'tis coming !
Head. My nephew is going to be married.
End. Well, and is that all?
Head. All ! zounds, sir ! is not the news of a mar-
riage in my family enough for once ?
End. (Aside) Then it's plain enough. He is afraid
to tell me, and wants to pick a quarrel as a colour to
his villainy. I'll worm the matter out of him. ^To say
the truth, sir, your nephew did just give me a hint of
the matter this morning. He seemed averse from the
marriage ; but, as I suspected you might be desirous to
bring it about, I persuaded him to it.
Head. You always act like a sensible man, and a
friend, doctor.
End. Well, but he told me something about the
uncle: pray, is he eminent in his profession ? Come,
that's a home question. I shall know whether he
really means to establish the doctor here. \_Aside.
Head. (Aside) His profession ! 0,my nephew has
told him about his painting, I suppose. Why he doesn't
make a profession of it now ^ne practices merely as
an amateur.
End, (Aside) Ah ! then I'm ruined ; for he'll give
advice gratis and people are not so fond of physic as
to pay tor it, when they can get it for nothing.
^0 who's who ?
Head. But in London, doctor, he'll never make a
figure; he's too fond of the amusements of the Town ;
he wants application, and 1 find he has no patience.
End. No patients ! pity nothing to be done in his
line without patients.
Head. He does not practice so much as he ought.
End. Of course, he can't practice without patients.
Head. True ; so I have advised him to settle in this place.
End. f Aside J To take mine.
Head. 1 intend to introduce him to all my friends.
End. You do, eh ! (Aside) Here's a pretty rascal !
Head. He shall not be in want of subjects to work
upon. He excels in the human figure he has studied
anatomy to advantage he is an adept in taking sub-
jects from life.
End. So are most of the profession, I believe.
Head. I intend to make him take you off for a
beginning-.
End. That's making short work of it ; but if I
suffer him
Head. {Aside) O, I see ; he thinks he's a caricaturist
My dear doctor, you misunderstand me he's very
serious, I assure you ; he does'nt make a joke of these
things.
End. A joke ! Confound him, it's no joking matter.
Head. No, no, he's a man of a very different turn.
He sometimes gives lectures, upon the subjectof his art,
to private assemblies of his friends, he excels in that
way his articulation is delightful.
End. Articulation! An anatomist too! '[_Aside,
Head. And his delivery
End. Delivery ! a man midwife ! I'm cut up at all
points. Sir, I am eternally obliged to you for the
favour you intend me.
Head. Not at all, doctor; it's no more than you
deserve.
End. I shall choak !
Head. And when you are properly drawn, you shall
be huno- up in my great hall.
EncL O, I shall go mad ! I can't speak, but 1 will
WHO*S WHO ? 21
assist Charles with my whole heart, and be revenged
that way sir, T can t speak. [Exit in a violent rage.
Head. Poor fellow ! he can t express his lati-
tude. He is insufferably vain, and will go mad with
joy at the thoughts of having his rhubarb and magnesia
countenance exhibited in my great hall.
Enter Charles.
Now, you rogue ; I knew you would alter your mind:
you are too much like your uncle to be serious in re-
fusing a fine girl, with a fine fortune.
Char. (Aside) I must keep it up a little. Really,
sir, though in compliance with your wishes I have con-
sented to marry the unknown fair, yet, after all, the
lady may not be agreeable to me.
Head. Try and persuade yourself that you are over
head and ears in love with her, and I'll answer for it,
were she a nuimmy in bronze, you'd fancy her a Venus
in alabaster.
Char. Well, sir, your pleasure shall be mine.
Head. Well said, my boy. And now, Charles, that
you may receive our guests properly, I will give you
what information I have been able to gain respecting
their characters and manners ; for you know I have ne-
ver seen either of them.
Char. I am all attention, sir: first, for the uncle
then.
Head. He is a man highly accomplished, and remark-
able for the elegance of his manners ; exceedingly re-
served on a first acquaintance, but gradually expand-
ing as the frost of ceremony dissolves, till you receive
the full enjoyment of the various treasures of his head
and heart.
Char. (Aside} Whoo ! -His representative, poor
Sam Dabbs, I fear, will fall rather short of this descrip-
tion. And the niece, sir?
Head. Oh, she is a lovely, amiable girl of eighteen,
all fire and spirit, as full of mischief as a squiiTel ;
and has been educated after the very newest fashion.
22 . . who's who ?
CJiar. That is she can waltz, make fillagree pin-
baskets, sing- Italian arietta's, and gabble nonsense in
a variety of languages.
Head. Why, I understand she has the command of
four tongues.
Char. Hopeful intelligence for a husband.
Head. She is a wit, sir; and the lightness of her man-
ners forms a striking contrast to the stately elegance and
courtly dignity of her uncle's. Now I'll jiist step and
give directions for their proper entertainment ; and if
they should arrive during my absence, pray receive
them with all due ceremony. \ExiL
Char. A hopefid case, truly ! my actors are so un-
like the persons they are to represent, that but 'tis
too late for reflection, for here they are. However, a
hint at their characters before my uncle's return, may
be useful. My dear Mary
Enter Mary and Sam.
(Sam in an old Court Dress.)
Mary. O, Charles ! I shall never be able to get
through this piece of artifice ; I am half dead of fear.
Char. Courage ! courage ! consider that on the
success of this stratagem depends our happiness.
Sam. Aye, courage, miss ; look at me : I don't
tremlde and blush as you do.
Char. Now mark me, sir. The person you repre-
sent, is a man remarkable for the elegance of his man-
ners : now, though you are equipped in one of the best
suits I could find in my uncle's wardrobe, yet there is
about you a certain vulgarity, which, excuse me
Sam. Eh ! vulgarity ! Then souse me into a horse-
pond, if I'd give a button for your taste.
Char. Pardon me : I mean you must be very re-
served in your manner, very pompous and dignified;
^you had better not speak much.
Sam. O, I see. As I am supposed to be a cut
above your uncle, I am not to be familiar with hira.
WHO*S WHO ? '23
Char. Not exactly, so : but an accidental blunder,
you understand?
Sam. I'll make you easy on that score. I was fa-
mous for luy speeches at our debating club.
Char. Come, cheer up, my dear Mary ; a little self-
possession, or we shall never succeed. The lady you
personate is a romp a hoyden. Endeavour to reprcr
sent her with a little more spirit, and
Mary. Indeed, Charles, I cannot overcome my em-
barassment.
Char. Here he comes (to Sam J : you must frame
some excuse for her.
Sam. Let me alone.
Enter Headstrong.
Head. Now Charles, my boy, you must eh !
Char. Mr. Kitcat and Miss Stirling, sir; my uncle.
Head. Mr. Kitcat,--Madam, lam heartily glad to
see you. I hope you will pardon my receiving you in
this unceremonious way, but
Sam. {With affected di suit if) O, never mind, old
boy! Tho' lam very dignified, and very elegant in
my manners, I never likes to stand upon any sans cere-
monie, as the ancients call it. Hem !
Char. I suppose, sir, Mr. Kitcat means ^the devil !
Head. I can't conceive how I miss'd your carriage,
but perhaps, when you came to the park-gate
Sam. O, the carriage: why the truth is I whisked
my niece doMn in the shay.
Head. Whisk'd her down in the shay ! Well, this is
dignity and elegance with a vengeance !
Char, (aside to Sam) Ten thousand devils ! don't
open your lips again.
Sam. Be quiet, will you? I'm getting on very well.
Come, niece, "by don't you speak to Mr. Headstrong?
Are you afraid to say ho to a goose? You must excuse
my niece being a little sheepish, or so.
Head. (Aside) She's a wit: she wants drawing
24 who's who ?
out, perhaps. I'll try her. Hem ! I hope, madam, you
hare had a pleasant journey?
Mary. Ye-es, sir, {embarrassed)
Head, Had you any rain, madam ?
Mary. No, sir.
Head. Then you had fine weather ?
Mary. Yes, sir. Would to heaven I were relieved
from this situation. [^Aside.
Head. A wit! a Hoyden! Damme, if she isn't
?uite a ninny ! Your niece, sir, is rather diffident ; but
hope we shall be better acquainted by and bye, and
then (looks at Sam's dress with curions attention) Very
odd ! Ecod ! I could almost swear he has my coat on.
Sam. But let's to business. I should like to have the
marriage obsequies performed this very morning.
Head. The what, sir ?
Char. Mr. Kitcat says he wishes the ceremony per-
formed immediately.
Head. With all my heart, sir ; though upon consi-
deration, I think it would not be amiss to delay it for
a day or two, till the young people are better acquai
I've a waistcoat like that too. '
Char. Sir, the young lady's person and manners
have charmed me, and with her consent, I would not
delay the marriage an instant. Speak, my beloved : do
you oppose my wishes ?
Mary. I oppose them ! No, dear Charles ! My
present situation is most distressing, and till you have
secured me, every moment will be a torment to me.
Head. Now curse me if that's so much amiss, con-
sidering it is the first thing she has said to him : (to
Sam) A-propos ! In your last letter you mentioned
to me the death of my old acquaintance, Fidkins.
Sam. Did I?
Head. Yes ; and you said there was something par-
ticular attending it.
Sam. Did I? {Aside) What the devil shall I say!
Why, he died a
Head* Aye, a month ago.
Sam. Aye ; and he has been dead ever since.
WHOS WHO ? 25
Head. Well ; there's nothing" very surprising in
that.
Char. The less you say the better, (to Sam)
Sam. Don't bother me.
Head. The very breeches, too, are like mine.
Sam. Now, old boy ; I've had a long journey, and
should like a snack. Come, give us something- worth
having, something better than we are used to at home.
Head. I've been strangely deceived about this gen-
tleman. Sir, you shall have the best my house affords.
Sa7n. Then the sooner the better, for I'm devilish
sharp set.
Head, (aside) The notions about elegance and dig-
nity must have undergone a strange alteration, in Lon-
don, within the last twenty years. (To Mary) Madam,
allow me to conduct you. Charles, you will attend
Mr. Kitcat. \^Exit tcith Mary.
Char. Your ignorance and vidgarity will be-
tray us.
Sam. Psha! it's the best proof of high breeding.
Char. So far we have succeeded ; my uncle is de-
ceived, and
Enter Doctor Endall hastily.
End. Oh, lord, sir ! we are all ruined !
Char. What's the matter ?
End. The real Mr. Kitcat and his niece are here !
I saw their carriage stop at the park-gate.
Char. Confusion ! ,
End. There's an end of us all, I'm afraid ; but in
Order to gain time, I'll intercept them, say I'm sent
by your uncle to conduct them hither, and detain them
as long as possible : \as'!de~\ and have a word or two
with the doctor upon my own affaii*s. {Exit.
Char. Come, sir, follow me to my uncle. We've not
a moment to spare. If the real parties arrive before
we succeed with him, we are lost ibr ever,
Sam. I see how it will end ; I shall be the sufferer
in this affair. I have an idea of the taste of the horse-
D
26 who's who ?
pond already: and fancy myself peeping into the
g-arret windows, six times in a niinute, by" the gentle
assistance of a blanket. [^Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Headstrong's park.
Enter Harry Sutherland and Miss Stirling.
Miss S. Indeed, Mr. Sutherland, your conduct is
highly improper. To follow me from London, with-
out
Harry. But, my dear Miss Stirling, consider the
disagreeableness of your situation.
Miss S. Truly, my situation is not exactly such a
one as a young woman with a lively imagination would
sketch out for her own happiness. I am brought down
here, at a day's notice, to marry a man I never saw in
my life, merely because when 1 was an infant squalling
in long-coats, my father thought I should make a veiy
pretty wife for his friend's son, who was ambulating
m a go-cart. Now only consider the folly of it.
Harry. Aye ; and the tyranny.
Miss S. And my own weakness if I were to submit
to it.
Harry. And my want of gallantry if I did not assist
you to escape from it.
Miss S. Fsha ! But I did not mean that.
who's who ? 27
Harry. And what do you intend to do, to avoid
being forced into a marriage with Charles Headstrong?
Mm S. Appeal to my uncle's generosity, and if that
fail
Harry, We'll elope, by all means.
Miss S. Your assurance astonishes me. elope ! No,
sir ; an elopement must be our last resource.
Harry. My dear Louisa, you have made me happy
let me fly
Miss S. What have I said ? now now no trans-
ports; consider, we are in the enemy's camp this is
Mr. Headstrong's park : for the present you must leave
me. I must return to my uncle, Mr. Kitcat, whom I
left making a sketch at the park entrance, and endea-
vour to delay his arrival. If I am seen here, as Charles
has introduced his mistress to his uncle under my
name, it will be fatal to his project.
Harry. And not one
Miss S. Well, there, you may take my hand.
Harry, You have made me the happiest man on
earth. [^Exit.
Miss S, I have done a very imprudent thing, but I
dare not reflect upon it, lest I should repent, and
change my mind, (going returns) As I live here's
some one coming this way. [^Retires up the stage.
Enter Headstrong.
Head. I never was so disappointed in all my life.
Instead of seeing, as I expected, arcspectable well-bred
man, this Mr. Kitcat is a coarse, ill-mannered, illiterate
booby. He offered to lay me a pot of porter that my
wig would fit his head, and, without ceremony, pulled
it off", across the table, to try. He had his fingers in
every dish, eat voraciously of all, and bit a piece out
of every peach till he found one to his taste. I thought
he was skilled in paintings, and took him to view my
little collection: worse and worse! betook my " Cupid
sharpening his arrows^* for a naked young Robin Hood ;
and when I called his attention to my exquisite " Fall
28 who's who ?
of Phaeton,*' damn me if he didn't ask me whether I
had ever seen the sign of the " Tumble-doicn-drcJc,*' in
the Borough. Eh ! who have we here ? {seeing Miss S.)
Your servant, madam.
Miss S. {comifis; forward,) Who can this he? Ex-
cuse me, sir; I believe I have made some mistake :
allow me to retire.
Head. Whom do you seek, madam 1
Miss S. {Aside) What can I say? Nobody, sir,
that is Mr. Headstrong, sir but it's no matter-
I'll {froinff)
Head. Your visit is fortunate I am Mr. Headstrong.
A very pretty girl this.
Miss S. Heavens ! You Mr. Headstrong ? Then I'm
lost.
Head. Heavens ! then I am lost ! this is very strange !
Miss S. How shall I escape from him? Not you,
sir your nephew I mean some other time good
morning, sir ! {going)
Head. {Aside) A strange female desire to see my
nephew ! There's some mystery in this Madam, I must
request an explanation of this visit to my nephew.
Present circumstances render it absolutely necessary.
Miss S. Worse and worse ! What shall I say ? I
have it ; I'll make him as anxious to get rid of me as
I am to be gone. I understand, sir, your nephew is
on the point of being married.
Head. This very day, madam.
Miss S. Cruel man ! Sir, he is under a promise of
marriage to me. [_Aside'] I think this will make him
wish me a thousand miles off.
Head. {Aside) This then accounts for his reluctance
to many Miss Stirling. Madam, this affair requires
explanation, and fortunately here is my nephew.
Miss S. O lud ! I'm ruined.
Head. Ruined ! The villian ! the villian !
Miss S. 1 must not see him, indeed, sir pray allow
me to retire.
Head. Conceal yourself in that arbour. He shall do
who's who ? 29
you justice, or he is no longer a nephew of mine. Your
name, madam ?
Miss S. My name Oh, Sally Primrose, a farmer's
daughter, from Shropshire.
Head. Retire,MissPrimrose,and leave this affair to me.
Miss S. (Aside) In what a labyrinth has this un-
lucky meeting- involved me. {Retires into the arbour).
Enter Charles.
Head. Now for my gentleman !
Char. My dear sir, I am impatient for the con-
summation of my happiness.
Head. Happiness ! how dare you think of happiness ?
Char. I do not imderstand you, sir.
Head. I have found you out, sir.
Char. Sir, I am ignorant of your meaning.
Head. No foolery, sir You are on the point of
giving yourself in marriage to Miss Stirling, when your
affections are already disposed of in another quarter.
Char. [Jlside.'] Then Mary is discovered ; or
perhaps he merely suspects something, and this is a
manoeuvre to try me.
Head. This hesitation convicts you, sir ; but I'll con-
vince you that I know your secret. Shropshire, sir,
Shropshire.
Char. Shropshire ! What the devil does he mean
by Shropshire !
Head. [^Aside"] He thinks I am but half informed,
and braves me. You may have heard the name of
Sally, perhaps, sir ?
Char. Sally!
Head. Yes, sir, Sally; Sally Primrose.
Char. Sally Primrose. Ha! ha! ha! this is all n
jest: I never heard the name before.
Head. This is too much : then know to your con-
fusion, the lady is here.
Char. Here, sir !
Head. Aye ; here, sir. I dare say you'll swear you
never saic her before. Come forth, Miss Primrose.
[Hie leads Miss Stirling from the arbour.
30 WHO S WHO ?
Char. 1 assure you I never saw this lady in my Iif.
Head. Just as I said. Here's an unblushing rascal !
Char. Depend on it, here is some imposture.
Head. Fye ! fye ! your impudence is beyond
bearing-. However, sir, I shall leave you to the just re-
sentment of Miss Primrose; and till you have arranged
this matter to her satisfaction, never dare to let me see
your damn'd impudent face again. {Exit.
Char. Madam, whatever may be your intentions
Miss S. Hush ! I am Louisa Stirling.
Char. You!
Miss S. I am. My saucy lover, Mr. Sutherland,
has informed me of all your schemes. But how to
extricate ourselves from this situation ?
Char. 'Tis done; and a thought strikes me by
which this accident shall be the means of procuring
you my uncle's consent to your marriage with Suther-
land.
Miss S. But how am I to get back to my uncle,
Mr. Kitcat? Indeed, I should not be surprised if he
reached the house before us.
Char. No fear of that ; a chattering apothecary is
sent to guide him, who will lead him half-a-dozen
miles out of his way : and for your escort I shall give
you Harry Sutherland.
Miss S. But suppose my escoil; should turn traitor
and run away with me.
Char. Why then, as a punishment for his offence,
we must condfemn him to imprisonment for life ; and
you shall have the custody of him. {Exeunt.
SCENE n.
ANOTHER PART OF HEADSTRONg's PARK.
Enter Endall and Mr. Kitcat.
Kit. Why do you loiter thus, sir? You say Mr.
Headstrong sent you to conduct me to his house ; but
at every turn, it appears we are further from it than ever.
My niece, no doubt is there, and alarmed at my absenet.
who's who ? 31
End, Why certainly, Mr. Kitcat, we might have
saved [^aside^ about three miles ; but I thoug^ht you
would like to see the park, [^aside] I have not had
spirit to say a word to the doctor about my own busi-
ness yet : I'll take courage, and pump him now. Hem !
I understand, sir, you intend to practise in this place ?
Kit. I do, sir.
End. [^aside] It's very true, I see. Your practice
in London was rather limited.
Kit. Rather so, sir. In the country all nature pre-
sents itself. In London one is confined principally to
the human subject.
End. That's enough in all conscience, if a man can
get plenty of it.
Kit. True, sir; but having attained some profi-
ciency in that branch of the art, I am desirous of
practising in another.
End. Another! May I beg to know which you
mean, sir?
Kit. Cattle.
End. Cattle ! [aside] So I'm to be supplanted by
a damn'd cow-doctor !
Kit. Besides, sir, one's prospects about London ar
very limited ; here they are open and extensive.
End. Then let me undeceive you ; you have no
prospect at all here.
Kit. There we differ. I think I never beheld finer.
End. But you'll find the diflference when you have
been here a short time.
Kit, I don't quite understand you, sir. I can't see
why my being here should alter the prospects.
End. Whatever view you may have in your eye,
let me tell you, we have a person in your way already
here ; and the place won't afford comfortable practice
for two.
Kit. I don't see how this applies to me. I intend
to practise merely for my owm amusement.
End. So much the worse ; and to be plain, I am
the person you come to oppose.
92 who's who ?
Kit. You, sir ! I should'nt have taken him for a
painter.
End. Now, consider that I get my living by the
profession, and if you oppose me, I'm ruined : agree
to my proposal,
Enter Sam behind.
And I'll do you a service you little expect.
" Kit. Well, sir.
End. Though my business is chiefly with the two-
legged part of the creation, yet, I sometimes dabble a
little in the cattle way myself. Now, sir, agree not to
interfere with my biped customers, and I'll make over
the whole of my quadruped connexion to you without
reserve.
Kit. Sir, I accept your offer. Now what is the
service you are to render me ?
End. To put you on your guard against a plot.
You must know that young Headstrong, in order to
avoid a marriage with your niece, has inti'oduced a
fellow to his uncle under your name. But go instantly
to the house, and you may be in time to prevent ill
consequences.
Sam. [behindll O, thou treacherous jalup-monger !
Kit. Amazement ! will you accompany me f
End. If I do, young Headstrong will put me into
the horsepond for this. [_Aside'] No, sir : I have an
engagement, and as I am rather past my time, I must
wish you a good morning. [Exit.
Kit. This is an extraordihaiy event.
Sain. Now for a bold hit, or it is all over w^h us.
I'll pass myself upon him as old Headsti-ong; (coming
forward, and calling after Endall in a subdued voice).
Impostor ! knave ! rascal ! and this, I take it, is one of
his accomplices.
Kit. What's in the wind now? Who dares address
such language to me ? *
Sam. That's a g-ood joke ; I, Simon Headsti'ong,
Esquire.
WHOS WHO ? - 33
Kit. Have I the happiness of seeing Mr. Head-
strong ?
Sam. You know best what you can see, sir ; but is
this my ground ? are those my trees ? or are these my
clothes ?
Kit. This is most iortunate. Sir, I r^oice in thus
meeting with you.
Sam. Why, it must be my dear friend Mr. Kitcat.
Kit. The same ; the same.
Sam. O, this is too much happiness ! (Emhraces
him).
Kit. I am just in time to prevent the execution of a
deception
Sam. I know it ; and the man that just left you is
the impostor.
Kit. He the impostor !
Sam. However, it is but part of a more villainous
plot. My steward, a crafty old knave, has a design to
get his own nephew married to your niece, and on your
arrival, to get me out of the way, and pass himself for
me.
Kit. Monstrous ! Fortunate discovery !
Sam. Now we'll humour the villain. I'll stay away ;
you go to the house call him Mr. Headstrong
behave to him as you would to me and be sure not to
let him perceive that you know him to be only my
steward.
Kit. Excellent ! But for my niece ?
Sam. True I have it. I know a girl who, for
twenty pounds, would marry any body. She shall pass
for your niece, and mairy the old rogue's nephew ; and
I warrant he'll repent it as long as he lives.
Kit. Admirable ; come, let's about it instantly ; I
delight in seeing roguery over-reach itself. But where
is my niece, Louisa, all this time. '* *r>ii .),:
Sam. {aside\ Safe with her lover. Oh, she Id^t" yob
in the windings of the park, and prudently came to
my house : luckily none of my people have seen her.
Now I'll go for the girl I spoke of, and be with you in
a crack. Wait my return at yonder gate. Come, bun-
dle, my old boy. e
34 who's who ?
Kit. Bundle, my old boy ! I did'nt expect to see a
Chesterfield ; but the coarseness of Mr. Headstrong's
manners astonishes me. [Exit,
Sam. Now I'll go up to old Headstrong's confess so
much as can no longer be cncealed, an our happiness is secure,
and well leave the old gentlemen to undeceive each
other. We will withdraw.
Kit. And take my advice, get married instantly
A young hypocrite, (aside)
Char. We'll do as you advise us, depend on it.
(Exeunt Charles and Mary.
Kit. Now I'll open upon the old steward. I'll begin
with a hit at his menial situation, (aside) Hem ! you
seem to have a very comfortable place of it here.
Head. Place of it ! O, he means my estate, I suppose.
Why yes, sir, I have no reason to complain.
Kit. And I dare say it supplies all your wants.
Head. Aye, and a great deal more, or it wouldn't be
worth having. I sell ten times as much as I consume.
Kit. Here's a thief! and pi*ay, is the family ac-
quainted with your proceedings ?
Head. To be sure ! I make no secret of it I may do
as I please, here.
Kit. Then I suppose they have confidence in you, and
don't suspect
Head, Suspect ! ^Pooh ! they know it Besides it's a
very common thing among gentlemen in my situation.
I've a right to make as much money by the estate
as possible-
Kit. I never yet heard of a steward who thought other-
wise. Have you been long in this situation ?
Head. About two and twenty years, 1 believe.
38 WHO S WHO ?
Kit. And during that time you have contiived to
scrape tog-ether a pretty round sum, 1 dare say.
Head, (.,'^side) These inquiries are damn'd imperti-
nent, tho' ! Why yes, sir, I have save tl a tolerable fortune.
Kit. I can hold no longer. Which you have accumu-
lated by fraud, embezzlement, and every species of ras-
cality.
Head. Sir !
Kit. And which, when you sink into a guilty grave,
you will bequeath to your nephew, who appears to be as
consummate a knave as yourself.
Head. Mr. Kitcat !
Kit. Impostor ! You may now throw off your mask
your machinations are detected, and you may expect to
be turned out of this house within an hour.
Head. Ha ! ha ! ha ! turn me out of my own house !
Harkee sir ; are you really Mr. Kitcat 1
Kit. I am but for the person you take to be my
neice
Head. That's sufficient It is but too evident that he's
a little (touchins; his forehead) and I should be as
mad as he to quarrel with him.
Kit. But here comes your master
Enter Sam.
(to, Sam) My dear Mr. Headstrong, I have given this
miscreant an introductory chastisement, and now let me
entreat that you will turn him out of your house this
instant.
Sam. All in good time, {aside) Damn it here comes
my master, and all's over.
Enter Endall.
End. (to Kitcat) Ah ! my dear doctor !
Kit. Doctor, sir ! What do you mean by doctor ?
End. (to Headstrong) My dear Mr. Headstrong, as
I have made an amicable arrangement with the doctor
there
Head, I shan't speak a word till I know whether I'm
awake, or whether that man is in his right senses.
Leave me, doctor.
WHOS WHO ? 39
Kit. He a doctor ! There is some mystery bere !
End. (Seein.o' Sam) Well, Sam, as you have done
your part in the business, you had better go back to
the shop you'll find plenty to do.
Kit. Back to the shop ! Ha, I begin to suspect.
Where's my niece ? where 's my niece ?
Sam. Here come all the pretty dears.
Enter Charles arf Mary. Harry awe? Miss Stirling.
Head. I think I may venture a word now. Charles,
am I awake?
Kit. {To Miss Stirling) My dear niece, explain
this affair to me.
Head. Your niece ! Psha ! that's Sally Primrose.
Charles Headstrong, what is the meaning of all this?
K>t. Charles Headstrong ! pooh ! that's Charles
Headstrong with my niece. {Points to Harry)
Head. With your niece ! But I see how it is ! Poor
man ! he takes another woman for his own niece, and
wants to persuade me that I don't know my own nephew.
Char. I believe I can best unravel this apparent
mystery. (To Kitcat) This gentleman, sir, really is Mr.
Headstrong, and I am his nephew. The fact is, that as
we were all doubtful of obtaining your consent to our
marriage, according to our several wishes, we have had
recourse to various stratagems to obtain it have suc-
ceeded as you perceive, and now throw ourselves upon
your mercy.
Kit. And pray, sir, who are you that have defrauded
me of my niece ?
Harry. Be not harsh, sir. My name is Henry Suther-
land, brother to that young lady ; and I am a gentleman.
Kit. A very poor one, no doubt.
Harry. As to my fortune, sir, but since no man is
expected to expatiate on his own defects when he is
endeavouring to recommend himself, 1 must be silent
on that subject.
Kit. Mr. Headstrong. Since I find you are really
Mr. Headstrong, accept my sincere apology for the
harsh language I applied to you : they imposed you
upon me as your steward, and
Head. Say no more about it. It's well our quarrel
40 who's who ?
was tete-a-tete, for I dare say we appeared like two
damn'd fools.
Kit. No doubt : but here are four green horns staring-
us full in the face, who have been cunning enough to out-
wit us ; and I think the best thing we can do, is to for-
give them and make them happy.
Head. With all my heart.
End. (To Kitcat) Now my dear doctor .
Kit. Zounds, sir ! I'm no doctor : don't doctor me.
End. What then, a'n't you my rival exterminator from
London ? Am I then still to retain the entire possession
of my old field of action ?
Char. The whole village will still be at your mercy.
End. Then I'^l set the bells a ringing immediately.
Char. Tolling-, more likely, doctor.
Head. But where is the rascal who has caused all
these mistakes? Oh, there he is Come forth, sirrah.
Sam. Ah I I see how it will be ; I shall be the stalking
horse for both parties, to vent the remnants of their
anger upon.
Head. Well, sirrah ! what have you to say for yourself?
Sam, I know I have no mercy to expect ; but, as
I have an unconquerable aversion to a dry-beating,
either toss me in a blanket, or pump upon me ; any thing
but an ung-entlemanly dry-beating.
Char. A pardon for him, sir.
Head. Well, he may go but, I'll thank him to leave
my clothes behind him.
Char. And you may take with you the reward of your
labours. (Gives money) .
Sam. What twenty pounds [i'^i'id Jori oW .y\ i V.
Harry. And as I am under an equal dlSligktibn to
you (gives notes) accept my acknowledgements also.
Sam. Another twenty! why then, my fortune being
made, according to the custom of the world, I might
laiigh at my past rogueries, and let you see, Who's Who
But, no ; I'll throw myself upon my friends, and I
'irust to their kindness for a merciful sentence on The
Double Imposture.
THE END.
WBITTINOHAM AND ARLISS, PRINTERS} LONDON.
THE
INNKEEPER'S DAUGHTER;
A MELO- DRAMA,
IN TWO ACTS.
NOW PERFORMING AT
THE THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY-LANE.
BY GEORGE SOANE, A.B.
THE MUSIC BY MR. T. COOKE.
The Scenery by Mr, Greenwood, 'The Machinery by Mr. Lethbridge.
Eottlrott :
PRINTED FOR W. SIMPKIN AND R. MARSHALL,
ST4Tl0NEltS*>C0VRT, LUDGATE-STREBT.
1817.
Pric Two Shillings and Sicpenct.
Unted by W. CLOWES,
PREFACE.
THIS printed copy will be found to differ in very many
instances from the acting text, a difference which partly
arose from necessity. To unite the two texts was impossible,
and to print from the Prompt-book during the run of the
piece was no less impracticable. Judicious, therefore, as the
alterations have been, I was forced to retain the original.
Miss Kelly's exertions in Mary demand the warmest
tribute of my gratitude ; but the tears and admiration of the
numerous audiences form the best offerings to that excelling
genius, which stands without a rival. Her acting was the
main pillar of the building : In one word, and as the top of
all praise, she excelled Miss Kelly, a point to which no
other actress ever has or ever will attain.
To Mr. Wallack also I am infinitely indebted; those
who have witnessed this Gentleman's general performance
will easily understand the full weight of my obligation. The
character of Richard was very faintly drawn, but the mas-
terly skill of this admirable artist brought it out on the can-
vas in strong and glowing colours.
IV PREFACE.
Mr. p. Cooke, in Hans, was truly excellent. The cha-
racter is infinitely below his talents, and whatever praise has
been given to it entirely belongs to his own creation.
To Mr. Smith, Mr. Kent, and Mr. Barnard, I
have likewise to return ray thanks, and to the rest of the
Performers in general. When to this is added Mr.T. Cooke's
excellent Music, and the perfection of the Machinery, it
mf^ ^e jjustly saii^ that little or notiving has been ^tme by
the Author.
To Mr. Rae I am indebted for his friendly exertions as
Manager ; to the Committee in general for their liberality; and
more particularly to the Honourable George Lambe.
While I am acknowledging my various obligations,. I
cannot, without dishonour to my own feelings, pass over
the name of my friend Mr. Knight, the Comedian. To his
kindness the piece was originally confided ; and to his unre-
mitting exertions, his accurate judgment, and disinterested
friendship, I owe the first foundation of my success.
TO
MISS FRANCES-MARIA KELLY.
In dedicating this trifle to your unrivalled
talent, I shall perhaps be accused of presump-
tion, when I am only anxious to offer a public
testimony of my gratitude to that powerful
genius, which has stamped a value on my
humble efforts : Yet, though you are far
above the praise, I trust you will accept the
thanks, of
Your obliged
and grateful servant,
George Soane.
j.v:>iiii
DRAMATIS PERSONS.
LANGLEY, a Magistrate Mr. Minton.
MONKTON, a Country Gentleman Mr. Kent.
FRANKLAND, an Innkeeper Mr. Gattie.
HARROP, a Captain of a gang of Smug-
glers Mr. Smith.
PHILIP, his Son (omitted in representation J.
RICHARD, a young Fisherman in love
with Mary Mr. Wallack.
TRICKSEY, a Custom-House Officer . . Mr. Hughes.
HANS KETZLER, a German in the Cus-
tom-House, under Tricksey Mr. P. Cooke.
WENTWORTH ^ Mr. Coveney.
WHITE
Country Gentlemen.
SMITH
ALSOP
WILLIAM, a Smuggler, the Mate of
Harrop's vessel Mr. Barnard.
EDWARD HARROP, Harrop's second
son, a boy about fifteen years of age .. MasterSetmour.
MARY, daughter to Frankland ........ Miss Kelly.
MARIAN, Harrop's wife Mrs. Harlowe.
Smugglers, Peasants, Travellers, Constables, &c.
.^^f;
.njti.SSJf.i-f .:" , ^ .-{ifii:/- dj.'-.v
.sJiooO /i .-jIC- ... ' . .,,.1 ,,,. ., , -..ili-aiiii
' 10SJA
J .iM .....:;. ,.!>?. r.'
T
. THE
X'-
INJJKEEPER'S DAUGHTER.
, fQ}(" > Hil
ACT I.
SCENE I.
The sea-coast. On the right side are several Smug-
glers^ huts. Before one of them i$ the decayed
trunk of a very large oak. Not far from land
is a projecting rock extending several yards into
the sea, before which is a Smuggler's vessel in
fiames. During the opening dialogue the Smug-
glers descend from the burning ship into a boat, and
make towards the shore. At a considerable dis-
tance is the king's cutter. Marian stands in front
watching the burning vessel, and wringing her hands
in despair. By her side is Edward, splicing a ropCy
with a large case-knife in his hand.
Edw. OH E burns bravely ! Good night to the Fox.
Mar. Undone! undone! wine, gin, brandy,
tea, three hundred pounds at least ! and all
gone, all destroyed !
Edw. Never mind, mother; if we lose it, the
revenue sharks will not be the better for it ; they'll
B
10
not get so much as a spoonful of gin or a sup of
brandy to pay them for all the hard knocks they have
had, and I fancy some of them have got more than
they like. The Fox's shot told well.
Mar. Boy! boy! we are ruined! That cargo
was the venture of all we were worth, and more than all.
Where shall our hunger now find bread ?
Edw. Where ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! While the corn
grows in those fields, and Farmer Gilbert's mill turns
round, and I wear this knife, we shall not want
bread.
Mar. My children! my children! and I must
hear your hungry cries for food, and only answer them
with tears.
Edw. Psha! mother, what's the use of crying?
The Fox is burnt, and there's an end of it.
He seats himself on an old broken cask, and sings as
he splices the rope.
Blow, blow, blow, wind !
We fear nor wind nor weather;
Be it life, or be it death.
We weigh it not a feather.
{The' boat reaches the shore beyond the huts, so that the
landing of the Smugglers is not seen bif the audience.
At the same time a boat puts off" from the cutter.)
Edw. Father comes ! father comes ! Dry up your
eyes, mother ! Make haste ; he looks plaguy cross, and
you know his hand is apt to fall heavy on you and me
11
in his evil moods. The last time Farmer Gilbert
warned him off the rabbit-warren cost me a round
dozen, and the threats of the old hurlo-thrumbo ma-
gistrate about his lost geese nearly knocked out my
left eye.
Mar. Go in, boy ; I dread his temper.
Edw. That's more than I do bless your soul, I
don't mind him a rope's end; 'tis but a good beating,
and that's soon over.
Har. (without,) Hawl the skiff up close on the
beach, and stow the sails in the house.
Harrop, William, and Smugglers enter, Edward
runs up to Harrop.
Edw. Now, father, what news?
Har. (striking him J 'Sdeath, you hound ! do
you laugh at me ? Don't you see the smack burning }
are you blind ?
Edw. If I'm not, Tm sure it's not your fault.
The vessel blows up with a loud explosion,
Har. Do you hear that?
Edw. Yes I'm not deaf.
Har. What's that you mutter ?
Mar. Go in, Edward; go in.
Edw. L sha'n't let him do his worst.
Har. Why, you young scoundrel, do you brave
me?
Mar. Let me entreat you, Harrop Edward, go in;
Edw. I'm not afraid beat me if you will.
B 2
12
Har. By Heavens ! No I was too hasty, and
thou are a brave fellow, Ned ; poor PhiUp had not a
stouter heart.
Mar. Poor Philip ! Has any thing happened to
him?
Har. You'll know soon enough ; they'll bring him
here directly.
Edw. What! have they killed Philip ?
Mar. Oh that my breath could raise the sea in
storms to overwhelm them all !
Har. Be quiet, woman ; the boy's wounded to
death, and your howling will do no good.
Edw. (Going up to Harrop, and straining his
knife vehetnentkj in his hand,) Father Tricksey,
the ganger, gave notice to the King's ship of our boat
being off the coast ; if Phil' is to die, should he 'scape
scot-free ?
Har. (Squeezing his hand). Brave boy! brave
boy ! I've lost nothing while you remain to me.
Other Smugglers enter, bearing Philip, covered with
> ' blood, and speechless.
Mar. My son ! My son ! I never truly loved you
till this moment ! Speak to me call me Mother.
Edw. Four wounds, and each one large enough
to let out four lives !
WiL. (who has has been looking out with his glass,)
A boat is coming from the cutter with Tricksey and
his German friend, Hans Ketzler.
13
Har. Who? the gauger? In with you! in all of
you ! Lead Philip to his bed and some of you take
that woman into your own hOvel, that the poor lad
may die in peace.
Mar. I will not leave him ; who so fit as a mother
to close his dying eyes ?
Har. Marian, have you heard me ? I am used to
be obeyed by men, and shall not entreat a woman.
Mar. Ah ! I fear you no longer: since Philip is lost
to me, what have I to fear for ?
Har. Force her away !
[Some of the Smugglers force her off, while others
bear in Philip.)
The rest in with me except you, Edward Stay you
here, to learn what the gauger is about.
Edw. (maliciously,) Yes, yes, Fll look to him.
{All enter the cottage Edward stops William, who
is the last going in.)
Edw. William.
WiL. What now?
Edw. One of your pistols.
WiL. For what purpose ?
Edw. Will you let me have it ?
WiL. I guess ; take it.
(^William enters Harrop^s cottage.
Edw. But let me see if the pistol is really loaded.
(Hejirst examines the priming., and then tries the
(>T tHi3 II r charge with the ramrod.) t^
b3
14
Yes, all^s right ! and now So, so ! here, they are.
(He conceals himself behind the oak the boat reaches
the shore. Trickseij and Hans land, and the sailors
row back to the cutter. Hans is constantly at
Trickseifs right hand, between him and the tree,
so as to prevent Edward from, shooting at Tri^ksey
^--Music during the time of the landing^ ' .
;''. . ill
Trick. Bravely fought, Hans was it not?
Hans. Ja very brave ! but who, in the Teufel's
tiame, told you so ? You were in .die hold all der
time, snug as one littel fairy in der cowslip-bell.
Trick, Prudence, Hans, prudence nothing but
prudence ; there were enough to fight without me. It
was plaguy ill natured in Harrop though to set fire to
his ship and burn the cargo I shall make bold to tell
\km so much when I see him.
Hans. Dat sail be a long time ; know you they
are all blown up.
Trick. I don't believe it I am sure they took
care of themselves before they set fire to the ship,
though I didn't choose to say so on board the cutter,
for fear the captain should land his men and seek for
them, for then they would all have swung for the men
that are killed. v
Hans. Ja, and one very good thing too.
Trick. Very bad, you mean it would have
knocked up my business ; the poor devils that re-
mained would have been so frightened that half the
trade on the cpast would have been put an end to.
5^
Hans. In mein mind, then, it were besseryou not
see Harrop at all. .n.uio. r.,..
Trick. Why so, my hero of Saxony ?
^^ Hans. Humph!
Trick. Humph ! What do you mean by humph ?
Speak out plainly.
fj. Hans. Why it has just come into mein head that
Harrop may not be altogether pleased with your part
in diess business.
' Trick. Pleased I who the devil ever thought he
would ? or who cares about his pleasure ?
Hans. Mein Gott ! what der great hero you are
with your tongue ! If dein hertz your heart were
but half so valiant, you would be more braver what
Caesar was.
Trick. I shall begin to think you are afraid of this
fellow Harrop.
3_ Hans. Was! was you say? Ich afraid! Sapper-
ment?
Trick. Be cool, be cool, can't you? I didn't
mean to offend you, but your German blood is so
prodigiously hot
Hans. And your lawyer-blood is so verdammter
cold ! die fear has frozen it into one gross piece of
ice. No man besser understand die mystery of die
retreat what you do.
Trick. If I fear flesh and blood, you fear the
devil and the spirit. You have a certain dread re-
spect, I would say for goblins, witches, and all those
16
wonderful personages so faithfully recorded in the
tales of old women.
{jHans pulls out his snuff'hox^ and begins to take snuff"
eagerlifi as if trying to hide his passion. In taking
out his box, he drops his purse.)
Now, for my part, I don't care a jot for any one of
them ; I would as soon meet the dead gi*anny Shipton
as any of her living successors. But you are getting
into a passion. ^'>ib * '
Hans. Gott damn, nein Ich am so cool as one
day in January.
Trick. You have droppM your purse.
(Hans stoops to pick up his purse Edward im^
mediately levels at Tricksey ; but, before he can
fire, Hans resumes his former position. Edward
draws back with signs ofo impatience.) ...,.
Hans. Are we to stay here allder night? Oder are
we to go home ? Der little while ago you were in one
big hurry to land, because you had business.
Trick. There is a little my ster})^ in that, which I
must let you into. The smugglers purposely set fire
to their vessel ; of that I am certain.
Hans. Ich do believe it; but, supposing it so ?
Trick. Why, supposing it so, it is a hundred to
one that they flung over the most valuable part of their
cargo, for the tide to drift it ashore.
Hans. Verdammt ! Why did you not say so much
to der herr captedn of der cutter ?
Trick. And let him share the prize? No, I thank
you. '^*^^
Edw. Rascal ! ^
Trick. Did not somebody speak ?
Hans. la, and somebody who does seem to know
you remarkably well. Was giebts ? Who there ?
\Hans moves Jbrward Edward aims at Tncksey,
but the pistol misses ^re.)
Du Hundsfott ! Come out, come into der light of der
moon. Let us look upon your ugly face.
{Drags him Jbrward?)
Edw. Let go of my coWia. {Threatening with his
knife ^
Trick. Here's an imp of the old one ! '^
Hans. la, one true teufel's child. So, bureche
you do amuse yourself with shooting at the people.
Edw. Whom did I shoot at? '' >''' J/n..'l
f Hans. Sapperment! Was an impudent young
knave it is !
Trick. Come along, Hans.
Hans. Ich muss take thisjung knave with us.
'fEDW.yl tell you again you had better leave me
alone. iy^>-^MmA -fxfc <
Trick. Hans, for Heaven's sake, be quiet.-^Its,
Harrop's boy. Hear me. {He whispers HanSy who
shakes his head, doubfmgly.)
Hans. You must have your own way, I suppose.
And you, Hurenkind ! Teufel's kind ! think yourself
lucky dass Ich let you off so easily, and don't tempt
the teufel again.
.>ii^pw. I didn't ask for your advice.
Trick. Come along.
Hans. But der gin, der wine, der brant v^ein
all what you say was flung overboard, and would be
drift ashore ! atimbi
Trick. Rot the gin and the brandy my hfe is
.dearer to me than all the gin and brandy in Christen-
dom. Come !
i(^'jrricksy:goeSiQul-^Hansfoiiows slowly ^ grumhling-r-
Edward watches them out oj' sight y and then knocks
(y.-ff^ the door a/^(he^ottage.)
vAv\ J6,|)jK>s,j^atlier ! .they are gone. .wajl
(^Harrop comes out.) 'V '
Har. Wb^hilipad did they take ?
IJ^H. Wh|u^' Richard }
Edw. At the inn, :I believe but he promised to
be here to help land the Fox's cargo. If you go up
the left-hand road you'll be sure to meet him, for he
always comes thro' the church-yard up to the hazel-
wood, rtp save time. f
,J^^^^^{ \doi^ ^'^t himhe's too chicken-hearted
for our business. Give me your knife. Now, go to
Harry's, and stay with your mother till I come back.
Edw. I will.
{Edward goes into the same cottage that Mai-zau was
carried into y and Harrop goes after Tricksey and
Hans.)
19
.mmi^' SCENE II.
^ IVood in front a single thick cluster of low hushes.
TricJcsey enters.
' Trick. How the fellow loiters ! He can't stir a step
i without muttering a spell, as if he thought to outwit
i Beelzebub, whom he most barbarously nicknames der
' Teufel, and der Kobold, and I know not what besides.
Hans enters slowly.
What incubus or goblin have you met with now ?
Hans. Mein very guter friend Ich sail pray you
not to talk with so much familiarity of der Kobold.
May be he is much nearer to you than you do ima-
gine.
i Trick. {Looking round timidly.) Eh! what? Oh,
the fellow is making a fool of me.
Hans. Mighty fine ! Mighty fine ! But stop der
littel Ich think Ich heard the wood-teufel scream
just now.
Trick. The what ?
Hans. The wood-teufel the what you call the
wood-fiend.
Trick. The wood-fiend ! Ha ! ha 1 ha ! An owl !
Hans. Look ! look !
{A large blue flame rises, and^ after revolving rapidly
for a Jew seconds, becomes fixed and motionless in
... the air.)
; Trick. What now ? mtinuik '{Mmr,
^0
Hans. Don't you see ? The dead man's lamp ! Der
Teufel of the wood always walks with der licht in sein
hand when the man is to die.
Tkick. I thank you for the comphment. You
take it for granted that my joiirhey lies that way
(pointmg downwards) and therefore that the devil
poHtely comes to light me on the road. ;^.jjii ji.ofi/i>'
Hans. Sapperment ! but it's true You may laugh
rnein herr, and make die monkey-faces, aber es geht
nicht it won't do look, it moves towards you you
are a dead man.
Tjiick. Am I ? Why, then, dying is so like life,
that hang me if I can find any difference, /ty.iai
.Hans. Ich sail ga back. ; , // iisj oJ lorr
,, ! Tjrick. What, not go on witlimeu^Hi ad ^d vnl/
Hans. Nein.
.;f iTrick. So you really are afraid of tliis light, and
are going to thrust your head into the nest of the
j[ smugglers.
(, Hans. Ich don't mind them they are menTTrrtait
Ich do fear den Kobold. an t?if:
Trick. Nonsense! nonsense! you are a coward.
Hans. A coward! Mein guter freund, if you are
alive to-morrow morning, Ich sail make you to eat your
words.
Trick. I'll eat any thing you like to-morrow
morning, but don't leave me now.
Hans. Stay with der Kobold ! Himmelund Erde!
nein good night. [Hans exit.
Trick. A pretty situation, truly ! If der Kobold does
21
not think proper to take me to-night, my very good friend
will send me post haste to him to-morrow. Pleasant
enough ! The light burns still what can it be ? That
cursed fellow has infected me with his fears ! I think
yes, I almost begin to fancy that I am half afraid ;
and yet it cannot be. Though the devil has some claim
to me, yet that he should come himself in person
the belief of it discredits any sound understanding
Don't I hear steps } What an infernal adventure
this is Hke to be !
(The report of a pistol is heard, and the hall strikes
a tree close by Tricksei/.)
Missed me, by Heaven !
He ^ings himself down amongst the bushes. Han^op
enters.
Har. The rascal dropp'd and yet I don't think I
hit him.
(Music. While he examines the bushes at the farther
end, Tricksey creeps along, and darts up the middle
path,)
Is it so ? The next shot shall be more certain.
(Harrop follows him.)
SCENE III.
A room in Frankland's inn In the back, over the
chimney, is a dial, the hand of which is near upon
eleven, Langleij, Monkton, Wentworth, White,
and Fallofeild, S^c, seated at a table, drinking
22
Frankland stands beside them Marij and Richard^
seated on a bench near the fronts seem to be in
earnest conversation,
Choiiis of Guests.
The flowers of day are drooping,
For the sun is quench'd in night ;
The owl from his nest is whooping,
And dogs bay the cold moon's light.
But while the red wine is flowing,
And the wood-fire blazes high,
Our night is a day more glowing
Than the days of an eastern sky.
Then fill us a deeper measure.
And heap up the cheerful blaze ;
Wine gives us the day's blest pleasure,
And our fire the sun's lost rays.
Rich. Well, my dear Mary, I must leave you
now. The Fox is expected in to-night, and, by this
time, I dare say, is off" the Long Sands.
Mary. Would to Heaven, Richard, you gave up
the connexion altogetlier ; they are a disgrace to any
honest man; smugglers on the water, poachers on
the land, and thieves at all times ; have nothing to do
with them, Richard ! give them up.
Rich. And so I will; but I must first get enough
to buy us the wedding-ring, and a snug little cottage,
with an acre or two of land, to keep the wolf from the
2a:
door. One more successful voyage, and we are
made.
Mary. Or perhaps ruined. Richard! Richard!
Rich. You are always expecting tlie worst, Mary.
Mary. And am I not ahvays right, Richard?
Rich. No not always so; for instance ~ '*-
Mary. What, Sir? '^aM
Rich. Come, don't be angry : if you did but know
how prettily a smile sits upon those cherry cheeks,
you'd never look cross again.'
Mary. Does it ? Well, well I won't be angry ;
but you really must promise me that this night shall be
the last of your acquaintance with these smugglers.
(^During the last speeches Frankland walks up to
them^ unperceived by either^
Frank. Don't promise any such thing, Richard.
Why, you young hussey, where do you think the tea
and the gin and the brandy are to come from, if the
smugglers don't help us to them? Is there any gentle-
man in all the country that would lift up his hand
against them? Don't they all, high and low, encou-
rage them? and is it for us to be more honest than our
betters?
Mary. Father! Father! you will be the ruin of
Richard.
Frank. What, by telling him to make his fortune
as fast as he can. ^ '' ^" "
Mary. Let him do it then by honest industry.
Frank. Honest industry! How dare you talk of
such things? Would you ruin my inn? Would you
24
have your poor father starve^ Oh! you unnatural
jade !
Mary. He has been bred a sailor and a fisherman ;
let him Hve by it,
Frank. By bobbing for eels, I suppose? No, no,
girl!
Mary. All this signifies nothing I have made up
my mind. noiH
Frank. Made up your mind, have you? then
that's a great point in your favour, for she'll be sure to
change it before to-morrow.
Mary. You will find yourself mistaken, father.
Hear me, Richard if after to-night you have any
dealings with those men, you shall never call me wife.
Rich. But Mary
Mary. I'm resolved !
Frank. And so am I till he can shew me two
hundred pounds in his own hands, he shall never
marry my daughter Mary.
Rich. No more wrangling ; we'll talk of this to-
morrow; you are both growing warm ; good night,
Mary! {She tm^ns away.) Not one kiss?
Mary. Not till you have deserved it.
Rich. I will ere long.
Mary. It must be by obedience then, for I am de-
termined you shall obey me before marriage.
Frank. And after too, I fancy.
(Richard endeavours to kiss her.)
Mary. No not one (Snatches a kiss.)
Good night! (^Hegoes out,)
Monk. It's all nonsense, fancied by a set of doting
grandames, who, when they are too blind to see a
millstone, and too deaf to hear any clack but their own,
think they hear and see more than any body else can.
Lang. And I say, upon the word of a magistrate,
it's all true I saw one with my own eyes.\
Monk. Nonsense! nonsense! even little Mary
laughs at your ghosts and goblins.
Lang. Mary, indeed! with all her laughing, I
would lay you a guinea to a crown she's afraid to go
to the church-yard to-night, and fetch a slip from the
yew-tree.
Monk. Done!
Lang. Done! a guinea to a crown.
{They all rise, and come to the front.)
Went. You'll lose your wager, Monkton.
Monk. I don't fear it.
Frank. What is the matter, gentlemen?
Monk. The matter is this : Langley, as usual, has
been taxing my patience with ghosts and such idle tales,
and has laid a guinea to a crown that Mary is afraid
to go to the church-yard to-night, and fetch a slip from
the yew-tree. You must know the tree.
Frank. Oh yes it grows in the middle of the
church-yard, close by the side of her mother's grave
every body knows the old yew-tree.
Lang. But your Httle heroine seems quite silent.
Monk. What say you, Mary? will you win this
wager for me?
c
Mary. If going to the church-yard and cutting a
slip from the yew-tree will do it, most certainly.
Monk. You hear, Langley.
Lang. But let her do it talking and acting are
widely different.
Frank. Lord bless you, Sir! Mary has no faith
in ghosts. {Aside) An old fool!
Lang. Let her set about it, then.
Mary. With all my heart.
Monk. Stop, my girl ! it's fair that your courage
should have its reward. This purse of five guineas
waits your successful return. Here's my hand to the
promise, and Harry Monkton never yet gave his hand
to a falsehood. You'll want a knife to cut the slip
take mine.
{Hepullsout alargepocket-knifcj and gives it to Mary.)
And now set off, and be speedy in the business. The
fire is out here; we will wait your return in the
kitchen.
Mary. Do not fear me. Sir you'll win your
wager, but lose your purse.
Monk. Away with you! {Exit Mart/.) Come,
my little magistrate I
SCENE IV.
The village church-tjard. The moon shities bright/^
at Jirst^ but at intervals is completelif overcast by
large black masses of cloud that roll rapidly along^r^
97
On the left hand is the Church. -At the back is a
small river, skirting the church-yard, and divide
ing it from a thick wood. In front are several
torn bstones, on one of which is the following inscrip'
tion so large as to be distinctly visible to the audi'
ence " In tnemory of Ellen,wfe of John Frank'
land, who died October 7th, 1698, aged 44
9/ears." Near it grows a large yew-tree. A lit-
tle farther on are seveYal simple hillocks bound
with willow. Richard enters, and stumbles over
one of than.
Rich. St. Philip be my speed! Now had I any
reasonable degree of faith in the creed of our gran-
dames, I should take this as an omen of evil, and
turn back. Ha ! ha ! ha ! A glorious storm is brew-
ing the very thing for us to land the Fox's cargo, if
she should come in to-night Those clouds will soon
throw a wet veil over the moon's face, and then all
will be snug.
(The report of a pistol.^
A pistol shot ! and here ! Strange !
(^As he is going out, he is met by Harrop?)
Har. Skulking? Eh? Avast, comrade! there
are breakers ahead.
Rich. Harrop !
Har. What, is it you, Richard? You spoke just
in time, my lad, for I thought you were a shark on the
look out.
Rich. What have you been about ?
Har. Sewing up the ganger's mouth.
c2
Rich. You have not murdered him ?
Har. Indeed but I have and done nobody any
wrong either, unless it be the hangman by robbing
him of his fee ; but you, mayhap, intend to turn in-
former ?
Rich. Betray you ? No never! this infernal deed
merits the rope, but I am not a hangman. What
power of madness, what demon, could tempt you to
this horrible act, which, in the telling only, makes the
blood stand coldly at my heart ?
Har. No matter for that ; the rascal gave notice of
the Fox being off the Headland, and Elliott's cutter
bore down upon us Hke a gun-shot. We shewed them
some play for it kept up a running light for two
glasses but all would not do; so we set fire to the
Fox, that they might not get any thing.
Rich. All lost, then ?
Har. Aye, all except a few casks of brandy
that we had time to heave overboard. As they are
well hooped, and the sand runs smooth, there's a pretty
fair chance of their drifting ashore.
Rich. Ruined ! Poor Mary ! you said it would
be so.
Har. We shall do no good by standing here and
chattering about it lend a hand to heave the ganger
into the river.
Rich. 'Twere a dreary task let it pass ; nobody
was present, so nobody can witness to the deed.
Har. That's true, but they may clap me into the
bilboes upon suspicion.
29
Rich. Well if I must if the danger is so urgent
\ But, by the Power that made me, I never knew
what terror was till now !
Har. Dreams of fancy ! Come he feU not far
off, by yonder clumps of trees, and I dare say we shall
find something in his pocket to pay us for our trouble
in burying him.
Rich. Monstrous ! Have you no fear no
remorse ?
Har. None.
Rich, (agitated) Harrop! TU serve you till the
danger is past, because it is danger ; and then I am
a stranger to you for ever.
Har. As you please.
(Harrop and Richard go out Music After a pause
Mary is heard singing without, as if at a little
distance.
The Spring's first morning
O'er earth was dawning,
And the leaf was on the tree ;
Mary enters.
The sun was beaming,
The breeze was streaming,
And green was the rippled sea.
(The church bell begins to toll Joint ly, but at irregu-
lar intervals. -Mary seems alarmed ; but^ as if
struggling with her fear, continues to sing though
in an under tremulous tone,^ ^till at last her voice
dies awaij
And all seemed to say,
*Tis Love's holyday,
To the wedding while you may,
Is this indeed reaUty ? Or are my senses leaving me?
fThe bell ceases. J
Did not the funeral bell toll ? I think I heard it ^yet
no human hand could be near It must have been my
fancy. All is on the sudden so deadly still not a leaf
moves ; and yet but a few minutes ago the wind blew
violently ^nd now it comes again as furiously as
ever.
(The wind howls shrilly and mournfully through the
broken belfry.)
A dreadful thought is coming over me ! a thought
Of power to wither reason. -
Gracious heavens ! do not bereave me of my senses
afflict me not with madness ! Hark ! I hear the tin-
ging of the sheep-bellj the barking of the watch-dog.
JIow foolish my fear was! I did not know I was so
great a coward but I'll not go back without a slip from
the yew-tree No, no tliey would laugh at me then
indeed.
(Music she goes to the j/ew-tree. fust as she has
ciit the bough, a loud agonized scream is heard.
$he starts away from the tree in terror, - -
31
Horrors are bursting from the charnel-house to blast
me.
(A second scream, but more faint. Mary drops the
knife and the yew - branch, and fills on her
knees before the tomb of her mother in a pai^oa^ysm
of terror.)
Protect me, mother ! it is thy daughter calls to thee in
thy grave Oh ! save me ! save me !
(The wind again howls furiously , and the bell tolls in
one deep protracted peal.)
I'll hear and see no more !
{She seats herself on a tomb, and hides her head in
her cloak.
Har. (without^ I say somebody is there I heard
a voice.
Rich, {without,) It's nothing but your distempered
imagination.
Har. (without) Is it? We'll soon see that.
(Mary starts up.)
Mary. The living and the dead are both against
me,
{She staggers forward a few paces the moon is
suddenly and iotally obscured by deep masses of
cloud the thunder rolls along heavily, and the
fashes of lightning are vivid and frequent,
^ Terror freezes my limbs I cannot move !
{Exhausted by weakness and fear, she falls down by
the side of a tom,bstone. Hat^rop and Richard
enter ; the former has in his hand a bloody knife.)
32
Har. I douht I have not killed her.
Rich. Are you man or devil? Your hands ar<^
drenched in blood, and yet you are not satisfied.
Har. If a little blood frightens you, heave off,
white-livered fool !
Rich. Better so than have the praise of such cou-
rage as yours Fire at a poor defenceless woman !
Har. Why make so many words about nothing ?
It was not safe to let her go and tell people she had
seen us with a dead body Nay, I'll not swear that
she might not see me shoot the gauger.
Rich. Better so than as it is.
{Harrop walks about searching for Mary.
Har. I wish the moon would peep out and shew us
the other sculker it's so dark, I can hardly tell a tree
from a tombstone.
(^Music Mary rises and endeavours to steal away
Her cloak catches in a branch of the yew-tree^ and
she remains fixed.
Har. Surely I see something by the old yew-tree.
(Mary^ who, for the moment, had seemed undecided,
nowy as if suddenly struck by the idea, unties the
cloak, and, leaving it on the tree, creeps to the
other side of the tombstone. During this action,
corresponding music. Harrop strikes with hk
knfe at the cloak that waves backtvards and for-
wards in the wind.
Har. I have you now.
Rich. Another murder ! y. . v. -, *
33
r HaR. (who hy this time has discovered his mis-
take,) Yes, and a very terrible one truly ! an old
cloak which somebody has left here.
Rich. I'll stay no longer ; if I am to help you in
concealing Concealing ! nothing can conceal this
horror; mountains cannot cover it seas cannot wash
away its bloodiness !
Har. I dare say, I dare say ! but IVe dropped
my knife.
(Hisjhot kicks against the knife which Mary dropped.)
Here it is.
CHe picks it up, and they go out.)
Mary. It's all explained, terribly explained ! A
double murder ! and done within the hallowed circle
of the dead ! Dreadful ! dreadful ! But why do I
linger ? What is this inward impulse that keeps me
here ? It is as if something whispered me that to stay
but another minute is to be lost, and yet I cannot go.
Something more terrible remains, and I feel myself
tied down to see the end of it.
( The thunder rolls more violentlij than ever, and a
jlash of lightning blasts the yew-tree.)
I shall never see my home again ! Death dwells here,
and what escapes man the wrath of Heaven smites.
(Harrop and Richard appear at the back of the stage,
bearing Tricksey's body towards the water.)
Rich. The wind howls dreadfully -'
34
Har. Yes^ it whistles through the old broken
belfry, as if it would blow it away.
Rich. The night is like this action dark and
horrible.
kindness but for Marian's sake, for the sake of your
40
children, and a little, perhaps, for the sake of old
fellowship, I would not see you on a gibbet.
Har, [Starting) Did not you hear a deep groan ?
Again !
{^A deep distinct groan is heard, as of one in intense
pain.
Rich. I hear it plainly enough What can it mean ?
Har. It means no good to us, you may be sure.
Rich. To e<* ? To yourself , you should say. I
would not be the partner of your action, though each
drop of blood that it has spilt were the purchase of a
ton of gold.
Har. {Muttering,) We shall reckon for this ere
long.
Rich. What do you say ?
Har. Will you look out a-head, and see what this
groaning means .''
Rich. Oh, with all my heart.
{Richard lights a candle, and goes out.)
Har. This is strange ! but there's not a moment
to be lost in thinking about it. I'll fling the pocket-
book beneath the table, and then Hold ! no, it will
be better to put it into the pocket of his great coat.
{He puts the pocket book into the pocket of the great
coat which Richard had hung against the wall.
Now, when they come, they'll be sure to search ;
and, finding this, will fix the business on Richard. I
wonder that the blood-hounds have not been here yet
I gave them clue enough. However, I'll be off while
I can.
{As he is going out, he is met by Richard, who enters
with the light ei'tingiiished.)
Rich. I could see nothing; the wind has blown
out my candle.
Har. It was my fancy, perhaps. Good night !
Rich. Stop a moment I was going to say that
{Marian staggers in her clothes about the breast
stained with blood, her eyes sunk, her cheeks pale,
and her whole appearance as of one mortally
wounded.)
Har. Betrayed!
{Harrop draws a pistol from his girdle, and levels it
ai Marian, hut, suddenly recognising her, drops
the weapon.)
Har. Marian!
Mar. (faintly) Yes ! I am Marian.
Har. My brains grow dizzy. Do you understand
all this, Richard ?
Mar. Philip is dead ! You'll bury us together
one grave
Rich. She's dying!
Mar. Yes, yes, dying ! I shall not see my poor
boy again but bury me by his side.
{She gazes around vacantly, till her eye at last fixes
on Harrop^
Harrop 1 Is it not, Harrop ? I can't see well.
R,icH. It is. Speak to her, Harrop.
Mar. I forgive you my death.
{She drops down in a swoon.)
Rich. It must have been Marian you shot at in
the church-yard. Your own wife ! Oh, it is too
horrible for thought ! Harrop ! I pity you indeed
I pity you.
[Harrop paces up and down the room in gloomy
agitation.)
Har. If you do not want me to commit another
murder to-night, you will hold your tongue. Poor
Marian !
(^Harrop strikes his bosom violently^ andjlings him-
self into a chair.)
(Voices without.) This way this way !
Rich. They're coming, Harrop! 1 know Lang-
ley's voice this is no place for you. v> Aa
Har. Fasten the door, man fasten the door.
(Richard runs to the door, and locks and bolts it
Music expressive of the bustle of the scene.)
Har. Now then, I'll above, and make my way
out of the window while you hold them in talk below.
Rich. But suppose
Har. But ! there's no time to talk ; do as I tell
you*
Harrop goes out.
Rich. Is not my honesty to a scoundrel making me
play the fool here ? They will suspect me suspect
zounds! I'll no no, to betray him were the act
of a coward. Besides, I'm innocent all's well here
{putting his hand on his heart) Why should I hang
my head and creep into comers, who have done no
wrong to any one? Let them come! I care not.
Lang. {Without.) Open the door.
Rich. Who is it knocks?
Lang. (Without,) Open the door instantly, or we
shall force it.
The people without knock again more violently.
Rich. You need not make such a clatter; I haer
you.
He opens the door Langleify Monkton^ White,
TVentworth, Constables^ S^c. enter.
Lang, {as he enters,) Seize him !
Monk. Stop stop not in such a hurry he shall
have fair play it was that I came for.
Lang. Really, Mr. Monkton, I don't see what
right you have to meddle in this business.
Monk. May be so, Mr. Langley, but I shall
meddle notwithstanding. Richard, you are suspected
of a murder, committed within this last hour. You
were seen bearing a dead body to the river ^your hat
was found in the church-yard.
Rich. All this is true, and yet it is as true that I
was not concerned in murdering the ganger.
All. {eaxept Monkton and Langley.) The ganger!
Lang. You seem to know something about this af*
fair.
Monk. {After a pause of consideration.) You
must know the perpetrator of this crime. .
Rich. I do. j;?- :^ a^ r^"' i r^i^o'^-'
Monk. Then you must witness against him, for,
though I may be satisfied of your innocence, the law
does not see with my eyes.
D 2
44
Lang. I must speak.
Monk. Stand back, if you please; I have not yet
done.
{During the latter part of the dialogue Wentworth has
been prying about the room, searching the cup-
boards, S^c, and now stumbles on the body of
Marian.
Went. Here's Marian, Harrop's wife, bleeding,
and to all appearance dead !
Monk. Marian! Then Richard is guilty. I sus-
pected Harrop, but he would not murder his own wife.
You say nothing, Richard?
Rich. I know not what to say.
Went. {Who hy this time has found the pocket-
book.) Here too is a pocket-book, and in it several
notes.
Rich. In my pocket! that's impossible.
Lang. That's Tricksey's pocket-book I can swear
to it.
Went. His name is in it, and papers in his own
hand-viritingl
Rich. And you found that in the pocket of my
coat?
Lang. To be sure he did you know that well
enough.
Rich. Then Harrop is a double rascal. Why
should I run myself into any danger for him ?
Lang. That won't do now, young man. If the
pocket-book had not been found in your great coat,
and if Marian had not lam dead in your cottage, why
m
then indeed that might have answered ; but now
it won't do it won't do 'tis too barefaced an expe-
dient.
Monk. Richard! Richard! Every thing proves
the deed to be yours, and the attempt to fix it upon
Harrop, because you know how open he is to suspi-
cion contemptible !
Lang. Away with him, constables! away with
him!
Went. But whither ? It's too far to take. him to
the county gaol this stormy night.
Lang. Right! right! We'll confine him then in
the belfry of the church till morning. When the
door is bolted, and the ladder taken away, he'll never
be able to make his escape, unless the devil kelps him.
So away with him !
Rich. But hear me
Lang. Hear me no hears away with him!
(Some of them lead off Richard, while others bear
Marian out in their arms.-^Afonkton follows
slowly/.
Monk. (As he goes out.) And yet it cannot be
that he is guilty. I'll not believe it.
.^.4 nc SCENE II. ,4 ^n:y- n-'?
The interior of Harrop^s cottage. Smugglers are
seated round a table, drinking. Nearer the front
William and Edward, the latter lying on the ground.
46
"^Towards the end of the chorus, he rises and
looks out of the window, as in expectation of his
mother, Marian. ;
CHORUS OF SMUGGLERS,
No joy like the joy of drinking, ^
When friendship has pledged the full bowl; '
No toil like the toil of thinking,
As onward the dull moments roll.
'Tis wine's summer flood
That quickens the blood
In Time's frozen veins, "^f >f^ n'^htl .rh
And lulls the worst pains !
That sorrow awakes in the soul.
7% Smugglers continue drinking. JVilliam rises
impatiently.
Will. What can have become of your father,
Edward ? he has been gone nearly an hour.
Edw. He'll be back soon enough, I warrant you
too soon for me, for my bones will be sure to suffer
when he finds that mother has gone prowling about the
woods Uke a madwoman.
Will. Why she is mad. I think she never has
been quite herself since that blow on her head, when
the old roof tumbled in and poor Phil's death coming
so sudden upon her, I suppose has quite upset her
brain.
{Loudandimpatient knocking at the door from without.)
47
Edw. Who's there? ,. ,
Har. (JVithout.) 'Tis I, Ned make haste.
Edw. Father, sure enough; my bones ache al-
ready.
(Edward shrugs up his shoulders, and opens the door
suddenly Harrop enters all the Smugglers rise,
and eagerly crowd around him. J
WiL. Now, Harrop.
2d Smug. Is the gauger done for ?
Har. Aye, all's done ! Suspicion has fallen on
Richard.
Several Smug. So much the better for you.
Har. True, my lads, as far as it goes ; but, to
make all secure, we must help him to escape, and ship
him off to our friends in Holland.
WiL. Why so?
Har. While he remains here, there's always
danger ; once fairly out of the way, all clue would be
lost, people would rest contented that he was the
murderer, and inquiry would be stifled.
WiL. Where is he now?
Har. They are taking him to the belfry, and mean
to keep him there till day-light.
WiL. You'll never be able to get him out. No
ladder will reach to half the height. He's safe
enough.
Har. We'll try that directly. Do you run, Ed-
ward, and get to the belfry before them, and hide
yourself. As they have no reason to suppose any
body lies hid, you"ll be snug enough.
Edw. But what am I to do, father, when I get
there ?
Har. Take with you some of the thin tackling that
lies in the boat ; and, when you find that all's quiet,
drop one end out of the window, and I'll fasten a strong
rope to it, by which Richard may descend. All must
be risked so set off. {Edivard goes out.
WiL. All this is well ; but no small boat will live
in such a sea as there is to-night.
Har. So much the better, so much the better.
Let him once be clear out of the way, and I'm safe,
and not till then.
WiL. That's hard too, Harrop, that the poor lad
should be drowned.
Har. It's in self-defence, man ; besides, he is not
one of us ; ever since he kept company with Frank-
land's daughter at the inn, the fool has learnt to talk
of his honesty, and such nonsense : his conscience is
too qualmish by half and if he stays here, my life
for it, he knocks up the trade.
Smug. Let him sink ! Let him sink !
Har. Now, my lads, go and hawl down the skiff
from the beach, and I'll off to the church.
(They all go out except Harrop and William
Harrop eyes William suspiciously for a fow mi-
nutes, without speaking.)
Has.. Now, messmate.
Wii. This is a bad business. Murdering one an-
other will never answer.
Har. Richard is not one of us, though he does
sometimes share a smuggHng venture.
WiL. Ever since the first blood was shed in our
last voyage, things have gone wrong. The Fox was
burnt, Phil was killed, and now your wife, half dis-
tracted, has gone wandering nobody knows where.
Har. {Much agitated.) My wife ! Be quiet.
WiL. What's the matter? have you seen or heard
any thing of her ?
Har. Be quiet, I say ! Don't talk of her I'm
half mad myself. ,i
WiL. Has any thing happen'd to her? ,
{Harrep Jills a large glass with brandy, and, eagerly
drinking it off, dashes the goblet with ^violence on
the floor.)
Har. We'll talk of her to-morrow. It's near
twelve, and our work must be done before one o'clock.
WiL. But let us hear
Har. Come along.
{Har r dip forces off William, who goes out muttering^
SCENE in.
{The interior of the belfry. On one side an old oak
form in the middle a table. Edward enters, with
a small dark lantern in his hand.)
Edw. I am here first, however. So far is well ;
and now to let down the string. ^ - v^
[He opens the window and lets down the string, kdk)ing
Jirst fastened one end to the iron grating of a small
50
loop-hole, to the left of the window. An old ragged
watch-coat hangs against the wall.)
Lights below ! They are earning then. Where shall
I hide myself ? There is no hole or corner for me
to creep into. What's to be done now? I have it.
I'll climb up to the rafters they'll hardly look for me
there so here goes.
[He clambers up the rafters, and is partially hid by
one of the cross beams.) ^^^ ^^ ^'^
Lang, (without,) Bring him along! Make haste,
for it's a bitter cold night.
Langley, Monkton, TVentworth, Hans, and Consta-
bles, enter with Richard.
Hans, fas he enters,) Cold! Hoi mich der teu-
fel ! Ich am half frozen ! It is one so cold night in
November as you would wish to see.
Lang. Here he is, safe enough, I think yet, it
will be as well to keep guard. Who will undertake to
watch him till morning ?
Monk. For fear he should jump out of the win-
dow, I suppose, and break his neck ? There is no other
way for him to get out.
Lang. With your good leave, I shall make all se-
cure. Mr. Constable, look into the cupboard, and
see if you cannot find candles. Will you watch,
Hans ?
Hans. la! Wid all mein hertz.
Monk. You had much better go home. What is
it to you whether the lad escapes or not ?
Lang. Pay no attentioft to what he says. You
are a brave fellow.
jHans. Brave ! Ich knew that long ago Ich fear
nothing
Monk. But the Kobold you forgot him.
Hans. Der Kobold! Mein Gott! A brave man
may fear der Kobold.
Monk. To be sure he may therefore take my
advice. Go home there's danger abroad.
Hans. You may mock, Mein Herr, aber you sail
not make mich der fear.
Lang. Right, Hans. Only watch here till morn-
ing, and I'll undertake to get for you the ganger's place.
Hans. Danke ihnen thank you, Herr. Ich sail
keep der watch in spite of der Kobold.
Lang. Do so. And, Thomas, (to one of the Con-
stables,) let him have your blunderbuss.
(Monkton pushes back the Constable, who is about to
give his blunderbuss to Hans.)
Monk. Psha ! take my pistols, take my pistols
they'll do you twice the service.
(Monkton takes a brace of pistols from his pockety^
jjv i/ and gives them to Hans.)
Hans. la der pistol is besser viel besser.
Lang. This is very well ; but, for farther security^
we must bind him. Stop there's an old bell-rope
tie his hands together with that, and fasten the other
end round the bars of the loop-hole.
(The Constables bind Richard, who submits in sullen
silence.)
52
Monk. Richard, my lad, don't be cast down
though all appearances are against you, I do believe
you are innocent and, if you are, there is No there
is not hope ; but there is hang me, if I know how
to comfort you. (Aside to him) Escape, my lad,
if you can, for you are in bad hands.
Rich. Never mind me. Sir ; I am not afraid of
dying.
(Langley, who, during this, has been employed in
giving directions to Hans and the Constables,
turns round, and, seeing Monkton with Richard,
comes up to him suspiciously.
Lang. Have you any thing else to say to the pri-
soner, Mr. Monkton; for I intend to leave nobody
with him but the person appointed for his guard ?
The constables will watch in the vestry below, for ad-
ditional security. Are you ready to retire ?
Monk. Richard, there is my purse ; try and
bribe the German, for, when the morning comes,
they'll take you to the county gaol, and then all's over.
Rich. You mean it kindly, I know, but it's of no
use, for the German can't help me if he would.
Lang. Is tliis secret consultation ended yet?
Monk. It is. Have you any thing to say ?
Lang, f alarmed, and drawing 3acA:,j) Nothing,'
nothing ! But, if I might venture to say any thing,
I should say it was time to leave the prisoner to
himself.
Mary enters. ^
And what brings you here ?
53
(Mary passes by him, and, rushing up to Richard,
falls into his arms.)
Mary. Oh Richard ! Can you forgive me.
Rich. Forgive you, Mary? You have never in
jured me.
Mary. I have ! I have destroyed you.
Rich. Impossible!
Mary. It was I who found the hat, it was I
who betrayed you to their suspicion.
Monk. That unlucky wager I
Mary. Only say that you forgive me that you
do not hate your unhappy Mary ; let me not die
with that thought on my mind.
Rich. Mary !
Majiy. No no, be silent still, speak not you
are going to curse me.
Rich. Don't say so ; what you did was not from
an evil heart, I know ; ^and, even if it were, why I
love you, Mary, have loved you for five years, and
it is not easy to hate any one so suddenly.
Mary. I have deserved his curses but he does
not curse me ! I will not outlive you, Richard, my
heart is half-broken already, and waits but for your
forgiveness.
Hans. Mein Gott! this almost makes one woman
of me. What a pity that the brorsche is one knave.
Monk. 'Tis false ! I am convinced that he had no
hand in the murder.
Mary. My life upon his innocence !
Lang. He may be innocent, but it's very unlikely,
54
and I as a magistrate am to provide for his safe ap-
pearance. You'll all retire.
Mary. But not I, not I ?
Lang. Yes, you as well as the rest.^
Monk. Come, come, if the poor girl likes to stay,
let her stay, it's no great indulgence.
Lang. Why, I have a great respect for you, Mr.
Monkton, a very great respect ; but, as a magistrate, a
justice of peace
Monk. Well, well ! we all know that.
^.uLang. To oblige you it shall be so ; Hans, watch
your prisoner narrowly, my credit is at stake as an
active and sufficient magistrate. And remember one
thing if he escapes, you stand no chance of being
gauger.
Hans. la Ich understand ! And yet it is one
bad business ; but Ich will keep my wort.
( They go out, leaving Richard, Mary, and Hans
together. The noise of drawing bolts, Sfc. is
heard immediately after their exit.
Hans. AUes gone ! Sehr wohl ! But what sail Ich
do wid meinself ? Nothing to eat, oder to drink, and
dies place so cold as Lapland.
Mary. Is there no way of escape? No hope, Rich-
ard ? Is there nothing to be done to save you }
tH^.RiCH. Nothing! I must take my chance. But
don't cry ; if this had not happened, still I must have
died some time ; and perhaps, after all, 'tis best as it
is : I might have lived for you to wish me dead, and
55
would not that have been worse ? Cheer up, cheer
up ! A man that is afraid to die is not fit to live.
Mary. That fatal yew-tree! And every thing
warned me to desist it was tempting Heaven.
Richard ! Richard ! I little expected this two hours
ago.
Rich. Say no more about it; we have not long
to be together, and it would be folly to poison the
pleasure of the time by thinking of that which we can-
not alter, though we should break our hearts over it.
Hans. Very wisely spoken ^you are a brave
junger. Sapperment ! Ich like you.
Mary. You have it in your power to save him.
; Hans. Wie so? How so?
Mary. You are the only bar to his escape.
Hans. Ach, no! Der belfry is seventy feet, oder
more from the ground. Dass is one huge bar.
Mary. But he might force the door.
Hans. la but du weisst ^you know there are no
stairs, and they have taken away the ladder. Dass
is one other huge bar.
Rich. It is not in his power to help me, even if
his heart were in the cause. '^^'^ ''
Mary. My dear Richard, your apathy will drive
me distracted ! You would sacrifice life without a
struggle.
Rich. If there were the least chance, I could be
active enough, but now it is little better than rattling
the fetters that are too heavy to be shaken off. ^"^
66
Mary. Hans I entreat, I implore you ! By
detaining him you can gain nothing.
Hans. It is so verdammter cold !
Mary. Inhuman monster ! But he shall be free
in spite of you.
Hans. You are growing in one big passion but
you are a good madchen. Cold ! cold !
{His eye falls on the old cloak that hangs against the
wall. * 'i
Wer da ? Who's there ? [He goes up to the cloak.)
Nothing but one great coat hanging against the wall.
It is very ancient, and very ragged ; but it will keep
out the cold.
(He wraps himself up in the great coat, and lies down
on the bench opposite to Richard. Between them,
but nearer to Hans, is the table with the txvo
lights burning on it ; Edward attempts to descend
from, the rafters, Mary sees him, and gives a
half-suppressed scream. Edward hastily conceals
himself. Hans, excited to attention by the scene,
lifts up his head. While this action is passing,
corresponding music accompanies it. ' ** I
Hans. Was is dat ?
Mary. Nothing except that, as you won't let me
have my way, I'm determined you shall not go to
sleep, that's all, ,r,^ .,.
Hans. Ha ! ha ! ha ! M'adchen, dass is very kind!
but give yourself no trouble. Ich sail not sleep to-
night. ,^i ^nu
57
{During this last speech Edward descends, and as
the dialogue goes on he proceeds to the window,
and pulling up the rope, fastens one end of it to
the iron bars of the loop-hole.)
Mary. No, nor to-morrow either; for, if Richard
does not get away before morning, I'll die out of spite,
and haunt yon.
( Edward goes to Richard, and endeavours to untie
the rope by which he is confined.)
Rich. A knife !
(Music Hans, overhearing the declamation of
Richard, again suddenly lifts up his head. Ed-
ward hides himsef behind Richai^d, without having
been perceived by Hans.)
Hans. Ein knife ! What can er want with ein
knife ?
Mary. Would you destroy yourself, Richard }
Such despair is a sin against Heaven.
Hans. Is dat alles ? Silly fellow ! warum should
he be in such a hurry to cut his own throat ?
Music Hans lies down again, Edward feels in his
pocket for a knife, and, after searching for some
time, gives them to understand by signs that he
has not got one. Mary beckons him to take a
candle, and by appropriate action signifies that he
is to burn the rope. Edward takes the candle,
and, having carried it to Richard, lays himself .
down in a remote corner. Mary walks tmcards the
window, and Richard begins to burn the rope.)
58
Hans. Sapperment! dies is der worst bed ! was !
Hundsfott !
(Seeing Richard busy in burning the rope, he levels
a pistol at him. At the same instant Mary throws
herself before Richard, so as to protect him. The
pistol flashes in the pan. All this passes with the
utmost rapidity ; and, at the same moment the pistol
is aimed at him, Richard drops the light.)
Hans. Why, m'adchen, you must be rasend
mad ! If der pistol had not missed fire, Ich must
have sent the leaden bullet through your head.
Rich. My dear Mary ! this is the first time in my
life I ever trembled at a loaded pistol.
Hans, (xvho has been examining the pistol,)
Loaded ! Gott damn ! there is der priming, but dat
is alles I dere is no bullet. Ah ! ah ! Ich see now, it
is one trick of der Herr Monkton he is your friend,
and did wish you might run off. Potz ! diess ac-
counts for his talking against the blunderbuss. But
you are a brave m'adchen, and I could almost find in
mein hertz to believe der junger did not kill der man.
(During this dialogue Harrop gets in at the windoxv,
and, coming up to Hans, presents a loaded pistol
to his head. The face of Harrop is covered with a
black crape.)
Hak. If you call out you are a dead man. Here's
a knife, girl ; cut the rope.
(He gives a knfe to Mary, who begins to sunder the
rope).
59
Hans. Mighty fine! mighty fine! but, notwith-
standing that black crape upon your face, Ich can see
that you were born to be hung.
Har. Is it cut? What do you stand gaping there
for, Ned ? Lend a hand, or the whole town will be
about our ears before it's done.
Rich. 'Tis done at last.
Har. Off then, and I'll follow.
Mary. I will not leave you, Richard ; whatever
your fate may be is mine we'll live and die to-
gether.
Har. That nonsense won't do now. {Hans is
stealing towards the window.^ Stop ! if you stijr
another step, I'll blow your brains out.
Hans. Ich sail stand so still as one mouse.
Rich. Yes, my dear girl, you shall go with me.
Har. I tell you again it's impossible. There is
but a single rope, and I take it she cant't get down.
by that. And you, if you were half as fond of the lad
as you pretend to be, would not hang upon him
like a millstone round the neck of a drowning man.
Mary. Go, Richard, go ! let me not have to re-
proach myself with your ruin. Fly, before it is too
late. Nay, no words make haste.
Har. He must, indeed, if he intends to get off at
all, for I saw them all below in the vestry quarreling
about something the least noise will bring them up,
and then you are lost.
Hans. Will it ? Help ! Help below I
E 2
60
{Hans knocks "violently at the door, and continues to
clamour for assistance. Harrop is about to shoot
him, when Richard holds back his arm.) ;,: ?
Rich. No more murders, Harrop, for God's sake!
more than enough blood has been shed this night.
Farewell, Mary !
(Music Mary and Richard embrace. Harrop, by
his action, expresses extreme impatience Hans
seems to regret that he has betrayed them.)
Haxs. Ach ! Ich am sorry Ich did call, aber
mein word my promise.
Mary. To part thus but fly I While there is life,
there must be always hope.
(Music Richard, Edward, and Harrop, succes-
sively escape out of the window.)
Hans. Jod and Holle ! They must all have one
deaf ear. Veiy well. Miss Mary ! pretty business
diess ! They will hang you for helping him to escape
die judges in der big wigs understand nothing of der
love. r J, j
Mary. He has escaped and I am content, what-
ever may be the consequence.
Hans. Du bist a wonderful Madchen here they
come.
(Langley, Monkton, TVentworth, White, ConMa-
bles, S^c. enter.)
Lang. Did you call, Hans? r 3tj;o'^
Hans. la! und bawl too; der prisoner has
escaped.
m
Lang. Escaped !
Monk. I'm glad of it. (Aside,)
Laxg. This can hardly be true.
Monk. Mary come hither, child don't be
alarmed ! Come what are you doing with that large
knife?
Mary. This knife !
(She suddenly recognises the knife.)
It is, it is the very same, and Harrop is the mur-
derer.
Monk. How so, girl? how so?
Mary. This knife was given to me by Harrop not
five minutes since, to cut the rope that bound
Richard.
Hans. Dass is all true, only Ich did not know
HaiTop.
Lang. But it proves nothing.
Monk. I fear not.
Mary. It proves every thing. This is the knife
you, sir, lent to me to cut a slip from the yew-tree;
and this, in my terror, I dropped in the church-yard.
Look at it Am I not right ? Is it not the same ?
Monk. It is, indeed ; and yet 1 thought I picked
up mine when first we came to the church-yard I
ought to have it about me.
(Takes a knife out of his pocket . )
Let me see, this looks something like mine and yet,
most certainly, it cannot belong to me. Blood upon
the blade and on the handle is cut E H A R
Oh ! E. Harrop
42
Mary. The boy's knife Edward Harrop !
(' Frank la7id rushes in, and pushes Langley out of his
way.)
Frank. Out of the way! Where's Richard?
It's all come out 1 knew he was innocent.
Monk. Let us understand you.
Frank. Harrop's wife, that you all thought
dead
Monk. Lives?
Frank. Yes lives though she'll hardly hold
out till morning.
Mary. To the purpose, father ! to the purpose.
Frank. Why, she knows that she has not
many hours to live, and has confessed all she de-
clares that Harrop is the murderer ! But where's
Richard ?
Mary. Gracious Heavens ! That villain Harrop
has persuaded him to fly the country.
Monk. What ! in such a night as this P
Frank. Then he is lost no boat could ride out
this storm for an hour together! Where are you
going to, Mary ?
Mary. To the beach ! to the beach!
\_Marif rushes out,
Frank. The girl is right ; the only chance of
saving him is that he has not yet got off.
Monk. Provide torches as a signal to him if he
should be at sea, while we hurry down to the
beach.
[Exit Frankland.
63
Come, Mr. Magistrate ! Nay^no standing on re-
spects of ceremony now.
\Monkton forces Langley off". The rest follow.
SCENE IV.
The sea-heach.*At a considerable distance from the
shore is a long narrow sand^ partly skirted by
low rocks. On one side of the stage is a light-
house, which stands on a little mole^ projecting a
Jew Jest only into the water ; round the body of this
light 'house, about a ijardfrom its summit, is a cir-
cular balcony with a wooden railing, and on the sum-
mit itself is a lamp that holds three burning lights
triangularly disposed. Several boats of different
descriptions are drawn up on the beach beyond the
reach of the tide. A storm-boat is floating on the.
water, close to the shore, and held by a thick cable
fastened to a windlass, Anchors, coils of ropes,
grappling-irons, S^c, are scattered around irregu-
larly. Harrop, William, and other Smugglers, on
the shore, in front, watching the progress of
Richard, whose boat is seen driving violently to-
wards the long sands.
WiL. It's all over with him now ; in another mi-
nute the old skiff is staved upon the sands.
Har. Just as it should be, for it's a flood tide, and
the water will soon wash over the rocks. But why is
64
the light-house beacon burning? That may serve to
shew him his danger, and help him off; run and take
down the lamp.
WiL. Not I.
Har. Then I will.
{'Music. Harrop enters the light-house, and, after
the lapse of a Jew seconds, is seen in the gallery
He takes down the light. A deep peal oj thunder.
The boat then dashes violentli/ against the rocks
of the long sands, and immediately/ sinks.
Richard gains the rock, and climbs to the top of
it, after having struggled for some time with
the waters.
Har. (in the gallerij.) The fool's climbing up the
rock, as if that would do him any good.
WiL. Poor fellow ! He has forgotten the flood tide ;
and no wonder. Another ten minutes, and he's lost
indeed !
Har. Huzza!
(He waves hi& hat, looking out earnestlij towards
Richard. The railing, against which he leans,
gives^ way with a loud crash, and he tumbles into
the water,
WiL. By Heavens, he's gone !
1st. Smug. (Running to a coil of ropes.) All hands
here, to veer out a cable to him !
Wi L. Toa late ; the wind blows off the shore so
strongly, he is already out at sea. '^ ^^< i
(Monkton, hangley, Frankland, Sfc, enter with
lighted torches.^
65
Monk. Where's Harrop?
WiL. Drowned.
Monk. How ? when ? But another time for him.
Richard, my lads, is innocent? Where is he?
( William points to the long sands.}
What! on the sands?
[Mart/ rushes in pale and breathless, and her hair
streaming wildltf to the wind. During the whole of
this scene the water rapidly gains on the rock of
the sand, and with so strong a rise as to be distinctly
visible to the audience.
Mary. Is he gone ? Is it too late ?
Monk. I don't know what to say to that. Come,
my lads, fifty guineas for him that brings back Rich-
ard. William, what say you ? You are an old sea-
man, and used to rough weather. Fifty guineas !
WiL. I would'nt be the man for five hundred
it's merely throwing away life.
Mary. For Heaven's sake, try to save him ! In
a few moments it will be too late.
WiL. 1 would do any thing in reason to serve you,
but this is sheer madness.
Mary. Is there no one will venture out to save the
life of a fellow-creature ? Not one and the waters
are beginning to burst over the rock !
Monk. It's all of no use, child, I'm afraid.
WiL. To be sure it's not, master.
Mary. Are you men ? and can you see him
perish before your eyes, almost within the reach of
F
66
hearing ? Kind, generous Richard ! you would have
died to save the life of any one of these ; and yet,
amongst them all, there is not a heart of courage
enough to brave a gust of wind for you.
WiL. A gust of wind, do you call it ? I have for
thirty years, man and boy, looked upon rough wea-
ther ; but the storm of to-night goes beyond every
thing.
Mary. All are cowards ! Not one will move !
Well, then, Richard, I promised you should not die
alone. {Mary leaps into the storm-boat.)
Monk. Are you mad, Mary ?
Mary. Death was my promise, and I go to keep
it. Let it be written on my grave "A woman braved
the storm which a seaman shrunk from !"
WiL. What ! Darnn it, that never shall be said !
If a girl's not afraid, I don't see why I should be.
[JVilliam leaps into the boat.)
Cast off the rope there !
{The Smugglers loosen the cable that holds the boat
to the shore, while JVilliam sets the sail. This ac-
tionpasses with the utmost rapidity, and the boat
darts axvay before the xvind.)
Monk. Mary there can be no gpod in your
going.
Mary. Life or defith with Richard !
Monk. Frankland, why don't you try to stop the
girl?
Frank. Be quiet ! She might as well tun the risk
67
of drowning now, as die broken-hearted to-morrow
As for me, I am old, and shall soon follow.
(Music* A furious burst of the Storm The thun-
der peals along in violent clapsy that, for a Jew
seconds, follow each other without intermission,
A broad flash of lightning blazes around the hoaty
which is seen at the very top of a mountainous wave,
and in the next moment is lost to the sight.
- Monk. By Heavens, they are lost!
1st Smug. No! they have weathered it! And
look, they have thrown out a rope to young Richard,
who is making for the boat.
(Music A rope is cast off from the boat to Rich-
ard, who, by the repeated flashes of lightning, is
seen swimming towards it. At the "very moment
that Richard leaves the rock, the waves burst fu-
riously over it.)
- Monk. There is an age in this moment !
Frank. He reaches it!-^-He is saved!
All. Huzza! Huzza!
(Music The curtaiii slowly dropsTo the last the
boat is seen returning towards the shore.)
THE END.
JUST PUBLISHED,
ADELGITHA ; or. The Fruits op a Single Error: a
Tragedy, in Five Acts. By M. G. Lewis, Esq. Now first
published as acted at the Theatre Royal, Covent-Garden. Price
3s. 6d.
FRIGHTEN'D TO DEATH; a Musical Farce, in
Two Acts, as performed at the Theatre Royal, Drury-lane.
By W. C. OuLTON, Esq. Author of All in Good Humour^.
Botheration, or A Ten Years' Blunder ; The Sleep-
walker, &c. &c. Price 2^.
Also, by the same Author,
MY LANDLADY'S GOWN; a Farce, in Two Acts, a
performed at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket. Price 2*.
Priuted by W. Clowes,
. Nortbumberlaad-court, Straud, London. '
INCOG;
Price, 28. 6d.
i^i, '-v^ t.ViOj:i'.j!i4ftj.ri/K
,A. :ii y
INCOG;
OR,
THREE DAYS AT A WELL-KNOWN HOTEL,
^ d^arce,
IN TWO ACTS.
AS PERFORMED AT
THE THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY-LANE,
WITH
ACCLAMATIONS OF APPLAUSE.
BY W. A. KEEP.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR W. SIMPKIN AND R. MARSHAL!^
stationers' court, ludgate-street
1817.
i55a^.i''.K
'Tfh ;;,Jt-^f.>^
PriHied tg f. CLOIVES, Sortku)niertand-cou>1, Strand, Londott.
PREFACE.
IN committing the following production to
the press, the Author feels it an incumbent
duty to avail himself of this opportunity of
expressing his obligations to the Ladies and
Gentlemen to whose friendly aid, and distin-
guished talents, he must chiefly attribute its
success.
It was hastily written, and presented to a
friend for his Benefit, though with little ex-
pectation of being performed, much less of
the flattering applause which attended its
representation. Agreeably surprised by the
reception it met with on the stage, he has still
to fear it may not equally please in the peru-
sal, where, quite unprotected, it must be
exposed to the most minute criticism ; but
trusts its defects will meet with indulgence,
and escape censure.
To Mrs. Davison he cannot pay a sufficient
tribute of eulogium. To Mrs. Alsop, like-
wise, he is much indebted for her exertions
in a part so inferior to her merits. Mrs. Orger,
also, did ample justice to the trifling cha-
racter she so kindly undertook ; and the
author begs these ladies to accept his warmest
VI
thanks. Mr. Harley, Mr. Knight, Mr. Ox-
berry, Mr. Kent, and Mr. Barnard, were
every thing he intended, or could have
wished ; and he returns them his sincere
and heartfelt thanks for their powerful
support : nor must he forget to express his
obligations to Mr. Kent, in particular, for the
friendly interest he took in his behalf.
To the Noblemen and Gentlemen of the
Committee, and to Mr. Rae, as Manager, his
best acknowledgments are due for the favour
they condescended to shew him. To the
Hon. George Lambe especially.
June, 1817.
-// i.
fKf
i.>i[0 -;>;;
DRAMATIS PERSONiE.
SIR DAVID CREDULOUS Mr. Oxberry.
GEORGE CREDULOUS.,..,..,,.,... Mr. Kent.
Mr. SHARK ...;..... Mr. Barnard.
SHARP ,. ,^ ., Mr. Harley.
TIM .-,..; Mr. Knigmt.
NABHAM Mr. Buxton.
WAITER Mr.EBSwoRTH.
AMELIA PEMBERTON (disguised as
Captain Talbot,) Mrs. Davison.
F A NNY, (her Waiting-Maid, disguised as her
servant Frank, Mrs. Alsop.
JENNY, (a Chamber Maid,) Mrs. Orgeb.
The Scene lies in London, and principally at Hatchett'8
Hotel.
jO O OMl
istCH. /.mcv.a-lia'H i. 1% ri'-Q. i;\*i
.- .-.- s5fv/ -
e -nr- .,*
jtf iH-1i^;*l^^ rtf*M fii%itl .^-T
INCOG;
oc.
THREE DAYS AT A WELl^KNOWN HOTEL.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
A Street. Piccadilly.
Enter Sir David Credulous, followed by Tim.
. Tim. ^3HALL I call you a coacli, sir?
Sir D. No ; rU not trouble you.
Tun. No sort of trouble, sir, get you one
directly. {Calling) Coach ! Here, coach !
Sir D. No, no, no ! Odds my life ! 1 tell you I
don't want one. I've had enough of coaches for
these last four-and-twenty hours in that Exeter
Fly of yours, which has shook me almost to
pieces !
Tim. Lord bless you, sir! it runs as light as a
feather, and as easy as a sedan ! I presume you
are not much used to stage-travelling, sir ?
Sir D. There you are wrong I've been used
to it best part of my life ; but I would not have
B
tome one hundred ?ind seventy miles now, if I
could have got my. boy George home without ;
fpi; I h^v'n't been in London these five-and-twenty
years. Do you know my son George?- does he
use your house ?^^, J-^^.^j'to'rr I--,-ii8oi^ XiM. ,
Tim, Mr. George whc^ sir U,,^,^^^. I ^^
SifD. Counsellor George Credulous, of t1i"e
^Temple ; a damn'd clever fellow in his profession,
^yTi"^. No, really, sir; ;^e jhaye not the honour
of that gentleman's name on our hook^jj^^jjg.j^jj^
Sir D. Odds my life! he's on no one's books f
I always desired him to pay as he goes which
he must have done, for the dog's got through a
^pow^rfuJi dejE^ of money irbut, from his studying
t]^ej,aw, so .closely, lie will CQme to l)e a J[udge. |n
Jjme, I hope, and. then he'll know how to take
care of it ; ^and if 1 can but get him down, and
^see ||iiii marrie((to,4pqlj^^Ppbex{e(^ \f 1^ be
j?h^PPy old fello]^. .,.,,.,^/ ,.;..,:, .^:j..C,cy ...bio'^^
{During the latter part of his speech^ Sharp ent?'s
,|[ja '>,r nnperceived.)
' Sliarp. [Aside.) My master^s. father, by all that's
,, unlucky ! What, in the name of wonder, can have
jferougMthe old gentleman to f^^pndon ?^j ., ^^^^
'^' 3'/^ |)/ Now then, Mr. Tim, (J, think I 'hesird
the gentleman call you ;) your name is Tim, isn't
Timothy.
Vri
^ ^^Sir D. Then be so good, short Mr. Tim, as to
direct me the nearest way to the Temple.
'<^^^^rm''WMf'^ii 'won't have a coadl^ theft,
SirD. No sir, I won't, I told you thal*before.
Tim. I beg* pardon, sir meant no offence but
'I always recommend a coach to gentlemen who
are not much acquainted with the town ; -and as
' you observed just now that it is five-and-twenty
years since you was here last, sir thought
Coacliey might as well set you down. Strange
alterations in these parts of late, I do assure you,
sir.
**;^^^i^J3C'%8;fr^supposeso. I had an old ac
^ qiiaintance rn St^ Alban's-street =^ ^'V^^'
-' Tim. St. Alban's street's gone, siV,Waterloo-
^'|)race now. -St. James's Market be coming down*
Whip you gothrough Piccadilly ! straight to Ox-
'' ford-street and the Regent's Park, sir !
'^ "Siriy. Odds my life! alterations indeed t-*-^I
wonder George never wrote me all this. M'ell,
sir, which way am I to go?
Tim. Keep straight along, sir, down the Billy,
till you come to the top of the llaymarket : proc-
ceed to the bottom of the Haymarket, and you'll
touch the top of Cockspur-street ; then keep
straight on till ybu come to the man on the black
horse.
Sir D. The man on the black hors!
Tim. KingCharlesthe First,sir, facingthe Golden
b2
4
Cross: then, sir, passing over the first turning to
your left, you'll be in the Strand and, proceeding
straight forward on the right, you'll come to the
Bar, and then you'll soon find the Temple.
Sir D. Odds my life ! who's to retain all this ?
one need have a head as long as the Chancellor's
of the Exchequer I sha'n't remember one half,
of it, Pll bet my breeches !
Tim. O then you'd better have a coach, sir.
Sir D. (Pettishli^.J Sir, Til have no coach, I
tell you.
Tim. Well sir, you're to please yourself, most
assmedly : but I can give you no plainer direction,
so you must excuse me, I must be off I shall be
wanted among the coaches. [^Exit.
Sir D. The sooner the better, sir, for I want no
more of your clack'. (Going.) Curse the fellow and
his coach ! I shall find George, I dare say, closely
confined, and studying away. O ! he'll make a
shining character, Pll bet my breeches ; and I
warrant he has formed a fine London acquaint-
ance. I long to see him. [^Exit Sir D.
Sharp. (Coming forward.) Ye%, he has indeed
formed a fine London acquaintance ! And you'll
find him closely confined, sure enough, and study-
ing too ; but not, as you suppose, the law at his
chambers, but how to get out of Nabham the
bailiff''s clutches, who has him snug enough.
What the devil am I to do ? He has sent me in
fjtuest of his friend, Mr. Shark. I don't lik^ thi&
Shark I*m afraid he is a shark by nature as well
as name. However, I can't stop to hunt him
jipnow, but must make all the haste I can back,
to be in readiness to receive the old gentleman
in the Temple, and fob up some story to deceive
him till I see my master, and consult what's the
best io be done. {^Exii Sharp
I .rf>;soi>^ott 9V4* SCENE II.
w .Til _ A Coffee- Room.
(Shark discovered reading a newspaper at one table ;
*' Amelia, disguised as Capt. Talbot, at hreakfasi at
another.) ,^omn miiv
On ''"" ''' "
}>(, Shark, [putting down the paper) Tim.
, i Tim. Sir,
.i e Shark. Who was that old querist that went out
with you just now ? He prated away finely : I
should take him to be of the turf, he's so fond^pf
betting.
; Tim. A fine talkative old gentleman, sir, indeed:
he came in last night by the Exeter. I have just
directed him to the Temple, where he has gone to
see his son, who is one of those who live by c/-
iercations. , cross-examinations, and Qthet,.bp^her-
utions. .,.,.. : ;.*tv ;. <
Shark, OfthelawPey, Tim? ^Do you know his
^ Haos^il J*ii0h tM ebnf^t^ md
Tim. Counsellor George CreduloUs, 4think he
called him. iso7
Shark. (Aside.) The father of my friend, by tiW
that's sfngular! Gad this is most fortunate, and may
turn to account. I've heard him often spoken of a^ ;
very rich:- he comes most opportunely for Georg^l
who now is much in need of his assistance. -^-IMI^'
instantly to his despairing Harriet apprize her of
the old boy*s arrival -and lay our plans accordi-^
ingl3% > i
(^Amelia listens attentively lb evet%im# wi l^y . ',tffe ,bloJ -.ml
Amelia. Pray is the old gentleman Vtho arrived
last nig^t in the Exeter, stirribg yet?''*^ ' - ^^ >ri'r
Tim. He has gone out, sir; arid miisf bS half-
way to the Temple by this time. I couldn't per-
sufide him to take a coach, sir never met with
one so obstinate in that particular, &it, Ih the ^vhole
cosrfi;Qf|]^y life. Beg p^r,(|,g_|^;j.,^g ^.,^^^1 j^,^^ ^^,
Tim, That is more than I can say, sir. flis
name is Shark Came by a coach about three
weeks ago said he should be off the next day |(^.
Holyhead but here he has "been ever since. ' vp
Amelia, 'Tis a sign he likes his quarters and ac-
comraodation^.ffjjj9^ ariJ OJ.^iiio;s m'l A-m^'
J, Tim, Why, as to that, sir, ilieTieve my master
would be better please;d^if |^^.j^^s jOjgUjift the^. .
Amelia. Why so? .. , \ , ^
'\y\Tipi, Why, sir, " he hangs fire too much," a^
you milantarif gentlemen term it ;- and my master
observes that the Dun Famibj call too frequently
upon him. , ^ .
Amelia. And pray who are they r -.
Tim. Lord, sir, you in the army, and ask that
question I The Duns are here, there, and eyery
where ; yet,strange to say, although the most dis^
agveeable visitors in the, worjd, they're generally
asked to call again. - Ir .I .K^ ^ < ,
ivag, Mr. ^^ aiter,^rff^:}.jp;' i,.,fi^^ ., .,^-., ,^ /. : vu
"' .>jif.>i..( run f/>nJ >>? '-<^^\\i^}^','^ni\ /^y ^'^o
Tim, No, not I, sir. -My master, indeed, is a
bit of a wit, and knows a thing- or two ; and says
that, as Mr. Shark has been boarding and lodging
here these three weeks, and has come down but
one out of the three, 'tis therefore two to one
against him.
Amelia. (Laughing.) Ha, ha! very good ^;37r;but
has the gentleman no luggage with him ?
Tim. Not much of thai, sir, ^only a measly
portmanteau, about as big as a blacking-case.
(Bell rings.) Coming, coming ! No commands
atpreisent, sir? i, two */
Amelia. Nothing more than to return my com-
pliments to the old gentleman, apjd that I'm piroud
of, the honour he designs me^ r,mn'^hf\'^<^ b!o %/!r
^ ^Xifn- Shall you want a coach, sir? (Bell rings.)
Cpffiing, coming !^.^, ,,. ,,/.i>{.io.] i>a ii -JiuD
Amelia. No, sir. /, (Exit Tim. bowing.)
This is very singular ! -Pm astonished at the man-
per in which this person spoke of the old gentle-
man, and his " friend George," as he styled him.
Then what could he mean by "apprizing hisde-
'^ spending Harriet, and laying their plans ac-
cordingly." If now, as I surmise, this should be
the cause of his neglecting me Yet Til not be-
lieve it till I've further proof. My meeting this
Mr. Shark so soon after my arrival in London is
yery extraordinary. As we are inmates in the same
iquse, it can do no harm just to observe a few of
Sis movements ; but first I'll acquaint Fanny with
^il jtjii^ iuadt^^M ^^once for my young Templar.
[Exit Amelia.
7'
^9
^ rse hftB I owt to ^nirfi a nvoaA hrrfi ,nv
Ar o ^_^ prij^aie Apar/ment at Hatcneit's, .'
(Fannif discovered unpack'mg a Trunk, and re-
moving female Apparel, into another.^ ,,,
"^^ Fanny. There now, our female dresses are ready
TOr us, ^^henever we choose to return to them.
What a strange mad-cap my mistress is, to be sure,
to put her ladyship and myself into men's clothes,
without any fears of discovery ! We have followed
the old gentleman closely, however. She has
certainly played her part so far well. Incog., as she
calls it, and not known by him, is laughable in-
deed ! But, how I shall get on with Mr. Sharp,
Heaven knows ! Vxn afraid he'll be too sharp for
fli^. 1 must risk it, however, come what may. I
think my mistress has began early enough to wear
the breeches. Many, Tve heard, adopt them aff^
marriage ; but very few before, I believe. Gb,
here she comes.
(Enter Amelia?) ^im{
'Amelia. Fanny, I've changed my mind, and, ftli
fetead of going to Mr. Credulous's chambers thi^
morning, as I intended, I will write to him, and
appoint an interview ; and by your taking the
letter it will be an introduction for you to your
sweetheart, Mr. Sharp, which, I dare say yoy-il
have no objection to. ig'bM
J^(cca2/. I shall be all of a twitter, at first, but
with such an example before me, Ma'am, as yours,
if I fail, I deserve to lose your favours.) nm mui :?iu
Amelia, Neverfear. 'j; ' ? tv. ^r)<[ \\i:\:\i-\
Fanny. Yet, after all, Ma*am, this is a mad frolie^
of yours ; and Fm horridly frightened at throwing
myself into the power of Mr. Sharp: but I dare <
say my terror will soon go off. t >r>v> ot i> 3j .jo*v
Amelia. No doubt, Fanny, when jfih inre/bett^l?
acquainted. ^ *ift la ire?.*
Fanny. And how long are we to remain mco^v,>
Ma'am? noiaaeq aVjiifnow e gi?
^: Amelia. Until I have found out the canse oCuffis
nfeglect; and this accidental meeting- w'ithj Mtf'io
Shark has given me additional curiosity. '1 fK
Fanny. Mercy, how the old gentleman ran on^r
about his son George! If he but possesses one
quarter of the good qualities Sir David representsj^i^.
you'll be ti happy lady, .it' i- jj ( rjil i y^vuii^H.
Amelia. But should he prove Mi e^Teversei^fofr"
Loudon, and new objects,. Ivan 11(^1, may^ have mucix.
altered him.'f'O^trfij^d r 9Tf?d ^iV '}Sff>fl-7Bfq -fo
^iPanny. If so, you can retaliate, Ma'am ; for -
should he neglect }ou, 'tis very easy to find friends
elsewhere. Ma'am. - -^rT^.itr ^^;! no }r\iL --loim
Amelia. You offer fine advice, trtilyfglwonrfiy fid ^
is so passionately in love as I am.^ ^ "^I rs' i>5^
'iK^nwy.- ButjteGoilect, Ma'am, the poets say,
" Love, like fire, naturally goes out when it hath
li
** nothing to feed on;" and with your beauty,
Ma'am
Amelia. If I've sufficient in the ejes of him I
wish to please, I'm content ; the rest of the world
are not worth my care. fiviaaab i ^luit 1 ''>'
Fannij. But you'll allow, Ma'ain, it's a great sa-
tisfaction to be extolled and talked of.
Amelia. Believe me, Fanny, I have no ambi-
tion to be toasted in company of men, and
roasted in assembly of women, I assure you; for
the envy of the one is sure to follow the admira-
tion of the other ; and, with all the talking in the
world, you may as Avell attempt to remove a rock
as a woman's passion.
Fannif. Yet you must allow. Ma'am, that it's
often built upon a precarious foundation, and if
Mr. Credulous, Ma'am, should prove inconstant
to you and Mr. Sharp to me
Amelia. If so, I'll return to tbe^counli^, and
seclude myself from all mankindl>**>'5^ A.ft'VoTi'^'^
Fanny. There you'd do wrong, Ma'am \- for,
take my word, tiiere is more danger in lonely
woods and purling streams than in a ball-room
or play-house. To have a beauteous grove for
your theatre, the nightingale your music, the
sky the only spectator, and a pretty fellow the
actor Mercy on us, there's no answering what
the play might be !
Amelia. If I find my fears are groundless, and
that! still retain his heart,e'l i^ball haTe no reason
12
to repent of my stratagem. So now for the letter
- and then for the result, Fanny^^^^^^* ''' "^tf^
; v/oH
SCENE IV. a ^^
3i>rii^ joa
*4 Room at Young Credulous s Chckmbers^sU^^
Temple. d tfr - > n ;^- tnfT
(Sharp in a great bustle, arranging the room.)
Sharp. 'Gad I've had a nin for it ! I passed the
old gentleman at Exeter-'Change, so it will n6t
be long before he is here. How the devil am I
to manage this ? I may put him off for a few
hours, to be sure, by telling him my master's from
home on particular business; but to a certainty
he won't leave town without seeing him, and he is
likely to remain locked up for some days. What
' the devil's to be done? [thinking.) I have it! J
have it! [slapping his hands together.) It will do!
\a loud double knock.) Here he is ; and sink, or
swim, I'll try it. If my master will but consent to
It, I think we may succee<|i' -^^* f^'iii ;>iitj^iii/biiia
" i
Sharp. If you was as much used to it as'^ii^y
master, sir, you'd soon find it out.
Sir D. Very likely But go to my son George,
tell him of my arrival at his chambers, and I'll bet
my breeches, he will break through the forms of
court in this instance, and immediately come to me.
'i^^^Sharp. I assure you, Sir David, it i* quite im-
jiossible, and you had better defer seeing Iiim till
j[1p.morrow.jy^ /nnr^i "jfihi fij^b rtn mir^ r^*)vA
Sir D. {In a passion.) Odds my life \ H^e's A:
,;pretty sort of a varlet! to tell me, after travelling
one hundred and seventy miles to see my son, on
business of the greatest consequence t hira,
that the practice of the court, in which he is en-
gaged, will not allow of his seeing me, and that
I'd better wait till to morrow !
^ Sharp. Fm only telling you the truth, Sir David,
upon my honour. :'-''^/,Wr\-
Sir D. yo\\r Jionour, puppy If you don't go
^this instant, you scoundrel, and fetch your master,
I'll take good care you shan't be in his service
^twenty-four hours longer. i m s.oo
Sharp. Indeed, sir, I would do ATiy^thmg ,^n
jjthe world to oblige you ; but my going would
^ally be of no service,;^ t^,,[tiw. Jn^m^wi mrif c
Sir D. You shall go directly, or I'll break every
bone in your skin. But, now I think of it, I'll
write aline, and then there can be no mi^taJvje., ^o
give me pen, ink, and paper, ,; difhnlo
Sharp. Sir, if you'll be pleased to step into the
next room you'll find it on the tabl^, \l ouv-
{Opening a door, and shewing fke way. Sir David
... ,goes 2.)i ; ,;,: , :
Tm now a in pretty j^^y-^ompletely f)etween two
fires ! The so^ w^^ ;jhir<^^ ny bones if I take hjs
father to him, and the father threatens to do the
same, and kick ipe; out vof doors, if I refuse.
16
Which way am I to act? (A Lsud single rap at
the door ^ Who have we here? (Goes and opens
ity and Fanny enters, disguised as Frank.)
Fanny, Good morning, sir.
Sharp, The same to you, sir.
Fanny. I have a letter from my master to your
master, which requires an answer.
Sharp. I'm sorry my master can't gvwe it, then.
Fanny. Your master's not at home, then?
Sharp. You*ve guessed it.
Fanny. That's unfortunate.
Sharp. Not in the least.
Fanny. How so ?
Sharp. It saves your waiting'.
Fanny. You're sharp, sir.
Sharp. Sir, I know it I was born so.
Fanny. Well sir, I should'nt have guessed by
your looks that you sprung from a branch of that
family.
Sharp. W'hat do you mean by that, sir ? Do
you intend to insult me ?
Fanny. {Laughing.) Ha, ha ! Insult you, O
dear, no ! but, as you're sharp, my wit's a little
pointed, that's all ; but dpn't be out of temper,
Mr. Sharp ; I hope we shall be better acquainted.
Shafp. I've a gentleman waiting in the next
room, and can't stop ; therefore youM better
leave your letter, and call again. Who does it come
from }
Fanny. I mustn't tell.
17
Sharp. Indeed ! why not ?
Fanny. Because it*s a secret.
Sharp. I should like to know it.
Fannjf. So you shall.
Sharp. How ?
Fanny. When you're told it. {Laughing).
Sharp. Ton my soul, you're vastly intelligent.
Fanny. Yes, Mr. Sharp, it*s a way we country
lads have. But I did not know it was the London
mode for servants to be acquainted with their
masters* correspondents. It's not the fashion,
howsomever, in Devon.
Sharp. What ! do you come from Devon }
Fanny, Yes, I do, and what then ?
Sharp. What part ?
Fanny. Oh, you can't stop to hear : you've a
gentleman waiting in the next room, you know.
Sharp. Well, but tell us what part?
Funny. Within a few miles of Exeter.
Sharp. No !
Fanny. Yes.
Sharp. Do you know Tiverton ?
Fanny. Do I know Tiverton ? Why, man, I come
from within a mile of it, and left Pemberton Ab-
bey but a few days since.
Sharp. Pemberton Abbey !
Fanny. Aye, surely.
Sharp. W by then mayhap you may know Fanny
Dickson ?
Fanny. Ah, to be sure, as well as I know my-
self.
Sharp. Give me your hand, my boy ! (Shaking
c
18
hands heartily ;) we shall be better Acquainted, in-
deed, for I came from the same part; and, I say,
old acquaintance (for I dare say we shall find
one another out by-and-by)
Fanny. (Aside.) I suppose we shall.
Sharp. How does Fan do ? ^You must know we
are a bit of sweethearts.
Fanny. Ah! Fan ny*s strangely altered since you
saw her at the Abbey.
Sharp. How do you mean ? Altered ! ,.;
Fanny. She*s not like the same person.- But
won't the gentleman want you in the next room ?
Sharp. Never mind him. What do you mean
by altered?
Fanny. Bless your soul, you'd not know her
now, there's such a difference in her.
Sharp. No one can make me believe that ; I'd
be bound to know Fan from a thousand, let me
see her any where.
Fanny. Women will deceive the very devil !
but I say, fellow-countryman, suppose, among your
fine dashing London lasses, you've forgot Fan, and
got another sweetheart ey, Mr. Sharp.?
Sharp. No, no; I've not forgot her ; but for
certain I can't say but I'm a bit gayish among the
girls, and that like, since coming to London ; and
have got a little sly bit in a corner, you know.
(^Jogging her elbow,)
Fanny. {Aside.) Oh, you have ; have you !
This is pleasant news, indeed ! Your master,
too is he a gay deceiver ?
19
Sharps 0\x ! he*s the very devil amongst the wo-
iQ^n, {mhUp^riiig in her-ear*) and keeps a dashing
one.
Ean^ny* (Aside,) So, so; here's charming in-
telligence! Then I fancy I can tell you a piecie^of
newp, Mr. Sharp, that will surpri^,you.
Sharp. What's that? ^ ^ a^
Fanny. Fanny Dickson has left Pemberton Ab-
bey, and gone off with a young Captain.
Sharp. (Astonished.) Fanny Dickson gone off
with a Captain! (Recovering himself .) What a fool
I must be to believe it ! Damn'd nonsense of you
to scare one so, though.
Fanny. I'm serious, as sure as your? name's
.Sharp : and, what's naore, I give you my word I
saw them in a coach together upwards of one
hundred miles fronfiihj^jr l^ome, not two days ago.
Sharp. You did ?
Fanny. I did, and will take my oath of it.
Sharp. Then farewell to woman's constancy.
O Fanny, Fanny ! cruel Fanny ! But tell me
[Enter Sir David from the room within, with a
letter iVi his. hand, )
Sir I), Now then, sir, take this immediately to
my son. Odds my life ! (perceiving jPay.) what
brought you here, Mr. Frank ?
Fanny. I came with a letter from my master.
Sir Payid,
Sharp. (Aside.) What ! does he know the old
one ? Then he comes from Devon, sure enough.
Sir D. With a letter from your master ! Odds
c2
20
' my life ! let me have it then, and I'll take care
and give it him myself. (Aside.) About some law
business, I'll bet my breeches ! This is extremely
kind of the young Captain, to think of George so
soon. My son is not within ; therefore you can have
no answer to your master's letter ; so you need not
wait.
Fanny. Very well, sir; I wish you a good
morning. {Going.)
Sharp. {To Fanny.) I say, when will you give
us a call, Mr. Frank ? Tve a great deal to say to you.
SirD. Sharp.
Sharp. Sir.
Sir D. I want you.
Sharp. (Talking apart to Fanny.) Coming, Sir
David. But when will you call again? I can't
help thinking about Fan and the Captain.
Fanny. You shall see me shortly. So good day,
Mr. Sharp ! Shai-p as you are, Fanny Dickson
has made a flat of you this time, although you came
to London with your master to study the law.
(Goes out laughing.)
Sharp. Curse his impudence! he*slaughingatme.
Sir D. [Coming forward.) When you two gen-
tlemen have finished your discourse, I suppose
you'll attend to what Fve to say.
Sharp. Vm at your service, Sir David.
Sir D. Well then, sir, take this letter to my son
immediately.
Sharp. Do you know, sir, a thought has just
struck me?
21
Sir D. Do you know, if you don't set off dr-^
rectly with the letter, it strikes me I shall
break your head ? (Shaking his cane at him.)
Sharp. Nay, but hear me. Sir David-
Sir D. I won't hear another sentence till you
come back from my son.
Sharp. But it's respecting my master, sir.
Sir D. Well, sir, what is it?
Sharp. Sir, you shall hear: my master,
pray, sir, do you recollect Fanny Dickson ?'
Sir D. What the devil has Fanny Dickson to do^
with my son, you scoundrel ?
Sharp. Oh, no, sir ! 1 didn't say she had : but
do you know, sir, she has gone off with a Cap-
tain ?
Sir D. And what is Fanny Dickson's going off
with a Captain to me ? I thought you had some-i
thing to communicate respecting my son ?
Sharp. Yes, sir, so I have ; but, ever since I
heard of Fan's going off with a Captain, I can't
get her out of my head. But, with respect to my
master, all the letters in the world won't bring
him from where he is : and, to let you into a se-
cret, sir, my master's too generous and free, and is
very often obliged to go to a spunging-house be-
fore he can accommodate parties ; and there he is
now, sir, arranging matters for a gentleman.
Sir D. Odds my life 1 and why didn't you in-
form me of this at first ?
Sharp, Because, sir, my master don't want it
known, lest other gentlemen should detain him ;
^
.1Tt
and it is only by your interference the party will
suffer him to leave them till he has settled the busi-;
ness to their satisfaction; therefore my going,
sir, would be of no use.
Sir D. How far is it from this where my son is,
Sharp ?
Sharp. A very little distance, sir ; onlyinC^ary-
street. No. 44.
Sir D. Well, direct me the nearest way to it, and
ril go myself.
Sharp. Directly you get out of the Temple gate,
sir, facing you is ChanceryJane.
s-Sir D. Odds ray life! that's a devil of a Jane
t0.get into ; for, once there, it's a difficult matter
to get out! Well, when I'm in Chancery-lane?
Sharp. The firsts turning to your left is Cary-
street.
Sir D. This is a much plainer direction than
Mr. Tim's. Well, then, I'll set off -instantly :
you're^sure I shall find him there ?
Sharp. I'm quite certain of that, sir.
, Sir D. ~ No. '4i, you say ?
Sharp. Yes, -sir; No. 44. '^^r-.^pa^^^''- ^'
Sir D. (Going.) Very well ; I shall find it, < I dare'
say. (Turning romid.) Odds my life ! it's a laugh-
able circumstance, Sliarp, (and 111 joke George
about it,) that I should come 170 miles to see him,
and my fir^it viiiitj^hould be in a ^puoging-house !
-mmM^i. l^Bxit laughing.
Sharp. I don't know how my scheme may an-
swer; but, if it should, we shall have the laugh
23
against you, old gentleman. Now then, to make
all the haste I can to get there before you apprize
my master of what Tve done and communicate
my plan. ^Exif Sharp,
(SCENE III. agaiH.)
Private Apartments at Hatchett*s.
Enter Fanny, followed by Jenny.
Fanny. Well, Jenny, what is it you wish^to
speak to me about ?
Jenny, I hardly know how to mention it to you,
I'm so ashamed. You seem a very nice young
man, and Fm going to ask you to do something
for me.
Fanny. Well, Jenny, what is it ?
Jenny. Did you ever have a sweetheart, Mr,
Frank ?
Fanny. Yes.
Jenny. Then you know ,wh^t it is to love ?
Fanny. Yes.
Jemiy. (sighs.) So do I.
Fanny^ {Aside.) I shall be in a pretty way pre-
sently. And is Mr. Tim the happy man ?
Jenny. O no ! not him : *tis another and you,
Mr. Frank, are the person
Fanny. 1 the person, Jenny !
Jenny. Yes ; you are the person I want to take
a message from me to him.
24
Fanny. {Aside.) Come, this is a reprieve !
How far off does he reside? for perhaps I shan't
be able to spare time,
Jenny. Oh, you are going to him !
Fanny. 1 am, child ?
Jenny. Yes ; for I heard your master tell you
to take a letter to Mr. Counsellor Credulous, in
the Temple.
Fanny. And does your sweetheart live vrith
him?
Jenny. Yes, that he does.
Fanny. Then his name is
Jenny. Sharp.
Fanny, {Aside?) Here's another discovery !
Upon my word, Mr. Sharp, you're a pretty sort of
a gentleman, indeed ! I wish I had known this
before :^you have learnt something by coming to
London. Well, Jenny, and what message do
you wish me to take to him ?
Jenny^ That Jenny Brewer, at the White Horse
Cellar, wishes to see him as soon as he can make
it convenient.
Fanny. And did he ever tell you he loved you,
Jenny?
.. Jenny. Oh yes ! fifty times.
Fanny. He has ?
Jenny. Oh yes !
Fanny. And did he ever say any thing about
marriage to you ?
Jenny. No ; he has'nt mentioned any thing
25
about that yet but I dare say he will when it
suits him.
Fanny. Yes, when it suits him he will, you may
depend. Well, Til be sure to deliver your mes-
sage when I see him.
Jenny. Thank you kindly, Tm sure : Fll do a*
much for you at any time. Good morning to you,
young man ; Fm very much obliged to you, I*m
gure! You'll not forget the name of Jenny
Brewer. [Exit Jenny.
Fanny. I shall remember it all my life ! So, so,
Tm afraid I'm much worse off than my mistress
herself for she, it appears, has only one rival, and
I have half a dozen ! But if I don't punish you,
my amorous spark, I'm no woman ! [Exit.
SCENE VI.
A Room at Nahhaniy the Bailiff's.
{^Young Qredulous walking up and down the room.)
Young C. What can have become of that rascal
of mine ? and not a soul's come near me that Fve
written to. Debt and a spunging-house are the
surest means to try your friends. {Ringing the bell.)
[Enter Nabham.']
Are you certain no one has inquired for me ?
Nab. Quite, sir! But you mustn't be sur-
26
prised at that.- ^Friends don't accept an inTitatio^^
to a spunging-house so readily as to a dinner
party. But here's a gentleman
[^Enter SharkJ]
Young C, Ah, my dear Shark! I thought you
had deserted me too, and was execrating- all man-
kind.
'Shark. That was very Christian-like, indeed!
But who the devil's to know of your being in re-
tirement without information ?
Young C. Why I sent that rascal of mine with
a letter to you many hours ago.
Shark. Then that rascal of yours has never
thought proper to deliver it, and it was by mere
accident I've found you now, as I was going to
your chambers. But at whose suit are you here,
George?
Young C. Garnet's, the jeweller, for Harriet's
diamond broach.
Shark. Well, courage^mon ami! I daresay we
shall soon contrive to pay him.
Young C. I don't know which way, for that
cursed unlacky run last night has drawn me of
every guinea.
Shark. Then we must endeavour to raise fresh
supplies; and I've good news for you.
';(
[Enter Sharp, hastily.^
Sharp. Oh, sir!
27
Young C. What can have kept you allthis tiifidi'
you scoundrel ?
Sharp. {Breathless.) Somethingof moment, you
may be sure, sir ; and I've made no small haste
to get here. Sir David's in town, sir.
',Young C. (In surprise.) My father in London !
Improbable. No joking, sirrah, or I'll break
your bones.
Sharp. Bone-breaking, it seems, runs in the
family, for that's what the old gentleman threat-
ened me with if I didn't bring you to him to the
chambers. So, sir, knowing that the master of
this agreeable mansion would not consent to that,
and fearing Sir David might put his threats into
execution, I thought it best -miviffi
- fYoung C. To do what, sir }
Sharp. To tell him where you was;'^'^'*'**> '**^*^t
Young C. Scoundrel ! Informed him I was in a
spunging-house !
Sharp. Yes, sir, and he is now on his way
hither to see you. '*^ ^^^^'
'Young C. To see me here !
Sharp. I expect to hear him knock at the door
every minute for he set out before me ; only 1 ran
for it, and came the short cut through the courts.
Young C. Then I'm ruined.
Sharp. You must know, sir, just as I got to
Hatchett*s, with your letter to Mr. Shark, who
should I see at the coffee-room door, talking to
the "waiter, but Sir David, inquiring his way to
2^
the Temple ? Mercy on me, sir, I as much ex-
pected to see Buonaparte driving a Brentford
stage ! So I thought no more of Mr. Shark, but
made all the haste I could back to the chambers,
to be in readiness to receive him.
Young C. But why ^inform him of my confine-
ment, sirrah ?
Sharp. I've a plan, sir, by which I think we
may not only contrive to get you liberated, but
with money in your pocket.
Young C. Quick then, name it.
Shark. Aye pray let's hear it.
Sharp. Thus then, sir: I have told Sir David
you were come here to arrange matters for a gen-
tleman, who is a capital client of yours, very rich,
and only locked up through obstinacy, and of
course you could not think of his remaining, but
must pay the money down for him.
Young C' But he will naturally expect to see
my supposed client.
Sharp. True, sir, I'd forgot that. (rt' >
Shark. Well, George, let me represent him :
Sir David's never seen me, and you can pass me
off for some great man.
Young C. *Egad Shark,no bad thought. Well,
what title shall we give you }
Sharp. There's no time to be lost, sir ; so sup-
pose Mr. Shark takes the name of Strange.
Shark. A}e, Harry Strange.
Young C. We'll knight you at once, Tom Rise,
29
therefore, Sir Harry Strange ! Well, Sharp,
you've only told us half your plot : my debt must
be paid before I can be liberated.
Sharp. And so it shall.
Young C Which way ?
Sharp. By writing a check for the amount.
Young C. ' Oh, ridiculous 1 Nabham won't
take it!
Sharp. Nor need we offer it him. I only want
you to draw it then leave the rest to me, sir.
1*11 return with a refusal, and you can apply to the
old gentleman, who, I'll engage, will have
sufficient at command to answer your demands ;
and instead, sir, of the fifty-seven pounds, which
you're detained for, ask for ninety, to cover your
little incidental expenses, and prevent the neces-
sity of too early an application for more.
Shark. Very good counsel, George. But, sup-
pose you double the sum, now you're about it?
Young C. No, hang it. Til not do that. It is
sufficiently unpleasant to my feelings to be obliged
to practise this cheat upon the old gentleman,
without that addition to it ; but, as I know my
present distresses might induce him to form a
worse opinion of me than I deserve, I must en-
deavour to conceal the state of my affairs from him,
and plead for his forgiveness afterwards.
Sharp. {To Shark.) Well, sir, what do you think
of my scheme?
Shark. Admirable, Sharp! admirable!
Young C. Upon my word, I believe he'd make
30
the best lawyer of the two ! and as. fine a fellow
to raise money-^
Sharp. As you are in getting rid of it, sir.-rr Ex-
cuse me, sir, but those chere amies of vours
would drain a nabob ; indeed, it won't do.
Young C. Well, well, Sharp, we'll retrench.
But what can have brought my father so far, from
home ?
Sharp, Something concerning Miss Pemberton ;
J)ut we haven't time now to enter into particulars,
sir. Hark! I hear him knocking at the door.
.Away, sir, and trust the rest to me ; and when
your presence is required Fll come foryou
J Young C, Come then, Shark !-r-for the present
we'll retire. [Exeunt Young C. and. Shark,
Sharp. If we can but outwit the old gentleman,
and extricate my master from this infernal abode,
all may yet go well.
[Enter Sir David.'\
Sir D. Odds my life! what brought you here?
Sharp. I thought it best to be in readiness, Sir
David, in case I should be wanted for any thing.
Sir D. Where's my son ?
[Enter Young Credulous^ who runs and' takes
Sir David by the hand.^ *'-^:
Young C. My dear Sir David, this is unex-
pected indeed ! I'm truly rejoiced to see you.
Si
Sir D, (shaking him by the hand) Odds my
life ! my dear boy the joy is mutual.
Young C. To what am I to attri)[>ute the plea-
sure of this meeting, Sir David ?
SirD. An affair of the greatest moment,Georgc:
The heiress of Pemberton Abbey your wife that
is to be will slip through your fingers, you dog, if
you don't take great care; foi: youVe a rival:
therefore, you must resicrn your law-studies, and
go back with me. What sum is the gentleman
confined for, George?
\.-^ Young C. A mere trifle to his expectations, sir !
a poor ninety pounds, sir! I wish it was paid,
with all my heart ; for, until it is, I shall be de-
tained, sir.
Sir D. What do you mean, then, to advise him
to do ?
Young C. The only thing which can be done to
liberate him is to pay the debt, sir.
Sir D. But can he pay it ?
Young C. He hasn't cash enough about him to
do it himself, sir, so 1 must write a check for it.
Here, Sharp !
Sharp. Sir,
Young C. Get me pen and ink, that I may
draw for the amount of the gentleman's debt and
costs. [Exit Sharp.
Sir D. Are you quite sure, George, you may
depend upon the gentleman, and know him suffi-
ciently well to advance such a sum ?
Young C. I've known him, sir, from a child ;
^2
and we are so intimate with each other, that, let hi
pursuits be what they may, I'm sure to be made
acquainted with them.
Sir D. Odds my life ! an old and confidential
acquaintance indeed ! I wonder I have never heard
you speak of him. Do I know him ?
Young C. As well as you do me, sir.
Sir D. Why who the deuce can it be ? Tell me,
George.
' Young C. There you must excuse me, sir ; he
would not have you know his name, in the present
state of his affairs on any account. Indeed, if 1 was
to make him known to you, I don't really think he
would quit the house ; therefore, sir, in this par-
ticular, and till matters are brought to a conclusion,
you must excuse me.
Sir D. Well, well, I won't press it further, since
it's a point of honour. But I should like to see
him, I must confess.
[^Enier Sharps with pen, inky and paper, and places
them on the table. ^
Young C. Excuse me, my dear Sir David! ~.
How much did I say the debt and costs was,
Sharp ?
Sharp. Ninety-six pounds, sir.
Young C. {Aside.) O the lying dog ! {writing
the check.) Ninety-six pounds (giving it to Sharp.)
There, take it to Mr. Nabham, and desire him to
send me the gentleman's discharge.
Sharp. {Taking it.) Yes, sir. [Exii Sharp.
Sir D. I say, George, how long have you had
- a banker ?
Young C. Ever since I had the felicity of know-
ing you, my dear sir.
Sir D. But, having opened an account with a
new firm, you'll give up drawing upon the old
one, I hope, George.
Young C. In this particular, sir, I shall be like
your state-placemen, averse to giving up a good
concern.
[_Enter Sharp."]
Sharp. Mr. Nabham hopes you won't be of-
fended, sir ; but it's the rule of the house never to
take checks.
Young C. What does the impudent fellow mean
by that? I'll be the ruin of him! God bless
me. Sir David only think how unlucky ! I shall
now be obliged to keep you in this horrid place
till Sharp returns from Lombard-street from my
banker's, for I've positively not so much money
about me I'm afraid, Sir David, you can't
oblige me so far
Sir D. Why luckily, George, I've a couple of
fifties, which I intended for the purchase of a
necklace and bracelets, as a present from you to
Amelia, so you can use them for the present.
Young C. You're truly kind, sir, and Fll avail
myself of your goodness. Here, Sharp, take these
notes to that impertinent rascal see if they will
D
suit him. Get the gentleman's release, keep the
balance, and be at home as soon as possible.
Sharp, ril take care and see every thing pro-
perly arranged, sir. [Exit Sharp.
Young C. Now then, my dear Sir David, I'm
yours.
Sir D. Odds my life, George, 'tis develish
lucky I arrived at such a moment.
Young C. Exceedingly so indeed, sir! for
otherwise the prisoner could not have been at
large.
Sir D. But, George I must be introduced to
this confidential friend of yours, I must indeed.
[Exeunt.
_
,. . - .,-L
\ , ^-. t:y3q^'*"'*ff ' '^''^Tft"'
'^^.:
k". JWll> >
' . ,- ''.ik'
^
ACT II.
SCENE I.
The Chambers of Young Credulous in the Temple.
[Young Credulous discovered in his Dressing-Gown,
writing.^
Yonng C. [Laifing down his pen and folding up
a letter^ There ; that will inform Harriet of my
liberation. The more I think of the singular
manner it was effected, the more I am surprised.
The old gentleman would not have rested without
being introduced to Sir Harry. But how to manage
to repay him the two fifties to-day is the business.
\^nter Sharp with the newspaper^
Sharp, The newspaper, sir. {Laying it on the
table.)
Young C. Ym puzzled to think. Sharp, what ex-
cuse I can make to my father about the return of
the money, when he calls.
Sharp. That requires some little deliberation
indeed, sir ; and, if that three-and-twenty pound'
bill of discounts is not paid to-day, you'll be surely
caged again to-morrow.
Young C. You are a damn'd clever fellow at
d2
36
contriving, Sharp ; I wish you'd turn it over in
your mind while I look at the paper.
Sharp. I will, sir.
[Young Credulous engages himself with the paper. '\
Sharp. (Walking backwards and forsiards, think-
ing.) No, that will not do. Try Moses again ?
No; no use. Write to his old aunt? No ; he has
tired her out ; that won't do ; and curse me if I
know what will.
Young C. Well, Sharp, have you thought of
any plan }
Sharp. I cannot hit upon any thing, sir ; I don*t
know any body who will lend you a guinea :
and as to discounting your own note, it's not
worth the money the stamp would cost.
Young C. What the devil's to be done ?
Sharp. The best thing, sir, I think for you
to do, is-
Young C. What, Sharp ? [impatiently.)
Sharp. Try and borrow another fifty of Sir
David.
Young C. Are you mad ?
Sharp. A thought has just struck me, sir
Young C. Not so wild a flight of fancy, I hope.
Sharp. You had better draw another check, sir.
Young C. Draw the devil.
Sharp, No, sir ; check there, if you please : I
don't wish you to draw any thing so black. But,
as fifty more would be so truly acceptable at thi'i^
period, I should recommend a trial to obtain it.
Young C. Npt by that means.
37
Sharp. Recollect the three-and-twenty pound
bill, sir.
Young C. No matter ; I cannot think of im-
posing any more on my father, come what may.
Sharp. Well, sir, I know of no other means ;
and to be locked up again, just now, would ruin
every thing.
Young C. Very true; but how would you set
about it?
Sharp. Simply thus, sir : When Sir David calls,
appear all business and bustle ; tell him you have
just received noticeto prepare, by the evening, some
bonds of great magnitude: thatyou was just going
to send me otf to the banker's for money for the
stamps ; but, if he had forty or fifty pounds about
him, it would prevent great delay of time : that,
after I had procured you the stamps to get on with,
you would draw a check for the whole amount
borrowed, and send me off to get the cash for him,
while he was with you at the chambers.
Young C. And what the devil good would that
do? for you must come back without it, and then
what could you say?
Sharp. That your banker had stopped pavment
that morning, consequently \ou could not draw a
shilling ; and by this means get rid of the whole
debt.
Young C, Your contrivance is ingenious, I must
allow, but I cannot bring my mind to practise
further such deceptions on him. No, I will con-
fess my error, and implore forgiveness. Do you,
as
therefore, Sharp, while I finish dressing-, put the
room in order; for I expect Capt. Talbot, the
gentleman my father named to me, to call this
morning on business.
^harp. Very well, sir.
" \_Exit Young C. into another room.
Sharp. (Setti7ig the room to rights.) I wonder
when that young man will call again who told me
Fanny was gone off with a Captain. I cannot get
her out of my head. I never can suppose she is
false-hearted. (Takes up the newspaper and looks it
over.) Ey, what's this ? Miss Pemberton, from
Pemberton Abbey ! Am I right? Miss Pemberton,
from Pemberton Abbey ! {Jumping up and running
to the door.) Sir, sir, sir! \\m^'-
Young C. {Coming ow/.), jWjifit are you making
this infernal noise about ?
Sharp. {Shewing him the paper, and pointing to
the paragraph.) There ; there, sir ! Read, read,
and see who is in town. tioX;
Young C. (Taking the paper, and running it over.)
Earl of Emeg^ate and Lord Dashaway. Miss
Pemberton, from Pemberton Abbey. Oh! then,
this is all a plan of my father's to surprise me.
But I'll take no notice of the circumstance till I
find out what it means. A rival too, Sir David
named. (A double knock.) *Gad here is Sir David.
Not a word, Sharp, of Miss Pemberton.
Sharp. Depend, sir. [^Exit Sharp.
s, Young C. I'll step into the next room in case it
should not be the old Geiit. {Ej^it YoutigX^,,
^91
[Enter Sharp, shewing in Amelia as Captain Tal-
bot.']
Amelia. Inform your master Captain Talbot
waits upon him.
Sharp. I shall sir.
[^Exii Sharp into adjoining room.
Amelia. I think there's no fear of your knowing
me ; and Til puzzle and tease you finely, my young
Templar, before I've done with you, for neglecting
me so ; I must therefore remain Incog, another day ;
but, if I can make him jealous, Ishall be inclined
to think he still loves me, and may, perhaps, for-
give him.
[^Enter Young Credulous. Both Lowing, J
Amelia. Sir, I have waited upon you, by parti--
cular recommendation, for your opinion respecting
the transfer of certain estates in case of a matri-
monial alliance taking place, the particulars of
which I shall have the honour to state to you.
Young C. Sir, I shall be proud of giving you
advice.
Amelia. But there is a doubt in the mind of one
of the parties, and they wish to be perfectly satis-
fied, previous to the nuptial ceremony, of the ho'- ,
nourable and disinterested love of the other: but
I'll describe the case to you.
Young C If you please. (Placitig chairs.)
Amelia. [Aside^ Now to see if his legal practice
is conformable to his primitive principles. Sup-
pose I was, or you was, about to form an alliance
with a lady of large property, and that lady had
wished or insisted that her estate should be solely
invested in her hands, and at her entire disposal
after marriage : would you think it advisable? or
would you suffer the lady to have it so secured?
Young C . Thsit, sii*, would depend, I should
think, iipon the love and confidence the gentle-
man had in the lady. ,^5 s
Amelia. Would you allow it to a woman of your
choice? ,
Young C.I certainlj^ would, sir, provided I was
satisfied that our affections were mutual.
Amelia, [Aside.) He still retains his good traits,
however ; 1 am satisfied so far. A partner for
life, sir, is a serious consideration, and ought to
be duly weighed on both sides before-hand; for
'tis not riches that can give real happiness.
Young C. Very just is your remark^ sir : Is the
lady's property extensive, sir ?
Amelia. Pretty comfortable ! Sixty or seventy
thousand pounds. ,
Young C. Handsome, indeed! And the lady
herself, sir, has she any personal qualifications?
shie certainly has very great attractions.
Amelia. Why, those things are generally tjie
effect of fancy. She's not a perfect beauty, nor
has she any very visible defects. Her mind and
heart, I think, are not vitiated, but are such as
would make a faithful and agreeable companion.
Young C. Then, sir, such, a woman, with the
fortune you have named, must be a very desirable
and fortunate hit for any man ; and he who neglects
C5|i
or Ifeaves $tifi'aL'^W6toi tm^
Jenny. As true as you stand there. And do
u know I had thecurios'*^ - ^'sten?
67
Tim. To look, you mean
Jenny. No, to listen.
Tim. No doubt of it. It would have been very
surprising if you had not.
Jenny. Guess my astonishment when I found
the female was no other than Mr Frank.
Tim. You are only running your rigs on me,
Jenny.
Jenni/. If it is not true, may I never be married!
Tim. Come along then, Jenny ; and, if the old
gentleman's not gone out, you shall tell him all
about it. (Going.) But stop, who knows but he
may be an old woman too, and their mother, ^for
they all arrived together ? We'll go and find it
all out, I warrant. The man-servant's a woman,
and the master's not a man ; a fine discovery, in-
deed ! There's a conspiracy! I see it: ^and
there's some plot going on, for certain : mayhap
against the Government. We'll have a coach, and
bundle them off to Bow-street.
[^Exit Tim and Jemv^.
SCENE VI.
ji handsome private Room at the Hotel, (the Apart"
ments of Amelia y) with a Door which leads to
another Room.
[Enter Amelia and Fanny ^ dressed in female attire ;
. Amelia with a letter in her hand.
Amelia. Where did you pick this letter up, Fanny?
58
Fanny. On the landing-place, Ma*am ; and,
being open, I could not help reading it.
Amelia. *Tis a fortunate discovery for Mr. Cre-
dulous, and will be the means of saving him
from the further snares of a villain {holding open
the letter .f and reading a sentence or two of it). 'Tis
from his faithful Harriet, it seems, who is advising
Mr. Shark to fleece Mr. Credulous while his
father's in town ; in the mean time does not in-
tend to be sparing in her demands upon him
herself.
Fanny. And is this the female, Ma'am, who
has occasioned you so much uneasiness?
Amelia. The same, you may depend on it. The
lovely Harriet will now appear in her true colours,
and Mr. George will be made sensible of his
error. In this interview with Sir David and
his son, 1 will discover the scheme I have been
pursuing, to prove the sincerity of them both.
Is every thing arranged for that purpose ?
Fanny. Every thing, Ma'am.
Amelia. My trip to London incog., and arrival
at Hatchett's, at all events will turn to some ac-
count as it will be the means of saving a thought-
less young man from ruin, and a worthy father
from many heart-rending pangs.
[^Enter Sir David and Young Credulous.^
Sir D. {Goes and takes the hand of Amelia.) Ah !
my dear young lady, how surprised am I to see
you in London ! What has occasioned this sudden
59
Amelia. Love and law. Sir David.
Sir D. Two veri/ urgent concerns, truly !
Why George was coming to the Abbey.
Amelia. Mr. Credulouss time has been much
better employed.
Young C. Do not be severe, Miss Pemberton ;
for believe me, whatever my pursuits may have
been, you was ever been the object of my thoughts.
Amelia. You must excuse my doubting that,
sir.
Sir D. Odds my life ! Why then it appears you
are both in doubt of each other ! George takes
it in his head to be jealous, and supposes he
has a rival in your affections in a Captain
TalI)ot a giddy, hair-brained whipster, from
Exeter. Do you know such a gentleman ?
Amelia. Most intimately, sir.
Sir D. [Surprised looking at his son.) Odds my
life ! ^tis very strange I should not know the
person.
Amelia. You do, sir, and so does Mr. Credulous.
Young C. Pardon me, madam 1 have not that
honour ; for I never saw or heard of the gentleman
'till he introduced himself to me at my chambers.
Amelia. I'll convince you, sir, *ere long, that
you are mistaken.
(Sir David and Young C. express surprise!)
SirD. Why, Geurge ! are you deceiving me
agdin ? llecollect 3 our Sir Harry and the check.
Young C. I again assure you, sir, I have no
knowledge of man or mi'Ster
Amelia. We may be able, sir, to produce some
60
convincing proofs of that. Fanny, step into the
next room, and send the captain's serv mt hither.
[^Exit Fa/mtf.
You know him, Sir David, and ^have seen him
often.
Sir D. Odds my life ! Yes, very often.
Amelia. And so has your son, which he*Il ac-
knowledge hy-and-by.
Young C. I really am at a loss, and cannot con-
ceive, Miss Pemberton, your object in this
assertion.
Sir D. Oh, George, George ! for shame ! AVe
shall find you out in spite of your tricks.
Young C. If I could be guilty of uttering such
a falsehood, I should deserve reproach ; but, as
it is
Sir D. Don't persist ! for I begin to think you
are deceiving me.
Amelia. Suspend your anger. Sir David ; there
are yet some hopes of his reformation. Here
comes the Captain's servant.
[^Enter Fanny ^ dressed as Frank.]
Sir D. That it is, Til be sworn.
Amelia. {To Fanny.) Do you know that gentle-
man ?
Fanny. Yes, Madam.
Amelia. And he knows you ? ,
Fanny. Perfectly well. Ma'am.
Amelia. His name ?
Fanny. Mr. George Credulous.
61
Amelia. He has seen and spoken to you, has he
not?
Fanny. Very often, Madam.
Young C. Pray let him go on ; I shall be an old
acquaintance next.
Amelia. You'll find by-and-by you are so.
Where did you see Mr. Credulous last?
Fanni/. At his chambers in the Temple ; at
which time I saw his servant, Mr. Sharp.
Young C. Well, upon my soul, of the most
impudent and lying scoundrels I ever met with, I
think this fellow heals them all !
Sir D. Odds my life ! Tm more bewildered
than ever.
Young C. Most fortunately. Sir, I desired Sharp
to be in attendance ; probably he has arrived : if
so, he will soon contradict this fellow's mischievous
assertions. Til instantly summon him hither.
{^Exit Young C.
Sir D. How can you convince us that you speak
the truth, young man ?
Fanny, Both Mr. Credulous and his servant,
sir, know me perfectly well, and I will prove it to
you beyond a doubt.
Sir D. If you do, I think the dog's assurance
would carry him through any court of law in the
universe!
[Enter Young Credulous and Skarp.'\
Young C. Now, Sharp, speak the truth.
Sharp. I shall, sir.
Voung C. Do you know that young man before
you?
Sharp. He came to your chambers yesterday^
sir, with a letter, which Sir David took of him,
and promised to deliver.
Sir D. That's very true.
Young C. Have you ever seen him since ?
Sharp. Never, sir! ^Nor before.
Sir D. What say you to that, young man ?
Fannif. I deny it ! He has. Captain Talbot,
if he was present, would assure you that I am
saying no more than the truth ; for he well
knows that Mr. Credulous both saw and conversed
with me about Miss Pemberton.
Young C. Oh, this is beyond endurance ; and I
cannot suffer such glaring falsehoods any longer to
go unpunished. (Going up to her, and taJdng her
by the collar.) If you don't confess, you rascal,
who set you on to propagate these lies, and for
what purpose, I'll be the death of you.
Fanny. Sir, I beg you'll keep your hands off
me, and, if Captain Talbot was here
Young C. If he was, and dared to bear you out
in them, Fd horsewhip him.
j4meHa. After such a threat as this, sir, and the
Captain being my particular friend, I think it
necessary he should be made acquainted with the
aukward situation he stands in ; therefore, stop
where you are, Mr. Frank, and I'll send your
master to you, to answer for himself.
[Exit Amelia,
63
Young C. (surprised.) What, Madam, have you
Captain Talbot so near at hand, and closetted too !
Fanny. He is no stranger here, I assure you,
and Miss Pemberton cannot live without him.
Young C. And she trusts him
Fanny. In her bed-room.
Young C. Hell and the devil ! This is beyond
belief ! Now, sir, are my fears groundless ?
Sir D. {astonished.) Odds my life ! can this be
the Miss Pemberton I left at Exeter ?
Young C. This my Amelia, whom I valued more
than life? [Walking about distractedly).
Sharp. [Aside.) And that the sneaking little
rascal, who caused all the mischief between Fan
and I.
Sir D. What do you intend to do, George }
Young C. Wait the result of his appearance, sir.
Sir D. And, shoud he repeat what he has said ?
Young C. Then I'll blow his brains out.
Sir D. Little did I dream this Captain was
the rival of my son ! But here he comes.
[Enter Amelia^ as Captain Talbot.]
Amelia. I understand, gentlemen, my, name has
been roughly used ; castigation threatened ; '
have, therefore, waited upon you, and desire an
explanation,
Young C. That, sir, you shall have, most un-
equivocally. Your servant there I believe it is
your servant ?
64
Amelia, Ves, sir, my servant.
Young C. Then, sir, your servant has asserted
the most gross and wilful falsehoods ; injuring
my character in the opinion and mind of Miss
Pemberton ; and has the unaccountable audacity
to tell me that you, sir, his master, will support
him out in them.
Amelia, Pray name them, sir.
Young C. I could wish Miss Pemberton might
hear my statement, she being a witness to what
has passed. '^*'^'
Amelia. I do notseeatiy occasion for her ap-
pearance yet ; she will know the whole proceed-
ings from me, and, until 1 think it necessary, you
must look upon me as her representative.
Sir D. Well, damme,this is surprising enougR't
Amelia. Well, sir, may I beg to know the offence
my servant's been guilty of, that has made me k
party in this disagreeable affair ?
Young C. Certainly, sir ; and I'm convinced
that, when mentioned, a. word from you will put
an end to it at once. Simply, sir, the case is this :
He says that I have had the honour of frequently
conversing with you before the present interview,
and that Vm perfectly well acquainted both with
him and yourself. ' -
Amelia. Well, sir, thera*a no falsehood in that."^^
Young a Sir ! . ''A'cF'^^' . ^-"^' ^' ,
Amelia. I say, sir, there is no falsehood in that
-for, to speak the truth, you certainly have seen
both of us very often, and know us perfectly well.
85
Sir D, {Staring at Young C.) Why damme,
George, this beats the t'other !
Young C. Oh, my life's not safe ! there's a con-
spiracy there's some infernal plot at work.
Amelia, Your servant there has delivered many
letters and messages from me.
Sharp. I delivered !
Fannij. Yes, sir, you have many.
Sharp. I wish I may die this moment
Young C. I can forbear no longer, nor will 1
suffer such audacious conduct to pass unpunished.
I'll declare you no gentleman for making those as-
sertions, and will chastise 30U for them before
Miss Pemberton s face. {Approaching the anti-room.)
Sharp. (Aside.) And I'll give it that little rascal
before I've done with him.
Amelia. [Getting before the door.) Stop, sir, you
go not there ; nor shall Miss Pemberton come out
of that room while I'm here.
Young C, That we'll try by force of arms.
[Endeavouring to pass her.)
Amelia. [Struggling with him.) I say she shall
not, sir.
Fanny. [Running to her assistance.) No, sir, she
shall not.
Sharp. [Going and pulling her away^ Get away,
you little whipper-snapper !
Fanny. {Struggling with him.) Touch me if you
dare, sir.
{Amelia and Young Credulous struggling Jor
the door.)
65
Ametia. She shall not come out.
Young C. She shall, or I am much deceived.
Amelia. You are indeed, for I'll risk my life
for her.
Young C. And I a thousand if I had them !
Amelia. Then desist, sir, and Pll put you to
the trial. This I expected, and am come prepared.
Here are the weapons. (Pro^/wcm^ two pistols)
So, take your choice, and stand.
Young C. {Taking one.) Well, sir, agreed.
Sir D. {Frightened.) Nay, nay, stop don't be
so rash ; is there no way of adjusting this ?
Amelia. None whatever, sir. It shall now come
to a conclusion. 'But be not alarmed ; I'll
vouch he will not discharge his pistol, with all his
taunts.
Young C. By Jupiter, this is too much!
(Presenting.) t2i\ieyfO\xr i^o?>\\.\ou, sir; for one, i
swear, shall fall.
Amelia. [Taking her stand opposite him.) Then thus
I face you (Throwing off' her disguise). Fire !
Young C. {^Dropping his pistol in amazement.)
Amelia!
Sir D. Odds my life ! can I believe my eyes ?
Amelia. (Laughing.) Why don't you fire } I told
you he would not discharge his pistol. Sir David.
Sir D. Odds my life ! Why it is I'll bet my
small-clothes damme, I'll bet all my clothes !
Young C. Is it possible I have been so long
deceived !
Fanny. [Throwing off her disguise.) Yes, sir, we
67
can deceive the wisest of you ; and you too, although
you are one of the sharps.
Sharp. [Surprised.) My Fanny too ! Lord, Lord,
what ignoramuses we have been, to be sure ! And
can you forgive me, Fanny ?
Fanny. Perhaps I may, if you promise to give up
Jenny Brewer.
Sir D. Odds my life ! I am the greatest dolt,
George, to have been three days at Hatchett's, and
thus imposed upon, is a proof
Amelia. That you are no conjuror, Sir David.
{Bantering Young C.) No more Harriets, George.
Young C. {Canfonnded and surpjised^ How !
sure can my friend Shark have betrayed me ?
Amelia. Under the mask of friendship, he has
been plotting your ruin, which that letter will con-
vince you. [Gives him, the letter ; he looks it over. ^
Sir D. What ! more mystery ?
Young C. Is it possible I have been thus plun-
dered ? Pity my confusion, Amelia and forgive
my folly. .,
Amelia. But, if you deceive me, George, Til
ne'er again believe in man.
Young C. And, if I could, 1 should be un-
worthy the name of one ; but to the end of life
shall ever be devoted to my fair Incognita, and
rejoice in her arrival at Hatchetts.
FINIS.
JUST PUBLISHED, ,
THE INKEEPER'S DAUGHTER; a Melo Dr^tna. in
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Tale, addressed to the author of Glenarvon, by an Old Wife of
Twenty Yedrs, Second Edition. 5s. 6d. Boards.
PLACIDE, a Spanish Tale, translated from Les Battuecas
of Madame de Genlis. By Alexander Jamieson. 2 Vols.
12mo. 8s. Boards.
Les Battn^cas are the inhalHtants of a bpantiful valley in Spain, surrounded
by inarcessihle mountains, who, according to Morere >ind other historians,
lived for a^es in this a^^ylum, without any knowledge of or coumiunication
Vfith the rest of Spain.
*' Since the Siege of Rochelle, Madame de Genlis has produced no work
that will be read with moredeliglit than Les Batru6cas." Journal desDebatt,
SOME ACCOUNT of MYSELF. By Charles, Earl
OF Erpingham, &c. &c. &c. 4 Vols. 12mo. 228. boards.
" It is my intention to represent characters sncli as they are in real life ;
but Heaven forbid tiiat I should portray any person in particular."
Le Sog-c.
PriDtedby W. CLOWBS, Northamhrrland-cnurt, Sirand, London.
THE
iPorttnlio:
OR, THE
FAMILY OF ANGLADE,
A DRAMA,
IN TWO ACTS.
AS PRRFORMED AT THR
THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN.
Bt JAMES KENNEY,
AUTHOR OF RAISING THE WJND, &C. &C.
Ilontiont
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORMB, AND BROWN,
TATERNOSTER-BOW.
BarnarA and Farley^ Skinner Streett London.
DRAMATIS PERSONS.
Count D'Anglade Mr. C. Kei^idlb.
DoRiVAL Mr. Abbott.
Leon St. Aubri . . Mr. Terry.
La Ruse Mr. Mathews.
MarceIi Mr. Tokely.
Berthold .... Mr. Farley.
DuMONT, (a jeweller) Mr. Jefferies.
First Officer . . . Mr. Egerton.
Agents of Police, Attendants , 5fc.
Mad. Clairmont . . Mrs. Egerton.
The Countess D'A.nglade Mrs. Fawcit.
Florian D'Anglade . Miss Worgman.
SCENE. T^e, Viciniti/ of Marseilles.
OR,
THE FAMILY OF ANGLADE.
ACT I.
SCENE. ^ The Garden and fore Court of an
elegant Mansioiiy terminated hy an Iron Rail-
ing, and a Row of Trees. In one Corner the
great Gates; on one Side an Arhour, on the
other the Steps of a Terrace, leading to the
House. A winding Stream runs close to the
Garden.
Scene I. Marcel, under Gardeners, awrf
Lacqueys, making preparations for a F^te.
Enter La Ruse.
La R. Well Master Marcel full of business.
Mar. Aye, Master La Ruse this is business
of the right sort.
La R. And a very tasty concern I dare say
you'll make of it. But pray what is it all about.
Mar. Bless you, what does that sig-nify?
Isn't it a grand f^te? Shan't we have a day of
frisking and kissing, and capering ; and chiefly
and lastly, eating and drinking and isn't
that a pastime that may always be cherished,
for its own sweet sake ?
La R. True friend Marcel and to shew
how much my master, Mr. Dorival, participates
in your sentiments, he has sent you a small pre-
sent as a spur to your activity.
Mar, A present! Well, I always thought
him a sensible man.
La R. Yes, here's ten Louis four for you
a2
4 THE PORTFOLIO.
journeymen (gives them), and the other six for
you and me, (pockets them.)
Mar. Thank you Mr. La Ruse but if you
please I'll be my own banker.
La It. And I hope you won't abuse his ge-
nerosity but be alive, jump about, and look
sharp.
Mar. Yes one had need look sharp indeed !
La R. There's a great deal to do you know.
Take my word for it they're a sort of fellows
you must keep an eye upon
Mar. Yes and not the only ones
La R. I'll help you myself I see the beds
want trimming hand me a rake.
Mar. Hand me my Louis ?
La R. I beg your pardon
(Call without Mahcel..)
Hark ! There's the Countess D'Anglade's femme
de chambre. She's a charming creature, and
so is the Countess D'Anglade herself.
Mar. Your master thinks so, I can see. But
may I trouble you
Zm Ji. Hark you, if you give her one of your
captivating looks, she may double the perquisite
and then we're even you know
Mar. Thank you But short reckonings
make long friends and therefore (call again)
La R. Can you neglect the ladies i'
Mar. No, that I cannot but I shan't forget
you for all that I'm not to be had.
La R. I wouldn't have you, be assured.
Mar, Very well. [Exit.
La R. Ready money is remarkably useful
to a man liable to travel in a hurry which is
pretty much my case at present. My master is
as wicked a dog in his heart as his valet but
wants spirit and resolution ; and though he
made away with our annual allowance in the
THE PORTFOLIO. O
first ten days, and has now spent a full month
with Mad. Clairmont, his aunt all his hypo-
crisy hasn't drawn another Louis from her. It
will never do I perceive. Like an old bird of
passag-e, I see no chance but to collect feathers
for my own nest here, and build it in safety at a
convenient distance.
DoRiVAL enters.
Dor. So you are here I was in search of
you. What is to become of me ?
La R. With courag-e, just what you please,
Sir, depend upon it you'll excuse me. Sir, but
besides your late deficiency in gold, you begin
to run terribly short of another of the precious
metals, called brass in which, however, your
humble servant has an ample reserve quite at your
service, as a common stock* For instance, Sir-
when you fell in love with this Countess D'An-
glade, while she was single, who but you, instead
of first pushing his suit with the fair angel her-
self, would have carried it whining to her pa-
rents. You might be sure nothing but the
Louis would content them, when my coin might
have satisfied the lady. Not only that Sir but
you run away at the first repulse and leave her
without an effort, to be snapt up by young Count
D'Anglade.
Dor. Perdition light on him. He was as
poor as myself, but there the fates conspired
against me.
La R. Aye, Destiny, Death, and the Devil.
First of all they raise a whirlwind to shipwreck
his cousin, and then they carry off his uncle,
just in time to leave him sole heir to the best
estate in the province, by way of backing his
addresses.
Dor. Don't remind me of my misfortunes.
6 THE PORTFOLIO.
but assist me to remove them. This visit of
D'Anglade^s to my aunt, is an opportunity I have
too long trifled with fatally trifled with, for I
just learn that business will oblige him abruptly
to end it perhaps to-morrovv.
La R. To-morrow ? Sir !
Dor. This very day (come what will), she
must know the passion that consumes me.
La R. If it's business, Sir, don't despair.
D'Anglade is a fashionable spark, and though
he goes himself, I dare say will do us the favour
to leave his wife behind him.
Dor. Impossible ! He not only adores her
but I suspect his fear of me is one cause of his
abrupt departure.
La R. Why then, Sir, if you're not quite
panic struck with her charms, attack her boldly
in your old style. Formerly, among the gallants
of Paris, who but Dorival so gay so smooth
so insinuating and now a provincial beauty
strikes him as mute and as timid as a pigeon.
I am afraid, Sir, you're too credulous troubled
with a weak imagination. I dare say now you
have heard of invincible virtue, as you have of
sorcery and conjuration it's all superstition, Sir,
llepend upon it.
Dor. I know not what to think 'tis certain
$he awes me altho' in her unconsciousness of
my passion she often addresses me with the
greatest yet most delicate kindness as if she
pitied me No matter the disclosure must be
made
La R. And here she comes, Sir, with her little
boy, just in the nick of your resolution. Now
then, Sir, or never. [Exit.
Dor. Yes this chance shall not escape
me.
THE PORTFOLIO. 7
The Countess B'Anglade and Florian
enter.
Flo. Ah ! How d'ye do, Mr. Dorival, rm so
happy to see you
Dor. Say you so my pretty boy How strik-
ing* are his mother's features
Countess. Do you think so, Mr. Dorival? he
has always struck me as the image of his
father.
Dor. Will my little friend accept a present
from me? (Gives a small box of honhons.)
Flo. Oh Mamma! such nice things! may 1
take it ?
Countess. Certainly, my love and thank Mr.
Dorival for being so good to you.
Flo. Thankye, Mr. Dorival. Won't you havd
some. Mamma?
Countess. No thank you.
Flo. Then I'll go and give some to Mad.
Clairmont, and Berthold, and every body I can
meet. Thankye, Mr. Dorival ! thankye !
thankye ! [Exit jumping.
Dor. Happy age ! when no care, no anxiety,
disturbs our peace of mind ! Alas ! it is the only
period in our existence in which we are secure
against misfortune.
Countess. What can inspire you, Sir, with
such sombre reflections ?
Dor. No extraordinary cause, Madam.
Countess. For some days past I have been
grieved to observe your countenance clouded by
sadness you seem agitated and overwhelmed
with painful feelings
Dor. How Madam ! Have you condescended
to observe so much ! Pardon me till now I have
endeavoured to conceal my grief from every eye,
and above all from your' s but you have disco*
8 THE PORTFOLIO.
vered it, nor can I regret you have ; since your
g-enerous compassion mitigates my sufferings.
How sensibly do I feel its influence !
Countess. The cause of your sorrow is then a
secret to Mad. Clairmont?
Dor. It must be so to all the world.
Countess. There you may be wrong; the most
poignant sorrow is soothed by participation.
Do7\ Alas ! even that consolation must be de-
nied me : my secret buried in my own breast, I
may still look forward to future happiness one
word, and all my hopes may vanish.
Countess. I pity you.
Dor. You pity me you Madam you on
whom heaven has bestowed every blessing, which
can constitute happiness you who should be a
stranger to all but pleasure.
Countess. And are we not to succour the un-
fortunate ?
Dor. Oh! were such your generous desire,
life would no longer be a hopeless burthen. 'Tis
you divine Lina ! for whose sake I cherish it
Countess, (surprised) What do I hear ?
Dor. (passionately) Yes -you alone can ter-
minate the anguish that destroys me you alone
can restore peace to this grief-worn heart. Lina
I can no longer doom myself to silence ray
fate is in your hands your charms alone
Countess. No more. Sir Leave me
Dor. This declaration then offends you Ah !
Madam ! forgive a moment of delirium think
of my long forbearance my wasting, suffering
silence. I had hoped to carry my secret to the
grave, and deemed even your compassion an in-
estimable blessing. Is it now lost to me for
ever?
Countess. Sir, I am a wife and mother this
you should have recollected; therefore do not
THE PORTFOLIO. 9
hope to justify yourself. I can have but one sen-
timent towards the man who by unworthy arts
seeks to pervert my principles, and to corrupt
my heart
Dor. By unworthy arts !
FiiORiAN returns.
Flor. Oh! Mamma! here's Mad. Clairmont.
Countess. Mad. Clairmont, my dear, (aside)
I cannot hide my feelings, and must avoid her.
i^oing)
Dor. (Followiuff) In pity, Madam.
Countess, (^indignantly) Leave me. Sir. [Exit*
Enter Mad. Clairmont and La Ruse.
La R. (aside) So she's gone in a rage. Things
have taken a wrong turn.
Mad. C. Why does the Countess so abruptly
avoid me. Can you, nephew, explain it?
Dor. Madam, I
Mad. C. (with suspicion) You seem disturbed.
Dor. You fancy so.
Mad. C. I was going to send for you to my
chamber , but as we are met there needs no ce-
remony in the simple matter I have to commu-
nicate.
Dor. I am at your service.
La R. (aside) What's all this about ? Has
she discovered him. (hides behind a vase).
Mad. C. I hope Dorival you do not doubt my
affection for you.
Dor. Of that, Madam, you have spared no
proofs. You have protected my youth you
have provided me the most liberal education
to you I owe every thing.
Mad. C. Left as I was, a widow with an
ample fortune, I could not I hope have employed
it to better advantage. I have now to offer you
an additional proof of my regard. To settle
t<> THE PORTFOLIO ,
your habits, and preserve your station in society,
I am sensible you ought to be provided with a
becoming establishment. This consideration it
is which now occupies my mind.
La R, (aside) A very pretty beg'inning.
Mad. C. A law-suit in which I have been
engaged with relations of my late husband, and
the loss of which would greatly have narrowed
my circumstances, has hitherto prevented my
treating the subject with the attention I desired ;
but this obstacle no longer exists justice has
decided in my favour. The capital in dispute is
returned with large interest, and I have realized
the sum of four hundred thousand francs.
Dor, Four hundred thousand francs!
La R. (aside) Her counsel could'nt have made
a prettier speech.
Mad. C. That sum in good bank bills care-
fully placed in a portfolio is now locked up in my
escrutoir.
La R. (aside) I wish I had the key.
Dor, I congratulate you, Madam, on the
success you so well merit.
Mad. C. Your felicitation will not be the less
sincere, Dorival, when you know that this sum
is destined for you.
Dor. For me, Madam !
Mad. C, For you alone.
La R. (aside) There's an amiable aunt.
Mad. C. But I must inform you that it is
under one condition.
Dor. To me your wishes will ever be com-
mands. Say, Madam, what are they.
Mad. C. That you immediately marry.
Dor. Marry, Madam !
La R. (aside) That's a damper.
Mad. C. This condition is indispensible Your
choice is free, so it be speedy. The four hun-
THE PORTFOLIO. 11
dred thousand francs will be your wedding* pre-
sent. Why do you hesitate?
La JR. (aside) Aye, why indeed?
Dor. You will not refuse me a short delay.
Mad. C You must not ask it. Your own situ-
ation should forbid it.
Dor. Madam !
Mad. C, Dorival, I know your heart ! You
continue to cherish a hopeless passion, which duty
now calls upon you to subdue. Lina de Se-
nesse might be an object of love, but the Coun-
tess d'Anglade should inspire respect alone.
To attempt the seduction of a virtuous woman
under my roof is a crime of which I will not
believe you capable. Justify my hopes. Con-
vince me you have banished a lawless desire, by
embracing' the ties of an honourable affection
which may at once efface it. I have planned this
holiday in hopes of dissipating your thoughts,
and offering you some new object of attraction.
I leave you to reflect on what I have proposed.
To-morrow I must know your resolution.
[Exit.
Dor. Confusion ! La Ruse
(^La Ruse comes forward.)
La R. There, Sir there's a beautiful speci-
men of the fair sex ! Who says there never was
a reasonable woman? I wish I knew of an
aunt But that's unreasonable in a man that
never made out a relation in the world beyond
his mother. Do you mean to advertise, Sir ?
Dor. Aye, for a hangman.
La R. That's out of all order, Sir. Death
before the doctor.
Dor, Force me to marry for my money !
La R. Well, Sir; and if money won't make
you marry, what the devil will four hundred
thousand !
ij THE PORTFOLIO.
Dor. Give up Lina for ever !
La R. That's exactly twenty thousand a
year.
Dor. And take a wife!
La R. I'd take as many as Bluebeard, for
half the money.
Dor. Be silent, in pity to my suffering's.
La R. I can't, Sir, in pity to your credi-
tors.
Dor. No more. Sir.
Lm R. No, Sir no more only four hun-
dred thousand francs.
Dor. Do you persist?
La R. Only in soliloquy.
Dor. Psha !
La R. Oh ! that magic escrutoir Ah ! 1
see it now through the window Look, Sir
peeping its respectable brown face and brazen
nose, like an old nabob. Oh ! if one could but
wring it off, and get at the morocco lining
what a glorious moment !
Dor. Hark'ye, Sir This is no time for
trifling ; the Countess refuses to listen to me.
La R. So I suspected, Sir.
Dor. And dismissed me with the most humi-
liating contempt.
La R. I'd be revenged, Sir.
Dor. How !
La R. In a way that might chance to
answer your purpose with the lady, and at the
same time make good your title to the contents
of the portfolio.
Dor. Explain.
La R. >fVi II you empower me?
Dor. What is your plan ?
La R. I have none yet Say the word, and
I've a thousand.
Dor. I dare not trust myself No, still will
I struggle with my guilty passion, and sacrifice
THE PORTFOLIO. 13
all rather than consign myself to remorse and
shame. [Exit in disorder.
La R. Of all mongrels the most useless is a
half-bred rogue ! Now is he broiling to the
bone in the fire of his passion, and would be a
devil, but wants the seasoning. If I could but
throw in the Ca3'enne and give him a relish, he
might be very pretty picking. Marriage at
present would certainly be dangerous, for I be-
gin to fear he'd love his wife and grow virtu-
ous; and then there is an end of his intrigues,
and my perquisites. Were I in his place and he
in mine, which of late has been a very indiffer-
ent place indeed, there might be some hope for
both of us. But I'll try him a little longer I'll
make one bold push at the Portfolio, and if that
won't do, he's a forlorn hope. Who have we
here ?
Leon St. Aubri. (Without) Where are you
taking me ?
Marcel. (Without) This way, if you
please.
They enter.
There, Sir ; if I'm not wise enough for you,
here's Mr. La Ruse He's a knowing one, I
can tell you.
Leon. So much the better. You know no-
thing-. Now, Sir, it seems you've a Count D*An-
glade on a visit here.
La R. We have, Sir ; he at present occu-
pies that pavilion (pointing.)
Leon. Does this house belong to him ?
La R. No, Sir ; to Mad. Clairmont.
Leon. What, the widow of Gaspard Clair-
mont?
La R. The same. Sir.
Leon. The Count D'Anglade then doesn't live
at Marseilles ?
'34 THE PORTFOLIO.
Marcel. Why didn't I tell you!
Leon. Peace, blockhead.
Marcel. Blockhead !
Leon. Is he married?
La R. {Aside.) Pleasant fellow. ( To him)
He is, Sir.
Leon. Was his wife rich ?
La M. Pretty well. Sir, as times go.
Leon. Has he any children ?
La R. He has. Sir,
Leon, And he has a large fortune him-
self.
La R. Luckily for him, Sir (aside) fa-
tally for my master. But here comes his own
servant. Sir, who may be better qualified to sa-
tisfy your curiosity. (Aside) Here's something
in the wind. I'll twig this fellow.
Berthold enters.
Berth. Good morning, Mr. La Ruse.
La R. Your servant, Mr. Berthold.
Leon. You're the Count D' Anglade's servant,
it seems.
Berth. At your service. Sir.
Leon. What sort of use does your master
make of his fortune ?
Berth. I haven't the honour of knowing
you, Sir and that's an odd question from a
stranger.
Leon. You're afraid to answer it, then ?
Berth. Far from it. Sir. The whole world
can tell you, that nobody does more good with
his money than the Count D'Anglade.
Mar. Heaven bless him for it.
Berth. Amen, with all my heart.
Mar. You must know. Sir, we're going to
have a prodigious grand fete.
Leon. That for your grand f^te.
THE PORTFOLIO^ 16
Mar. There's a savage !
Leon. You seem to have lived long in the
family.
Berth. So long, that I hope I shall die in
it.
Leon. Can 1 speak with your master?
Berth. What is your business with him ?
Leon. What's that to you !
Berth. If you're not more civil to him, per-
haps you won't find me so patient.
Leon. No words Go, and announce me.
Berth. Here comes my master.
Leon. That's he is it? (Looking) He
seems engaged, so tell him I'll walk about
the garden till it suits him to speak to me.
[Exit,
Berth. What sturdy malcontent is this?
Enter Count and Countess D'Anglade,
Mad. Clairmont, and Florian.
Count. Indeed, my dearest Lina, I fear you
deceive me. You have evidently something on
your mind which distresses you.
Countess. Why should you imagine so ?
What should possibly distress me ?
Count. You appear to have been shedding
tears ?
Countess. No, indeed.
Flor. Oh, Mamma! You shouldn't tell sto.
ries. You know I savi' you crying myself.
Countess. For shame, Sir.
FUfr. Here's Mr. Dorival again.
[Countess disturbed,
Dorival enters.
CouM. (Meeting him.) Ahi Dorival! you
16 THE PORTFOLIO.
have been so engaged in promoting" your aunt^s
festival, I haven't seen you to day.
Dor. I can scarcely regret a circumstance
which evinces my gratitude to Mad. Clairmont.
Mad. Clair. I hope soon,Dorival, for a stronger
proof of your sentiments.
Bert. When you are at leisure a stranger
wishes to see you.
Count. A stranger ! bring him hither.
[Exit Berthold.
Mad. Clair. Come D*Anglade.
Count. Excuse me for a few minutes.
Mad. Clair. Marcel, conduct your friends
to the refreshments.
Enter Leon and Berthojld.
Leon. Your servant, Sir.
Count. (Salutes) You desire to speak to
me.
Leon. Yes, Sir. If you'll dispose of this
watch-dog.
Count. This is a strange tone. Sir. Leave
us
Berth. I don't much like this business. [Exit.
Leon. It seems you don't recognise me.
Count. I do not indeed. Sir.
Leon. I don't wonder at that. We never
saw much of each other. You were at college
when I quitted Marseilles, and fifteen years of
calamity haven't passed over my head without
leaving some impression upon my face.
Count. What do I hear ?
Leon. A spirit of adventure carried me to
sea, where an Algerine captain saved me from a
watery grave to reserve me for a state that ren-
dered such a death a comparative blessing. My-
self, and many of my shipwrecked companions,
were thrown on a miserable island, which his
THE PORTFOLIO. 17
countrymen had taken a fancy to cultivate. After
fifteen years of hard labour I made a bold and
most perilous escape; and it has pleased Pro-
vidence once more to conduct me to my native
land. In me, Sir, you behold
Count. Yes yes The features now strike
upon my memory. You are my relation, Leoa
St. Aubri.
Leon. The same. I am returned a beggar.
For some time past you have enjoyed my
property ; but you know my right, and I flatter
myself you won't hesitate to restore what lawfully
belongs to me.
Count. When you make question of that. Sir,
you are as much a stranger to my mind as I was
to your countenance. The property is your's ;
and did the subtlest casuist nay, the first au-
thorities of the law, shew me an outlet from the
course of justice still would I keep her path
unshaken and erect. Be not uneasy. Sir
Leon. Well, well. 1 didn't mean to wound
your feelings. But oppression sours the temper,
and shuts out charity from the heart.
Count. Enough, Sir. You claim then, the in-
heritance which devolved to me in the belief of
your death ?
Leon. And you admit the justice of my de-
mand.
Count. Without reserve. From this moment,
therefore, consider me only as your trustee, and,
at any time, ready to account to you.
Leon. The sooner the better. Sir. I have a
long journey to make ; and, before I take my
departure, should be glad to have the transfer
completed.
Count. You shall suffer no farther delay, Sir,
than is absolutely necessary. The title-deeds
and securities, as well as the^ cah accouot, shall
B
18 THE PORTFOLia.
be prepared forthwith. I must make, however,
one observation. Believing myself master of
the property which the law did not hesitate to
assign to me, I made that use of my right which
is incumbent on every wealthy landholder.
Leon. Proceed.
Count. When it pleased Heaven to visit our
fields with ravage and devastation, I remitted so
much of my demands as was absolutely necessary
for the relief of my industrious tenants and their
suffering families.
Leon. Um ! Every one to his taste, Sir.
That was your fancy ; but I'm not at all sure
it would have been mine. I shall require strictly
my right, Sir, and so I apprize you.
Count. Strictly your right, then, you shall
have, Sir, even though my own slender patri-
mony be the sacrifice.
Leon. At noon to-morrow. Sir, I shall take
the liberty to call again.
Count. I shall expect you. Sir, and give
you such satisfaction as so short an interval
will admit of.
Leon. Thank*ye, cousin, thank'ye. For the
present, then, we'll part. You have a feast going
forward, it seems, and I should be sorry to spoil
your entertainment. Therefore, farewell. I find
I have a high-spirited relation ; and in good time
hope to be better acquainted with him. Good
morning, cousin. [Exit.
Count. This blow is terrible. Oh! my be-
loved Lina ! how will you endure these tidings ?
When shall I find the courage to disclose
them? She comes. For the first time I
dread to meet her.
Countess enters.
Countess. Adolphus! What disturbs you ?~r.
THE PORTFOLIO. 19
Berthold tells me it is a rude stranger who has
been with you. What was his business?
Count. Alas! (Turns away)
Countess. You sigh ! you fear to tell me.
Dearest Adolphus, have you a grief you would
conceal from me ?
Count. Lina ! I have indeed a grief which I
would for ever conceal from you.
Countess. What has happened ?
Count. I dare not tell you.
Countess. Nay, I intreat. I fear no misfortune
that will not part me from you.
Count. Oh, Lina! I am no longer the for-
tunate D'Anglade, so envied for his prosperity.
The large fortune I possessed now belongs to
another.
Countess. To another ! Is it possible ?
Count. Can you endure this change ?
Countess. {Recovering) Oh! yes. If you
are still the same : you are all to me so I can
comfort you sd my tender care can soothe the
shock of your feelings, I am yet too happy.
Count. Generous Lina !
Countess. The stranger then was
Count. Leon St. Aubri !
Countess. I feared so.
Count. Saved from the wreck of his vessel,
and made prisoner by pirates, he has at length
escaped from their captivity, and comes to de-
mand his right.
Countess. And you will restore it ?
Count. Immediately. But I fear we must
invade our own moderate fortune to make him
full restitution.
Countess. Be it so. We have still super-
fluities. Dispose of my jewels. In the retire-
ment which must now content us, such baubles
will be useless.
B 2
to THE PORTFOLIO.
Count. Most estimable friend ! Your gentle
fortitude restores me to myself.
Berthold enters.
Ber. Mad. Clairmont has sent me to inquire
Countess. We are coming, Berthold. A word
with you. Find out some jeweller that can pur-
chase a case of diamonds to the value of 100,000
francs. You understand.
Bei\ Purchase diamonds! Excuse me, Ma-
dam. I hope nothing has happened ?
Countess. You'll know all in good time. Do
as I desire you, and we shall not forget your
services. Come, Adolphus.
Count. Yes ^ my beloved, Lina, let vain and
shallow minds regret the toys of ostentation.
Preserving the purity of our hearts, and blest in
each other's love, well part with them without a
.sigh. [Exeunt Count and Countess.
Ber, Not forget my services. Would they
part with me, then. I can't bear to think of it.
There's something wrong stirring, I'm sure.
My poor master and mistress! I'd rather die
than see them in trouble.
Marcel enters.
Mar. Here they come ; here comes the com-
pany -pipers playing streamers flying such a
set out ! Ah, master Berthold, alone ! (observes)
Why, what's the matter ? Why, you look as so-
lemn as if you was in the last stage of intoxlication !
La Ruse enters behind.
La R. Marcel and Berthold here I may
pick up a little more
Ber. (Aside) He perhaps may direct me
Pray, Mr. Marcel, have you any friend that hap-
pens to be a jeweller?
Mar. Why, I can't say for a friend. But
here's the gentleman that sold me my wedding-
THE PORTFOLIO. 31
ring", and that's Mr. Damont, that lives in the
High Street.
Ber. Is he rich ?
Mar. Rich ! Bless you, he's got his rouleaus
piled up as thick as the cream cheeses in our
larder !
La R. (Aside) What does he want with a
rich jeweller?
Ber. Do you think he can buy a valuable lot
of diamonds ?
La R: (Aside) Diamonds ! -so
Mar. I warrant he can.
Ber. Will you carry him a note for me ?
Mar. Any thing- to oblige you, Mr. Berthold.
Ber. Follow me, then, and I'll give it you.
[Exit.
Mar. I hope I sha'nt be detained for, with-
out me, this lovely concern will be quite at a
stand-still. [Exit.
La R. D'Anglade's in trouble, that's a clear
case. I noticed his distress after parting with
that stranger, and these diamonds convince me
my conjecture was right. Here comes my
master.
DoRiVAii enters in great agitation.
Dor. La Ruse, I'm glad I've found you; I
have news to tell you of the most extraordinary
kind, D'Anglade is ruined !
La R. I suspected it.
Dor. He has just made the disclosure. The
stranger who has been with him was Leon St.
Aubri, who escaped his fate, and comes to claim
his rights.
La R. I congratulate you. Sir, and hope
you'll make good use of so lucky an event.
Dor. The first advantage I thought to make
of it has already been frustrated. Thinking to
22 THE PORTFOLIO.
engage Lina*s affection by securing her grati-
tude, my first impulse was, to resign the liberal
bounty of my aunt in favor of D'Anglade.
La R. Insanity !
Dor. Would you believe it She refused my
offer!
La R, I'm very happy to hear it.
Dor. And although forced to constraint by
the presence of D'Anglade, her eyes betrayed
that, in her heart, she scorned me. Nay, before
my face, she overwhelmed her ruined husband
with the caresses of increasing fondness. My
soul is raging with the thought, and burning
thirst of vengeance now engrosses it.
La R. (Who appears considering) Right,
Sir ; and if you'll trust to me, you snail he re-
venged effectually.
Dor. Trust to you !
La R. (Pointing to his head) Here it is
D'Anglade's a lost man, and his wife is your's!
A brilliant plot, and I'll take care the success
is infallible. Have I carte blanche?
Dor. What would you do ?
La R. That's my affair at present. There's
no time to lose. Say the word, or renounce
your Lina.
Dor. Renounce Lina!
La R. Make up your mind.
Dor. Only inform me
La R. Impossible! Yes or no?
Dor. The company approaches.
La R. Now, then, is your time. Speak ?
Dor. I dare not.
La R. I'm satisfied. Away with love, then,
and leave the woman you adore quietly in the
arms of your rival.
Dor. Never! The thought distracts me!
. Stay I consent to all. Satisfy my panting
soul by any means.
THE PORTFOLIO. 23
La R. That's enough- -I'll do it. And now
you may join your friends, and be merry.
Dor. Oh! Lina! To what extremities will
you drive me!
Marcel ew^er*.
Mar. Here they come; here comes the com-
pany
[Madame Clairmont, the Count and Countess,
and Florian enter. Attendants follow. The
fete commences. Elegant pleasure-boats ad-
vance along the stream. Villagers enter, dancing,
and salute the company. Masks follow. The
company take their seats in the arbour ; and
i ihe whole concludes with a ballet.^
ACT II.
SCENE. An elegant Apartment serving us a
Cabinet to Count D' Anglade. Tables, Chairs,
Bureau, Sofa, ^c. variously disposed. A door
and two large French Windows in the flat. A
Door on each side, leading to inner Rooms.
Count D 'Anglade discovered at a Writing-
Desk.
D'Ang. These accounts are more perplexing
than I expected. By perseverance, however, I
have now brought them to a state that will, at
least, be a satisfactory proof of my further in-
tentions.
Berthold enters, and cautiously advances.
Ber. I beg pardon, Sir; did you please to
want any thing ?
24 THE PORTFOLIO.
jyAng. No, Berthold nothing, at present.
Berth. Wouldn't you take breakfast. Sir ?
jyAng, Breakfast! is it then so late ?
Bert. Past seven o'clock.
jy Ang, Indeed 1 We may as well let in the
daylight then. Open the shutters. [Berthold opens
the shutters, through which the garden is distinct-
ly seen. jyAnglade extinguishes the candles^
This task has so engrossed me, that the night has
passed away unnoticed. I couldn't rest till I had
accomplished it; for, with such a character as
St. Aubri has shewn himself, no man can desire
to be long- a creditor. Let me see on the cash
account then, I am ready to pay him 11,500
francs, (counts hank-notes) 11,500 which
unprepared as he found me, may, I think, be
considered as a reasonable instalment.
Bert. Might I beg a word with you. Sir ?
If Ang. Speak, Berthold.
Bert. I hope you won't be angry, Sir, but
my mistress has sent for a jeweller, to sell her
diamonds, and I have taken it into my poor old
head you are come to some unlooked-for trouble.
D Ang, We are indeed, Berthold.
Bert. Indeed I thought so, and from what
my dear lady said to me, I am very much afraid
you mean to discharge me from your service.
jyAng. We must retrench in every way .
Bert. But don't part with me. You must
have some attendance, and after thirty years'
service, to leave my dear young master and mis-
tress in misfortune, would bring my grey hairs
in sorrow to the grave. I won't be a burthen to
you ; I want no wages ; and use me for every
thing : the garden, or the kitchen in doors, or
out it's all the same to Berthold \ only let me
stay with you ; I beg it on my knees.
jyAng. (raising him, much affected) Honest
IHE PORTFOLIO. 25
Bertliold, I cannot part with so good a friend,
who convinces me, that in this various world
there are still good hearts, to atone for the bad
ones.
Florian enters running,
Flor. Papa! Papa!
jy Ang. Up so soon I Florian.
JP/or. Oh! I haven't been to bed. I have
been on Mama's knee all night, and now she has
sent me with all these beautiful jewels to give to
you, (gives them) and when she gave them to
me, she sat down on the sofa, and cried so: in-
deed Papa, you shouldn't take 'em away from
her.
jy Ang. This prattling innocence goes to my
heart. Leave us, Berthold.
Bert. Heaven bless you. \Exit.
IfAng. 'Tis a cruel necessity. (Places the
case on the bureau.)
Flor. Dear Papa! what makes you and
Mama so sorrowful. (D' Ang. takes his hand.) I
can't stay, for Mama told me to come back, and
comfort her. Won't you come too?
Bell. Presently.
Flor. I'll tell her so ; and I'm sure it will
make her better. [Exit.
[Here Dorival and La Ruse, the latter in com-
plete disguise, appear at the window, noticing
the apartment, and making signs of concerting
some design, and speedily disappear. JJAng-
ladecasts his eyes alternately on the diamonds
and on the door of his rvife^s apartment, then
speaks.]
This weakness is unworthy of me. Yet, surely
it is a painful sacrifice. Baubles indeed you are,
but you have adorned my Lina, and never will
26 THE PORTFOLIO.
you grace a form more lovely, or encircle a
bosom more virtuous. (Takes a ring) This
ring I must at least preserve, for it was the first
pledge of my devoted and eternal love. '
Berthold enters.
Bert. Sir, the jeweller you sent for begs to
know if he can see you.
jy Ang. Shew him in.
Bert. Walk in. Sir.
Enter La Ruse disguised, [Exit Berthold.
La JR. You did me the honoui'. Sir, to send
for me on the subject of a case of diamonds.
Mad. Clairmont's gardener brought me the
message, and I have lost no time in obeying
your commands. *
jy Ang. I am obliged to you. Sir, for your
promptitude. Are you inclined to make the
purchase.
Im R. Perfectly inclined. Sir. On this oc-
casion, I don't come upon the common mercan-
tile footing, believe me. Circumstances have
been whispered to me, that have given my mind
a very different turn a very different turn in-
deed.
IfAng. Sir, I desire to deal with no man of
business, but on terms of perfect equity.
Im R. No doubt. Sir ; but at least I think
myself fortunate in being able to transact your
business.
ly Ang. The jewels are of high value, and
will require a considerable sum.
^ La R. That's no obstacle, Sir. If they
were to remain on hand, it might ; but at this
moment I happen to have a very favourable
THE PORTFOLIO. 27
opportunity of disposing of them. Pray allow
me {jy Any. gives the case.)
jy Any. Ninety thousand francs is the price I
put upon them.
ia jR. They are certainly a handsome set of
jewels, but ninety thousand francs is a very large
sum .
jy Ang, Far short of their original cost, Sir ;
and I really cannot part with them for less;
therefore, if they don't suit you {going to
take them.)
La a. One moment. Sir ; if you are deter-
mined to stand to your price, as I said before, it
is by no means my purpose to drive a hard bar-
gain, and, therefore, at a word, they are mine
and here, Sir, here is your money. That, I be-
lieve is the sum in good bank notes j be so good
as count them.
[jyAnglade receives the money goes to his desk,
counts them, and takes the numbers. La Muse,
in the meantime, looks round the apartment, tlie
sofa suddenly fixes his eye, and as if struck with
a sudden idea, he takes a portfolio from his per-
son, and slips it, with the case of jewels, under
one of the cushions.^
There, there's your share, and here's mine {pat-
ting his other pocket.)
ly Ang. {turning suddenly) Do you wish for
any thing ?
La R. By no means, Sir; it it's all right,
I believe.
D'Any. Quite right, Sir.
Im jr. In that case, I wish you a good morn-
ing. (Aside.) He has certainly made an easy
bargain ; what a pity he should have the wo#st
of it. [Exit,
D'Anylade. {He places the notes he had
28 THE PORTFOLIO.
received, to those of his own, which he had before
counted,puts themin tlie case,and then in the desk.)
There, now Leon St. Aubri may come when he
pleases. I anri now prepared to fulfil my en-
gagement. (Lina appears.) Lina.
She enters.
Lina. Dear Adolphus, this long application
makes me quite uneasy. Pray repose yourself.
jy Ang. It is unnecessary. My task is now at
an end. Well, Lina ! I have parted with your
jewels.
lAna. They're not worth regretting. 'Tis
true, parting is an unpleasant word, even with
trifles, we have long possessed. But it is done,
and we'll think of it no more.
jy Anglade. This ring, Lina, I have still
preserved. Once more, receive it from my hands,
and let the pledge of the lover's sentiments be
renewed by the husband.
Lina. It is a thousand times more welcome
than before.
Flor. (without) Oh ! dear Papa ! Mama
Papa!
Florian runs in.
Flor. Oh! Mama! Mama! I'm so fright-
ened.
Lina. What is the matter, child ?
ly Anglade. Who has frightened you, Florian?
Flor. Dear Papa! the house is all full of
soldiers.
V Anglade. Of soldiers?
Flor. Yes, Papa, such a number! and such
black looking men. And they're all in the
garden. Look, Papa ! there they are.
[Officers^ Knights of the Marechasseux, are seen
THE PORTFOLIO. 29
through the windows. Appearance of general
confusion. Valets, women, &c. pass and repass.
Among them Dortval. and La Ruse.]
jyAng, 'Tis true indeed , these are officers of
justice.
hina* What can have happened ?
Berthold enters.
Bert. Oh, Madam! here's a sad business,
Mad. Clairmont has been robbed.
ly Anglade and lAna. Robbed!
Bert. Of a very large sum, Ma'am. The
officers have closed all the gates, and not a crea-
ture is suffered to stir from the premises. They
are visiting every corner.
Marcel enters, frightened.
Mar. Oh, my Lord ! Pray, save me ! Pray
don't let 'em hang me. They say I've committed
the robbery.
Bert. You !
Mar. Yes ; they lay all on me, that never
once dreamt of being hanged since I v^as born.
Poor me ! that was born of honest parents, and
brought up in righteousness !
D'Ang. If you are innocent, why alarm your-
self?
Lina. What is the circumstance ?
Mar. Hasn't my lady heard ?
Ber. Not the particulars.
Mar. Then Ma'am, I'll tell you all about it.
You see, Ma'am, as I was" going this morning to
present my mistress with her usual nosegay, I
saw one of the windows, that my Mistress al-
ways keeps shut, was left wide open ; and, just
peeping in, I spied her secretary wide open in
30 THE PORTFOLIO.
like manner, with the lock broke, and the money
drawer gone.
AIL Good Heavens !
Mar. So away I goes, Ma'am, and tells Mr.
Dorival, and away he sends for the officers ; and
there they are rummaging every hole and corner,
from the cock-loft to the cellar.
jyAng. What is the amount of the loss ?
Mar. Oh heaven ! so many millions.
D'Ang. Millions!
3Iar. Yes, Sir, making together four hundred
thousand francs.
lyAng. Four hundred thousand ?
Mar. Yes, my Lord -, and they say my find-
ing it out was all a fetch, and the Devil fetch
them that say so, I say.
jyAng. Don't be alarmed; they'll find their
error.
Mar. Please your Lordship, they're bothered,
and don't know what to be at. I shouldn't won-
der if they said your Lordship had got the money.
3ert. What d'ye mean ?
Mar. No offence in the world; but they're
all coming this way.
hina. Coming here?
jyAng. Let them, Lina; we having nothing
to fear.
Officer, (Without) This way.
D'Ang. Open the door.
[Berthold opens.
Officers and other Agents of the Police enter,
with La Ruse.
JP/or. Oh, Mamma ! I am frightened.
La R. That's the Count, gentlemen.
Off. I have tlje honour to address the Count
D'Anglade?
D'Ang. Yes, Sir ; your business I am ap-
THE PORTFOLIO. SI
prized of; but, be assured, your search here will
be hopeless.
Off That I do not doubt, my Lord.
La R. (Aside.) Doctors differ.
Off. My duty, however, requires that I leave
no place unvisited.
ly Ang. Let your duty be performed.
Lina. These men alarm me.
lyAmj. They will not misconduct themselves,
[ The Officer having cast a general eye over the
chamber f fixes on the desk and the case therein^
Off. What are the contents of this case ?
lyAng. Papers of business chiejfly. (The
Officer examines them.)
Mar. I'll retire.
. La R. (Observing him). Ah! ah! Sir, the
knave always sneaks off.
Mar. Not if you stay behind.
Off. (In an under tone.) Is it possible ! some
of these notes correspond with Mad. Clairmont's
numbers. Pray, my Lord, how came these
notes in your possession ?
If Ang. Surely, Sir, that can be of no con-
sequence.
Off. My Lord, it is of consequence.
ly Ang. Circumstances, Sir, often reduce
us to dilemmas, unpleasant to agitate ; but if
you absolutely require it, the greater part of those
notes were paid me this morning for a case of
jewels I found it expedient to dispose of.
Off. To whom. Sir, did you sell them ?
ly Ang. To a jeweller of this city.
Off. Of what name?
jy Ang. I cannot inform you.
Off. Cannot inform me, my Lord ?
Mar. No, but I can ; for I went for him. His
name is Mr. Dumont.
23 THE PORTFOLIO.
O^. Dumont?
Mar. He sold me my wedding-ring.
BerU Fetch him, Mr. Marcel.
Mar. Oh, yes ; he lives close by.
Off. Stay.
Bert. But surely Mister
Off. Stay, I say! (to a follower) Go and
desire Mr. Dumont to come hither immediately.
[The agent exit.
Off. (To another agent) Take your seat at
that table and write. (He obeys.)
Flor. Mamma ! when will they go away ?
Lina. Silence.
La. B. (Aside) This will do.
Mar. (aside, to D'AngUde) They don't know
what to be at.
Off. To what amount, my Xady, were the
diamonds you parted with ?
D'Ang. They were sold for ninety thousand
francs.
Off. (Apart.) Here are 11,500, and 90,000
is the exact amount of that part corresponding
with my list. But where are the rest? (To VAng-
lade) Have you no others, my Lord ?
D'Ang. No, Sir.
Lina. Dear Sir, why these humiliating ques-
tions ? Can you suspect the Count ?
Off. These are formalities. Madam, pre-
scribed by the law, and you will confess their
necessity when I inform you, that among the
notes here contained, there are 90,000 francs in
those identified to have been stolen from Mad.
Clairmont.
Lina. Good Heavens !
D'Ang. It cannot be.
Off. It is the fact; though the cause, I
have no doubt will be discovered. No means.
THE POJITFOLI6. 88
therefore must be neglected that may lead us
to an explanation of so extraordinary circum-*
stances.
jy Ang. I fully admit the propriety of your
proceeding'.
Mar. Here he comes -, here comes Mr. Da*
mont.
Off. He no doubt will materially assist us,
1m R. (Aside) I am afraid not.
31ar. This way Mr. Dumont -, walk in.
jyAng. Who can this be ?
Bert. 'Tis another person.
Off. Walk this way, Sir. You are sent for
hither on an affair of the greatest urgency, and
will be pleased to answer the questions that will
be put to you (he hows). What is your name ?
Dumont. James Dumont.
Off, Your profession ?
IJumont. Goldsmith and jeweller.
Off. Your residence.
thimont. In the High-street, No. 21.
Off'. Do you know this gentleman?
Dumont. I never saw him before.
Off'. What ! have you not made a purchase
of jewels from him ?
Dumont. I have not. Mad. Glairmont*s gar-
dener left me a note last night, desiring me to
wait upon the Baron D'Anglade for such a
purpose ; but I was only on my way hither when
your officer met me.
Lina. What dreadful mystery is this ?
Off. My Lord, what have you to answer ?
D'Atuj. You have heard the truth. The af-
fair is altogether mysterious. This, it seems, is
the gentleman I sent to, and another person has
been with me under his name. Having no sus-
picion of fraud or imposture, my business was
at once concluded, and 1 received from him
c
'84 THE PORTFOLia.
90,000, francs in the notes you found. This ?*
the fact, on my honour. How this person knew
1 had diamonds to sell ; why he assumed this
gentleman's name ; how the notes he paid me
should be those Mad. Clairmont has been robbed
of, are matters I cannot possibly account for.
Off. Is there no person who might have acted
on yoiir behalf?
Dumont. Impossible ! The circumstance never
even escaped me.
Mar. Nor me. I was forbid to tell any
body.
Off. Why were you forbidden ?
Mar. It was the good Count's desire.
Off. Mr. Dumont, please to read and sign-
your deposition.
(Dumont reads and signs.)
Lima. Dearest friend !
jy Ang. Do not disturb yourself.
Off. You may for the present retire. (Ejvit
Dumont). My Lord, you must feel that the
increasing perplexity of these appearances com-
pel me to order, that the strictest scrutiny be
made throughout these apartments,
jyAng. It is my particular wish.
Off. Where does that door lead ?
jb'Ang. To the apartment of the Countess^
It is open to your search.
Off. Observe all respect.
[They enter the chamber j Bertiiold atlends
them. The Police Agents search all the corners
of the Apartment ; the Officer opens the Secrc"
tan/i and searches the Paper s^
Mar. What are they doing? What abomi--
nation has got in their poor heads ?
Xa R. (Aside) Affairs are critical.
THE PORTFOLIO. 85
I2na, How painful is this perplexity! Gailt-
less as we are, my. courage abandons me. ^
{Search suspended).
Off. You have found nothing ?
All. Nothing.
La R. All in good time.
Off. I am not satisfied. Continue.
[Officer remains near the Bureau, and Ms
Agents continue their search at the Bottom of
the Stage; Florian runs from the Coun-
tess.]
Lina. Florian, where are you going?
Flor. Only to fetch something to sit down
Upon.
[He takes from the Sofa the Cushion which
covers the Portfolio, and brings it without per-
ceiving any thing to the Feet of his Mother, and
seats himself on it. At that moment the three
Agents, followed by Bert RAND, quit the Apart'
ment of the Countess D'Anglaue].
Agent. (On the stairs) There's nothing to
be found here,
Off. (The sofa catches his eye) What do I
see? (lakes up the jewel case) Do you know
this jewel case, my Lord ?
D^Ang. (Surprised) 'Tis the same that held
my diamonds.
Off. The diamonds are still there, Sir.
(General surprise.)
jyAng. The diamonds !
Off. And the Portfolio?
jyAng. It does not belong to me.
Off. Mad. Clairmont's cypher is upon it. -
{iVew surprise. The Officers count Notes in the
Portfolio).
Ber. 'Tis a hellish plot!
c 2 .
36 THE poiiTFOlia.
Off. This Portfolio contains in notes 300,000
francs, the number of which also correspond with
Mad. Clairmont's, which, added to the 90,000,
make up her entire loss, with the exception of
10,000 francs.
La R. Deducted for commission. (^it/e).
Off. Except also a pnise of 200 Louis.
La R. (Aside) Brokerage and insuiance.
Off. Make note of the sum still unaccounted
for. All this, my Lord, is hard to explain. You tell
me you have sold diamonds, and I find them in
your chamber with this Portfolio. You deny all
knowledge of the robbery committed in the
house of Mad. Clairmont, and the stolen property
is nearly all found in your possession.
jy Ang. Sir, my surprise is as great as your's.
But it could only have been placed here by the
impostor I have mentioned. I hope you do not
^uspect me of such an action.
Off. Sir, the appearances^
jy Ang. Are false, and evidently the contriv-
ance of dark malignity, which has seized on the
moment of a ruinous reverse in my fortune, to
attack my reputation and my honour. But in
the face of heaven I protest that I am guilt-
less.
Off. I would willingly believe it, but canjiot
wave my duty. [Speaks t&an agent apart). ^
Lina. His duty ! What would he do?
Ber. What can he do? Fll not bear rt.
Mar. Vm ready to fly at him.
Bcr. Sir, I have been up with master all
night, and I'll stake my life he's innocent. It
is not to be borne.
Off. You are his servant, and insufficient for
his vindication here.
Mar. And won't you hear me. I will be
heard. You accused me first, and I insist upon
THE PORTFOLIO. S7
tlie preference. Yon know you don't know what
to be at. Why can't you take me? Don't
take a kind hearted gentleman that isn't used to
hardship I'm a toug-h stupid bumpkin, and
houId like it for a change. Now do take me
instead.
jy Ang. My g-ood fellow, it cannot be.
War. Dang me, but I'll fetch somebody that
shall talk to 'em. \Exxt.
jy An(j. What is your intention, Sir?
Off. I know not how to express it.
jy Any. Speak boldly. Sir.
Off. The lady must withdraw.
Lima. Why withdraw ! W hat can be your
purpose? I'll not abandon my husband They
shall not force me from you I'll share your
fate, comfort you for the wrong they do you, and
never, never leave you.
Off. Madam, it is with reluctance I speak
it.
jBer. Here is Madame Clairmont.
Mad. Clairmont, Dorival, and Marcel
enter.
3Iad. Clair. What have I heard ? Is it pos-
sible you have accused the Count d'Anglade!
Monstrous ! Desist from your proceeding in-
stantly.
Off. Madam, your property has been found
in his possession.
Mad. Clair. In his possession !
jy Ang. 'Tis certain I am overwhelmed with
the strangest and strongest appearances.
Mad. C. Appearances tiien are delusive. I
am satisfied he is innocent.
Off. Madam, neither your opinion nor mine
can weigh against the strong testimony that has
08 THE PORTFOLIO.
appeared against the Count D'Anglade; antJ
ail here, acting' under authority, must now be
responsible for the custody of his person.
i>-Ang. Arrest me!
Lina. No, no barbarous injustice Is there
no hope! I cannot bear it. (Sinks on his arm,)
Leon. (Without) Where is he? Where shall
I find him ?
n'Auff, 'Tis St. Aubrir
(He enters.)
Leon. What is all this? Why, Count!
What do I hear ? They tell me you are accused
of the basest of crimes.^
If Ang. You will not, I trust, believe it.
Leon. Believe it! no. (Shakes his hand)
I know you now, cousin ; and they shall find I
know you. Where's the chief officer?
Off. 'Tis I, Sir.
' Leon. The Count D'Anglade, Sir, is my rela-
tion, I've proved his heart, and know it incapa-
ble of a dishonourable action. At any sacrifice
I'll protect him. (General surprise).
Off. Sir, I
Leon. I have not done yet, Sir. I know this^
is no time for his justification ; but, till that time
comes, what do you mean to do with him ?
Off. My duty obliges me to conduct him to
the city prison.
Jjina. To prison I
Leon. He shan't g-o.
Off. Fie!
Leon. I say he shan't go. When the law re-
quires he shall be forth coming, I'll pledge my
whole property for his appearance. What se^
curity do you demand ? Three, four, or 500,000
THE PORTFOLIO. S9
fmncs ; if a bond of a million will satisfy you, you
shall have it.
D'Ang. I am astonished!
Mar. He's a fine fellow.
La R. I don't half like this.
Lina. Oh, Sir! this generosity r-
Leon. No compliments, Ma'am. 1 don't de-
serve them. 'Tis I am the cause of I)*Anglade's
misfortune.
Lina. You, Sin [surprise).
Leon. I! deceived by all the world, and meet-
ing with nothing but ingratitude, I made a trial
of his heart, and found his worth fully entitled
liim to the fortune I threatened to dispossess
him of.
Lina. Fatal trial I
Leon. Under the garb of wretchedness I
probed his noble spirit ; all I have since heard
has confirmed the impression I received, and I
now come with open arms to embrace him, when
I find a disgraceful charge upon his head, that
rouses my blood to think of. What ! the man
that would have given up his last shilling for the
pure love of justice, commit a paltry theft!
Incredible! I'm sure of his innocence. I'll
redress his wrongs; I'll rescue him from his
enemies, though my whole fortune, aye, or my
life be the sacrifice. Speak, Sir, will you leave
him with his family ?
Off. It cannot be,
Lina. Nay, I conjure you, take pity on me.
Do not rob me of my husband, do not tear a
father from his child. He is a stransrer to an
evil thought the best and most virtuous of man^
kind. A wife and infant kneel to you to spare
him.
Off, It is not in my power.
40 THE PORTFOLIO.
Leo7i. Why, may not a magistrate attend
him here.
Off. I can hazard no departure from estab-t
lished rules.
JJAng. Sir, I attend you.
Lina. (Throwing herself in his arms.) Oh
Adolphus! You must not leave me thus I
cannot part from you.
D'Ang. And your child, Lina. Nay, leave
me to my fate, trust to the cause of truth, and to
this devoted friend. Leon, Berthold, to you
my friends, I leave all that is dear to me.
[ The Officers surround the Count. Leon, <5j-c.
support the Countess. The Scene closes.^
SCENE. A Chamber, opening on the
surrounding Country.
Mnter Berthold and Marcel.
Mar. I tell you, Mr. Berthold, I'm right.
Bert. Pray don't follow me good Marcel. I
shall never hold up my head again. Taken to a
prison ! my poor master. If he stays there, I'll
seek some miserable den, where I may die and
never see the light again.
Mar. Die indeed! no, no. Stay till we
rout the rascals, let them die first and then
talk of dens Ecod, I'd go the devil's den, to
shew 'em in.
Bert. Where should we seek them.
Mar. Where! why under our noses to be
sure. I smell'em if you don't. My head's not
so thick as some folks may think. I've a keen
eye in it. Nobody went in nobody went out >
therefore here they stick on the bosom of this
beautiful family.
THE PORTFOLIO. 4i
Bert. What do you mean ?
Mar. Hark ye! while them chaps were at
tlieir rigmarollery, I twig"ged our flashy Mr.
Dorival, and his eyes were rolling about as if
they'd slipt their swivels and his teeth chatter-
ed, and his lips looked all manner of colours
and then Mr. La Ruse he was jogging, and nig-
gling*, and twisting I don't like to see people
so fidgetty and as to his master, when a man ^ ,
takes to shivering and shuddering at Marseilljs '
in the month of August, it shews a very queer
constitution indeed.
Sert. But any man of feeling
Mar. Feeling except for himself, he has
no more feeling than a cucumber. Howsom-
dever, that missing money must be somewhere.
In doors it can't be. There isn't a spider nor
an earwig that hasn't been turned out on sus-
picion. Therefore I mean to keep a sharp
look out in the garden. Here comes my
mistress mum follow me, and I'll put you
up to something.
Bert. Assist me to relieve my master, and
I'll follow you to death's door. [Exeunt.
Enter Mad. Clairmont.
3Iad. C, What a scene of wretchedness and
trouble is this house become! Where can it
end ! Why does Lina and her friend avoid me.
Some new suspicion seems upon their minds,
which they are fearful of disclosing, St, Aubri
comes,
LtoN St. A^bri enters.
Leon. I must crave your indulgence Madam.
Every individual in the house denies having let
in the pretended jeweller, and all ei^cept Bev-
42 THE PORTFOLIO.
thold, to have even seen him. This circnniir
stance, Madam, as well as the perfection of the
plot, and the facilities he must have commanded
for the execution, prove him either to reside in
the house, or to have been closely connected
\vith somebody who does.
Mad. Clair. Whither would your suspicions
lead me.
Leon. Who, Madam, should be more inter-
ested in D'Anglade's destruction, who more
likely to bear him mortal hatred, than a disap-
pointed and obstinate rival.
Mad. Clair. Sir!
Leon. What, Madani, has been the conduct
of Mr. Dorival, since the arrest of my relation.
Has he not been pale, wandering in his mind,
and in constant agitation ?
Mad. Clair. How should I answer you ?
Leon. With truth. Madam, and candour.
He is your kinsman, it is true, but D'Anglade
and his afflicted wife are the noblest of your
friends, to whom, if you refuse their claim, your
hospitality will prove perdition.
Mad. Clair. Sir, your zeal abuses you. Do-
rival is not the enemy of D'Anglade. His un-
happy passion has wholly yielded to time and
absence.
Leon. Do not. Madam, deceive yourself.
But yesterday, (for so the Countess, compelled
by her afflictions, has confessed) he urged his
love to her.
31ad. Clair, Is it possible ?
Leon. If our suspicion be justified, his pre-
sent behaviour proves him not inaccessible to
repentance. Speak to him, Madam, I would
myself, but I am violent and head-strong, and
might defeat my purpose. Every means would
be used to shelter his fame, only let him save
THE PORTFOLIO. 43
the life of D'Anglade, and wipe the stain of
infamy from his name, whose honour is as pure
as the light of heaven.
Mad. Clair. How shall I act? {struggle)
I cannot so debase him.
Lin A and Florian enter,
Lina. Nay then, hear the prayer of an
agonised M'ife, and unprotected infant Save my
Adolphus, on our knees we implore you.
3Iad. Clair. Dear Lina !
Flor. Do do bring us back my father.
3Iad. Clair. I cannot resist. In such a cause
I will brave all.
Lina. My friend. {Embrace.)
Leon. Madam, a thousand thanks. See,
your nephew is coming this way, more lost than
ever; to you I leave him ; and now, I'll to the
magistrate, and try if any security can procure
D'Anglade his freedom. [Exit.
Lina. Shall I leave you.
Mad,' Clair. 1 think your presence may be of
service.
Lina. I will but write a short note to my
husband's advocate, and then return. \_Exit^
DoRiVAL enters, disturbed and absent*
Dor, Madam ! (Seeing Mad. Clairmont.)
Mad, Clair. What alarms you, Dorival. t
had a particular wish to speak with you.
Dor. To me, Madam !
Mad. Clair. To you ! The dreadful situa-
tion of the Countess is well known to you. Can
you think her husband guilty of the crime he is
charged with.
44 THE PORTFOLIO.
Dor. {In an under (one). Madam, I dare
not reply to you.
Mad. Clair. Dare not !
Dor. Hitherto I Iiave ever known him true
to the principles of strict honour.
3Iad. Clair. Therefore, should infer that he
would not suddenly become a common thief and
housebreaker, which, if he is not, the evidence
against him has been concerted by an enemy,
who seeks his destruction, and that enemy, all
circumstances conspire to shew, must be a part
of the family.
Dor. (Aside) Can she suspect me ?
Mad. Clair. Are you sure of your valet?
Dor. My valet, Madam.
Mad. Clair. He could not of course have
acted from himself. Every effort, Dorival, must
be exerted. The world has noted you as the
rival and probable enemy of D'Ang-lade. This
is the time to shew the generosity of your soul
or busy tong'ues perhaps.
Dor. Would accuse me. Madam.
Mad. Clair. No, that's impossible. Coolly to
meditate the ruin of a virtuous family, ensnare
a gentleman of honour and integrity, with wiles
so crafty, that his own tongue, bondslave of
truth, shall speak but to accuse him ! To see
him given up to infamy, and doom his wife and
child to shame and anguish 'Tis a fiend's
^vork, and fiends alone could act it.
Dor. (Aside) She shakes my inmost soul.
Mad. Clair ^ He trembles^
LiNA enters,
Lina. Pardon this interruption. 'Tis to beg^
yon would allow one of your servants to convey
this letter a few miles distant.
Mad. Clair ^ It shall be sent immediately^
THE PORTFOLIO. 45
Dor. Strange reverse Her presence now is
insupportable.
Mad. Clair. Come Dorival, will yoix not
assist to unravel this mystery.
Dor. Madam, the first wish of my heart is
to see the Countess D'Anglade restored to hap-
piness; and I shall use my utmost efforts that
this unfortunate affair may be hushed for ever.
Lina. Be hush'd, Sir.
Dor. Or situated as we are, Madam, if it
were his wish to leave the country, his escape
mio'ht not be difficult.
Lina. Escape, Sir he is innocent; let the
guilty fly or seek obscurity. He courts not safety
but justice ; reparation of his injured honour and
the right of transmitting to his son a spotless
name.
Dor. Madam, I would speak with tenderness
and delicacy but if there are proofs, that must
condemn him
Lina. Condemn him \ This from you.
Mad. Clair. Madam, be tranquil. I have
BOW no alternative. 1 would speak with you.
Sir, in my chamber {advancing close to him and
apart) Monster ! the most unreserved confession
alone can save you from an assassin's fate obey
me. [^Exeunt Lina and 31-ad. Clair.
Dor. I am lost discovered. The stornv
gathers around me; I dare not stay I know not
where to fly ! palsy has seized my frame. Some
unknown hand clutches my heart. The voice
of justice thunders in my ear, and calls me to my
fate. Oh ! D'Anglade death ! infamy ! and all
the evils I prepared for you now fall on my head
with tenfold horror.
La Ruse enters , rtimiing,
LaR. Oh Sir! Sir!
46 THE tORfFOLIO.
Dor. Villain ! villain ! 'tis you who have un-
done me.
La R. Undone you, Sir. Pray don't alarm
me.
Dor. Your fatal counsel has hatched the
scorpion in my breast, that stings rae to frenzy.
La R. Oh ! I understand, only a qualm of
conscience. You quite terrified me. I was afraid
we had been discovered.
Dor. I fear we are discovered.
La R, Do you, Sir.
Dor. Suspected I know we are.
La R. That^s nothing; that was natural;
let 'em prove. Sir. let 'em prove.
Dor. Mad. Ciairmont has demanded a con-
ference with me in her chamber.
La R. Well, Sir, you have only to put a
good face on the business, be very polite, very
cool, very sorry for D'Anglade, and very dutiful
and loving to her. In this world, be assured,
face carries every thing. He that looks all he
thinks, gives advantage to every body, and takes
none ; while he that always wears a mask enjoys
perpetual carnival.
Dor. Why did I listen to you.
La R. Come, come. Sir; you were not be-
hind hand. Did'nt you open the great window
for me, and give me a thousand valuable hints on
the whole management.
.Dor. 'Tis thus that guilty passion overruns
its aim. The crime committed, its object has
lost every attraction, and nothing but remorse
remains.
La R. That will all wear off. I know it by
experience. You'll attend the lady.
Dor. Impossible. I can no longer command
myself. Every word, every look would betray me.
La R. The devil it would. But if you can't
face it, what will you do, Sir ?
THE PORTFOLIO. 4t
Dof. Be gone immediately.
La JR. Be gone, Sir!
Dor. I am resolved. Prepare to join me
without delay.
La R. Why, Sir, it lays an information
against us, and we a^-e pursued to a certainty.
Dor. No matter. J shall carry arms, and
my lite shall be dearly bought. [^Exit,
La II. His life dearly bought. Oh the devil !
that will never do for La Ruse. I flatter myself
mine's worth a few^ year's purchase yet. I'll get
the start of him If run's the word. I'll just
pocket my little douceur, and then the devil take
the hindmost. Let me see the notes I cramm'd
in a crevice of the pavilion steps-^the lowest but
one and the guineas are buried in the garden.
I shan't miss the bush. As I filch'd 'em, so I've
secured 'em under the rose. Good bye, Mr.
Dorival. [Exit,
SCENE The Garden, A Pavilion on the right
of the Audience with Windows in fronts
and a Door with Steps on the Side. A Rail-
ing at the Back, and the Country seen beyond.
A Gate towards the Side opposite the Pavi-
lion. Shrubs, ^c.
La Ruse enters cautiously, looking round
Takes a spade and digs. All's safe. Now my
little friends, come from your untimely graves
tho' I lose my master, I shan't want for shining
companions at any rate.
Marcel enters with a Letter.
Marcel. This letter gives me a bit of a
notion.
La R. Who the devil's that, (huddles up
the money).
4% *tun PonT^ohio,
Mar. Who's there (looks), so, so, I wish I
had seen him. What are you doing in my
beds.
La R. Me ! oh ! I was only digging up a
root of daisies.
Mar. Daisies, eb? (Aside) What does he
mean ? If he hid tl>e money, I'll try if he's
got it. Mr. La Ruse^ my mistress would be
much obliged to you if you'd mount one of the
nags, and take this letter to Mr. Plaidoyer, at
Salons.
La R. Mount one of the nags !
3Iar, Yes, they've saddled the swiftest tliere
is tor you.
La R. (Aside) If I had but the notes, how
convenient (casts his eye imvanrds the steps,) I'll
take it immediately. (Marcel eyes him closely.)
Mar. (Gives it.} There it is. The horse is
at the front gate. Good bye. Pleasant journey.
La R. Good morning.
Mar. You'll have a fine day.
La R. I dare say I shall.
Mar. Adieu.
La R. Adieu ! (Glancing at the steps. During
this, neither of them stir.) If I had but the notes.
3Iar. (Aside) The money's near the pa-
vilion.
La R. (Aside) Ke will see me out.
Mar. You don't like to go, I think.
La R. Oh, yes I'm only fixing my spiws.
Gowl bye.
Mar. Good bye.
La R. (Aside) I have it. There bangs the
key of the gate I'll slip it in my pocket, and
come h9.ck.(Takes it, as he thinks, unnoticed.
Marcel goes towards the Gate, as if to see hin^
out.)
Mar. (Aside) He's got the key.
TH^ PORTFOLIO. 49
Ixi R. Good bye. Marcel.
Mar. Adieu. (Shews him out at the Garden
Gate, he looking back.) He's got the key.
H
Mar. You denied having' them.
Ber. Confess, villain ! who set you on ? ;
La R. I say I'm not guilty.
Ber- Carry him in.
LaR. Hands off!
Ber. Away with him! (They force him
away.) Leon is seen hastening to the Garden Gate.';
Mar* Here comes the good gentleman.
Leon enters.
Hurra ! Sir, hurra !
Ber. The discovery is drawing on. Thtf.
missing notes are this instant found on the per-
son of Mr. Dorival's valet.
Leon. Ah ! and does he confess the plot ?
Ber. He'll confess nothing.
Leon. No matter. Run, Marcel, and say to
Mad. Clairmont, that he has confessed a con-
spiracy with his master. I have my reasonsj^
and will answer it.
Mar. I will, I will. [Exit.
Leon. Here comes Dorival. Berthold, dou-
ble-lock that gate, and we'll watch that he
does'nt escape till he has seen Mad. Clairmont.
(They retire. J
Dorival enters.
Dor. La Ruse seized, and the rest of the pro-
perty found on him! Speed, then, alone can
THE PORTFOLIO. 51
save one. (Blakes to the Garden Gate.) Locked,
and no key ! Which way shall I turn?
Mad. CIjAIR^io^t enters.
Mad. Clair. Miserable wretch ! whither would
you fly ? Fate pursues you, your servant ac-
cuses you.
Dor. (^Aside) Then svll is lost,
Mad, Clair. One hope alone remains. Leave
me your confession, that I may at once clear
D'Ang-lade, and I'll protect yom- flight. Deny
it, and you perish.
I)or. I confess all. La Ruse committed the
robbery ; he was the purchaser of the diamonds,
and left them with the notes in the chamber of
I)'Anglade. Let me be gone.
Enter Leon St. Aubri and Berthold.
Leon. Enough, Madam, I have heard the
confession it is sufficient and for this lady's
sake that gate is now open to you.
(Bert, opens it).
Dor. Farewell, forever, (is going).
Marcel, comes from the other side of the wall.
Mar. Hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! the officers are
coming.
Dor. The officers!
Mad. C. Enter the Pavilion.
Dor. This is the crisis of my fate.
(Enters Pavilion.)
^nter at Garden^ D'Anglade, Officers, ^c.
on the other, Lina and Florian. General
embrace.
Do RIVAL appears at the Window, and listens.
Off. Madam, I am concerned to say that tho'
5?J l-HE PdRTFOLiO.
on ttie surety of Mr. St. Aubri, I have had the!
magistrate's commands to liberate the Comit
D'Anglade, the proof of conspiracy must be es-
tablished in order to clear him ; and such notes
as were not in his possession, having- been found
on Mr. Dorival's valet, 1 am ordered imme-
diately to secure Mr. Dorival himself.
Mad. Clair. To secure him !
Dor. All is lost. [He disappears^
Off". Search the Pavilion.
[The Ayents enter a pistol is heard.^
Mad. C. Ah ! (looks into the Patilion) he
is no more! (Faints. Tlie County &^c. support
her and the Curtain falls on the yroupe.)
I'HE ENU*
iRKARD AD KABLKY,
^Mtmir-tlrttf, Lrndti*.
THE DIAMOND ARROW:
OR
THE POSTMASTER'S WIFE,
AND
THE MAYOR'S DAUGHTER;
A PETIT COMEDY,'
IN ONE ACT.
FIRST REPRESENTED AT THE
OLYMPIC NEW THEATRE
On Monday the \8th Decemler 1815,
*ND PERFORMED SINCE WITH COMPLETE SUCCESS*
WRITTEN BY
W. G. T. MONCRIEF.
THE MUSIC COMPOSED BY MR. G. W. REEVE,
LONDON:
printed for j. phillips, 3, cursitor- street, chak-
cery-lane; and sold at the theatre.
{Price One Shilling and Sixpence.)
1816.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Mot^.Voname, Postmaster ) ]^^_ Sloman.
of Chaumont, J
Mons. Anselm, Mayor of \ ^^_ Middleton.
Chaumont, J
Hilaire, a young soldier, in | Mr. Huckle.
love with, Lucille, J
Courier Mr. Truman.
Lucille, Daughter of the | ^^^^ Haywood.
Mayor, J
Dame Lodoline Fontaine, | Mrs. Brookes.
Fostmaster s yVije, J
Villagers, &c
Mesdames Evans, Middleton, Brown, Kirby, &c.
Scene, Chaumont in Burgundy,
Time, That of representation.
THE DIAMOND ARROW.
*rhe Theatre represents the Interior of the Post'
master^ s Court- Yard. The Postmaster s House' on
on,e Side : Entrance to the Village on the other.
Enter I'oNTAiNEi
SONG.
WlHY, Jaques, Annette, Claude, Francois,
Surely you are stocks and stones !
Lazy rogues and jades, bestir,
I'll break your rest, or break your bones.
Till I'm hoarse I've bawl'd away.
From your beds to get you out j
Awake ! or 'faith a game I'll play
You but little dream about.
Egad ! it*s well for you, you lay-a-beds. My wife
indulged a little more than ordinary last night, or
you would not be indulging till this time, I war-
rant me t egad 1 no more should I j but that's
nothing. She would have roused you long ago :
and, i'faith, so she would me. But come. Up ! up !
bustle about ! make amends for lost time. Look to
the packages ; prepare for the arrivals ; mz^e ready
for the departures. Why, I declare it seems by
the day to be past nine o clock. Well, we have
laid it out rarely, that is the fact on't. But I can't
be angry with the rogues, nor with myself either ;
It is not every day we have an Emperor to dine
a2
4 THE DIAMOND ARROW.
with us. I wonder how Mr. Mayor does : ^Poor
fellow! rather mortified, I'm afraid, at His Majesty
giving my house the preference. It was mortifying,
to be sure ; but he's a good fellow, so I must try
to console him when I see him. Eh I why, i'faith,
here he comes !
Enter Ansel M.
Good morning, Mr. Mayor.
Ans, Good morning. Postmaster, How are yoil
after the fatigues of yesterday ?
Font. Charming never was better ; the Em-
peror's condescension and goodness drove away all
thoughts of fatigue. I hope, neighbour, you were
not hurt at his giving my house the preference ?
Ans. Not I : he could not do otherwise ; he was
in haste, and your house was every way more con-
venient and ready than mine.
Font. True ; and then you know if he came to
see me
Ans, I came to see him.
Font. Yes, and brought your daughter with you ;
but that's nothing. And then again, you know if
he talked to me
Ans. I talked to him, recited the speech that
I'd composed on the occasion.
Font, You did, though he didn't attend to you ;
but that's nothing. Well, and then if he praised
my wife's cookery
Ans. He praised my daughter's poetry.
Font. Aye, and her singing, and her talking ; and,
what's more, herself! Truth is, friend Anselm,
though His Imperial Majesty was extremely polite,
and condescending, and obliging, and all that, both
to you^ and to me, and to my wife, I really do be-
lieve, (saving your presence and my own,) directly
your daughter, the charming Lucille, entered, he
heartily wished us all at the devil. \. '
, THE DIAMOND ARROW. 5
Ans. Why, not to be vain of ourselves, I really
do believe he did : 'tis certain he spoke to no one
but her. He was delighted with her figure, en-
chanted with her face, enamoured with her wit,
ravished with her poetry, and transported with her
singing, at least so he told her, as we all heard.
Font. Aye, and fifty other things, that none of us
heard ; but that's nothing. Now I should like very
much to know what those things were, shou'dn't
you ?
Ans, Monstrously !
j Font^ Fine things, I warrant.
Ans. Imperial things, no doubt on't 1 It would
be high treason to think a prince could say any thing
but fine things ; especially an Emperor. (^Lucille
sings without.) But hark ! that voice ! It is Lu-
cille, singing as usual : ^yes, it is she. Now then,
we'll ask her what the Emperor said to her. I in-
tended to do so, but forgot it. Though, odso 1
where*s your wife ? Not dead surely I
I Font. No ! dead asleep ; but that's nothing.
Ans, Ah ! 1 knew she must be either dead or
asleep, or we should never have been five minutes
without hearing her.
Font. Nay, if you were in her chamber, you'd
hear her for all she is asleep ; she has such a habit of
talking, that curse me if sleep makes any difference.
Why now, all last night she did nothing but make
speeches to the Emperor : Sire, this Your royal
highness, that and Your imperial majesty at every
third word. Nay, I verily do believe the old fool
thinks the Emperor fell in love with her, she has
gone on in such a way. I can tell you one thing for
our comfort: I don't think she will be stirring just yet,
for she drank His Majesty's health so many times
last night in cherry bounce, that, without a bounce,
I almost began to fear
Am* She'd have no health left of her owe.
6 THE DIAMOND ARROW.
Font, Exactly ; ^but that's nothing. Ah ! here
comes Lucille, lively and fascinating as ever. No
wonder s he enchanted the Emperor so.
Enter Lucille.
SONG.
The lark salutes the morning,
With gratitude and glee j
With day his mirth is dawning.
For his heart from guilt is free.
He shows the grace that's given
To souls which do no wrong ;
For the nearer he soars to heay'n,
The sweeter is his song.
My life led on by duty,
Like mora is calm and gay j
Its blushes giving beauty.
And hope of brighter day.
Oh ! may no dull night shroud it.
No storms of noon annoy j
Only love* shadows cloud it.
For ah ! their woe is joy.
Font, Very well, very well indeed. But we must
make the most of time ; though, i'faith, your songs,
you little syren, make us forget every thing. But
come, Lucille, we v/ish to know all that His Majesty
the. Emperor said to you last night ; pray oblige us
by telling.
Ans. Ah 1 do, girl, I longto hear.
Luc, Dear father ! dear Mr, Fontaine ! It is im-
possible for me to tell you all the fine things His
Majesty said to me. If he conquers as effectually by
his valour, as he does by his condescension and
grace, Tm sure, Ufce his great namesake of old, he
may win all the world.
!Ans, Well, but what was it he said to you at part-
ing, when he seem'd so earnest, and so tender, and
BD-^I don't know how ?
THE DIAMOND ARROW. 7
Luc, Oh ! he said that I had delighted, had en-
chanted him ; that he never should cease to enter-
tain a pleasing recollection of me , and that I should
speedily have proofs he was not unmindful of those
to whom he was indebted for any pleasure.
Ans. Very well, very well indeed. But is this all
he said ? did he say nothing else ?
Luc, Oh yes, he talked to me about ( Ae*z-
Ans, About what ?
Luc. About the Chevalier Hilaire, dear father.
Ans, ^\ your sweetheart ! Never blush. But
you must not think of him now, nor ever, if he
cannot produce a thousand louis d'orsj and I believe
there are very little hopes of his ever doing that.
But come, girl, don't sigh : you must obey me in
this ; it's all I ask. I cannot unite my darling Lu-
cille to poverty, and my fortune is but too scanty.
But what's that ?
{Lodoline heard without,^
Lod, Heyday ! Why, what's all this ? No one
stirring ! no one up ! Oh, hussies ! varlets ! I'll soon
stir you ; I'll soon make you get up, I warrant me.
Why, Mr. Postmaster ! Mons. Fontaine ! Husband !
do you imagine that the Emperor is still here, that
you are all so silent ?
Font, Oh Lord ! there's my wife; Ah ! Mr.
Mayor ! Ah ! Lucille ! No more quiet snug con-
versation now. My wife hates conversation.
Ans. Hates conversation ! Why, how can that
be ? Isn't she always talking ?
Fo7it. Yes ; but then she lets nobody else tallQ,
and one is no conversation, you know.
Luc, Nor any company.
8 THE DIAMOND ARROW.
Enter Lodoline.
^UARTETTO.
Lodoline, Fontaine, Lucille, Anselm.
Lad. Postmaster ! husband ! sleepy head !
If you*re not dead, or deaf, awake.
Font. Zounds, dear wife'! if we were dead.
Your voice our rest would quickly break.
Juod. IVe call'd, I've bawPd, done all but swear.
Yet not a soul in sight appears.
Go, spouse, and rouse, or I declare
I'll pull the house about your ears.
Font. My ears, dear wife, if they*d their choice.
Would welcome brick-walls, thunders, bombs^
Guns, trumpets all but your sweet voice j
For oh ! you've almost split their drums,
Anselm and Lucille,
Ans. Cease thus to raise your voices high.
Kindling the fires of discord dire^;
Let all past follies be past by.
All into harmony expire.
Font. In vain, my friends, your cares will be^^
Discord in my eyes may rejoice 5
Say how can there be harmony
Within the sound of such a voice >
hod. Insulting man 1
Ans. and Luc, Be calm, we pray.
Font. Provoking woman !
Ans, and Luc, Prythee cease.
All war is o'er,
iad. Well, so it may ;
But he sha'n't have a moment's peace.
' Anselm, Lucille, and Fontaine,
Oh ! let us have a moment's peace.
Ans. Come, come, you must excuse every thing
on an occasion like that of yesterday^ dame.
Lod, {pompously, ) I shall not excuse any thing,
and least of all ill manners. " Dame," indeed !
THE DIAMOND ARROW. 9
Ans. There's no speaking to her now she has
spoken to the Emperor.
Font No ; she's at least six inches taller since
the Emperor pulled off his hat to her.
Lod. Mr, Fontaine ! 1 am surprised, sir, at this
extraordinary behaviour of you and your house-
hold. Ten o'clock, and no one stirring ! 'Tis abo-
minable ! One might as well live with dormice in
a dormitory. If the Emperor had sent, and I ex-
pect he will send ; nay, he may have sent for aught
I know, no one ready to receive his messenger. But
you're always so neglectful. I'm sure, yesterday,
it was a mercy His Majesty got any dinner, as I told
His Imperial Highness. " Sire," said I, " you'll find
us very unprovided. My husband is a sad neglect-
ful man never does any thing he ought to do.
Heaven knows I have reason to say so." " Ma-
dam," said the Emperor, (for he is aware of the
respect due to the Postmaster's wife,) " Madam !"
said the Emperor, *' the husband who could neglect
beauty like yours would richly deserve "
[_Ji horn heard without,
Ans. A horn !
Font. Eh ! what !
Ans. Some courier.
Font. Oh !
Lod A horn ! Run, husband ; you're wanted.
From the Emperor, Fli lay my life.
Font. The Emperor again ! Nothing but the Em-
peror runs in her head now. Last night I asked her
who we should get to prop up our old house ? " The
Emperor," she replied. She called the parish beadle,
when he entered. His Imperial Highness ; and
made a profound curtesy to my cock'd hat de-
clared she'd send for the Emperor to kill all the
rats ; and took old Simpkin^s goats for a troop of
Cossacks. But here comes the courier.
ao THE DIAMOND ARROW.
Enter Courier.
, Cou. Is this the Postmaster's house ?
Font. It is, and I am the Postmaster ; but that*s
nothing, what do you want ?
Cou. I bring a letter from the Emperor.
Lod. There, I said so j I knew he'd send. Give
it to me, young man.
Luc, You, indeed, Mrs. Lodoline ! I'm sure it's
not for you ; I know who the letter is for j give it
to me, sweet sir, if you please.
Font, Aye, aye, give it to Lucille.
Luc, Yes, the letter is for me clear enough.
jins. Nay, nay, before we go further, let's see
whom it is addressed to. Read the direction, young
man,
Cou. I will, your honour, (reads) " To the fair
one who pleased me so much at the house of the
Postmaster Fontaine,"
Lodoline and Lucille, That's me.
Font. You ! Nonsense ; it*s Lucille.
Luc. Yes, it's me.
Ans, Aye, aye, to be sure it's Lucille ; the Em-
paror promised she should hear from him.
Lod. I say it is me, and I will have it. (snatches
the packet.)
Cou. Well, you must settle that as you will. I
was to leave.it at the house of the Postmaster Fon-
taine, and I've done soj but I should not think the
fair one who pleased the Emperor so, was you, old
lady. However, you know best, so good morning
to you all. {^Exit^
Lod. Insolent fellow ! But the men are such
brutes now-a-days, there's no getting a civil word
from them.
Font. Except they happen to be Emperors eh,
wife ? But come, come, give up the packet.
Lod. I won't, and that's fiat. What, didn't I
THE DIAMOND ARROW* 11
please the Emperor ? Didn't he praise my cookery,
my pigs, my poultry, my puddings, my pies ?
Font, Yes, every thing but yourself; but that's
nothing.
Lod, You're a brute, Mr. Fontaine, and delight
to insult your wife : and you're a very bad judge
too of beauty, into the bargain.
Font. Yes, or I should not have married you.
Lod. Well, thank Heaven! Emperors have a bet-
ter taste in that respect than other persons ; and
though 1 am a little en bon point , I rely with confi-
dence on fair forty.
Font, Forty ! carjy ten, wife.
Lod, Carry ten ! V\\ not carry one.
Font. No, nor you hav'n't done for these twenty
years to my certain knowledge ; but that's no-
thing. Well, well, give the packet to Lucille, for
it's very plain it belongs to her.
Lod. It's very plain it does no such thing the
packet belongs to me, and I'll keep it.
Ans. You the fair one that pleased the Emperor
so! Come, that's very fair; hal ha! ha! Excuse me,
dame.
Font, If she is, I can only say with the English
poet, " Fair is foul, and foul is fair " Ha ! ha ! ha !
Luc, Oh I any body can perceive Madame Lo-
doline must be the fair one the Emperor means, at a
single glance. Ha ! ha ! ha ! But come, madam,
you've carried the joke quite far enough now, so I'll
trouble you for the Emperor's packet, that is, for my
packet.
Lod, I shall expire with rage, to think that any
body the Emperor has honoured with his own par-
ticular regard should be laugh'd at ; I say the pac-
ket belongs to me.
Luc. I say it belongs to me.
Font. And I say so too ; but that's nothing.
Lod, It's no such thing ; it was I who pleased the
Emperor.
12 THE DIAMOND ARROW.
Luc. No, madam, it was I : it was my poetry.
Lod. No, miss, my cookery.
Luc. My songs.
Lod. My sauces,
Luc. Your sauce truly! No, madam, it was my-
self.
Lod. No, Miss Prate-apace, I,
Luc. Conceited woman !
Lod, O you pert little chit !
DUET.
Lucille and Lodoline,
Lmc, For me, ma'am for me, ma'am the letter is for
me, ma'am.
Lod. For you, miss indeed missfor we, you mean.
Luc, No, no, ma'am not so, ma'am as you shall
quickly see, ma'am.
Lod, See what, miss 1 'tis mine, miss^that is already
seen.
Luc, Vain woman, sure no man, but one who'd lost
his senses.
Much less a mighty Emperor, would waste
three words on thee.
Lod, SaWy child, but I'll be mild; in' vain are your
pretences j
Go nurse your doll and talk to Poll, but do not
prate to me.
Ha! ha! ha! I must confess your folly is amusing^
TheEmperorsenda letter to a little chit like you J
Luc. Ha! ha ! ha! I too must laugh in spite of your
abusing,
A Prayer-book will suit you better than a billet*
doux.
Lod. A prayer book !
Luc. A doll indeed I
sBoth. Ha! ha I she's quite facetious,
Lod. The letter's mine.
Luc. The letter's mine.
Both. No, mine, ma'am, mine
Lod. Your'e spiteful.
Liic. You're frightful.
Both, The creature i maJicioms^
THE DIAMOND ARROW* 13
ttal ha! ha! I needs must laugh, the joke is monstrous
fine.
Lod. Ha! ha! ha! oh what a jest! with mirth I'm al-
most dying,
Ha! ha! ha! I've laugh'd, I vow, till tears are in my
eyes.
Luc. Ha! ha! ha ! sweet ma^am, I knew your laugh
would end in crying.
Ha ! ha ! ha ! I knew this waste of breath would end
in sighs.
Ans, Stop! stop! stop.! Dont quarfel for the
hest before we know whether or not it contains any
eggs^Let's opetl the packet.
Font. Aye, aye, let's open the packet. ^
Lod. With all my heart,rm not affaid.
Luc. Yes, yes, open the packet, that will soon
l^rove who it is intended for.
Lod. I declare it almost breaks tiiy heart to
break the Emperor^s Seai, it looks so nice and so
noble. Another inclosure very neatly wrapped up
upon my word. Hey I what is this ? An arrow co-
vered with diamonds, as I live I Well, to be sure, this
is indeed an Imperial gift, and worthy of His Ma-
jesty.. Ah ! he's a fine man he knows how to
behave to a woman But what are these ? two let-
ters 1 One directed to the Chevalier Hilaire, to be
call'd for at the Post House.
Luc, Ah! my dear Hilaire! what can the Em-
peror mean? Hilaire is many miles from hence*
( Aside. )
Lod. What a fine martial hand ! 'tis the Empe-
ror's hand ! But who is the other letter for ? Oh,
for me.
Luc. Provoking creature !
Ans, Psha! never mind who it is for, but read it.
Lod. Aye, aye, I'll read it The saddle will soon
be put upon the right horse then ^Now for it,
H THE DIAMOND ARROW.
Font. Hadn't you better put on your spectacles
before you begin to read it ?
Lod. You're a beast, Mr. Fontaine ; but I'll com-
. mand myself I'll goon. "To the fairest of the fair
of Chaumont : to her who pleased me so much at
the house of the Postmaster Fontaine,-^In return
for the thousand brilliant arrows your wit and
eyes launched at my heart, J enclose you one of
diamonds, of which I beg your acceptance,
" Alexander.'*
*' The inclosed letter, directed to the Chevalier
Hilaire, whom I believe you know *'
^ns Aye, to be sure she does ; he was her sweet-
heart.
Lod, My sweetheart ?
j4ns. No, no, Lucille's ; and if ever he is rich
enough, he shall marry her.* But go on.
Lod. Nay, I am sure, for that matter, he has been
particular enough in his attentions to me, if I was
inclined to notice such things. But I'll go on "^e
will call for at the Post House in ihe course of the
day.''*
Luc. What can the Emperor mean? I hope and
fear a thousand things. Hilaire here to-day ! Trans-
porting thought ! ( Aside. )
Lod, " The letter must only he read in ihe pre*
sence of yourself," Only read in my presence !-
What can be the Emperor's intentions? How my poor
little heart beats ! Heigho !
Font. Will you then persist the Arrow is for
you?
Lod. Aye, marry will I, while 5 have breath.
Font. Was ever such folly known? ha! ha! ha!
The brilliant arrows from your eyes! I don't know
where the Emperor's eyes could have been Your
glasses he must have meant, for you wore your spec-
tacles all the time you were with him. Your wit
THE DIAMOND ARROW. 15
tool The Emperor must have intended to have been
witty upon you there, but that's nothing.
Lod. You don't show your wit, Mr. Postmaster,
by saying so ; for you will recollect you chose rr'^
out of five hundred.
Font. Ah ! and five hundred times I've repentec
it to my cost ; but that's nothing.
j4ns. Ah ! what do I see ? Why surely there's a
cypher on the Arrow ? Yes, there is ; this will de-
cide all at once.
Font. A cypher! Oh! this will decide it indeed:
Well, how fortunate ! It will put an end to all cm
disputes. Now, Lucille !
Luc. Yes, what is it ? what is it ? L. Fm sure.
Font. Let me look at it. Ah ! it is L. indeed-
Bravo ! Lucille.
Luc. Yes, L. for Lucille Now I hope, ma'am,
you're satisfied.
Lod. Not so fast, miss, if you please L. stands
for Lodoline as well as for Lucille j so this confirms
it mine beyond all doubt.
Font. Was ever any thing so perplexing ? Wife,
wife ! you carry this humour too far you are mad
mischievously mad moon-struck past all cure-
we must call in the aid of strait waistcoats and
crooked chains Will you give up the Arrow ?
Lod. iJo, I will not.
Font. You are an old fool.
Lod. And you a bear, that don't know how to
treat the fair sex with common civility. But I'll ap-
peal to our neighbours, they shall judge between
us, they are not void of discernment
Font. Though some of them do wear specta-
cles But I've no objection to this, if Monsieur An-
selm has not. What do you say to it. Mayor ?
Ans, With all my heart I'm perfectly agreeable.
Font. And you, Lucille ?
it THE DIAMOND ARROW*
Zuc. I have no will but that of my father.
Font. 'Tis well said ; come along then, it shall
be so, Our neighbours will soon settle it, though we
couldn't they're not in their dotage, they're not
blind, though I must repeat it, wife, you're an ob-
stinate old
Lod What, Mr. Postmaster ? An obstinate old
what ?
Font. Why, an obstinate old woman, if you must
have it.
Lod. I scofn your words : you're worse than a
savage, and treat the fair sex in a very foul manner.
y4ns. Come along, Lucille ; cheer up, dear girl*
QUARTETtO*
Lodoline Lucille Fontaine Anselm^
JLpd. Jn vain you would spite me,
My neighbours shall right me,
And spite of your arts I shall triumph, sir, yet.
Lvc. To the neighbours I leave it.
They cannot but give it
In favour of me, yes, the prize I shall get.
Omnes. Then away to our neighbours away ! away !
They will decide it in virtue's right ; ^
Beauty will triumph o'er malice to-day ;
And the Arrow of Diamonds shine doubly bright*
Font. What ! you, dame, the fairest !
Well, that is the rarest
But cheer up, Lucille, you the Arrow shall wear.
jins. For you it was sent, girl.
For you it was meant, girl.
For you are the fairest of "thauraont's fair,
Omnes. Then away, &c.
Lucille to Lodoline.
If gaucherie's tasteful.
Vulgarity graceful,
That you are both graceful and tasteful is true.
THE DIAMOND ARROW. 17
If wrinkles are beauty,
To love them a duty,
The Emperor's gift may belong, ma'am, to you.
Omnes. Then away, &c.
\_Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The Hall of the Postmaster^ s House.
Fnter Lucille.
Luc. I wander from room to room but still Hi-
laire comes not and yet he is to come and to-day
too What can the Emperor have done ? He was so
particular in his enquiries my lover's name where
he was quartered what prevented our union Can
he have but no, I dare not hope such a thing.
How provoking ! that envious old Lodoline should
dispute my claim to the Diamond Arrow. Provo-
king indeed, but I have an arrow here that gives
me far more trouble surely he will not fail to
come. (Noise without.) Ha ! what do I hear ? A
horseman ! Can it be Hilaire ? It is I will conceal
myself and surprise him my life on*t his first
thought is of me, [^Exit.
Enter Hilaire.
Hil. Hilly ho ho! What, no one answer? why sure-
ly the people are all dead not a soul have I seen
in the village, and not a soul can I see here Is it
some fair or holiday ? But no matter, I am once
more in Chaumont, dear to me, as the place of
my birth but more dear to me as enshrining my
beloved Lucille.
SONG.
Is there a man so lost to fame,
So blind to honour's, glory's charms,
So heedless of a patriot's name.
That when his country calls to arm?,
13 THE DIAMOND ARROW.
When valour fires each ardent eye,
And every heart with ardour bounds.
He basely can inactive lie,
And slumber while the trumpet sounds?
If there's a man can idly sleep
When 'gainst his monarch rebels stand,
Let him with brutes companion keep,
Nor dare pollute a royal band.
Should thus I e'er disgrace my name,
Just Heaven, this only boon grant me
Let me not wake to know my shame,
But let my sleep eternal be.
What can be the Emperor's intentions in singling
me out and sending me here? surely no harm ! But
be it what it will, if it does but procure me one look
of my dear Lucille, I shall embrace it with pleasure!
(Lucille steals from her concealment and ad-
vances towards Hilaire.)
Luc. Hilaire !
Hil. Lucille ! my own Lucille ! {einhrace) Oh,
what happiness!
Luc, Dear Hilaire! How unexpected is this plea-
sure! But tell me, how is it I see you here? How
did you obtain leave of absence from your regi-
ment ?
Hil. By scarcely less than a miracle it was so
unexpected so unhoped for.
Luc, Have you then by some lucky chance got
possession of the thousand louis d'ors on which de-
pends our union ?
Hil, No, alas! I am still as poor as ever ; my on-
ly fortune is, as it always was, my sword and my
honour.
Luc. Ah Hilaire! Did it depend on me alone, I
would prefer that fortune to the fortunes of an Em-
peror. But to what then do you owe your being
here?
////. Principally, I suspect, to you. Late last night,
THE DIAMOND ARROW. 19
our generous conqueror the Emperor alighted at the
quarters of my regiment, enquired forme, ask'd if I
was acquainted with the lovely Lucille Anselm of
Chaumont? If I loved her? " Yes, to madness," was
my reply. "Hasten then," said he, " to Chaumont, I
have procured you a fortnight's leave of absence
from your commander. Go to the house of the
Postmaster Fontaine, there you will find a letter ex-
plaining my reasons for this visit ; deserve well of
the lovely Lucille, and you will deserve well of me."
' ^Tell me, Lucille, how is this? Have you seen the
Emperor ?
Luc. Yes, dear Hilaire, I have and was fortu-
nately successful in my endeavours to please him.
He enquired if I was married? if I had a lover?
where he resided ? what prevented our union ? I
frankly told him all He bade me rest content, for
that I should speedily hear from him j he has not
forgotten his promise, for already has he sent me an
i\rrow of Diamonds !
Hil. Indeed !
Luc. Which that envious old Lodoline has seized,
and imagines is for her.
Hil. Spiteful creature! And the letter forme
Luc. Is arrived.
Hil. The mystery then is explained, and all will
yet be well. The Emperor is not used to do things
by halves. Having taken an interest in our fortunes,
he will do more he will secure them, and love and
peace shall make us happy.
DUET,
Hilaire and Lucille.
Dear love ! dear love ! once blest with thee.
Our lives one scen3of joy will be;
Oh ! in some cot which trees o'erbow'r.
How sweet shall pass our ev'ry hour!
20 THE DIAMOND ARROW.
The niurm'ring brooklet wandering near.
With many a fall shall soothe the ear.
Ours shall be some plot of ground.
In which each grateful flower is springing ;
There duly we'll at eve be found,
Listening to the night bird's singing.
WeMl know no cloud we'll fear no storm j
For when two hearts in love unite.
Their years no winter dares deform,
But all proves kind, and all looks bright.
Dear love so blest our lives shall prove,^
So pure, so free from pain and care.
That when men talk of happy love.
They'll mention Lucille and Hilaire.
At the close of the duet enter Fontaine.
Font. Ah ! Hilaire ! your hand. I am rejoiced
to see you, boy ; and so, I dare say, is Lucille ;
but that's nothing. I have scarcely time to congra-
tulate you. Lucille, my dear girl, I have but bad
news for you. Your grace and beauty have set all
the women in the place against you, but I rejoice to
say that all the men are for you.
Luc. Indeed !
Font. Yes, like another Helen with another Troy,
you*ve set the whole village up in arms about you,
and when I left it, such a hubbub as they were kick-
ing up was surely never heard since the time of
Noah's ark, when a pair of all the two-legged and
four-legged creatures in creation were collected to*
gether between four walls There were the men
throwing up their hats and crying " Lucille for
ever!" while all the old women and young girls were
mumbling and screaming out," Lodoline! Lodoline!"
I left them on their way here. But odso! Monsieur
Hilaire, you look fatigued with your journey, there
are refreshments in the next room. You can go
with him, Lucille but that's nothing there, there
THE DIAMOND ARROW. 21
go along, No thanks ^I know how I felt myself
when I was young. \^Exeimt Lucille and Hilaire,
Oh ! these lovers ! a third person in their conver-
sation is as bad as a second person to a sop in
the pan Ah! Love's a delightful thing! But
then there's marriage ! There's a wife a scolding
wife. Oh, Lord ! of all the miseries that torment
a man's life, a scolding wife is certainly the worst.
SONG.
To be angling all day, and at last catch no fish,
A blunt knife, when to carve a tough bantam you wish,
Are miseries sure.
Walking stones in your shoes,
Talking over bad news,
Laughing beer goes wrong way.
Quailing long score to pay.
To fall back on your rump, when the snow's on the
ground,
In a kennel to get your new breeches half drown'd.
Are miseries sure.
But a scolding wife's worse,
For ohe's not a misery no, she's a curse.
To have jalap to take when you rise from your bed.
In a dark night to split a stout post with your head.
Are miseries sure.
Eating cats, in a hash,
Meeting duns, with no cash,
Thinking blue devils haunting,
Drinking good liquor wanting.
To butter your Sunday coat, 'stead of the bread,
And to wait for the parson when going to wed.
Are miseries sure.
But a scolding wife's worse,
V For she's not a misery no, she's a curse.
To be hungry, sore throat won't permit you to swallow.
Teeth-drawing your courage won't dare let you halloo,
Are miseries sure.
Bawling to a deaf fellow.
Falling down a dark cellar.
22 THE DIAMOND ARROW.
Sleeping with the nieht mare.
Weeping through pure despair.
To break both your shins o'er a three-corner'd scraper.
And to cut up your thumb, stead of cutting the caper.
Are miseries sure ;
But a scolding wife's worse.
For she's not a misery rno, she's a curse.
Loud noise 'shoutino; huzzaing^ ^c. Female
voices crying " Lodoline for- ever /" Alale
voices shouting '* Lucille."
Eh ! bless my soul what a noise ! Oh ! my wife
and the mayor returning, with the whole village at
their heeis Here, Lucille 1 Hilaire! they are com-
ing, they are coming !
Enter Lucille wnt/ Hilaire.
Bear up, girl. You have many enemies, but you
have as many friends. What a train is here, to bq
sure! Old and young, cross and kind, handsome
and ugly, gentle and simple, tag rag and bobtail
but that's nothing.
Enter Lodoi-ine, Anselm, and male and female
Villagers shouting and hallooing " Lucille^*
and " Lodoline.'*
Lod. Now then, Miss Lucille, I hope you'll
be convinced the arrow belongs to me ; for there's
not a woman in the place but unequivocally decides
in my favour don't you, neighboiirs I
1st Fill. Aye, aye, the Emperor send her an ar-
row indeed !
2d Fill. Pert chit ! I wonder at some people's va-
jiity, for my part.
3d Fill. No, no, the arrow is for Dame Lodoline,
that's very clear.
THE DIAMOND ARROW. 23
Loci, There, what do you say to that ?
Font. What do I say to that ? Why, I say that it's
flat envy ! The old women are envious for their
daughters' sake, and the young women for their own
sakes ; therefore they are very glad to deprive her
of the prize who all allow is the prettiest in the
whole town, and give it to one who all allow is the
ugliest.
Lod. What ! I, the ugliest in the whole town,
you monster! Oh ! I could cry my eyes out.
Font. You wou'dn't be any the handsomer for
that.
Lod. Provoking man ! But I'll comfort myself
with the thought that I've foil'd you in one design
at least The arrow is mine, and I'll keep it.
Font. Well, for my part, if 1 was inclined to
keep other people's property, I'd say as little about
it as I could. The Fates fight against us, Lucille
spite and envy triumph; but never mind, girl, you've '
at least this consolation, you may be sure, if you
hav'n't got it, you deserve it, and that there's not a
single man in the place but decides for you in an in-
stant.
Lod. A single man there mayn't be, but there's
plenty of married ones.
Font. Nay, married or single What say you,
Goodman Claude ?
1.9^ Woman. Let him say " Yes," if he dares.
2d Woman, Aye, aye, or let my Blaise differ with
me. Egad, I'll lead him a rare life, he shou'dn't
hear the last of it for a twelvemonth.
\st Man. {aside.) I would decide for Lucille,
but you see my wife
Font. I understand you but that's nothing. I've
almost a fellow-feeling, and I'm afraid there are
but too many like you! Poor Lucille! I ftar we
must give it up for a bad job.
U THE DIAMOND ARROW.
Uil, (advancing.) Shameless effrontery ! Is this
to be endured ? Must my dear Lucille be cheated of
her rights in this unblushing manner ?
Lod. Eh ! Why, who is this ? Monsieur Hilairfe !
Why, I declare Ididn'tsee him Butodso! Monsieur
Hilaire, here is a letter for you ; and now I recollect,
it is only to be read in my presence.
Punt. Ah 1 that letter ! something may come of
that letter. Let it be read directly by all means, my
mind forebodes some good.
^-^ns. Aye, aye, let it be read, Hilaire; and Heaven
send you some good fortune, my boy 1
Uii. (opens the letter and reads it) " Hilaire
*' Circumstances it is unnecessary to detail have ren-
" dered your future fortunes interesting to me. I
'* have therefore selected for the partner of your
" life the fairest of the fair ones of Chaumont. If
-" your own heart does not tell you her name, you
" will discover her by possessing a Diamond Arrow."
Font. Read on, Chevalier.
Hil. " But you have, I know, long been attached,
to each other."
Lod. Nay, there the Emperor is wrong; I always
liked you very well, Monsieur Hilaire, in a friendly
way, but nothing further I protest, as I am an honest
woman. % ^^f
Font. Very strange, this, Mr. Mayor.
j4ns Aye, very strange indeed. But go on.
Hil. *" 1 have enclosed, as a portion for you, an
" order on the Mayor of Chaumont for one thou-
** sand louis-d'ors On either party refusing, my will
** is that it belong (o the rejected person.
" Alexander."
Ans. There, what have you to say to that, Dame
Lodoline ? won't you own now, that you've made a
small mistake ?
Lod. No, the Emperor h^s made a small mistake
THE DIAMOND ARROW. 35
in forgetting my husband, though I can't much won-
der at it For my part, I only wonder how such a
entity is remembered at all.
Font* Then you still persist in keeping the arrow,
in spite of right and reason ?
Lod, Yes.
HiL Then Mr. Mayor shall try what law can do.
Lod. With all my heart. I've got possession, and
they say that's nine points of law.
Hil. Obstinate conceited woman ! What is to be
done? Ha ! I have it. Nay, never droop, Lucille.
(To Lodoline) It appears, madam, by this letter,
that the Emperor has strangely selected you as the
partner of my future life. Since you possess the
J)iamond Arrow, I wish therefore to know if you
are prepared to fulfil his intention.
Lod, La ! Monsieur Hilaire ! You're very good
I should have no objection in life, only I'm unfortu-
nately engaged.
Font. That's flattering enough to me, however
but that's nothing.
Hil. You refuse me then, madam ?
Lod. Nay, I don't absolutely refuse you, Monsieur
Hilaire. If you could wait a little while, perhapsi
JUL I understand you, madam.
Font. And so do I but that's nothing.
Hil. You don't refuse me, but you can't have
me. It is sufficient I am rejected the Emperor's
portion belongs to me. Now, madam, I have a
proposition to make to you : Since it is the Empe-
ror's order I should marry the possessor of the Dia-
mond Arrow, and since it appears I can't marry
you, for the small reason of your being married al-
ready; and since our entreaties havefail'd to prevail
on you to give up the prize of beauty, What say
you to a bribe ? Give up the arrow to Lucille, and
the one thousand louis-d'ors are yours.
c
26 THE DIAMOND ARROW.
Lod. That I will ; I don't wish to stand in the
way of any body's happiness. Speak to me in a
reasonable way, and you may bring me over to any
thin^.
Font. Yes, i don't know who wou'dn't be brought
over to any thing by a thousand reasons, especially
when they happen to be golden ones but that's
nothing.
Lod, Give me the order there is the arrow. *
Hil. There is the order, madam, 'tis seal'd, and
directed to the Mayor. ( they exchange. ) Now then,
dear Lucille, you triumph at last.
Ans. Hold, Hilaire! Rash boy, what have you
done ? Had you not assigned the portion, Lucille
might have been yours j but you know my vow,
you are now
Hil. As poor, as ever ! Yet I would not disobey
the Emperor's command. Events have turn'd out
contrary to his intentions, but I will not repine I
will return to my regiment, and fortune may favour
me yet. ' -
Luc. All lost ! wicked, cruel Lodoline ! Born to
crush all my hopes !
Hil. Farewell, Lucille!
j4ns. Nay, don't go yet, you shall stop the day
with us.
Lod. Now, Mr. Mayor, I will thank you to com-
ply wdth the Emperor's orders, and give me the
thousand louis-d'ors I sha'n't want for dresses any
more now, thank Heaven !
^ns. Well, let me read the order first. ( breaks
the seal.) " To the Mayor of Chaumont Pay the
hearer of the Diamond Arrow sent herewith one
thousand louis-d'ors. Alexander." Very well,
Bearer of the Diamond Arrow, stand forth.
Luc. I revive again. I am the bearer of the Dia-
mond Arrow.
THE DIAMOND ARROW. 27
Ans, Then you I'll pay, and you only.
Lod. Ha! trick'd, foil'd! You shall not bear it
away thus Give me the Arrow 'tis mine, and I'll
have it.
\_Lo(ioline endeavours to snatch the Arrow from Lu-
cille in their struggles they touch a secret
spring a part of it flies open and discovers
Lucille* s name,']
Luc. Nay, madam, only with my life will I part
with it. Ha ! what is this ? A secret spring ! Wri-
ting! " For Lucille Anselm /" The arrow, then,
is mine beyond dispute, so is the portion. Hilaire,
with thar, will be rich beyond my father's wishes, and
love and happiness will at length be mine.
Font. Now, wife, what do you say now ?
Lod. You're all a pack of savages, and I won't
disgrace myself by remaining among you any longer.
\_Exit.
Font. My wife gone off in a huff! but that's
nothing. Now then for fun and jollity ! ^^Hilaire
Lucille your hands. Mayor, you must let them be
united directly, or my wife may still fudge up some
wise claim to the bridegroom.
Ans. With all my heart ! Heaven bless youy my
children ! Now you can marry as you should do, I
vi'ill not for a moment delay your union. Nay, no
words, I see your hearts are too full for speech.
Come, neighbours, before we hasten to church, we'll
have a dance and song to crown the Emperor's gift.
FINALE.
Omnes. *
All hail lo the good and brave !
To the warrior Monarch who loves to see
The faces around him all sparkling with glee ,
And deems it his proudest victory
^When conquest crowns to save.
2fi THE DIAMOND ARROW.
All hail to the gift he sent !
Long may it shine upon the breast
Where ev'ry virtue loves to rest.
With all that brightest is and best.
The mansion of peace and content.
Away with care and thrift 1
May every heart around be glad.
May every lassie gain her lad.
And all who've any pleasure had.
Smile on the Emperor's gift !
{The Curtain falls.
Printed ly Richard tSf Arthur Taylor, SmS-Lane, Londwi.
FRIGHTEN'D TO DEATH!
iilttsifcal dFarce, in b>o ^ctjf,
AS PERFOKMED AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY-LANE.
BY W. C. OULTON,
AUTHOR OF
All in Good Humour; Botheration, or a Two-Years' Blunder ,
The Sixty-Third Letter ; the Sleep-Walker ; My
Landlady's Gown, Sfc. S(c.
THE MUSIC
COMPOSED AND SELECTED BY
MR. T. COOKE.
HonKon :
PRINTED FOR W. SIMPKIN AND R. MARSHALL,
STATIONBRS'-COVRT, LVOGATE-STREET.
1817.
IPrice Two Shillings.]
Printed by W.CIOWKS,
|iotthuiubetland-ourt, Stranil, Lonikui.
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE Author of " Frighten d to Death** thus
gratefully acknowledges his obligations to the
Hon. George Lamb for several improvements
(particularly for the idea of the Epitaph) to
Mr. Rae, Acting Manager, for his official atten-
tion and judicious curtailments and to all the
Performers in the Piece for their successful exer-
tions. This Farce is founded on a juvenile pro-
duction, which was performed at Signor Gior-
dan] 's English Opera-House, in Dublin, under the
title of the " Haunted Castle,'*
March Qy 1817-
[VGA
Hituk JOT
'i: '.'(. Mi Sm boh. .I^T .tt:
DRAMATIS PERSONiE.
PHANTOM Mr. Harley.
CARLETON Mr. S. Pen ley.
COLONEL BLUFF Mr. Gattie.
SIR JOSHUA GREYBEARD Mr. Munden.
MUMPS, (his Servant,) Mr. Knight.
EMILY Mrs. Orger.
CORINNA Miss Mangeon.
PATTY Mrs. Bland.
Scene London.
Time Two successive Night*,
. liXftli^iJi. .'tk-i
FRIGHTEN'D TO DEATH
M^TL
SCENE I.
A Parlour.
Phantom, Carieton, and Col. Bluff, discovered
drinking.
Song. Phantom^
JLiET no draught than claret weaker
Chill the hearts at banquets glowing :
Temp'rance choaks the droughty speaker,
Drinking sets the throttle flowing.
Then, when bumpers warm the throttle,
Sober Wisdom
Ever is dumb.
While we push on
Hot discussion :
Not a doubt, Sir !
Hear me out. Sir!
1 denied it,-
To decide it,
^.Waiter, bring another bottle !
8
Mellow lawyers lose their prosing,
^* -^ Jolly saints their dull decorum ;
Doctors own the fudge of dosing,
Save with that which stands before 'em.
That will cure' you, ill, or not ill.
Gout severe, ah ?
Drink Madeira.
Fev'rish palate ?
Stick to claret.
Buzz you close. Sir,
That's a dose, Sir !
Quick imbibe that,
I prescribe that :
' Waiter, bring another bottle !
Fiery soldiers, fencing bladesmen.
Seek in duels satisfaction ; m'^ f
Cheating merchants, dunning tradesmen,
Urge at law their sleepy action ; ,
If one uses t'other not ill,
If they ruffle, ..
Scold or scuffle, : ' ' "
Ev'ry trial
Makes more dry all,
Choaks their spite all,
And unites all,
Soon agreeing
This decree in,
Waiter, bring another bottle !.
Col. B. Now, Mr. Carleton, give us a sentiment.
9
Phan. Oh, d n sentiments ! Carleton is too
sentimental by half. He says, a good story that's not
true, is just the same as a lie and calls drinking three
bottles, getting drunk.
Col. B. Impossible ! I remember your father,
Mr. Carleton, was a gay fellow.
Carl. And so can his son be, occasionally ; but,
Colonel Bluff, gaiety should be tempered by prudence.
Phan. There's a sentiment for you He can't
speak without one. Prudence! I wonder it was not
morality.
Col. 'jB. Ah ! he looks as if he never smelt powder
a lady's man, from top to toe.
Phan. No, faith, he's no lady's man for, though
in love, he has not had courage enough to avow his
passion, or contrivance to find out the name and re-
sidence of his mistress.
Carl, Nay, Phantom
. Phan. Why you told me so Aye and you said
that you had so often gazed at the lady in the Temple
Gardens, you were able to complete an admirable like-
ness of her at home.
Col. B. So, Mr. Carleton is an artist, then ?
Phan. So devoted to the arts, that he is content
with the lady's portrait instead of herself paint and
canvass, instead of flesh and blood. Here's more
brass to you, Carleton ! (Drinking).
Carl. Here's more polish to your's. Phantom !
Col. B. Well, Mr. Carleton, go to school to Jack
Phantom. He is a very honest roguish faithful
10
lying-^son of Bacchus.I am giving your true cha
racter, Jack.
,v Phan. Oh, thank you go on Yes out of friend-'
ship, Carleton, I'll lead you into a few scrapes that
will cure your modesty ; then, out of generosity, I'll
leave you to get yourself out of them and that will
teach you impudence.
Col. B. Aye, aye, that will be kind, and in the
course of your frolics you may find out where your
mistress resides. But, hang it, my time is near ; your
hand. Jack Phantom, we '11 meet to-night.
Phan. Agreed ; Carleton shall help us.
Col. B. Farewell, boys ! Pity to part but business
must sometimes be attended to. Adieu, Phantom !
Good-bye, Mr. Modesty ! [Ejrit Col. Bluff.
Phan. Come, there will be fun to-night. You shall
be with us upon the look-out ; but, d n it, take more
courage do you think to obtain a girl's heart by sigh-
ing and pining ? No, no ; diffident lovers are never suc-
cessful. Do you think your mistress wouldn't like you
better if you had a little spirit and fun about you ? If I
wished to recommend you to her, that is the character I
would give you.
Carl. Diffidence is my natural, not my chosen,
character. I know some powdered coxcombs, on the
first introduction to the fair, will kneel, and vow a
thousand lies; but surely no woman of sense can
credit rhapsodical protestations, and become the easy
dupe of designing audacity.
Phan, Titum ti ! a very pretty sermon-^I dcwi't
11
know whether you would shine most as a judge or an
auctioneer.
Carl. Well, well, excuse my absence. I generally
meet my fair incognita about this time ; perhaps my
eyes may some day disclose the feelings of my heart
my tongue never can. I shall return soon.
[^Ejcit Carleton,
Phan. O good-bye ! success to your eyes ! Well,
I am a strange sort of impudent lover, the reverse of
Carleton. One thing alone prevents the enjoyment
of my wish matrimony that's a dose for life; were
it only to be swallowed now and then, this (Jthe wine)
might wash it down ; but the label upon marriage
physic is " To be taken every hour, morning, noon,
and night, till the patient is relieved."
Enter Patty xvith a note.
Ah, my dear !
Pat. Here's a note, sir, from my mistress.
Phan. A note from my dear, contracted Emily!
How she loves me ! There's no resisting her I must
marry her; I amdeucedly afraid I must, at last; but
she vows not to have me till I reform, and I am ten
years too young for that yet so, blessings on her
virtuous determinations ! there's no hurry Ah, my
sweet, blooming
Pat. You forget the note, sir.
Phan. True; what does it say ? (reflfi?.?) " Emily's
" compliments to Mr. Phantom," why not Jack
Phantom ? she used to call me " dearest Jack" " re-
12
** quests to see him this evening ^but, as he knows
" her uncle's disposition, he must come as usual to
"' the dark parlour : the street-door shall be left open."
She writes like Sappho !
Pat. Then you'll come, sir ?
Phan. Come ! Aye, directly can I withstand so
sweet an invitation, when the bearer is so charming,
so lovely, so Why shouldn't we two stay here and
enjoy ourselves ?
Patty. Sir, I believe you are tipsy ; but don't
forget ^you will keep the dark parlour in your head.
Phan. Keep it ! I can't fail its mark is written
indelibly there (putting his hand on his forehead)
by the door-post I ran against last time. Are there
no chairs or tables in it ?
Patty. Tables or chairs ! Are you afraid of tables
and chairs, when Miss Emily is to meet you ?
Duet.
Pat. Can you, tardy lover ! stay.
When your lady's flame is fervent ?
She expects you then, away,
To oblige your humble servant.
Phan. Patience, fair ! I'll go, I vow,
Soon as I can get my feet on : [staggering.
First, I'll beg a kiss ; and now,
With your leave, my pretty sweet one !
Patty. Oh for shame ! pray let me go
If you please what usage this is ?
Lord! how can you pull one so ?
Devil take him, how he kisses !
13
Phan. Pray; my dear ^you will, I know
I insist What folly this is !
Then I'll force you to bestow
-97 vi: Heaven bless her 1 how she kisses !
[Exeunt,
IT SCENE II.
A Garden.
-V. Enter Corinna, and Emily.
Cor. My dear Coz., your company diverts my
melancholy the fleeting moments steal away when
beguiled with your pleasant conversation.
( Em. Ah Corinna ! ^your hours may have volatile
wings ; but every lingering day brings some addition
to my pain. [Enter Patty to Emily). Did he say he
would come, Patty ?
,. Pat. Yes, Ma'am, he said he would ; but he was
at a table with wine, and seemed something flustered
already.
Em. Alas ! his neglect is heart-breaking.
Cor. Nay, Emily cheer up your future days
may be more bright.
( Em. You see how I am contracted to a man who
neglects me a faithless, cruel man, whose wandering
heart can never fix upon one object.
Cor. But you may reclaim him then the in-
constant will return, and make a better husband
than you imagine. You are to see him soon ?
Em. He has sent a promise but promises are soon
forgotten amid scenes of dissipation. Oh, Corinna,
what a pity that a youth endued with all the noble
14
gifts of nature should become the slave of plea-
sure ! With his vices he has virtues to atone, if it
were possible to pluck away the weeds.
Cor. Who knows? In a little time you may re-
cover his roving heart ?
Em. But pray, Corinna, has not yours been
caught ?
Cor. Why, there is one who runs strangely in my
head I am afraid you will laugh at my romantic
tale but love is more lasting I think when it comes
by surprise. I meet him every day, and then we
fondly look at one another, and depart Ha ! ha ! ha !
Em. You mean to provide for yourself, my dear ?
Cor. Oh, certainly my father is such an antiquary,
that he pays all his attention to his ancestors, and
spends his time in recovering decayed manuscripts, or
in cleaning his ancient pictures. WeJ?e I to trust
to his care for a good husband, he would doubtless
find, if it w^ere possible, some ridiculous virtuoso,
older than himself.
Em. Oh, my dear, any one may guess your ik-
ther's disposition who sees the old-fashion'd mansion
be inhabits. ^-t^^y^
Cor. And this is his favourite abode, because it is
gothic, and long built. We have tried several means
to persuade him to leave it^-^told him it was haunted,
and that itiiere were strange noises every night but in
vain ; he is resolved, I believe, to terminate his days
in this wilderness. >^ ^'t^"^ n^hM^*^
15
Em. Well, Coz., you'll marry the stranger when he
asks you ?
Cor. O yes ; but I fear he has not the courage to
put the question.
Pat. Never fear, Ma'am. Do you be prepared
with courage to say Yes when he does.
Song. Patty.
Whenever a lad that's good-humour'd and free
Entreats as a lover to choose him,
I vow in good faith I can't possibly see
What reason I'd have to refuse him.
Instead of consid'ring his suit as amiss,
With smiles I would kindly amuse him ;
And, should the dear creature solicit a kiss,
I'd blush but I cou'd not refuse him.
When, talking of marriage, he utters a vow,
With caution I then would peruse him ;
But, if he were constant, I cannot see how
I could have the heart to refuse him.
Why should any lass to comply be afraid,
And run such a hazard to lose him ?
She sodn may be sorry, and die an old maid,
Who makes it her boast to refuse him.
JSnter Mumps with a bundle.
Mum. Miss Corinna, my master requests you will
16
mend this old white morning wrapper. He is very
eager about it, as you know it belonged to his dear,
dear, grandfather.
Cor. 'Tis well I shall obey him (takes it). Fare-
well, Emily I you see my elegant task.
Em. Stay, Corinna; let me be supposed to be
working with you. I expect Phantom shortly, and
Sir Joshua may otherwise call on me, to assist in
dusting aunt Grizzle's cobble-stitch chair-covers, or
airing old Jethro Greybeard's scarlet hose. Mumps,
if he ask for me, say I am working with Corinna,
and our whole souls are wrapt up in his grandfa-
ther's wrapper. [Edceunt Emily and Corinna.
, Pat. Yes, Mumps, tell your master we are all
working at the gobble-stitch. \^Exit.
Mum. (solus.) Egad, my time is spent very plea-
santly, though devoted to the service of an old curmud-
geon, who has the hard frost painted in his withered
face. I humour him because it is my duty, and I
cheat him because I get something by it! Hush
here he comes.
Enter Sir Joshua Greybeard.
Sir J. Oh Mumps, Mumps, I've met with a most
terrible accident !
Mum. What, my good master ?
Sir J. You know the great elbow-chair ?
Mum, The old-fashioned one ?
17
Sir J. Yes ; it belong'd to my dear, dear uncle,
whose picture is over the chimney-piece in the
parlour.
Mum. Well, Sir
Sir J, I was sitting in it, expecting no harm but
while I was industriously cleaning my poor, dear,
dead and gone, great, great grandfather's picture
peace to his soul! I have a great regard for my
pedigree the old and noble family of the Greybeards.
Mum. But the accident. Sir ?
Sir J. Oh Mumps, I happen'd in the heat of my
exercise to disjoint the chair down I tumbled, haul-
ing the picture after me and oh Mumps, some how
or other, I unfortunately fractured the nose, and put
out my poor, dear, dead and gone, great, great grand-
father's eyes.
Mum. But being dead and gone, he can't see the
loss of his eyes. Pray, Sir, whose bust has been put
in the staircase by your orders ?
Sir J. Oh Mumps, 'tis a treasure the head of the
immortal Shakspeare. Oh, 'tis a valuable bust !
Mum. He is a sharpish-looking fellow, sure enough.
1 never had the honour of seeing Mr. Shakspeare,
but I dare say it is very like him. Did you employ
the Irish painter you saw to-day. Sir ?
Sir J. The fellow was an impostor. He pre-
tended to show me a great many curiosities, and
said he would produce a wonder in this very coun-
B
18
try a rara avis a gander in the shape of a man.
I was desirous to see this natural curiosity, and gave
him money as an earnest for it. But d n the
fellow, he brought me my own picture, a caricature
of myself, and asked me if I didn't think it was a
great likeness.
Mum. Your picture ?
Sir J. Yes, my own picture, for a gander in the
shape of a man. Oh Mumps, I hope no harm will
happen to Shakspeare.
Mum, Perhaps a ghost may throw him down, for
they all swear the house be haunted. Scratchings,
knockings, and several other noises, be heard every
night.
Sir J. Haunted ! Yes, with lovers after the girls.
I don't care I'll not leave my fine spacious old resi-
dence the gothic mansion of the Greybeards ! I
know my daughter and niece want to see company ;
and to be gadding up and down this wicked town.
They want to be followed by young men. Aye, I
guess'd how it would it would be, when they began to
dress according to the indelicate fashions of the day.
Go you, Mumps, and look after the girls.
Mum. Look after the girls ! thank ye, Sir much
oblig'd to you, Sir It's a job I am very clever at, I
assure you, Sir. [^Exit Mumps.
Sir J. Ah, the ancient manners for me !
la
" Song.
" Ohj happy days of good Queen Bess !
" How modest was the female dress
" No tucker, nor a sash on !
" The ladies then were clad enough,
" They wore a handkerchief or ruff
" 0h, sweet becoming fashion !
Ti^'LiH^i ^^^ titled lady, neat and prim, .
^>i^,^l ^'^ Exhibited a person slim,
" Exceeding nice and taper ;
" For, being very tightly laced,
" She had a beautiful long waist,
" Just like her own thread-paper.
" No vile intruders then approach'd,
" For, when impertinents encroach'd,
" They met a bold resistance;
** The fair ones pass'd through ev'ry throng,
" With fine majestic hoops so long,
" As kept them at a distance."
[^Ea;if.
SCENE III.
The front of Sir Joshua Greybeard's House the
Street Door open.
-^ni Enter Phantom and Carleton,
Phan. Run, Carleton run the watch are after us.
b2
Car. Where have we got to^ Where are we ?
Fhan. We're here, and the watch are not that^s
enough for us.
Car. 'Sdeath, Phantom ! this conduct is disgraceful.
Where can it end ?
Phan. Ten to one, in the round-house.
Car. Is that an adventure for a gentleman ? I
never yet was involved in any such scrape.
Phan, No ; then you soon shall be. I'll hamper
you. (Orside). See, the watch are coming at both
ends of the street. In, in, directly to some house.
Jlere's a door open.
Car. Whose is it ?
Phan. What matter ? go in and ask.
Car. I have no introduction to the house.
Phan. None's wanted ; the door's open.
Car. But what will the owner say to us ?
Phan. He can but say, '* get out," and that's clean
contrary to tiie constable's language in the round-
house. In, in, I follow. (Forces Carleton in, and
shuts the door). Ha! ha ! ha ! modesty and gentility
will be taken up for house-breaking. If I go to the
watch-house, I shall meet him there. But let me
see I never thought of this,^ It's Sir Joshua Grey-
beard's house, and the door was open for me to meet
Emily I have shut him in that would not signify
mucli, ^but 'faith, I have shut myself out. What
shall I do ?-^I must not knock.^Histi. Carleton
f::arleton! - . -_,,,,^,.,'.. ^ ....:( -^-v
- a
2^
>j^ Enter Colonel Bluff.
Col. B. Holloa Jack Come along, they are in
full cry after us Come along.
Phan. Are they ? Then I must go away with you
What a fool I I might have been snug with Emily,
and Carleton might have been in the watch-house
Now I {A call of Watch ! Watch ! Stop him ! stop
him, &c.)
. Phan. S'deathI they come 1 , [fixeunt^
, SCENE IV ?
( A dark Parlour.
f Enter Carleton.
Carl. Plague on you, Phantom I shall certainly
do some mischief, and then I shall be so confoundedly
ashamed 'tis very dark-^Where am I going ? I can
find HO way out Some one coming Bless me ! they
may think I'm a robber, and commit me to jail.
Em. Hist! hist!-
Carl. A woman's voice ! -I'm all confused ! I
dare say if it were light, I should see myself cover'd
with blushes.
Em. You are here at last, Sir. You were very
shy of venturing into the house !
Carl. Yes, Madam, very naturally so, I presume.
Em. Are you always so backward to approach
those you love?
Carl. Backward! Does she know me? Can it
be my incognita ? Her looks have spoken as much as
that often. Pray, Madam, did you expect me this
evening? itij aquti i - .
213-
Em. Scarcely, Sir, for I heard you were engaged
in drinking !
Carl. How the devil could she know that? Oh!
it must be a trick of Phantom's to introduce me to
her ; he must have told her.
'~ E^. 1 know, Sir, you can easily overlook every
Other tonside^tion, when engaged in' your ' profli-
gate pursuits. ' <""*\
Carl. My profligate pursuits! Ah! this is ' the
character for spirit and fun. Phantom promised me.
Really, Madam, this is the first time I was ever so
represented, If j^ou will take my own character from
myself, let me assure you that among my real friends
tQ6 great sobriety and diffidence are reckoned my
^ -Ettz. DMSdeiice! haJ haf ha! well sald-^Mr;
Modesty! 'i .
Carl. Oh ! she knows my very nickname.
Em, Your friends are all false as yourself. I know
you too well,' Sir--^yoiu can embellish you can paint
in glowing colours.-^
Carl. I can paint Yes, Madam, I can, and I
see you do know me. But I cannot coiicmej liow
you gained that knowledge ? ' ' ' ^ ' "^'"^ ^o 'f^-
Em. Oh, Sir ! all the world knows you.
Carl. You flatter me-^my humble abilities have
not as yet been honoured with publicity. --; -i.^^j.^
Em. How! don't you publicly boast of your '^-
formances ? Don't you glory in every exhibition ?
Carl. No, Madam, I never sent a performance
to the exhibition. Madam, I hope this interview
63
may produce many more, but at present I really
feel so embarrassed, that
Em. Really, sir, your conduct is, as if you had
come in here by chance, without object or invitation.
Carl. Madam, with blushes, I confess that to be
the truth.
Em. The truth sir I lirtfeeling insult are you
a man ? Is this the way you treat my trusting
fondness ? Is not my love open and unreserved
enough for you ?
Carl. Oh, yes. Madam ! that it is with a ven-
geance !
Em. Sir, nothing can excuse your conduct, but your
present state. You must be tipsy, sir^ I must at
length make free with you.
'^^arl. Make free with me madam! Really, the
suddenness of this happiness. I am quite -Diffi-
dence ties my tongue but if you are not still insensi-
ble to that language we have often conversed in if you
would but read my eyes
Em. What's the use of eyies in the dark? these
jests are unfeeling. But I will not be insulted with
impunity. Sir, my god-father, Mr. Littlegood,
will see me righted.
Carl. Mr. Littlegood !
Em.. Yes, sir, and at present, I cannot see why we
prolong this interview.
Carl. Really, nor I, if you can't madam, am I
still to remain in the dark ?
Em. Yes, sir, till you think proper to depart, I
am afraid of allowing you a light.
24
Carl. She wont avow herself (aside) 2iXi& will
you force me Xo depart so ?
Em. To be siire, I shall, sir, and the sooner the
better. You can't get out again at the street door ; so
go down stairs, and pray take care of Shakspeare
by the way, for your own sake.
Carl, (aside). Plague on the mastiff I hope he
won't bite. Oh, Phantom ! Phantom ! I wish you
had staid at home.
Em. I dare say you do but when I see you
again, I hope, like a true lover, you will avow your
passion with sincerity.
Carl. Avow my passion ! Would to heaven I
could but I can't for shame, and yet believe me,
I am a true lover. Oh, here is the door at last
I'm glad of it, I hope I may find the street door too.
What a lucky escape.
[^E.vit groping.
Em. (solus.) What a noise he makes ! dead
drunk! Unfortunate youth I \a noise within] Ha!
as I live he has thrown down Shakspeare's head. The
family are alarmed what shall I do ?
Enter Mumps with candles, trembling.
Mum. I believe the house be haunted in down-
right earnest Miss Emily, your cousin wants you.
Em. I shall attend her by this time he is gone.
[Aside, and exit.
Sir J. (within.) Oh, my dear dear Shakspeare's
head my head my head is broke !
Mum. I dare say Mr. Phaiitom has been here.
25
Re-enter Carleton confused.
Carl. Cursed mishap ! I fell over an image, and
Mum. Stand devil, ghost or spirit !
[Throws a candlestick at him, and runs off,^
Enter Sir Joshua Greybeard.
Sir Jos. Who are you ? Why come here to do
mischief?
Carl. P-p-pray Mr. Littlegood have patience.
Sir J. Litdegood! Litdegood! who the devil's
Litdegood, and vv^ho are you ? What do you mean.
Sir?
Carl. Your god-daughter will explain
Sir J. My god-daughter I have no god-daughter.
Pray, Sir, how dare you break my head a while ago ?
Carl. Sir ! I break no heads, I am a gentleman
and use sword or pistol.
Sir J. Sword ! Pistol ! why you rascal (I beg
pardon, Mr. Gentleman) why did you break my re-
nown'd, honourable, aged head.
Carl. Stark mad, as I hve ! I see, Sir, your head is
crack 'd.
Sir J. Crack'd with a vengeance ! Sir, I know
that as well as you.
Carl. I'm sorry you want a head.
Sir J. I do want a head you broke it, and I hope
you'll make me amends.
Carl. I'll get a surgeon Sir, and he shall dress it.
^
Sir J. Dress it ! What do you mean ? I defy any
one to put the pieces together.
Carl. An empty head indeed.
Sir J. Empty! yes hollow, but very thick it
must have had a sad blow but I hope you'll spare all
my other heads I have got fifty heads I have got
Carl, {'aside. J Fifty I a monster !
Sir J. Who ai'e you ? won't speak ^what brought
you here? won't answer. But here are the girls
perhaps he'll talk to them.
Enier Mmily and Corinna.
>f^
Child, look at this fellow did you ever see such
brazen audacity in all your life ? . i
Cor. (aside.) My lover I protest !
Carl, (aside. J Good heaven ! it is my charmer.
Sir J. Ak him why he came here ?
*^ Cor. Muy I beg to know, Sir, why you came here ?
Sir J. Dumb! Ask him his name. /uiwun
Cor. Your Aame, Sir?
Sir J. Dumb still ! Speak and tell us whether
yon Ve dumb or not. ;
Carl, (aside) I never was so ashamed I
Em. Oh, Sir Joshua, this gentleman came oil some
business to me he was sent by Mr. Phantom.
Carl. Very true indeed Mr. Phantom drove mfe
here, and
Sir J. D n Mr. Phantom I forbade him my
house I don't like his frolics I caught him fencing
one day with my ancestors, and the hard-hearted dog
ran my dear, dear, uncle John through the guts body
I mean.
Em. But his friend has brought an apology for his
past conduct, and it was by mere accident the gentle-
man threw down the bust of Shakspeare.
CarL The bust' Oh, is that the head the gentle-
man alluded to ? Give me le^ve, Sri", to repair the
loss. I have an admirable painting of Shakspeare
which I will send to you.
Sir ./. Will you ? Oh, I'm very much obliged to
you. I have several ancient pictures, but some of
them want repair.
CarL I'll undertake their improvement^ Sir-^paint-
ing is an art wliich I delight in- my name is Charles
Garleton.
Sir J. Charles Carleton and a painter! My
dear Mr. Carleton yoi\ must come to-morrow and
spend the whole day with me. Corinna, is not he a
very discreet young man? but hold, I must be con-
vinced f aside.) Perhaps you could shew me a specimen
^f your art.
- Carl. I have the portrait of a young lady which I
execiited from mere recollection, for she never sat for
her pictm-e. Madam I commit it to your care^:
- > ^^iiJp [Gives a portrait to Cor.
Sir^ J. Well, Corinna, what do you think of it?
Come, give your opinion.
28
Air. Corinna.
These looks that others seem to seek,
And all we should conceal avow,
These blushes that suffuse the cheek,
Are somebody's who feels them now.
Too like these eyes that pleasure warms,
Too like this mild consenting brow,
Too like in all those flatter'd charms,
Too like to her who holds it now.
Em. Look, uncle, at your daughter's picture.
Sir J. An admimble likeness indeed, and all from
recollection !
Em. Sir, I suppose you mean to present this pic-
ture to my cousin.
Carl. I hope your cousin will not deem me im-
pertinent.
Cor. I cannot. Sir, except you have been guilty of
flattery. **ia&P ^
Sir J. No, no, you are not flattered. Mr.
Carleton, come with me, and I'll introduce you to all
my pedigree: you may render them some essential
assistance to-morrow. My poor grandfather had not
a grain of powder left in his wig : and there's some-
thing the matter with Deborah Spitfire's eyes. Upon
my soul, I think she squints this way, sir. I dare
29
say your skill could give them a twist, and set them
straight again.
\_E.Teu7it Sir J. and Carleton,
Cor. This indeed, is unexpected I am glad my
father is so attached ta him : dear Emily, what are
you considering upon ?
Em. Phantom has deceived me I thought there
was a difference in the voice, but did not suspect the
deception, and the truth is I have mistaken your lover
for mine.
Enter Patty.
Pat. Oh, Miss Emily, be not alarmed, Mr. Phan,
tom has fortunately escaped a sudden death.
Em. Ha!
Pat. He has been knocked down in a scuffle, and
brought in senseless.-T-(^eappff
32
in his way. How frighten'd he'll be when he sees the
Ha ! He stirs ^we must be careful
{closes the doors.
Carl. There ^he'U be sure to find that letter
[leaves it on the table.]
A noise in the chamber.
Mum. Hark ! he be up he be examining the room
-we must go and apprize Miss Emily. [E.reunt.
Phan. (within) Holloa ! Colonel Bluff ! Carleton !
Knocks violently then opens the doors comes
forward and looks about.
(Solus.) Where am I ? I thought I was in the round-
house but it looks more like a vault How my bones
ache. What an uncomfortable bed ! Bed ! I shud-
der at the thought I examined it I thought at first
it was a chest it was screwed down I read my name
on a plate ^John Phantom there is no other of that
name aged twenty-two ^very exact died January
5, 1817 I am bewildered^ How! in white! Where
did I get this dress? Oh! some frolic perhaps a
trick devised by Colonel Bluff. This is a nice apart-
ment but that ^hung ^\ith black ! I hate the sight of
it. Ha ! a letter it is addressed to Emily How !
Carleton's writing ! What is the meaning of all this ?
{Reads)
* Madam,
I was exceedingly shocked at the
melancholy news of Mr. Phantom's sudden death '
sudden death! Poo I am alive and well I can't
recollect when or how I parted with Colonel BlufF.<^
33
(reads) ' and am very sorry to add, he has died with-
out a will.' Why, am I dead? am I a ghost? am I
here, euid am I there ? (pointing to the chamber,) im-
possible ! (reads) ' as you intend to erect a tombstone
to his memory, I submit the following epitaph for
your perusal, and remain yours ' Nonsense ! epi-
taph ! I'm very much obhged to Mr. Carleton for his
premature kindness. Epitaph ! but I'll read it.
* Ye Votaries of pleasure, stay.
And ponder o'er a brother's clay ;'
-'clay I I am flesh and blood still ! my bones ache and
that's sufficient proof.
* Beneath this stone, John Phantom lies,
A roaring buck more gay than wise,
A Bacchanalian- ripe for sport.
Which was too suddenly cut short
He stagger'd fell he gasp'd for breath
And died unconscious of his death.'
[throws away the letter^
In the name of wonder where am I and what am I ?
Oh, here's Emily and Patty they will explain. How !
in mourning ! tears ! What can be the meaning ?
Enter Emily and Patty in deep mourning.
Phan, My dear Emily Patty.
{They pass him and take no notice,
Em. Heigho!
Pat. Heigho!
Em. Cut off so soon !
Pat. So suddenly !
Phan. Why, Emily Patty. [They pass by him*
34 .
lm. In the prime of youth !
Pat. Ere he repented of his sins !
Em. Certainly Patty, if the dead can be conscious
of their crimes, and the dreadful punishments which
await them, his soul cannot rest in peace. if <
Pat. Oh, tis horrid to think on't. But youth will
be obstinate and giddy. Had he soberly staid at
home, or faithfully observed his appointment with you,
madam, he would not have been murdered and sent
to the grave, with all his sins upon his head.
Em. Ah ! poor Jack !
Phan. Murdered ! Oh, as I live and breathe
Pooh I don't Uve and breathe 1 am dead I was
murdered !
Pat. I suppose his restless ghost will appear to
some of us.
P-han. I wish I could. [walking before them.
Em. Poor Jack ! I loved him more than he did
me but now I am released from the contract, and
may with honour form another attachment.
Phan. Oh this will set me mad Emily, don't yow
see me ?
Em. Heigho !
Phan. Patty, don't ^om see me ?
Pat. Heigho! ' '
Phan. Zounds ] Oh, bless me ! I'm dead, and
must not swear.
Em. Dear Patty, let us mourn over his remains.
Thei/ enter the front chamber^ Phantom following
them.
35
Duett Emily and Patty.
Em. Adieu ! adieu ! my love ! my heart !
Poor Jack, poor Jack !
Is torn away !
'Tis cruel death that made us part,
Alack ! alack !
And well a day !
Pat. Farewell, farewell, dear soul ! dear youth !
Poor Jack, poor Jack
Is snatch'd away,
By cruel death's devouring tooth
Alack! alack!
And well a day.
Both. I'll weep I'll weep all night, all day,
For Jack, for Jack
That's gone away !
This tribute to his memory pay
Alack ! alack !
And well a day !
Phan. Ah, well a day ! It is very pitiful !
Enter Mumps^ pretending to cry.
Mum. The-^the un undertaker is below:
waiting to to receive your or or orders to ^to
bury the body.
Phan. The undertaker !
JEm. 'Tis well he shall be privately buried. I'll
' c 21
36
spare no expense for a decent funeral ; it is the last
proof of affection I can show.
Phan. Poor Emily ! I am much obliged to you.
Pat. I shall be careful madam, and see proper jus-
tice done to his remains.
Phan. Thank you Patty I am much obliged to
you.
Em. I wish I had called in another physician.
Pat. Oh madam, you had the best advice
Dr. Arsnick, Sir Peter Pill, and Surgeon Lance.
Phan. The doctors have killed me I see how
it is.
Em. Come, Patty Heigho !
Pat. Heigho ! .
Em. and Pat. Poor Jack !
Em. He will court me no more.
Pat. And he will never kiss me again. Heigho !
[Exeunt Emily and Patty.
Phan. Ah, poor Jack !
Mum. Oh, the sweet young man ^he will never
give me any more money Oh, oh, oh ! Sorrow is
dry. Heigho ! I must take a glass of wine.
'! j^glfg ^Q^j2 at the sideboard, and drinks^
Phan. Heigho ! and so must I. [Sits and drinks.
Mum. I must eat something to prevent the wine
getting into my head. [Eats a cake.,
PAa/?. I'll do the same. (Eats). ^ ?"^^^'-'
, fc^^^^y^^T[(7^^ sigh alternately.
Mum. I can't conceive why Surgeon Lance was so
inquisitive about the funeral. I am sorry he knows
37
the churchyard. I should not wonder if the surgeons
were to have him up oh yes they'll certainly have
his body.
Phan. Have my body !
Mum. Heigho ! They're very fond of a young sub-
ject.
Phan. A young subject ! Have my body ! What
shall I do ? l^Rises.
Mum. Ah, poor Jack. [Rises.
Phan. But Mumps, don't you see me ?
Mum. Oh, oh, oh !
Phan. Mumps, don't you hear me ? [Bawling.
Mum. Oh, oh, oh !
Phan. Then damnation ! and vexation ! Do you
feel me ? [Gives Mumps a blow on the head.
Mum. Mercy on me ! I have got a sudden head-
ache with crying. Hark! I'm called Oh poor
poor Jack ! Oh, oh ! [Eocit Mumps.
Phan. f Solus). Yes, yes, I am dead dead and
gone I can't be seen, heard, felt, or understopd ! I^^
wish I could appear to some one. I must find! a
person that will see and question me. 'Till then I
shall wander up and down an invisible spirit !
[ExiU^
SCENE IL
The Picture Gallery.
Enter Sir Joshua Greybeard and Carleton.
, Sir Jos. I protest, Sir, you have made my aunt
Crambo quite young again ; and my uncle John I see.
38
has got a new coat. I suppose Mr. Carleton you are
descended from a long noble race of painters.
Car. Not that I know of, Sir Joshua. Merit I
believe is not hereditary ; and if so, by gradual degrees
it dwindles away, and terminates at length in a total
eclipse. Your great grandfather was a poet, I under-
stand. I suppose, Sir Joshua, you are one.
Sir Jos. No plague on't I never can write
poetry the rhymes confound me so. I can do very
well with the first lines, but damn it I can't make
them jingle for the soul of me. A total eclipse !
Car. That's what'l said. Sir Joshua; merit en-
nobles its possessor ; and it little matters, I think,
whether his father was a tinker, or his grandfather a
cobler. But tliat's true^*-I forgot your great grand-
father, Sir 'Joshua-^ I'll go how, and endeavour to
dress his Avig. /rid [Ej:it Carleton.
Sir Jos. Thank ^m, Sir. A tinker ! A cobler !
Pretty forefathers indeed ! . . fE?iter Mumps. J Oh
Mumps, is it true what I have heard, that Phantom
was killed last night ?
Mum. Oh, very true. Sir poor man ! he fell in a
scuffle. First, he got a blow here then, he got a
blow there bu^ the Uiird blow took away his breath.
A vein was opened but it was all over with him.
I dare say he will haunt us.
Sir Jos. No, no 1 forbade him my house while
he was alive. Yes, yes, I got rid of him and the
fellow could not have the impudence to intrude on
me, now he is dead. '
39
Mum. Ah, but this is a house for ghosts every
night, Patty says, there be a scratching and a knock-
ing, and
Enter Phantom dismally.
Sir Jos. Oh Lord ! what's that surely Mr. Phan-
tom who was killed last night !
Than. Heaven be praised ! he sees me. Yes, I
am that unfortunate Phantom who was killed.
Sir Jos. Ah, you were a sad fellow I thought
you'd come to an untimely end. Mumps, do'nt you
see poor Mr. Phantom ?
Mum. Where ? Where, Sir ?
Sir Jos. There 1 there, Sir! How dismal he
looks !
Mum. I see nothing but the pictures !
Sir Jos. Exactly dress*d like my grandfather the
very morning bannian -perhaps he brings me news
from my ancestors. Hem ! I'll take courage and
speak to it.
Duet.- 6Vr Joshua and Phantom.
Sir Josh.
What 3,/fe* you? Who are you? and whence are
you, pray?
Why come you so dismally here ?
Arrive you from hell, or from heaven, I say ?
That thus upon earth you appear ?
40
Phan.
Behold, from a dreary black mansion Fam here
A restless unfortunate soul !
You only have see me or offer'd your ear,
Since Destiny forc'd me to stroll.
\
Sir Josh.
Oh, how's my aunt Crambo, and poor uncle John ? ^ >vf
My dear Mr. Ghost, let me know
Is grandfather, grandmother, or any one
Of all my dear 'kindred below ?
' Phm.-''
jti Mi^ijj i^;-^ .'fcL'.^.-
IVe not had tib^ ^aswe, believe me, as yet
. To meet the good people you name
But, doubtless, like me, they both wander and fretj;
Their torments, perhaps, are the same.
Mum. Who the de^ 'Be yoii singing to ?
Sir Josh,, To Mr. Piiantom. I hope he's not 3i|ch
a devil now as he was when he was alive. * /
Mum. I can see nothing.
Phan, I suppose I can't appear to two people at
once.
41
Sir Josh. Pray, Mr. Ghost, why don't you stay in
your grave ?
Phan. My crimes ! my crimes ! Oh I have been
a sad dog !
Sir Josh. Oh a terrible rogue and therefore I for-
bade you my house I wish you had still remembered
the prohibition.
Phan. I disregarded it when I was alive.
Mum. Pray, master, are you talking to your
grandfather hanging up there ?
Sir Josh. Blind, deaf fool ! I wish you were hang-
ing up there.
Phan. Where is my dear Emily? I must see her
one interview and then I'll depart in peace.
Sir Josh. You'll find her in the parlom-, Mr.
Ghost. But, pray, don't frighten my neice
Phan. Poor girl ! I shall do her np ,harm. Fare-
well ! I shall take myself off farewell !
[Ea^it.
Sir Josh. Oh farewell ! Mr. Phantom is a very
good man now he is dead he'll not be fencing with
uncle John again -that's a comfort. ,
Mum. Whv, sure you did not see his ghost!
ill),, -. - '^n
Sir Josh. As plain as I see you.
. Mum- Then I hope you'll leave this haunted
house.
Sir Jos. " No, indeed !", The ghost has been very
civil, and he may bring me news from my ancestors.
I know the people think me a queer fellow a comical
old dog, bec^usi^ I Ipve the dead better than the living
Di
42
hut I protest I iov'd my wife better after she was gone
than when she was alive.
Mum. (aside) I shall have some fun now and pre-
tend to see a spirit : (affects terror) Oh mercy !
'Sir Jos. What ! has he returned ? I don't see him.
' Muh[^ * ^ ^S ^iid ' off thou palethou wan-^thou
horrid ugly spectre ! Oh thou fat man with a large
powdered wig.
Sir Jos. it"^/M'^ ^^ir ^f&Mfather don't, feve
him away. '" ' / .i.:.-.^.;,
'''^^M'um.' '1.6d^ ^t him see hini behold him !
Sir Jos. Where ! where ! I can't see him. *^ ^^ Z^' ^
'^'Mum.'^^^tam^lde says we inust leave" this house
immediata^:**! ^^^^'^ - -} '^'f j^^'".;-'/'^^^ y;^
'^'Sir J6^1^'0lii%\ij^ 'Ask!^mv dear grEinatatKer
Mum: Ha ! tiell pinch you if you don't obey.
Sir Jos. Pinch me ! Inhuman grandfather T
Mum. More ;listen he says your daughjter . and
neice must have husbands of their own choice^ ' .
' Sir Jos. By air means . . ,
Mum. By all nieans, l\Ir. Ghost. But you must
never pinch my dear master-^ You will ( but you
sha'nt ' ^.i^nlBiqaA .w.o. '^
Sir Jos. Don't argue with him my grandfather
was very passionate
Mum. Let me tell you Mr. Ghost
Sir Jos. Don't war with the dust do'nt fight with
shadows,
"'"Mum, I love my master I will defend and protect
my master (gives' Sir Joshua a bloio)0\v dearf
What a box he has given me "on thie left ear! -
Sir Jo9. And what a box h6 lias givieh me on tlie
right ear ! Oh unmanneily ghost ! I see I niust leave
this house but I'll take all my !)usts all mv statues
;-all my pictures and books with me.
.wwAk
1' ;)'<
Mum. (aside) Ha ! ha ! ha ! It will do.
^ [Eiveunt severally.
sfoioi^rfi 1 m fi \^mm\ sffe hi o ''
SCENE HI. i
. '/ / .,, . .. .V . ..
Another Apartment:
A largf picture in the middle supported, A paifiJing
. .r. pot at the side, , ,[. * ..
Enter Phantom alone: / ,
Heigho ! I dont know what to mokte of my situation !
I gave myself a violent pinch awhile ago^ and egad I
felt it surely it was not imaginary feeling ! 1 knocked
my head against a door, and I think I bear the mark
of it. 1 protest Carleton was making love to Emily
audacious villain -I wish 1 could kick my impudent
rival out of the house. Eh ! I'll do some mischief t;o his
handy-work. But Phantomj is , this a time foi; ,^i^^
chief? No matter 5 11 see if the dead have any taste
for the fine arts. (Takes the painting brush, and,
spoils the picture.)- Ha, ! I begin to suspect' Soyie
one's unlocking tlie ^opi l-^hiejes Jbfhind^ the pic-
ture.) ;!jp 3tJ oi ! yoy
' uoy tuo
Enter Mumps ^ who admits Sir Joshua Grey beards
CarletoHj Corinna, and Emily.
Sir Jos. You charm me, Corinna, with your news.
Oh, Lord ! is that my great grandfather's beautiful
wig ? Why, it's as black as ink !
Cor. I am as much astonished papa, as you !
Mum. I protest some evil spirit has been in the
room.
Carl. Yes ; an evil spirit indeed ! but there has
been no size in the paint, and therefore no harm done.
I will soon remove the blemish.
Sir Jos. O pray do, Mr. Carleton^
Enter Mumps.
''.Mum.' Sir, the gentleman be come from Doctor
Commons with a licence. .
P^. A licence ! ';'. v
Mum. And Colonel Bluff be coming up stairs.
i Carl. How unlucky, if he sees Phantom, he'll betray
the secret. 1 pnilo^i
? Sir Jos. Secret, what secret?
lyMmni' Honourable Colonel Bluff, sir.
^'''^'^f^:'-^ - - Enter Colonel Bluff.
' Col: B. Ah, Carleton, I'm glad to see you. Where's
our worthy friend. Jack Phantom ?
Phan. (suddenly appearing) Here, here ! my dear
fellow.
Col. B. He ! Jack, how do you do .^
Phan. Eh ! do you see me ?
Col. B. See you ! to be sure I do. What means
that white thing about you ?
45
Sir Jos. 'Tis my grandfather's wrapper,
Phan. But look at me well a'nt I dead?
All. Hail ha! ha! ha!
Phan. Laughing ! What is the meaning of all this?
My dear, dear Emily, am I dead or alive ?
Em. Dead I hope to vice, but alive to ^7rtue.
Col. B. So, so, 'tis all a trick.
Sir Jos. Heyday but let me examine him did'nt
you tell me you were dead.
Phan. Yes, and now I'll tell you, I am alive and
men-y. Tol, lol, lol, lol {throws ctway the wrapper)
Sir Joshua Greybeard, I'll haunt your house every
night, Emily has restored me to fresh life. But that's
true, the licence Mumps, what did you say about
the licence do you hear ?
Mum. No sir ; you know, I have neither sense
of hearing, or feeling.
Em. The licence is for this gentleman and Co-
rinna she is Mr. Carleton's intended. . ^ v
Car. 1 hope Mr. Phantom, that before you die,
you will fulfil your contract with this lady. And, 'till
you do, I am resolved not to touch that picture which
you have so disfigured. ^ r >1 ^K -^ V
Sir Jos. Oh pray Mr. Phantom, for my great
grandfather's sake
Phan. For my own sake. Sir Joshua and I am
very happy that I'm alive to reward my dear Emily ;
for, I may say with truth, she has made a new man
of me.
Finale. ^ . i U)!i S-^Yloaai if: n '.;;'; .
THE END.
.1 -nC,yAii& auo (ill 10 i .uftft'^V
; ^ ' ',''' ^'l ibdi vqqari yr)\-
NwrtbidBbcvUiutcaft, Stnad.
LATELY PUBLISHED,
MY LANDLADY'S GOWN, a Farce, in Two Acts, as
performed at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket, By W. C,
OULTOW, Author of the Sleep Walker, &c. &c. Price 2s. 6d,
ADELGITHA, a Tragedy, in Five Acts. By M. G. Lewis,
now first printed as performed at the Theatre Royal, Covent*
Garden. Price 3s.
Jl,H
>)]'
.jgs/rii.ijniDaauA
THS
PERSIAN HUNTERS;
OR,
THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN,
G. Sll>NEY, I'liiitn,
NortUumberlanil J*trot, Strand,
THE
PERSIAN hunters;
OR,
THE ROSE OF GURGISTAK
IN THREE ACTS.
NOW PERFORMING, WITH UNANIMOUS APPLAUSE,
AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL,
ENGLISH OPERA HOUSE.
By THOMAS NOBLE,
AUTHOR OF BLACKHEATH, LUMENA, AND OTHER POEMS.
The Music f entirely New, Composed hy Mr. Horn.
" Love calls for Love ! Not all the pride of beauty,
Those eyes, that tell us what the sun is made of.
Those lips, whose touch is to be bought with life,
Those hills of driven snow, which seen are felt;
All these possess'd, are nought, but as they are
The proof, the substance of an inward passion,
And the rich plunder of a taken heart."
Young^s Revenge.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR SHERWOOD, NEELY, AND JONES,
NO. 20, PATERNOSTER ROW.
1817.
4^->A.;@ -'co-frfj*:
TO
MRS. HANWAY,
WHOSE KNOWLEDGE OF THE HUMAN HEART
IS EMINENTLY DISPLAYED IN THE
MANY ADMIRABLE PRODUCTIONS OF HER PEN, THIS
OPERA,
FOUNDED ON THE STRENGTH OF AFFECTION,
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED,
IN TESTIMONY OF THE SINCERITY OF HIS FRIENDSHIP,
BY THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
Very few dramatic authors have thought it
either necessary, or prudent, to write prefaces
to their productions. Dryden, by the long
essays which he prefixed to his plays, taught
the prosing critic to condemn, judiciously,
the errors into which he was led, some-
times by his negligence, but more frequently,
by his vivid imagination. He laid down laws,
as suited his purpose, from the works of the
ancients, or from the more precise and punc-
tilious legislators of the French school of
criticism, but in each succeeding piece he
generally violated the literary statutes with
which he had prefaced his former productions;
so difficult or so useless did he find it to re-
strain his imagination within those pedantic
bonds to which he laboured to prove his ad-
herence, or to testify his respect. I am too
Till PREFACE.
sensible of admiration for his powerful ge-
nius, not to be alarmed at my own pre-
sumption in following his example, where
he has so manifestly injured himself, and
where he has found so few imitators ; but
as this Opera differs, in many points, from
the generally received characteristics of
that species of dramatic composition, I
am induced to offer a few observations re-
specting the nature of the English Opera.
I do not pretend to undertake the futile task
p teaching an audience what they ought
to be pleased with; many abler men than
myself have failed in that attempt : the
sympathies of the heart and mind are far
beyond the rules of criticism.
The modern English Opera is a drama
interspersed with songs ; and it differs from
that species of dramatic composition, pecu-
liarly denominated, like many of Shake-
speare*s dramas, A Play, in nothing but in
the greater number and variety of the airs.
Now, as music is an impassioned mode of
uttering sentiments, it follows, that the fable
and characters of an Opera ought to be
framed so as to give frequent opportunities
for such impassioned utterance. Yet, on
PREFACE. IX
the other hand, if the situations are in them-
selves of very deep interest, the abrupt
transition from declamation to song may
disturb the impression which the scene, of
itself, might be capable of making upon the
audience. In the Italian Opera the effect of
this change from speaking to singing is
avoided by the measured melody of the reci-
tative, w^hich, in the hands of the best com-
posers, rises or sinks easily to meet, and to
blend with, the symphony of the air, until it
is entirely lost in the full, combined tone of
lyrical and vocal expression. So fearful, also,
were the ancients of the consequences of
such' transition, that in the Greek tragedies,
as we have strong reasons to believe, the
speakers were accompanied by a musical
modulation, while, in the chorus, the airs
consisted of simple melodies.* The difficulty
of forming a fable, and of chusing characters,
suitable to an Opera, is therefore greater
than in tragedy or comedy. The assistance
to be derived from music, great and power-
ful as it is, requires situations peculiarly
its own. To Tragedy must be left that
* Journey's History of Music. c * -X
. h
X PREFACE.
deep pathos, in which poetry would lose
all its energy, were it to trust for aid, not
to the powers of speech and action, but to
the harmony of the lyre ; and Comedy will
assert her right to the terse, characteristic
language of conversation, in which humour
and satire are more generally effective than
in Song.
But the modern English Opera has either
undervalued these difficulties, or has sur-
mounted them ; and in some of the most
successful dramas of this species, music has
been introduced in situations where the
strength of the impression on the audience
seemed to depend on language only. I do
not pretend to account for this. If they
have pleased the audience, they have attained
the object for which they were written.
The taste of the public is alone accoujitable
for the error. Should I be accused of
having followed so seductive an example, I
shall venture to plead guilty ; and, while I
acknowledge that I have erred wilfully, rest
my defence on my desire to please, which
all critics allow to be the first and principal
object of a poet.
PREFACE. XI
1 had long been desirous of writing an
Opera upon what, I imagined, were the
natural principles of that department of the
drama. I wished, as far as possible, to
combine declamation and music in the same
piece ; and to give each its proper functions.
While I was endeavouring to discover the
foundation of a plot suitable to my purpose,
I happened to read. the Henry and Emma of
Prior, in company with some ladies, who,
while they admired the beauty of the
poetry, and wept at the devoted affection
of* the lovely heroine, could not forbear
declaring, that in a youth, such as
Henry is described to be, his manner of
trying the extent of the passion of his mis-
tress, is not only cruel, but unnatural ; it
might suit a man whose ardent expecta-
tions had previously encountered that se-
verest of disappointments the discovery of
a want of sympathy with his own ardour in
the possessed object of his love: in short,
to express myself in the words of the lady
to whom I have the pleasure of inscribing
this Opera, it might suit a Turk, who, re-
taining the natural sentiments of the human
Xll PREFACE.
heart, would have met frequently with that
coldness of the soul, in the objects of his
embraces, which, in a generous disposition,
nurtures timidity and suspicion. I caught
the idea, and blending the subject of that
admirable poem with the Royal Abbas of
Collins, or rather the Nuptice Cyri et As-
pasice of Barl^eus, I wrote the following
Opera.
A custom is mentioned by some travellers
concerning the peasants of Georgia, or
.Gurgistan, resembling the choosing a May
Queen among the maidens of country \il'/>
lages in England ; and as it assimilated
easily with our received notions of rustiG>It
or pastoral manners, I have niade use of itii>
and derived from it the second title of the
drama. The Abkhans are a tribe of pas-
toral, yet warlike Tartars, who inhabit the
Asiatic side of the river Cuban, or Cubana ;
and the Ossetians compose a hercer horde, v
who wander amid the mountains, in the
district of the Derbent, towards the Cas
pian.
To Mr. Arnold, the spirited proprietor o^
the English Opera House, I cannot sufSr
ciently expr-ess my sense of his attention ;
PREFACE. Xlll
much of the dramatic effect which I am
proud to say has been acknowledged by the
pubHc, is due to his suggestions. The ex-
cellence of the music, by Mr. Horn, is
above my praise ; the best commendation a
poet can bestow on a musician, is to say,
that he feels that the composer has entered
into the spirit of the words ; and yet I do
not intend an artificial compliment to Mr.
Horn, when I say that I feel that he has
done more. To the exertions of Mr. Bart-
ley, who, on the illness of Mr. H. Johnston,
undertook the character of Hatucar at a
very short notice, I am greatly indebted:
the vigorous - minded Tartar, with ven-
geance for his country's wrongs as the prin-
ciple of his action, could scarcely have had
a better representative. Nor must I forget
the talents of Mrs. Chatterley, who ren-
dered the part of Zelinda all that I could
wish it to be. To particularize each indi-
vidual who deserves my thanks, would carry
me too great a length on the present occa-
sion ; and therefore, while I content myself
with mentioning the tasteful and rich me-
lody of the voice of Mr. Pearman, the
powerful tones of Mr. Isaacs, and the clear
XIV PREFACE
extent of voice, and skilful execution of
Miss Miriam H. Buggins, I beg the other
performers to believe, that I am not the less
sensible of my obligations to their talents
and exertiohs.
-.j '. ; iiV:
v>k^ . \iti tiVi -a 'S
DRAMATIS PERSON JE.
Persians,
Harriet, Sultan of Taiiris Mr. Horn.
Abdallah, his Xjonfidant Mr. Broadhurst,
Omar, Capt.ofthe Persian Forces,Mr. Mears.
Hassan, Chief Huntsman Mr. J. Isaacs.
Amrad, Second Huntsman Mr. J. Jones.
Selim, Third Huntsman Mr. Richardson.
Mufti Quizzendi Mr.W. S.Chatterlet.
Tartars.
Abcassan, Chieftain of the Abkhans, Mr. Pearman.
Hatucar, an Abkhan Leader Mr. Bartley.
Kalmar, Chieftain of the Ossetians, Mr. L. Lee.
Kavistan, an Abkhan Leader Mr. Parker.
Berezlen, a Georgian Peasant Mr. Wilkinson.
Georgian Peasant Mr. Huckel.
Persians, Tartars, Peasants, S^c.
Zelinda, Sister of Hatucar Mrs. Chatterlet.
Benescha, Wife of Berezlen Miss I. Stevenson.
Lescha, Mother of Benescha Mrs. Grove.
Zodaiya, the Rose of Gurgistcin,.,. Miss H. M. Buggins.
Scene- y^mid the Mountains of Georgia.
N, B. The lines not spoken in representation are marked with
inverted commas and some songs that were omitted, or were
changed for others, are inserted.
THE
PERSIAN HUNTERS;
OR THE
ROSE OF GURGISTAN.
ACT L
SCENE I.
A vale amid the mountains of Georgia, exhibiting
a milage in the distance. Persian Hunting
Music.
Enter Hassan with the hunting party of the
Sultan.
SONG AND CHORUS.
HASSAN.
Hark ! the wounded panther roars
Fearful, thro' the shadowy wood :
Hark ! the howling pard deplores
Her gory den and ravisb'd brocd !
2 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS ; [Act I.
" Loud the wilds, and cavern'd height
*' Echo to the mingling cries j
" Vultures screaming in their flight,
" Watch each monster as he dies."
CHORUS.
Sound the clarion's lengthen'd peal !
Shake with shouts Mount Derban's base !
Thund'ring hurl the showery steel !
Triumph in the glorious chase !
Sultan Hamet enters, with Attendants.
HAMET.
Disperse : on yonder mountain set the toils,
For there a brood of lions, with their dam,
Were seen to prowl. This very night, by torch
light,'
We will ourself surprise the royal beasts.
And win their mountain from them.
MUFTI.
Mighty Sire,
A lovely maiden dwells in yonder village.
So beautiful, that all the rustic swains
(As is the custom far and wide around)
Gall her their rose the Rose of Gurgistan !
And celebrate her in their matin-songs.
Permit the humblest of your slaves to say.
That would you see this maid
HAMIT.
No more ! no more !
I have abjured the sex. The beasts of chase,
Scene I.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 3
The fox, the panther, or the wily pard,
Though fierce and cunning, cannot wound my
soul
Name not a woman to me.
MUFTI.
(Aside.) Not a woman ! hum ! then there's
an end of my office ! Your highness was wont
to say, that in a certain kind of chase, after a
certain kind of animal, which I must not name,
there was not a hound of a better nose than
Mufti Quizzendi.
HAMET.
Silence ! my heart of Nature's instinct proud,
Hath often beat to love and be belov'd.
Love and belov'd ! by what? by female slaves,'
Who coldly give their charms to my command ;
Submit, but love not ! Hence, I'm weary of
them.
Abdullah enters with Persian Soldiers.
ABDALLAH.
My Liege, I have report, that bands of Tartars
Have overpowered th'escort which you assigned
The fair Zelinda, to Cubana's banks,
HAMET.
Were not my orders strict, she should be
. guarded
With numerous troops, and sent with wealth
and pomp.
To him she dared confess to me she lov*d ?
4 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS ; [Act I.
ABDALLAH.
Thy orders were obey*d.
HAMET.
Obey these also !
Send Omar forth, with still superior force,
Tell him I promised safety to Zelinda ;
" And that Zelinda and his Sovereign's promise
* Are now the Tartar's prize ! bid him redeem
them."
ABDALLAH.
Think thy commands fulfill'd.
HAMET.
Wind the loud horn !
Lead to the chase ! this mention of Zelinda
Has struck a pulse that throbs too rapidly.
Lead to the chase ! and give the bugles breath !
The lively tumult of the deep-mouth'd chase
Shall dissipate that still remembered name !
The heart of Hamet must not love unlov'd.
[^Exeunt omnes, with hunting music]
SCENE IL
A Georgian Valley, with a Cottage.
Zodaiya and Benescha. y
ZODAIYA.
O, my Benescha, how I hate this love
That robs me of a sister. Must thou go?
Leave me, thy fond Zodaiya! and for what.?
Scene II.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 5
Sooth ! for a husband ! how I hate the name
That robs me of a sister.
BENESCHA.
O, my sister,
Thou'lt hear the name of love and husband yet.
Without such hatred.
ZODAIYA.
Never ! where I grew,
Tiiere will 1 grow, there die. " Here I am
rooted.
" What, leave my mother? O, the very thought
" Revolts my best affections. Yonder tr6e,
" Round which we've play 'd from childhood :
*' That hill and brook, this very wall, I dote on ;
" And but with these to part, would rive my
heart !
'* How can'st thou go Benescha?"
BENESCHA.
" Shall I say,
" And wilt thou not reproach me if I say
" I love Bereslen better thap all these ;
" More than these scenes of all our childhood
sports,
" More than my mother more than thee, Zo-
daiya ;
'* Yet, at this parting moment, O, I feel
" I love these scenes, my mother, and thyself,
" More now than ever !"
ZODAITA.
' " Strange ! impossible !
6 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS; [Act I.
*' I cannot comprehend such love as thine,
*' It seems pure madness."
AIR. ZODAITA.
The myrtle sprig, by Aza set.
See rooted in its happy vale j
It yet doth bloom 'tis verdant yet
And yet breathes perfume on the gale.
The myrtle sprig by Aza worn.
Amid the dance of Georgian maids j
Lo ! while its leaves her locks adorn.
It fades, alas ! how soon it fades !
BENESCHA.
O, my cold sister, thou M'ilt learn to love,
As I have learnt. Our swains select thee now
Their rose, the Rose of Love ; and every morn
Woo thee with songs. Soon one of these, Zo-
daiya,
May, from this vale, transplant thee, willing too,
Far as yon hills.
' ZODAIYA.
Were there among them one,
The mighty sultan of the eastern world,
I would not quit this lov'd, this native spot,
To share his throne.
BENESCHA.
Nay, dear Zodaiya, nay,
Not quite so fast : remember the fair maid
Who followed the mere shadow of a man.
Scene II.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 7
AIR, Benbscha:
Once Bildab, the maiden, was young and fair,
Sloe black were her eyes, and crow black was her hair.
But she hated the sight of a man :
When they came with their speeches and sobs what not ?
With sneers she would cry " be off full trot,"
And repeat " trot, trot, trot," till they ran.
Poor Bildah grew old, and all were gone,
Then she cast roundher eyes, and she thought she saw one j
And says she, " I'll keep sight of that swain."
She call'd him he ran : still she call'd he'd not stay :
And just as she caught him, he vanish'd away.
Thus old maids trot, trot, trot, all in vain.
ZODAIYA.
Thanks, thanks, my.merry sister, for the hint :
But, troth, I'll not pursue or be pursued.
BENESCHA.
" O no, not by the ghost of a man, I warrant;
" But make no vows against the reality."
You'll change when your time comes, as we all
do.
ZODAIYA.
Trust me, no man shall make me run from
home
As you do now. But see, this husband comes.
Whom you must follow, trot, trot, trot,
Where'er he's pleas'd to lead,
BENESCHA.
Thank my good stars, he*s worth the chase.
8 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS; [Act I.
Enter Lescha and Berezkn.
LESCHA.
O you cruel son-in-law ! wouldst take my
poor girl already from her home ?
BEREZLEN.
Home, indeed, good mother, she's not at
home yet.
ZODAIYA.
O why will ye not hoth remain with us?
berezlenI''*'"^^'
Because the good Georgian proverb says,
" Home, home, married man, and drive thy wife
" before thee, or else go to grass with thy herd."
BENESdHA.
Why, Berezlen, 1 suspect thou art above half
jealous already, v
BEREZLEN.
O no not jealous : nothing more than a
little matrimonial prudence. Atld are there not
Persians of the Court hunting here from morn-
ing until night ?
BENESCHA.
But these Persians are hunting wild beasts,
and
, BR;ZLN.
And ! and therefore home, home, my dear
Benescha. There*s nothing more like a wild
beast than a wife from her home.
ZODAIYA.
Then what must her husband be like who is
from home with her?
sofiNB iij OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. ^
BEREZLEN.
With her, indeed, may be good ; but at home
with her is better in truth, in point of simili-
tude, a husband away from home, even with his
wife, is not very much unlike an ass^ which is
the first of the matrimonial transformations
towards the deer-state of a husband. But come,
come, Benescha : come, come, love -kiss your
mother and sister, and say good bye.
QUARTETTE.
BBKEZLEN.
Shake hands, good bye.
BENESCHA.
. . . Farewell, good mother.
ZODAITA ANft BENESCHA.
Mast sisters part from one another ?
BEREZLEN.
Shake hands good bye why all this pother ?
ZODAIYA AND BENESCHA.
Farewell, dear sister of my earliest life.
ZODAIYA.
Still be a sister though thou art a wife.
BENESCHA.
I'oi still a sister though I am a wife.
LESCHA.
Farewell, my child, thy mother parts with yott,
BEREZLEN.
Mother, thy child must be a mother too.
Shake hands, good bye.
BENESCHA.
'' ". ' Farewell !
ZODAITA.
* ...-. Adieu !
iO THE PERSIAN HUNTERS; [Act. i.
SCENE ni. A Desert.
ZELINDA.
" I hear a sound like distant clarions hark !
''It winds amid the rocks, and all is silent.
" A barren waste extends its horrors round me.
** Here I must soon expire with feverish thirst
" And sickening hunger. Ah ! I long to hear
"A human voice but in those tones of war
" I hear and shudder at th* approach of man !
'* Full is my mind with images of slaughter !
" My Persian guards expiring, and my flight
" Before the Tartars then C ubana's scenes
" My love my brother too ! Are yeboth^dead :
" Love still sustain me with the ideal forms
" Of brave Hatucar and of lov'd Abcassan.
" Hark ! I hear footsteps ; let me seek conceal-
*' ment.
" Sustain me, love ! sustain me through this de-
" serf.
" Be thou food to me : be refreshing dew
** To my parch'd lips, balm to my fainting spirit,
" Breath to my breast, and hope to my sad heart !
*' Sustain me, love ! [Ea-if,
^m^^nH SCENE IV.
An extem'we Ravine amid the Mountains : a camp
Hid cov .3^.- ^ scattered Tents.
Tartars. Abcassan and Kalmar,
ABCASSAN.
Strike all tljc tents. Kalmar with thy
Ussetians,
ScbneIV.] or the rose of GURGISTAN. 11
Wind round the northern mountains : we who
bear
Cubana's horrors stampt upon our souls.
Will with the eye of vengeance watch these
Persians.
KALMAR.
Dost thou mistrust us then, Abcassan ?
Know
If we have not thy wrongs, we have thy
hopes
" Nay more, the hope of plunder, scorned by
thee.
" Our fierce Ussetians are like rav'nous wolves
" They seek their food in blood."
(^A bugle horn xvithout.)
KATUCAR.
Kavistan's signal.
It speaks distress and haste.
ABCASSAN.
Reply to it.
i T>ftri< KALMAR.
\ Kavistan's here.
Kavistan and Tartars enter,
ABCASSAN.
What hast thou seen, Kavistan ?
KAVISTAN.
A Persian band, well arm'd, invests yon hill.
They saw us and pursued us.
' ABCASSAN.
Let them come.
12 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS y [Act I.
, Within this close defile we may withstand
Force thrice our own. Kalmar defend the
heights ;
\ And you, Kavistan, in this hollow dell, stand
firm.
^Martial Music. Kalmar with troops depart,
Hatucar enters from a tent pensively^
ABCASSAN.
Hatucar ! thou art sad ! thy troubled soul,
With gloomy pleasure haunts Cubana's banks ;
. And ruminates on what we Abkhans were,
Ere the fierce Persians rush'd upon our plains.
HATUCAR.
I am not sad ! By heav'ns ! our late revenge
Gladdens my breast. }>\y sister, child, and
father.
Smile on us thankful for the Persian deaths
With which, a few nights since, we strew*d the
waste.
'Twas ^ rich banquet for our just revenge !
ABCASSAIir.
I heard thee sb.QUt thy child's name and thy
fathers-rr. .rrr^n .'.ti" -" *:**?-:
And when I cried * Belinda,' saw thee raise
.Thy sword, that dropt with slaughter, and
exclaim, .^fi i... .; ;A' - J ; i-
* This weeps for iier -w^ps tears of Persian
gore.'. ,
S4
ScbneIV.] or the rose of GURtJiSTAN. 17
I told him whom I lov'd, and how I lov*d :
He wept my sorrows : sent me richly forth,
In state attended to my native vales.
But while a few days since we pass'd these
mountains
A Tartar band surprized us, and dispersed
My courtly guards : " I saw some fall beside mc
" And scarce myself escap'd their barbarous
hands."
HATUCAR.
Thanks to the Gods,
We are in part revenged ! It was ourselves
That spread destruction 'mid your splendid
troops.
And sav*d our vales from such insulting pomp I
Was't not enough to tear thee from our arms,
To dye our fields with blood, and fire our roofs.
But must the sated monster throw thy shame
Thus back, to blot thy desolated tribe ;
O wherefore stay*d my sword ere yet I knew
'Mid the base herd that fled before my arm.
Was my polluted sister?
ZELINDA.
Strike O strike !
Wrong not but strike, this unpolluted breast I
Aid him Abcassan ! this unsullied heart
Hath, my Abcassan, struggled to retain
Its fainting life for thee ! fatigue and thirst,
And sick'ning hunger have in vain assail'd it :
It hath surmounted all for thee, Abcassan !
F-'en for thy sword !
m . THE PERSIAN HUNTERS 5 [Act I.
" AIR.
" For thee, for thee, this heart hath borne
" Fatigue and agony !
" 'Twould cease to beat, by misery torn,
" But that it beat for thee !
*' 'Twas love, 'twas love, that could afford
*' Strength for such agony !
" Strike it 'twill throb to meet thy sword,
*' And beat its last for thee !"
ABCASSAN.
Repose it on my bosom !
Abcassan's heart thus welcomes its Zelinda !
This sword, unsheath'd t' avenge her, shall pro-
tect her,
And this fond breast again be all her own.
ZELINDA.
'Then is Zelinda blest : and she will calm
Thy troubled spirit to domestic peace.
Then shalt thou quit thy sword, and bid the
vales,
Ouf native vallies, where Cubana flows,
Smile yet again!
HATUCAR.
Never ! Death rests amid them !
And there the fattened herb grows deep in gore !
Lct-him be cursed who there shall drive his
floek
Or pasture there his herd, until I cast
Tl>is sated sword amid Cubana's stream,
And, while my father's spirit hovers o'er me,
Dying, exclaim,* ow vengeance is complete.*
- [Edeunt omties,]
Scene v.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 19
SCENE V.
The outside of Lescha*s Cottage.
Enter Lescha, Zudaiy a following.
LESCHA.
Aye, aye, Tarn an old woman an old wo-
man but were the young women like me,
there would be more life in the world, I'd war-
rant. Why, Zodaiya, thou comest creeping and
creeping, with thy head hanging down, as
though thou wert counting thy steps ? What
has detained thee behind in the valley ?
ZODAIYA, (sighing.)
A man, a wounded man-^
LESCHA.
A man what had'st thou to do with a man ?
ZODAIYA.
Oh, he was wounded weary without aid-r-
He spake of griefs ; I would have pitied him,
But that a manly grace, amid his sorrow,
Demanded more than pity.
LESCHA.
' How thou dost tremble, girl!
ZODAIYA.
I know not why I tremble, yet, just so
Shook my whole frame, while round his bleed-
ing arm
I bound my scarf: just so my whole frame shooki
When, as I raised my eyes, and met his glance,
^ v^^HE PERSIAN Ht3NTERS J [Act I.
Beaming with noble, generous, thankfulness.
My little service seem'd so much o'erpaid,
I_stood his debtor, waiting to do more 1
LESCHA.
Thou'rt mad, Zodaiya ; what, bind thy scarf
about the arm of a strange man ?
^ ZODAIYA.
Could I refuse? His looks, my dearest mother,
Seem*d to entreat, command, and recompense,
All in one glance.
J-. LESCHA.
The girl's bewitch'd ! looks and glances, in-
deed ! why, if the robbers can look and glance :
'away scarfs, 'tis time, as my good looking son- '
in-law, Bereslen, says, to look to our homes !
Come in, come in, Zodaiya.
[Lescha leads Zodaiya into the CottageS^i
Enter Hamety without his turban, his arm bound
with a scarf, with him Hassan and two or
i three Hunters.
HAMET.
'Twas Love himself contrived this happy
chance.
To shew the man, and not the sultan, to her ! -
Hassan, while I, in full pursuit, these crags
Descending, far outstript you all, I fell ;
And in the fall, I slightly pierced my arm.
And lost my turban. Leave me here, awhile*^*
Scbi*bV.] or the hose of GURGIStAN. 2l
Command Abdallah, in my tent to wait me.
[Ea^eutit Hassan and Huntirs,
This maid, this rustic maid, must love me !
pomp, away !
Pride, pow'r, and splendour, terrify affection.
Strip me of all my regal terrors, Love !
Enthrone, enthrone me in this maiden's heart!
I'll do thee homage, Love, for such an empire!
Zodaiya enters from the Cottage,
By heav'ns she's here. Forgive mc, lovely
maiden,
I could not quit these vales, wretch as I am.
Till I beheld thy home !
ZODAIYA.
I'm glad thou'rt here !
How have I thought, painfully thought, on thee!
Thy wound, thy weary steps 'mid rugged rocks !
\Yhat thirst, what hunger, and what thousand
dangers
My thoughts have dwelt on ! I rejoice thouVt
here !
HAMET.
Have I such painful interest in thy thoughts ?
ZODAITA.
'Tis pleasure, mixt with pain, to think of thee!
Just now I saw some men who spake with thee:
Thou'dst told me thou wert outlawed, and I
trembled :
Were those men thy pursuers ?
22 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS 3 [Act I.
HAMET.
Yes, they were,
But knew me not : yet others are at hand.
ZODAIYA.
Then come within : there's safety for thee here,
1 have prepar'd dates for thee, and fresh fruits,
Nay, more, my mother doth consent to shelter
thee.
At dark, Pll load thy scrip, and dress thy wound.
Pray for thy safety, and I'll weep for thee !
Ah ! thy wound bleeds afresh !
\Zodaiya binds the scarf again. 1
O ! might I ever
Attend upon thee heal thy sorrows thus,
[^Kisses his arm softly.]
Thus, with the balm of tenderness ! Ah, me !
What have I done ! he saw not ; yet he trem-
bles.
DUET. HAMET AND ZODAIYA.
HAMET.
The silent kiss, that's given bj stealth,
Unforc'd by power, unboaght by wealth
In the sad nioment of distress.
How such a silent kiss must bless !
ZODAIYA.
The silent kiss, by stealth declares
A woman's hopes, a woman's cares :
Without a sound it breathes, it sigh8-~>
And utters all the tongue denies. - '^ -.-Ti., . , t
Scene V.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 23
BOTH,
Is there, within the breast, a spring
That vibrates, amid grief, with bliss ?
Ah ! what can touch it's trem'lous string ?
The soft, the silent, stolen kiss I
SCENE VI.
'The Persian Hunting Encampment,
Amrad, Selimy and other Huntsmen.
AMRAD.
There are, I say, two very good reasons for
our Sultan's not hunting to-night. The first is,
that he has wounded his arm accidentally with
his hunting spear; and the second is, that a
pair of sparkling eyes have wounded his heart.
SELIM.
I thought he had forsworn all woman-kind,
AMRAD.
Yes, but you know very little of mankind if
you thought he would never find a reason to
break such forswearing.
AIR.
, By the blue eyes of Zofinoa hourly I swore-
Eyes that beam'd with the azure of heaven !
And / then adored, as our sages adore.
When the blue sky gives sign they're forgiven.
But the horn in the morn,
Ere the meshes are torn.
24 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS ; [Act I.
Startles less the proud stags as they waken ;
Than sprang I, with a sigh.
From love's meshes to fly.
Swearing never again to be taken.
But Lalella appeared, with her eyes of bright jet.
Like the flaojc by the night's shadow bounded :
By the lustre attracted, I mark'd not the net.
Till I started, like stags when surrounded.
But the morn wakes the morn.
And the stags the nets scorn.
So ril soon burst ray bonds, tho' with sorrow.
Still to stray, break away.
And to laughing Love say.
Love, again you may catch me to>morrow.
[Exeunt,
Enter Harriet and Abdallah,
ABDALLAH.
I do beseech your Highness to forego
Th' intent you mention'd. Think that you
expose i
The happiness of Tauris in your hfe. r
HAMET. . .r>i ^*fr ., .
Can Tauris see her Sultan's weary life,
Lengthen'd in cares and never bless'd by love ?
ABDALLAH.
For Hamet's pleasure let the earth be search'd.
And beauty *,y
HAMET. ^.j^0
Hence ! thou knowest nought of love. ^
" This evening as I pass'd the vale alone, , _ t,
Scene VI.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 25
** Unturban'd, and the splendour of my vest
** Conceal'd beneath my hunting cloak, I met
" A rustic maiden, fairer than the bloom
" Of earliest spring. I begg'd her gentle aid,
*' For, in the fervour of the chase, I'd struck
" My spear-head 'gainst my arm : the wound
was slight
" But bled profuse : she bound it with her
scarf;
*' And from a spring, beside her home, she fetched
** Cool water, wash'd the wound, and gave me
drink.
*' This she perform'd with so much loveliness,
" I curst my stars I was not born a peasant."
ABDALLAH.
Is not all Georgia your's, my Sovereign Liege ?
^* HAMET.
Its lands, its woods, its rivers, all are mine,
Its people too : but who commands the soul ?
Hamet would be a conqueror of more power
Than Timur when he laid all Asia waste !
The heart must be my conquest !
ABDALLAH.
O, my Prince,
Thy reign extends o*er all thy subjects' hearts.
HAMET.
Yes, as a Prince : I must be lov*d as man !
Abdallah, hear me boast. This lovely maid,
(As when some province owns a generous victor,
And bends with fearful joy to new allegiance,)
2S THE PERSIAN HUNTERS ; [Aex I.
Seem'd to regard me as her bosom's lord.
I told of woes ; she wept : of wrongs ; she
shuddei'd :
Her opening soul scem'd hmged upon my words.
I named myself anoutcast, and a wanderer;
Then she, with tears, besought me to repose,
And seek concealment in her mother's cottage.
ABDALLAH.
How oft doth treason bate its snare with
love !
HA MET.
Treason ! come treason in so fair a form,
Such tears of pity, and such tender smiles
Bind thus my wounds and kiss them as by
stealth
Glance, unawares, such looks of love upon me^
Treason, come thus ! and thou, within my
breast
Shalt unsuspected plunge thy poison'd steel,
And I will fall delighted in thy arms !
ABDALLAH.
I dare not further offer to my Sovereign
Objections to his will : the rude disguise
And its accoutrements are all prepared.
HAMET.
Before the dawn be with them in my tent :
Have ready there a small selected troop ;
The purpose I'll disclose at morn to-morrow.
In my disguise my name shall be Almudah.
Remember, and before the sun be with me.
ScenbVL] ORTHEROSEOFGURGISTAN. 27
abdallah.
I will betimes attend your Sovereign pleasure.
[Ej:it Abdallah.
IIATVIET. C solus. J
Yes ! she miist love me as she would her equal.
Nay more, as she might love a wretch whom
fate
Hath fixM in adverse straights, homeless and
hopeless,
With nought to plead against a wrongful world,
But his own wrongs and conscious honesty.
Such must she love me, and must prove her
. Jove:
Must share my fancied miseries unabashed,
Nor know by them she rises to my throne,
" AIR.
'* Not he, that o'er the vanquish'd worlds
" While prostrate nations yield,
*' Beholds his banners wide unfurl'd,
" Proudly o'er ev'ry field :
" Not be, such real transport proves,
" As hcj whom woman owns she loves.
'* Give me the maid, ye powers above
" In pleasure or distress,
" Whose melting lip, and eye of love,
" My perfect realm confess,
" And who mid joy and sorrow proves,
// Thcji \r,c, and me alone, she loves. "
28 . THE PERSIAN HUNTERS; [ActL,
Enter Hassan, Hunters^ S^c.
HASSAN.
My Liege, as some of us pursued the chase.
We met with scouts from Omar : they report
That chieftain hath descried the Tartar band .
Encamp'd amid the mountains, t' wards the west.
And there intends to-morrow to attack them.
N . HAMET.
Tis well : he knows his duty. Should he
bring
The fair Zelinda, see she be respected, (to atten-
dants.)
Hassan, how found you sport when I had left
you ?
HASSAN.
My Liege, we tracked a lion to his cave.
Deep, in the hollov\r valley, *mid the rocks,
And there we slew him.
DUET. HASSAN AND HAMET.
Deep in a hollow echoing glen,
' We heard the tawny savage roar ;
And, where black pines conceal'd his den,
His steps had mark'd the sands with gore.
^i^W
He views us his gaunt mane he rears.
His glaring eyes dart sanguine fires j
Wildly he howls ! leaps on our spears.
Groans, writhes upon our spears, expires.
JSND OF TJJE FIRST ACT.
ScjsNBl.] ORTHEROSEOFGURGISTAN. 29
ACT 11.
SCENE L
The exterior of a Georgian Cottage. Time^ just
before sun-rise,
CHORUS OF GEORGIAN PEASANTS.
Swains of Gurgist^n, arise !
Slumbers Love?
Morning tints the glimmering skies.
And the Ring-dove as he flies.
Cooes aloud amid the grove.
Slumbers Love ?
No not Love ! he knows no rest.
Wakeful Love ?
Ere the Dove had left its nest,
Wakeful Love, with hope imprest.
Sang Zodaiya thro' the grove.
Wakeful Love !
Harriet enters, during the last stanza, in the dis-
guise of an armed rustic,
HAMET.
What mean ye, shepherds, that ye thus disturb
The drowsy morning ? -r^i^>,x ; ./ ^ ,
30 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS ; [Act II.
1st PEASANT.
Thou*rt indeed a stranger !
What, know'st thou not the custom that we keep
Thro* Gurgistkn ?
HAMET.
I am a stranger, friend,
" A stranger, too, to such rude melody,
" That wakes the early lark, and chides the
cock^
^' Which yet hath crow'd not.'*
" 1st PEASANT.
" Thou wouldst chide us top."
" HAMET.
" Not so, good friends," but travellers may
enquire
Of customs new to them without rebuke.
1st PEASANT.
We have no secret mystery in this.
A sport of ancient usage. We, each year,
Choose of our maidens one we style ' our Rose.'
Each morn we woo her thus, *till she present
A rose to one of us. He has her lovie :
The rest, tho' not unenvying, yield the prize.
HAMET.
,^^)jo is the damsel that ye now address ? ^^^
1st PEASANT.
Zodaiya, Lescha's daughter, fairer far
Than all the far-famed beauties of our land.
^''^'*^ HAMET.
And she remains obdurate P '
StKNBl.] OR THE ROSE OF GUKGISTAN. 31
1st FEASANT.
O ! most cold !
HAMET.
I learnt some stanzas of a Persian bard,
Of wond'rous influence o'er a maiden's heart :
Say, shall I teach them to you ?
1st PEASANT.
'Pray you do.
I've oft been told how charmful are the songs
Of Persian minstrels.
HAMET.
Mark then this ! attend.
SONG. HAMBT.
Beauty, hear the voice of love 1 ^
Sighs and soft entreaties hear !
Love, when cherish'd, is a dove :
What from doves can beauty fear ?
'^''''"' A Beauty, fearneglected love!
Selma slighted love distrest :
Love became a snake, and wove
Silently within her breast.
, . Oft she sigh'd ' Neglected Love !
Rest, thou rankling serpent, rest :
O that while thou wast a Dove,
I had ta'en thee to my breast !'
(Zodaiya appears at the window zviih a Rose in her
hand,)
1st PEASANT.
Thy stanzas, friend, arc powerful indeed,
For see, Zodaiya !
32 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS; [ActU.
HAMET.
Wait awhile ; she'll speak
To some among you.
1st PEASANT.
Should she speak to me,
How will I bless the stanzas of thy bard.
HAMET.
Peace, fool, she sings.
zoDAirA (sings f presenting the Rose to Hamet.)
Stranger, wanderer, speed thy way.
And where'er thy footsteps stray.
Wear this Rose !
When its blushing leaves shall fade,
Still apon thy bosom laid.
Fondly cherish'd^ the* decay'd,
Wear this Rose !
(Hamet converses with Zodaiya at the window^
while the Peasants retire, expressing disappoint'
ment by their gestures.)
HAMET.
Yes, ever will I wear it. Even now
Tis rooted in my heart, and there shall bloom,
While I have life- warmth there 1 O let me
breathe
The fragrance that this lovely rose
H'ath shed upon my soul, in sighs
Of love and rapture, nearer thee, Zodaiya.
The safety of a moment now is left me
That momeat would out-value a whole age,
If I might ??nter here. -/^t: ^a t?.^ ;:^'
ScnbIL] ORTHEROSEOFGURGISTAN. 33:
ZODAIYA.
Enter the cottage, Stranger. From these
eyes.
That swell with tears at thought of thy depar-
ture.
Some drops, like dew, might fall upon that rose,
Freshen its bloom, and aid thee to preserve it.
{Harriet clasps his hands, with expression of delight y
and enters the Cottage.)
{^Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The Tartar Camp,
^^j^almar and some Tartars of his own band,
KALMAR.
We, my brave friends, share not in the dis-
sensions
That rend these Abkhaiis. Let them go. We'll
^ reap
These barren rocks alone, with swords for sickles.
And plunder for our harvest. Let them go.
By heaven ! a woman hath subdued their chief-
tain.
Hatucar is the only man among them.
Woman, my friends, should animate our hearts.
Not wither thus the soul of enterprize !
34 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS J [Act II.
AIR. B.ALMAR.
Woman's our prize, our joy, our pride !
Weahhy's the sword that wins that blessing !
Fair captive's tears by warriors dried.
Change into smiles the brave caressing.
Ruddy with wine.
Our goblets shine.
Love's ruby lip to drink inviting
Laughter and play.
Songs sweet and gay.
Jocundly close the warriors day-
Woman requiting.
Woman inciting,
With joys of Love to toils of Fighting !
Love, the light joy of ev'ry heart,
Wings warriors' souls, to glory tending j
As the light feather wings the dart.
Guides its high flight in fight ascending.
Never we yield,
In tent or field :
Tears nor soft sighs our valour blighting !
Fair one, we say-
Smile and be gay.
Kisses repay the warrior's day j
Woman inciting,
Woman requiting,
With joys of love, the toils of fighting.
[Ej;eunt.
Enter Hatucar and Zelinda,
.^Hk hatucar.
^ ^^Oease.thy entreaties ; he's. no more my friend !
ZELINDA.
Ah ! am I not thy sister ? and Abcassan
ScBNB II.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 36
HATUCAU.
Hence to Abcassan ! I detest his name !
He hath betrayetl his trust, foregone the ven-
geance
Which such a night presented, and deceived
Our brave confed'rates, the Ossetian bands :
For that we have deprived him of command ;
Seiz'd him confined him, and his faithless
heart
Shall make atonement for his treachery.
ZELINDA.
Slay me ! but save Abcassan ! It was I
Subdued his vengeance with the tears of love.
(Shouts without. Enter Kalmar with Ossetians*)
KALMAR.
Again we are deceived : thy Abkhan tribe
Now shout 'Abcassan* ^^Give us back Ab-
cassan r
HATUCAR.
The dastard wretches know not what they do.
I'll speak to them. ,
ZELINDA.
O give them back Abcassan I />
He is belov'd by all who love their country,
HATUCAR.
{Pausing) Stay thus it shall be so. Now
Kalmar, hear me ! i oiiW
We, the poor remnant of the Abkhan tribe.
Shepherds, took arms t' avenge our country's
wrongs.
36 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS 5 [ActH.
My sire was murdered, and my infant daughter,
Born at her mother's death, was stolen from me,
Both by these Persians! His gore-clotted
locks,
And her bright eyes, beaming with all her mo-
ther.
Are ever present to me ! Kalmar, they
Shall be my pledge, for they demand my ven-
geance.
We chose Abcassan for our chief, and joined
Thy warlike numbers. See Abcassaris pledge,
Hatucar's sister : to your charge I give her.
Take her as hostage of Abeassans faith !
Guard her with care !
ZELINDA.
What dost thou mean, Hatucar r
HATUCAR.
To keep Abcassan faithful to his friends.
Receive thy hostage, Kalmar.
KALMAR.
I accept her.
Fear not, fair Lady, we, though rude and fierce.
Are firm in honour. (To the Guard) To the tent
conduct her.
ZELINDA.
Hatucar brother ! in the name of her
Who gave us both existence, I implore.
Thug on my knees, that thou woulds't set me free !
O, in her name, restore me to Abcassan !
ScfiNBlI.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 37
" HATUCAR.
" Hence, hence away with her !
" ZELINDA.
" What sister, kneeling to a brother \ thus
" Imploring mercy in the awefulname
" Of mother of their mother would not sec
" That brother's angry eye, at that appeal
" Relent, and beam compassion! At that "name
" The name of mother! e'en the desperate wretch,
" Who owns no rites, and mocks the threats of
" Heaven,
" Trembles, and won tosoftness, drops his sword.
" Then spare me, spare me! In our mother's name
" Spare me, Hatucar !"
HATUCAR.
Away, *tvras by our mother's sacred bones,
Long since scpulchr'd in our native plains,
I swore t'avenge mi/ country. In her name
I pledge thee now, that we'll not quit our
swords.
Till e'eii the very flow'rets of her grave.
Trampled by Persian feet, shall have their ven-
geance.
Thus pledged, Abcassan's meaner love of thee
Is surety for our cause. Away, 'tis he,
And not thy mother, moves thy abject soul !
Away i
' [Exit Hatucar^ and exit Zelinda.
led by Kalmar and Guards.
fl .: THE PERSIAN HUNTERS ; [ActIL
SCENE III.
A romantic scene amid the Georgian mountains,
BEREZLEN alone.
Benescha, Benescha ! she can't be far off. Kept
her safe before me all the way : wouldn't let
her look behind, nor to this side, nor to that
side, but only just straight forward, as a wife
Ottght to do never let her slip out of my sight,
till I just stopped at the bottom of this hill
to look at some horned cattle. Benescha ! Be-
nescha t plague ! there's more in looking after
a wife than I thought for. Benescha, Benescha !
Now would I go home quietly without her,
were it not for the jeers of my neighbours,
who would worry me to death with the song
ofBoobist^n.
AIR.
Boobtstjtn, he would have a wife, f
So with cash, and a mule he rode about ;
And he swore in the search he'd pass his life.
But a wife he'd not return without.
Near Tefflis' walls he met with a dame.
And he cried, ' My love, pray do not iflout,
' ' I've a bag of good money, and far I came,
* And a wife I'll not return without.'
* Is your mule sure-footed, your money good V
Said she, and she look'd at both with doubt. -^'''^
.^j ' You may try them* he cry'd ' if you're now
in the mood,
' For a wife I'll not return without.'
ScKNElII.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 39
On the mule she leapt the cash she took.
And riding away, cry'd ' Farewell, lout !
* I'm the wife of a Tartar beyond the brook,
' And you're a wife, mule, and cash without.'
*'This was catching a Tartar with a vengeance
Benescha i Benescha !"
J^E^vit Berezlen.
C Benescha enters running. J
BENESCHA.
Ha, ha, ha, have 1 given my circumspect hus-
band the slip ! 'Go on' 'Go before' 'There's
no need of lookingbehind' crieshe : so home-
ward he drives me with my face set one way,
like an old horse with blinkers. I just peeped
round, and saw him looking at some horned
cattle in the vale, and so off I ran, and Til
teize him 1 warrant him. But, hist! I hear
him coming; now will I walk on with my
nose as steadily directed one way, as the snout
of a hungry mule towards a whisp of hay hist
hist, (aloud) Well, I'm sure I've been obe-
dient a long time, Berezlen : may I look about
me? lord, Berezlen caD*t you speak? ^you
ar*nt sulky, are you?
ClVhik Benescha is speakif2g, the Mufti enters
close behind her,)
MUFTI.
^y the holy prophet, what a lovely damsel !
she walks as demurely as a penitent pilgrim in
m^ V THE PERSIAN HUNTERS. [Scene UL
sight of Mecca! I wish she'd look round!
hem hem hem !
BENESCHA.
Why, , Berezlen, you cry hem, and hem, as
gruffly as tho* you were angry. I'm sure IVe
been more obedient than a bhnd camel, for I
with a good pair of eyes, have .used them as
youorder*d me. >.'.^
MUFTI.
A good pair of eyes ! ay, I'll warrant them
basilisks. This is the young wife of some
jealous old cur, who won't let her have the
use of her own eyes. How glad she'll Jbe jjt^
look round, and see me instead of hiip^ rriier*>
BEN ESCHA. . ^ J4^^i<^Qi
Well, Berezlen, you are very provoking j-^-
you might speak to a body, (aside) deuce
t^ke me if 1 walk in this formal manner much
longer, tho' it were to please twenty husband?*,
DUET. BENESCHA AND MUFTI. T^!1'
Husbands surely think to flout us, * iTi
We have eyes as well as they j , ; '
Aye, bright eyes to look about us,
^ Not straight forwards one dull way.
Glancing, sparkling, winking, peeping.
This, and that, and t'other way j
My poor eyes will soon be weeping.
If such whims they must obey.
Murxi (sings.)
Pray sweet damsel, look behind thM !
Turn those lovely eyes this way.
(Benescha, looking r ound f right en d,)
ScBNa HI.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 41
Lord, the sight's enough to blind me !
Who art thou behind me pray ?
MUFTI.
O what eyes ! how fair each feature !
On my heart-strings how they play !
BBNESCHA.
Ogling, goggling, staring creature !
How you fright me ! get away !
(She runs out. Mufti follows her.)
Enter Berezkn,
Berezlen.
I heard Bencscha*s voice this way. There she
is sure enough, and with a Persian Mufti !
what a strange animal ! By St. George of Gur-
gist^n, I'll interrupt his reverence ! (Bugle
sounded) Stop, stop there are numbers of
Persian hunters coming to assist him ! (Bugle
sounds J ah, that horn again now, if my cap
were off, would every wind that blows sound
just such a note upon my forehead. There,
there they are carrying her away, and some
are looking after me egad, I'd better sculk
better lose one's wife, than lose one's life.
(Bugle sounds^ and Berezlen runs off.)
SCENE IV.
The interior of Leschas cottage,
Hamet and Zodaiya.
" DUET.
" Til not to love if joy alone
" Our throbbiog bosoms ibare :
&
42 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS. [Act II.
*' Love must partake each pensive moan,
*' Of sorrow ! of despair !
" Yet what's the sorrow or despair
, " That lovers' bosoms know ?
" Love bath a joy for mutual care,
"A balm for mutual woe !"
HAMET.
Yet why, Zodaiya, dost thou hear a wretch,
Who teaches thee to love his miseries.
Love him no more !
ZODAIYA.
Love thee no more, Almudah !
The love I hear thee is myself, my life,
And not to love seems something more than
death!
HAMET.
Then what vvill be my absence ?
ZODAIYA.
What thy absence ?
I had forgot that thou couldst go from hence :
I felt as tho' we both were rooted here,
Never to part.
HAMET. >f^
Alas, must I recal
The certaintv that we must part for ever ?
Ah! am I not an outcast ?
ZODAITA. r- ,^^ ^.
O, within
This humble cottage let your wanderings end !
It is Zodaiya*s home.
Scene III.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 4$
HA MET.
And shall my sorrows
Enter thy dwelhng ! my unsettled steps
Are followed by a ruthless, hireling band.
Who would destroy thy home with fire and
sword :
I must within this hour depart from thee.
ZODAIYA.
" No ! not from me ! no, wheresoe'er thou
goest
*' Whatever thy sufferings, let Zodaiya bear
'' Her happy portion of thy wretchedness !"
O, 'twill be happiness, where'er thou roam*st
To sooth thy cares : and I will seek fresh
streams
Gather sweet melting fruit to cool thy Hps,
Strew leaves and flowrets for thy nightly couch.
And sit beside thee, watchful.
IIAMET.
Lovely maid !
'Tis bliss to hear the thus devise fond cares,
Thou never can'st fulfil : Thy tender frame
Would sink beneath the weariness of flight:
" Wild beasts and robbers 'mid the pathless
woods,
" And o'er the rugged rocks, will mark our
steps,"
And make the night-time, and the tedious day,
Perpetual terror.
44 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS ; [Act Ilr
ZODAIYA.
Love will give me strength :
If not, permit me 'till my strength shall fail,
To go with thee ! " And, when at last 1 faint,
" And with my languid pace impede thy flight,
** Leave me to die upon some lofty hill,
*' Whence my last gaze may follow thee afar,
" Less ning by distance, till the mist of death
'* Dim my strain'd eyes, and shut thee out for
ever.
'*- But, my Almudah ! Love will give me
strength."
" AIR.
" As when from Er'van's sedgy lake
" Two mated cranes arise j
** Mid northern storms their flight they take,
" Exiled to polar skies :
*' Loud flap their pinions on the wind,
" Ruffl'd by beating rains :
,- "Oft droops the feebler bird behind,
" But love her wing sustains :
** So, mated to thy exiled course, **"' ' '^
"In peril and in woe, -J
" Fainting, I'll call on love for force, /^
"*' " And love shall force bestow !" ,. ^ i x
Enter Lescha.
LESCHA.
Mercy upon us ! mercy upon us ! there are
arm'd men in the vialley enquiring for my cot-
fagp/ O! Lord, what can they wattt with my
cottage ?
Scene IV.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 45
HAMET.
They want not thee ! my blood the niurd'rerg
want!
I will go forth.
ZODAITA.
() ! forbear, forbear !
If thou must perish, perish in these arms,
And let me perish with thee !
HAMET C musing. J
There's one way
By which my wretched life may be preserv'd:
But, () ! it chills my soul to think on it.
ZODAIYA.
Say can Zodaiya aid thee ? can her death
Preserve thy life ?
>fl54i ^ia HAMET.
Worse than thy death ! much worse :
I dare not name !
ZODAIYA.
Speak, Almudah, speak !
Mistrust not my affection : if there's ought
Of torture, or of misery can save thee,
. Name it, -I'll bear it cheerfully for thee I
fTrumpet without.) They come alas ! they
come!
LESCHA.
3IS O that Berezlen were here to defend me !
40'3 Y,'fl HAMET.
f m Crood mother, from above observe these men.
46 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS 5 [Act II.
LESCHA.
Observe them, quotha ! may'nt they observe me
too ! I'll go hide myself, for Tve more reasons
than you're aware of, to dread the sight of
armed men. (jaside,) \^E3:it,
ZODAIYA.
Ere 'tis too late for safety, my Almudah,
Teach me the means to save thee.
HAMET.
Hear me, then :
'Tis thought I have a partner in my flight '
A lovely woman.
ZODAIYA.
Ah ! a woman with thee !
Let me, Almudah, rest upon thy arm.
A sudden faintness, which will soon be past,
Oppresses me.
HAMET.
Rest on my bosom, Love !
ril say no more. I feel thou canst not save me.
ZODAIYA.
Yes, I will save thee ! even for her arms,
For whose dear sake thou hast denied my pray'r
To go with thee.
HAMET.
There is no other fair
That holds an empire in my heart but thou.
*Tis said, but 'tis said falsely, that a maid.
By name Ismena, lovely as the dawn.
Flies with me from a tyrant's amorous arms.
Scene IV.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 47
She's of thy height, and were thy fairer face
Hid by tliy veil, I should almost believe
Ismena stood before me. Ah, they come !
(Trumpet without)
ZODAIYA.
They come ! there's now no time for vain delay !
I love thee O Almudah, how I love thee !
Go fly: preserve thyself preserve Ismena!
no deny it not 'tis plain thou lov*st her !
Go print this kiss {she hastily kisses his hand,
and veils herself ) upon Ismena's lip,
And say in that Zodaiya's heart resign'd
Thee to her arms herself to willing death !
Ahdallah and Persian Soldiers enter,
ZODAIYA {rushing towards them.)
Proceed no further I am she you seek
1 am O my full heart I am Ismena !
ABDALLAH.
Seize ye this woman, Soldiers bear her hence,
Not rudely, but as men, with gentleness.
[_Exeunt Ahdallah atid Soldiers, with Zodaiya,
HAMET,
(Coming forwards from the back of the Stage,
" to which he had retired J
This is, a cruel triumph ! yes, she loves me
Even to death devotes herself for me !
Art thou not satisfied, thou tyrant heart,
With such a sacrifice ? One trial more,
And all my soul shall yield to thee, Zodaiya !
48 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS ; [Act I|.
Then will I joyous bid this lovely, lowly rose
Adorn the throne of Tauris.
(Taking the Rose from his Bosom.)
" AIR.
" Rose of affection, flow'r divine !
" My soul to thee I consecrate !
" For Love's divinity is thine,
" Tears of delight shall gem thy shrine,
" Raptare thy rights shall celebrate.
*' Virgins that soft desires confess,
" Blushing, shall imitate thy bloom j
** And when they sigh with tenderness,
*' Owning what bliss it is to bless,
" Their sighs shall breathe of thy perfume.
" Nymphs that adore the tinted skies,
' With arms devout shall thee enfold >*i ^'
" The Houri, too, whose azure eyes . i '^
" Brighten our prophet's paradise, M''
" Shall crown with thee their hair of gold.** ,.
* Instead of this Song the following was introdvced.
Thou art mine. Rose of Love, thou art mine.
In my heart thou art planted for ever j
There the best of affections shall round thee entwine.
As the elm is embrac'd in th' embrace of the vine.
Which is never relinquish'd no, never.
Rose of Lovel Rose of Love ! thou art mine.
Thou art planted here ne'er to decay.
From my heart naught thy beaaties can sever j
And should tears, like bright dew drops, at da wn of the day^
mpearl thy sweet bloom, I will kiss them away.
For thou ne'er shalt know sorrow, no, never.
Rose of Love ! Rose of Love ! tboa art mine.
"* ' [Eait
ScenjbV.] or the rose of GURGISTAN. 49
^t^ma
Refrain^ proud chief, nor stamp ZeTfriifl's fate
Wilth'death inevitable.-^ '"
5 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS j [Act H.
ABC ASS AN.
Ah! Zelinda!
Thou art Zelinda's brother.
HATUCAR.
I claim no kindred more with her or thee :
These brave Ossetians hold her as thy pledge :
We know thee brave we will again obev thee
*' Fight by thy side and fall in heaps around
t,hee."
But if thou darest forego thy country's ven-
geance,
Zelinda dies !
ABCASSAN.
.'t>07 i'*"^" Monster ! inhuman monster !
What vengeance graft'st thou on thy sister's life?
Abkha recals me to Cubana's shores :-
ABKHANS (shouting,)
Abcassan, lead us to Cubana's banks !
HATUCAR.
Return and with you bear a lovely corse \
Lay it with those whose blood manures your
fields: '^
Lay it beside my father's, and proclaim '
It is his daughter, sacrificed to Abkha,
By his sou's hand !
r^:ncj, ^ O-ABCASSAU. nol>A
Guards^ seize the impious monster !
br i^Iiiui HATUCAR. ^^'
"^iil yield me willingly :< 1 yield unarm'd
I'or thus to Kalmar I resign my sword. ^
>
ScBNB v.] OR THE ROSE OP GURGISTAN. 51
Kalmar, thou know'st the office of this steel.
( gives the sword to Kalmar,)
KALMAR. ' ^;
The bosom of Zelinda !
ABC ASS AN (to the Abkhatis.)
O, my friends !
Redeem yourselves and rescue my Zelinda!
;. Enter Kavistan.
KAVISTAN.
Cease, Chieftains, cease this strife ! we are
surprized !
A Persian squadron hath possessed our out-postaC
ABCASSAN.
Let Persia come 1 as well may Persian foes
Ravish our joys, as kindred hands despoil us.!
I will not stir till ye restore Zelinda ! , ^
HATUCAR,
Breaking from the Abkhans and taking his sword
from Kalniar.
Unhand me, dastards ! give me back my
J, sword!
Ye men of Abkha, do ye hear your chief?
He will not stir against your Persian foes , >. J
Without /'* love ! O, where are those you lov'd I
Their blood hath stain'd Cubana, or their charms
Adorn some Persian harem ; O for shame !
The murderers are again among your tents,
And ye, like lifeless victims, round your chief
Stand silent, while, instead of * arms and ven*
52 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS ; [Act 11.
He cries, * Zelinda ! O restore Zelinda !'
Who shall restore my father and my child ? -'
Who shall to you restore your wives and chil-
dren?
Some Abkhans,
We'll follow thee, Hatucar ! lead us on !
Other Abkhans.
Abcassan ! lead us where thou wilt, Abcassan !
ABC ASS AN.
Abkhans, behold your chief! cease, cease
your Strife !
I lead you on to perish at your head.
HATUCAR.
Abcassan is again my friend, my chief !
The brother of my bosom in its vengeance !
[Exeunt,
{Trumpets and martial music.^
SCENE VI.
Another part of the Tartar camp ^ near the tent of
Kalmar. Trumpets and shouts at a distance,
Ossetian Guards, Zelinda, and Attendants.
1st GUARD.
They are engaged: where yonder jutting
...height
Shadpws the sandy vale, I see them meet.
ZELINDA.
Permit me, guards, to stand without the tent.
ScbnbVI.] or the rose of GURGISTAN. 63
Slid GUARD.
Stand where you will. I would that our good;
spears
Had better tasks than thus to guard a woman.
ZELINDA (coming from the tent.)
I thank ye ! Let my eyes indulge their
gaze
Could they but trace Abcassan mid the gloom !
Ah me ! what cloud arises in the vale !
Amid its black tumultuous bulk appear
Horses and men confused. See the quick gleam
Of rapid steel shot sudden thro' the mist I
See ye yon glitt*ring crest? Hear ye that shout?
*Tis he 'tis he ! 1 catch his distant voice :
He shouts again ! 'tis he it is Abcassan !
Now ! all is silent ! dreadful is the pause !
No more I see Abcassan : hark ! aarain
Triumphant shouts: my sight has lost Ab-
cassan !
" AIR.
" From my tear-streaming sight, my Abcassan hath vanish'd !
" Lost, lost is bis voice to roy listening ear !
*' Hope ! deserter of love ! from my heart be thou banish'd,
" That throne of affection surrenders to fear !
" Abcassan! Abcassan! thy name then ascended !
" Now thy name dies away in that wide-spreading cry.
*' Heart ! throne of my love ! thou'ri no longer defended !
" And hope, ibe deserter^ hath left me to die !" *
64 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS j [Act II.
Trumpets. Enter Kavistan with Abkhans in
retreat.
KAVISTAN.
Haste occupy that height ! defend the
camp !
The Persians are behind you, and your Chief,
Abcassan, mid a multitude of foes,
Hath fall'n, men of Abkha.
ZELINDA.
Ah ! Abcassan fall'n !
That shout that shout of triumph ! O sup
port me !
(She rushes out.)
KAVISTAN.
Still are there hopes, my friends I-- for I beheld
Hatucar and brave Kalmar, side by side,
With dreadful onset rush upon the foe,
Who there before them fled. " If ye are firm
" We are already more than half victorious."
CHORUS. ^^'^
We mourn not for Abcassan slain.
He fell contending with our foe :
The valiant grieve, but tears disdain.
In blood they bid their sorrows flow.
Strike fiercely to the foe exclaim
ifja.
Moaru Persians ! mourn Abcassan's name ! H
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
Scene I.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 65
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Mountainous Scenery same as in the first scene
of thejirst act.
-f.
Hassan, Amrad, and other Huntsmen,
SOLO AND CHORUS.
The horn of the chase and the clarion of war,
'Mid these echoes re-echo each other afar.
Hark ! the horn's winding sound
Swells and rolls round and rounds
And the quiv'ring savage starts up with a bound.
** Hark the clarion's dread blast
" Like a thunder-peal past !
" Shouts and groans are its chorus in deserts so vast !
" From echo to echo, the mingling tones rattle
** This the joys of the chase (horns sound) that the tri-
" mphs of battle. (Trumpets.)
HASSAN.
Shall we return ? Ye are not weary, friends?
While sanguinary war, and treacherous pleasure,.
Consume ambitious and luxurious men,
We, hunters, only, live ; our genVous sport,
Si - THE PERSIAN HUNTERS } [AerlU.
In which bright steef, wIlffiK)' dishonest thirst,
Revels in other blood than that of man,
Crowns us with health, and sends us our repose
So sound and sofV th^^ the rude bed of heath,
Sky-canopied, outvalues the rich couch
Which galls th' unwearied hmbs that woo its
^QW"m> 'M xm i;/. .y^ii .oorO UsU
i^i'' ' ^ . .'id aoa 8i!d8
HuursMA^ {entering.)
Hassan, as T
Kept watch upon the nets, I saw a woman- ^^
Rush from the Tartar campV^^ C "^ Z"^^im bflA
She hastened towards the spot where late we
view'd
The conflict of those Tartars with puc,P.?rsia^s.
HASSAN. -^'^
A wonrian saidst thou, from the Tartar camp ?
Perhaps the very fair they lately seized,
When sent with escort, by the suUan*s orders.
Let's to that field of slaughter though I hate
To gaze upon the abuse of such good weapons.
When man hunts man yet hath the field of
gore,
Groaning with victims, many a claim upon us;
And most, when woman, wild, disconsolate,
Roams, trembling. *mid the gasping and the dead.
[E^veunt,
ScBNB II.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN, 57
SCENE II.
The Tartar Camp,
(Enter Abcassan wounded^ Kavistan, and some
Abkhans.)
ABCASSAN.
Hast thou, Kavistan, sav'd my life for this?
She is not here! Zelinda is not here ?
KAVISTAN.
We left her near the tent of Kalmar, faint
And calling on your name !
ABCASSAN.
Not now she calls : this silence of the camp
Is far more dreadful than the noise of death !
AIR. (abcaisan)
While threat'ning sounds roll round afar.
Mocking wild echo's fauUering breath 5
Amid the scatter'd rage of war,
Zelinda treads the field of death !
With a low groan I hear her cry,
' Dreads love the kiss of gasping breath ?
'I ask Abcassan's latest sigh,
* His last embrace, th* embrace of death V
With hurried step and frenzied air.
She roams, perhaps, the corse-strewn heath.
Or, the fix'd image of despair.
Stands gazing round the field of death.
And still continues her sad cry,
* Dreads love the kiss of gasping breath ?
* I ask Abcassan's latest sigh,
* His last embrace, th' embrace of death !'
58 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS; [Act III.
Enter more Abkhans.
^ 1st. ABKHAN.
The foe pursues; we fly, but fly in vain :
** Or, rallied by despair, in separate heaps,
" Strew, wide the country round.'*
.03(b 7/0 KAVISTAN.
Where is Hatucar?
Where Kalmar and his brave Ossetian horde?
1st. ABKHAN SOLDIER.
They, liHe two lions, whom inveterate hounds;^
^fiercely invest, retreat reluctant; frequent
And mark their flight with their pursuers' blood.
*^,;0*er hills and plains they lead the weary foe,
*' Who would desist, but, if he stops to breathe,
** They wheel round on him."
ABCASSAN.
Hearst thou this, Kavistan ?
And shall we here drop lifeless ? Still this arm
Can wield its faulchion : -
Zelinda is not here ! I^J^si^ji^i^r dies
lu fullness of revenge* -, .*rrAi ,won ^vdW
s vii J I ^nter other Abkhar^^,^,^ ^^^ ^^g^
2d. ABKHAN. ^g^J
A Persian troop hath seized the fair Zelinda.
They to their hunting camp convey the prize.
ABC ASS AN.
What did^t ^hou say ? * Zelinda ?' hj.ste--;;
. ; lead on ! * '' i^-,^^
" My sinews are new braced, and my full heart
Scene III.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 59
** Swells with fresh hope."
Their hunting camp ! *tis weak ^
Defenceless ! its whole force pursues liatucar ?
" My friends we*re hut a handful, but we're
brave 1"
^CAVISTAN.
Where'er thou lead'st the way we'll follow thee.
ABCASSAN.
Then to the Persian camp ! and should some-
times
This gasping bosom breathe Zelinda's name, ^
And join it with * our country' shout ye still
Amid the ravage of their splendid tents,
Abkha, in all its vengeance, still survives!^f^4
SCENE iff^ti'^'^rf^ T^^ir "^
M -s.' -A :?
fftBiaivff^j/^g ^ Zeschas Cottage.
mifi aidi iii36 "-, baA
' Berezlen and Legcha, ,, ^ ,,f/p^'j
Why, now, that's bad, mother-in-law, that
was, for you have lost Zodaiya, just as I have
lost my wife.
.BDaiiaAmr lescha. '^'i ^
O, 'my' poor Bencscha ! What shall I'd6 r
this is a judgment on mel now / know what it
is to lose a daughter ! O, what a wretch I have
been ! I'll go to the Persian camp. I'll go to
.n&M Uiii "^m httK f^bsD^id visit tnf
60 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS ; [Act III.
the sultan. I'll confess. O, my poor Benescha,
what will become of you ?
BEREZLEN.
Rather, my good mother, exclaim, O, my
poor son-in-law, what might have become of
you?
LESCHA.
I care not what had become of you.
BEREZLEN.
You don't ? Why then I must return home
and without a wife too ! How my neigh-
bours will jeer me ! I set out on a bad errand,
and there's an end of it. What if I were to
persuade old Lescha to go with mev- She'd
serve to take off the edge of the joke : and
should they laugh at her age, the answer's plain
- * 1 like an old woman.' ^ ^n^.-c^yL
^*'T 0-: . ii^tzinq iii
^' AIR. ^OU
" I like an old woman that's hearty and tough, - r
** With a colour that's proof to the wind and the weathel" j
" One whom age warrants made of stout well-season'd stuff,
*' And -the springs in her joints put completely together. .
' With nerves well strung, nhjiv'
" And a tongue well hung : a^,.kar \
'* Who all the day
" Rattles and scolds her cares away.
*' Clothed or bare,
** Foul or fair,
" Smile or frown,
*' Up or down,
" Give me an old woman for wear and for tear. :.
Scene III.] GR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 61
" ** You may sing of the rose and of youth if inclined,
" Yet frost or caprice will soon shew you your folly j ,.,
" But a buxom old girl jou'll an evergreen find,
*' And her emblem's the sharp shining leaf of the holly.
Cn " Smooth to the brave, ''^
" Sharp to the knave i '-ili-aoc lOOq
*' Yet green and gay, C y^y
" A bough-pot for a winter-day :
" Clothed or bate, ^ . , ' ' .
" Foul or fair,
" SmileorfrowS?-^':^a
" Upordown,.?!;? ydW ^! :JVfob /JoY
" Give me an old womaq ^r weaf and for telf^^....
'i LEscHA. M^fft brrt?
Mercy on us ! liere are ,the Persians coming
^ again ; and his reverence the Mufti with thenn
BEREZLEN.
Persians, mother! why then they must be
in pursuit of me ! " Now will they seize me,
poor horned animal that I am, and stew me to
make beef tea as a restorative for his highness
the Mufti's constitution. O Benescha, Benes-
cha what vile uses may not a husband come
to !" ril be off, however there out of this
window.
(Berezlen escapes by the window.)
Enter Mufti and Attendants.
MUFTI (respectfully.)
Madam, is yo^ name Lescha? are yoa the
illother of Zodaiya? i^cs-
JUSl'
62 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS ; [Act III.
LESCHA.
The mother of Zodaija !-^Lord, your rever-
ence, I am a poor humble creature and the mo-
ther of Benescha.
MUFTI.
Don't be alarm'd : -Benesclia is a merry little
lass, and does you credit : but we'll talk of
Benescha by and by. Now, permit me to say,
that as the mother of Zodaiya, you are likely to
come to great honour as the mother of an illus-
trious Princess.
LESCHA.
O your reverence knows all : I confess :
Zodaiya is a princess.
MUFTI.
No, not just yet : but when a sultan is in
love, the thing is as good as done, and there-
fore permit me to obey the commands I have
received, to conduct you to Zodaiya.^; fete adT
44'" LESCHA.
O forgive me your reverence knows tliat I
am not the mother of Zodaiya : I will confess
all.
MUFTI.
Confess forgive not Zodaiya*s thother!
ah! perhaps an explanation may hang to this,
that may be useful in my affairs with Benescha.
My good lady, if you have any thing to confess,
case your conscience at once : come this way ;
and believe , me, that whatever may be your
Scene fll.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 63
crimes, an old woman, with a handsome daugh-
ter or two, can, at any time, find the blind
side of such a judge as Mufti Quizzendi.
^ SONG. MUFTI.
'if;
Before Mufti Mistl, who had but one eye.
All in vain an old woman for pardon was pleading;
So she thought, could she get on his blind side so sly,
,^^^;.^She might slyly escape out of court, he not heeding.
Slowly she stcpt.
Wanly crept :
Stretch'd out her crutch,
-^; 883iritt[obbled to get from justice' clutch : mo?^ O
But the judge, .u^ou s/bhJS
Saw her budge.
With mouth wide, ,
at ti iii^ w , . , J on tQ'/i
Fiercely cried, , - .
"^^^^OTt ttj'ou think thou old jade, to get round myt)lfndside>
The old woman a daughter had, bright as a rose,>dVl33'>'T
At that moment his rev'rence glanced on her his peeper :
J , And his little sharp eye shone beside his red nose,
Fixt, as if in its sight, it for ever would keep her.
Fondly he wink d.
Nodded and blink'd : "**
Meantime the dame
^^\ jj. Hobbled away, the' old and lame.' gfis^ortoO -
,3irf3 0JS' And the judge
, ^v Saw her budge, ^
38P. / As he cried, ' * ^M
\ '{JXUmM^ woman'* daughter's found out my blind side. >p^^
64 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS; [Act III.
SCENE IV.
The Persian Camp. \_Enter Hamet.]
HAMET.
She loves me-r-'tis enough my heart disdains
All farther test. I would not subjugate,
But make assured alliance with her soul.
Abdallah, has the mufti sought old Lescha ?
Abdullah entering on the opposite side.
ABDALLAH.
My Liege, the woman who was thought the
mother
Of this fair maiden, hath reveal'd a tale,
Which speaks Zodaiya of a higher birth.
HAMET.
Of higher birth !
Command the Mufti to attend me. (to an at'
tendant,)
(To Abdallah)
Meantime, to sooth th' impatience of my heart.
Sing me the Persian air of Zulea's love
To Hafez, our fond poet.
ABDALLAH.
Ever, my liege, I willingjy obey you-^
Most willingly, when you command the song
My soul delights in.
ScjsNfilV.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 66.
AIR. Abdallah.
Within a bower, where almonds bloom'd,
Hafez his soul, in sighs consumed,
Ah, how he lov'd !
A silent splendour beam'd on high,
The moon reign'd empress of the sky ;
The air was still, the birds were mute.
While Hafez' sigh, and Hafez' lute.
Told how he lov'd ! ^
He sang of one with eyes of blue.
With roseate cheek, and lip of dew !
Ah ! how he lov'd !
>d J 1|l;And at each cadence of his lay.
As the notes died in sighs away, *
A voice, like echo's faintest strain, ^y^
Responsive, seem'd to sigh again,
Thou, too, art lov'd !
How quick his soul that soft voice knew !
Through his whole frame, what tremors flew ! " ^
4ft ft ^%y^ *9m tr Ah ! how he lov'd !
And was it hope, or was it fear.
That glisten'd in his starting tear,
Or joy, in show'rs of tears exprest,
;1}6*J^J When Zulea sigh'd upon his breast I
^^di Thou, loo, art lov'd t . 2
. or
HAMET.
Hush ! hush ! Zodaiya comes she thinks me
captive. "1
Fasten these chains upon me, and let some
Appear to guard me.
K
66 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS. [Act III.
Enter Zodaiya, with attendants.
zoDAiYA {not seeing Hamet.')
Seiz'cl ! was Almudah seiz'd ?
O, cruel heav'n ! I thought Almudah happy !
Was he alone when taken ?
ABDALLAH.
Then alone :
But weVe been told a woman fled from him.
ZODAIYA.
Ah ! could she love, and yet desert Almudah.
Then is he mine indeed ! {perceiving Hamet.')
O, my Almudah !
Thy chains, thy dungeon, and thyself, are mine.
Let thy Ismena share thy lighter hours :
** Give me thy griefs ! that I may soothe those
griefs
'' With sighs of Love !" j
AIR. ZODAIYA.
Grief! give rae grief! let weaker bosoms borrow,
From joy, their feeble blaze
My love, with its own rays.
Shall beam Hope's rainbow on thy clouds of sorrow.
* Hark ! with a voice, that energy bestows,
' Affection calls rae to sustain thy woes
' ' Love, love (that voice exclaims) o'er grief should rise,
' Bright as the sun amid the stormy skies :
With thundering peals fates' threatening clouds are roll'd,
* Bat Love darts forib, and every cloud is goldl* ';^, , j i ^
ScENK IV.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. Q^
* This Song was originally written as follows :
AIR. ZODAIYA.
" Give, give me thy griefs ! weaker bosoms than mine,
" From thy sunshine of smiles may their waning-light borrow !
" Let my Love's constant rays (ah ! unborrow'd from thine)
** Beam the rainbow of hope on the clouds of thy sorrow !
" As the lamp, in the banquet, consumes as it gleams,
" Other loVe will decay while thy joy 'tis adorning ;
" But my love's like the sun, that above the storm beams,
" And brightens the dark-broken clouds of the morning !"
HAMET (aside to Abdullah,)
r. Can I bear this,
And not discover who I am, Abdallah I
Rapture restrain'd, is torture !
Listen, m}' words shall breathe of tender joy !
I have deceiv'd thee : hsten, my Zodaiya
ZOJDAIYA.
Deceive my soul no more with flatt'ring hope.
I've taught my heart, Almudah, calm affection,
That silently may weep, but dare not wish.
And, lo, Ismena comes, a captive too !
Let me depart speak comfort to Ismena I
As Zodaiya goes out, Zdinda enters on the other
side, with Persian Hunters.
HAMET (throwing off his disguise,)
Remain, remain, Zodaiya ! turn and know
Thyself the empress of a sovereign's heart !
GS THE PERSIAN HUNTERS; [Act III.
Free me, Abdallab, free me from these chains
I will unveil my soul from all disguise !
(^5 Abdallah unfastens the chains, Zelinda
approaches and kneels.)
ZELINDA.
O Seignior ! Sultan! Hametl
Zelinda, wild with anguish, kneels before thee !
HAMET.
Zelinda here !
ZELINDA.
where is my promised safety
Where my Abcassan ? O my brain ! it burns
O let me seek him yet among the slain !
HAMET.
What means Zelinda !
"AIR.
" Dim are these eyes, and sick this brain,
" For as I gaz'd yon sanguine plain,
" I saw biqa fall amid the slain,
" Hira this heart lov'd !
" Let me still wander o'er that place,
" His corse among those corses trace,
" That these faint arms may there embrace
" Him this heart lov'd.
" As seeks the dove, with wayward flight,
" Her mate belov'd, till close of night,
" I'll seek till death shall close my sight,
" Him this heart loved."
Scene IV.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 69
{Trumpets tumult without enter Persian
O^cer)
OFFICER.
A straggling band of Tartars hath presumed
T* attack the camp! their chieftain shouts
' ZeHnda.'
Behind his party rush, and cry ' Abcassan.'
ZELINDA.
Abcassan ! my Abcassan !
HAMET.
Guard this woman.
Give me my sabre : I myself will meet
These bold intruders.
ZELINDA.
, Send me forth, O Seignior !
Abcassan will, at sight of me, submit.
HAMET.
The arm of Hamet doth not need such aid.
When he submits assist him with thy tears.
AIR.
Beauty may triumph in my breast.
And my soul bow with awe impress'd.
But now the sound of arras
My bounding heart alarms.
The clarion's dreadful peal,
, The clash of jarring steel.
Shrieks of the base who fly.
Groans of the brave who die.
Mid the tumultuous cries.
That sweep along the skies.
70 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS ; [Act III.
From the mid-fight ascending
Where host witli host are blending,
Yet when upon the victor field.
The foeman of my sword shall yield.
If lorely woman ask his life.
That moment ends the strife.
Her arm his breast-plate, and her heart his shield.
SCENE VI.
A Valley with a Tartar Monument,
Enter Hatucar, Tartar chief, soldiers, S^c. with
Berezlen as guide.
(Trumpets at distance.)
HATUCAR.
I'll trust this slave no longer. Hark ! behind
The troops of Persia rush again upon us.
Take off his head, the villain hath betray 'd us.
BEREZLEN.
In truth that's but a bad way to mend even a
bad guide.
HATUCAR.
What doth he murmur ?
BEREZLEN.
. Now do keep your sword a little lower. We
are just arrived at the place I told you of, inha-
bited by some of your countrymen : they know
me well, for I've had dealings with them ; and if
you will suffer this good-looking head of mine
to remain where it is, they may chance to know
me again, very much to your satisfaction.
Scene VI.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN, 7*
HATUCAR.
This fugitive hath just avvaken'd hopes,
Which shed a sudden brightness upon life.
If he deceive me he shall lose his head.
BEREZLEN.
Your sword seems in a terrible hurry to take for-
feit before it is forfeited. If you will only stop till
you have read the inscription on that pile of
stones, I think your sword may permit my head and
shoulders to continue on a neighbourly footing.
HATUCAR {perceiving the monument.)
Ah ! 'tis a guide from heaven ! {reads)
' To those who perished on Cubana's shore,
* To names rever'd, though Abkha is no more,
* We, a sad remnant of the Abkha tribe,
* This poo*' memorial solemnly inscribe !*
On every stone a well known name appears !
Hov/ dreadful 'tis to see this host of friends,
Starting from all these tablets and at once
Piercing my soul, with one astounding cry
' We are no more!'
What mean these tears ? Hatucar hath not wept
His own afflictions, or his country's wrongs :
This unexpected tribute to the dead.
Strikes on his heart, and makes him less than
woman.
(Kalmar, Officers , Tartars enter hastily,)
KALMAR.
To arms ! to arms ! the Persian troops appear.
To arms, Hatucar !
72 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS; [Act IIL
HATUCAR.
Doth destruction thus
Pursue my steps so clobely ? even now !
'Tis well ! " Here will I stand devoted at this
Shrine.'*
Trmnjpcts tumult enter Omar with Persian
troops,
OMAR,
Yonder's the Chieftain we so long pursued !
Surround him soldiers !
HATUCAR. (star tin gfor'wards.)
Fall, ye miscreants fall !
The ghosts of those who stain'd Cubana's vale,
Are hovering here, and shriek aloud for vengeance !
OMAR.
Yield thee !
HATUCAR.
I can no more my faultering sinews droop,
A dead'ning faintness hangs upon my arm.
O sword, another blow ; I cannot raise it.
(Hatucar drops the sword a?td clasps the
Monument.)
Be merciful, ye foes, and slay me here !
OMAR.
Seize him, but hurt him not.
(^Some Soldiers advance to seize him.
HATUCAR.
Here let me die !
Delay the blow no longer, for I hear
Voices of friends that welcome me to death !
{Persian soldiers carry him off.)
[Ea^eunt om?2es
ScuNB VII.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGUSTAN. 73
SCENE THE LAST.
The front of the Persian Pavilion.
Zelinda. Abcassan in chains. Soldiers.
ZELINDA.
In chains ! a captive ! set him free, ye slaves,
What have I not the sultan's royal word,
Abcassan shall be free !
SOLDIER.
Our orders are to guard our pris'ner strictly.
The Sultan fought him singly, and forbade
The intervention of the thronging s(Jdiers ;
But when he had disarm'd him he exclaim'd,
' Seize on this rebel, Soldiers! put chains on him,
' Guard him with care, he is your Sultan's captive l"
ZELINDA.
'Tis false ! The Sultan never could say so !
Release him, slaves ! I I will answer for ve !
Can Hamet break the word he gave Zelinda ?
ABCASSAN.
Hath she such pow'r to make him keep his word j
And doth she think Abcassan fall'n Abcassan
Will owe his life or freedom, to the pow'r
Zelinda hath obtainM o*er Hamet's heart .?
On, Soldiers, on !
ZELINDA,
Cruel Abcassan ! stay nay, thou shalt hear me :
As I am certain in my love to thee.
So am I confident in Hamet's honour !
These slaves mistake their duty,
74 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS j [Act III.-
ABCASSANi
They know and do their duty. Tm a captive
Fall'n low beneath this generous Hamet's powV :
And as these chains are proofs how much he
dreads me,
They honour me I ask no other favour
And least, a favour won from him by thee I
[E.Tit, attended hy Guards.
ZELiNDA {to a Mute.)
Conduct me to the Sultan, slave ! If he
(Yet sure he cannot !) trifles with his word !
If he (he cannot !) glories in the woes
Of his defeated rival I'll despise
This mighty Sultan, and with fearless words,
Pour the full measure of my scorn upon him !
{^As she is going, a slave delivers her a paper, Ze-
linda takes it and treads.)
FromHamet! what is this?
' Hamet requires Zelinda's confidence :
* For reasons that hereafter shall be known,
' The Sultan, to a fair one, named Zodaiya,
' Hath given the order to release the captive.'
Why not to me ? But ah ! behold she's here
Enter Abdallah and Zodaiya.
ABDALLAH.
'Tis thought thou'rt n,ot Ismena : if thou'rt not.
This order frees the captive and thyself :
If thou indeed art she, thou must remain,
Scene VII.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 75
Until the Sultan comes to do thee honour
Perhaps to raise thee to his bed and throne !
Meantime thou may'st to her present this order
Whom thou didst call Ismena : she is here
[Ej^U Abdallah.
ZODAIYA.
What's this an order for Almudah's freedom
Why what's to me the Sultan and his splendour ?
The captive now is mine !
ZELINDA (advancing.)
I pray with haste
Give me the order ^let me set him free!
Yet stay (aside) overcome with jealousies and
shame,
He may reject his freedom from my hand :
{To her) I pray thee take this order to his guards.
ZODAIYA.
Thou art o'er-generous, or thou lov*st him not !
But can*st thou think, I'd yield this boon to thee :
No, take the Sultan's meaner gift, his throne
Zodaiya is content to share the woes
Of her enfranchised captive.
ZELINDA.
What dost thou say? ah ! dost thou love him ?
ZODAIYA.
Love! heav'ns, what love can be compared with
mine ?
ZELINDA.
What love the captive !
76 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS ; [Act. III.
ZODAIYA.
I'd not boast to thee
Nor can I further speak how much I love him
My tears speak for me !
ZELINDA.
Give me, slave, the order
Which by thy hands to me the Sultan sent.
ZODAIYA.
No, I resign the Sultan's throne to thee,
But not the griefs and wand 'rings of my captive,
Now mine, mine wholly.
[Eiit Zodaiya,
ZELINDA.
What doth this mean ? doth Hamet trifle with me ?
Can he, the gen'rous Hamet, whose high spirit
Taught e'en my soul to own my country's foe.
Deserving my esteem Can Hamet thus
Make mockery of affection. I will seek him
Upbraid him with th' abuse of sov'reign power
That tortures thus a woman's bleeding heart.
Enter Hamet ^ as Sultan, from the Pavilion.
HAMET.
I've doubly triumphed in her grief and joy
First, when she would have sacrificed for me
Herself, her life ! and now when she reclaims me.
Ah! Zelinda
ZELINDA.
Seignior !
ScBNE VII.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 77
HAMHT.
Wh) that look?
That haughty look that tyranny of beauty
Which makes e'en monarchs tremble ?
ZELINDA.
What can Ha met
Stoop from his height of power, to make affection
His cruel sport ? Tyrants have racks and chains.
And bind and torture what they can, our limbs ;
But the mean wretch, that never gain'd a heart,
He only he makes love his low derision.
HAMET.
TJiis is my day of triumph, fair Zelinda
And love, his conquest now completed, sits
Thron'd in my heart, and smiles at thy reproach.
Enter Abcassan as just released from chains.
HAMET. {perceiving Abcassan.
And, every triumph of my love, Zelinda,
Expands my bosom's sympathies. Forgive
The temporary pang : by that I won
My last best victory : thus I requite thee.
{pointing to Abcassan.
ZELINDA.
Then, thou art mine, Abcassan ! ^Why that frown ?
O bend thy knee and not thy brow receive
The bonds of love that Hamet throws upon us.
And hail him as the liege lord of our bliss.
HAMET.
Tartar, thou art free : Zelinda hath obtain'd
78 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS 5 [Acr.llf.
More than your pardon. You are brave, you love :
Valour and true affection ever claim
Beneficence from Hamet.
ABCASSAN.
I shall thank thee
When Abkha smiles again !
HAMET. {speaking to one in the tent,)
Bring forth that woman:
I would confront her here with thee, Abcassan.
She speaks to me of Abkha and Hatucar,
But stay awhile, who's here, what news of Omar ?
{As Lescha is brought from the tent, trumpets sound y
and enter Messenger.)
MESSENGER.
Omar returns, my liege. In a wild glen.
He found a remnant of the Abkhan tribe :
Their chieftains are his prisoners,
HAMET.
See him here.
Ere thou canst well deliver thy report.
(Enter Omar with Hatucar, Kalmar, Abkhan
Officers and Soldiers, S^c,
OMAR.
Seignior, successful are thy arms : thy slave
Lays at thy feet these offerings of his sword.
HAMET.
I would be merciful ; but 'tis too much
Thus to convert our pleasures into war.
HATUCAR,
I was a prince of Abkha : faithful ever "'
Scene VII.] OR THE ROS OF GURGISTAN. '79
To Persia's lord. But those whom he appoints
To levy tribute in subjected states
So distant from his throne, with sanguine grasp,
Seize not our wealth alone, but from our hearts
Rend, merciless, the objects of our love.
HAMET.
Art thou Hatucar of the Abkhan tribe ?
Know St thou that woman? Lescha, stand thou forth.
HATUCAR.
A vision ! shade ! a dream, a distant image
Floats .round my brain those features yes I
know them;
'Tis Lescha ! say, thou wretched woman, say
Where is my daughter ? where is my Zodaiya ?
LESCHA.
I have confess'd my crimes I kneel for mercy !
A fellow slave seduced me to purloin
Your lovely child to sell her to the Persians.
The villain left me, and Tve rear'd Zodaiya,
With my own daughter in a neighbouring cottage!
HATUCAR.
Produce my child, thou wretched slave my child!
LESCHA.
Alas, not may hours since, some armed men
Enter'd our cot, and carried off Zodaiya.
HATUCAR.
Slave, thou at length hast sold her
HAMET.
Stay thy rage :
She is above all purchase. Yet her love
80 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS. [Act. III.
She hath bestow'd upon a wandering outcast ;
And to preserve his life she hath surrender'd
Herself into the hands of those we sent
To track the fugitive.
HAT U CAR.
O grief fresh grief !
That wretched miscreant hath debased her mind. ^
Yet as she is restore her to my arms.
My daughter my Zodaiya !
HAMET.
She remains
As pure of soul as when a babe thou lost her.
Tve seen her, and I love her. If thou canst
Persuade her to forsake that outcast wretch.
And grace the throne of Hamet, thou art free,
Thy people pardon*d, and from tribute clear. '
HATUCAR.
Permit me, mighty Sultan, to embrace her.
She cannot be so sunk, but she'll prefer
Her father's freedom to such abject love.
HAMET.
I will retire: she shall be brought to you,
lE^vit with attendants.
HATUCAR. .1
Heav*ns! what events have crowded on tliii
duy 1
My future prospect, with a gleam of sunshine,
Gives promise of a daughter to my arms,
And liberty to Abkha.
Scene VIL] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 81
ABCASSAN AND ZELINDA.
Hatucar ! brother ! hail !
HATUCAR.
Ah ! Zelinda !
And thou, Abcassan ! I embrace ye both.
ABCASSAN.
Why art thou sad, Hatucar ?
Mj, HATUCAR.
Are we not captives? Is th* embrace of cap-
tives
Ought but redoubled chains ?
Enter Abdallah, conducting Zodaiya.
;. ABDALJLAH.
Behold thy daughter she hath been inform'd
Of these discoveries, and she knows the terms
On which she may, to instant freedom, raise
Her country, and her father !
HATUCAR.
My Zodaiya !
She is indeed my daughter ! every look,
Full of her mother, speaks a thousand proofs 1
Her face is evidence from heav*n itself!
And fond affection, from the grave, exclaims.
It is my second self, it is thy daughter!
ZODAIYA {clasping his hand,)
Art thou indeed my father ? O deny it !
What do I not resign, if I look up
And call thee father ! O ! forbear, forbear,
I cannot be thy daughter! Lescha, speak,
82 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS ; [Act III.
Name me some other father, vile and mean.
Unlike this noble chief, whose piercing eyes
Dart thro' my soul, and claim it all his own.
Is he my father ?
LESCHA.
Forgive my crime ! He is indeed your father !
ZODAIYA.
Then I'm resign'd ! Father, receive thy child!
I'm thine. I'm wholly thine !
H AT V CAR {embracing her.) <
My lovely daughter !
Yet think, my child, tliy arms embrace a cap-
tive !
Look round thy father's friends thy coi n-
trymen-
Are captives too ! thy country too enslav'd !
Zodaiya thou '<
ZODAIYA.
1 know it all, my father I
Yet O, support me, while I say, * be free !*
{She sinks on Hatucar's arms.)
Enter Hamet, in disguise, as Almudah.
ZODAIYA.
\ ,j. O come not here ! Almudah, do not rend
This bosom from its duty !
HAMET.
,...-' Lovely maid,
The sultan hath attended to my wrongs:
Scene VII.] ORTHE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 83
Acquitted me, restor'd me to full freedom ;
Niiy more, permits me to entreat that thou
Wilt share my freedom.
ZODAIYA.
Is then my father free ?
HAMET.
Thy father! who is my Zodaiya's father?
ZODAIYA.
A captive here, in bonds, to whom I may,
With loss of thee, give liberty, Almudah !
The sultan hath demanded me his ransom.
HAMET.
Cruel demand ! thou wilt not can'st not
yield
To such a seeming duty !
ZODAIYA.
Ah! not yield! ' .
What, not redeem my father ?
HAMIT.
Gracious heav'n!
I thought myself belov'd and for this Rose
Resign'd Ismena. Hence, thou gaudy flower !
; - {Taking the rose from his breast.)
Thou art the lovely emblem of deceit !
Yet, can I not part from thee : on my breast,
Still breathe thy odours, and deceive my soul !
{replacing the rose,)
Let me be still an outcast a vile slave
Or rather die ! for without thee, Zodaiya,
84 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS; [Act III.
Life, or in chains or freedom, is but torment!
Thus let me die !
{taking a poniard.)
ZODAIYA.
And I will die with thee !
I cannot give myself alive to thee,
And leave these unredeem'd : ^but I can die!
And thou, who claim'st me for thy daughter,
turn
O, turn away thy eyes. Was I not lost ?
I've been already wept ; think me still lost
O, that without a daughter, thou had'st found
The means of freedom ! Ah ! I can no more
Almudah here the poniard .
(snatching at the poniard!)
HATUCAR.
O! my daughter!
HAMET {throwing away the poniard, and dis-
covering himself.')
Live, my Zodaiya ! live, sweet Rose of Love 1
Adorn the throne of Hamet ! not Almudah,
A wandering outcast, now presumes to bend
The high direction of thy virtuous soul ;
But he, who hails thee empress, now delares
Not the pure gems that star his eastern crown.
Equal his Rose I his Rose of Gurgist^n.
ZODAIYA.
What means this change ! Almudah ! Hamet 1
Support me, O my father, "-O support me ! -xO
Scene VII.] OR THE ROSE OF GURGISTAN. 85
HA MET (embi^acing hei\^
Rest on my bosom, Love, and thence pro-
nounce
Thy father, and thy country free, Zodaiya !
The mercy of my throne shall speak thro' thee,
And wide around the breathing of thy hps,
Shall bless my people.
(Shouts of Harriet and Zodaiya.")
FINALE.
CHORUS OF PERSIANS.
Music cease thy warlike measures.
Breathe of raptures, breathe of pleasures !
' Persia's Sultan will approve,
' The praises of his Rose of Love !
^.VA i
** DUET. ABCASSAN AND ZELINOA.
** On Cubana's breezy shore,
" Let our woes be he.ird no more j
" There, each vale, and ev'ry grove,
" Shall resound ' the Rose of Love !'
" CHORU*.
'* Persia's Sultan will approve,
" The praises of his Rose of Love !
" DUET. HAMET AND ZODAITA.
" Wide around this xegA wreath,
" Persia shall of pleasure breathe j
*' There hath tried affection wove, i-* -^
** Her best flow'r^the Rose of Love !
86 THE PERSIAN HUNTERS. [Act III.
*' CHORUS.
'* Music, then, in lightest measures,
" Breath of raptures breathe of pleasures
" Persia's Sultan will approve,
*' The praises of his Rose of Love."
THE END.
G. SiDiET, Printer, . . , -, ^
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MY SPOUSE AND I:
AN
OPERATICAL FARCE,
IN TWO ACTS.
' A _
MY SPOUSE AND I:
AN
OPERATICAL FARCE,
IN TWO ACTS.
By C. DIBDIN, Jun.
AUTHOR OF THE FARMER'S WIFE, i^C. i^C. S^C. !{.
FIRST PERFORMED AT THE
C{)eatre iRopal, Dturp lane,
ON THURSDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1815.
THfi MUSIC COMPOSED BY MR. WHITAKER.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR WHITTINGHAM AND ARLISS,
PATERNOSTER ROW.
1815.
Price Two Shilling
Printed by Wbittingham and Rowland, Gbswell Street, London.
THIS PIECE
IS MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED
TO
THE HONOURABLE GEORGE LAMB,
WHOSE JUDICIOUS ADVICE
WAS OF ESSENTIAL SERVICE TO
HIS MOST OBEDIENT
AND OBLIGED SERVANT,
THE AUTHOR.
December 11, 1815.
My Spouse and /, cordially thanking all whose
talents and exertions introduced this trifle to
Public favour, beg leave respectfully to ac-
knowledge the gentlemanly attention of the
Noblemen and Gentlemen composing the Sub-
Committee. More might be said, but " Many
words won't Jill a bushel^' as I say to my
Spouse ; and " Least said's soonest mended,'^ as
my Spouse do say to I.
Sadlee's Wells,
Dec. 11, 1815.
DRAMATIS PERSONS.
^ilton _ _-_-- Mr. Bellamy
Frisk _ _____ Mr. Harley
Dick ^^- i?^-'.;- _ _ Mr. G. Smith
Paddock - . - - Mr. Oxberry
Scorem Mr. Gattie
Pross _-_-- Mr. Hughes
Ned ----- Mr. Barnard
Lawyer's Cleik Mr. Coveney
Ho^ Mr. Ebsworth
Harriet - - Miss Kelly
Dame Paddock - - Mrs. Harlowe
Janet Mrs. Bland
Peasants, Sfc,
MY SPOUSE AND I.
ACT ]. Scene I.
*
Paddock's Farm House on one Side, ZDith a Pigstye ;
opposite Side an Alehouse, Sign The Barley Mow,
written under it, ^' Pay to-day, trust to-morrow ;" in
the Distance, Fields, and a WindnuU going.
Enter Peasants from different Eiitrances going to
Labour.
CHORUS.
Well met, well met, good neighbours all,
To our daily toil away;
Ever ready at the call
Of those for toil who pay.
The sun now smiles o'er dale and hill,
And labour rouses rustic life ;
Click clack goes old Hopper's mill,
And click clack goes old Hopper's wife.
TRIO.
Merrily whirls the sounding flail,
Till pleas'd we see departing day ;
And then we quaflF old Scorem's ale.
And then
ScoREM (entering from the ale-home.)
Why then 1 make you pay.
CHORUS.
Tlie sun now smiles o'er dale and hill.
And labour rouses rustic life ;
Click clack goes old Hopper's mill,
And click clack goes old Hopper's wife.
10
Dame Paddock {entering from the farm house.)
And Hopper's wife be i' tlie right ;
If lazy hinds like you appear, ,
The corn will ne'er be cut to-night
Paddock {entering from the field.)
Not if you keep 'em loitering here.
The sun has beam'd an hour or more :
To work, and prate when labour's o'er.
CHORUS.
Master and Dame, we'll haste away.
And labour kindly all the day ;
And when our toil is o'er regale
And drink your health in Scorem's ale.
[^Exeunt all but Paddock and Scorein.
Scorem. Are you for a drop of my best home brewed
this morning, master Paddock?
Paddock. They who do drink in a morning, neigh-
bour Scorem, do generally get the head-ach by noon,
and the heart-ach by night ; and they be two trouble-
some companions. A clear head be the next thing to a
clear conscience.
Scorem. (Ironically.) And you have both, they say.
Paddock. Why as to that, my conscience, thank hea-
ven, be like my crop, pretty fairish ; and Though my
head he thick, as I say to my Spouse, There be nothing
in that, as my Spouse do say to I.
Scorem. Your spouse is a very sensible woman; but,
by the bye, the whole village is curious to know who
that stripling is you have lately hired; who, with his
pretty looks and smart clothes has turned the heads of
half the girls in the place.
Paddock. Poor lad, he do seem to have known better
days; he came to us a child of misfortune, and he be
no christian who do refuse to receive the wandering
stranger.
Scorem. True, master Paddock, and though I keep
an alehouse, and some people are wicked enough to
iay I chalk double, my door is open to every stranger.
*'Hi^
11
Etiter Frisk shahbilt/ genteel.
Frisk. I'm glad to hear it. I am a stranger, and
want to walk in.
Scorem. Welcome, sir, to the Barley Mow, that's the
house; there's the sign and under it, " Pay to-day-
trust to-morrow." f Aside. J A broad hint; he seems
as poor as Job.
Frisk. Trust to-morrow? couldn't you make it
to-day ? there's an inconvenience in waiting.
[^Discovering to the audience that his pockets are empty.
Scorem. That's my reason for not trusting.
Frisk. Didn't you say your door was open to the
stranger ?
Scorem. Aye, that could pay his reckoning coming,
coming !
[Runs in to the Barley Mow, and closes the door
in Frisk^s face.
Frisk. (To Paddock.) A pretty fellow to insult a
gentleman in distress. I'll expose him in the County
Chronicle as a warning to hungry travellers, whose
stomachs and purses are in unison. I'll give him his
true character: you can give me a hint, and I'll make
bad worse by improving on it.
Paddock. Why, as to that, I mun beg to be excused ;
he who do pick a hole in his neighbour's coat de-
serves to live in a house without a neighbourhood.
Frisk. Give me your hand, I should like to be better
acquainted with you. Feeling in a flail, and senti-
jnent in a smock frock ! Your haystack is no relation
to the Barley Mow why yoii'd make a famous cha-
racter in a novel.
Paddock. A novel ! What may that be, sir ?
Frisk. Don't you know what a novel is? one vil-
lage in the kingdom without a circulating library
then there are hopes. A novel is a book, whose title
is new, and contents generally old the hero, a queer
good for nothing, well meaning, comical fellow, though
tolerably engaging like me ; the heroine, a pretty, lan-
guishing, silly girl, like most of her female readers ;
her guardian, a crusty, hard-hearted, pay to-day and
12
trust to-morrow, like that fellow. (Pointing to the
alehouse. J Her aunt, an antiquated, teazin^, obstinate
quiz, like that. [^Pointing to jDame Paddock who enters.
Dame Pad. Quiz, what dost mean? and why dost
stand talking with that Jack-a-dandy, Paddock, when
there be so much to do in the field ?
Paddock. Dame, dame, doantee be cantankerous
this gentleman
Dame Pad. Gentleman, quotha ? ha, ha, ha ! If
thee want'st a hand in the field, I dare say the gentle-
man will be very glad to make himself useful. Ha,
ha, ha!
Paddock. Nay, nay, how canst thou expect a gen-
tleman to make himself useful ?
Dame Pad. Well, well, I can't stay talking non-
sense; thee ought to make haste to the reapers, an J
if thee hast any thing to say to the gentleman, bid him
call another time. [Going.
Frisk. The nearer dinner time the better.
Paddock. That be just the time I were thinking,
(aside, and earnestly to Dame Paddock.) Wife, wife,
he do want a dinner.
Dame Pad. (Returning.) What ! want a dinner ?
pray sir, walk in ; and do'ee take a luncheon to stay
thee till dinner be ready ; and Paddock, do'ee draw a
jug o' the best, that the gentleman may give his opinion
of my brewing : luncheon shall be ready directly, sir.
Make haste, Paddock, make haste. [Goes into the house.
Paddock. I wool, dame ; and it shall be a jug o'the
best. (Aside.) I wish neighbour Scorem knew
what pleasure there be in sometimes drawing ale for
ttothing. [Goes in.
Frisk. Here's primitive hospitality! A novel writer
would describe it somehow thus : *' Arrived half fa-
mished, with a full heart and empty pocket, at a pic-
turesque form house, beautifully o'erspread with
woodbines." (Looking at it.) I see nothing but
stinging nettles ; and now shall I get over that pig
stye ? Turn it into a dog kennel, and introduce a
beautiful apostrophe to the virtues of honest Tray.
" Honest Tray, partaking of the character of his mas-
ter, the very picture of patriarchal hospitality, wel-
comed by his caresses the hapless wanderer. When
13
the farmer's wife, a pretty, modest looking woman,
with half a dozen cnrly-pated cherubs about her, came
out ; and addressing nim in the soft accents of unso-
phisticated humanity, said
Enter Roger.
Roger. What d'ye do here, you vagabond ? after the
pigs and poultry, I suppose.
Frisk. My dear fellow, you mistake your man.
Roger. No, I doant ; it's easy to see what you be,
mon^ a common vagram, but if you don't go off my
measter's premises, I'll make you.
Frisk. My good sir, I give you credit
Roger. That's more than you'll get yourself.
Frisk. A word with you ; you belong to that house ?
Roger. What if I do ?
Frisk. I dine there to day.
Roger. Had'nt you better stay till you're axed ?
Frisk. That ceremony's past. Jug of the best ; fine
luncheon : Don't you hear the eggs and bacon frying,
you rogue you? I am off and let me give you a
little parting advice. If you wish to support the cha-
racter of an Englishman, whenever you meet a hungry
stranger, always address him with
Paddock. (Entering.) The luncheon be ready, sir.
Frisk. (To Roger.) Did'nt I tell you so ? (to Pad-
dock.) Thankye, thankye ; I'll do it justice! and as
eating heartily is the best way of returning a hearty
welcome, you shall find me as grateful as appetite can
make me. [Goes in.
Paddock. Why, Roger, have you been saying any
' thing rude to that young man ? he be a gentleman in
distress,, I dare say ; though a queer plain spoken chap
as I ever seed : but Plain and above-board be best, as
I say to my Spouse ; and Rough and ugly munnat be
despised, as ray Spouse do say to I.
Roger. I were protecting your property : I thought
un a poacher ; however, as matters have turned out,
I'll go ax un pardon ; for when a man finds he's wrong,
let un own it like a man, I say. [Goes into the house.
. t Paddock. Well, I be happy I chanced to light upon
that poor hungry gentleman ; it do make one eat one's
dinner so heartily when the cheerful face "of a poor
guest be the sauce to it. There be many sweet and
cheering enjoyments, but while they please for a time
only, the smile of gratitude gives to him who raises it,
pleasure for ever. [Exit.
SCENE II.
A Room in Paddock's House. Table and Chair.
Enter Dame Paddock j.j .,': ["^^^ pulls Harriet back.
Janet, (to Ned) You are a coxcomb ! a knave !
AW. (to Janet) None of your airs I'll have ;
I don't care for you that.
[Sjiapping his fingers.
Har. What are you both at ?
I'll ne'er rival you tho' you abuse me. (to Ned.)
Ned. 1 don't care if you do.
And pray who are you ?
If you cross me again
Janet. If he does, sir, what then ?
Ned. Let him stay and you'll see, /
Janet. Oh, never mind he (to Harriet)
Stay and brave him ;
Har. Nay, prythee excuse me.
Har. Now, Janet, consider ; with Ned you are joking;
" To play at cross-purposes thus is provoking.
Janet. Hur don't care for Ned, and sure Harry is joking ;
To play at cross-purposes thus is provoking.
Ned. A false-hearted girl ! but I won't stand his joking ;
To play at cross-purposes thus is provoking.
[ Exeunt Janet after Harriet, Ned opposite side.
Frisk, f Coming forward. J A pretty picture of rural
simplicity.
''^""''^ Enter Dick.
So, Dick, you're returned.
Dick. Yes, I've slipped cable and so your honour
is cruising^under false colours ?
Frisk. Don't you blab, Dick ; but you seem under
false colours too.
Dick. After a long voyage, I'd a mind to have a bit
of a land cruise, by way of change : so my brother
Jack, who was the squire's foremast-man, being on the
doctor's list, I volunteer'd into the service for him ;
and here I am, cox'en of the Cockatoo cruiser.
Frisk. Commanded by Captain Strutt, Now, Dick,
jou can do me a service.
Dick. Can I ? Was'nt I your honour's foster bro-
ther ? and won't I go through fire, wind, and water,
for you ?
Frisk. You're an honest fellow, Dick ; and now for
the service I want performed. Scorem, of the Barley
Mow, an empty, hollow-hearted tap-tub, is going to
rob a worthy farmer here of his lease ; your master
is his landlord, and you must manage
Dick. To rake Scorem, and bring the farmer out of
the enemy's wake.
Frisk. But here they come, and with them a lad ;
no, he has turned down the other path.
Dick. ( Looking out.) That's the lad whose latitude
my master ordered me to find ; the squire thinks he's
a girl that he is in chase of: and so, mayhap, you can
lend me a hand to put Squire abaft the binnacle too.
Frisk. A Girl ! So, so : an adventure !
. ^ / i [.Thei/ retire.
Enter Paddock and Scorem.
Scorem. Why, really friend Paddock, the squire's a
queer fellow ; and I wouldn't give into his vagaries :
what have you to fear ?
Frisk. ( Coming forward. J A snake in the grass.
Scorem. What do you mean ?
Frisk. To scotch the snake.
Paddock, (to Frisk.) Why, you be rather too hasty
and interfering like ! it don't become thee, under fa-
vour.
Frisk. It's a way I have whenever I meet either a
fool or a knave.
Scorem. One of which I suppose I am ?
Frisk. No : not one ! both.
Scorem. You are an impertinent fellow ! Come
along, neighbour Paddock.
Frisk. Friend Paddock, he's a black sheep; you
haven't one like him among all the Jift^ you keep
on your farm.
Scorem. (Aside.) Fifty ! he knows more than he
should. I'll go to the manor house directly. Well,
Paddock, if you mean to stop, I must go.
[As Scorem goes off, Paddock is following ; Frisk
stops him.
28
' Frisk. Beware of that fellow ; he's as false as his
own measure. He's after mischief.
Paddock. You be an odd kind of gentleman Neigh-
bour Scorem
Frisk. Is like his chalk, double. But where's the
lad?
Dick. He pushed off the moment he saw you.
Paddock. Aye, that be a fine lad ; and have gone
through a power of misfortunes : and she told my
dame
Frisk. She !
Paddock. ^Confused.) Odd rot'un, did I say she ?
Frisk. Come, come it is a girl ; and a plan is on
foot to do both you and her mischief. Old Barley
Mow is at the bottom ; but he shall have his score
properly paid oflP.
Enter l>i ED.
Ned. Dinner be ready, master.
Paddock. Well, I'll just tell the reapers to strike,
and then join you. [^Exit Paddock.
Frisk. Then we'll digest our business and the beef-
steaks, at the same time.
Enter Reapers from the Field, who join in the Finale.
FINALE
We'll hold a cabinet council
O'er a beef-steak and brown ale ;
And that's a foundation for argument
Too substantial to fail.
A bumper we'll fill to the honest man,
We'll toast him again and again ;
And Confusion we'll drmk to ev'ry rogue's plan,
And pledge it like able men.
With a hob-nob, and a merry go round,
And we'll pull in ere reason fail ;
For the stoutest man in the kingdom found
Must knock under to humming ale.
END OF ACT I.
29
ACT II. Scene I.
Paddock's Parlour.
Paddock, Dame Paddock, Frisk, and Harry.
Paddock. But art sure (to Frisk) thee art right ?
It be bad to take away a man's good name.
Dame Pad. Good name, quotha ? Scorem's good
name be like his good ale ; bad is the best on't.
Frisk. That he said so, I have tAvo good witnesses,
my ears; that he'll r/o so, I've a certain proof in /tw
heart ; and that he'll be foiled, I've a pretty good pre-
sentiment in my own : so cast off care, get in your
corn, and I promise you the joUiest harvest-home you
have had since you was a farmer.
Paddock. Thee speak'st as thee wishest ; thy heart
be good, as I say to my Spouse, but thy head goes a
wool gathering, as my Spouse do say to I.
Frisk. It will produce a Golden Fleece, then.
Paddock. I wish it may prove so; however t'cause
ben't tried yet, law's unsartain, and I always think the
two tails of a counsellor's wig be like Plaintiff and
Defendant, their only dependance be t' lawyer's head.
[Exit.
Dame Pad. He do seem rather narvousome ; and if
his kind heart do sink, mine will be too sorrowful to
keep it up. (Exit crying.)
Frisk. (Aside.) This Wilton little dreams of the rod
I have in pickle for him. I wonder I haven't heard
from lawyer Pros : sure he never received the letter I
sent him. (Seeing Harriet disconsolate.) Why, Harry!
liar. Ah ! Mr. Frisk, they have been my sup-
port, my preservers, and are the only friends I have.
Frisk. Come, come, don't be so unjust as to leave
me out of the number : but I know all about it, don't
blush now.
JIar. Sir ! (Confused.)
Frisk. Madam.
Har. What do you mean ?
Frisk. Mean? as if you couldn't guess. I wouldn't
be thought impertinent, but do you think your disguise
could deceive me ?
Har. (Affecting pique.) Disguise, sir ? I don't
understand you. Though you may look upon me as a
mere boy, I may convince you I am as much of a man
as many
Frisk. Who wear a woman's heart under a man's
habit. It is useless to trifle, Wilton suspects you, and
has laid a plan to get you into his power.
Har. Heaven shield me from that power ! but.
but (Conceals her face with agitation.)
Frisk. Come, come, why in tears ? you see I was in
the secret, and
Har. 'Twas unmanly, sir, to take me by surprise.
Frisk. By surprise, my dear girl ? I know your sex,
I honour all your sex, and I'll fight for you all : so
don't fear to put confidence in me, I will protect you.
Har. (Recovering her spirits.) Why you look like a
champion ; but not being possessed of your wonderful
penetration, I am really at a loss to know how you can
protect me.
Frisk. By my head and my hands, plan with one,
and fight with the other ; but is this same buckram
squire the man who occasioned your flight and dis-
guise ?
Har. He is ; and on whose account I must again
fly.
Frisk. Not while Frank Frisk stays in the village;
I shall leave it myself soon, and then we will go toge-
ther.
Har. Sir ! upon my word you don't want for con-
fidence, but I hope you will do me the honour to con-
sult me upon the occasion.
Frisk. Oh, my dear, we'll have the parson's permis-
sion : for the moment I knew you I determined to ofifer
you my heart.
Har. Inscribed like a Tunbridge Toy ; " A Trijle
of Esteem.''''
Frisk. Pretty encouragement ! yet might \ but pr;^
sume. {:>*. ,aVi
3!
Har. Might you but presume ? what have you
been doing all this time ? but were I inclined to return
this extraordinarf/ compliment to my understanding,
there is an insurmountable objection ; you forget, sir,
I am poor.
Frisk. So am I ; and we shall match the better.
Love and poverty, they say, don't agree ; but the love
that flies out of the window at the sight of poverty,
deserves to have the door shut in his face ; so if you
can accept the heart of a poor eccentric fellow, who is,
I hope, more fool than knave, there is my hand ; if you
reject it, there's a pond in the yard, and a pear-tree in
the garden, and if I am fished for in one, or pluck 'd
like a burgamy from the other, whose fault will it be ?
JIar. ( Halfironicalli/.) If your case is so desperate
it will require some consideration, and perhaps it is
fortunate I am poor ; or really rather than break your
heart, I might, perhaps, be induced to pay what am I
saying? Good bye I must leave the place ; and if we
should nevr meet again
Frisk. Remember if you leave this place without
me you'll break my heart, and (to an attornej/^s Clerk
who enters as Harriet goes off on the opposite side) I've
a great mind to break your head.
Clerk. Then I should lay you by the heels. Is your
name Paddock ?
Enter Paddock.
Paddock. That be my name.
Clerk. (Giving a paper.) There.
Paddock. Well, sir, what be this ?
Clerk. A common subpoena duces tecum.
Paddock. Deuce take 'em, common enough may-
hap ; but it be all Greek gibberish to I.
Clerk. 'Tis a notice to you to produce your lease in
court, at the trial of the action of Thrustout on the
demise of Wilton, versus Holdfast ; unless you wisely
prefer letting judgment go by default. The deed
won't hold water !
Paddock. Hold water ? Won't it hold the land
for I ?
CleHc.. 'Tis good for nothing.
32
Paddock. Why it be a shameful thing then : and
what be I to do about it, sir ?
Clerk. We are plaintiff's attorney and can't advise.
Frisk. Now I can.
Clerk. Well then, what would you advise ?
Frisk. You to get out of this place, or I'll serve a
writ of ejectment upon you. (Lifting up his foot.)
Clerk. Sir, I'll clear the court without executing
any further writ of enquiry. \^Exit Clerk.
Paddock. Why now you will be hasty, sir: the
young man were but doing his duty, and he couldn't
help it.
Frisk. No more could I : my spleen rose, and my
foot often rises with it ; but let us take a turn round
the field together, and consider what is to be done ;
I'm a bit of a lawyer myself, and you'll have my advice
without a fee, and if it misleads you, its no more than
the advice you pay for often does. [^Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Retired Landscape.
Enter Wilton and Dick.
Wilton. Now, Dick^ you must get in conversation
with this Harry, and decoy him to the back of the
Manor-House, where Scorem will be waiting disguised
like a black
Dick. And your honour would make a black of
me, too ?
Wilton. What, sir ?
Dick. Why, look ye, sir, I an't used to the smug-
fling sarvice ; in all proper duty till the cruise is over
11 obey, but I'll never disgrace the bluejacket I once
wore by piracy.
Wilton. You shall repent this.
Dick. I should repent t'other I believe ; and if we
can't mess together without squalls, I'm ready to strike
the flag, unrig and take my discharge.
33
Wilton. Go back to the Manor-House and wait my
pleasure.
Dick. With all hearts ; steady in the rio;oing,
staunch at my gun ; but always steer clear of a lee
shore, your honour. \^Exit Dick.
Wilton. This rascal will betray me, so I'U ship him
ofFj, to use his own plirase : the girl I'll have, and I am
doubly determined to punish Paddock for protecting
her. Tlie cause relative to Paddock's lease comes on
today, Scorem's evidence ensures me success; then
I'll turn Paddock out directly, and give the lease to
him, because he's just such a convenient fellow as I
want; and faith I must lose no time while the power
is in my hands ; for young Worthy, whom I never sa,w,
prosecutes his cause against me so vigorously, to re-
cover this ample estate, which has been so many years
in our family ; t])at, such is the uncertainty of the law,
I may not long be master of it. Yet Quibble's last
letter assures me I'm safe, and do my eyes deceive
me ? No here comes Harriet lucky opportunity !
\^Rdires.
Enter Harriet thoughtfully, with a Bundle^
Har. Yes ; I'm resolved, this night it shall be
done : I must bid Frank adieu for ever for an hour
in this place is an age of terror, lest Wilton should
secure me.
Wilton. (Seizing her.) Wilton has secured you :
(she screams) and now, madam, with me you return.
Har. For heaven's sake, sir, persecute me no
longer ; I never will be yours. \_Enter Frisk.
Wilton. You know me too well to suppose this non-
sense will avail.
Frisk. Then, perhaps, this will ! (shewing his cane.)
(To Harriet.) Return to Paddock's, and leave him
to me. \^Exit Harriet.
Wilton. Rascal ! what do you mean ?
Frisk. Excuse my rudeness ; but I've a strange com-
plaint in this arm ; a kind of something that always
puts it in motion whenever I see a scoundrel ill treat
SI woman.
34
Wilton. This shall cost you dear.
[Going off the way Harriet went.
Frisk. (Stopping him., and pointing to the other side.)
No, your road lies that way : the air of that field isn't
good for your health. (Pointing the opposite way.)
Wilton. Let me pass.
Frisk. Now be advised.
Wilton. Death and fury, sir ! if you was a gentleman
I should know how to talk to you.
Frisk. No you wouldn't ; it would require a gen-
tleman to do that in one word, go that way, or I
feel it coming (shaking the cane.)
Wilton. You shall auijwer for this, sir.
{Exit Wilton.
Frisk. (Calling after him.) I shall always be ready.
This was a lucky rencontre, but I must watch him,
that he may not go round and meet her again.
[^Exit after Vfn.To^.
Enter Ned.
Ned. Hey-day ! I met my rival Harry running as if
he were bewitched; he seemed unhappy I'm sorry
for that, though he have stolen Janet's heart from me;
for now I ha' recovered my own, and he may take her
and welcome. I ha' done with the sex, for since she
be false-hearted, I don't think there be a true one
amongst 'em. I shall never forget when I brought
her a ribbon from the fair.
SONG. Ned.
I went to the fair with a heart all so merry,
Siim hey down, ho dowu, derry down dee;
And 1 bought a gay ribbon, as red as a cherry.
For the giil I lov'd best, and who vow'd lo lovenie.
I return'd from the fair, gaily whistling and singing,
My trne lover's knot I in triuniijh was bringing
O, it wasn't for me that I heard the bells ringing;
Sing hey down, ho down, derry down, dee.
35
i found she was false, tlio' she promiVd me fairly.
Sing hey down, ho down, derry down, dee;
And women, I-trow, are hk^ weathercocks; rarely
They're fix'd to one point, so coquettish they be.
My true lover's knot I away were now flinging,
I've done with the sex, will live single, and sniging
O, it wasn't for me, &c.
[Exit's ED.
SCENE III.
Paddock's Parlour.
Enter Dame Paddock.
JJame Pad. O dear heart ! my poor man be gone to
the 'sizes about the lease ; if he loses the cause it vrill
go nigh to break his heart, f Enter Janet. J Janet,
girl, why what brings thee ?
Janet. To ask and entreat, look you, that you will
speak a goot word for hur to Harry ; and tell him it
is crate shames and scandals to plague a poor girl,
who has partialities and affections for him, look you.
SONG. Janet.
Ah, well-a-day !
Now may hur say,
Hur for a husband must tarry :
Hur's young and thought pretty,
O, 'tis a pity
That Ned hur e'er promis'd to marry.
In vain he comes after hur wooing,
I In vain hurseif Harry pursuing :
'Tis wailing and woe !
Hur must sigh, Heigho !
And love, spite of Ned, cruel Harry.
fr Why did he come.?
I Sweet was hur home;
i Care hur had never to parry :
Now all's melancholy,
Grieving and folly,
Ah ! sure to the grave 'twill hur carry.
36
Of hur cruelty Ned is complaining,
Hurself suffers Harry's disdaining ;
'Tis wailing and woe,
Hur must sigh, Heigho!
And love, spite of Ned, cruel Harry.
Enter Ned. ^
l^ed. Love Harry ? Then more shame for ybu, after
all the promises jou made to me ; but I've done with
you.
Dame Pad. Two fools! (to Janet) but if thee be'st
so changeable he'll have no bargain of thee I warrant,
[Janet and Ned go up the stage Harriet runs in
with the bundle, and drops on a chair, observing
none but Dame Paddock.
liar. O, Dame, I have had guch an escape ! Wil-
ton, notwithstanding my disguise, has discovered that
I am the woman he persecutes.
Janet. Oh, bless hur conscience ! hur is a woman.
Dame Pad. There ; now the secret be out ; but if
either of you blab, I'll never forgive you.
Ned. Never fear me, mistress. (Aside.) Now I
shall be even with Miss Janet.
Har. (Recovering.) Disguise is in vain now ; all,
all will be known. Save me from Wilton ! exposed
as I have been, I shall in this form become a laughing-
stock ; in that bundle is the last female dress I ever
wore ; I will resume it, and wait the event with resig-
nation.
Dame Pad. Come, come, keep up thy spirits ; never
mind him ; bless'ee, at thy age, if the best he that ever
wore a head had been troublesome to me, he'd have
met with his match, I warrant me.
[Exit Harriet attended bi/ Dame Paddock.
Janet. Well, it is full of wonders and marvels, look
you. [To Ned who is going off.
Ned. Oh, you want to follow me now ?
37
DUET. Ned and Janet.
Ned. My heart is as fret
As a bird on a tree.
Your days of vagary you've liad 'em :
A uice tiling you've made
Of your parjury trade ;
Pack ott' to some other, good madam.
Pray do.
Janet. 'Tis fitting to jeer.
And to flounce and to sneer.
But hur sex were all cruel from Adara:
But hur won't take it so,
And I'd have hur to know,
Mister Sir, hur was never a madam.
No, no.
Ned. You know it was base,
But I pity your case ;
How the folks will be all of them joking ;
And then by the way.
Such spiteful things say
Poor Janet, its very provoking !
Poor girl!
Janet. Hur's monstrous wise.
But hur'U tear out hur eyes !
Hur's come to pass very pretty ;
Pray go, and who cares,
Hur an't at hur last pray'rs.
Ned. Poor Janet, your trouble I pify !
I do.
Janet. Aye, insult hur now do with your pity.
Pray do.
[Exeunt severally. \
38
SCENE IV.
: A Village.
Enter Frisk reading a Letter.
Frisk. Brave news ! and Lawyer Pros will be here
this day; what between law and love I'm prettily per-
plexed ; the terms are almost synonymous, and in
either case when it comes to an attachment, there's an
end to the liberty of the subject.
jEw^cr Constable. ^
Const. In the Kings's name, stand !
Frisk. I prefer walking-.
Const. You mun walk wi' I then ; you are my pri-
soner, for salt and batter on the 'squire's honour.
Frisk. Now don't be importunate, or I may be trou-
blesome.
Const. But you shall go. (Collars him. J
Enter Dick, dressed as a Sailor ; with a Stick.
Dick. Belay ! haul off your grappling irons, and
heave a head I
Const. What do you bring a rescute ?
Dick. No I bring a stick.
Const. Do you know that I represent the King ?
Frisk. Then he's as ill represented as some of his
people.
39
Enter Pross, booted and spurred. Frisk puts his
Jinger on his own mouthy to indicate secrecy.
Pross. Ah ! my worthy friend, glad to meet with
you ; have scoured the whole place for you ; in a great
hurry to be off again ; so come along.
Const. No he mun ; go along !
Pross. Why, what's the matter ?
Frisk. A trifle : a gentleman was impertinent, and I
was impatient ; he wanted a conge, and I ofFer'd him
a cane ; that's all. [Dick whispers to Frisk.
Pros. I'll undertake for him.
Const. Why, what be an undertaker to do in this
business ?
Pros. An undertaker fellow ? I'm Peter Pros, at-
torney at law, and I'll answer for his appearance.
Const. No, he mun appear to answer for himself.
Frisk. You astonish me, Dick ! Then there's no
time to lose : fto Constable. J My good fellow, I'll go
with you where you please ; but first go with me.
You, Dick, keep aloof a bit ; you'll know your cue.
[Exeunt all but Dick.
Dick. Aye, aye, your honour ! never miss signal.
(Looking at his dress. J Now I feel as I used to do :
I've parted company with the 'squire ; and this rig-
ging makes me look something like again : why, m
his livery, I was like a British bottom with French
colours. He thought to frighten me, by talking of a
discharge ; but he'd got hold of the wrong man. A
true seaman is never frighten'd at a squall ; and if he
is set adrift, why he works his way as well as he can.
SONG. Dick.
We tars have a inaxim, your honour's, d'ye see.
To Hve in the same way we fight ;
We never give in, and when running a lee.
We pipe hands the vessel to right.
It may do for a lubber to snivel and that,
If by chance on i shoal he be cast ;
But a tar among breakers, or thrown on a flat,
Pu[ls away, tug ivl itug to the last.
With a yeo, yeo, yeo, fol de rol.
40
This life, as we're told, i"! a kind of a cruise.
In which storms and calms take their turn ;
If 'tis storm why we bustle, if calm then we booze,
All taught from the stem to the stern;
Our captain, who in our own lingo would speak,
Would say, to the cable stick fast.
And whether the anchor be cast, or a- peak,
Pull away, tug and tug to the last.
With a yeo, yeo, yeo, fol de roK
{Exit.
SCENE V.
Paddock's Parlour.
Paddock aw^Dame Paddock discovered; Paddock,
as if just come home, puts dozen his whip, takes off
his great coat, and hangs up his hat.
Paddock. Yes, Dame, it be all over sure enough :
'squire ha' gotten the day ; and Scorem, for his villany,
will get the lease.
Dame Pad. Well, well, keep up thy spirits; we
nave a little left, and we can still work. I feel most
for the poor girl who is up stairs, crying ; and do look
like an angel in her own clothes. [^ knock at the door.
Paddock. Come in.
Enter the Attorney's Clerk.
Paddock. O, you be here already, be you ? but ///
weeds come quick, as I say to my Spouse ; and There be
no shaking off troublesome companions, as my Spouse do
say to I.
Clerk You must all turn out ! the landlord and the
new tenant are coming.
Dame Pad. Hey, what ! Scorem ? If a comes near
me
Paddock. Nay, nay, dame ; don't lose thy temper,
and be a fool, because he be a knave : we mun turn
out, what then ? John Paddock may hold up his head
where they will be ashamed to show their faces.
Come, wife, come ! why do'ee be foolish and cry for ?
41
have a good heart, and bear it like I ; (half crying)
heigho ! If I did keep but fifty sheep, t'farra be as good
again as when I took it : but this be law.
Clerk. Yes ! the very letter of the law.
Paddock. Then it be black letter, and Justice couldn't
read it.
Enter Wilton.
Wilton. Mr. Paddock, you guess the nature of mj
visit here ?
Paddock. Yes, yes ! you ha' done your worst, and I
am ready to turn out as soon as the law requires.
For " The weakest goes to the wall,^^ as I say to mj
Spouse ; and " Needs must, when the devil drives,^ as
my Spouse says to I.
Enter Harriet in female dress.
Wilton. (Aside ; seeing her. J She's here ! and no
longer in disguise.
[^Attempts to seize Harriet, Paddock catches up his
whip, and stands between them.
Paddock. Stand off! stand off! She be under my
protection. [Scorem disarms Paddock.
Dame Pad. (To Scorem, and catching up the poker. J
Ah ! do'ee touch him, do'ee. [ Wilton seizes Harriet.
Har. Will nothing but my destruction, and that of
these worthy people, to whom I owe my life, content
you?
Wilton. I seek your happiness, and to give you an
opportunity of returning their kindness ; there is a
new lease, with blanks for the tenant's name; consent
to return to town with me, and I will insert Paddock's,
and leave him in possession of the farm.
Paddock. Doantee consider us pray doantee, miss ;
we should never thrive in the farm.
Dame Pad. Doantee, miss, pray ; I'll go down on
my knees to thee
Har. I will never insult my protectors by sup-
42
posing they would profit by my dishonour. I am of
age, sir; your power over rae ceases, and I defy it.
JVilton. Then you have decided their fate. Give me
the lease. (Signs it.) Now insert Scorem's name.
(To the Clerk who writes.) And now, sir, (to Paddock)
you quit the premises.
Paddock. Mun we be thrust out like vagabonds ?
-Ew^er Frisk.
Frisk. Never while Frank Frisk is near to protect
you.
Paddock. What canst thee do, foolish man? our cup
of affliction be full.
Frisk. Then we'll make his honour drink it. Harriet
in tears ? Hark ye, sir, (to Wilton) how have you
dared to insult that incomparable girl?
JVilton. I expected you was in custody, sir.
Frisk. Yes, and here's my bail.
Enter Pros.
Wilton. Pros the attorney !
Pros. Yes, Peter Pros ; old Quibble, as I told you
he would, deceived you 'tis all up decree pro-
nounced against you.
Wilmot. What, sir?
Pros. (Takes out a newspaper and reads.) " Worthy
'cersus Wilton.^^ " The long depending cause relative
to the valuable estate of Golden Acres is at last de-
cided in favour of the plaintiff Worthy ; and all the
leases given by the defendant Wilton are void, who has
likewise to pay up a long list of arrears, &c. &c. &c."
Pros. Here, sir, is the legal instrument, (shewing a
parchment,) by virtue of which we act.
Wilton. Confound you all ! [^Ex\t.
Paddock. ( To Scorem who has the lease in his hand. )
Your lease, master Scorem, be not a long one.
Dame Pad. Mayhap he'd like to have it renewed.
Ha, ha^ ha !
43
Enter Dick.
Dick. So his honour has bilg'd at last.
[Frisk and Harriet talk apart.
Paddock. (To Pros.) And praj, who be landlord
now, sir:
Pros. Francis Worthy, esquire, and there he is.
[Pointing to Frisk. All amazed but Dick.
Dick. Yes, yes, the false colours are hauled down,
and the true blue hoisted.
Paddock. Be that Mr. Worthy? I do humbly beg
your honour's pardon for all the freedoms we have
taken with one another, but we were all in the dark ;
and Ignorance be excusable, as I say to my Spouse ;
and A fooFs tongue do run before his wit, as my Spouse
do say to 1.
Frisk. Freedoms? Why you made me free of the
dining parlour, when old Trust to-morrow shut the
door in my face.
Scorem. I'm sure if I'd known who your honour was
Frisk. You would have told me of the clause in the
lease ; you're a black sheep, and I mean to shear you.
Scorem. Your honour won't turn me out ?
Frisk. But my honour will, I assure you.
Scorem. Then t/iat f snapping his jingers) for your
honour; stand out of the way. (Pushes against the
Clerk, who follows him out.)
Frisk. Now, friend Paddock, rest happy under your
old roof; your rent shall be reduced ; Ned and Janet
shall have the Barley Mow ; and Dick shall be brought
into safe moorings in town. And now, Harriet, may
/ hope ?
Dame Pad. Do'ee, Miss, bless'ee do'ee.
Har. (To Frisk.) As you certainly are entitled
to some consideration (starting and looking behind
her, and affecting fright,) bless me ! I thought Wilton
was there ! So, to make myself secure, and (to Frisk)
to save you from the pond or the pear-tree, I fancy I
must e'en consent (gives her hand.)
Frisk. Say you so ? then all shall be Jubilee.
44
Paddock. And I wish you may be as happy as m^
Spouse and I.
FINALE.
Frisk. Guilt detected, worth rewarded,
Still a care obscures our view.
(To Audience.) May approval be accorded ?
Sovereign lords, we bow to you.
Har. What fears annoy
The farmer's boy !
Ah, kindly smile them all away.
Paddock. Your smiles when won,
Shall be our sun,
And we'll while sun shines make our hay.
Dick. A sailor rough, on ocean bred,
Would favour ax, but knows not how.
' Ned. And pray, your worships, honour Ned
With favours at the Barley Mow.
CHORUS.
Guilt delected, &c.
THE END.
WluttiDgham and Rowland, Printers, Goswell Street, London .
THE
BROKEN SWORD,
A GRAND MELO-DRAMA,
INTERSPERSED WITH
SONGS, CHORU5SES, &c.
By WILLIAM DIMOND, Esq.
AUTHOR OT
The Peasant Boy. <5ustavus Vasa, or the Hero of the North. Hunter of the
Alps. The Young Hussar, or Love and Mccy. Adrian and Orrila.
Youth, Love and Folly The Sea-Side Story. Royal Oak. Doubtful Son.
Mth'iop, or Child of the Desert, &c. &c.
AS PERFORMED AT TH^B
TflfiATRE.ROFJL, COVENT-GARDEN,
WITH UNIVERSAL APPXAUSE.
SECOND EDITION.
LONDON4
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED by J, BARKER,
Ctramatic Eepositocp,
GREAT RUSSELL-STREET, COVENT-GARDEN.
[Price Two Shiliings.}
I&I6.
NOTE BY THE EDITOR.
A slight French Drama intitled, *' La
Vallee du Torrent" furnished the general outline of
this trifle. The management of the story, however,
differs, and the incident of the Sword (on which
the catastrophe is now made to hinge) is altogether
an introdu6lion.
The attributes of the legitimate Drama, in-
clude very superior efforts of composition ; but the
Melo-Drama, nearly as trivial as the Pantomime,
demands of its humbler votary, no more than the
excitement of curiosity. The- " Broken Sword,**
will probably be found to have fulfilled this limited
objeQ;.
DRAMATIS PERSONiE.
TheBaron Mr. Barrtmokc,
Capt, Zavior Mr. Fawcett,
Claudia Mr.. Abbott,
Colonel Rigolio > Mr. Terry,
Pablo Mr. Simmons,
Estevan Mr; Farley,
Myrtillo (a Dumb Orphan) . . . Miss Luppino,
Rosara {Daughter to the Baron Miss S, Booth,
Stella Miss Carew,
Beatrice Miss M'Alpine,
Jacintha Miss Mortram,
Goatherdesses Mesdames Bradwell, Mori, Flourdeau^
Newton, &c.
Scene y^^ Valley of the Pyrenees) between the Spanish and
French Frontiers of Catalonia and Roussillon*
THE
BROKEN SWORD.
A C T I.
SCENE The Pyrenees at day -break the Cabin of a
Goatherdess towards the front, on one fide Eftevan
difcovered on a Crag alone his figure worn and ema^
dated, is wrapped in a ragged Mantle '-he approaches
with a timid, doubtful (lep Mufic ceafes as he ap-
proaches the thre/hold.
I
*Eflev. XT is her cabin yes, the cabin of my kinf-
woman ; lier heart was ever kind, and fhe will
furely (belter me ! No one obferves me now dare
I venture (He advances to knock, and fuddenly ncoils
with a ^art of terror) Ha! who calls me? Is't the
purfuit ? {Looks wildly round) No, no, no ! Twas
but the eagle's f cream. [He jlrikes cautioufly againjt
the ioor.) Stella ? Stella !-
(Stella appears at a Cafement above
SteL Who calls fo early? Is't Beatrice ? Ha! a
man and a ftranger ! Who is at my door ?
/lev, A wretch a way-worn fainting wretch !
if you have charity, receive and fbelter him.
6 THE BROKEN SWORD.
Stel. Enough ! unhappy one ! be comforted.-
[Clofes the Ca/emenL)
EJlev, A bleffing on the mercy which preferves
me! another hour of ftruggle, and thefe Hmbs had
funk beneath their wretched burdeni
Stella Enters from the Cabin,
Stel. Now, my good friend, what fervice can I
fhew you ?
Efiev. Grant me but a little food ; let me reft till
evening on your mat, and you will fave a fellow
creature's life.
Stel, Cheerfully, and with the heart's kind wel-
come; lean on this arm, poor wanderer, and
enter,
EJlcv. Ah, my good and generous Stella!
Stel. My name! you know me then*
Efiev, So, once did Stella know a happy and re-
fpe6ted kinfinan, called Eftevan de Burgos,
Stel. My coufin, and my kindett friend in child-
hood ? Ah ! Yes ! I knew and loved bim dearly!
he was Valet to the Count Luneda, and left his
country many years fince to follow his mailer into
Mexico. Do you bring news of him?
Eftev, Stella ! look on thefe haggard features
well.
Stel. Ah ! is*t poffible ? O, yes I fee I recol-
left but furc fo terrible a change
EJlcv. Mifery and defpair have wrought it for
four dreadful days the wolf has fliared his hiding
place with me in watchfulnefs and famine. Stella !
behold this chain ! [Opens the Mantle and difplays
an Iron Collar upon his iSeck)
Stel, Merciful heavens! the iron collar! the
habit of
THE BROKEN SWORD. t
Eflev. A galley flave ! Aye, Stella, I have been
accufed of fearful deeds tried, convi<5ted, fenten-
ced to the toiling oar for life but I was innocent,
on my foul innocent ! Four nights fince, I burft
my chains, and efcaped from my prifon at Rofas,
the Pyrenees have veiled me in their pathlefs mazes
from purfuit, I toiled to pafs the Spanifh frontier,
but fatigue and famine overweighed my ftrength ;
juft as my fbeps had failed, your cabin, Stella, your
well known cabin
Stel. Ah ! be it your beacon of hope, your cita-
del of fafety.
( Voices at a distance,
Eftev. [in violent emotion,) Ha! voices footfteps!
I am purfued I am loft! [Falls exhaufied on the
ground; Stella runs affrighted to the foot of the crojs,
then returns re-ajffured.)
Stel. No, no, you are fafe, believe me ! they who
approach, are only the Goatherdeffes from the val-
ley they are my companions and my friends.
Roufe thee, coufin ! be cautious and fear not.
{Several Goatherdeffes defcend the Craggs, and advance
gaily to Stella.)
Beat Come, Stella, forward with us, to the
bridge of St. Paulo ; the fun is rifing, and we lliall
fcarcely reach it before the young Cavalier paiTes.
Who is this ft ranger ?
Stel. *Tis a poor travelling man half perifliing, I
fear from want. (4/?c?^ to Eftevan.j Rely upon
my caution !
Jacin, A traveller in diftrefs! Ah ! let us all af-
fift- him ! {Some of the Girls encircle Eftevan, and
fupport him others run into the Cabin, and return with
a Bench and Tahky -which they cover with Fruits, Bowls
of Milk, &c,)
Eftev. Thanks, my kind and charitable Miftrcffcs !
the bleffings of the wretched be upon your way !
8 THE BROKEN SWORD.'
SieL Ours is not a diftaiit one, only to the bridge
vhieh crofles the torrent at the end of our valley.
The fon of our good Seigneur returns home this
morning, from the wars, and we are aflembled to
meet him at the bridge and drew flowers ; but my
companions fhall proceed without me.
E/iev. Nay, not To, I mud befeech you ! (A^de
to her.) If you remain, it may excite fufpicion,
Steh [Acquiefcing by a look.) Well then, I will re-
turn, good man, in an hour at lateft; meanwhile,
feed on the fimple fare our mountain boards pro-
vide reft on the rufhes ftrewn within to flumber
fink fecurely, and in dreams be happy !
SONG and CHORUS.
Stella and Goatherdesses.
I.
Way-worn man ! here cheerly rest,
Perils past and travail o'er
Droop DO more by toil opprest,
Rest thee at the Rustic's door.
Rest, way .worn man !
II.
Milk, our up-land flocks have yielded.
Roots and honey strew (he board;
Grapes yon rock from storm hath shielded,
These are all our huts afford.
Restf way. worn man !
( The Girls ajcend, Jinglng in Chorus, as the
Scene clojes*)
THE BROKEN SWORD. 9
SCENE yi Apartment in the Chateau feveral Do-
me/Hcs hurry qcrojs the Stage, carrying Vafes of
Flowers and different Ornaments for a Fete,
Enter Pablo.
Pah. Have a care, Therefa, howyou carry that
jar; Pedro, hold the beaupot Heady; Ah! Bartolo,
thou art an aukvvard devil; all my pains are thrown
away every thing will be fpoilt.- There, there, get
you forward, idle, heedlefs, gracelefs heathens ! -
(Exeunt Domestics.
How I labour, but, all to no purpofe ! Elegance is
not to be taught I prefent the model, but nobody
Copies it. [Takes a Chair.) What a fatiguing day
this will be ! Firft, it's the return of young Doa
Claudio from the wars; that's a rejoicing. Next,
it's the anniverfary of the murder of Count Luneda,
poor little Mafter Myrtillo's papa, that's a con-
doling. Then there's to be a ceremony upon both.
occafions to laugh for the one, and cry for the
other how difficult to unite fuch oppofites ! Mifs
Rofara has left all to my management. What a
tafli. for a man of genius ! I (hall fink under it I
feel quite oppreffed already.
Capt, Zavier [without,)
Zav. Sail a-head there ? Varlet ! Pablo !
Pab. ( Jumping up.) Here's the old fea Captain
firing his chafe-guns after me it's too much on the
brain I can never Hand it. Here, Capt. Zavier.
Enter Zavier.
Zav, So, puppy, I have you within hail at laft !
B
10 THE BROKEN SWORD;
How long am I to wait for breakfaft ? where*s my
brother ? my niece? where's my little Myrtiilo ?
Pab^ Under favour, you muft fancy it banyan
day. Captain ; ^no breakfaft yet I can't fpare you
a fingle lacque)'.
Zav, Why, the knave's befotted. Where have
you ffeht all th fervants ?
PMr. {Laying his fitter to his nofe.) Hufli !: huih I
be fee ret ; we ^re knee-deep in preparations.
Zav, Preparations ! and for what ?
'Fni;* Joy and grief dances and dirges the liv-
Ving ^hd the dead
Zav, Speak pjaitriy, you incomprehenfible dol-
jiliin, or Til trarifliite your fltull into a meaning with
my ftick,
f Rofara runs in, and catthes Zavier's arm.
'Ros, "fioid, dear uncle'! Til be poor Pablo*s ex-
^pofitdr.
j^tft;. Aha! ttiy pretty niece'! thy kifs charms the
rifing ftorm into a nap, more cunningly than e*er a
"Lapland witch's bag ! Yet, that puppy fo provoked"
me
'kds. I am in'fault, uncle j poor Pablo only a<5i:-
ed by my ctefire.
Pab. No, Captain, I only ftood at the helm, but
Mifs gave fteering orders. {AJide.) There's a fait
fop for the old dragon in his own element.
Zav, Well, but I muft be taken into confidence.
Come, roguifh^yes, tell me your fecret*
Ros. Mull I- '? You fhali pfomife to be very
^<5od then, We-are preparing a furprife for fome-
body' ib'tbe ^gatddn^a triumphal arch garlands-^^
infcriptions in faft, a fete in compliment to the
d*y. You know, my btother-s return after a long
twelvemonth's -abfence, may be expefted every mi-
fiute. His campaign has been a glorious one, and our
deaf Claudio ought to meet, amidfl the welcomes of
THE BROKEN SWORa U
'his "home, a grateful recolleflion of the gallantry by
which it had been protected.
Zav. That's a fentiijient worthy of a female
heart J the debt ot gratitude can never be over-paid
to the defenders of their country, whether b.y laad
or fea. Ah ! you girls have littk notion of our
perils. I remember, when I was firft appointed to
his Catholic Majefty's gun-brig, the Strombolo
Pab {A fide.) O! Lord, if he once gets on board
the Strombolo, we niall make a voyage till dinner-
time. iha/iily ) Mifs, Mifs, you have not toM his
honour t'other half of the fecret.
Kos^ True, Pablo. Have you forgotten this day
is the anniverfary of an event, at once our happi-
nefs and our afflidion. Your little protegee, the
orphan Myrtiilo
^ Zav. i^ow ? what? this day, faid you? 'true,
true, the thirteenth of Auguft 'tis juft fix years
this day, fince I firft found him in the wood of CoU
Jares. Poor little fellow 1 how unhappy this day
will make him! for he ftUl feels the horrid tragedy,
as if it were but yefterday it happened.
Ros. True, my dear uncle ; and, as I knew his
forrows ever return upon this morning witti acutcr
pain, I had planned a little incident. Among the
effefcls, which the unhappy Luneda had left behind
him in Mexico, and which but lately were tranl-
mitted for his orphan, 1 found a marble bud, faid to
be a ftriking refemblance of the murdered man.
MyrtiJlo is, as yet, ignorant of its exiftence. I have
ordered a fmall monument, recording the flrangc
calamity, to be raifed at the entrance of the garden ;
on this the bufl fliall prefently be depofited, with
an appropriate ceremony, in the orphan's prefence.
Thus, in the very midft ot our own feftivity, he will
. [Afide.) My bowels yearn at the thougbts
of it. Such a dilageeable bard feat too !
Zav. Let me fee aye ! it is exadiy fix years
fince, that peace being reftored to Spain, and my
(hip paid off, my kind brother oifer'd me a fnug
hammock in the dwelling of my forefathers; 1
mounted a mule at Barcelona, and trot[ed away for
my native nrtountains. At the dawn of the iourth
day's journey, I entered the wood of Collares, when
fuddenly from the thick boughs of a cork tree r-
Pab, (Jiimpng up.) A chefnut, Captain, a chef-
nut,
Zav. Bah 1 you booby, I fay, a cork.
Pab. And I fwear, a che{nut Captain! this is
the twenty-feventh time I have heard you relate this
ftory, and you invariably faid, a chefnut, till now.
Zav. Did 1 ? Well, a chefnut be it then. But,
take your feat again.
Fab. Willingly Only out with the cork^ and Vm
your man for fitting.
Zav, Well then from the thick boughs of a chef-
nut, fuddenly flipped down Stlit tie boy, who caft him-
felf on his knees in the path before me his features
were convulfed and pale, and his poor piteous eyes
that were raifed befeechingly to mine, ran over with
fait water as faft as the fcuppers of my own brig,
when fhe had fliipped a fea. '* What cheer, young
meflmate?" cried I, his lips open'd, as if to return
my hail, but no utterance followed; yet the boy-
kept throwing out ftrange fignals of diftrels, and
feemed to invite me, in dumb fl^.ew, to accompany
bim thro* an opening in the underwood. 1 dii-_
mounted, faften'd piymule to the-r-the:
14 THE BROKEN SWORD.
Pab. {Eagerly.) Chefnut.
Zav. Well, well, the tree that flood next me.-^
The child placed his cold and trembling hand with-
in mine, and led me thro' a winding of the wood,
into an open fpace, where the high road to Col-
lares croffed there I beheld O! 1 (hall never for-
get the fight !-r-a chariot, with its traces cut the
doors on either fide forced open, and the body of
an Officer covered with ftabs, ftretched on the feat
within^ The boy fprang frora me, threw himfelf
upon the corpfe, covered with frantic kiffes every
bubbling wound, then, raifed his eyes to heaven, but
dropped them in defpair, and fank down as iitelef?
as the form that pillow'd him.
Ros, Dear Myriillo ! my heart weeps with thee,
Zav. A precious time I had of it, you may be
Aire. The alarm was rung; the diftrift raifed,
Alguazils, Corregidors depofitions examina-
tions, and crofs examinations. At lad, we difco-
vered by papers, found upon the body, and by the
child's evidence, who. though deprived of Ipeecht
by the terror of the fccne, could wrttet that the
murder*d man had been a Count Luneda, but re-
cently landed from Mexico, and then travelling to
meet fome military friend, whofe name MyrtiilQ
had forgotten.
Ros, I think it was ftated, Count Luneda had
converted his large property into jewels, which he
carried about him at the time.
Zav And of which he was rifled by the mur-
derer J but, thanks to Providence and my excel-
lent brother, our poor orphan, tho' bereltot parent,
and of fortune, pofl'efles yet a kindly, and protedt*
ing home.
Ros. Where compaffion gives him two fathers for
the one he has loft a filler m Roiaia
P.zbi And a true friend in Pablo but fee, h)f
chimhQt opens^ (points off the fla^e,)
tHE BROKEN SWORD. 15
Zav, He feems loft in thought; he holds his tab-
lets in one hand, a pencil in the other.
Ros. And writes, as he advances fo earncl
loo, he does not obferve us.
MvRTiLLo enters as detcribed^when he reaches the
front of the Stage, he rapidiy aids another word to the
Tablet^ and, by ge/iure exprejjes that the document is
then complete* He turns, perceives his friends, ond
throws himfeif precipitately into the arms of Rofara
and Zavier.
'Lav Welcome, my adopted Ton,
i?(?/. Welcome, my fecond brother I
Pab. The compliments of the morning to you;
'Mafter Myrtillo. nVIyrtillo draws back, and figns to
Pablo reproachfully,) Ah ! he will never let me
fpeak refpeftfully, as I wifh. Well, then, if I muft
not fay Majler Myrtillo, good day, my friend Myr*
'tillo. f Myrtillo fmiles, runs to him, and /hakes bands
eagerly.) Aye, now he*s pleafed ; but it's a (hame
for me to be fo familiar I, who am only a fervairt*
"^^{MyriWXo fhahs his head, and feems to ajk " Whai
then am I?" turns again to Zavier, and exprejfes that,
without his bownty, he /hould be dejlitute.)
Rof. Fye, Myrtillo I we do not like to be remind-
ed your fcnfe of gratitude is too deep it diftreffes
2.av. Gratitude, and for what ? doing our duty ?
Heaven help the child \ wouldn't he be a pretty dog
of a failor who fhould fee a mcfTmate drowning
alongfide his fhip, and not fling out a rope to fave
him upon deck. [^Exit.
Rof You have been writing this morning j what
fubjeft has employed your fancy. ( He fgnifies hi^
pafi misfortunes^ that the prefent day is their fixth anni"
16 THE BRdREN SWORD.
verjary, then hows refpedJuUy^ and offers the tahkts to
Rofara.)
Rof. Ah ! I comprehend you, dear Myrtillo, but
too well, and thefe tablets are defigned for me.
{He exprejfes ajjent.) ^What infcription is here?
* The memoirs of an orphan, dedicated to his bene*
factress." [She appears about to opsn the leaves^ Myr-
tillo flops her, and ajhs that flie will not read further in
his pre fence.) Enough, I will read of you hereafter,
cenverfe with you now, think of you for ever.
Enter /Ac Baron with an open letter,
, Baron, Joy, joy to all of you ! Our abfentee will
be i'n the arms of his family within the hour: thus
runs his billet: {Reads) " The courier who de-
*' livers this will fcarcely precede me by a fingle poft.
" A brother officer, the Chevalier Rigolio, is the
* companion of my journey. He has proved the
*} kindest of friends to your inexperienced foldier-^
* tell Rofara he is wealthy, accomplifhed, and a bat-
*' chelor; Need I entreat the fmiles of my pretty
*i*rifter to welcome fuch a vifitor ?" You perceive,
Rofara, your brother thinks oi^'ou.
RoJ, And I of him fo entirely. Sir, I cannot find a
thought to wafte on {^rangers,
Paif, Fags and fidgets! Don Claudio on the
road, and half my work yet unfinifhed. O ! by your
love of the fine arts to the garden to the feteto
the bufl.
RoJ, Hufli ! Come, Myrtillo, you mull be my ef-
cort, (Myrtillo befitates, and implies reluctance,) How,
you rcfufe to be my beau ? is this your gallantry ?
{He Jhakes his head mournfully, draws out his watch,
points to the hour, and lifts his hands, as in prayer ^ and
exprejes anxiety to be gone. )
THE BROKEN SWORD. 17
Rof. [Ajtde to Pablo.) Hurti ! his watch reminds
* him 'tis near the hour when the annual mafs for
his father is fung at the chapel beyond the torrent
'tis his cuftom afterwards to remain in folitary prayer
till evening. We underftand your fcruples, Myr-
tillo, and refpe^ SWORD. Ift
a$ fhejoyomgroupe begin to difplay tkemfdvei on a planted,
eminence oppofite, Toung villagers male and female, pre-
cede, fcatterin? flowers, (3c. Cajlanets, tavfifjortnes, &c,
7he/e fill the^ front of the Stage, with fong and dance,
while Claudio and Rigolq paufe upon the eminence^
where they are received and -welcomed in action by the
characters of the family ^ Claudio introducing his friendt
l^c.)
( The characters have graduallv advanced, and appear in
front as the Ballet concludes.)
Baron. In truth, my noble boy, you credit your
campaign.
Bafy. Yes, young mafter has (hot up liice ^ poplar
tree.
Claudio. If my return is indeed a fubjeft of gratu-
lation aaiong my relatives, to this excelient guardian,
this b.lt o[ friends '{pointing to Rigolio) |iil ac^
knowledgments are juftly due.
Rigo. Forbear, dear Claudio, you over-rate my
fimple fervices.
Clauaio. Nay, Rigolio, you fliall not deny my
heart its dearest luxury, the expression of its grati-
tude. Yes, my friends, but for this generous arm,
your Claudio had been ixpthing. At the ftorming
of Tortona, dafhed from the rampart, and hurled
amidft a crowd of foes, the brave Rigolio cut a
paflage to my aid, and, at the hazard of his own
life, refcued mine.
Baron Noble gentleman I if ever you become a
parent, you \N\\\feel thofe thanks i cannot utter.
Higo. Your fon, my lord, is an enthufiaft: to
fave a gallant comrade in his extremity is but the
common iaipulfe of a foldier's mind yet he vene-
rates, as ihe refult of principle, that which was
merely the effect of chance.
Baron, The generous fpirit ever makes its own
diftindions. Now, my kind neighbours \to the
2d THE BROKEN SWORD.
feasants) partake of our rcfrefhments. Pablo, this
is a part of your office.
Pablo. Yes, my lord, and one I always execute ia
perfon. When eating and drinking is the charge,
I never could bear to ennploy a deputy. (Pablo
conducts the villagers to the tables. They ajfemhle joy-
oufly'y and he appears to superintend officwufly. )
Claudio, Ah ! how this fcene this happy, native
fcene exhilirates my heart! But, uncle, I mifs one
welcome yet. Where is your fon?
Zav. O he fhall greet you prefesitly,
Rtgo. How, Claudio, this is a relative you had
not mentioned to me : I never heard you had a
coufin.
Xav. What ! has the Colonel never been told of
our Myriillo, the little orphan whom I found this
day fix years, in the wood of Collares ?
Higo. [Starting,' Found? the wood of Col-
lares? and on this day ?
Zav. Aye, the thirteenth of Auguft. Providence,
Sir, caft him on my care, for his father had juft
perifhed in that very wood by the execrable hand
of an aflaffin.
Rtgo. [Involutitarily.) Merciful heavens !
Claudio. My friend !
Ros. The Colonel is unwell.
Rigo [Endeavouring to rally.) No, no a mo-
mentary fpafm I entreat your pardon 'tis gone
again this keen mountain air.
Baron, You have remained expofed to it too long
let me conduct you, I entreat, into the houfe.^
Our breakfaft fhall be prepared within.
Rigo. You are too kind. I follow you. Lovely
Rofara, may I prefume to alk this hand? {They
turn to pass into the house. The Baron leads, Rigolio
JollowSj leading Rofara. Jujl as theyfrmt the buji, his
THE BROKEN SWORD. 21
tye falls upon it ; fuddsnly his hand drops that of Rofara,
and he /lands intenjely rooted to the fpot. )
Claudio. Colonel, will you not proceed?
Rigo, (Without disengaging his eye,) Which is
the path ?
Claudio. Straight onwards.
Rigo. No 'tis barred againfl me No, no, no
I cannot pafs him.
Claudio, Whom?
Rigo. Thofe dead eyes glare fo Oh ! I cannot
bear it. Frown not fo terribly, Luneda.
Cladio, You knew him then ? [to Rigolio.)
Perhaps he was your friend ?
Rigo. My friend r Ha! ha! Yes, yes, he was
my friend. Ha! ha! ha! [He finks ^ paralyfed
with emotion, between Claudio and Zavier. All the
peasants, ^c. participate.)
Claudio, Bend him forwards he revives again.
Rigo. Did I dream it? No, *tis there again!
-ill fated, facrificed Luneda! My friend! I called
him fo, did I not ?
Xav. You did, and you are with thofe who vene-
rate his memory.
Rig. True I perceive all now. Abuft, a mere
memorial and his orphan refides here. ,
Ros. O ! yes. Sir and he will be fo rejoiced to
welcome a friend of his father's. Though he is
dumb, his eyes will fpeak for him.
Rigo, How! dumb, fay you?
TjUv, Yes, Ci^lonel, exceffive terror at the mo-
ment of his father's murder deprived him of his ut-
terance; but medical men have affured me that
feme violent revulfion of nature may as fuddenly
reftore it.
Rigo, Does he recollect any circumftances think
you of of ?
23 THE BROKER SWORD.
Ros. Of the murder ? O ! thoroughly, and though
fix years have now elapfed, he perfifts that he (liould
recognife the face of the affaffin at a (ingle glance.
' Padlo. [Kunning forward) Joy ! joy ! go(jd for-
tune at the very nick of time^. Here comes Myr-
tillo himlelf, returning from mafs he runs towards
us with all his fpeed.
Claudia. Happy minute! Now, my friend, you
will behold
Rigo, [Wildly.) Not for worlds My furprife
my emotion I cannot yet fupport the joy of
Rof. But lie is here.
(Myrtillo appears at the top of the rifing path by
which he bad before departed,)
Riga. (Juji glancing towards /6/7.)^^Horro.r !
madnefs !
(Rigolio covers bis count er.ance by bis hat, and re-
cedes as the boy advances. At the fame m/lant
atzvbich My n'lWo gains the front of the flaoe, the
Colonel has pqffed behind the other chara^ers, and
darts away by the path the ether hadjujl quilted,)
' Claudio. (purfues him crying,) My friend ! my
friend ! {General groupe)
THE BROKEN SWORD. 2S
ACT II,
SCENE The Pyrenees, with Stella'; Cahin, as he*
fore RiGOLio defeends the Crags, looking anxioujly
behind him.
Hig. YES I have outftripped purfuit. Clau-
dio's voice hollows down the rocks no longer 'tis
lolitude* utter folitude around. Here then let me
paufe here ufe the few brief minutes yet ray own
for refleftion for decilion \ After fix years of
fancied fafety ruin ! abfolute ruinj threatens to
overwhelm me. The father perifhed, but the child
furvives aye, I recoHeft when the mafk fell from
my face, and my dying viiflim cried ** Is it my
/rz>^^ that ftrikes?" then my arm my faculties
were paralyfed, and while I iaultered, the urchin
glided from my grafp ! Six years ! and yet this
day ihh fatal day a living evidence appears to
blaft me ! If this boy once meets, he remembers
and all is loft ! What is to be done ? a fecond mur-
der ? No, no that were the only certain way
but in the caftle, amidft his friends the attempt
were vain! Flight, then aye ! inftant flight alone
can fave me. Once at a diftance from the fcene of
danger, I could at leifure frame fome plan for my
future life write to Claudio colour with fome
well-imagined fraud, the abruptnefs of my depar-
ture, -andyes ^yes it muft be fo. What if
I Crofs the mountains into France ? So, I might
U THE BROKEN SWORD.
elude enquiry altogether. Could I but hire a guide
to lead me acrofs thefe precipices to Bellegarde
( fees the Cabin.) A Goatherd's cabin! this may
furnifh me ? [knocks at the door, Stella appears.)
Stel. Gracioifls faints! here's an honour! the
great vifitor from the caflle !~
Rig. [Aftde.) Confufion ! known here too !
you have feen me then before ?
Stel. Yes, Signer ! You might not have noticed
me, but I was one of the village lafles, who met you
at the bridge, to ftrew flowers, and to
Rig. True, true I remember you.
SteU But, blefs me ! how comes your honour in
fueh a place ? juft when the fete is going on at the
caftle not a creature has returned from the dance
yet, except my felf and I only flipped away, be-
caufe
Rig. [Ha/ii/y.) No matter, my good girl ! fud-
den and unexpefted bufinefs calls me from my
friends. Could you procure me a guide, who would
lead me by the ftraighteftpath to the French fide of
the mountain ?
Stel. How fortunate I yes, yes, Signor I have
a travelling perfon within a poor kinfman of my
own he knows the road and if he could but pafs
the frontier under your proteQion
Rig. I promife for him every thing that you can
wifh but haften, haften ! I have not a mintue now
to lofe.
SteL He fliall attend you inftantly.
\^Exit into Cabin,
Rig. Each moment fwells into hours, that 1 delay
among thefe fatal mountains. Why was I perfuac|-
ed tovifit them? Oh! that I could recall the damn-
ing hour I firfl: beheld them that hour of frenzy
and perdition when flripped by gamefters of my
laft refource, fortune loft, and reputation flaked, I
THE BROKEN SWORD. 2
Irufhed on blood and rapine as my predeftined
courfe ! Upon what trivial chances may our crimes,
or virtues hinge ! Had not Luneda's letter reached
me at the very inftant that it did had it not ap-
prifed me of the treafure borne about his perfon
his lonely route his unattended ftate each parti-
cular confpiring to feduce my foul had never
no, furely, neverbeen tempted to the deed which
damns it! Wretched Luneda! ftill, ftill I hear his
dying cry it pleads to heaven againft me the
groans too uttering now, by the poor wretch, on
whom I lecretly direfted the fufpicion that mife-
rable flave who now toils among the galleys, and in-
vokes
[Eftevan has advanced during the lafl fentence,
from the Cottage^ with fearful humility, and
bowing jujl oppofite to Rigolio ai be turns his
head.
Eftev. Signer ! I wait your-
Rig, Ha ! what apparition has
Eftev. The Signor Rigolio !
Rig. Tis he! ^Eftevan ! the very valet of
Estev. Count Luneda. Oh, Signor ! betray me
not. Mercy ! mercy ! [Flings him/elf diftraHedly at
RigoIio*s/n-2,'43(5205)
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